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stillunpainted · 3 years

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Postmortem

cw for implied suicide. 1.8k fic under the cut baby. Pretty much Neku dealing with the aftermath of the game and then having a conversation with Joshua.

Neku couldn’t take sudden noises anymore. It’d always been somewhat of a bother, and his music had helped him block out the little surprises that’d make him jump, the startle like a lightning bolt, but now it was agonizing. It was as if at any time, he could be seized by the hand of death, freezing his blood like a blizzard. Though he’d made a promise to himself to wear his headphones less, especially in public, it wasn’t easy.

Shibuya was vibrant and busy, but it was also overwhelming. There were times where after simply going to Mr. H’s cafe with Shiki or Beat and Rhyme would result in him having to go lay in bed for hours afterward, staring at the ceiling until he was able to think again. His parents were worried. They’d noticed that he was going out more, and generally seemed to be happier than before, but the exhaustion, the anxiety, those weren’t things he could hide. He enjoyed spending time with his friends, but he wasn’t used to them. He felt out of place, worried that he’d somehow mess up and they wouldn’t want to be with him anymore.

He’d picked up an old acoustic guitar, and spent about thirty minutes trying to figure out how to tune it. That was all he could bring himself to do for the day. He checked his messages, and it was much of the same. Shiki had sent an update on her most recent project with Eri, and was still trying to convince him to try it on. He wasn’t adamantly against the idea, he just wasn’t sure if it was his thing. He’d had to expand his fashion sense during the Game, and he wasn’t sure where to go with that now. Was it something he wanted to pursue on his own, or did he want to be influenced by the people around him?

Though Neku had avoided Udagawa like the plague, he still could see CAT’s art when he closed his eyes, peering over him as he stared up at the painted walls. He wanted to see it again, as his mind could only replicate everything with a certain degree of accuracy, but the thought of going back made him feel sick, sick enough to rush to the bathroom and wait for it all to come up, but nothing was there.

The Composer often lingered in his mind, interrupting his normal thought processes. In this moment Neku was staring at the ceiling again, tapping his fingers to the beat of a song, when he suddenly remembered Joshua off-handedly mentioning that he liked it. Neku took his headphones off. He still hadn’t forgiven Joshua yet. There was so much pain, so intense that even though those bullets left no scars now, he could still feel them. He sat up, deciding that today he would face it. He wasn’t sure why, but felt if he didn’t go to Udagawa now, these thoughts would never stop, haunting him like old ghosts over and over.

On his way through Shibuya, he kept his headphones on around his neck, ready to put them on if necessary. He walked past stores he’d come to know well, absentmindedly trying to spot the faces of the shopkeepers he’d spoken with over and over. There were so many people. Even though he couldn’t hear their thoughts anymore, it floored him how they all were living their own lives, their own narratives that he would never be privy to. Their secret gardens.

It was a conversation he thought back to at times. He’d wondered if not being able to cross into someone’s garden was even a bad thing. Was trying to understand someone enough, even if it wasn’t actually possible? He felt he knew Shiki and Beat pretty well, and Rhyme and Eri to an extent. His memories of Joshua though… Joshua at times felt completely alien yet familiar, almost like a trick mirror.

Neku arrived at Udagawa, and saw that the art had changed significantly in his absence. CAT’s work was still there, some of it new itself, but there were other artists who had added to the wall. Nothing unusual, but the change made Neku’s chest feel heavy. He was used to seeing everything shift gradually, not only see the end result.

It was still beautiful, he decided, just different. Still the same wall, marked by the same kinds of people. He wondered if one day he would get some spray paint himself, though he had no idea what he could create. It wasn’t a part of himself that he’d explored in a long time, not since…

Even now, he felt the empty space within his heart. He still had the last message his friend had sent him on his phone. “See you there,” it’d read. An interaction that had never been complete, a day that never happened.

“Well, you’ve brought yourself back here, haven’t you?” A recognizably smug voice rose above the background noise of everyone else passing through.

“Look at what the cat dragged outta the sewers,” Neku retorted dryly. Joshua crossed his arms, but there was the tiniest hint of a smile on his face. Neku was tense, but this relaxed him somewhat. He figured Joshua hadn’t merely returned after what, months, simply to antagonize him. Though he didn’t rule it out of the realm of possibility, “what brings you out here, anyway?” Joshua put a hand on his chin.

“I was intrigued as to why you returned here. It seems like a morbid place to go by yourself. I thought that maybe you’d need supervision,” Joshua said. Neku pulled at his hair, trying not to visibly give Joshua the satisfaction of annoying him. Though he supposed that Joshua could read his mind, which agitated him further.

“I don’t need- whatever, it’s just that I kept thinking about everything that happened. I dunno if closure is exactly what I’m looking for, but it’s something like that, I think,” Neku shuffled his feet. He was never especially good at reading people, but Joshua was always a special kind of enigma.

“There’s nothing I can add to that. You already know why I did what I did,” Joshua said, “neither of us can take that back.”

“You can’t take that back. All I did was survive,” Neku said. He didn’t expect an apology, nor was he surprised by Joshua’s nonchalant attitude towards it all, but it still stung a little.

“Oh come on Neku, we’ve both made mistakes,” Joshua said, wrapping a hand around his neck. A flash of guilt washed over Neku, but he let it pass. He’d talked about it a lot with Shiki after the game, though it was still something he’d never fully forgive himself over. He’d found that he had a pattern of hurting people. He’d finally stopped at his duel with Joshua, but still. He wondered if that old self was buried within, ready to rise at any time. I killed him- “Neku? Locked up in that head of yours again?”

“What would’ve happened if I’d shot you?” Joshua didn’t even flinch at the question. But he wavered a little.

“I would’ve been erased. I would’ve lost that game, yknow. That’s how the rules are,” he says.

“I know, but-”

“The UG would’ve been destroyed, but I can’t say I’d know what would happen after that,” Joshua says, “I can’t give you a real answer, even if I wanted to please you that way.”

“So even you don’t know,” Neku said.

“Yes Neku, you’re a fantastic listener,” Joshua replied. His normal grin is back, though something about it seems off.

“So why would you do that? If you’d actually gone through with destroying Shibuya or whatever, it wouldn’t have mattered at all if I’d pulled the trigger or not. Not much of a crossroad, really,” Neku put his hands on his headphones, contemplating putting them on.

“It was all a game. My bet with Megumi. You were my proxy,” Joshua said, crossing his arms again.

“What were you even trying to prove with me? That I’m terrible and representative of Shibuya’s evils, or something? I was just trying to live and help Beat get Rhyme back at that point.”

“That’s spot on.”

“Then did your proof involve me shooting you at the end?”

“Yes.”

“Then your plan would’ve killed you no matter what,” Neku said.

“What do you mean?”

“No UG means no Composer, right?”

“Correct indeed.”

“So you were planning on dying.” A silence settled over the two of them.

“Well, I didn’t,” Joshua says. Neku thought of how he initially saw the game as a dream that he dreaded the end of. There was nothing he had to worry about other than missions, nobody to talk to but Shiki, nobody to nag him. It was the closest he’d ever been to whatever his own ‘world view’ had been.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” Neku paused, wondering if it was even worth saying. Joshua had killed him twice over, but still, “I’m glad you didn’t die.” Joshua narrowed his eyes. The Composer wasn’t alive per se, but even he knew that wasn’t exactly what Neku had meant.

“And that’s that,” Joshua said, turning away.

“Don’t think I’m going to take that as an excuse. You didn’t have to turn it into some big game with my life,” Neku said.

“Well aren’t I alive because I did, based on your logic?” At this point, Neku wanted to tear out his hair. Joshua was the same as always, so he didn’t know why he was expecting anything different. But surely something had changed within the Composer, as he had preserved Shibuya and brought everyone back to life.

“Dammit, do you even realize what all of that was like? You killed me twice, and- and…” Neku trails off, shuddering. Joshua’s hands ball up into fists and he stares at the ground for a moment, frowning. He almost seems small, completely losing the aura of being something beyond the fifteen year old standing in the streets of Udagawa, the mural hanging over his head. He straightens his posture and he’s the Composer again.

“I do realize. I’m not incapable of understanding pain,” Joshua says, “hmmm. Maybe that worsens my case.” He turns to face Neku once again, who wants to back away, but doesn’t.

“I guess it’s hard to keep going. I’m not on my own anymore, at least. Shibuya’s felt bigger than it ever has for me, and that’s exciting on one hand, but overwhelming. There’s so many places I could go, but I also feel like something terrible is always on the horizon again,” Neku says. He doesn’t know why he’s telling this to Joshua of all people.

“Could I be the cause of that terrible something? Is that what you fear?”

“No. I still don’t… I don’t know if I’ll ever fully forgive you really, but I trust that you won’t use me again. I’d be lying if I said being around you doesn’t make me nervous, but I still trust you. We were partners, right?” Neku says. Joshua tilts his head.

“Right, we were.”

#twewy #the world ends with you #neku sakuraba #joshua kiryu #writing #my writing #if i should add more cw let me know. it has literally been years since ive written fanfiction so im not super familiar with what should be #tagged

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legends-of-apex · 4 years

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Loba x Reader x Crypto: ‘Something More’ (Part 2/2) SMUT 18+

Summary: A continuation of Part I in which Loba, Crypto and The Reader go back to the Reader's room in the legends compound to decrypt the files taken from Pathfinder's chip. Inevitably, Loba's proposition is brought up and smut ensues. You can also read this on AO3 if you prefer!

A/N: Hello! Here's the second and final part. This chapter does contain smut after the cut. I've spent the best part of a month on this so I promise there is still a plot as well :D Hope you like it! And I would love to hear your thoughts! Reader's pronouns aren't specified however they are referred to as having a vagina/breasts etc. so please keep that in mind x Warnings under the cut!

Words: 7, 788

Warnings: This fic contains heavy smut including oral (reader receiving and giving), fingering, penetrative sex and scissoring

The rest of the match went relatively uneventfully, with the three of you finishing fourth after being ambushed by another squad. There hadn’t even been enough time to see who it was before you blacked out. When you awoke, a bright light beaming down upon you made you squeeze your eyes shut again. Forcing yourself to sit up, you felt the familiar rubber of the med bay beds beneath your fingertips. When you dared open your eyes again the lights weren’t so bad and you could actually look around the room. Your head felt heavy, your mind off-centered. A nurse was wrapping your fingers around a glass of water before you could ask for one to soothe your aching throat.

“Hey, can you tell me where you are?” He asked you. Bright eyes brimmed over the top of his surgical mask. He was the same nurse from every other time you were revived after a match and he always had the same questions.

“The med bay back at the compound?” You asked, cautiously lifting the water to your lips.

“Yeah! Well done out there today. You guys were great!” He took the empty glass from you when you were finished and set it down by the sink, his black scrubs rustling as he moved around the room, looking at the various monitors that hung like cobwebs from the walls, “How are you feeling?”

“Just a small headache. The usual.” You answered, knowing if you gave even a slightly different answer you could end up stuck in here for days. The headache you had post-match was always the same, pounding and everywhere all at once. It probably had something to do with the serum they used to revive you after the match but you were more concerned about Loba and Crypto right now. You hadn’t seen them go down.

“Great! Well, you’re all healed, vitals are great. You’re free to head out.” He seemed to sense your eagerness to leave and for that you were thankful.

Loba was waiting for you outside the room when you stepped out, pushing herself off the wall and uncrossing her arms when she saw you. She walked towards you with her arms open, engulfing you in a hug when she reached you. With her six-inch heels and already naturally impressive height, she almost dwarfed you, your chin only just being able to rest atop her shoulder. You knew she was just glad you were okay, but displays of affection were rare for her. Even if the hallway you were in was empty. Usually, she wouldn’t be caught sharing any shred of weakness, but after a match? She always got a little sappy, even if she would never admit it.

“Shall we go wait for the hacker?” She pulled back to look at your face and you nodded before taking her hand, walking towards Crypto’s usual med bay room. His name printed on the outside of the door. Loba peered through a tiny window in the door. “Is he still in there?” You asked. It was unusual for anyone to be kept so long and he knew not to say anything that might prolong his stay. Unless there was some kind of complication? You tried not to think about it.

Loba scoffed. “Oh please, he wouldn’t leave without seeing you alive and well first. He’s still in there alright.” She spared a glance your way and recognised that look on your face. You were worried, even though the chances of any post-match complications were extremely low, nearly non-existent. “I wouldn’t worry, sweetheart. He was downed last so they’ll have had less time with him than us.” She saw that did very little to calm your nerves and decided to change the subject to take your mind off of it. She lowered her voice, knowing for sure that there were cameras and microphones all over this place. “Hey, we might get some promising information out of that chip, huh? Any information we can get on them brings us one step closer, no matter how small the step.” All you did was nod when usually you’d be beaming with excitement at the prospects of new information on the Syndicate and you weren't doing a particularly good job of hiding the fact that you couldn't care less about anything right now except for Crypto still being in that room.

“You really give a shit about him, huh?” she asks and you look to her, confused.

“If it was you in there I’d be just as worried.” Loba sighed and took your hand again, bringing your knuckles to her lips before squeezing your fingers gently, careful not to scratch you with her nails. That meant more to her than you knew.

The door before you opened with a click as Crypto finally emerged, hands already stuffed back in his jacket pockets by the time the door shut behind him. The look of relief on your face was enough to tell him you’d been worrying. You had dropped Loba’s hand in an instant and went to hug him, opening your arms a little first and waiting for his permission. He felt himself sigh into your arms, his own wrapping around you tightly as he could. However brief, he would always treasure each touch you gave him. You made him realise how much he craved being held, being close to people. It made him forevermore thankful that he was lucky to be as close to you as he was, even Loba as well to some extent. You shared a piece of your life with him, your kindness, your time and occasionally: your bed. Whilst you did the same for Loba, he never found himself growing jealous, only more thankful to have you when he did.

“You still got the chip?” Loba asked him over your shoulder. He nodded. “We had better get to it. The decryption might take a while.”

The first thing you did when you got back to your room was kick off your shoes and flop down, face-first, on your bed. All the running and the stress of the games could really take its toll. Meanwhile, Crypto headed straight for your PC, plugging in all kinds of strange contraptions and external hard drives no doubt filled with some kind of dodgy software. Loba asked if she could use your shower to which you told her there were already fresh towels in there ready to be used as you gathered a bundle of clothes for her to wear when she finished.

You looked to your broken arm shield emitter and groaned as you were getting changed into more comfortable clothes than your games gear, the realisation that you actually had to fix it dawned on you. You struggled to your feet and pulled up a chair beside Crypto at your desk and released the shield from your arm with a whirr. Most of it had survived, only a few small grenade fragments lay buried within it. Easy fix.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I overheard some of what you guys were saying earlier. Loba had her communicator still on. And I just want you to know that although I did tell Loba about us sleeping together, I haven’t said a word about… you know, you. Your identity. That’s yours to tell and I would never betray that information to anyone, even Loba.” You were one of two living people with the privilege of referring to him by his real name in private. By telling you about his past, even just by telling you his name, he put so much trust in you. And you wouldn't betray that for anyone.

He stopped typing to look at you, letting you know he was sincere. “I know you wouldn’t. I trust you more than anyone. But thank you for the reassurance. And I’m sorry that you heard that, I don’t wish for you to be treated like an object.”

