#An exclamation mark on every sentence is terrifying

[mariana-oconnor]

The eternal struggle of balancing the number of exclamation marks on the tightrope of 'just enough enthusiasm' between the chasms of 'apathetic soulless automaton' and 'overly peppy and clearly unhinged'.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Waking Comfort (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence (in a flashback), implied/referenced trauma (unspecified) Warnings: N/A Summary: Unable to sleep on a cold day, Bela Dimitrescu tries to find comfort in her favorite servant... only to end up being the one doing the comforting. Notes: This is super self indulgent, because my dreams have been murdering me recently. Reader is a selective mute/partially nonverbal, implied neurodivergent (unspecified), gender neutral but written with a non-binary person in mind, with non-specific past trauma. Basically this is somewhat of a self-insert fic but I've smudged some lines to make it more relatable for other people.

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In the early hours of the day, when the sun had yet to reach its peak, a cold quiet fell over Castle Dimitrescu. Most inhabitants were of a nocturnal persuasion, and lay sleeping soundly at this hour. Those few that thrived in the sun moved softly, with caution, daring not to awaken their masters. Oh, if only they knew that one Lady of the house was awake, prowling the corridors with marked intent. What a chill it would send down their spines- what lovely fear would permeate the household.

Ah, but that was not what Bela Dimitrescu desired, at least not for now. No, what she needed was something she would never admit out loud. It was a “base” need, one that all humans felt, and so she feared that it was beneath her. There was only one person that she could trust for this: A servant, experienced in all matters needed of them, level-headed, compassionate… and, most importantly, selectively mute.

Over the past year, Bela had found herself growing closer to you, much to her own surprise. The two of you had started to bond through reading, after you had helped her reorganize a mess in the library (left by none other than Lady Daniela). Since then, you had proven to be a valuable ally, always finding creative solutions to the family’s problems. From jury-rigging a set of climbing gear for repairs, to proof-reading all formal letters, there was hardly any part of Bela’s life that you hadn’t assisted with. All while only ever saying two or three sentences- short ones, at that.

Neither of you would ever forget the first (and only) time you spoke out loud. A would-be hunter had infiltrated the estate, through a damaged skylight (which you later repaired), intending to prove his worth by killing the nobility inside. By the time Bela arrived, after being notified by a terrified maiden, she found the situation had already been aptly handled. There you had stood, clutching an ornate, bloodied cane like a club. In front of you had been the unconscious hunter.

“You could have been hurt!” Bela had snapped, unable to stop herself, glad that her sisters hadn’t arrived yet. Then you had glanced at the man, then her, then back to the man. Something uncharacteristically dark had danced in your eyes.

“He said he was going to save me… from you. Called me defenseless,” you had snarled, poking the man with your cane as you did. “Rude.” Before Bela even had a chance to react, her sisters had appeared, disappointed to find the fight already over. They had fought over who would get to kill the hunter, and somewhere in that chaos you had slipped away without another word.

That day had replayed itself in Bela’s mind hundreds of times in her mind. Though she would not readily admit it, that had been the day that her casual affection for you had started to turn into something more serious. These days she didn’t even know how to describe your relationship- after all, you had never told her how you felt. But you had held her, closely, fingers running through her hair while she fought off memories from someone else’s life. Held her in your arms, as she held you, staving off the cold like it was all you had ever known.

This was what she wanted. Your touch, your comfort. All that stood in her way was a familiar question: Where were you? Master of your environment, schedule constantly in flux, you were rarely where anyone expected you to be, especially when you were prone to taking on whatever tasks others hadn’t had time to finish. So Bela searches, quickly, around places the day-shift tends to gather. She’s careful not to be seen, even though she knows the maidens aren’t likely to gossip where her family might hear. In the end she catches a hint of your scent near the servants’ quarters, and curses herself for not checking there sooner.

Your room is one of the only single-occupancy rooms in this wing. Only senior staff were allowed within these places, most of them rotating out as they “lost their usefulness”. The fact that you had slept in the same bed every night for six months was a testament to your skill. It’s the kind of thought that brings Bela some semblance of warmth in her chest. Still, the thought alone is not enough, so she slowly eases your door open.

Her ears strain against the silence, listening for the pattern of your breathing, or the telltale murmurs that would announce your awakening. Instead, the first things she hears are little gasps, then the shifting of fabric. Dreams of some sort have you turning and tossing, lungs getting hungry in their pursuit of air. It’s not immediately clear whether or not you are enjoying the dream. Were these good gasps, like those that Daniela often cooed about when she praised her maiden? Or were these the same kind that sometimes haunted Bela herself?...

A whimper cuts through the air, and suddenly Bela loses all patience. Practically running, she crosses the room in an instant, concern etched into her brow. One hand cautiously reaches for your blanket, pulling it back enough for her to slide in next to you. It’s a risk, one that could make you wake up with a panic, but it’s one she’s willing to take. After all, she had asked you about this sort of thing before. Though you couldn’t form full sentences, you had experience “miming” things, and Bela was quite clever with her “yes or no” questions.

When she carefully wraps an arm around your waist, she does so with confidence. Beneath her touch you stiffen, back going as tense as possible, but you stop shaking. A few more gasps leave you, and Bela wonders whether or not she should wake you up. Less than a minute later the decision is made for her. All the sudden your gasping turns to a sharp exclamation, body jerking hard, eyes snapping open. Tension coils through your muscles, driving your already overstimulated brain overboard.

Before Bela can even try to comfort you, you sit up, quickly turning so your legs dangle off the edge of the bed. Muffled sobs pass your lips as you hold your face in your hands. Memories struggle against each other behind your eyes, blocking out every other sensation. Your jaw is clenched, hard, and you struggle to breathe between shakes. A hand touches your back, but quickly moves when you flinch in response. It takes a minute for you to even process who else is with you. Once you do, some of the tension bleeds from your body.

“If you’d rather be alone right now, I understand,” Bela says, quietly, as soon as she thinks you’ll be able to understand her. For a moment you can’t bring yourself to respond, and you can feel her side of the mattress shifting, like she’s getting ready to leave. Panic springs up in your chest again, so you quickly reach a hand out in her direction. Thankfully she knows what to expect at this point, easily finding your hand in the dark, gently taking it within her own. “One squeeze for yes, two for no?”

You squeeze, once.

“Do you want me to hold you?” Bela asks, trying to hide the hopefulness in her voice. It makes you pause, considering, even though you’re still overwhelmed by your sensory inputs. In the end you squeeze her hand twice. “No worries, my dear. Don’t be tempted to push yourself just for my sake.” Somehow she always knew how to read you like an open book. Even with the… difficulty of communicating with you. Not that she had ever complained, or even thought about it. Knowing you, and caring for you, made any effort feel as easy as breathing.

A few minutes pass without another word being said. Sometimes Bela gives your hand a little squeeze, just to check in, and you always return it. Soon enough your brain starts to relax, loosening its vice-like grip on your motor controls. Once again you can ease the tension in your muscles. Then you find yourself rubbing your thumb against Bela’s hand, moving in soft circular motions, head turning so you can smile at her. Even if it’s too dark for you to see much, you know that her eyes see you just fine.

“Feeling any better?” She asks, donning a smile of her own. One squeeze. “Is there anything more I can do to help?” A pause, then one squeeze. Now that your limbs don’t feel as staticky, there’s only one thing on your mind: Cuddling. You’re moving before you know it, briefly letting go of Bela’s hand so you can get closer to her, pressing your face into her neck and giving her a soft kiss. Then you’re falling against the bed, on your side, looking up at your partner with a grin. It doesn’t take her long to get the message, shifting back onto her side so she can hold you for real this time. One of your hands goes to rest on her back, to serve as your translator for the rest of the night. “I love you,” Bela says, without even thinking.

She freezes up afterwards, realizing that this is the first time she’s ever said the words out loud to you. For a moment she’s scared, a feeling alien to her, but she refuses to back down. It pays off a few seconds later, incredibly so, when you return the words the best way you can: One squeeze.

[lumpypanda13]

Zomboo AU

Hi there! This is my first post on tumblr that isn’t a reblog so I hope it’s good! :)

(Edit - This was originally supposed to be a multi-chaptered fic but due to a busy schedule and general lack of inspiration for this particular story I’ve decided to leave it as a one shot. Sorry to anyone who wanted more from this story, however if anyone wants to pick up where I left off feel free :)) All I ask is that you tag me if you do write more so I can read it :D) 

TWS/CWS: Death, blood, gore, mentions of vomiting but nothing graphic or detailed, mentions of intentional misgendering and bullying, swearing, all caps in the last sentence, biting and a description of someone being attacked by/turned into a zombie.

If any of those make you uncomfortable or uneasy please don’t read! The last thing I want is to trigger someone /gen

This is strictly about the characters, not content creators - I will never write about any cc!s and if I accidentally break any of their boundaries (or forget to include/tag a tw/cw) please let me know. Also please don’t send this to any cc!s or mention it in any of their chats.

The idea for this is based off of this tiktok and I use he/they pronouns for Ranboo throughout.

With all of that out of the way, I hope you enjoy!

-Petrichor <3

The apocalypse wasn’t at all how Ranboo had imagined it to be. The hoards were exceedingly slow, fumbled over the simplest of movements and couldn’t work together to literally save their lives.

This did, however, make being a zombie all the easier for Ranboo.

It had started like most other days. Ranboo woke up with their alarm, dressed and headed to school all without waking their parents. If he woke them, he’d have hell to pay; they weren’t home often but when they were, they were best left undisturbed. They made their way quickly to school, ignoring the taunts and jeers thrown at them by a group of kids in their classes who had overheard them state their pronouns once and made it their mission to misgender them at every turn. Ranboo had gotten quite good at ignoring certain people who decided to make life hell for him, knowing that one day karma would give them their dues and reward him for putting up with so much bullshit.

He made it to his fourth period of the day, sat in algebra listening to his teacher drone on about how incredibly useful and not-at-all pointless the equations they were doing were, when he happened to look out of the large window to his left and see a girl from his chemistry class sink her teeth into the jugular of a jock he didn’t recognise. Wincing at the PDA, Ranboo quickly turned their attention back to the mind-numbing math – it was better than seeing a couple get way too comfy in public. They continued on until someone in the row in front of them let out a shriek.

“He’s dead! Oh my god someone killed Punz!”

At that Ranboo’s head snapped up. Punz was a well-known student who gained highschool fame by playing on the football team with his little group of jock friends and who had been fairly nice to Ranboo for a while now. Most of that group was nice to them, especially the senior captain Dream who had taken one look at Ranboo and declared them under his protection.

Everyone in the classroom, the teacher included, had rushed to the side of the room, and were pressed against the window. Gasps of shock and terrified exclamations rang out from the group although Ranboo couldn’t see anything past them. One boy rushed away from the group towards the wastepaper bin where he threw up and, while the crowd was temporarily separated, Ranboo used his above average height to his advantage as he slid into the gap and gazed out the window to where the couple had been a minute prior. The girl was nowhere to be seen but the jock, confirmed now to be poor Punz, lay on the pavement in a pool of his own blood, his neck torn open with teeth marks just barely visible around the pulsing wound. His face was turned away from the classroom, but it was obvious that he was dead – nobody could survive an injury as severe as that.

Just as Ranboo felt bile rise up in his throat, Punz twitched. Ranboo’s eyes widened as he stared at the jock’s body, unable to look away from the gore.

Maybe my eyes are just playing tricks on me. Ranboo’s mind helpfully supplied. He has to be dead by now.

