middaeg | fellas is it gay if you can magically read your best bros thoughts (OPEN)

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fellas is it gay if you can magically read your best bros thoughts (OPEN)

Who: Rich and others
When: Morning and noonish, November 15
Where: Jeremy, Rich, and Michael's home
What: Rich and Jeremy's Bonding ceremony and celebration
Warnings: none

i. Bonding (Closed)

[Jeremy shows up at Rich's door bright and early the next morning. Despite how Rich claimed that suits weren't required, Jeremy still put together the nicest-looking thing in his wardrobe. His hair is slicked back, his skin is clearer than usual (where did he find concealer?), and he's used up a good chunk of his precious deodorant that he brought with him through the mirror.

The SQUIP had a lot of drawbacks, being an evil mind-controlling robot and all, but it taught Jeremy a valuable lesson: Jeremy cleans up good.

When Rich opens the door, Jeremy's waiting expectantly, hands behind his back and bouncing on his toes. It's clear that he's been there a while.]

You ready to go?

ii. Announcement (Open)

[To announce their Bond and to celebrate, Rich and Jeremy have opened the house up for any and everyone who wants to check it out--both quietly not mentioning how empty the space seems with Justine's recent disappearance. At Rich's suggestion, they've sent an open invitation out on the watch network to anyone who wants to drop by and offer congratulations.

Their budget isn't huge, but Jeremy's insistence on hospitality means that they've got enough finger food and drinks for people to try out. There's no alcohol.

Jeremy's still nervous even though the deed is done, so he's bustling around constantly to make sure that everything is perfectly neat, that they've got enough seats, and that nobody needs a refill. In his rush, bringing a hot tray of cookies from the oven straight onto a serving tray, he bumps into you. As he turns around to see who he's plowed over, he rushes to apologize. The niceties run into themselves before he even sees your face.]

Shoot--I'm sorry--thanks for coming!

iii. Wildcard (Open)

[Jeremy and Rich are both available to talk about their new bond with your character. Let me know if you want a specific situation!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Smoke nearly in his face sends a surge of panic and (fury??) through Myr; instinct rages between put it out and run! for what's only a moment but feels much, much longer than that.

He freezes, expression gone slack as Rich snarls at him. Swallows, hard, once he's put his emotions back in order (a mage without control, a mage without control...) and tries to recollect some semblance of coherent thought.]

It means, [his voice is small, tone brittle; oh, he is shaken and finding his footing again is hard,] no more than I didn't want him to die. I'm only blind, not ignorant of how beastly he can be when he's put his mind to it. But he doesn't deserve to die for that.

[And--if he keeps going on in this vein, he'll end up defending L to Rich when he should not, out of sheer misplaced valor for the person of his Bonded. He checks himself, drawing a shallow breath--any deeper and the smoke will set him off again, he's sure of it--and lifting a hand.]

You still can confide in me. He'll get nothing of it; it isn't his to know. And this way I have some absolute force in telling him to keep clear of you.

[Softer, again,] I don't want you to die, either. You deserve far better.

No. He doesn't deserve to die for it.

[Rich notes Myr's tone, and would curse himself if he could, his anger pushing people away again, but the regret of hurting Myr in that moment is only another emotion added to the pot, sinking to the bottom, slowly dissolving and mixing in with the mess of panic and despair in him.]

But you said yourself we couldn't kill ourselves trying to help him. He makes his own choices, and we can't burn ourselves out convincing him otherwise.

[He huffs out another shaky breath, his tone bitter.]

So tell me again how you aren't being a hypocrite and that I can trust what you're saying right now.

Because 'keeping clear' was what Connor tried to get the SQUIP to do. You know how that worked. And I'm getting sick of people telling me they know what I deserve when they won't listen to what I think is a bare fucking necessity.

[Fortunately, Myr's a lot harder to push away than most when he's put his mind to it.]

I did say that, [he agrees, feeling a little--a little on better footing, now that Rich is, if not calmer, at least willing to talk this through with him.] And I mean it still; if I thought his case were truly hopeless--if he were unwilling to choose other than he has--I wouldn't have done this.

But he wants to be better than he is. He just hasn't the tools.

[He pauses to take another steadying breath, running those words back through his mind and trying to be objective as he can. He is a kind of smitten with L, he knows it now, has confessed that to himself. But he does not think that colors his assessment of his Bonded's chances as much as it could.

He does not think he's making the mistake L made with the SQUIP, to believe he had it well in-hand when it was the space of a runaway spell from going mad. But thinking of that is--sobering.

