antic-animus:

Psyche resolutely ignored every attempt made on his Delic because Delic wasn’t his there was no collar around his neck and he had no right to fight for him. He remained quiet in class, too upset and confused to even make himself pay attention to the little fights, the people throwing themselves at Delic.

He tugged his hood a bit more over his head when the T.A. approached his seat, and he sank a bit lower, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead.

“…Psyche isn’t a fox,” he muttered, fishing his headphones out of his bag. “He is normal and where he was is none of Mr. Delic’s business.”

Delic’s smile slipped into a troubled frown. Psyche was acting weird - even for Psyche. “Well, it kinda is if you’ve been missing my class…” he said slowly, his tone concerned and gentle as he bent down a little, trying to catch Psyche’s elusive gaze. “Hey…is something the matter? You don’t look very well.” 

(Source: sybaritic-superette)

antic-animus:

Psyche didn’t leave his apartment for nearly a week.

That day, he’d walked home in a complete daze, his whole body feeling like he’d been beaten with a baseball bat and his head ringing and eyes stinging from trying not to cry. Psyche never cried. He never did. He was always more or less cheerful or sarcastic or scathing. Never sad. Never whatever this was.

He’d locked himself in his room to do experiments. Why it hurt, why he was crying, he had to know. There had to be a reason, a reason he could find and make it stop because it hurt so badly and he was horrible at withstanding pain.

It wasn’t something he’d eaten. It wasn’t sudden changes in weather patterns, he wasn’t sick, he had all his assignments turned in well ahead of time.

After day three he’d given up and started watching television. He didn’t want to leave. He felt better staying inside and watching silly shows on the television and working ahead on his homework.

Or he did until a blonde actor on the television said something mean, and Psyche burst into tears.

Delic. Delic, it had to do with Delic, with missing him, with wanting to be around him and that sentiment not being returned. Psyche had thrown things at the television to make it turn off, and then crawled under his bed and screamed into his favorite pillow.

On the fourth day, he slowly put the pieces together, watching more movies and reading more books for hints.

Five days in, and he finally had an answer.

Lonely.

He was lonely.

He’d been abandoned. Trained to love Delic’s attention and then suddenly deprived of it. Delic had left and loneliness had silently wormed its way into his lexicon. He hadn’t had a word for it before, hadn’t needed one, and now it was the biggest entry.

He’d stared at the wall for several hours that day, willing himself to move, to make it better, to not be lonely anymore, but his body hadn’t responded, his head was silent, and so Psyche stayed until the next morning when he slowly pushed himself out of bed, grabbed his bag, and headed to class. His hair hadn’t been washed in a few days, he had bags under his eyes, probably smelled, same clothes he’d been in for five days, but still he went, sat in his seat, and stared at the chalkboard, feeling scooped out and lonely still with people and voices all around him again.

This wasn’t going to help. He was scared it would hurt again, hurt more, Delic ignoring him or worse pandering and pitying him.

Psyche swallowed an anxious noise and tugged his hood up over his head, still staring at the board.

Nothing. Nothing he couldn’t say anything couldn’t tell him about it… Delic had never been alone. He was too loved, he wouldn’t understand…

Delic had been worried for the past week. Psyche didn’t turn up for class, or the class after that, or the class after that. After the third missed class, he attempted to charm Psyche’s phone number from the professor, but unfortunately she took it the wrong way and he had to withstand a ten minute lecture on how she wasn’t going to help him harrass tops because her class was enough of a battle ground with him just sauntering about. Delic thought that was all very unfair. He didn’t saunter, and he was genuinely concerned over Psyche. The professor said that if Psyche didn’t turn up next week as well, she’d send an email to see if he had died or something. 

That did not make Delic feel any better. 

Thankfully, the next class Psyche was there. A very rumpled Psyche. The brunet looked absolutely horrible, sitting there in his wrinkled jacket with glazed eyes and dark bags under his eyes, with greasy strands of hair peeking out from under the hood. Delic was alarmed and didn’t bother with his normal shenanigans in that class. The class sensed the infamous wilful sub being unusually despondent, and Delic had to fight off twice the amount of dominating attempts. 

He was a bit more vicious than usual. Venting was good for the soul. 