Then Punz moved again, his leg twitching every so often.

It was then that Ranboo realised they were the only person still at the window. Some classmates were crowded around the bin, others hugging one another and crying, others screaming at one another in their confused panic. The teacher was ordering everyone to stay calm and return to their seats so the authorities could be called but no one listened. Turning his attention back to the window, Ranboo was met by the horrifying sight of Punz now kneeling on the ground, staring blankly at the pool of his own blood. They let out a scream of terror which drew the attention of their classmates and teacher, all of whom rushed back to the window to see what they had witnessed.

Slowly, Punz lifted one knee and firmly planted his foot on the ground. He swayed for a second as if experiencing vertigo before pushing himself up onto both feet and standing up straight. Blood had stopped gushing from the hole in his neck and now just steadily soaked into his once white hoodie, his golden medallion now seared with red. Then Ranboo felt his own blood turn cold as Punz swirled his head to look at the class behind the window. His once icy blue eyes were now a crimson red with veins of charcoal creeping through them like vines. Similar grey veins slithered up his neck and face, giving his skin the impression of being covered by lichen.

In a moment of unadulterated horror, Punz stumbled rapidly towards to window forcing the entire class, Ranboo included, to yell in fear and shuffle backwards. He collided with the glass and let out an animalistic howl, nails screeching as he clawed at the glass like a tiger in a cage.

Three things then happened.

Ranboo’s classmates and teacher booked it for the door, clambering over schoolbags, tables, and chairs in order to reach safety and get as far away from Punz - or whatever it was that looked like him – as fast as possible.

Punz’s sheer strength and football prowess paid off in his favour as he shattered the window, glass flying everywhere including into Ranboo’s skin. They had turned their body to the right in order to try and run from the hailstorm of shards but didn’t make it a single step before the glass pierced the entire left side of their body. They let out a shout of pain and fell to the floor as blood began to well up in the cuts.

Two strong arms grabbed Ranboo’s shoulders and yanked him towards the gaping window. Punz had crawled through while Ranboo was distracted by the window breaking and made his way over to the petrified seventeen-year-old on the linoleum.

Ranboo suddenly felt an immense pain in his right arm and when he looked down, he saw that Punz had sunk his teeth into Ranboo’s skin and was refusing to let go. Ranboo screamed in fear and pain which unfortunately only drew the attention of some more… things. They had been lingering outside the door but now barged in and began assisting Punz.

One bit into Ranboo’s jaw, another onto his torso, two grabbed his right leg and played tug of war with it between their iron grips.

As everything began to fade to black, Ranboo cried for help, hoping that somebody, anybody would save them. In his last moments of life, Ranboo Beloved saw a green-hooded football captain with a broken baseball bat in hand skid into the doorway. He felt nothing but white-hot pain shooting through his body as he heard Dream cry out to him.

“RANBOO NO!”

[overclockedroulette]