You knew then that he didn't quite trust Loba’s intentions with her proposition but were quick to reassure him. “Oh, don’t worry. Loba asked if I was down for it beforehand. And it’s sweet that you two want to make me feel good, but I don’t require any payment for what I do for you two, especially in that kinda way. I do it because I care about you.” Tweezers in hand, you carefully began removing the fragments from your device. It was a good excuse to not have to look Taejoon in the eye during the conversation.

“Heh, that’s precisely why Loba thought you to be deserving of such an arrangement. And I have to say, I agree. You need to let us give back to you, though it doesn’t have to be in the form of what Loba was suggesting. In any way that you choose.” You could have laughed. On their own, they were amazing enough, both more than proficient and attentive lovers but together? You couldn't help but groan at the thought. “ Trust me , as long as you two are up for it that arrangement is totally fine by me! I couldn't think of anything better.”

You see Crypto’s head move suddenly in the corner of your eye, you turn to see Loba looking the softest you had ever seen her. Her hair was damp, falling all the way down to her waist. A pair of your baggy sweatpants hung low around her hips. She looked comfortable, her eyes held no sense of impending danger and you swore it was the first time you had seen her so at ease.

“Is that my shirt?” Crypto asks and she shrugs, looking down at the plain black material. “I don’t know, is it? It’s… cute?”, You sheepishly turn back to face Crypto as Loba dives straight onto your bed, stretching out on her back. “Maybe?” you offered, knowing damn well it was his from the last time he had stayed over. He wasn’t going to pry it off of you as you slept, especially since you looked so comfortable. It was his pair of sweatpants too, but he didn't need to know that. A low grumble sounded from your stomach and you took that to be the perfect topic change, “How about take-out?”.

“Lovely idea, I’m starving!”

You phoned up the best pizza company you knew, the woman on the line informed you that it would take a while because of the games. People liked to go for pizza after watching the apex games apparently. “We’re going to have to wait a while.” You said solemnly, hopping onto your bed behind Loba and taking your hairbrush from her hand. Her hair was long and so very soft. Crypto politely excused himself to also take a shower whilst you played with her hair. You combed through it with your fingers first. Loba released a long breath as you dragged the brush from the edge of her forehead, down her scalp and all the way down her back, holding the ends in your other hand. “So Crypto’s down for your idea.” You gently gathered her hair together in a bunch before letting it fan out again over her back, the strands so long they reached the covers below.

Loba leant back a little, resting on her palms. “Oh? I’m not surprised. He seems like he would do anything that involves you. That poor boy looks at you like you’re made of gold.” She chuckled, looking back at you over her shoulder. You pecked her lips, her skin was soft and supple with a subtle hint of cherry lip balm. “Ugh, I can’t wait to devour you.” She groaned, “If he doesn’t get out of that shower in the next two minutes, we’re starting without him.”

“So impatient!” You laughed, “Hair up or down?”

“Eh, leave it down.”

Crypto made his way out the bathroom still towelling off his soggy hair. He set his jacket on the back of your desk chair, along with his waistcoat and every other piece of his games gear apart from his baggy trousers and t-shirt. The pendants on his necklaces jingled together as he moved around, like a cat with a bell.

Far too impatient for subtly it seems, Loba decided now was the best time to initiate things “She looks good enough to eat, don’t you think Crypto?” He stops in his tracks, towel still raised to his head with his mouth hanging open before he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. He hummed in agreement, taking the towel and folding it in half before laying it over the chair behind him. He now leaned his back against the desk so he could face you, bare arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you. You couldn’t help but blush at Loba’s words and the way he was looking at you, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks.

Loba now turned to face you, mischief and wanting in her eyes and leaned in close. “We would love to take care of you if you’ll have us, of course.” She pressed a single kiss to the side of your neck, your skin tingling from the warmth of her lips, “What do you say?” You turned your attention back to Crypto who looked at you in question, his head tilted. Neither of them were moving without your say so.

“Sounds perfect.”

With that pushed you back so your head lay gently on the pillows. Her finger wagged in Crypto’s direction when he took a step forward, telling him to stay put. He gulped and leant back against the desk again. “Well then. Just relax and let us take care of you, hm?” She ended her question with a smile, already sliding downwards onto the bed in front of you. Placing her hands on either side of your sweatpants and giving the outside of your thighs a light squeeze. She looked up at you through her lashes, asking if she could take them off. You nodded and soon she had them tugged off, your socks soon followed.

She leant right down, pressing a kiss to the cloth of your underwear, her lips putting the lightest flutter of pressure on your heat. Your mouth fell open and she laughed quietly, seeing a dark patch on the fabric of your underwear. “Mhmm already dripping for us, Crypto.” she called back to him over her shoulder, “What do you say we take these off as well? No need to be shy. We already know how beautiful you are, sweetheart.” You nodded again, her fingers delicately taking the band of your underwear and making quick work of shimming them off your legs. A string of words, no doubt in Portuguese left her, as she took a moment to look at you. She had spoken far too quickly for you to have any hope of understanding what she was saying.

Her hands were on your sides in an instant, and her lips were back on yours as her hands made their slow descent back down towards your heat. Her kisses a rough contrast to the preciseness of her touch. She kissed with her heart it seems, everything else was calculated. A shiver wracked its way through you when her fingertips reached the hem of your shirt, but she didn’t lift it, only gently massaged the bottom of your stomach and over the tops of your thighs. Circular motions everywhere except the place you wanted them to be.

Her lips left you as you whined softly, “So eager.” she smiled at you again, before leaning in to kiss your neck as her fingers finally touched where you so craved them so much. A moan escaped you as she wasted no time in finding your heat, circling her two fingertips within its wetness before dragging them up and down your slit. Over her shoulder, you could see Crypto standing biting his lip so hard it looked like it would bleed, face flushed.

Sucking gently on the soft skin of your neck, Loba pressed her two fingers right onto your clit. You couldn’t help the noises that escaped you or how you clung to her so desperately. She soon switched back and forth between gently massaging all-around your folds and slowly circling one finger directly to your nub. She was teasing you. The alteration driving you insane, legs beginning to shake. Just as you felt the dam about to burst she drew back away from you entirely, leaning back on her knees as she brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked on them lightly.

“How does she taste?” Crypto asked, his face warm. Loba leaned back from you and you near-whined at the loss.

She brought her fingers back down your heat and gathered some of your wetness onto her fingers again, standing and extending her fingers in his direction. “Like honey. Want to try?” He bypassed her altogether and walked towards you. “Suit yourself, Hacker,” she rolled her eyes.

“May I?” He asked so softly you nearly melted then and there. “Yes, please.” You managed and before you knew it he was sliding one of your legs over his shoulder, shortly followed by the other. He began by pressing the gentlest of kisses to your thighs.

“Ooh nevermind.” Loba went back on her previous statement with an approving nod of her head, “One second.” The glare he sent in her direction could’ve stopped a charging bull but Loba just waved him off and laid down beside you, pulling you into her lap so she could support your body. Crypto tugged you down towards him so the back of your head rested against Loba’s chest. Warmth radiated from Loba’s body beneath you in a constant wave of gentle, comforting heat but your focus wasn’t on her right now.

The moment his mouth made contact with your core, your body went lax. His tongue came right after and your back arched with such ferocity that Loba almost lost her hold on you. When the most desperate noise left you, you felt the vibrations of his laughter roll through you and his hands gripped the tops of your thighs more firmly to keep you in place. His eyes flickered up to you for a moment, soon after your hands found his hair, tugging lightly on the damp ends in an attempt to have him closer.

Loba’s lips ghosted over the shell of your ear “I know you said he was good but you really weren’t kidding,” she whispered before her mouth before she latched her lips back onto your neck.

Tugging his hair seemed to only spur him on more as the groan he emitted was borderline feral, bringing his tongue to circle over your clit at such a pace that the pressure built within you to the point where you were about to burst and likely would have had to not pulled back for a second to quickly catch his breath and get a better look at you.

“I know you want to come on his tongue, beautiful. Go on.” Crypto was back between your legs then, doubling his pace. “Come for us.” She whispered just as Crypto decided to wrap his lips around your clit and suck. You lurched upright, grip tight on his hair as you grind your pussy against his lips. When he slowly coated one of his fingers before slowly pressing it into you and pumping to the rhythm of his mouth, that was it for you.

Your body barely felt like you controlled its movement anymore as pleasure wracked its way through you in gushing waves. A drawn-out moan you’d probably be embarrassed about later escaped you as you went limp in Loba’s arms. Crypto helped you ride it out, wanting to make you feel the best he could. His tongue didn’t leave you until your pussy ceased its tensing then releasing around his finger, pulling it out of you and to his lips immediately. Loba’s arms kept you steady as your body slowly returned to normal, cold air stinging as Crypto left you. You missed his mouth and hands on you immediately but Loba was quick to distract you by helping you rid yourself of your shirt all whilst trying to keep her lips latched on to yours. Her fingers so swift in how they undressed you and herself that you were suddenly reminded that she was a thief, quick hand movements were her speciality. Her hand came to cup your bare breast for a moment, glee in her eyes at the sight. Once you helped her out of most of her clothes, you felt Crypto’s lips on the side of your neck. His mouth leaving marks no doubt right beside the ones Loba had made already. A hand in his hair again had him whimpering. Loba noticed and released you so you turned to face him, your mouth finding his as you stood on shaky legs. His lips were swollen but still soft. He kisses you like it was the last time he would have the chance, one hand gently cupping your face as his other arm wrapped around you.

“I’m going to let you two have this round.” You pulled back from Crypto and looked at her with confusion, she hadn’t even had any kind of pleasure yet and she still insisted you and Crypto go ahead. “I like to watch.” She clarified with a smirk, seating herself in your desk chair, legs folded neatly over one another. Her lacy black bra and panties somehow made her even more attractive but comply with her wishes you would. Plus you wanted the chance to repay Crypto for his services.

Soon enough, Crypto is stripped of all but his boxers, seated upright at the edge of your bed and facing Loba’s general direction. Running your finger over his cheekbone, you look down to notice just how hard he is. “You like eating me out that much, huh?” You asked as you swung one leg over both of his and knelt so you could grind against him, wringing your arms around his neck. You felt just how hard he was then and Crypto looked like he might have came if you weren’t careful, his mouth opened slightly, eyes closed. His hands found the bottom of your back to keep you steady as you slowly grinded onto him, feeling the hard outline of him pressing against your sensitive lips. “예수 그리스도'' He moaned at the feeling, bottom lip now trapped between his teeth.

“Really wanna ride you.” You told him and his eyes snapped open, hand gently cupping your cheek as he brought you in for another kiss.

“Then ride me.”

You sat back from him to run your fingers over his clothed cock, feeling it twitch with your touch. Soft moans fell from his mouth with each drawn-out stroke, he was so terribly sensitive. Tentatively tugging down his boxers, you freed his member from its confines and rubbed along the shaft before thumbing its tip. His throat hitched.

“If you keep touching me like that, this is going to be over a lot quicker than either of us could have hoped,” His hand found your bare pussy again, fingers gliding through your folds to make sure you were still wet enough to take him, “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Leaning further forward so your hips rested against his, bracing against his strong chest for support, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m ready.” You told him. Without a word, Crypto reached down and aligned the two of you before oh-so-slowly lowering you back down onto his lap, feeling his length buried within you to the hilt.

You moaned together when he filled you, Crypto burying his head in your shoulder when you began to move, his hips rocking to meet the rhythm of yours. It felt delicious, his length rubbed your walls in all the right places and you felt a pressure begin to build quickly within your stomach again. His moans were so soft you almost had to strain to hear him but his strong grip on your hips as you swayed atop him telling enough.

Looking over your shoulder for a moment, you saw Loba lazily rubbing herself through her underwear, her eyes utterly transfixed on you and Crypto. One particularly measured thrust on his part hit your most sensitive spot directly and had your attention turned all the way back to him immediately. Gripping his hair as you rode him, you felt the pressure of his teeth on your shoulder as he bit back a moan. You slowed your pace and tilted his face up to see yours.

“Be as loud as you want baby, we wanna hear you,” you assured him and he looked at you through half-lidded eyes, skin flushed and lips bitten. You felt his cock twitch inside of you.

Pulling you back towards him so you were flesh to flesh, his hips snapped up into you with renewed vigour as his lips found your neck. Right next to another small mark Loba had left not a few moments earlier, he tentatively suckled on your skin until it bloomed. He swore he wasn’t a jealous person, he just wanted things to be even. His lips slowly trailed down towards your chest until he found one of your breasts, ready and waiting for him.

You let your head fall back. His consistent pumping up into you, filling you over and over and his tongue on your nipple combined with the knowledge that Loba was watching and enjoying all of this was quickly becoming too much for you to handle. You felt his cock twitch within you again.

You cupped his face in your hands as you brought him away from your nipple to press his swollen lips to yours again. That was when he reached between you and let his fingers trail over you clit. A cry escaped you. You were reaching the point of overstimulation and it felt like heaven.

When his thrusts became distractingly fast, you had to leave his lips but still held his face in your hands. “Come for me baby,” you told him and he felt his mind going numb. A few more thrusts and he was spent, all low moans and mumbles as he buried his face in your chest. His warm release within you felt so good, coating your walls and making you feel so wonderfully full. The coil in your stomach was wound, near the point of breaking now, but it wasn’t enough for you to reach your peak.

You just held each other for a few moments, petting over his hair as you relaxed in his arms. Even though you hadn’t come a second time that didn’t matter all that much when he still managed to make you feel as good as he did. When he caught his breath he looked up at you and frowned, “You didn’t-“

Loba was quick to interrupt him. She was up from her chair and walking towards you the moment you had regulated your breathing, “I’ll take care of that, pretty boy. Go take a minute.” With one last kiss and a groan as he pulled out of you, he reluctantly lifted you off his lap and sat you gently on your bed. He usually held you for hours after sex so this was new for him but just as he was learning to trust, he was also learning to compromise.

Loba bent down beside you as Crypto got up from your bed, tilting your chin upwards with her fingertip. “Ooh what a mess he made, hmm? Guess I had better help you clean up.” You were already oh so sensitive but your release was building again, all worked up from Crypto’s cock but surely going to be finished by Loba’s fingers.

Her touch was so different to Crypto’s, so delicate yet precise. She Plucked your body as if you were a harp, and she was a harpist with the most experienced hands. Her hands trailed over your shoulders and your chest, a nipple pinched and pressed deliciously between her fingers. With a few strange movements of your legs, Loba manoeuvres you by your hips, weaving your legs together. She draws her fingers up the underside of your thigh then down your lower leg, teasingly with a wicked grin plastered across her face as she does.

Loba scoots you closer together, her hands exploring your thighs as she goes, until you’re so close to her that you can feel the heat of her pussy against your own. She pulls you in for a kiss again and you take a handful of her full breasts. Loba rocks forward suddenly, rubbing your dripping cores together. She was most definitely keeping herself busy whilst you were with Crypto because she was soaking. Your pussy was so sensitive, so worked-up again that even the slightest touch had you reeling. Another slow grind and Loba’s eyes flutter closed. A twist of your thighs and you were fully locked together, her core providing yours with a delicious pressure. With a groan, Loba favoured a rougher rolling motion, her nails clawing at your thighs as your clits rub together.