Myr does not, cannot, know the future nor every eventuality that might affect his Bonded. He cannot be at L's side every waking moment of every day. There are parts of this out of his control, which make promising an absolute standard of behavior impossible.

But. But...]

Which, [Myr sighs,] I know isn't any reassurance. What do you need from me, from him, to feel safe here?

Bullshit. You want to think he'll be better, but I know what he's said. Feeling sympathy for people? Exhausting. Making an effort to help people? Narcissism.

I told him everything to try to warn him away from the SQUIP, and you're talking about the same bastard who used that to make a joke about how I'd know all about being flaming.

[Myr is kind, but he's wrong. He's naive and foolish, and Rich has already had enough of people hearing but not listening when he warns them about something he knows is inevitable.

And the other thing that Myr is forgetting is that it's impossible to please everyone. Rich is already convinced before he answers the faun's question that he's the one who's going to be left abandoned. Again.

That's what he gets for treating Myr like family. He'll go the way of family too.]

I don't want to tell you what I need because I'm not going to fucking get it. I'm not going to get an apology, I'm not going to get one fucking person on my side, and I'm not going to get a reason to even stay here.

Just leave me alone.

[He turns back away from Myr, towards the fire, sitting down on the floor and curling up beside the fireplace. Staring at the flames only makes his hopelessness start to grow, but that's fine. It's obviously what he's destined for at this point. The SQUIP told him as much.]

[Because it is for him, Myr doesn't say. This isn't the time or space to explain that particular understanding he's come to about L--about how someone can be so mutilated by life and circumstance that "ordinary" sociability became an insurmountable difficulty.

Instead, he gives Rich's griefs the space they're due. These are things he hadn't heard before, and his expression grows steadily more downcast to hear them. (More evidence of just how long the road with L will be, and what carnage might accrue along the way. Not a reason to give up, never a reason to give up, but... Maker and Lady, this will hurt.)

The eloquent words Myr'd prayed for don't come to him, when Rich finishes speaking; he cannot think of anything to say that will reach the depths of the need before him, bind up the wounds while still being truthful.

They exist out there, he knows. This is a failure in him. But that doesn't mean he can't do anything--so taking a deep breath to brace himself, he steps across the threshold and toward the flames. Takes two or three guarded steps to put him closer to Rich, before taking a seat on the floor.]

No. I don't leave people.

[And, because he knows where Rich is looking even without seeing him,] You aren't meant for the flames, Rich. You weren't Made for that.

I'm not, huh? Tell that to your Bonded.

[Because Rich knows by now that's exactly what Linden wants for him. He's proven it time and time again, and yet everyone's walking around with blinders on.]

Why the hell should I give you a chance when I've given him a dozen? You're telling me the same fence-sitting bullshit I already heard today. He's not that bad, he doesn't want to hurt you, give him a chance.

[Rich's high pitched mockery of the same platitudes he's heard a hundred times cuts off with a strangled sound, and he has to cover his face and breathe into his hands for a moment. It doesn't help with the panic, but maybe it'll keep him from crying until Myr leaves his house.]

The more that happens, the more I'm made for something bad, okay? You can't save everyone. You've got to make a choice, and I know you already did.

[Fair enough. No one in their right mind would want to save Rich after how many second chances he's failed at. Rich should feel hopeless, but he mainly just feels angry someone is telling him again that they know better what his life is meant for.]

So leave.

I am not, [between the smell of smoke, the sound of the flames, and his own perception of Rich's emotional turmoil, it's damned hard for Myr to stay calm and keep his voice level; but he finds the reserves for somehow,] Telling you to give him a chance or that he's really harmless and it's your fault he's bitten you. That would be fucking stupid of me, Rich; that would treat you as far less than you are. I believe--I know he's hurt you and done it deliberately. He'll get another earful from me about it now that I've heard all this about the fire.

[Maker, this is like running over ground he knows is salted with ankle-breaking holes; it doesn't feel like a matter of if but when there will be that sick lurch of a foot meeting only air, and pain to follow. Not that that's going to stop him.] I know my Bonded, Rich. I've looked, [metaphorically,] what he is full in the face and I know what he's done and how he justifies it to himself. It is wrong. It is unutterably wrong.

But short of killing him, I don't know there's any way of keeping him from your life without someone who cares about you, who can get through to him, standing in his way.

I can't save everyone. But there isn't a choice between the two of you, where I'm standing. I refuse it. [Because there's no saving one of you without the other.]

You're dear to me as family and I won't let you drive me off because you believe you deserve abandonment.

Family, huh? Oh, that explains it.