AYO HERE WE GO AGAIN procrastinating essays for fic purposes anyway anyone want some more hurt/comfort?

~~~

In his time in Redglass, Vega had developed a habit of neglecting to knock on Avarice’s door.  It was mostly a karma thing, since he was pretty sure Avarice hadn’t given him polite notice for entering his room once the whole time he had been here; in fact, ‘polite’ and ‘Avarice’ didn’t even belong in the same sentence.  So, when he wanted something (in this case, the extra test tubes that he had stolen for gods-know-what), he just announced himself and swung open the door without a second thought.

Amazingly, the first thing that concerned him wasn’t the smell of burning feathers, or the fact that the thieving bastard was kneeling shirtless opposite a full-length mirror - no, what concerned him was the fact that Avarice jumped when he walked in, so much so that the metal tinderbox in his hand fell to the floor with a clatter so loud it made Vega wince.  It’s not like he’d never seen Avarice startled before - sudden loud noises in particular tended to have an effect on him - but he’d found out the hard way that Avarice reacted violently to being surprised (he’d had a knife pulled on him several times for some relatively harmless pranks), and almost jumping out of his skin and singeing the carpet was anything but in character for him.  So, clearly, something was wrong.

And that was when he clocked the tinderbox.

To his credit, Avarice gathered himself so quickly that Vega could almost ignore the situation, switching to a cross-legged position and sweeping the firestarter under one leg.  He raised an eyebrow curiously, entirely ignoring Vega’s (completely justified) incredulity.  “Any particular reason you’re here, or do you just like looking at me?”

“Why do I smell burning?”

“Why are you here?” he repeated, a little more firmly.  

“Something about those test tubes you stole, but now I’m more concerned that you’re conspiring to commit arson, or something.”

“Ah.”  He paused, then waved a hand.  “Well, you aren’t getting them back, so you might as well just-”

“Turn around,” Vega sighed, clicking the door shut behind him.  “I’m not stupid: burning skin isn’t hard to recognise.  Turn around so I can see how much damage you’ve done.”

Avarice glared at him for a moment, although Vega’s expression was completely unchanging aside from the expectant raise of an eyebrow.  He sighed, and - wordlessly - he turned around and let Vega do… whatever he was hoping to achieve with that request.  (It wouldn’t hurt that much, would it?  And he really couldn’t be bothered arguing.)

He flinched when Vega drew in a surprised breath - trying very hard to conceal the disbelieving sympathy he absolutely did not feel (Avarice was notoriously difficult to pity: although, who wouldn’t he feel bad for after seeing this?) - and ran his fingers lightly down the ragged line of blackened skin spanning a majority of his spine.  His voice softened.

“How’d this happen, puppy?”

“You might want to clarify.”  Avarice shrugged, his voice tense and deliberate, and clearly trying very hard to force out a sense of nonchalance about the whole situation.  “There’s- ah-”

“A lot, right.  I can see that.”  He pressed down just a little harder on the long, jagged 

line of burns, noticing with alarm that some were still warm, and tried to ignore the sharp intake of breath that the new pressure prompted.  “Let’s start with the burns.”

“I don’t think I have to tell you- ah-!”

He cut himself off with a sharp exclamation of pain, clearly far louder than he had intended, as Vega pressed significantly harder on the affected area than the last time.  He felt bad, sure: as satisfying as it was, hearing Avarice in pain was never particularly comfortable.  It was always… incongruous.  It didn’t sound right.  But Avarice’s willingness to talk about himself tended to be directly proportional to his mood: which is to say, he didn’t talk about himself at all, so - as guilty as he, admittedly, felt - his concern regarding the frankly disturbing amount of scars spanning Avarice’s back outweighed that guilt.  (Because, really, without regarding him as infallible or boosting his ego more than necessary: it was difficult to imagine something that could get away with hurting him the way that sheer quantities of scars indicated).

“Fine,” he relented after a long period of motionlessly glaring so hard at the wall that Vega could swear he saw it smouldering.  “The burns were all me.  They’re intentional.  Can I go now?”

Vega blinked.  “All of them?”

“No, only a few- yes all of them, moron.  That’s what I said.”

“And- uh- why?”

Avarice just sighed impatiently, fidgeting with his hands.  “I don’t have to tell you-” his voice broke off into a high-pitched yelp as Vega briefly pressed down on his burns in warning - not enough to significantly hurt him, of course, but just enough to cause a little discomfort.  His shoulders dropped, and he let out a small, relenting exhale.  “You’re aware of my... ancestry, correct?”

“What, that you’re part-”

“That, yes,” he interrupted.  “And as such, there are certain… manifestations of that lineage that I would rather not be a part of.”

“Like?”

“Not important,” he dismissed, “but either way, they grow far too quickly unless I do something about it.  So…” he kicked the tinderbox out from under his leg and waved a hand vaguely in its direction.  “This is the best solution I could find.”

“Gods, is that why I could smell burning feathers?”

He didn’t answer.  

“Just- just clip them off, or something!  I’m sure it would hurt less.”

“They grow too quickly,” he muttered under his breath.  “Killing the skin slows it down a little.”

“A little?  It’s a miracle anything can grow at all!”

“Thank you.”  And Vega could tell he was smirking even without looking at his face.  “Can you go now?”

There was a long pause. 

“Those look like whip marks,” Vega finally pointed out, tracing a thumb along one of the thin red lines that defiled the large majority of Avarice’s back.  Avarice scoffed as if his breathing hadn’t hitched up the second he touched him, making some lighthearted comment about how it was obvious they were whip marks - what else would they be? - and entirely ignoring the implicit question.  Vega sighed.  His hands found another line, long and cutting so deep he winced just from looking at it, spanning a diagonal across his whole back - and Avarice let out a small, involuntary hum as he ran one finger down its length.  “Feel like explaining, pet?”

“Not in the slightest,” he shot back, his tensed-up position entirely unchanging as he spoke.  

“Avarice,” he warned.

“No, really, I don’t owe you anything.  I don’t have to explain-”

“Avarice.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” he snapped, and was that a tremor in his voice?  

“Sure, maybe not, but you’ve got to explain it to someone.”  He rolled his eyes.  “And - knowing you - you probably haven’t, because you’re an emotionally stunted jackass, right?”

“Piss off, Mochizuki.”

“You haven’t, right?”

“You don’t know me.”

“That means you haven’t, right?”

“Fuck off.”

“So you-”

“Fine!” he caved.  “No, I haven’t talked about it.  And I don’t plan on starting.  So kindly piss off and leave me alone, sweetheart.”

“What if I told you,” he ran one finger down the length of a particularly deep red mark, furrowing his eyebrows and graciously pretending not to hear the high, almost whimpering noise Avarice was trying very hard to conceal, “that I’m not leaving until I get answers?”

“Then I suppose we’d be here for a while, wouldn’t we?”

They stayed like that for a while, Avarice remaining as stubborn as ever while Vega tried every approach he could think of to coerce him into talking; none of it worked, of course, because - for some reason - he was far more tight-lipped about this than the blatant self-mutilation.  In fact, at some point during Vega questioning him, Avarice stopped speaking entirely.  No snarky insults, or one-liners, or denials, just… nothing.  Long, one-sided silence.  Although, to be honest, Vega barely noticed until he broke it.  

“I don’t want to think about it,” he muttered, although his voice didn’t sound quite right: quiet - timid, even - somewhat reminiscent of a child caught in a lie, and self-contradictory coming from Avarice’s mouth.  “I would tell you, sure, but there’s a lot, and my head hurts when I think about it, so I’m sure as hell not going to start explaining things out loud.”

And, despite everything, Vega’s heart ached.  Watching him explain things so casually, as if it was normal, as if it wasn’t the same reasoning that made Vega so terrified of his god, as if forcing himself not to think about something for twenty four hours a day wasn’t difficult and distressing and awful.  He hated Avarice, sure - Avarice was difficult not to hate, the arrogant prick - but nonetheless he couldn’t stop himself from sympathising.

“Is that enough?  Can you go now?”

He wanted to say no.  He so badly wanted to say no: make him talk it out like he knew from experience he so desperately needed to do.  

But forcing him wouldn’t get them anywhere.  

“Sure, fine,” he relented, ruffling his hair teasingly as he stood up.  Avarice pretended to be annoyed.  “But if you ever do feel like talking-”

“You’ll be the last person I go to,” he affirmed, standing up and turning to face Vega, mildly irritated - although he rolled his eyes and softened a little when he saw his face.  He lowered his voice.  “Thank you, Mochizuki.”

Vega almost choked.  “I’m- I’m sorry, what was that?  I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Alright, fair.”

He chuckled and turned to leave, pausing with his hand on the doorknob.

“Oh, and, mutt?”

Avarice raised his head.

“If I don’t see those test tubes on my desk in two days’ time, you’re dead.”

[number1salesman1997]

With those wings, it's easier for you to throw things at people! Rain terror from above! Bombard innocents with random assorted objects! Even screech like a falcon and swoop down onto soon-to-be terrified citizens! Rule the skies like the mighty dragon you are! Use too many exclamation marks for no reason at all!

Spamton reads through this message, giving his newly fully functional wings an increasingly powerful flap with each sentence he reads. His eyes flash, flipping colors back and forth wildly, his head spinning and gouting steam.

"YOU R-R_REeALLY [[good thinkin Lincoln]] I COULD [[rules and TOS]] THE-THE SKIES?? [[Terror from above]]...!" He repeats, his wings gusting the wind around him and lifting himself off the ground a few feet in excitement at the possibilities, fueled by the powerful stroke to his ego, "A [[mighty dragon]]>!!¡! YEAH...YEAH! YEAH!!!!!!!1!!!2!"

They're RIGHT! HE IS!! HE COULD!!! His head is just swarming with ideas now. Why had he not even considered before how much power even the simple ability of flight would bring him? He IS a mighty dragon isn't he? A great soaring leviathan on steely wings! The angel of justice! The king of the heavens of the dark!

ENOUGH with sitting around feeling sorry for himself for all he can't yet do! That's a problem he's already well on his way to solving anyway. He can already taste that power within his grasp.

And what power he already has!!!

Spamton lets out a loud cackle and launches himself up into the air, hovering above the town as he screeches out a loud boast just to remind himself of how powerful he truly is:

"I AM STRONG...STRONG! STROo0ONG!!!

...MY ARMOR IS LIEK [[tenfold tenfold tenfold tenfold tenfold tenfold tenfold tenfold tenfold tenfold]] SHIELDS...MY T33TH ARE LIKE [[the sword of Damocles]], MY CLAW'S, [[kosher dill]] SPEARS!!1 THE SHOCK OF MY TAIL [[pending construction]] A THUNDERBOLT [[charger cable 4.99]]!!!! MY WINGS... A HURRICANE!!!!!¡!!! AND MY BREATH...

[[D E A T H]]!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He unfurls the full span of his wings behind him and, posed like an angel descending from heaven, unleashes a rain of projectiles onto the town below, ensuring each and every house, shop, and building, even the castle, is peppered in sharp little 2D versions of his face like so many throwing knives. Their damage is extremely minimal, but his message is made clear.

Spamton may not be 'evil' anymore, he may not be the ruler of this town, and he may not be able to change that fact under penalty of Kris, but he will make himself impossible to ignore.

He is the big shot around town. And he demands your attention and respect.

[animetrashlord-007]

AHS ~ Storm

Word Count;; 1.6k

Genre;; Humour, Suggestive

Pairing;; Kisame x Reader

Published;; 2017-10-22

My Masterlist

Akatsuki Halloween Special Masterlist

   You slammed the car door shut, earning a startled glance from the man waiting in the driver’s seat. After a long moment of staring ahead at the many vehicles passing by, your anger subsided enough to face your companion. He laughed and started the engine, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as the car pulled out of the gas station’s lot. With an exaggerated huff, you rolled your eyes and shuffled in your seat, getting comfortable for the ride home.

   “Calmed down yet?”

   “Piss off, Kisame.”

   “It’s just because they think you’re so cute.”

   “I’m not cute and I don’t want creeps looking at me!”

   “You’re a showstopper. Even a gentleman like me can’t take my eyes off you.”

   “You’re not helping!”

   “Alright, alright, no need to turn your wrath onto little ol’ me.” He threw one hand up in mock defeat but his voice held nothing but amusement, an airy laugh on his lips as he continued his teasing, “As they say, Hell hath no fury like-”

   “Hah! I’ll show you fury!”

   “Just when I was going to offer to go back and kick some ass for you. It might be more effective just to set you loose on them.”

   “You should be more worried about yourself at this point, buddy.”

   The playful bickering continued even when the car came to a halt, stuck amidst a traffic jam. This type of fun atmosphere was second nature when it came to Kisame. You two had known each other for so long that ruthless teasing and sarcastic remarks were the only acceptable form of greeting. It was just another Saturday afternoon, just a normal conversation between friends. Friends. That was the part that left you feeling empty. You wanted to be more than friends - you had since college - but whenever you were single, he wasn’t. It was always bad timing (at least that’s what you had told yourself) yet here you both were, single and ready to mingle but, for some reason, not dating each other. It had caused you many restless nights.

   “Earth to the airhead, we were having a conversation here,” he sighed, frowning as he gazed at you from the corner of his eyes. “What’s wrong? Am I boring you?”

   “It’s nothing. Sorry I zoned out.”

   “Come on, I know you. Don’t lie to me,” he whispered just loud enough to be heard above the hum of the hundreds of engines purring around us as we all waited for the congestion to ease up and traffic to flow unhindered once more.