“Shit!” Loba cries and her hips jerk into yours more sloppily. It was rare to see her so needy. The pressure from her clit on yours and the way her face contorted in pure pleasure had your insides twisting until you felt the dam burst for the second time that night. You found her lips again as you felt her too reach her release soon after, panting between kisses and cursing. Her movements slowed, as did your own until you were faced with the task of untangling from one another. “Guess we were pretty worked up, huh?” She asks and you nod in agreement, “You still have another round left in you? Pizza guy won’t be here for another twenty minutes…”

You were exhausted, dripping wet and still trying to catch your breath but you still managed to stifle out another “Yes, please.” You couldn’t get enough of them and you were dying to have them both at once. You felt more than just lust for these two. They made you feel loved, feel safe. All three of you had issues with connecting to people, whether it was simple distrust or even trauma but you were lucky enough to find one another. All the time spent with them trying to take down the Syndicate made Loba and Crypto learn to trust other people again. Not only that, they learned to care for you and in-turn allowed you to care for them. And being cared for wasn’t something either of them imagined would happen any time soon. Your tenderness and love made them feel human again like they were more than just their past.

“What do you think? Up for round three?” You looked to Taejoon and saw him sitting where Loba had been. When he moved one of his hands away from his lap to smooth his hair back from his face, you saw his cock was already erect again.

His chest heaved. “Are you sure you can take any more,애인(lover)?” Sitting up on your elbows now you looked at him and then to Loba who lay beside you, trailing her smooth fingertips up and down your arms. Excitement bubbled within you again.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

They were both beside you in an instant. You weren’t sure who was touching where and frankly you couldn’t care less. Feeling both their bodies on yours at once felt amazing, your skin tingling all over as you knelt sandwiched between them. Despite your oversensitivity, you welcomed the metallic fingertips that found your folds again. You were so, helplessly wet. Your multiple releases, coupled with Loba and Crypto’s had your thighs and sheets a mess. The cold metal of Crypto’s fingers were a wonderful contrast to the warmth of your pussy as he trailed along, up and down your lips, purposely avoiding where you wanted him to touch.

He left your lips in favour of hooking a finger inside you again. The friction was welcome but it wasn’t enough. “Please!” You whimpered and you heard Loba chuckle.

“Oh, baby girl, are you eager for his cock again? It’s a shame we aren’t at my place, you could’ve had mine as well.” Crypto raised a brow at that. You just whined at the thought of Loba’s strap.

He hummed as he found your clit with his thumb as he continued to draw his finger in and out of you. “Crypto, please!”

“I think you should tell him what you want him to do, sweetheart.”

“Please fuck me. I-I need-” You cut yourself off with a moan of his name and Crypto thought he might just die. He leant down to kiss your lips, rougher than usual now but still gentle. When he pulled back from you and gave you a chance to lay back, he had his dick in his hand and took his sweet time coating the tip in your juices, slowly dragging it through your folds.

“Ready for me?” he asked and you nodded. He tugged your knees around his hips and he leant between your legs and slowly entered you, inch by inch until you felt that wonderful fullness again. He let out a shaky breath and a gasp as he entered you. You felt so warm, so soft and so unmistakably you that he had a hard time moving for a moment for fear he might lose composure too soon and leave you disappointed for a second time. When you gave him the okay to move, Loba began teasing your breasts again, but you had other ideas for her.

“Sit-” A particularly drawn-out thrust from Crypto had your words misforming, “-On my face?” you asked her. Seeing as how Loba hadn’t garnered all that much from tonight’s proceedings, you were eager to make her feel good.

Her lips twisted into a smirk as she drew back from your chest, “Oh, sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask.” Crypto slowed his movements to let you two get comfortable. Loba now knelt beside your head, swung one leg over your head as you lay flat upon the bed so she now kneeled directly above you. It was the perfect access point. None of the pressure was on you, only what you wanted there to be.

Pulling her down by the hips until her core ghosted so close to your lips that your exhale made her shiver, you made sure you had a good enough grip on her even if all her weight was on your mattress. Crypto took Loba’s chin aiming for the heavens as his queue that you were comfortable again and started back at a slow pace. He always liked to alternate between almost teasingly slow, slow enough that you got needy when he pulled fully out of you, before you the exact pace that you needed from him.

Loba tried not to grind against your face but your actions did nothing to deter her from it. She was extremely responsive to any stimulation she received and your tongue was right up there as one of her favourite ways to be pleasured. Your strokes were careful, teasing and just how she liked it. Although your body jerked forward with each thrust from Crypto, Loba didn’t seem to mind and simply rocked her hips along your face in time with his movements. Each time he pulled back out of you only to fully sheath himself inside you again, a small gasp or moan escaped you. The vibrations just made Loba’s experience even better, small rhythmic cries falling from her lips.

When you felt Crypto’s fingers on your mound again, you had to lift Loba off you slightly to breathe. He always knew exactly where and how to touch you and even though you couldn’t see him, you could hear his soft laugh at the sound you made when he circled your clit. The feeling of being filled over and over by his thick member was divine in and of itself, his girth allowed him to rub your walls with ease especially at the angle he had you in now. Your legs wrapped around his hips and he kept your lower half-raised slightly off the bed. But combined with his hands? It was difficult to concentrate on anything but.

The more you got distracted by Crypto, the needier Loba became, jerking her hips in tiny thrusts to enable some kind of friction. Your fingers dimpled the backs of her thighs to keep her in place as you tried to make up for your few distracted moments. She was getting close now, you could feel it. The poor woman wasn’t used to actually being on the receiving end of such things until she met you.

“I think I’m going to come,” Crypto said with a sharp intake of breath, followed by a barely spoken curse.

“Me too.” She whined, “Pick up the pace, Hacker.” She leant back on her heels to the point where she was nearly sitting on your chest now, a hand in your hair and the other keeping herself steady. Unable to tear her eyes away from your face as you worked on her, an intense ripple of pleasure rushed through her when your eyes met hers. As you tugged her clit back between your lips and sucked all whilst flicking it with your tongue over and over, she was done for. Her head dropped back and her hands now gripped your head with all her desperate strength as she cried a far louder noise than you had ever heard from her before. Her release fell from her entrance right onto your wait tongue, making sure to keep up the intensity until you felt her body relax within your arms.

“Shit!” Crypto cursed and you felt his cock again twitch within you as Loba rolled off to your side, “Are you close?” He asked, voice strained and breathless.

“Yes!” Now that Loba was off of you, you were free to reach forward and cling to him, nails digging into the back of his shoulders and dragging him back down onto the bed with you. With the new angle, his cock hit right where you needed it, the tip brushing over your g-spot over and over as his hand continued to work on your clit. You were almost there now, he could feel it. You felt so good, clenching and releasing around him as a new rush of moisture left you. Loba decided at that moment that sucking one of your nipples into her mouth was a good idea. Suffice to say: It was and it very nearly finished you off. You looked up at them above you, their focus solely on you as they worked and shaped your flesh to bring you the most pleasure they could.

It was only when Crypto leaned in to kiss you that you finally came for the third time that night. Neither he nor Loba ceased their efforts until your orgasm fully ceased. Wave upon wave of glorious pleasure washed over you. Your release was enough for Crypto to come again too, his face buried in your neck as he whimpered. Your oversensitive walls welcomed the sensation of him filling you again.

Loba collapsed at your side and Crypto basically flattened out on top of you before realising that maybe wasn’t the best idea and rolling off of you. Their hands were still on you. Gentle, loving caresses as you caught your breath and fully came down from your high. Your skin still pleasantly tingled from their touch, small shivers still coursing through from your orgasm. All three of you were spent and thoroughly satisfied.

Your muscles still felt soft but you knew you would be sore in the morning. All you wanted to do right now was to lay with them. Feel their arms around you and them in yours. Have Loba hold you from behind whilst Crypto buried his face in your shoulder and clung to you like a Koala bear. You just wanted to drift off in their arms.

But then the doorbell decided it was going to ring.

Crypto moved to get it but Loba stopped him. “No no no, you go to the bathroom. I’ll get it.” Before pulling Crypto’s shirt over her head again and attempting to fix her hair, she covered you with your sheets, a wad of cash in her hand ready for the delivery driver. She looked adorable in such a long t-shirt, so long it came to her mid-thighs. A plain black t-shirt with no shape and clearly sex-tousled hair yet she still looked like she belonged in a magazine.

“Pizza’s finally here!” She exclaimed, kicking the door shut behind her, a large flat box in her hand. Her other hand was empty and the massive bundle of cash was nowhere to be found.

“How much was the pizza, Loba?”

She shrugged as she set the box down atop your covers, “No idea, you know I like to tip big!” Crypto returned from the bathroom, wearing only his pair of sweatpants you had given Loba earlier, “Off you go, your turn.” She nodded towards the bathroom. She was very responsible when it came to after sex. As much as you wanted to sleep afterwards, she was always adamant you go clean yourself up first. It was one of her rare ways of showing how much she cared.

When you were finished, you toddled out of the bathroom and back towards your bed, feeling decidedly underdressed before Taejoon noticed you rummaging for something comfortable and tossed you the very shirt he was wearing that day, with a smile. That left none for him but he didn’t seem to mind. As you pulled the fabric over your head, you couldn’t help but inhale his scent that lingered.

The three of you sat on your bed in relative silence, eating the lukewarm pizza until your hunger ceased. For once, Crypto was the first to interrupt the silence when he left the bed to check up on the decryption status, “Another nine hours until the decryption is complete”.

Loba yawned, both from tiredness and at the thought of waiting nine hours for anything, “Well, in that case, we had better get comfortable.” She took the empty pizza box from your bed and discarded it by your desk.

After gathering up all the courage your tired brain could muster, “So… what do you say you guys both sleep here tonight?” You asked. Crypto was already stretched out at your back, his arms wrapping around you and his warmth seeping into you when he said, “No, I think we should awkwardly go back to our own rooms and talk in the morning.” You scoffed, knowing he was joking, he took every given opportunity to have you in his arms.

Loba stood at the edge of your bed like she was actually considering what he said to be something other than sarcasm. She rarely stayed with you after sex. Even in her own apartment, she would place a kiss on your temple then leave no doubt to pull some kind of heist. It was almost like she was afraid to get too attached to you like someone might take her from you as well as everyone else she had ever loved. But now, as she looked at you, your eyes all soft all and pleading, she thought back to only a few hours ago in the medbay when you fretted over Crypto and had told her you would do the same for her. She realised she could more than just meaningless material things and vengeance. She finally felt like she deserved more.

She sighed, “Well, alright. Not like I’m doing anything else tonight.” And so she clambered beneath the covers and into your open arms. “Have we done enough to satisfy?” She asked and you couldn’t help but laugh. Your legs were already beginning to ache and your entire body felt like each nerve ending and been caressed.

“Just being able to spend time with you both is already enough,” Her hand came to cup your cheek, thumb tracing over your cheekbone. You felt Crypto place a kiss on the top of your head as he allowed himself to relax a little more, his body near-painted onto the back of yours, “But yes, thoroughly. You’re both so wonderful that I never really thought to stop and wonder what it would be like to have you together and it was better than I ever could have hoped for. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“Oh sweetheart, you do so much more for us than we could ever hope to repay.” She pecked your check.

“More than we deserve.”

“That’s not true, Ta-” you cut yourself off, “That’s not true. You shouldn’t have to worry about the Syndicate or Revenant trying to take you out every ten minutes. You deserve to be happy and safe a-and loved. As long as I’m around, I’ll do my best to make sure you feel that way. Because I know that’s not something neither of you have had in a very long time.”

Taejoon tightened his arms around you, holding you closer to his chest. He placed one hand over yours as you rested it on Loba’s side, his fingers interlocking with yours. That meant so much more to him than he would ever let on in front of Loba. Meanwhile, you could see the water pooling in the corners of her eyes as she looked at you so endearingly. She brought her lips to yours for a moment, in the softest kiss you’d ever felt from her before she nuzzled her nose into your cheek.

Sandwiched between them in a mess of warm and tangled limbs, you felt safe and for once, they did too. Loba was the first to drift off to sleep, her grip on you going lax as her breath evened. You felt Crypto shift behind you slightly, his arm beneath you no doubt beginning to go numb.

“It’s alright, you can rest. We’ll still be here when you wake up.” He whispered, voice as soft as he could make it.

And so you did. With Loba sound asleep in your arms and Taejoon wrapping you up in his, you let your tired limbs melt into the soft mattress below and your heavy eyelids close for the night.

Tagging (Thank you for liking/ rbing that post to be tagged :D ): @kumiakum @dragon-chica @lonelyintheclub @wintergirlsoilder2 @itsthedoctah10 @quinn-lee @askloba @julestheengineer1 @smolminimonnie @peachymochimochi @korean-crypted-trash @speakinjapanese @lilacburned @bring-me-the-videogames (If you’d like to be untagged, please let me know!)

#crypto x reader #loba x reader #loba x reader x crypto #loba andrade #apex crypto #taejoon park #apex loba #loba #my writing #smut #apex legends #apex lemons

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highladyluck · 4 years

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Mat/Tuon meta: Will He/Won’t He (Stage A Military Coup)

Back on my Mat/Tuon meta horse! This is about why Tuon is absolutely convinced Mat won't mount a military coup against her, and under what circumstances he just might, actually. Obviously, ‘ware series spoilers. The personal/political dynamic Mat and Tuon have at the end of the series continues to fascinate me. Tuon is well aware that Mat’s prince-consort position, Prince of the Ravens, is a position that could lead a military coup against her leadership; she knows all about the power struggle that imperialist, expansionist government leaders face with respect to their armies and the generals that lead the armies. She also knows at this point that Mat specifically has the skillset to pull that kind of thing off; he has demonstrated political skill even if he's not used to Seanchan customs (she noted that the way he diffused tension in the hell boded well for his ability to handle Seanchan court politics), he quickly inspires personal trust and loyalty in his troops regardless of what troops he's actually leading (see: when he meets back up with the Band in the Altaran wilderness, plus how quickly her own armies took to him), and of course he is brilliant at tactics and strategy (see: the entire series starting at book 4). She is also *certain* that he won't actually use that power against her. He has shown her personal loyalty on numerous other occasions, and Tuon's entire brand and survival strategy is generating personal loyalty due to her power (or potential power), skills, and personal integrity. She knows what personal loyalty looks like and she knows how it works. She's a little appalled at herself for not being afraid of Mat staging a coup, and she even thinks that it's probably not good for her or the empire to *not* be constantly threatened by her top military commander, because she's been conditioned to believe that external threats keep her sharp and focused- but she absolutely does trust him not to be a threat to her. Which is wild!!! You have to understand how wild this is!

Tuon previously only trusted her personal safety to people she thoroughly controls- Selucia, Karede, her damane. She does have a kind of control over Mat, but it's not based on anything she's done or her position, it's based on his personality and choices, and I don't think she thinks she controls him. (I think she believes she has authority over him, and that's at least somewhat true, but that's much different from the total control she has over enslaved people, or even the political control she has over the Blood.) She does also trust people she doesn't entirely control- the people who are almost her peers- but notably she doesn't trust them not to hurt her. She trusts that they'll act in ways benefiting their own self-interest or the interest of the empire, which could mean they might hurt her.