[Rich looks up from his hands, an ugly sneer on his face. For a minute, the panic pounding in his eardrums is hidden carefully away, skin stretched taut over top of it to prevent Myr from getting a glimpse of it, and having to resort to hearing it force its screaming way out every time Rich opens his mouth.]

You playing dad for me? Nice effort, but you need another six beers in you. And he doesn't usually go for the bullshit mental assault, you might as well slam a fist in my gut and call it a day!

[He doesn't know why he's laughing. It isn't funny. But he's laughing so hard he's out of breath, slamming a fist on the floor, doubling over from the force of it until he's sobbing pathetically, leaving droplets on the wooden floor. He doesn't possibly know what he can say to stop himself, so he screams instead, pulling at his hair. He screams until he doesn't have the breath for it, and then he gasps, and gasps again, chest too tight to bring in air. The world starts blurring at the edges.

He hasn't had a panic attack this bad in months. It's almost nostalgic.

Makes him homesick.]

[That--

is so hideously unfair it robs Myr of breath, leaves him speechless and helpless in the face of the accusation. He cannot fairly say he isn't a violent man, but he would never consider...

Of course it isn't true, and how much it's meant is debatable when it's come from someone in the throes of such acute pain--that hideous laughter into sobbing and screaming sending shudders down Myr's spine. Every caitiff Faun instinct says he should flee in the face of that agony because it is startling, terrifying; he sits a long frozen moment just listening and fighting that urge.

Coward. Coward. You caused this. He jolts from his shock, rolls up to his knees and reaches to pull Rich into a rough embrace.]

Breathe, sweeting; just breathe, if you can--focus on that--

[Oh, little dragon, I'm so sorry.]

Edited (.... homophones fkfls) 2019-12-17 07:44 (UTC)

[Rich seizes up when he's pulled into Myr's arms for a moment, before sobbing harder and throwing fists against the faun's chest. He's too disoriented and out of breath to cause much harm or even realize what he's doing, though. He just wants to get away and hide and be somewhere where no one ever has to let him down again.

He still doesn't feel like he can breathe, but he tries, taking in gasps through his tears. It doesn't do much to help, and he clutches at his chest in fear, scraping with his claws blindly.

He can speak now, but that likely doesn't make Myr feel any better.]

I don't want to be here. I want to go. I want to go.

[Myr is solidly built for all his short stature; catching Rich's fists against his chest hardly phases him. The sharp and sudden scent of blood does and he lets go of Rich with one arm to catch at the younger Monster's hands, try and wind fingers with them, to soothe by contact more than try and force those hands away. If he ends up clawed as well, so be it.

The obvious despair doesn't make him feel any better, but it's hardly unexpected. It's hardly far off what Myr has felt, now and again, trapped a world away from home with his magic stripped from him.

Hard not to be drawn into that anguish by empathy alone. Myr swallows hard, manages calm somehow:]

I know. I know, sweeting. It's hard for you here, hard to stay. Can you keep breathing for me? In, and out...

[Rich clutches at Myr's hands hard enough that it's quite likely he does draw blood. If he does, Rich doesn't notice, not even noticing the cuts along his collar over the screaming of his own heart.

He keeps breathing as instructed, at the very least, his gasping eventually becoming shaky sobs, but he's still not even sure where he is. Even if panic is fading, it's being replaced by overwhelming exhaustion.]

It hurts. They hurt me and I want to go somewhere they can't find me, but I can't. I'm just... I'm done for
I can't keep going. I don't want this.

[He's rambling now, nothing really clear to him except how anguished he feels.]

[A few cuts are a small price for Myr to pay if it helps. And it does, at least, seem to be helping--

Myr shifts how he's kneeling, letting Rich hold to his one hand as much as he needs while trying to get them arranged a little more comfortably, dragon tucked up against faun. It is, inevitably, awkward and improvised as all these things are, but Myr tries to make as little of it as he can, settling in to rub at Rich's back with his palm.

His level, quiet tone hardly changes, but there's no mistaking a thread of relief in his voice that Rich is--a little better, at least. Not out of the crisis, not by a long shot, but not in the worst choking part of it any longer.]

I know. You've been hurt so long and you've worked so hard, so hard at this. You've been very brave through so much. It's all right you've come to the end of your strength. It is.

[Maker, help me make it be all right for him.

Knowing it matters less by now the exact content of what he's saying and more that he's present, and calm, Myr slips from murmuring into humming.]

[Rich is lost enough that he doesn't object to being shifted around, so long as he has Myr's hand to clutch to as a life preserver. He ends up mostly in Myr's lap, coughing and sniffling childishly.