   “I’m just… conflicted. I have all these emotions brewing in me. There’s a storm raging within and it’s uncontrollable and insatiable and terrifying and I’ve become overwhelmed by it! There’s something, or rather, someone I want but I shouldn’t pursue. It just…” you trailed off, frustration ebbing away at your sensibility, urging you to throw caution to the wind. “It just isn’t fair, Kisame!”

   “What do you want? Tell me, maybe I can help,” he smiled, his tone as kind and gentle as always.

   “We’ve known each other a long time, yeah?”

   “Duh.”

   “Then-” you turned in your seat to face him, “-why haven’t you ever made a move on me?”

   He blinked at you twice, the words not computing in his mind, before chuckling, the sound deep and hearty, “You’re hilarious. I thought you were being serious.”

   “Am I not making my intentions obvious enough? Are you not picking up what I’m putting down?”

   “Wait, you’re not joking?”

   “I’m cute and sweet and friendly in public, just as anyone would want. Modest, honest, intelligent… and I’m interesting! Not to mention, my body is amazing! Remember that time you walked in on me changing? I looked sexy as all hell, right?!”

   “I, uh, I don’t- no, I haven’t- it’s not, not-”

   “Maybe I’m not your type. I’ve never felt that I was much different from the people you've dated, though,” you mumbled, your fingers scratching your collarbone as you continued, ignoring his flabbergasted stammering and incoherent stuttering, “It could be in the little things, I suppose. As roommates, you already have a sense of who I truly am, not the facade I present to strangers. That would make sense. That’s where most of my relationships end, now that I’m thinking about it.”

   “Don’t be so rough on yourself!” He managed to calm his racing thoughts long enough to shout the words, his sudden exclamation reminding you of a drunk phone call you had with his last ex.

   “From what I’ve been told, we would be sexually compatible. You know, I’m a bit of a freak in the sheets, an absolute sinner, but so are you!”

   “What?!”

   “Now, I’m not one to bow down and accept commands from just anyone, but I think I can manage if it’s you… I’d have no objections submitting to you. Well, not many. I mean, just look at you and that body of yours. You could toss me down on the bed and tell me to undress and I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d say, ‘yes, sir, and the panties too?’ You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined it. Those big hands of yours exploring my body, groping my breasts and pinching my nipples until I whimper. Your mouth on my body as you nip and suck on my skin a little too harshly, leaving bruises and marking my body as yours,” you murmured, your eyes distant as you recounted your fantasies, your fingertips massaging the soft flesh of your inner thigh absentmindedly. “Just thinking about it makes me wet and I haven’t even gotten to the sex yet.”

   Lost in your own dream world, you didn't realise how red Kisame had gotten. His eyes were trained on the road, awaiting even the slightest movement in hopes of escaping the traffic jam. His silent prayers went unanswered; they weren’t making it home any time soon and that sweet rush of burning desire that settled in his groin and begged for acknowledgement would have to be ignored to the best of his abilities. He scrunched his nose and closed his eyes in concentration, hands turning pale as he gripped the steering wheel with a little too much force. It wasn’t until you heard him muttering under his breath that you snapped back to reality.

   “Sorry. I made you uncomfortable.”

   “That’s… that’s not it. I’ve just never imagined you as the submissive type.” As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened and a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.

   A mischievous grin crossed your features as you leaned over and propped your elbows onto the middle console armrest, the tension in the car rising as you purred, “Oh? So you’ve thought about me that way before. Is that how I’m different from the others? You’re willing to switch?”

   He avoided your prying gaze, his voice shaking as he asked, “What do you mean?”

   You heard his breath catch in his throat as you leaned in closer, your tongue dancing across your lips as you whispered into his ear, “Have you ever wondered what I looked like in leather with a whip in one hand and handcuffs in the other? Or maybe you like the more subtle domination... a fancy business suit and six inch heels with a no-bullshit attitude, my voice dictating your every movement. Would you like to see me take charge, to command you? Want me to call you a good boy?”

   “It seems the traffic is clearing up ahead, we should be able to move soon!”

   “No, it’s not.”

   “Sure it is!”

   “Have you ever had sex in a car, Kisame?”

   “We’ll be home in no time!”

   “Answer me,” your eyes darkened as your tone dropped, your words cold. “Answer me now, Kisame.”

   “No, I, uh, haven’t. It isn’t safe to, you know, do it while you’re driving. Pretty sure it’s illegal even when you’re parked, so that’s definitely a bad-”

   “Stop talking.” Your words were sharp enough to stop him mid-sentence, his blush deepening as he witnessed the sweet girl he knew transform into the woman he spent too many nights lusting over. “Touch yourself.”

   Objections rested on the tip of his tongue, threatening to challenge your authority, before he decided against speaking. Old habits die hard but he wasn’t going to risk receiving a punishment, not when in clear view of the many other drivers parked and waiting to continue their commute.

   He hadn’t expected you to do this inside of the car, though he wasn’t complaining. He couldn’t deny that he had wondered about this side of you ever since his ex spilled the beans after that drunken phone call. You were so happy-go-lucky so the idea of some wild, sadist side seemed farfetched, but he couldn’t shake it from his mind. Now the chance to experience it firsthand had arrived and he found himself growing weaker, the temptation overwhelming him. He had never thought of himself as a masochist, never thought he would submit to anyone, but today was a day of surprises.

   Taking a deep breath, he stared into your eyes, watching as they softened. Sensing your resolve wavering, he unzipped his pants and pulled them down, exposing his hardening length beneath his tight boxer-briefs. Your gaze was heavy with approval and appreciation, and he felt like a teenaged boy once more as he averted his eyes, his face bright crimson. Slipping his hand under the soft cloth, he began to stroke himself until a sudden sting blossomed across the back of his hand.

   “Not yet. Do it over the top of the boxers and do it slower until I say otherwise-” His eyes snapped open as your delicate hand gripped his chin, forcing him to face you once more, “-and don’t you dare look away. I want to watch you crumble before me.”

[lady-therion]

Lost With You: Part 4 [Nessian]

Summary: Cassian and Nesta struggle to fix all the broken pieces between them.

(Post ACOFAS. Spoilers. Slight NSFW).)

A/N: At long last, we’ve reached the end. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

   It’s easy to break things. Putting them back together? That’s harder.

   Cassian knows this better than anyone. It is one of the first lessons of combat. The second is that war is only the beginning. Treatises may signed. Accords may be struck. But to rebuild a new world in the wake of the old…

   Has anyone ever done such a thing without bloodshed, without tears, without loss? 

   His thoughts lead him to Nesta—always Nesta. The most impossible mortal he has ever met. If anyone can alight the universe, it would be her. He knows it deep in his bones. 

   He just wishes she did too. 

*** 

   Nesta wakes first. 

   Through her half-dead haze, she watches Cassian sleep beside her. His breaths are steady and his heartbeat is strong. She can feel it through his tunic, just as she can feel the simmering heat of his body.

   He cradles her in the circle of his arms, his wings an even warmer shroud, and it fills her with both reassurance and unease. There is a feeling that she’s right where she’s meant to be. But there is also a feeling that whatever happens after is out of her control. 

    Perhaps she doesn’t need control anymore. Perhaps she just needs to let go, as she did in the park when they held one another.

    She blinks and memories return in pieces. She remembers the storm and the crack of the earth, like bones splitting. She remembers the silver-white fire and a red bolt of power, rending apart the seams of the sky. She remembers Cassian most of all. The way he called for her. Desperate. Beyond desperate. It was almost mad—the way he chased after her in the dark.

    He is always chasing after her…

    She drinks in his face. Asleep, he looks boyish. Almost sweet. His lashes are thick and his lips, when not curled back in arrogance or swagger, look soft and plump. She imagines him pouting all the time as a child and the image almost makes her grin. This is what he would be, she thinks, if he was not raised in the killing fields. 

   Eventually, he stirs. “Nesta? Are you—?” 

   “You terrify me,” she says.

    This is how Nesta is. She cuts to the heart of things, swift and without warning. Her sisters often compare her to a blade freshly forged or a pillar of steel, daunting and unmovable. Perhaps there is something to that. Still, the thought sparks a pang in her chest. All she excels at is wounding. But she knows nothing else, except to move forward and strike. 

    Cassian raises a brow. The scarred one. The urge to press her lips to it is unbearable and she hopes he cannot sense it. Or if he does, she hopes he will not embarrass her over it. 

    “I terrify you?” he says, finally. 

     Relief sets into her shoulders. Unlike most people she meets, Cassian is used to counterattacks. He does them well. Years of training and discipline have made him formidable. There are enemies who quake at the sound of his name. But she will never quake when he draws near. At least, never in that way. 

     “You terrify me more than anything,” she says.

      He thinks on this. Then reaches for a strand of her hair, a curl that wound itself around her ear. He does it slowly, so that she has time to say no. When she doesn’t, he rubs it gently in between his fingers—fingers that have spilled blood.  

     “You aren’t the first to lay siege to the walls I’ve built,” she says. “I’ve built them carefully, brick by brick. Iron, ice, steel. But somehow, you found a way. A hole. A chink. A weakness. I keep trying to think about when it first happened. If I had to go back to the beginning, it would be that night.” 

     The night at her father’s house. He stills. “I’m not proud of what I did. How I acted.” 

     “Likewise.” She draws a breath. “I used to feel things all the time. Every passion, a death sentence. Then one day, I didn’t feel anything at all. That is until…” 

     She doesn’t need to say any more than that. 

     He shifts and places her head beneath his chin. Her nose is pressed against his collarbone and she can see the whorls of his tattoos. She is very thankful he cannot see her. 

    “I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything,” he says. 

    “I am,” she says. “All the time. I just don’t cower.” 

     He laughs and it warms her better than the hearth. “That is very Illyrian of you.” 

     “Is that a compliment?” 

     She coughs before he can answer, seawater still churning in her lungs. There are other nuisances. Her head spins if she moves too quickly and all her muscles ache as if she has been squeezed through a sieve. Cassian touches her forehead, his eyes drawn with sharp concern. There is a deep furrow there, between his brows, that she hasn’t really noticed before. She does not have a fever, or at least she doesn’t think so. But he isn’t pleased by whatever he sees. So he fusses, rising from the pallet to fetch her draughts and medicines. Even his wings are twitching in agitation. It’s both awful and endearing. 

    “I know you don’t like it,” he says as he watches her drain her tea. “Being taken care of.” 

    “It’s...tolerable when you do it.” 

     “Just tolerable?” 

      “It’s far better than when I had to do it myself.” She sets the cup aside. “Did you know I couldn’t bathe in a tub for months after the Cauldron? I had to use buckets. Lighting fires are hard for me too. It’s the sound…” The sound of necks snapping. Her father’s dead eyes staring at her. 

      Shocked silence. “What?” 

      His exclamation surprises her. Didn’t Feyre tell him? Or Morrigan? 

     “Surely,” she began, “You had some idea? The Inner Circle…they did not say anything?” 

     He flinches. Confusion clouds his thunderous expression. “I…they...”

     Ah. Well. Nesta waits to feel smug or righteous. Her old self would have relished it, twisted the knife deeper. It seems the pedestal you set them on is not so golden after all. There is a temptation to say it; she cannot deny that. To fling those cruel words at him and watch him recoil. But it fades as it soon it crosses her mind, like a shadow of a cloud passing over a winter field. What good would it do to hurt him so? What good would it do to shatter this fragile peace between them? 

     Cassian looks like he might be ill himself. He keeps opening his mouth, struggling to form words. But there are none. Perhaps there never could be. His loyalty to his family is deeply rooted and immutable. No matter what he feels for her, he will never turn his back on his family. She envies him a little for that. Had she ever pledged her life to anything with such devotion? Even her ties to her own sisters have their limits.

    Then she remembers lying over his body at the end of all things. 

    Together…

     She surprises herself when she takes his calloused hand in hers. “I heard you. In the sea. I could...feel you.” She rubs her thumb across his palm, feeling the ridge of a scar there, as though he had fended off another sword by holding it. It’s likely he had. She snorts. “You went after me again. The ever gallant brute.” There’s no sting in what she says. It’s a jest, but it’s also a truth. “You really can’t stay away, can you?   

    “No,” he says, and he closes his palm over hers. “I really can’t. Even if you terrify me too.” 

    “Oh?” 

    “I’m Illyrian,” he says. “So I don’t cower, either.” 

    They sat, facing one another, saying nothing. 

    They are waiting. As always, Nesta strikes first. 

     She kisses him, hard and fierce. It’s without finesse; raw and eager. There is a pause in which Cassian is too stunned to react. “Wait,” he tries to say. “Wait. Should you...should we even…?” 

     “Yes,” she says, though it comes out like a gasp. “Yes, we should.” 

     He does not look convinced, but also does not resist when she rolls him beneath her. She grips his wrists to steady herself. There is less pain and dizziness than before and she is still recovering and there is so, so much more to be said between them. An ocean of atonement and explanations.

     But then, there is also this. And though they could both live on for centuries, moments like this seem to be far and few between. “I would like to be with you,” she said, leaning forward, mouth coaxing his open. “Without the threat of dying for once.” 