Mat, on the other hand, she trusts not to hurt her except accidentally, by making choices that have implications for her standing. (That's what all the manners lessons are about, she's trying to protect him so he doesn't leave her exposed.) Again, THIS IS WILD. Tuon’s an autocratic empress raised under the threat of assassination from birth, she has MAJOR trust and control issues, and here is someone she does not fully control but whom she implicitly trusts not to physically or even intentionally harm her. Do you think she's ever had that experience in her life before? I can't see how she would have. I think there's room to explore this in a way that would be therapeutic for Tuon, but it's also an extremely tempting vulnerability to exploit narratively. Either way, it's fascinating. So what's Mat's motivation not to harm Tuon, and how much of it does Tuon know? It's both a character thing and a situational thing, and I think Tuon knows about some of it, but not all of it, and she also has some major blind spots about what Mat is capable of. Mat won't intentionally harm her for a couple of general character reasons: he's in love with her, which she knows about and is like 'weird flex, but ok'; I don't know if she really knows how to parse it tbh. Also, because he won't kill a woman, which she knows about and is like 'this dumbassery is going to get my himbo straight-up murdered; however, it's kinda cute'. Also, because he has a saving-people-especially-women-thing, which she may or may not know about; I forget whether it came up in any of her surreal chats with Mat's childhood friends, but even if it did she may not know enough to give it proper context in his motivations, or understand how truly generalized it is. He's also promised to protect her from harm in the past, and while that may have been a time-/situation-limited thing, she's seen that he keeps his promises, assuming he gave the promise in earnest. So while he hasn't necessarily made such a promise recently, she knows that he keeps his word and that's something she values as a mark of integrity and a reason to trust someone. The other reasons she trusts him are more down to circumstances: the Last Battle had him temporarily siding with the Seanchan against their common enemy, the Dark One. I think Tuon's aware that he's not fully committed to the Empire yet, but possibly she doesn't realize the extent to which he is ambivalent, or she thinks it's the kind of thing they can compromise on, like the uniform design, rather than a fundamental disconnect in goals. Or she thinks that once he understands what his responsibilities are, he'll absorb himself into the role the way she has, which is... uh... rather optimistic of her, but we all have our blind spots. Finally, I don't think Mat's fully realized that a military coup (which would likely look like a situation where he spares Tuon's life but gets her off the throne) is an option for him. Or, it's occurred to him, but the circumstance has not yet come up that would justify him taking that path. And I do *not* think Tuon has considered this! She might think he knows that the Prince of Ravens is traditionally a threat to the Empress, but I don't recall that she's actually said that to him. And I don't think she sees a difference between her not being Empress and her being dead- she's conflated 'being in power' with 'staying alive' literally her entire life, and she probably thinks any situation where she's not Empress but still alive, if it's even possible, would be so shameful/painful it would be better to be dead. So it wouldn't occur to her that one outcome of a coup would be to replace her as government head but still keep her alive. And Mat hasn't yet faced a situation where he might have major ethical issues with not just the structure of the army but also the goals of it. (Even his iconic ‘I am accidentally leading an army despite really not wanting to lead an army, because I can’t let these dumbasses get killed’ move was ethically consistent, since he was just trying to run away/save people.) And, as I will never shut up about, he’s done literal war crimes to achieve his goals before- he didn’t stop to give aid after he ambushed the Seanchan in the Altaran forest, even though Teslyn specifically says this is against Randland military convention. And given Mat’s early canonical history of being railroaded into leading military campaigns, I don’t think Mat’s going to balk at leading the Seanchan army just because he doesn’t like the Seanchan empire, though it will matter what specifically he’s asked to do with it and why. I think Mat's way more likely to be willing to lead the reunification of Seanchan than to deal with local Westlands slave uprisings or rebellion. You're going to hit his moral breaking point a lot sooner if there's domestic civil crises. An actual slave revolt or rebellion would get hit with military force, and Mat says as much to Beslan so he's well aware that he'd be, if not in charge, certainly culpable for the Seanchan government response to it. (They might try to prevent it from happening at all with Seekers; but Seekers are mostly focused on the Blood, I think, so I think it's possible that if there's minimal Blood involvement they might not know about it in time to nip it in the bud.) So if you wanted to force Mat to have a crisis of conscience that's one situation you could set up, and I think it's even somewhat likely. Post-TG Seanchan-Westland politics are going to be a Cold War, and many entities in the Westlands would be happy to lend plausibly deniable support to an organic citizen and/or slave uprising! The other thing is, Mat needs to be constantly occupied and he does like using his skills; if he gets an 'acceptable' target for military force he probably will go for it. So if the forces in Seanchan unified under a rando warlord, he'd probably be ok leading the Westlands Seanchan troops there, reasoning that Tuon is probably a better or at least more influenceable ruler than that other guy. (Might be complicated if it was a female unifier, but probably not that much.) He would not be keen on enslaving the free Westlands- not that that’s going to happen as long as the Dragon’s Peace is going on- but a ‘peacekeeping mission in a foreign land’? ...idk, I can see him going for it, especially if he doesn't have enough political capital yet to back up an outright refusal. Mat was conflicted about using the damane he captured in the Last Battle, but he did use her. She was a prisoner of war from the enemy side, which probably eased his conscience a little re: personally owning her, but I don't see anywhere in the text that he had issues commanding Seanchan sul'dam and damane in a less personal way. The Last Battle was an unusual situation, but we've also seen Mat willing to ally or at least put up with plenty of people he dislikes- on personal and ideological grounds- to achieve a goal (see: rescuing Joline) or just figure out his options (see: all that card-playing with nobles in the Stone of Tear while he had emotions about Rand. XD)

So if you wanted to force Mat to have a moral crisis while fighting in Seanchan, you'd make the people he's fighting in Seanchan be people he sympathizes with more than he sympathizes with imperial Seanchan; let's say it's a coalition of rebels who want a different, more equal society. Mat's got gilt by association (thank you for that amazing phrase, Terry Pratchett) and he's not pleased about it, and unlike Tuon, he can envision a situation where she's still alive but not Empress. So I think that'd be another situation that would force him to have a crisis of conscience and start planning a coup or at least using his considerable power for leverage. The key in both cases is that it's not just Mat randomly deciding to take a stand for freedom; frankly, I don't think he would, unless he thought it was the best way to 'rescue' Tuon, and even then he would wait or maneuver until the tactical/strategic landscape was as much in his favor as possible, which is where the external circumstances weakening the Empire come in.

#mat/tuon #wheel of time #wheel of time meta #seanchan #mat cauthon #tuon paendrag #problematic fave tuon #wheel of time spoilers #post-canon #sorry I know no one wants to read more about coups this week

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iwaqchan-archive · 4 years

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author´s note; today is my husband´s birthday and honestly i´ve been working on this for a week, it´s the longest piece i´ve written up to date and wow. also i want to thank (as well as apologize omg) to @kamehamethot and @briswriting for annoying the fuck out of you for days. i love you and thank you for not kicking my ass. i would be incredibly lost without you!

everything in this post was made by me!

pairing; iwaizumi hajime x reader

word count; 1770

genre; fluff, slight angst?

requests; open

wanna be on my haikyuu!! taglist?

take a look at my iwa-chan birthday edit, if you want!

His eyes stared into the colourful night, lights shining brightly across the sky, his back pressed comfortably against the glass of his garret window. The roof of his home had always been a comforting place for him, no worries would follow him here, as there was only the night and its chilly winds to think about. Time seemed nonexistent up there, as he wasn’t sure how many minutes or perhaps even hours he had spent immersed in his own thoughts, which had been keeping him up at night as of late. Not even the calm of the night and the wind sweeping through his spiky hair seemed to put his unusually frenzied mind at ease. The image of a girl with e/c eyes and the most bewitching of smiles appearing before him as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Hajime shook his head, hoping the motion would finally clear his mind of you, but as usual it merely ended up being a rather...futile attempt. His eyes cast down as he unlocked his phone, going through the various pictures in his gallery, when he stumbled upon a particularly charming one. It was a photograph of you, eyes sparkling in the sun, smile so bright it could rival any jewel and most importantly all of your attention was on him. Not on that bastard Shittykawa, like it seemed to be for these last couple of days. He probably should have known from the start, everyone always seemed to fancy Oikawa quite a lot more than they ever did him. This wasn’t something that usually got to him, at least never quite to this extent, after all he had gotten relatively used to it over the years.

Most girls he found himself enamoured with fell victim to Tōru Oikawa’s endless charm, ridiculously beautiful face and athletic genius. While many things changed in his life with time, this and the ever annoying presence of his companion seemed to be only things staying constant. Sometimes he figured he really had no right to complain, he cherished his friendship with Tōru, he truly did, but he couldn’t help feel the slightest bit of resentment towards the Grand King. He felt bland compared to him, he didn’t have an enthralling smile, a presence so grand and otherworldly or even wits to make up for his lack of charisma. Sure, he had quite a nice physique if he dared say so himself, something he had worked incredibly hard for and his skin had an olive tan that many of his peers were jealous over even if he couldn’t quite understand why. But he was still quite rough around the edges, a brute as Oikawa liked to call him and more often than not he didn’t even look approachable, especially not to girls.

With a sigh and another shake of his head, he began to climb back inside his room, the sudden warmth making tiny goosebumps appear on the naked skin of his arms and neck. He fell back onto his bed, finding his thoughts racing once again, more so than before, making him groan in utter frustration at his own dilema. Sleep won’t find him tonight, he figured as he prepared himself for another restless night.

The hallway was alive, students and teachers alike buzzing along the corridors trying to quickly make their way to the cafeteria, but not you. You on the other hand were trying to maneuver your way through the thick crowd of people, a certain destination - or rather a certain someone set in your mind. A tiny box held by your slightly shaky hands, if it was out of nervousness or fright you weren’t quite sure. But you supposed it really didn’t matter all too much, especially now with the sight of his spiky brown hair coming into view. The skin of your cheeks suddenly heated up, a rosé blush quite evident on them - you had never been so grateful for his eyes being glued to his phone. His brows were scrunched in evident concentration, and admittedly it would have been quite the adorable sight, if your heart wasn’t threatening to burst out of your chest at any moment.

“Iwaizumi-san”, the sound of your angelic voice snapping him out of his daze, eyes quickly darting towards your blush adorned face. He really couldn’t help the small smile forming once he noticed the pink hue on your cheeks, but quickly made sure to replace it with his usual poker face. “I have something I would like to give you.”, you continued, voice more quiet and unsure than usual. Your slightly shaky hands lifted, showing a small lunch box wrapped neatly with a blue sparkly band around it. It was quite endearing actually. Everything about you was, the way you refused to drop the honorific, no matter how many times he told you there really was no need for it, just because he was your senpai. Or the way your eyes seemed to sparkle whenever you got excited, the words tumbling from your lips in such a haste, it took him a lot of willpower and concentration to catch every word. There were so many things he liked about you, it would take him hours to name them all, and even then he was sure there were so many more he simply hadn’t discovered yet.

“....Oikawa.” and suddenly he was no longer in that love-struck daze, that name ringing in his ears like the drill of a whistle. Of course, that box in your hands was more than likely something you made especially for him. For Oikawa. “Oikawa?” he repeated, a bitter taste staying on his tongue after the name left his lips. “Uh..yeah..Oikawa-san?”, a sudden uncomfortable silence fell between the two of you, nervous eyes darting from his taller form to the tiny box in your hands. His eyes were narrowed, a kind of expression on his face you had never seen before, and for a split second you swore you saw a flash of hurt cross his face. “Yeah...no, thanks.”, and with a final shake of his head, he went on his way, leaving you standing by his locker, stumped and upset. Once again, your eyes found the small box still held in between your hands, wet spots littered the lid, along with the heart shaped glitter stickers you put in hopes of emphasizing your point. Guess all of that was for nothing, you thought as you dumped the box along with its contents into the nearest bin, unaware of the hazel eyes watching from the other side of the hallway.

Hajime felt miserable, he was angry, with Oikawa, with you but mostly with himself for once again thinking he had even an ounce of a chance. Obviously you would fall for his best friend, he had never met a girl who didn’t like Tooru at least a little bit. “What’s gotten you in such a sour mood, Iwaizumi?”, Mattsun questioned, clearly concerned for his friend. It wasn’t often they saw him with a scowl this big without the presence of a certain setter around, and usually this was an even bigger cause for concern. He wasn’t ready to reply, not yet anyways, but before he even had the chance to utter a reply, a sound that could only be described as a shriek filled his ears. “IWA-CHAN!” His eardrums will have permanent damage, he was absolutely certain of it as the setter all but stormed up to the table he was currently sitting at. “Why did you make Y/N-chan cry?”, the taller male practically seethed at him, a look so angry it could even rival his own signature scowl. A lump formed in his throat, did he really make you cry? “Y/N-chan and I spent so much time making you that stupid tofu, only for you to be so mean to her? She even threw it away!” He let his friend ramble on, the weight of his actions slowly sinking in, that box had been his all along. Truly, he was an absolute moron, if he had only listened to you properly instead of falling into one of his daydreams. Without uttering a single word, he stood up from his seat and dashed out of the cafeteria, dead set on making it right this time.

He found you in your classroom, head caged between your arms as you cried silently. The lump in his throat only growing tighter, his steps small and silent as he moved to the seat in front of your desk. You were alerted of his presence when you heard the scratching of the chair against the wooden floor, his eyes sharp as ever, staring at your admittedly crestfallen form. “I’m sorry, Shittykawa told me...I thought you made it for him.” Made it for Oikawa? You weren’t quite sure if you heard him right, his voice was unusually quiet, missing it’s confidence and authority. “No, i asked him for help. It was supposed to be a surprise for you, Iwaizumi-san.”

Now he really felt awful, your bright eyes peering up at him, small hands wiping away the tears staining your cheeks. Without thinking, his hand reached out, wiping a stray tear from your cheek, which in turn heated up at the softness of his gesture. Out of instinct, your eyes drifted away from his leafy-greens, the pink in your cheeks only darkening in colour. Hajime cleared his throat, straightening in his seat at the same time. “Why...uhm...did you make the food in the first place?” Uncertainty quite discernable in his voice, eyes once more finding your own. You must have looked like a tomato at this point, ears burning with utter embarrassment as you tried to stammer out a response. “I...like you.”

Green eyes widened at your statement, his lips suddenly turning upwards into a wide grin, one of his hands finding your significantly smaller one, thumb carefully stroking along your knuckles. “I...uh...like you too. And i am sorry about the tofu, perhaps I can take you out on a date? You know as..uhm...reparation?” You have never agreed faster to anything in your life.

#haikyuuwritersnet #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime imagine #hajime iwaizumi imagine #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine

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sonderrow-moved · 3 years

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I was expecting a good memeing but instead I got thoughtful and heartwarming investment I’m weeping, my chest is all warm and fuzzy. @solaoccasum

i read that archer enjoys bathing, because it’s akin to the strange euphoria when one is drunk. so i have to ask, does he ever combine the two? has he ever accidentally drowned himself, if so?

That’s a great observation I don’t mention often ! ;; Archer does combine the two at times ! Only very rarely. It could be because a) he’s often drunk anyway or b) it is not easily available where he bathes/practical to bother with a container he’d need to personally arrange or c) bath houses, for obvious safety reason, do not serve or allow alcohol while bathing. Drinking alcohol, in Archer’s alcoholic habits, is a common occurrence, while long bathing times is more of a luxury he allows for himself, so he tends to not necessarily associate the two hand in hand. Usually, the sensation of bathing is strong enough that alcohol wouldn’t change much given his personal resistance (atop of the now vampire one that just tripled it).

The times Archer would have drunk while in a bath was when Integra ( @midorigxrxge) would treat him to a large bath and serve him a glass (more like a bottle given how much he asks for). The earlier times would be while his sire would (near forcibly) throw him into his bathtub to bathe together, because Alucard was just like that, indulging in everything at the same time, wanting to drink strong alcohol with Archer in the same “large but just small enough for two grown men to be uncomfortably snuggled against one another in a tub”―ideally (for Alucard and Alucard only), they would have had sex while bathing and drinking, but since Archer wouldn’t have any, he mostly just decided to drown him for amusement.