They aren't at the end of this at all. With Rich reaching the end of his patience and strength, Myr will certainly have a lot to do to offer a decent explanation for his Bond with Linden, his plans if things go awry, if Linden tries to twist things around, if the Bond makes Myr more willing to excuse what's been done to deepen the scars Rich already had. Rich will certainly still be upset, likely untrusting, likely less willing to give Myr a chance when from his position, giving chances only means an opportunity to hurt even deeper.

But maybe that can at least wait until Rich wakes up, as his quiet crying eventually fades into soft breathing.]

Where will you go, little one,
Lost to me in sleep?
Seek truth in a forgotten land
Deep within your heart.

Never fear, little one,
Wherever you shall go
Follow my voice.
I will call you home,
I will call you home.

---

[It's the beginning and not the end of a very hard road, Myr knows, when Rich falls asleep in his arms. He'd thought--naively, childishly--he only had one of those ahead of him and that to walk with L, but it's never the way of the world that problems come singly and cleanly divorced from all their consequences. Choosing to save L instead of walk away and let him immolate himself--and anyone else he'd take down with him--was, as Rich had observed, no neutral act; it makes Myr part-culpable in anything L does from this moment on.

You are responsible for the lives you save.

Where that saved life meant a risk of future harm to someone who had already suffered so much, someone who Myr half-thinks of as an apprentice under his care and charge, the responsibility weighs all the more heavily on his shoulders. Maintaining friendships with two people who couldn't stand each other was already a tightrope walk, and the stakes here are much, much higher than that.

He wonders if he's sufficient to it. He wonders if the Maker can even hear all his pleading for help to bear up under the weight.

He has, at least, sometime to think that through forward and back, as he sits there before the fire with Rich on his lap and the younger man's hand held tightly in his. He's far enough lost in that he scarcely notices the way it gets colder as the fire burns down, or the discomfort of a leg slowly falling asleep, or...much of anything, really, except the fragile precious peace of the boy resting against him. Mage that he is, Myr expects nightmares to follow on an upset like that; for all his ruminating, he's keenly attuned to any change in Rich's condition--the least alteration in the rhythm of his breath, a shift of limbs that seems more deliberate than unconscious.

The faun's quick to snap to full alertness then, though he keeps his voice low,]

Rich?

Edited (added more v important maundering) 2019-12-17 18:10 (UTC)

[Rich sleeps heavily for a while, too exhausted for even his subconscious to manage anything too strenuous for Rich to think about. Eventually, though, the nightmares come as they often do, with the stench of burnt flesh, with a voice in his ear that is familiar and yet not.

His usual mess of jumbled memories about the Halloween party get blended together with recent ones in extremely unpleasant ways, the gasoline bizarrely having ice cubes floating in it, his mother's voice being layered with echoed insults from two men. It's when he backs against the garage door, trying to escape the heat and his own decisions, and he hears a monstrous growling that he finally jerks awake with a soft cry.

His breath is quick for a moment as he tries to register where he is, eyes fixed down at his hand joined with Myr's, while the other runs at his stained cheeks. His chest hurts and he looks down, swears at the blood and torn up shirt, before looking at his held hand with a little more clarity.]

...Myr?

[His voice is hoarse, and he attempts to clear it, while twisting around to look at the faun.]

...you're still here.

[The hand curled around Rich's is spotted with dried blood, stark against the white fur. And yet it really doesn't bother Myr all that much--not enough for him to have let go.]

I'm still here, [he affirms.] And you're awake. How are you feeling?

Miserable.

[He might as well be honest. He's sure by now, Myr has heard more than enough to know if Rich was lying. He shifts back away from Mye, taking his hand away to hug his knees up to his chest.]

...'m sorry about your hand.

It'll mend, never fear. [Much more easily than Rich's emotional state. Myr's hardly surprised by miserable, taking the answer with a certain equanimity.

He pulls his hand back and flexes it to check the depth of the wounds. Murmuring, as he does,] I'm not surprised, sweeting; you'd a lot fall in on you.

I am sorry. [A breath.] Shall we get those wounds cleaned up? And then--we ought to talk.

Or perhaps I ought to just listen, as you do.

Edited 2019-12-19 05:38 (UTC)

... I guess we have stuff in the bathroom. Bandages and that.

[Rich slowly gets up to his feet, trying to be careful and not agitate his cuts too badly as he watches for Myr to stand and then slowly heads over to the stairs.

He doesn't say anything about the idea of talking, not yet, but it's easy to tell from his expression and uncharacteristic silence that he can't think of a worse idea. To him, decisions have already been made, and now, as usual, Rich is just forced to go along with them. It's what his dad and teachers expected, it's what the SQUIP expected... he's supposed to do the same with Myr.