     A flush appears on Cassian’s cheeks. He is hot and shivering all over. To have such power over him is heady and makes her feel brave, daring. Like she can do anything. But there is also a reluctance in him, as palpable as a chain. He is keeping himself back.

    “What is it?”  

     He turns his face away, making a sound like choking. Then, she realizes. “You’re not like the others I’ve...,” she says. “I would not discard you. Or regret you. I would not leave you behind. Ever.”  

     She says this with fire, with conviction, as though she is swearing an oath. She watches him intently as the doubt clears from his eyes. But still, he lies prone beneath her. Unsure of what to do next. Could she ever have imagined such a thing? The General Commander of the Night Court Armies...unsettled, hesitant? And yes, she sees it now: shy. 

    So she does something on instinct, and bares her throat to him. 

    His pupils grow wide and dark. She is giving her permission. But she is also rectifying a mistake—the last time he had kissed her throat at her father’s house, the gesture did not end well. This time, she thinks, it can be different. 

    Cassian seems to agree. Something unleashes in him and he mouths at her there, sucking and kissing and marking. She feels the points of his teeth. Gentle and insistent and oh so very delicious. She feels his hands—their hands—running over each other as they pull apart their clothes. There is a driving need to get closer, to feel skin on skin.

    “Why there?” she asks, her breath hitching. “Why always that?” 

    He nips at the crook of her neck, then soothes it with his tongue. “This,” he says, his voice heavy. “This is where I would claim you if…” 

    “If?” 

    He does not look at her. Instead he stops, then buries his head against her shoulder. “If,” is all he answers. It’s all she needs to know. 

    Then, suddenly, a tug. A thread from her rib to his, pulling taut. It did not snap, but it made itself undeniable. They say each other’s names, over and over and over again as they explore each other half-dressed and sweating. They are senseless in one another now. She is fascinated by his hardness, by the way he croons and cries and shakes when she puts her lips around him. She does the same when he puts his lips...there, drinking her down as if she were the finest of wines. Nesta has taken her share of pleasures before. But this is something different. This is a revelation. A dawning.

   “We should eat,” he says, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He kisses her and it is all she can do to not take him inside. To feel his fullness rock within her.

    “I would feast on you instead,” she said. 

    “I have no doubt,” he says. Despite their arousal, they are tired and coiled around each other. Bedclothes strewn everywhere. “But when I take you...and when you take me...I hope to honor you by bringing you some place nicer than this. Where there’s a featherbed and silk sheets and no one else to bother us about some armageddon.” 

    “Hm. That would be nice.” 

     He hums into her hair, now wild and tangled and unbound. “We’ll take it slow.” 

    “Slow is nice too,” she says.

     A pause, and then a whisper: “Come with me. Come with me to the Illyrian mountains.”  

     She knows what he is really asking and is almost too overwhelmed to speak. She can feel that ever-present tug, growing stronger and more absolute with every shared moment. If she jumps from this precipice, she can never go back. 

    But what, really, does she have to go back to? 

    “I would like to spend more time with you,” says Cassian, “Knowing you in this life, finding you in this life, and losing myself in you in this life.” 

    Tears fall. Both hers and his. She holds his knuckles to her lips and kisses them. Something in her catches, then releases. 

    “When do we leave?” 

***

Thank you for reading, my loves.

Tagging these baes: @missing-merlin, @rosehallshadowsinger, @queen-archeron , @mariamuses, @jemma-nessian-and-elriel, @illyrianbeauty, @queenofillea1, @sunsummoner,  @stardustsroses, @urbisie, @hikari274, @dreaming-of-bohemian-nights, @ashlightgrayson, @my-fan-side, @ame233, @vicisbookishblog, @thebitchupstairs, @sannelovesreading, @wearestarseternal, @moonbeammadness, @wolffrising, @a-trifling-matter , @writer-reader-traveller, @tntwme , @fucking-winchester-trash,  @voiceoftheroses, @verifiefangirl, @photofeesh, @maddieimhot, @awesomethreedragons, @fantasy-faes, @mydarlingwhitethorn, @thenameisjaida-blog, @alexisnm95, @leulivy, @managingmischief007, @goldbooksblack, @hashtolanashoba, @wewhohavefailed, @highladyjel, @nerdperson524, @sarcasticsashimi, @tswaney17, @acourtofrosesandbooks, @beelezebub, @rowanismybae, @starlightheir, @city-of-fae, @arwenbk3, @aelins-fire-queen, @azriels-forgotten-shadow, @abillionlittlepieces, @rairrai, @aclass-trash, @cf-mist-and-fury, @maastrash @gabi422, @trmblinghnds, @tea-drinker25, @court-of-fandoms-and-art, @soitsgorgeous, @fireheart-queen-of-ships, @xinyourdreamsx,  @feyaelin-rowsand, @heleneisthehottest-torch, @dreamerforever-5, @mightymorphingayagenda, @theogvodkaaunt, @sjmsstuff, @illyrian-bookworm, @empress-ofbloodshed, @lordof-bloodshed, @faequeenaelin, @secret-lil-rendez-vous, @catwomancabello

If you’d like to be tagged, untagged, or if I forgot to add you because I’m silly, drop me an ask!

Other chapters be found in the Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3

[sergeanttpoliteness]

idk if you’re taking requests or anything, if you aren’t ignore this, but if you are I would die for a classic, upside down spider-man kiss with the loml spider-noir. poor guy would probably be very surprised at first but suddenly its his favorite thing to do. thanks I love you and your work!!

AND➝ mayhaps…. a first kiss with noir? if u have time! 

sorry for answering so late nonnies! i feel so bad about that, i promise i wasn’t ignoring y’all. same goes to the few other requests i have in my inbox right now! 

——-

➹ inconvenient feelings➹ (spider-noir x reader)

word count: 2.5k

a/n: can you tell i had no idea what to call this lol. i didn’t edit either bc… oof. i’ve been struggling a lot with writer’s block (nothing new, honestly lmaoo) lately and someone close to me recently passed away and i haven’t quite… been able to wrap my head around it?? i don’t know, not to be a little bitch but this week consisted of a lot of school stuff, emotions, and anxiety so thanks @ the people who requested this bc i needed to write some wholesome stuff. also thx at my bestie for helping me out w ideas, ily broz. anyway, there’s some minimum ripeter x reader although it’s solely platonic! hope you all have a lovely week (:

taglist: @marvelousmorales

It’s not convenient. Convenient was that one person with the pretty smile whose eyes seemed to possess an affinity to him that one time at a jazz club, or the singer with the honey voice and smooth runs more soothing than the late night singing of a mother to her child. A poor goon who smooched his fist whilst it collided with his face could even fit the designation, really— but what mattered, the simple component they shared, was that all three were just a speck in a sea with no end; an eternal blue void with only more possibilities hiding in the pitch-black depths neither he nor the light’s fingertips could touch. They were safe. Uncomplicated.

Peter stared out the window, at a completely distinct world, far from a city in a vintage film: the ongoing the mechanical song of speeding cars, the newer and taller lit up buildings, the blinking golden lights, identical to a field of a thousand miniscule suns. This was not convenient. It’s… so different— like day and night, water and fire. This meant to swim out of the ocean he belonged to and reach for a foreign land, to run after a mere drop of water when a whole fucking body existed behind him. It’s not safe. It’s complicated.

Your sleepy eyes roamed the same page for the fifth time with no precise purpose, more disoriented than a newcomer in a large city until they traveled and spotted their true destination: Peter’s own sight deeply engulfed in the view outside, the twisting of his brows every now and then filling your mind with wonder and curiosity at what could possibly be running through that brain of his. You could’ve continued with the ogling like the damn creep you were (seriously, you gotta stop it with that, you told yourself), but you slipped and made a mistake— the most laughably absurd misstep— worse than trying to take a picture of a stranger and then, to your utmost terror, the flash going off— which wouldn’t have occurred in the first place if you’d paid your electricity bills on time. Your apartment wouldn’t have been plunged into darkness, and you wouldn’t have, without thinking, your head clearly not in its right place at the moment, slightly tilted your phone and directed your phone’s flashlight right at the side of his face. You quickly pulled the beam of light away, as if that would work; however, his gaze drifted to you. “Sorry.” You blurted out, acting casual and pretending to focus on the journal on your lap. “You were so quiet, I thought you had fallen asleep.” You lied.

“No, I’m awake.” He said, furrowing his brows to himself— of course you already knew that. You mumbled a small ‘good’, holding the notebook close to your face, like a child staring through the window of a pet shop at some puppies, shining the ‘smartphone’, he’d learned, over the pages. You bit your lip, your shoulders shaking with your surfacing laughter.

“Oh, man, this one’s so dumb.” You snickered before running your finger up the paper, clearing your throat. “October 8th, 1999. Today I came back from my camping trip with Peter, Ben, and May. We ate a lot of s'mores— Uncle Ben makes the best! We also told some scary ghost stories, and I even made Pete scream. It was awesome. You will not believe what happened!” You read the last sentence with a dramatic tone, similar to that of a terrible news headline from a sketchy website, making yourself more comfortable on the L shaped bench seat and leaning into Peter’s side.

Peter tensed at first, but slowly, he pushed himself to relax after you rested your head on his shoulder, a quiet voice in the back of his head speaking against his desires, echoing the terrifying thought that he could get used to this. “I don’t know, enlighten me: what happened?” He asked, amused. You lifted your finger, eyebrows raising gradually, building up the suspense. He waited, and waited, and waited, until, finally—

“I have to go eat dinner. I’ll tell you later.” You finished with an unhumorous voice and a poker face. Yet again, he awaited in silence, interested. Man, you took this suspense thing quite seriously— wait.

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?!” He looked down at you and you nodded. “Oh, c'mon! You just gonna leave the reader hanging like that?”

You shrugged, wearing a shit-eating grin, loving his genuine disappointment as you flicked the page. “Sometimes that’s just the way it is.”

“Oh, what malarkey!” He laughed softly. You crinkled your nose— malarkey. What a dork.

You resumed scanning the barely discernible handwriting, the corner of your mouth tugging upwards. “Alright, this one does have an ending.” You sat up, rolling your shoulders back only to go back to your position of hunching over the journal. “April 3rd, 2000. I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long, I forgot I had this journal. Something crazy happened.”

“The end.”

“Shut up.” You shushed him, shaking your head. “'I hung out with Peter today. We rode our bikes, had a race down the hill near my house, and I also got a butterfly to land on my finger. Man, I love insects!’ …and I still do.” You smiled and he glanced down at you, his mouth twitching. A peculiar glow in his chest grew, fueled him after he recognized that you felt comfortable enough to share this part of you with him; an insight on the stories that carved you into the person that you were today, the being that made every classy, pearly white grin and musical prodigy so boring, so undesirable.

You shuffled on your bum to turn and face Peter, continuing, “We came back home to play some more. We were sitting in front of the TV when, suddenly, he said my name, and like a normal person would, I looked at him…” You inclined forward, voice quieting, looking up at him.

“You won’t believe what happened.”

His eyes darted heavenward and he groaned. “Oh, lord.”

“He kissed me!” You cried out, with as much emotion that past you spilled onto the paper with the five exclamation marks and the three times you underlined the sentence. You slammed the notebook shut and let out a strangled clamor. “I still remember it very clearly. It was just a peck, but he fucking… smashed his mouth into mine, it hurt so much and my lip started bleeding and everything.” You giggled, abashed, rubbing your eyes.

Peter’s brows rose with surprise, pondering how an alternate seven-year-old version of him from another universe had more balls than him. He had to admit, though, the scene playing in his head was more entertaining than unfortunate. “And what’d you do?” He questioned, his mouth twitching.

“He was just curious and wanted to see what kissing someone was like, so we promised we wouldn’t talk about it ever again. He was so embarrassed, though, and felt so bad for making me bleed that he almost started crying.” You recalled, chuckling as you eyed the cursed diary one last time and placed it beside you. “What an idiot. I miss him.” You sighed, peering up at him, grinning. “What was your first kiss like, huh?”

It was comical, almost, the raging blush that trickled his face, the greyish tint screaming for the world’s attention. It was just a Peter Parker thing, you guessed: blushing like there was no tomorrow. “Uh, my first kiss?” You nodded. “Well… it happened when I was eighteen.”

You put the side of your head against the wall, eyes going round, your inquisitiveness close to that of a kid listening to a grandparent’s story. “Was it romantic?” You wanted to know everything: who the person was, the place, the context. Did he enjoy it? Did he make the move? And if so, then was there a chance that, maybe…

Unlike you, he did not have much interest in the subject; he stuttered, searching for a way to move on from the memory before he imploded. “I don’t, I don’t think anyone’s first kiss is romantic.”

You squinted at him, noticing his obvious attempt at dodging the question, but chose to spare him. Just for a few milliseconds, though. “Have you ever had… a perfect kiss?” You said, unsure of how to word such a silly question. He shook his head and you hummed, silently taking in a quick breath, your gaze moving to your right. “Have you thought about what you want it to be like?”

Should he say it? He wanted to. He really did. But he couldn’t, even if his eyes almost flickered down to your lips. “Who thinks about that?” He muttered. Perhaps he had. Perhaps he’d been guilty of having the thought slither into his mind once or twice— possibly more than just that. Perhaps it’d pestered his mind as of recent, like that damn small scratch on his glasses that won’t go away no matter how many times he tried to wipe it away as if that would even help. Perhaps it returned as you unconsciously licked your lips and raised your shoulder, a bashful grin growing on your face.