By the time class ended, Delic moved slowly over to where Psyche was still seated, trying to seem as natural and casual as ever. He wrinkled his nose when he drew close to the brunet. Psyche smelt a bit…well he smelled. End of story. Although Psyche seemed uncaring about his looks, he at least exercised proper hygiene.

“Hey there, lil’ elusive fox,” Delic said cheerfully, trying to act like nothing was wrong in the slightest. “Where’ve you been?”  

(Source: sybaritic-superette)

body-for-sale started following you

“Oh, hello there!”

“Thanks for the follow!”

antic-animus:

Delic checking his watch nearly broke Psyche.

He was horrible at reading people, but he’d seen enough sitcoms to know what that meant.

Delic hated his company so much he was counting down the seconds until he could leave.

The offer to chat before and after class went in one ear and out the other. Psyche continued to fiddled with the strap on his bag in a disinterested fashion while his head cried for Delic to notice, for him to somehow read the inside and know that Psyche didn’t want him to go that talking before and after class wasn’t enough it meant Psyche wasn’t special he didn’t mean anything to Delic nothing had changed nothing would change-

Psyche pressed his hand against his chest, his eyes widening a bit as he stared unseeing at the floor.

His chest hurt.

His chest hurt! Was this a heart attack? It felt like it was being squeezed so tightly  all the blood was running out of his body and leaving him cold and empty. What was it? Why did the words and disinterest hurt so badly? Were curses real or-

No. Psyche’s mind was shattering but it wasn’t going insane. There had to be some logical, scientific reason for why he wanted to cry and his chest hurt. 

He’d research later.

“Don’t bother,” he said, not liking the pitying tone with which the offer had been extended. Cheery voice or no. 

He smoothed out a wrinkle in his shirt and then said a polite, “Goodbye, Delic,” and left the room, his eyes smarting and his chest hurting and the first real bolts of fear twisted into his neck. 

It hurt.

Why did it hurt…

“Ah, Psyche-” Delic began, but the brunet had already walked of. He frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt like he made a mistake somewhere, but Psyche was such a prickly pear, it was difficult to pinpoint what exactly set off his coldness and irritation. A shame, too…he felt like he made so much progress with the top. Even if he wasn’t interested in him, he had hoped they could’ve been friendly with one another. What a great leap that would be! Tops and Subs just being friends was practically unheard of, a friendship between the two of them would’ve been the first few steps in social evolution - and maybe there would’ve been the small chance that something could’ve happened. Ah, Delic doubted he would ever get over the fact that someone could reject him whenever he showed he was interested. 

His poor ego. 

Oh well. Delic could just snag Psyche after class. Hopefully the top would’ve calmed down from his little huff by then, and Delic could see what made him so sad. They probably weren’t /friends/, but he liked to think that they were at least friendly acquaintances. He smiled and nodded, completely oblivious about the pain he had inflicted upon poor Psyche. 

(Source: sybaritic-superette)

antic-animus:

Everything Delic said was correct. Psyche only wanted an A. Psyche didn’t even really like Delic. He was loud and too strange most of the time, hard to get a handle on and just…

Interesting.

He was interesting! That hadn’t been something Psyche had been expecting and it made him very anxious. Interesting people were the people he liked, and there were so few in the world…

And now it sounded like one of them was deadset on leaving. That Psyche was the only one who didn’t want to go away.

Psyche carefully closed his bag, his chest hurting and making him anxious. He didn’t want Delic to go. He didn’t want him to go, didn’t want him to not talk to him again outside of class ignore him pretend he didn’t exist-

“Yes. Psyche wanted an A,” he finally muttered, not really knowing what else to say. The imagination thing wasn’t really helping now… it was supposed to! He should be able to shower Delic with pretty words that could make him stay but instead all he said was ‘Psyche wanted an A’ because he was still all broken and still didn’t understand people and he didn’t understand how Delic could just leave without even looking sad about it…

“Yeah…” Delic said, giving Psyche a concerned look. He dithered for a bit, resisting the urge to look at his watch in his case the brunet took it the wrong way. He had class in a few minutes, and he didn’t want to be late but- “Hey, it’s okay though. I mean, we’ll always see each other in class,” he said cheerfully. “We can always chat a bit before and after it, if you’d like.” He wasn’t sure what the problem was with Psyche, so he was wildly stabbing in the dark and hoping he’d eventually hit it. “I did enjoy our talks. They were very interesting and insightful.” 