But that's fine. Hopeless and helpless are certainly not new feelings for Rich.]

Lead on, then. [Myr will follow; he's an inkling, from being in a few of them, the cottages are more or less alike and what he knew of navigating one might apply to the others--but assuming as much would no doubt get him rapidly into trouble.

So he follows, trailing fingers along the nearest wall and swallowing down his own uncertainty at the future. It's a glass-fragile situation, apt to shatter; Myr's willingness to try is no substitute, he knows, for experience in these sorts of things. But he can't not try, he can't not listen... Even if he might hear it's better he stay away.

He dearly hopes not; Rich can ill-afford to lose friends. (But L can ill-afford to remain unBonded.)

All that maundering's put away as they reach the bathroom. Myr halts as his fingers catch on the doorframe.]

I don't know how much use I'll be, [he won't be dishonest and pretend the first-aid skills he'd learned while sighted won't be difficult to use now he's blind,] but if you'd like--I do know something of dressing wounds.

[It's hard to tell what Rich feels. He knows as well as Myr does that it's bad for him to lose friends at this moment in time... but he also knows it's a bad idea for him to remain around people that make excuses for the people who seem determined to hurt him. It's why he's struggled so much with Connor, and he would very much hate for his relationship with Myr to end up the same way.

But it's also hard for him to think Myr is that far gone. He's sensible, and able to understand what Rich has been through... that has to be enough. Rich has to have hope that he can actually convince someone to listen to him.

He busies himself with grabbing supplies for a few moments, obviously a bit lost in thought. It takes him a few moments to even acknowledge Myr has spoken, but when he does, he just shakes his head.]

I'm fine. [He's picked up enough to look after himself since he came here, from watching others bandage his wounds. He's not sure how well he can do it himself either... but he feels wary around Myr, remembering the last time he injured himself in a panic. It... doesn't bode well for this upcoming conversation.]

...Do you need help with your hands?

If you've something I can clean them with, that should do. [Monsters did heal faster than Witches--or elves--and it's something Myr's had reason to be grateful of; if the injuries weren't puncture wounds, he'd even be inclined to simply let them be to mend on their own. But these need to be bled against wound rot, and it would be better if he didn't leave blood all over Rich's house in the doing.

Speaking of--his tone takes on a wan humor:] I'm afraid I might've gotten blood on your wall back there.

[This is...still not getting anywhere near the heart of what they need to discuss, but truth be told Myr's still hedging around that one, uncertain as yet of his own strategy for it.

...All right, he's afraid. May as well admit as much. The stakes are high enough to warrant fear for Rich's sake, even if Myr can't allow that to paralyze him.

Time to step off into the dark again. Second time today--]

Might I, [slowly, carefully,] take a guess at the fear eating you?

I have a bit of peroxide in this...

[He holds out a bottle of alcohol for Myr, though he still finds it hard to even look in his direction. At this point, he's starting to wonder if maybe it would be best to just clean their wounds and then send Myr home, cut his losses before Rich has time to register the heartbreak of it.

Unfortunately, Myr doesn't seem to be interested in the easy way out. Rich visibly flinches, but slowly releases a long, mildly agitated sigh.]

You can if you want. Not that knowing anything is going to fix it.

Edited 2019-12-27 01:53 (UTC)

[Far be it from Myr to ever be interested in the easy way out. If he's not taking the hardest path for the sake of sheer stubbornness alone, it's because he feels--in some way--he deserves whatever pain's attendant on the undertaking. (As he does now.)

He's not sure what peroxide is, and the bottle he reaches fumblingly for--guessing at where Rich has got it--doesn't smell like anything astringent enough to clean a wound. He'll give it a try in faith anyway, pouring a little of the oddly cold liquid into his cupped palm and hissing surprise at how it stings. That means it's working, right? That and the faintly alarming scent of a lightning strike it leaves behind.]

On the contrary--there's a lot knowing can do, I think. [A little more of the peroxide stuff in his hand before he offers the bottle back to Rich, not knowing where he might set it down.]

You're afraid I'm going to come out as Linden's advocate against you. That--as I'm Bonded to him, and obviously partial--I've got to take his side in everything as well, even if it means crushing out your complaints and expecting you to be meekly silent about all of it.

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Hesitantly phone tags...

oh rich 8[

What its fine this is normal behavior leave him alone

hmmmm seems suspicious. get lullaby'd on, son.

noooooo it's not his bedtime yet!

TOO LATE

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