“I have, when I’m bored. An upside down kiss with a cute guy.” You admitted, your eyes narrowing afterward, only just now realizing how bizarre the idea was once you said it aloud. Your impatience throbbed in your head so badly you didn’t mind the embarrassment as much, though. You really were doing this, huh? “I think I found the cute guy.” You hinted, your heartbeat pounding in your throat.

He understood the insinuation, of course he did. But what better way to run from your feelings than close his trembling hand into a fist, pretend to be clueless, and act like an idiot?

“Who’s the lucky fella?”

Didn’t think he was so stupid, you grumbled in your head, masking your faint irritation. You pressed your lips together, sight on your cushions. “Someone I like quite a lot.” You vaguely said, voice distant. “Though I don’t think you’d understand— you’re not one to fall in love, no?”

It was half a joke but half a real question, one with solely one right answer you yearned to hear from him if you got lucky enough. Peter blinked nervously, fear burning in his stomach, clenching his insides as his tongue dared to break free from his control, from his cowardly spell. “Lately I’ve had someone in mind.” He breathed out, close to breaking out in a sweat. He watched how your eyes dimly lit up, hesitance impeding the light from fully glowing.

“Really? And who is this ‘someone’?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Tell me.”

“Not now.” He gulped. You pouted, begging with your eyes. “N-no.”

“Are you ever gonna make a move?”

Peter drew his lower lip between his teeth, feeling dizzy just by thinking about it; the downfall of the relationship once the distance became too much, once the malaise with no cure finally rotted the adoration, infested the heart, decayed it. “No.” Same answer. Same bedeviled word that boomed in his head whenever his emotions were close to getting the best of him.

“Why haven’t you done it yet?” You whispered, not caring anymore about how obvious you were

being. He frowned. Why hadn’t he done it yet?

“I don’t know if I should.”

“Why not?”

Why not? His own thoughts repeated, betraying him. The confusion unlatched the cage, released all the questions and doubts about his reasons and dread. They crowded his brain, rang in his ears. “It’s… it’d be too hard to keep the relationship alive.” He retold more to himself and the storm of interrogations than you.

Your brows snapped together, your own fear knocking on the door again. “Is it not worth it to try, though?” It’s what you’d told yourself: the antidote to unfreeze your limbs and wave goodbye at the concern hanging in there, because… was it not?

In the overwhelming haziness, he finally looked at you. It’s what he needed to come upon a realization, a truth he knew all along but crumbled and threw away. Everything hushed, one single, final phrase in the quiet of it all.

Convenient wasn’t what he wanted.

“It is.” He said under his breath.

You heard him, and your eyes twinkled. “Well, then make the move.”

He couldn’t help it anymore. His eyes found your lips.

“I will.”

You stared at each other for a moment, anticipation never more warming than right then as it fluttered in your chest. To your biggest disappointment, he broke eye contact and stood up. “Close your eyes for a moment.” He ordered, his face indistinguishable in the dark now that he was further away.

“Creepy, but okay.” You huffed, your eyelids fluttering shut. “You better not be running away right now, you’d break my poor ol’ heart.”

“Don’t worry, that’s not the case.” You heard him say. You trusted him, which could’ve been a terrible choice. The total silence that followed didn’t put you to ease at all, honestly. Maybe you annoyed him so much with your questions that he was about to murder you, and if that’s what was happening, you were quite sad, to say the least.

Your eyelids were itching to open and you lifted a brow, straining your ears to distinguish any sign of his presence. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re not gonna believe what’s about to happen.”

You snorted at his reference, but his voice was… oddly close. You opened your eyes, and— “Oh, fuck!” You yelped and jumped back in your seat. Damn right you weren’t gonna believe what was about to happen, for Peter dangled from the ceiling right in front of you, upside down.

“Is it too much of a strange idea? I was going to simply stick to the ceiling upside down, but then I thought… that’d be… worse.” He clumsily explained. You looked up at the web he hung from, laughing in disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing?” You repeated, but you weren’t mad— your large smile backed that up. You couldn’t figure out if it was a blush creeping up his face or if it was from the fact that he was upside down. Both, maybe.

“I’m making a move.”

You giggled, glad you confessed what you considered to be a perfect type of kiss to him or else you wouldn’t had witnessed how absolutely ridiculous he looked right now. “So you’re willing to help me check 'kissing someone upside down’ off my bucket list?” You smirked.

He grinned. “It would be my pleasure.”

You bit your lip, placing both hands on his head. “Alright, then.“ 

You leaned forward, the tip of your nose brushing against his chin. You softly kissed the area below his bottom lip to tease him, but he didn’t want to wait any longer. Not after so long. Quickly, he enclosed your own bottom lip with his mouth, lastly fully aware that inconvenient truly was magnificent.

[fellmother-archive]

{Robin’s Mother}

{ ooc. I promised that I would do this, and here it is! I’ve torn down every, single line of Validar’s that is applicable to Robin’s mother, and explained how that reveals things about her/her past/if she is still alive. For this, we will be focusing mainly on two quotes, but also a few others:

Validar, chapter 23 (English Version): “If your damnable mother hadn't been seized by weakness and fear... She betrayed us—stole you from your crib, and fled with you in the night! I know naught of your life thereafter; but all that matters is your return.”

Validar, chapter 23 (Japanese Version, translation): “And yet… your mother” “Seemed to be overcome with emotion upon your birth.” “She betrayed the Church, and with your infant self clutched to her chest, she gave us the slip.” 

     This entire analysis is over 2000 words, so let’s go-

“If your damnable mother hadn't been seized by weakness and fear...” “And yet… your mother”

     The choice of language here is critical to understanding how Validar feels about Robin’s mother during the events of awakening, as there are many ways that this sentence could have been phrased if it was trying to imply various sorts of opinions. First, the fact that Validar still refers to her as being Robin’s mother is an important use of words to note, since, in context to his character, this is not something he would use to refer to his wife if he felt she was not worthy of the title. He was born and raised in cult, taught that those who defect are nothing-- that they mean nothing-- so him still acknowledging the fact that she is the mother of the vessel points to him still having some sort of respect, for a lack of a better word, for the woman. If he thought of her as nothing, Validar could have used phrases such as ‘that woman’ or ‘that traitor’, but instead he does not refer to her using any sort of terms that would imply that she is lower than him. He still acknowledges that she is the mother of his child-- the mother of the vessel his cult has waited a thousand years for--, and this implies that Validar still holds some sort of respect for the woman; that, from the start, she was not nothing to him or a liability. Again, if she was, he would use harsher, and less empathetic language.

     It is also important to note that, in this context, the use of the word ‘damnable’ is most likely used to express frustration, as, at this point in time, it has been around twenty years since the day she fled with Robin-- twenty years he has been searching. The word ‘damnable’, in itself, is also used in reference to someone who has done something that is worth divine condemnation, which Robin’s mother has done by stealing the vessel, and running away with them.

     In the translation of Japanese version, it is also important to note that there is a pause in Validar’s words, which is often indicative of someone thinking, or slipping into thought, further pushing the idea that she was not ‘nothing’ to him-- not if the mere thought of her makes him take a moment to gather his thoughts and especially when it was Validar who brought up Robin’s mother; not Robin.

“If your damnable mother hadn't been seized by weakness and fear...”

     In the English version, Validar’s pause occurs at the end of the sentence, and, in this case, it implies that he is trailing off in thought, especially when one takes into consideration that he does not finish the sentence-- the man starts his train of thought concerning Robin’s mother that seems rather tame and thoughtful, and then, in the next line, suddenly gets more aggressive, as though he is telling himself to not think about what could have been; that it might possibly be painful for him to mull over. The fact that he still dares to even try thinking about her or what could have been implies that part of him still longs for her-- perhaps not in the most traditional sense, but still wishes that she could be by his side all the same. His use of language, this time, suggests that before her breakdown, he did not see her as being weak, or controlled by fear. 

     ‘Weakness’, in this case, is not used in the sense that someone is physically weak, but instead spiritually-- in cults, weakness is a term used to define those who stray from any of their sect’s doctrine, or to define moments when someone doubts their teachings. When Validar says that Robin’s mother was seized by weakness, he is saying that she suddenly started expressing doubts about the Grimleal’s beliefs, and it was this that struck fear into the woman, and ultimately forced her to flee. The use of the word ‘seize’ is also quite a specific one to use, as it bears connotations with forcefulness, or an act being against the person’s will, implying that part of him believes that she had no control-- that her moment of weakness forced her to defect; not his wife, herself. Whether this is his way of coping, or says that Robin’s mother truly was consumed by anxiety and fear to the point where the woman felt like she had no other option but to run is unclear, but both possibilities are highly likely, as a devout follower suddenly doubting themselves would be an extremely terrifying situation for the person.

“Seemed to be overcome with emotion upon your birth.”

     In this version, Validar’s words seem to imply that Robin’s mother had some sort of emotional breakdown upon their child’s birth that he was there to witness. Why he brings this up is unclear, however, judging by the words that follow it afterwards, perhaps it is that moment he blames for her eventually defecting from the Grimleal-- that it was a situation his mind deems worthy enough to remember, for whatever reason. It is also important to note that his calm tone when talking about her also carried through to this sentence as well, as shown by the use of a period over an exclamation mark. If we combine this with the English version, it suddenly paints a clearer picture-- Robin’s mother gives birth to their child, has an emotional breakdown that leads to her doubting the Grimleal’s beliefs, and the anxiety that stems from the thoughts arising from her breakdown is enough to strike an overwhelming amount of fear into her heart, and let the woman convince herself that the only way she can protect Robin is by running away from the cult, from everything altogether.

“She betrayed us—stole you from your crib, and fled with you in the night!”

“She betrayed the Church, and with your infant self clutched to her chest, she gave us the slip.”

     The one word in both of these lines that stands out the most is the use of the word ‘betrayal’. This implies that Robin’s mother was part of the Grimleal, and perhaps even a devout or high-ranking member. In fact, one can even go to say that it implies that Validar had some sort of trust in her before she decided to defect, as someone cannot betray something else if they were not truly part of it in the first place, or if the person affected by it did not have some sort of bond established with the traitor. This, when coupled with Validar’s line to Robin that degrades bonds, despite both Plegia and the Grimleal placing importance on such a concept, explains why he feels so bitter about the concept, as the one person he trusted, felt close to, and developed an intimate bond with turned her back on their one purpose-- on something she knew meant the world to him, and was his only goal in life, and that he thought she felt the same about. All of this points to the idea that Robin’s mother was someone he was close to, and perhaps even loved/still loves.      The quotes about bonds that I am referring to are:

1. “ A ludicrous idea, as you will know better than anyone soon enough... “ (in reference to Robin saying the bond they forged are stronger than Grima) 2. “Do you see now, Son/Daughter? Human bonds are leaves in the wind. They offer you nothing.” 3. “Humans are weak, pathetic creatures... Your "bonds" with them will bind you. You are destined for a greater purpose! The GREATEST purpose! You are to be a GOD!”

Notice the one word he uses to describe humans-- the same word he used to describe what consumed his wife? ‘Weak’. The last line is undoubtedly influenced by her and her actions, especially when one considers the bond she has with Robin, and the bond she has with Validar-- both bound them in one way or another, and ended up making them suffer even in the present day.

     Aside from that, these two lines also state that Robin’s mother defected with their child when they were a newborn, that her escape was successful-- she escaped alive--, and that it took place during some hour of the night. The use of the word ‘us’ in the English version could also be Validar’s attempt to bring himself out of his last train of thought, and emotionally manipulate Robin by saying that she betrayed the both of them; not just him. That she turned her back on both of their purposes and hers; not just his own.

“I know naught of your life thereafter; but all that matters is your return.”

     Finally, and perhaps most importantly, this line gives us one vital piece of information about Robin’s past, and Robin’s mother. Namely, after her escape, Validar never caught a glimpse of Robin or their mother ever again. He knows nothing about what happened after the night of her escape-- Validar did not know where they went, where they lived, where they travelled to; nothing. This line implies that he does not know anything. How does this prove that Robin’s mother is alive? If the Grimleal killed her, Validar would know, and he would have made a comment there. In fact, he would not have even brought up her betrayal, as that, in itself, is used as a means to try and manipulate Robin. He does not know where his wife is, or what she is doing, because the Grimleal never found her or Robin, and therefore could not give him a single report on them. If the Grimleal ever spotted her or her corpse, Validar would know, and this line would have been changed to reflect that they found her/her corpse, and that she died because she was wrong. If Grima killed Robin’s mother, Validar would have been told.      Robin’s mother is alive.