So the happenstance of Archer mixing the two pleasures together would mostly be for an occasion where he had company to drink with.

has jael ever had an immediate attraction to someone, when courting hasn’t been involved? does he like doing grand gestures for a s/o? has he ever been courted?

That’s another good question !! Jael is quite a shallow person when attraction is involved. So, to put it elegantly, when someone’s body is showing great sexual assets, he does have this immediate attraction, even if they don’t directly make a move on him.

There is no real way for the moment to know if Jael likes grand gestures from a significant other, because he’s never had a grand gesture that was actually thoughtful about his person done to him. Every time it was made, it was a traditionally more of the shallow, generic type of grand gesture, like a surprise party or large gifts that “anyone would like”, but never something that could truly touch him. I’d tend to say that he doesn’t like those, but something that was truly thought through and very personal to him ? Given he’s a pretty laid back and low-key kind of romantic partner, I wouldn’t know exactly yet !

Jael has been courted in the past. As a jock type person and a guy who grew into a typically masculine good-looking white man in North America, it is not hard to imagine people making a move on him, even in the more sentimental way, all cisfemales, as he always gave too much of a I’m absolutely straight vibe. Unfortunately for those who flirted with more romantic and emotionally invested type of thoughts, Jael never (and may never?) fulfilled those expectations, albeit not on purpose.

what would archer do if his immortality was suddenly gone? would he react? would he worry about his mortality?

It would be quite a shock for sure, as it was already a massive trauma AND shock to be suddenly turned in one of the most painful way possible and be hit in the face with the fact that everything about his nature was to change, for eternity. However, I do believe that after time spent to come in terms with this, Archer ultimately wouldn’t mind so much. Even as a vampire, some form of mortality always loomed, and his cynical, depressive mindset always thought of the worst-case scenario. The immortality did give him some courage to make some leaps, but he would keep on living the same way he does right now. Because as a vampire or a human, Archer only tries to live his life (or unlife(?)) one day at a time.

when it comes to quinn’s...slimy limbs, has he ever throttled someone to death? does he found the thought horrific? is he overstimulated, scent wise, when it comes to being in an environment that is alight with smells?

Quinn has, so far, never used his limbs in an offensive way. It simply doesn’t compute with his prey-leaning instincts. He and his slime peers are no predators, and he has never seen his extra arms as something which could potentially cause harm to someone, only something practical for himself to reach farther places in a timely fashion. Given he still hasn’t fully developed nor explored the potential of his tentacles in Earth’s gravity, a lot is open to possibilities, especially now that he’s maturing amongst humans, and his thoughts are becoming more concrete.

That’s a very good supposition because yes, Quinn is VERY sensitive to scents !! Much like multiple mammals. Given his prey role, his senses are very aware of what surrounds him, and his scent is very sensitive, as it is so much more reliable than sight when wanting to survive. Quinn’s sense of smell, like all other senses is felt like a closer to a human (or more like a mammal since it’s so much more accute) when in a human form, while it is computed very differently while a slime, but to the same result. Quinn associates scents much like an animal does, as in he is not necessarily disgusted by their sources unlike a lot of humans (say, for example, trash and body odors), but seeing them as identifiers. And, just like certain animals, his emotional response is also dictated by what he smells, like a loved one for example.

if roy could give up one insecurity/normalization of something he dislikes, what would it be? does he expect to live a long, full life? if not, does he have some sort of twisted bucklist to complete?

I assume you mean anything in the world ? If that is so I think that Roy would like to suppress entirely blissful ignorance, especially the type which people decide to stay in. Things like people reposting cute seals pictures with “uwu so cute” while they take no care of the environment are what greatly grind his gear. He would take someone who actively dislikes seals and the environment and has full conscience of the consequences of their action than someone who starts to make jokes when confronted by such things. From small to crucial matters.

Roy doesn’t expect to live a long, full life, as he is very lonely, and aims to live a life without regrets, even if it is not necessarily a happy one. However, you may argue he has already lived a long life. As far as bucklists go, yes, actually ! He has one, which is, to make it short, full of goals to control how other people think and act, and is basically impossible to achieve.

when it comes to archer’s and olu’s ( @nvrcmplt ) relationship, does archer have any hang ups. are there desires he’s yet to explore with the lion? does he trust him? do they trust each other? does he ever....wonder about what if they never met?

That is another great and also embarrassing question !

Archer would... love to explore the very limit of how much abuse Oluwayemisi can take in the bedroom, but abstain to do so given the lion’s antecedents with genuine, non-roleplay abuse which Archer was key in being responsible for it*. The desire DOES show, especially when he is topping, atop of how much of a bloody mess both their maw and claws can do.

*So, for those who didn’t know, Archer played a key resource role with the people responsible for Oluwayemisi’s pride death, torture, enslavement, experimentation, you name it, which only left his son Osakwe luckily estranged with a healthy adoptive family, and Oluwayemisi a slave forced to fight in pits like an animal while being treated like a piece of meat. Not knowing how much he had actually been involved with Olu as he and his kind were, at the times, for Archer, numbers and words in business emails related to atrocities he had been numbed of, Archer fell in lust sponsored Oluwayemisi’s fights. And, as Oluwayemisi turned out to be very intelligent which just made the whole lust thing way worst, the two of them started to have actual discussions and rapports, despite the discrepancy in power role. Olu showed a care and thoughtful, wise responses to his antics that Archer couldn’t have cared if the second he dropped his guard he’d find out it was all a scheme to kill him and run away, he had just fallen too deeply in love. And he’d gladly have been ripped apart by someone he already found so great.

The thing is, Archer is very aware of how unusual the kink scene can be to Oluwayemisi. The rawer type of violence they can use at times plays on familiar, animal instincts the both of them carry, but more elaborate plays is potentially puzzling. Olu has been very receptive to a lot of Archer’s material, but never to the extent he’d take it if possible. Because a) Archer is too afraid to ask (a rare occurence) b) he loves Oluwayemisi way more than risking triggering something and c) even with his moral ambiguities and wrongs, Archer can definitely see the amount of fucked up this would imply.

Since they, although messily because as you can read Archer is just like that when things reach a personal level, are open to sexual encounters outside their relationship, Archer contents himself with letting out this preference out on willing (or not really all the time...) partners who know they are into it.

Does Archer trust Oluwayemisi ? He would love to say yes, but, ultimately, no, Archer doesn’t trust Olu. Despite everything the lion could tell him, Archer is sure that, if the right mother material would come up, he would rather Oluwayemisi leaves him for the freer lifestyle he tore him away from. He is sure that, if it came down to it, Olu would choose his son over him and he would be right to do so. And, most of all, Archer is sure that, as Olu discover more about him, he will end up hating him, like he should have done from the very beginning.

Do they trust each others ? There’s so little change in the wording, yet my answer would be the total opposite, I do think that Olu and Archer trust one another. They trust one another to love and care for the other, trust that they will both take into account the other’s desires and needs. That they will both compromise if one has different preferences than the other. As chaotic as Archer can be, they actually have quite a stable, solid relationship going on. On top of all this, Oluwayemisi can read Archer like an absolute open book, which Archer has no idea on how obvious he is to Olu’s eyes. This makes Olu’s view of Archer drastically different and much more stable.

Does Archer wonder if he never met Olu. He does, a lot. Because of his insecurities on how much he finds himself out of Olu’s league. Archer thinks that he may have never found out, and that he doesn’t even admit it to himself and probably never will but that is only the truth, that Archer needed to be literally fucked as hard as he had fucked others over in his life. That he yearned to be punished so badly and still does. The need to have at his side a powerful person who’d constantly challenge him, to punish and be punished. Archer thinks he could have continued settling with people he can use, weaker people he can play around with as they kneel and beg to be abused by him. That he would have thought that finally admitting he was into men was enough, and there was nothing else more to admit to himself.

Help me when it comes to them I write so much.

does jael ever worry about his age when it comes to sex? or relationships? even for like casual things with friends? is he up to date on slang and such with the younger generation lol ?

That is both hilarious and amazing thank you so much hahahaha !

Jael is someone who is at the peak of shape given his lifestyle and profession, so he never truly worried about his age when sex was on the table. If anything, with his age, he worries more about his practical, physical skills degrading with time, and him not being able to perform his job and protect his brothers and sisters in arms efficiently, especially since he has the role of the heavy stuff in his unit.

On relationships, however, as much as he’d hate to admit, yes. Jael thinks he has become way too old to have a significant relationship, but that is something he actually gave up on pretty early on, as he was never good at this kind of things. It is one thing to dream about a fulfilling romance, another to put up with the hardships that comes with a real one.

When it comes to friendship, Jael does have a hard time. However, age is less of an issue than his lifestyle. Not everyone is military and can bond with one who has been so deeply in it. It is a unique culture, a unique mindset. Some people in service are more flexible, but those like Jael who had service define all they are have a harder time bonding with others that are not on the job, and an even harder time bonding with people in service who are not in active duty anymore, as things can degrade rapidly.

Is Jael up for woohoo and such with younger people ? Absolutely. I mean he did... kinky stuff under a restaurant table with someone who seemed younger ( @lightpersists wink wonk). When you go past the weird mask thing and the foul mouth, he finds himself often attracting people in their early thirties or even twenties. Jael doesn’t really... have a moral compass on the matter. It is pretty much “as long as it is legal I’m good” type of deal, and even then he’s the kind of stupid, irresponsible, yikes man who would believe a 17 yo by word if she said “I’m 20 I just look younger”. (though if we go into specifics, he wouldn’t do it with someone he physically saw looked like a kid he prefers womanly ladies) Younger people are actually less put off by Jael’s appearance and behaviour, so he does tend to naturally be around them. If he hits it off with someone younger than him who is also an adult, it is only natural to him. He doesn’t feel guilty about getting along with groups in their 20s or early 30s, but maybe a bit of shame because, even for him, it sometimes feel a bit off...

#solaoccasum #tysm again for this ;;;#. Quinn's core ( headcanon )#. Kessler's facets ( headcanon )#. Jael's is ( headcanon )#. Spiegel's canon ( headcanon )#long post #AGAIN TYSM THIS WAS SO FUN ??? aaaaaaaa

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pascalls · 4 years

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Gazebo of Horrors

Charlie enjoys a Halloween night with the regulars from the bar, solidifying the holiday as his favorite for a number of reasons.

Feat. Lisa, Lenny, Carl, Moe, Barney, Sam, and Larry

Author’s Note: This one’s gay.

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Charlie couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent night’s sleep. Twisting and turning in his sleeping spot, he was uncomfortably warm. Trapped in the middle of a nightmare, Charlie felt sweat bead at his forehead and the sound of someone giving chase. He ran, unable to outpace whatever it was that was at his heels, sharp, pointed ends of something metallic scraping the concrete as it jabbed at his tail. Only when he turned did he realize that whatever it was looked a lot like Ned Flanders…

He awoke with a start as a clang on the metal outside of his impromptu napping place broke him from his fitful slumber. He sat up, only just pausing before hitting his head on the plastic ‘roof’. Reaching up, he pushed it up and away, peering out and ready to shoot a glare at whoever happened to interrupt his rest when he noticed that it was already evening. Blinking away the remainder of his sleep, he weighed his options. Go back to sleep until morning? Slink out and back to Lovejoy’s before his absence was noticed?

“Nurse Walker?”

The voice startled him slightly as he turned, spying the familiar face of Lisa Simpson who seemed to be staring at him quizzically. As if he’d grown another head.

“Were you… sleeping in there?” She asked, pointing at the metal dumpster that Charlie had emerged from. Astute as ever, he thought.

“...I might’ve been,” he replied, about to come up with some sort of excuse for why he’d chosen such a place to hide away and nap, but she provided a fantastic distraction as he took in what she was wearing. Definitely not her usual outfit. “...What are you wearing?”

“Oh!” Lisa grinned with enthusiasm, spreading her arms out and doing a little twirl to show off her clothes; a purple dress with yellow flowers in her hair and a small veil-like addition trailing behind her. “I’m Ada Lovelace! The first ever computer programmer. She was an English mathematician who totally blew Charles Babbage away by utilizing his Analytical Engine in ways he never even thought of.”

The information sailed right over Charlie’s head, but as he leaned out of his dumpster bed, he watched her with a little smile. Ah, she would go places. Hopefully not into a dumpster like him. But as she spoke, his brain began to putter back to life. Wait. Costume? He glanced down to her hands which held a bag that had to have been half full by then. Full of candy?

His attention drifted to the nearby street as he noted that Lisa was not the only one in unusual garb. Nearby, he heard the telltale voices of Bart, Milhouse, and yes, even Nelson as they presumably trailed along ahead of Lisa. And it was about then that he realized - Oh.

“...It’s Halloween,” he said, interrupting Lisa’s drawn out explanation of said ‘analytical engine’ and how tragic it was that Lovelace had died at such a young age. Though she was a little frustrated at having been cut off, she responded with a nod.

“Yeah. Are you gonna dress up as anything?”

Charlie blinked down at her once or twice. Thinking that over. Well. No. Because he hadn’t even remembered that Halloween was a thing. Until just now. But thinking that through even further, Charlie recognized that he dressed up like it was Halloween every damn day. Which meant that… Maybe… Just maybe…

“...No!” He proclaimed, taking a moment to get his legs under him to spring himself out of the dumpster, landing with a rather pleased expression on his face next to Lisa. “For once, I am not dressing up as a damn thing!”

“Huh. I guess you don’t have to!” Lisa said as she looked him over with a little smile. “It’s like you have a built in costume.”

“For once, being a terrible, horrible abomination to society is going to pay off, my intelligent little friend.” Reaching down, he gave her a gentle pat on the head and then nudged her in the direction of her brother’s fading voice. “Go on! I’m gonna find some trouble to get up to while I have the damn chance, for once.”

Lisa didn’t argue. And she made a mental note to herself to not tell anyone that she’d found the normally downtrodden nurse holed up in the trash. He… probably didn’t need that floating around about him. So she gave him a little wave before running after the others, calling for them to wait for her.

Charlie, meanwhile, was rooted to the spot as his mind raced with possibilities. He could do… SO MUCH now. He could go to the store. He could see a movie. He could just WALK AROUND. And nobody would give a second thought about it! For the briefest of moments, he felt… powerful. He could do anything he wanted-

A nearby screech of tires nearly made him jump back and away from the street as the ugly pink sedan that Charlie instantly recognized as Homer’s came to a stop in front of him. The man himself leaned out from the driver’s seat, grinning widely at Charlie as he called out.

“Hey NURSE! Nice rabbit costume!” Homer yelled. It was clear he’d already had a drink or two, but so had the other six men that were crammed both inside and on the roof of the car. The bar must have been closed, as Charlie noted that the regulars were accompanying Homer on his Halloween joy ride. Lenny, Carl, and Moe sat on the car’s roof, hastily hanging on - presumably, for dear life whenever Homer started driving again - while Barney, Sam, and Larry were crammed inside. Each of them had their own drink in hand and Charlie could hear the clatter of more cans along the car’s floor. They had gotten an early start on the drinking, apparently.

“Hey Charlie! We’re drivin’ down to Flanders’ to egg his house and knock over his mailbox,” Moe called down to the hybrid.

“Remind me why we’re doin’ that?” Carl asked, shaking the can in its hand to check its content level. He would need another one soon.

“Be-CAUSE, it’s FLANDERS,” Homer grunted from the front seat. “What more reason do you need???”

“Can’t argue with that!” Lenny had no objections, apparently. And neither did anyone else. Least of all, Charlie.