(Source: sybaritic-superette)

antic-animus:

…Don’t… need anymore?

Psyche carefully tucked his books in his bag, trying to puzzle out what those words meant. Didn’t need him anymore. Well, yes, he’d gotten the A he’d wanted, or would anyway if his glowing marks on his most recent homework assignment were anything to go by, but…

But he needed Delic.

He fiddled with a pencil for a moment, his heart in his throat. He needed Delic. He needed Delic! The man made him happy, really happy, not just the base instinct that tops craved but something more that even with all the books he’d read he didn’t have the vocabulary to describe.

“…So you’re done, then?” he asked, his voice a bit cold and distant from confusion. Delic was leaving? “We won’t need to see each other outside of class?” He didn’t want to see Psyche outside of class?

Delic suddenly felt like he was walking through a minefield - so he proceeded with caution.  

“Well, all you wanted from me was an ‘A’, correct?” Delic said slowly. “You made it very clear that you weren’t interested in me for other matters,” he smiled a bit wryly at that, rubbing the back of his neck with a small chuckle. “That certainly bruised my ego…but, uh, I’m always ready to help you out again, if you start to struggle with your literacy work.” Although he highly doubted that, since Psyche got the hang of it, but the brunet seemed dissatisfied with something, and although Delic was unsure of what else he could teach him, he supposed that leaving the door open would quell some of Psyche’s coldness. Hopefully. He didn’t want them to leave on a sour note.   

(Source: sybaritic-superette)

antic-animus:

It had taken Psyche nearly a month before he finally got used to the T.A.’s mannerisms. His way of talking, of holding himself, the little jokes he’d slip into their conversations, the patient way he dealt with Psyche’s temper tantrums, when he’d had a bad day, when he hadn’t had time to read, when he was tired of trying to put together whatever it was that the T.A. insisted on calling ‘imagination’.

It was an odd, effervescent thing. It wasn’t like regular thinking where you drew lines between bits of information that were related, built them up into a pretty tower that was easily accessible with elevators and stairs and windows. It was building with clouds, with smoke, pushing them to try and form fantastic walls and arching windows that let in streams of multifarious light. It was exhausting and frustrating and blew away with a puff of frustrated air. 

But Psyche worked hard. For an A, at first. To keep his record untarnished, he would do almost anything. 

Two weeks in, he was doing it solely to see Delic smile.

It had been a gradual process, one he hadn’t even been aware of, but the tugging at his chest and the way his cheeks flushed and instinct screamed at him eventually became too strong even for him to ignore.

Delic was special.

Delic smiled at him, Delic was kind to him even when he was cruel, patient when there was no reason to be.

The last day, Psyche sat nervously in his seat, rocking slowly back and forth as he stole covert glances at Delic. The collar in his bag weighed heavily on his mind, but he pushed it aside as best he could and focused on Delic’s words. The congratulations made him shiver a bit with happiness, but all he could do in return was scoff a bit and roll his eyes. He gathered up his books when Delic stood, glanced at the little note he’d written himself on his hand, and opened his mouth to speak.

He had a nice speech planned. It was really very elegant and well put together, telling Delic that he admired him grudgingly for his work as an activist, that he found him smart and clever and worthy of further conversation.

What came out was a rather brusque, “That’s it?”

No. No, Psyche, dummy! He wanted to smack himself but instead gathered up his books again, his lips pressed in a thin line.

Delic paused at the curt words, and gave the brunet a little confused blink. Psyche looked annoyed, but weeks of learning Psyche’s expressions and little grumpy glares or pouts told Delic that the other brunet was frustrated and annoyed for some reason. Which was odd - Psyche merely wanted an A, and he achieved that, what else could he possibly want from Delic? He had established early on that he had little to no interest in him outside of educational matters. 

“Well, there’s not much else I can teach you regarding imagination and creativity,” he said slowly, a small puzzled smile on his lips. “You’re doing so well now, and learned enough to stand on your own two feet. You don’t need me any more.” And that was kind of sad, really, and Delic fidgeted with his tie, adjusting it slightly. 