     This can also be proved even further-- the fact that Validar, twice, uses tactics that seem to express some sort of concern that Robin’s mother has fabricated the truth, and said that to Robin, with one instance occurring before Validar asks Robin to give themselves to Grima in chapter 13, and after.

“Well, well... Ha ha ha! Oh, I know you... Submit to me, and perhaps I might honor you with the truth!”

“You are of my flesh, but of sacred blood. You are to serve a glorious purpose! Search deep in your heart. You already know it is your destiny...”

“Why do you resist us, Robin? Your rightful place is at my side. Not wasting your time with these doomed servants of Naga! Give yourself to Grima! Let me join your strength to the fell dragon!”

If he knew she was dead, he would not have to resort to this, especially after realising Robin has amnesia. No-- most likely, he believes Robin’s mother is still involved in Robin’s life, and pulling strings from behind the scenes because she does not want to face him.

Another interesting point that also supports the idea that he has no idea about where his wife is and that he believes she is alive comes from a line Validar says in chapter 6:

“...Wait. Some of these actors do not belong on this stage...” 

“Ho ho! Can it be?! After years of searching... Tonight, fate truly piles the gifts at my feet!”

Of course, we know that he is sensing Robin, however his language is used for more than one person-- ‘some of these actors’ ; ‘gifts’-- which might imply that he initially thought both Robin and his wife were present. This could be further supported by the fact that Validar’s line when he does encounter Robin, as shown above, seems to be written as though he is surprised to see them, or at least to see them alone.

One could also argue that the purpose of showing Grima in chapter 13 might have been to try and smoke Robin’s mother out of hiding-- to make Robin go back to her, say that an identical version of them is there, and force her to step in.

Robin “He/She looks just like...me.”

??? “My name is Robin. Oh and that was YOUR name as well, wasn't it? What a strange coincidence...”

Validar “Why that IS rather curious, now that you mention it... What are the odds? In any case, I believe we are finished here. We will let you be on your w—”

“Heh heh heh. You have your father's courage, but your mother's judgment... Very well, pup. Come! Do your worst! Come at me with all you have!”

     Finally, while this line does not bring up anything new, it does reinforce the idea that Validar still thinks of her, and still does so in relation to himself-- a thought about her cannot exist without one about him or the Grimleal. In this line, he associates two traits with Robin-- one from himself, and one from his wife--, and could be inferred as Validar telling Robin to prove to him that his mother’s judgement was correct; to use the courage he inherited from Validar to do what his wife has not and show him that her judgement is correct. This is further supported by the final words Validar says before dying-- when he shows the smallest attempt at trying to understand Robin’s motives:

“Why... Why would you squander your birthright... Robin...my son/daughter...”

For those who did not want to read all of this, from Validar’s lines, we learn the following about Robin’s mother:

She must have been close to Validar

She was Grimleal

Most likely devout as well

Her decision to flee came after some sort of mental/emotional breakdown that Validar at least partially witnessed

Her escape took place at night, when Robin was a baby, and was successful

Validar never saw her or Robin after her escape

She was never found or killed by the Grimleal

She was not found or killed by Grima

Validar believes she is alive-- in fact, she is most likely still alive

She must have shared a deep bond with Validar-- enough to make him turn his back on the concept after her escape, despite Plegia and the Grimleal placing a lot of focus on such a thing

She still means something to Validar / Validar still has feelings for her }

[nanlicia]

He Found Hope Covered in Dirt Under a Blue Sky and in the Arms of a Boy

Ransom Week Day 3 - crisis - “a time of intense difficulty, trouble, or danger”

warning for description of past internalized homophobia

Samwell University Application for Fall 2012 (page 5)

Short Answer Prompt 2: Describe a time in your life when you experienced a crisis (750 word limit)

When I was twelve, my 7th grade homeroom teacher made us keep a daily journal. He promised he’d never read them, only check to make sure we had an entry for each day, so we were free to write about anything we wanted - and I did.

I wrote about homework I wasn’t looking forward to, community hockey league try-outs that I was excited about, idle middle school gossip, and on one occasion, I wrote about how scared I was that I might be gay.

I was twelve, so most of my understanding of what it meant to be gay came from what the other kids at school talked about. My parents didn’t really bring up topics like that at home, but on the rare occasion when it did come up they’d passively state that they don’t judge others for whom they choose to love, and then move the conversation along.

So most of what I heard - positive or negative - happened in hushed tones at the back of the gym, or in mocking tones in the middle of the locker room, kids throwing around slurs like they cared half as much as they should about the history of those words, kids who clearly didn’t really understand what they were saying.

And I guess I internalized a lot of that as a kid, because at twelve years old I wrote in my journal about how terrifying I found the idea of me possibly being gay to be.

The page the entry is on is worn, ripped in the corner, rough and wavy in the way paper gets after it’s been wet and then dried pressed onto other pieces of paper - I was crying when I wrote it. The tears of my internalized homophobia are forever stained in blue ink on the inside of a blue composition notebook, the page ragged and - until only two months ago - forgotten in a bin in the back of my bedroom closet.

That page is loud - there are exclamation marks all over it and run-on sentences and so many capital letters. But it’s funny, see, because the first time I actually kissed a boy, the world went quiet.

We were kneeling in the soil of his grandmother’s garden, protected from any outside influences by the high fence around their backyard. We were covered in dirt, worms, and leaves, and he was really cute, kinda shy, and incredibly sweet.

When he leaned in to kiss me, all I could see were his lips, and when he pressed them to mine, I could have sworn the earth stopped spinning so as to give us as much time as we needed to hold that single moment.

The air smelled like flowers and freshly cut grass, the breeze fluttered around us, and not a single atom in the universe made a sound that wasn’t the slide of our lips over each other.

Unless you’ve experienced it, I don’t think you can understand just how painful it can be to invalidate yourself, torment yourself with your own reality, suppress it to the point you literally forget it because your brain is trying to protect you from the things that most hurt your heart and soul.

It is absolute, utter hell.

But kissing that boy had my brain releasing every possible chemical that had been suppressed out of fear of the pain, and funnelling them through every possible positive interaction, like an apology.

Later, I’d figure out that bisexuality was a real thing, and I’d take some time to come to terms with it and feel confident applying it to myself. But two months ago, when I found that journal and flipped through it only to be slapped in the face with the discovery of a memory I hadn’t known I’d lost at any point, I didn’t think to care about whether that twelve year old boy had the label right or not, because all I wanted to do was reach back in time and hold that boy close and let him feel the freedom that came with knowing.

It saddens me that I can’t do that, that I can’t bend time to my will and give this boy the hope he so desperately needs. All I can be glad for is that someday he’ll get his apology, and on that day, he’ll finally be happy.

[dynamic-equilibrium]

Walk Into the dark

(Brief context, I’m in medical school now.  This is a piece I wrote for a session on Death and Dying.  I hope you like it.)

If you asked me on a given day what I think about death, my response would likely be that I don’t

Which isn’t to say that I don’t have any thoughts about death

I have thoughts

Overwhelming thoughts

Oceans of thoughts and when I dip my toe in the water I have a tendency to fall in head first

Sometimes I can jump out quickly and pretend it didn’t happen

Other times, I just drift

If I’m not careful, sometimes I hit my head at the bottom of that pool

 I cannot think about death.

 If I think about it, then I will think of nothing else

For longer than I care to admit

Once, while driving home from work I listened to Chance the Rapper sing about seeing his friend

Waiting for him at the gates of heaven

I must have listened to that verse at least 30 times before

But that day I had to pull over

As the pool became a tidal wave

And it swept over my head

And I wiped tears from my eyes as I tried to make it home safe.

 Most days, I don’t know what scares me more.

The thought that maybe there’s nothing after this,

Or the thought that maybe there is.

 On one hand there is the terrifying possibility that I am a drop of rain in a storm

Barely noticed, quickly forgotten

I fear that my last big sleep will swallow me

That I will feel nothing

Be nothing

On the other hand, I fear that something waits on the other side,

I fear that judgement and hatred that I shielded myself from in life

Forms the pillars of the pearly gates

I fear that I am losing a game I didn’t even know I was playing

I fear that I am being held to rules I was never told

Nobody gives us a rulebook but does that mean there are no rules?

How could I be naïve enough to think there weren’t rules?

I fear that our god is not a being of love

I fear that he does not love me

 They tell us to find ways to cope

What if love is just my way to cope?

 Many people find comfort in believing that there is an order to the universe

I find comfort in the disorder.

Instead of searching for meaning, I try to make peace

With the fact that I am one small person in a sea of small people

Making decisions that change the ebb and flow of our realities

In imperceptible strokes

I am at one with my ability to change everything and to change

Nothing at all

I have very little control over the future

Which is to say that every day I am making choices that will alter it irreparably

But I doubt that they are the choices that I think they are

I think maybe the future is made when our backs are turned

I do not wonder why bad things happen to good people

I do not wonder if I will make a difference

I just do my best

And I surrender to the odds

 Sometimes, I think about my own end

It used to bother me, thinking that someday my sentence would reach its punctuation

I think I always hoped for an exclamation mark

But I suspect it will be a period.

Most sentences end in periods.

 Maybe I pursued medicine because I love helping people and feeling important

Maybe it was because I fear death and I seek a sword in a battle I know I will never win

I do not know

What I do know is that I am on a path now

A path of my own choosing

But a path nonetheless filled with trials and tragedy and a deep, aching sadness

And I think a great deal about what my role in that sadness will be.

 Maybe,

If I’m very lucky,

I can hold the lantern in the dark.

 I think of death as a great dark night, just at the edge of town.

I don’t know what lies beyond that path

I don’t pretend to know,

And I cannot go yet. It’s not my turn.

We don’t always choose who walks this road

Into the endless night.

 Many people are quite certain of what they will find

They tell me that their vision is quite good and they see down the path.

I hope they are right.

I hope that when they have to walk that path,

They find exactly what they expected to find.  I wish them no surprises.

I have come to accept that maybe all that I can ever do

Will be to buy my future patients more time

Sometimes birthday and graduations and families

Sometimes minutes.

And I think of all the patients who will choose to stay off the path a little while longer,

To stay here in our well-lit world where it is comfortable.

And I do not blame them.

And I think of all the patients who will choose to take a chance

A new trial

A new cure

And I see them holding a candle

Knowing that though their light is small

With enough candles, maybe we can illuminate a little further out.

I see them make this choice knowing that they will never benefit from what their candle shows.

By the time they see what is just a little further out, we may be too far to hear.

Eventually, they too must put their candle down and walk alone.

 On my best days, I hope that if I work hard enough

I can hold a lantern in the dark.

 I cannot choose whose turn it is to walk the path,

But I’ll do all I can to show them what I see.

I hope they know that I carry each light with me.

And I hope someone keeps my flame alive

When it is my turn

To walk into the dark.

[hellsjournal]