“Hell yes, I do. Open one of those things for me, will you?” Charlie said with delight as he hopped over, pleased that none of the men seemed to give two shits as to what he looked like as he clambered up and onto the roof of the sedan. In fact, he wasn’t the only one in the festive mood. Homer had made an attempt at being some kind of vampire, but had apparently given up halfway, tying a black shirt around his neck as a cape and smearing what looked like red jelly around his mouth. Lenny and Carl had swapped outfits, Moe would later on describe his usual attire as being ‘the scariest thing you could see in 2020’, and Barney had simply taken a shower and put on a different shirt. A frightening prospect. Larry did not seem to get the costume memo and Sam had mostly his usual attire, except his overshirt shirt was a red checkered plaid pattern instead in a relatively lazy impromptu lumberjack look.

Charlie felt as though he fit right in, tipping back his head as he downed his first beer and digging his claws into the roof of the car as Homer drove off towards Ned’s.

As the night went on and Homer’s merry gang of troublemakers stirred up more than enough chaos to fill several Halloween nights with, Charlie found himself laughing, yelling, and being raucous right along with them. There was no shortage of eggs thrown, toilet paper left in the branches of overhanging trees, nor did he turn down the candy they’d nabbed from some of the neighborhood bullies. Charlie considered it teaching them a lesson. They’d live. And while he didn’t normally imagine that he’d pal around with Moe’s regulars to this extent, he had a hard time convincing himself that he wasn’t having more fun than he’d had in ages. At one point, he could have sworn that they passed both the reverend and his wife. What he wouldn’t give to see if Tim had noticed that he was not interested in coming home on time that night...

By the time they’d finished their route around Springfield - and Homer was too drunk to keep driving and not smash into something along the way - the men abandoned the pink carriage in favor of staggering into the nearest park gazebo to lounge around, finish as many of their remaining cans of beer as they could, and generally be a public nuisance. Luckily, they weren’t the only ones out and about, which meant that Chief Wiggum was not likely to break up their after party. Which was just as well. Charlie didn’t need any reason for him to have to return to Lovejoy’s tonight. Nah. He was having way too much fun, even in the sleepy drunken haze that threatened to overtake him as the clock neared midnight.

“I didn’t expect you to actually loosen up like that.”

Charlie glanced up from his tenth - or eleventh? - beer, locking eyes with Sam who had staggered over to sit on the steps of the gazebo next to Charlie. Inhibitions gone, Charlie didn’t mind the company. Lenny and Carl were not far away, but seemed to be discussing whether or not a uranium rod would float if placed delicately in a vat of beer. Homer had passed out about ten minutes prior, and Moe, Barney, and Larry were arguing over who had rights to the last few beers in the cooler.

“I’d forgotten about Halloween,” Charlie replied with a little smile. “The one night where I don’t have to dress up like some kinda… freak.” He sipped at his beer, not bothered by the terminology at the moment. Might be if he were at all sober. But with his head floating pleasantly, he didn’t mind being a little brazen and honest.

“I bet if you just decided t’say screw it one day, nobody would even notice,” Sam continued, pointing at Charlie with the hand that still held his own beer which was nearing empty.

“Uh-huh. Then I get thrown into the zoo with the crocodiles and you gotta visit me and bring me booze before I go fuckin’ crazy, right?” Charlie shook his head, but he was amused at the thought.

“I got plenty to spare.” Sam smirked, shaking his can a little and listening to the liquid slosh back and forth.

“Aw. You’re sweet.” Charlie brought a hand up to his chest in a fake swoon. “Didn’t know you liked me that much.”

Sam laughed, a low, somewhat gravely sound that made Charlie’s ears twitch with interest. They were one step ahead of his brain which was only just registering that… they might have been flirting. And, now that he recalled… it probably wasn’t the first time. The hybrid had been coming to Moe’s on several nights of the week now, staying out late and risking the reverend’s ire while keeping company with the regulars. And more often than not, Sam was included. While he was moderately amused by Homer, Lenny, and Carl’s general conversations that they had, the three jokers hardly caught his attention. Larry still didn’t speak much, and he wasn’t even going to pretend that Barney was ever good for more than a belch or two before he was sufficiently out for the count.

But on more than one occasion, Charlie lingered behind with Sam. Sometimes not saying much. Just staring absently at the television above the bar. Maybe swapping stories here and there about Sam’s time on the road or Charlie’s general complaints about both Skinner and Chalmers or the Wiggum boy’s predisposition to sticking sharp objects where he shouldn’t.

On any other night, Charlie might not have given it much thought. It was dangerous to get too wrapped up in a person. Like he had with Lovejoy. Like he’d stumbled into with Chalmers. Neither of which seemed to give him the feedback he was looking for. And on any other night, that fear might have kept him from going down that same path. But as he listened to Sam’s laugh which made his own mouth tilt upwards into a smile… Well… he couldn’t help it. They were already sitting so close and… Charlie’s head was already spinning and he swore he probably smelled like beer, cigarettes, and maybe eggs, but…

The liquid courage was not one to be ignored. He held his breath and leaned forward, catching Sam’s lips with his own in a soft, but purposeful kiss. He willed himself to not pay attention to anything - except maybe the faint sound of blaring music somewhere off in the distance - hoping against hope that he was not going to be pushed away.

And he wasn’t.

But he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing either.

He broke the kiss after a moment or two, pulling back as his ears pinned themselves against his hair and he let out a little nervous laugh. Sam’s expression was unreadable. Clearly, he’d been caught off guard, staring at Charlie in surprise and… the hybrid didn’t know what else. But even in his drunken state, his heart pounded with fear and he glanced away.

“Sorry. Uh. Forget that happened. I have had… woof. One too many… hah…”

His feet wanted him to run, but with so much alcohol in his system, he doubted he would get very far before tripping over his own tail. So there he sat, pointedly looking away and off into the distance, rubbing at his face in exasperation at his own stupid, desperate antics. His chest felt like it was about to burst with anxiety and embarrassment. Christ. He could only hope that Sam was drunk enough to write it off as a figment of his imagination in the morning when they both woke up in their respective beds and pretended that nothing ever happened.

“WELL! I should… go,” Charlie began, finishing off his beer and crushing the can in his claws before tossing it aside. About to get to his feet when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Freezing, he felt the color drain from his face. Oh no. This was the part, wasn’t it. Where his other secret was going to be touted in front of the other men like some kind of hard-won prize. Where he realized that Sam was just another moron in Springfield deadset on making him feel like an absolute freak. Where he was reminded that his decision-making was so incredibly poor that only he could have made the wrong choice three times in a row.

Anger bubbled up somewhere in the back of his throat, but before he could bristle and snap in defense, he was spun back to face Sam, caught by surprise as the man’s mouth met his own once again, this time of his own volition. Confusion replaced the anger that threatened to rise, a little sound of alarm only just being squelched by his steady realization that… He had been wrong.

They were both drunk, but Charlie shoved the thought to the side as he closed his eyes, suddenly drifting along a sea of contentment as he allowed himself to be pulled into that second kiss. He forgot that Lenny and Carl were sitting just on the other side of the gazebo. He forgot that Moe and the others were not far either. He forgot that he was kissing another man. He forgot… everything. Everything but the feeling of Sam’s lips on his own. They were warm and tasted like Duff, but so did his own. Charlie almost laughed as their glasses clacked gently against each other, but he didn’t care about that either. It was Halloween night and he felt like a giddy teenager, his claws brushing along the steps of the gazebo until they found Sam’s fingers, intertwining their pinkies together as they’d done to seal their promise to not dampen Moe’s spirits.

Sam didn’t seem to mind, too wrapped up in the kiss just the same. Until they parted and Charlie let himself breath. He was red in the face, he was sure. But he would try to play it off like it was just the beer. Yeah. That’s all it was.

“...You don’t gotta go if you don’t want to,” Sam finally said, his own beer all but forgotten to the side. He was a bit flushed himself, but he seemed to manage it a lot better than Charlie did.

“...You don’t think we’ve gotten up to enough troublemaking tonight, huh?” The hybrid replied in kind, unable to disguise the little grin on his face.

“Nah. It ain’t even that late yet.”

Sam got to his feet, offering his hand to pull Charlie up along with him. His tail helped him maintain his balance, even as the world tilted and shifted beneath his feet. Wow. He really was drunk. Or… maybe it had just been the kiss. Either way, he was feeling ridiculously topsy turvy just then. And the welcoming smile on Sam’s face certainly didn’t help. Wow.

Maybe he hadn’t really been fake swooning after all.

“Lead the way,” Charlie prompted, keep himself at the other man’s side with a delighted little rumble of a purr that he did his best to keep to himself. It was difficult. And as they drifted away from the park and back into the street, he absently wished that Halloween was not a once-a-year deal.

When they’d left, Lenny and Carl found themselves staring after the two, still nursing their own beers and watching in a bit of a drunken stupor.

“Did we really just see that?” Carl asked, glancing up at his companion, baffled.

“I think so. Why don’t you ever do that with me?” Lenny replied as he sat atop the railing of the gazebo, his words slurred in his mild outrage.

“Aw shut up,” Carl said, focusing back on his beer.

He made a mental note to shove Lenny off of the railing before the night was over with.

#tj writes #simpsona #oc #I did not proof read this #I also didn't know what to title it so you get that

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lycanthrop-ee · 4 years

Text

Sires and Sons

Chapter 6

First chapter, previous chapter

A/N: In which Janus is lowkey a simp. This chap feels like mostly filler to me but that might just be because I’ve proofed it too many times? Anyway, school starts soon, so that should be interesting for my wack writing schedule... we’ll see how that goes. Enjoy!

Fic synopsis: When the twins split two years ago, Janus was tasked with raising Remus. His only help was the evasive and sullen Virgil- who he already had to wrangle like a stray teenager. The endless days in the Dark Side’s Mindpalace were broken only by monthly catch-ups with Patton, and the only thing that ever changed the stories that Janus used to get Remus to bed. This time, though, something was different: secrets were slipping through Janus’ lips- and past the divide between Dark and Light.

Ships: Moceit

Word count: 1285

TW: None I can think of! Ask to tag

One single breakdown after two years of strength had brought Janus to this point instantly. It was ridiculous. He was letting a six-year-old lead him along the path to the Light Sides, the path that he hadn’t walked in years, the path he’d promised to overlook.

He sternly forbade himself from picturing Patton’s face. He was doing the right thing- the poor kid needed a change. Patton would agree. Of course he would. And Logan was being foolish. Under normal circumstances, Janus had a certain respect for his fellow voice of reason, but not this time. This time, the Light Sides had been cripplingly misdirected in their judgement- it wasn’t the first account of this by a long shot, but this one effected the wrong person. No, not just the Light Sides- it was Logan. Logan had convinced Patton of his selfish opinion, and-

Janus would not picture Patton’s face. He would look into Remus’ and walk forward until the kid was reunited with Prince Roman because it was the right thing to do. If the others couldn’t see that… well. Janus was already a Dark Side. There wasn’t much more they could do to him.

The kid bounced on the balls of his feet, unnervingly quiet as he stood beside his caretaker. They looked together through the door.

“Should we bring graham crackers? For Roman? Or- if we get hungry? Are you sure Virgil doesn’t wanna come with us? Why not?”

There it was. Maybe Janus hadn’t missed the chattering, after all.

He didn’t mean that.

“...Maybe you’re right. We should bring food.” Janus turned around, but Remus’ hand dashed out to cling to his.

“No, no, we’re going. Let’s go!”

His uncharacteristic moment of anxiety gone as soon as it had arrived, Remus pulled Janus through the door with surprising strength- and in the next moment, they were on the path, almost unrecognizable from the last time Janus had walked it.

It was cold and dark- darker here than anywhere else on their side of the Mindscape. If this was what the Light Sides saw of them, Janus could almost understand their fear. Almost.

Remus was undeterred, if intrigued. He didn’t waste any time, striding over the narrow path and forcing Janus to steady himself and follow.

The ground squelched miserably underfoot as Remus chattered on, the raised pitch of his voice the only thing that betrayed his unusual mood. Janus tried to focus on the child’s words, even if they were mostly just for the sake of keeping busy, but found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the looming branches and marshy land, the fog and the darkness and the shadows that moved but not really but maybe. If the Light Sides came through here and the door found them at the end of the dreary trail, all else they’d see of Janus’ home was the gray walls and the artificial lights and the old carpeting. He couldn’t stand it.

But that wasn’t all they’d seen, was it? Patton and Logan had gone into the Dark Sides’ real forest, with the tall trees and the springy pine needles underfoot. He’d taken the shady shortcut to the edge of the Light pathways with Patton trailing behind, ready to pull ahead once they’d reached his terf- although Janus knew it just as well, now. They knew that this wasn’t all there was- and, really, Janus hadn’t even known the extent of it until he’d walked this way himself.

They pretended this was all they’d seen: the creeping vines that strangled the gnarled trees, the mysterious blinks of light that came in pairs, eyes watching from the shadows- like animatronics in a carnival ride. They pretended Janus and Virgil and this- this kid were all just some of the monsters in their closet.

Janus shook his head. Patton took time off just to come see him, to talk about their lives. He couldn’t imagine the fragile side would much enjoy traversing this path every month, but he did it for them. And yet… he never asked to see Remus. He followed Logan’s ideas like a lost puppy- and he was supposed to be the moral side, the leader in his field.

And suddenly Janus’ pace picked up with his thoughts. That was where this all came from, wasn’t it? The logical side had too much sway over Patton- once he’d decided that Remus was dangerous, that would’ve been the end of it, no matter what Morality thought. Janus’ heart surged at the idea- Patton had been innocent the whole time. Misguided. And of course he was- he wouldn’t have allowed any of this otherwise.

It was a huge weight off of Janus’ shoulders. Logan was the leader of the Light Sides, then, much like he was the leader of his domain. Though, really, he was more of a parent- his wards needed him. Patton was capable of making his own decisions. It was Logan’s vice that he overlooked his companion, not Patton’s.

Remus ran ahead on his little legs and Janus swore, dashing after him- but his carefully hopeful mood wasn’t dampened. When he looked at Remus, the mantra echoed through his head-

It’s not Patton’s fault.

It can’t be.

The rest of the walk went similarly, Janus’ thoughts chasing each other around his head as he tried to stay calm. The path they were on, however, changed drastically- first the black mosses and creeping vines retreated, leaving the dark trees bare like marble pillars. Then, slowly, the ground underfoot firmed, and the banks became dotted with new life. Tiny sprouts and grasses, hiding the black earth- and even the trees seemed to grow new branches as the two of them went on. Green climbing flowers began to consume the rough bark, covering them with little yellow flowers and hanging down curtains of moss from their strong branches.

Janus and Remus came to a full stop as they reached the first sign of sunlight, a thick beam of it breaking in from the canopy far above. Their toes touched the edge of the warmed reddish brown dirt. He wasn’t as unfamiliar with the concept of direct sunlight as his- as the kid was, but this time it felt… important.

Speaking of the child- Remus’ face was flushed from overexertion, but he hardly seemed to notice. His panting breaths had quieted through his parted lips, and his eyes were huge as he looked at the stark line between sun and shade. Janus had plenty of time to wonder if Remus remembered the moment he stepped out of that light- the seconds seemed to stretch on forever.

Remus leaned forward almost indiscernibly, and the slant of the light caught the tip of his nose, lighting the edges and warming his pale skin. The kid’s brow furrowed and he shied back out of the light.