(Source: sybaritic-superette)

antic-animus:

Psyche nodded and then beat a hasty retreat, practically running to his next class. It was a physics lecture, thank goodness, so he was able to distract his mind, but the moment he got home and saw the book poking out of his bag his anger and indignation and embarrassment flared up again. He almost ripped the book in two, but then decided against it at the last second. He smoothed the cover and then slowly sat down and started to read.

He didn’t tear his eyes away until two in the morning.

He’d never read a book like this before. With lines of dialogue and action and adventure, and even though the plot was rather asinine it still sucked him in somehow. It was baffling.

The next day in class he was exhausted, and instead of listening to the professor’s lecture he surreptitiously read his book, and when class ended he made his way to the library, his eyes still glued to the page.

That day’s meeting had gone rather differently. Psyche still hadn’t been sure what the T.A. had meant by creative and such, but he made his way haltingly through a conversation about it, only throwing a couple hissy fits along the way. When the hour was over, he even gave the T.A. a tentative smile and then headed off as quickly as possible, a new book clutched in his hands.

This was going to be a problem. He could tell.

Delic was getting a whole bunch of mixed signals from the cute little top, and it was driving him absolutely insane. It was good how Psyche was starting to embrace creativity and imagination, even if Delic felt like he had to lead the top like a tentative baby bird at times, but Psyche would flash between hot and cold in a mere instance, and after several weeks…didn’t even look ready to collar him or dominate him or anything. 

Near the end of their lessons (where Psyche was finally beginning to reach ‘A’ levels), Delic had come to the conclusion that Psyche’s preferences either lay for the female subs, or he was asexual (Delic refused to believe that he wasn’t Psyche’s type - he was everyone’s type!). It was a bitter pill to swallow, but there were plenty of tops out in the sea, and this was good in popping Delic’s overblown ego some. Even he acknowledged that he had been strutting about a bit too much lately. 

So on their last lesson, Delic had congratulated Psyche, gave him the reward of never having to suffer his presence alone again, and - that was it. Delic didn’t think about it again. It was a shame, yeah, but Psyche always said he was happier alone, and Delic was used to moving on. They’d always see each other in class, anyway. 

(Source: sybaritic-superette)

antic-animus:

Psyche carefully wrote down the things he was supposed to do in the margins of the book, silently wondering how on earth he was supposed to recognize what was creative from what was just… book. He didn’t ask, though. He was done being in the company of this person for a while. His instinct was starting to go crazy, yelling at him to just collar the man to make him shut up, so he serenely closed the book and put it in his bag. 

“Thank you,” he said politely, standing and shouldering his backpack. “Psyche will… do those things. To the best of his ability.”

For an A for an A he needed an A…

Delic watched him stand up with an unreadable look. “It’s no problem. We’ll meet up here after our next class, alright? I’ll see what progress you made and how your reading will help you in becoming a bit more creative and imaginative.” And hopefully Psyche would get a minor attitude adjustment too. Delic was used to being the aggravating one, not being aggravated. 

He stood up as well, collecting as many books as he could into his arms. May as well clear the mess Psyche made with his book fort. He smiled at the brunet. “I’ll see you later. Have fun.” 

(Source: sybaritic-superette)

antic-animus:

“Psyche points don’t matter,” Psyche said absently, a grudging look of respect flashing across his face as the T.A. quoted Mr. Hawking. He fell silent again for a long time before slowly picking up the book again and hugging it to his chest. 

“…Is there anything Psyche should keep in mind while reading?” he mumbled, his fingers toying with the pages. He’d be good. The man had quoted Mr. Hawking. Even if he didn’t know anything else, he was at least trying.

Psyche resolutely squashed the little moth in his stomach. It made a pleasant squelching noise.

Huh. All Delic had to do to get on Psyche’s good side was to quote Physicists. Weird, but it gave him a tiny bit of hope - a cautious hope, but still. “Just take note of the creative ideas. Like, what is the plot? What design and motivations do the villains have? Things like that.” Delic tapped the desk. “You can even take notes, if you’d like. Just jot down things you’ve noticed that seems imaginative.” 

(Source: sybaritic-superette)