“You can’t cross an ocean for someone who won’t even walk through a puddle for you.” And that’s exactly what I did. I crossed the ocean. again. and again. and again. to remind you of my love, and eventually I ended up drowning. Dragged down. My lungs filled with feelings of disappointment and sorrow all in myself, by your inability to love me. How do you get over giving someone every single part of you. How do you get over the feeling of not being enough. When you know that you’re so much more than that? I don’t know who I am. I don’t know how to live. I lost every sense of myself, of my being when I decided that keeping you warm was more important than letting myself be engulfed by the flames. And now I’m burned out. In ashes. And I have no fucking clue of what to do. I wish I could say that I’m numb, but I’m not. I feel stuck. I feel lost. No sense of direction. I feel like when you’re lost in thought in class and the teacher calls on you but you don’t even know what’s going on and you all of a sudden forgot how to put together words to form a proper sentence. Like a deer in headlights afraid of what might come next. Everyone watching you, waiting to find out what comes next. Everything I knew is fucking gone. Like when you write the perfect essay and you dedicate so much time so much effort into it, put your every bit of soul into it, only to be told that it’s not good enough, and you all of a sudden have to start over. So now you’re just home. sitting. Staring at a blank paper. I don’t know what the fuck to do.. I’m not good with blank pages, but all I know is that our pages were the easiest to fill, and the next thing I knew I had a whole fucking book. It might have made no fucking sense to anyone else and you might even re-read it to find out that they’re right, but at the moment everything made perfect sense. Everything was right, or it was wrong, but it made sense. Like choosing to not give up on you, to not look down on you even after you had buried yourself so far underground with all of your mistakes. Your lies. It just all made sense. Every sentence down to the period, or the exclamation, or question mark. It. Made. Sense. How the fuck do I go back to who was before I let you in? Who the fuck even was I before you. I feel like an idiot. I don’t know shit anymore. I don’t even make sense to myself. I can’t properly live like a normal human being. I feel like a trainwreck. I don’t want to feel yet that’s all I can fucking manage to do. I completely shut down yet the emotions just keep going. I want to not exist. I want to press delete on all of my thoughts, my emotions, my memories. Holy shit, I want to press delete. But I obviously can’t.. It’s funny. How I consider picking up smoking again, because the smell reminds me of you, of when we met, of when things were so different. And because of the irony of it slowly killing me while I already feel dead inside. You always hated that.. How I’d turn to cigarettes when things went really wrong. Even though I wasn’t a smoker and I hated the taste and let half of the pack go to waste. But there was just something about it. And I loved that you hated it. I loved that you cared. And I didn’t mind knowing something was slowly killing me. imagining my life gradually burning out like the cigarette. Imagining my feelings disappearing. Blowing away with the wind. It’s wild. How the most minor or random things remind me of you. The sound of the train reminding meof driving home from being with you after long nights of embracing. Or fighting. The thoughts and feelings while approaching the train tracks. Music blaring. Someone throwing up reminding me of the night of your company party when you got drunk and passed out on the toilet, puke on your arm. Of when I took three bottles of pills to take away the pain after one of your fuck ups and threw them all up after getting up to get more. Of when you forced me to try that red soda while I was stoned and I ended up throwing only that up. It’s like just one little thing can trigger a million memories and they snowball until it’s a full on avalanche of them, the whole three years just in your head like a ongoing slideshow. I miss you. But you fucking ruined me. All I can do is feel. I don’t want to exist. I don’t know how to live. I fucking hate myself. I feel like I just ran into a wall. My mind’s being flooded by thoughts, that I can’t even create a sentence without messing up. I’m terrified. I don’t want to be alone. But I want to be by myself? I’m so fucked up. I miss the darkest parts of me, and that’s not good.. I’m fucking scared. I’m fucking scared I’m fucking scared   I’m fucking scared     I’m fucking scared      I’m fucking scared       I’m fucking scared I’m so fucking ashamed of myself. Every single part. Of who I’ve become. Of what I let myself go through. Of reasons I don’t even know. I’m scared to talk to anyone, because I’m scared they’ll know. I’m scared they’ll see right through me, see how fucked up I am, of how badly I’m falling apart. You knew me so well.. I wonder if you’d know. If you do know. I wonder if you even give a fuck? If you even feel a quarter of what I do. But I always cared more. and I know you care even less. You’re good at that. And I envy it. feeling after feeling after fucking feeling and it just keeps fucking going triggering a thought after another fucking thought and it’s so overwhelming, which is just another fucking feeling that makes me just want to fucking kill myself. But not really. I can’t do that again. I don’t want to be that person. And I can’t risk failing again. I wish you could save me. But you’re the one that got me to this place. anyway. I should be able to save myself. But god, how I wish you knew how to do it for me. how the fuck can one person have this much affect on another and why? I’m running out of words to say.. yet I still have so much fucking more I need to get out. Fuck you for this.

h-h

[penxandxpaper-blog]

Meeting Hisoka

The shower is ice-cold, sending shivers down my spin. But despite my skin turning pale and the numbed extremities of my limbes, I'm seething. I just lost my first fight since I reached the 200th floor of the Heavens Arena. 

It was my third match. After two easy victories, I was expecting a little more challenge. Well, I got my share !  The moment I set foot on the arena, the very moment I laid my eyes on my opponent, I knew I wasn't dealing with anything I had previously encounter. 

Hisoka had done nothing but stand under the spotlight, yet everything about him set off alarm bells in my mind. I gritted my teeth while I was stepping forward. To have a chance of winning against him, I should have fought to kill. As if he could follow my thoughts, Hisoka smiled with contempt. 

That was all it took to upset me. 

"You show up this time, I observed, referring to his two defeats by forfeit. - Why wouldn't I ? This fight might be of some entertainment", he purred in response.

Everything that happened after that is a kind of blur. I couldn't hear the squawks of the fight commentator, nor the exclamations of the crowd. My world was narrowed to the arena, to Hisoka and his Nen, to attack and parry and survival. At first, Hisoka was just playing, testing my reactivity. The injuries he inflicted on me were not even critical. It didn't take long before I realized I will ineluctably lose against him. At that point, I wasn't thinking straight anymore. I was no more aware that my defeat would mean death. I could hardly feel the pain, barely feel the fear. My fists and legs were trembling with excitation. Every nerve, every cell of my body aimed to one goal. A decision I had made before the first drop of my blood hit the ground : if I could not win this fight, at least I will get my own victory.  

Hit him ! Roared a voice in my head. Three points.  Just hold on until you score three points !  It doesn't matter if you lose. As long as you can hit him three times, it'll be enough.

I raise my hand at eye level. Blood and water run down my harm, hot and cold. I kicked Hisoka in the stomach so hard I split my knuckles. Now the pain is pulsing under my grazed skin. The punch left a mark at the moment, but I'm sure he has already recovered by now. I don't even remember how I managed to hit him.

I do know I materialized one of my fire tigers at some point. When Hisoka saw him, huge and wild and shining with bright red flames, his smile swiched from condescending to predatory. Bloodlust begun to emanate from him, a deadly glow lighted up in his eyes. 

That's when everything melted into rush of adrenaline, racing heart and blood spurting. More of mine than his. Hence the cold shower. His goddamned cards cut deep ! My wounds are still bleeding. I'm going to need stitches. 

And yet...

I'm alive. 

Hisoka killed his five previous opponents, and spared me. He just knocked me out. 

I turn off the water and step out of the shower. I'm still shaking, but I'm perfectly calm now. No sens of relief come over me. Instead I'm overwhelmed with profound satisfaction. Truth is : I loved fighting Hisoka. It's been a long time since I felt so alive. He made me face my limits, he showed me the gulf between us and reminded me what it was like to struggle for my life. 

I suddenly freeze, wrapped in my towel, as a detail strike me. Just before I collapsed, Hisoka said something. But I was already half in the darkness, so I could only see his lips move behind the Aces of Spades he held between his two finger, and I didn't understood what he was saying. 

I shrug. It seems like him and I are gonna stay at the Heavens Arena for a while. I'll have the opportunity to ask him if I cross path with him. I doubt it was of any importance, though. 

                                                            - - -

Two weeks have past. I haven't register to any fight yet. I went to the reception many times, but I had always return to my room without filling in the registration form. Since my encounter with Hisoka, I couldn't help but raise the bar. Easy wins were already annoying before, now they dishearten me. So I have decided to wait for powerfull competitors to sign up. This is why I came here after all. Not for money, nor for fame, but to improve my skills. And nothing motivate more than challenges. 

I get up at crack of dawn to check the registered list, but the level for the next day isn't any better. Since I have time to kill, I settle for going for a look around town. Streets are still quiet in the greyness of the early morning. Bakeries are just opening, releasing puffs of hot air that smell of freashly baked breads. I enter a pub that serve twenty-four hours a day. Some customers of the night before are slumped on the tables, sleeping of  the alcohol. Other early birds like me sip their thea and coffee. I take a place in a cornice and order a fruit juice with some toasts. Now all I have to do is wait. People will wake-up, they are going to start chattering, rumors will spread, and if anyone knows anything about a future talented competitor, I'll know it too.

Three glassful and a hard boiled egg later, all I have learned is that two interesting kids have arrived at the tower. Some even say they'll reach the 200th floor in no time. One of them is already known to gumblers, as he gained the 199th floor a few years ago.

Somewhat disappointed, I have just decide to leave and head back for the tower, intending to do some practice, when a sudden presence make me stop dead in my tracks. I sit right back on my chair, so tense I can almost feel my hair rising.  As Hisoka appears on the doorstep, I remain perfectly still and vigilant. Any idea of asking him what he was saying the other day vanished from my mind when I noticed his frustrated look. Now is not a good time to talk to that guy. His murderous urges are so dense it fill the air like a lid. I feel like any move I could make would put me in mortal danger. 

I could have get out of here without him noticing. Problem is, my Ren automatically activate itself in response to Hisoka's aura. His eyes fall on my like those of an eagle. 

"Well, if it isn't the tiger girl. - Gum guy," I retort as a greeting.

He takes the opposite chair without asking. I let him and return to the state of Ten, knowing that the large pool of aura around me would have been perceived as a dare. Hisoka doesn't seem to calm down not yet but at least his murder desires are not specifically focused on me.

"Healed already ? He wonders. I didn't take your for the Enhancement type. - I'm not. I'm a Conjurer. - I'm pretty sure I did some severe damages back then, he hums. Care to explain, then ? - If you tell me what's up with the I'll-end-you-all aura, I answer. - Deal", he smirks. 

In order to illustrate my explanations, I conjure a tiger. Smaller than the red one, with a gentle muzzle.

"Green ? Hisoka notes. - Each of my tiger is imbued with a special ability and a condition. The green one can heal any wounds, as long as I have enough stamina left to conjure him, but he has no offensive capacity. - How many of them do you have ? - It's your turn to answer."

Hisoka narrows his eyes in annoyance, but the density of his deadly aura remains steady.

" I haven't killed anyone since my fifth match. It's been too long", he declares bluntly.

There is a groan in his voice, almost like he is in pain. 

"Then why didn't you killed me when you could ? I ask. - Uh, uh. Your turn", he reprimands me like a child.

I sigh and dispel the green tiger.

"Five, I grumble in exasperation. Why didn't you kill me ?

- I have decided to keep you within reach.  In case I'd need another fight to kill time. - Kill time until wha... ? Dammit !" I exlaimed face to the reminder he addresses me through his glance. "Ask your question. - What is your most restricting Condition?"

I have understood the true meaning of his words as soon as he speaks them. He is actually suggesting that a more restrictive Condition would increase the strentgh of my ability. Which I'm aware of.

"I'm not telling you. Ask me something else."

The waitress chooses this moment to approach us.

"What can I..."

She stops mid sentence, cut off by Hisoka's swift and precise motion. I react just as fast and intercept a few hinches from her face the card he just throws.

"Seriously", I mutter as the waitress moves away in shock, forgetting about our orders.

Hisoka takes back the card from me and simply continues the discussion as if nothing happened.

"Another question, then, he says with a fake thoughtful look. How many tigers do you have ?"

Slightly perplexed, I raise my eyebrows.

"I already told you. - No, you lied, he retorts nonchalantly.

I stiffen. My nails bite into the soft skin of my palms. When I finally speak again, I work my mouth as if the words were bitter.

" There is a sixth one, but I'll never use him again."

Hisoka tilt his head, eyes dilating a bit with interest.

"Oooh ? - So it wasn't a lie. I use five tigers. No more. " I said curtly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go. - Didn't you have something to ask me ? Hisoka reminds me archly as I stand up. - Forget it. I'm not that interested. - Sit", he demands in a commanding tone.

I don't pay any attention to his sudden shift in attitude.

"I'm done with this interrogation" I simply retort, my voice flat but firm.

Before I could make one single step, Hisoka's hand shoots up and grips my wrist.

"Well, I'm not. - Tss !"

I wrench my arm away from his hold, but his Bungee Gum is now fixed on me. As I raise my arm, it tugs my sleeve and reveals the bracelet previously hidden under the cloth.  Hisoka freezes in place. His murderous aura suddenly vanishes as pure chock stiffen his features.

"Where did you get that ? He asks in a blank voice.

Oddly enough, I feel far more threaten by this lifeless glare. Maybe because Hisoka always demonstrates unwavering personal-control until that very moment. Now... it's as if he just loses his temper. And it's terrifying. 

"It was my mother's", I say, tensed all over.

Realization settles like a flash in his eyes, then he slowly closes them, dispelling his Nen. Dumbfounded by his reaction, I frown, then grumble a "later", before turning away. 

Thoughts race through my mind but none of them focuse on competitors anymore. There is something about Hisoka. Something I can't quite pinpoint. It isn't the fact that he beat me, nor that he spared me, not even that he is so much stronger than me. I can't ignore it no longer. As dangerous as it might be, I need to know. I fled today, but I swear to myself : at the next opportunity, I will face it.