“I didn’t know the sun could do that,” he remarked matter-of-factly, trying to peer up through the leaves without getting any more sun on his face. “Is it dangerous? Will I get a sunburn and have to peel my face off?”

“...No. Direct sunlight only burns after more than ten minutes- and that’s not how sunburns work.” Janus answered, trying to keep his voice even.

“Have you ever had one?”

“Once or twice.”

“From when?”

“Work meetings. We have them outside.” This seemed to satisfy Remus- but only for a moment.

“So it’s safe to go out in?”

“Perfectly safe.”

“...I didn’t know the sun could do this,” he repeated, almost to himself. The words jabbed Janus anew, and the next second the kid was winding up and jumping two-footed over the line.

The cast-off advisor stepped with the Prince into the Light Side.

TAG LIST

@dolphin-squirrel @thenaiads @soysaucevictim @dappersdespair I assumed you’d want to be tagged? Just ask and I’ll take you off! <3

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marlinspirkhall · 4 years

Text

Tomorrow Never Comes, Chapter 06: “Show And Tell”

CW: Discussions of past violence

Chapter Word Count: 3,261 words

[Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7]

A muffled voice. “Jim?”

Footsteps.

The bedroom door is thrown open, and a mass of dark hair hurtles toward him. Jim barely has enough time to sit up before Spock lands on him heavily, knocking him back onto the mattress. Jim braces himself against the trembling torso, and wraps his arms around him.

“Whoa- Spock!” He laughs, and pushes himself upright again. “It’s alright. I’m alright.” He pulls back slightly, and runs his hand down Spock’s side, but, of course, the wound from yesterday has completely vanished. He smiles. “You’re alright. We’re alright.” Strong arms embrace him, pulling him closer, and he sinks into them. “You steered us out of danger,” he murmurs against his shoulder.

“I thought you-”

“I know. When I woke up, you were injured. I didn’t think you were going to make it, so I- I found enough anaesthetic to knock myself out.” He pauses. “It might have killed me, given enough time- I know non-replicated medicines don’t keep that well, but-”

“Jim.” Spock presses his forehead against his, and Jim keeps talking, as if he can explain it to himself somehow.

“- I guess it worked, because-”

Spock’s lips capture his, and he blinks. He tilts his head, and makes a surprised sound as he returns the kiss. Spock’s movements are slow, well-practised, almost perfectly timed. Jim’s breath catches, and he pulls away.

“Oh. Okay,” he says, breathlessly. “That’s not the first time we’ve-? Uh? Is it-?”

“No,” Spock murmurs. His eyes glimmer with something, and he watches Jim. Waiting.

Jim places his hands against his hips. “Can we-?”

“Yes,” Spock breathes. They kiss again, and Spock’s hands travel up Jim’s spine, and settle, finally, at the nape of his neck. Jim presses against him lightly, learning the contours of his body, as Spock holds his with a strange familiarity. The tension drops from his shoulders, and he gives in- this, if anything, is the final proof of the prison they find themselves in, not that any was needed. Spock cradles him with expert hands, and knows every favourite spot better than Jim knows them himself. Still, he feels almost as if he’s kissing a stranger, and pulls away before he makes a fool of himself.

“You’re at a- slight advantage, Spock.”

Spock looks at him.

He huffs. “Don’t tell me you knew I was going to say that.”

A raised eyebrow. “I did not say a word.”

“Still...” Jim glances down, and grabs Spock’s right hand, raising it to his lips. “You’re showing me up.” He kisses the palm, twice.

“There is no need to be embarrassed, Jim.” His eyes twinkle, teasingly.

“You smug bastard.” Jim peppers the inside of his hand with soft kisses, and nips at the skin intermittently, as he traverses towards the thumb with gentle lips. “There must be something you’re not expecting.”

“Mm.”

“I’ve heard that Vulcan hands are very sensitive,” Jim comments.

“They are,” Spock says, neutrally.

“Hm. An erogenous zone, perhaps?”

Spock raises an eyebrow cryptically.

Jim splays his hand and begins to kiss between the webs of his fingers, darting his tongue out as he peers up at Spock, gauging his reaction. Spock locks eyes with him, and remains determinedly impassive.

Jim continues his ministrations, and caresses Spock’s other hand as he goes. Gradually, he kisses the pad of each finger, and rubs small circles into the palm of his hand.

Spock watches him appraisingly.

“Well?” He murmurs.

“It was certainly- nice,” Spock purrs. “But it was not- surprising.”

Jim narrows his eyes, and pins him to the bed with a chuckle.

The interior of the shuttle is more wrecked than the outside, though the outer armour is dented slightly. They’ve taken slight damage to their shield generators. Jim ventures inside.

The floor around the pilot’s seat is stained a deep green, as is a corner of exposed panelling towards the driver’s right-side. It’s evident that this was the item responsible for Spock’s injuries, and it appears to have been forced open by a minor explosion from within the panel itself. He tears the shard of panelling free so it won’t pose a problem in the future. Of course, it will never have the chance to do that if they can’t get it off the ground again.

He moves to the back of the shuttle, and places the fallen hypospray back in the medkit. Then, he opens the access panel to the engine.

The warp coil is out of alignment, but, when he goes to reposition it, it snaps in two. He stares at it for a moment, then retrieves the two halves, and moves to the outside of the shuttle, where Spock is puzzling over the broken shield generator.

“I was going to suggest we give it another couple of runs until we finally got it right, but it’s pointless.” Jim drops the broken warp coil with a reverberating clang. “The ship won’t repair itself. It’s the same as the weapons.” He nods to the empty holster which is built-into the side of Spock’s suit, and slumps against the side of the ship.

“The warp coil can be repaired,” Spock says, softly, as he sits down beside him.

Jim shakes his head. “Maybe. But how many times can we repair the ship, really, when we have to salvage replacements?” He nods towards the stronghold with the beginnings of a smirk. “You weren’t exactly thrilled by the new bulb I found for the bathroom.”

Spock wrinkles his nose. “Perhaps not. But not everything must be done to my taste.” He rests his head on Jim’s shoulder, and the two of them sit in silence for a moment as a cool breeze brushes over them.

“Spock,” Jim says, in a pinched voice.

“Yes, Jim?”

He shifts a little, and Spock looks up.

“I’ve been thinking; and I know you will have noticed it too- there’s a strange pattern to the things which keep regenerating. We haven’t run out of food rations- not that we need to eat them- and the same fruit appears on the trees every day. Leland and I kept returning when we got killed, only unable to retain any memories.”

“Yes,” Spock says, patiently.

“Well, what makes the weapons any different? Or the ship, for that matter? The stronghold?”

Spock considers for a moment. “They are not made of organic matter.”

Jim nods. “Perhaps.” He pulls himself to his feet, and offers a hand to Spock. “Or, perhaps, the planet only regenerates things which will prolong our suffering.” He watches the shield generator with a glum smile.

“If the intention was solely to make us suffer, would it not be more effective to prevent food from regenerating, to prolong our starvation?”

Jim purses his lips. “Perhaps. But there are other ways to starve. Entertainment. Companionship.”

“Indeed. Which is why I find it unusual that the planet would allow us to exist here, together, in perpetuity.” Jim’s eyes glimmer hopefully, and Spock looks away. “Even Vulcans experience loneliness,” he justifies.

“I never suggested they couldn’t,” Jim says softly, and fixes his gaze on him. Spock keeps his own trained carefully on the ground.

Jim digs into the shield generator with his bare hands. “What if it’s not meant to feel like a trap? Not at first. After all,” his voice is almost hoarse, “Self-replenishing food? For many people, that’s paradise. But, what happened when the battery packs for the phasers ran out?”

“We found other ways to deal with Leland,” Spock says, with just a hint of humour.

“Right. But, one day… Theoretically, if we’re here long enough…” He struggles with the shield generator with a grunt. “Axes will blunt. Knives will wear down. We have so many, but those will run out eventually.”

Spock lifts his hand out of the way gently. “That could take centuries.”

“Right.” Jim sighs. “Just enough time to figure out a way out of here.”

“Spock, what was the full extent of Leland’s plan?” Jim asks, as they lounge beside each other on the double bed. Outside, the storm rages, but Jim is almost used to it now. Seeing the expression on Spock’s face, he waves a hand at the ceiling. “I don’t mean killing me, but the rest of it- taking down the outpost, the attack on Kronos- how were they going to do it? It could be important, once we get out of here.”

Spock considers. “Not much was concealed from you. We were to take down the outpost, at which point, we would be joined by a strike team from Section-31, either here, or in space.”

“One strike team?” Jim murmurs. He thinks of the crates and crates of power packs, and the strange, mismatched weapon on the front of Georgiou’s ship. Retractable, circular.

Almost like a drill.

He sits up. “They’re going to use the technology they recovered from The Nerada to destroy Kronos,” he realises. “I didn’t see it before- how a band of people so small could hope to launch an attack alone, but it makes perfect sense.” He shakes his head. “What are they thinking? Aren’t two destroyed planets enough?”

Spock closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Spock,” Jim murmurs, touching his arm. He sighs. “It would be a lot easier to work out what’s going on if we knew what was on that ship.”

He draws his knees to his chest, and listens to the rhythmic beat of rain against the windows.

Spock stirs next to him. “Ten thousand cc’s of red matter,” he murmurs.

“What?”

His eyes flutter open. “The Enterprise was there, Jim,” he whispers. “When Vulcan was destroyed. The Nerada took Captain Pike prisoner, and destroyed every other starship in the system. At first, we could not work out why they spared us, but Nero… Knew me.”

Jim frowns. “Knew you? I don’t-”

“The weapons on The Nerada were from the future. But, it was a future version of myself who created the singularity which allowed them to travel through time. And…” He frowns. “He provided the red matter which is necessary to destroy a planet.”

Jim rests his head on his knees and stares at Spock. Given their current situation, the idea of actual, tangible time-travel isn’t so far-fetched, but he stares at him anyway.

“In the other universe, Romulus was destroyed when its sun went Nova, and The Nerada was brought through the singularity it created.”

“Another universe,” Jim whispers.

Spock nods. “Another me… Whom Nero was determined to get revenge on; for the destruction of his homeworld.”

Jim frowns. “But- he didn’t do it deliberately.”

A jerky nod. “He told me it was an accident. Nevertheless…” He rakes a hand through his hair. “When The Enterprise attempted to defend Earth, both were destroyed, and I was imprisoned on The Nerada for three weeks.”

“With Pike,” Jim breathes.

Spock nods. “And my counterpart.” His hand shakes. “When I arrived, he had already suffered extensive injuries. I melded with him many times in an attempt to save his life, but-” his voice cracks, and Jim places a hand on his shoulder. Spock covers his hand with his own, and continues.

“He perished after three days. He and Pike attempted to protect me, but, once they were gone, Nero was once again free to take his frustrations out on me.” He sweeps his long hair back over his shoulder.

On the back of his neck is the beginning of a scar. It continues under his shirt, and Spock’s fingers fall still against the neckline. He peers at Jim.

A question.

Jim nods, and Spock removes his shirt with trembling fingers. His back is lined with a criss-cross of scars. A long, jagged line runs up his back, and dips down again, like a diagonal “v”. It branches off into smaller lines, some more faded than others, and Jim reaches a hand out tentatively.

“Can I…?”

Spock nods, and Jim touches the mark gently. Spock tenses.

“Does it hurt?” He whispers.

He searches the wall, a vague, faraway look in his eyes. “It did.”

Gently, Jim traces his hand up Spock’s back, and slides closer to him, placing a leg on either side of his waist. He rests his chin on Spock’s shoulder, and brushes his cheek with his.

“It’s my fault, Jim. The destruction of my home, and yours.”

Jim shakes his head. “No. You only think that because you’ve been told that. You-” He softens his voice. “Nero is responsible for his own actions.”

Spock swallows.

“Leland was wrong- more to the point, Leland is unhinged. He may blame you for the destruction of earth, but-” he squeezes his hand. “I don’t.”

“But, a version of me was responsible for bringing the Narada back in time-”

“It’s not your fault.” He traces the scar on Spock’s neck. “No matter what he told you,” he whispers. “What happened to Romulus was a tragic accident, but, what happened to us- to our homes- was deliberate. You weren’t responsible for that.” He kisses his cheek. “You weren’t responsible for any of it.”

Spock breathes shallowly.

Jim bends gently, and places a kiss to the scar on his neck. Spock shivers, and Jim moves gradually lower. He follows the line of scarring down his back, kissing at individual vertebrae as he goes, and Spock trembles.

He rumbles. “Jim.”

“Mm? Oh,” Jim smiles, slyly, against his skin. “So, that surprised you, huh? I guess you’ve never shown me your scars before.”

Spock shakes his head. Jim presses his forehead against his back with a laugh, and projects all the love he feels. His breath hitches, and Jim nuzzles against him. “I promise you, Spock, you’re going to get out of here. You deserve to survive. You deserve to live.”

He kisses his neck again, and Spock grasps his hands, holding them against his chest and ruminating. Jim sits up slightly.

“Spock. It’s okay. You didn’t kill anyone... You’re no murderer.”

He breaks contact with Spock, and retrieves his penknife from the bedside table. “The last time I saw my brother alive, he gave me this. ‘Just in case.’” His lip quivers, and he looks away, to the drops of rain running down the window. “We were on Tarsus IV,” he whispers. “He tried to steal food for us, on the night…” He sets the knife back down, and a tremor runs through his hands. “On the night that the colonists were killed.”

Spock watches him.

“He told me to wait for him, and I did. But I wasn’t the only person who’d found that hiding spot- the office on the ground floor of the embassy. A boy found me. He wasn’t much older than me, but at the time, he seemed so… Threatening.” He taps his fingers against his knee. “He wanted me to leave, and I- I didn’t know what to do. Sam had told me to wait for him, so I…” He motions with his hand, and falls silent. He feels Spock’s gaze, boring into him.

“That was the first person I killed. Not Kodos. Not one of his personal guards, but a scared boy who was just looking for his next meal. Just like me. And…” He looks at the knife. “My brother.” He takes a shaky breath. “They found Sam after the riots at the warehouse, after the fires and the smoke had cleared. He and a number of protestors had been tied up by a member of the guard detail. With rope. If he’d had a knife-”

“Jim.”

“I know; I shouldn’t blame myself. But, I kept that knife. For years, every time I looked at it…”

Spock nods. “Survivor’s guilt is a powerful thing.”

Jim settles against him. “I suppose we know that better than most.”

“I think Sam wanted me to be brave. Like him.

“He gave his life for yours. It was a gift.”

“That, and the knife.” He watches him for a moment. “When did you get so wise?”

He shrugs. “I know something about the things older siblings are expected to sacrifice for their youngers.”

Jim looks up. “You’re an older sibling?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He falls silent for a moment, and traces the lines on Spock’s back absent-mindedly.

Thunder rumbles outside, and Spock tenses, but relaxes almost immediately into his touch.

Lightning flashes. Jim thinks about the night that he was struck by it, and nuzzles into Spock’s shoulder. “Meld with me,” he whispers. “I just want to be close to you.”

Spock turns, slowly, and lifts Jim’s chin slightly. He kisses him gently, and places his hand over his face. “Your mind to my mind,” he murmurs against his mouth.

Jim slumps.

He sees flashes of images. Thoughts which are at once fleeting, and familiar. People who he’s suddenly known all his life. Sarek. Amanda. Sybok. Michael. His family, and the terrible pain which accompanies it.

Sam. Winona. Aurelian. George. Spock’s breath is hot on his cheek. Tarsus IV is mockingly beautiful, the skies overhead a haunting pink, brighter than the rocks on Heirin. The skies over Vulcan burn red as they’re ripped away, and Spock beams onto the ship alone, without his mother. Jim stabs the boy whose name he never learned. Pike tells Nero the command codes to override the Starfleet defence grid, and The Nerada drills a hole through The San Andreas Fault. Red Matter. The singularity engulfs Earth.

Jim pulls away, gasping, and grasps at Spock’s hands.

‘Spock…’

They’re unmelded, and yet, they talk without words.

Jim’s first kiss. He places a hand to his head, almost dizzy, and stares into Spock’s eyes.

A warmth flows down Jim’s spine. He straightens up, and Spock shivers in turn.

‘What’s happening?’ Jim grips his arm.

‘A bond is forming between us,’ Spock says. ‘If you wish, I could stop it-’

‘No,’ Jim says. ‘It’s okay.’

‘Our minds will be joined, forever,’ Spock warns.

‘Spock,’ As the sensation overwhelms him, Jim struggles to form non-abstract thought. ‘We’re already the only people here.’

‘You don’t understand the significance-’

But Jim does.

They kiss without touching, the space between them filled with knowledge and words and sensation. He seeks Spock’s body, and phrases chase after him. Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched. He gets a glimpse of a hundred horrible, meaningless things- everything Spock’s counterpart showed him, Nero, the torture they endured- and a million pleasant things fight back, a thousand times more beautiful. Happy memories. His childhood on Vulcan, his childhood on Earth, their history becoming as entangled and inseparable as a vine on a tree. T’hy’la. They fall back onto the mattress, and Jim holds two fingers out, and, somehow, knows it’s an ozh’esta.

Spock joins fingers with him, and he trembles, every point on his body alight with sensation. He twists, and writhes, as Spock presses kisses to his forehead, neck, and shoulders. He doesn’t know if he does it with his mind or his mouth, but his fingers roam elsewhere. Jim can hardly keep track, and he throws his head back and sobs with overstimulation, but he doesn’t want it to stop. They’re caught in a feedback loop of each other’s thoughts and emotions, and Spock’s mind is incandescent.

You are the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.

As are you.

They fold together, breathing heavily, burnt out. Spock rests his head against Jim’s chest, and Jim holds him protectively. In this moment, he could save him from anything.

Spock headbutts him gently, as if trying to dissolve into him.

They fall asleep curled together, their bodies as entwined as their souls.

[Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7]

#tomorrow never comes #star trek fic #spirk fic

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r6s-imagines · 5 years

Text

jackal x reader >> miscommunication

•••

requested: no

word count: 1,428

warnings: cursing, unnecessary spanish, sexual tension

•••

summary: jackal tries his best to get you in the mood for new year’s with his heritage

side note: considering jackal’s psychological description mainly noted his continuous hunt regarding his past and lack of sleep. i went off of what that told me and added some of my own quirks based on voice line delivery. i am also fluent in spanish (mexico) as well as english, but i attempted to keep the spanish as simple as possible.

•••

it started with a less-than-obvious gift to your doorstep. it was a small, purple gift bag stuffed with white tissue paper. you were so unfamiliar to a gesture of kindness that you nearly called it for a bomb squad to make sure someone wasn't on your ass.

you stuck a finger into the bag, careful not to trigger anything unwanted.

you saw red, and lace.

now who the hell sent me a set of crimson lingerie? you asked yourself. clearly this had some joke or meaning.

you went straight to your computer, undergarments by your side as you played a process of elimination the further you got into your articles.

red as a symbol of lust in america, pulse would never, luck in china, you couldn't name a chinese person you knew.

new year's romance in spain? mira wouldn't—oh, that son of a bitch.

a meeting was called in the next day, something about a potential mission from the fbi. you found your marked seat at the debriefing table, conveniently text to ramírez's. reluctantly, you awaited the arrival of your coworkers, in doubt that jackal would arrive to the meeting due to his unusual sleep schedule. you smiled to yourself, knowing the little purple bag awaited to be thrown onto his desk for an ass-kicking confrontation.

your suspicions were proved correct when the seat remained cold. you lifted your hand for a brief moment, politely gesturing to excuse yourself to ash's approval. your smirk was hard to hide as you strode to jackal's housing, marked by his name. wordlessly and soundlessly, you entered his room to find him reading a book on his bed. he ceased reading his novela for only a moment, peering above the pages to meet your gaze.

"sí?" he lowly asked, a smile in his stare. you frowned.

"red panties, hm?"

he waved a hand, rolling his eyes.

"it's a—eh— tradición, y/n," he nonchalantly explained. "if it's any consolation, you could see my calzoncillos, we're matching."

"gross," you retorted. "i don't want any part of this perverted tradition of yours, ramírez. leave me out of it."

"it's all in good fun!" he protested, standing up. he placed his book on his shelf and laid a hand on you, smiling. "decade's about to end, live a little!"

"and my foot is about to end up in your ass," you spat. "unless you've got money or sweets to offer up, i don't want to know the extent to your new year partying." you spun on your heel and returned to the meeting, heated just thinking about the audacity of ryad.

lo and behold, a party was to be announced later that night. it was described as a "night away from troubles," but your stomach couldn't help but flip at the thought of confronting jackal again. surely it wouldn't be a problem, right? there'll be fifty something other people you could connect with and you'll never have to cross paths with the spaniard.

night fell during the time you took to warn yourself of other strange traditions, spanish or not. it would be your first new year's with the crew and you were unsure of just how wild everyone can be with the clash of cultures and alcohol.

you turned to your bed, noticing the bag unopened. caving in, you investigated the products inside. the price tag seemed hefty judging by the quality and consistency. you checked the back of the bra.

how did ryad know your cup size to the t?

no matter. laundry was overdue and it's not like you had time nor effort to fixate your own undergarments in time. you decided to make a good impression, donning a white jumpsuit with a misty purple jacket. your hair was down for the first time in months as opposed to your tactical pinup. makeup was minimal; you had not spent time in your life training to be a beautician, you were an operator for christ's sake!

you arrived at the party alone, later than expected but present nonetheless. smoke and mozzie welcomed you with a huzzah and a drink practically thrown into your hand. porter wrapped an arm around you and led you to the main room, covered with operators of various organizations.

mira, lesion, doc, blitz, sledge... no jackal. you found it strange, considering his reversed sleep schedule called midnight his prime work hours. you almost wanted to locate him and thank him, but you stopped yourself and took a fat swig, feeling the chilled alcohol slip down your esophagus.

"you're so cute when you're buzzed," mozzie slurred, stumbling to grab my hand. "if only i could kiss you at midnight, but you'll never know my fantasies."

"hey, max," you responded, stabilizing his balance. "how much have you had? it's only ten thirty. and for the record, i did not pregame this time."

"i'm right pissed," he admitted, laughing. "oh, that spaniard was lookin' for ya? whasisname...? martello?"

"martello is italian, pal," you replied, smiling. "d'you know where jackal is?"

"his quarters~~" max said. "probably waiting for a pretty little lady like you." you giggled and pat his back, sending him off to pester ela or dokkaebi. you snuck out of the venue area into the silence. you retraced your steps from the meeting room and into the lined up personal rooms.

"ryad... ramírez," you read aloud, noticing the closed door. you knocked twice.

"vete," he unenthusiastically replied. your hand hovered over the doorknob, ready to face him... but you paused. you recalled something from the various articles you perused. swiftly, you prepared two glasses of champagne. reaching into your jumpsuit, you exposed your necklace, the pendant being the gold ring your mother used to wear. you placed the necklace into your glass, leaving ryad's empty to use at his own discretion.

you returned to his door, knocking again. you heard a groan, followed by footsteps.

"dije ir—" he hissed, making eye contact with me halfway through opening the door. "y/n."

"ramírez."

"just ryad. please," he opened the door further, stepping aside. "what brings you around, cariña?"

"i don't know what that means," you admitted. "is that, like, car, or something—"

"darling."

"hm?"

"anyway, what brings you here? i thought you'd be out with that porter kid or that cabrón goose," he kicked back in his desk, beginning to type away. his weathered features became more evident through the artificial lighting and you began to wonder why a man in his late middle ages seemed to have gone through the struggles of a century old man.

"i wanted to thank you for the..." you paused, cheeks flushed.

"it suits you."

"i'm sorry?"

"you wore a red bra under a white jumpsuit."

"shit!" you covered your chest with your outerwear, face feeling hot.

"it's alright, you look nice. you know what the red means, no?" he raised an eyebrow. you nodded softly.

"were you serious about matching?" you inquired. finally handing him his glass. he chuckled, leaning back in his chair and hooking his pants with his thumb. he exposed his v-line, flashing his red boxers labeled with the same brand as yours.

"increases your chances."

"for?"

"for a romantic connection. una novia."

time passed by so fast you had not heard the clamor of the other operators preparing to count down to the new decade.

"they're getting ready to count down," you observed, peeking outside. "last chance to join them."

"i'd rather go into the new year here," ryad admitted quietly. "i prefer the quieter festivities." he reached down to his hand, removing a gold ring on his middle finger. he dropped it in with a satisfying splash.

“ten!”

he raised his glass, nodding to you with a smile.

“nine!”

“i’m sorry for being a dick,” he apologized.

“eight!”

“it’s alright,” you answered.

“seven!”

“you’re just so beautiful, y/n.”

“six!”

he moved in closer, and you could feel his hot breath.

“five!”

your eyes flicked to his lips, then to his eyes. you nodded.

“four!”

“to good fortune,” you said.

“three!”

“and to romance,” ryad added, clinking your glasses.

“two!”

“i love you, y/n.”

“one!”

your lips collided following the cheers and shouts. he pulled away, grinning. his mouth made contact with his glass and he took it down in one swig.

“thank you for distracting me from my work,” ryad thanked, looking into your gaze. “i can be a real hijo de perra when i’m behind on personal work.”

“but you just said—“

“it’s better you than anyone else, y/n. happy new year.”

#r6s #rainbow six siege #rainbow six siege imagine #r6s x reader #rainbow six siege x reader #siege imagine #siege #siege x reader #jackal x reader #jackal #jackal imagine #plague writes

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lo-55 · 4 years

Text

Revel Ch. 12

Onwards to Ohara

Tori was restless.

Everyone could see it, from her handmaids to her husband. Ever since she had returned from her trip to her mothers home she had drifted through the halls in the golden afternoon light and walked the fields of her worst enemy without her usual air of cheerful delight.

Victoria was a people person.

She always had been, even when the only thing she could focus on was her next paper, her next test score, her college major, her GPA, her STEM projects, she had always loved people.

She loved humanities and history. Even though it was science that her mind was hardwired for, even though it was mathematics that her parents pushed her to pursue, Tori had always loved people.

What she wanted to study was humanities. Anthropology, if it must be academic, she didn’t care.

They had settled for anesthesiologist. Her parents and herself, but mostly her parents. Anything to show off how smart she was. How many grades she had skipped. How many awards she could win.

By the time she was eighteen she was trapped. Strangled by a blue ribbon around her neck, her leash so short she could barely speak to her neighbors without being pulled away to ‘focus on her future’.

She hated it.

Tori was not a spiteful person. She didn’t keep many grudges. But when she died, and she died so young in retrospect, so young and so oblivious to the world, missing out on so much of her life, she hated .

She hated her first grade teacher for telling her parents that she was a genius instead of sending her to remedial classes for being so bored in class that she didn’t do her work. She hated whoever was in charge of her junior high that sent her right on to high school. She was only Twelve and suddenly she was a freshman.

She hated her parents for pushing her so far and so hard and so much without ever letting her climb trees or play but decided to have her test her limits and climb ladders

She hated herself for knowing too much, for showing up her peers whether she was trying to or not, for giving her parents an excuse to isolate her. For not standing up for herself. For not knowing people or making friends. She hated herself for dying alone.

All of this meant that now, when she was pretty but not smart, did it seem very unusual for her not to strike up a conversation with everyone she found in her path.

Tori could have seen it coming that Madelle might come for her, or Aelia, or Lapa, or any of her other handmaidens.

The one person she wasn’t expecting to come find her that warm day in spring, was her husband.

He found her in the gardens that had begun to grow her own home islands plants. At some point when he had gone home with her, he had also procured seeds and clippings of their flowers and had them planted here.

Now, almost a year after, they were starting to bud in the golden sunlight.

Tori sat amongst them, staring at the sky and thinking about the formation of clouds. The pull of molecules, the weight of water, and the cold upper atmosphere. She thought of light reflection and refraction, and just how could sky islands exist? How were their clouds so thick to stand on but not so heavy that they fell? What stopped gravity from dragging them?

She had tried for so long so hard not to think too much. Not to try to unravel all of these mysteries, or consider devil fruit, or lost history. Or anything else like that.

She tried to just be pretty. She tried to just know people, without ever seeming like she knew much at all.

But now the itch was back.

The curiosity.

The want to know.

It was here and she was having trouble shoving all of it back into the box inside her chest while her mind whirled through things she had once known and tried to forget.

She was just reminding herself about cloud seeds when a shadow fell across her face and she found herself staring up at her husband.

“Katakuri,” she said, surprised. She had neither heard nor felt him coming. Not that sensing was her specialty. “Hello,” she sat up slowly, drawing her legs up under her. Her skirts wrinkles around her calves.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Tori blinked at him once. Twice. Thrice.

“Oh. You’re blunt.” What else would she expect? This was Katakuri, not a courtier. He had no need to soften his words to her. Even if he was in a court and not in their home garden, she doubted he would mince his words.

In fact, if he was more prone to talking she was sure he would wind up in more fights with, well, everyone.

Katakuri’s brows furrowed and he lowered himself to his knees in front of her. He still towered above her. Tori took the liberty of taking his hand in hers.

“Forgive me. I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking of what?” he asked suspiciously.

“Ah. Well, a lot of things. The sun and the moon and all of the stars. There’s so much I don’t know, and so many questions I’ve never asked.”

“Then ask them,” he said, like it was simple. Like it was easy.

What’s behind your scarf? The part of her that was still bitter whispered. The part that feared the consequences of what would happen if she was more than just pretty again. But she didn’t ask that. She didn’t say such a spiteful thing, and besides.

She already knew the answer.

“There’s some questions that aren’t easy to ask. Or easy to find answers to,” or legal to find answers to. “Our library on the island is limited largely to past years accounts and agriculture and irrigation. And the ones on Imperia are similar. I’ve had my lessons there.”

She did not mention that the only real things she had learned there was the island's personal history and her family's role in it, and to a smaller extent geography and tides. Everything else she had already known. Math, science, and so on, that hadn’t changed across the dimensions. It didn’t help that they didn’t even know what DNA was here. And wouldn’t for another twenty years, if she remembered correctly.

Katakuri stared at her for a long time, like he was contemplating not her, but the secrets of the universe.

Finally, he spoke.

“There is an island,” he said, “Where they have thousands of years of accumulated knowledge. If you want to know something, that is the place to go. South of us, across the calm belt.”

“In West Blue?” Tori cocked her head. They were in the New World, a million miles away from Paradise. They were sandwiched between the North and West Blue’s.

It took her a minute to realize.

He was talking about-

“Ohara,” his voice was a low rumble. “You could go to Ohara. You’re restless. And snappish.”

Tori frowned at him. “I am no such thing.”

He just arched a brow at her until Tori felt herself start to flush. It was a jittery sort of anger. It was fear and old, bitter spite that reared its ugly head when it hadn’t in twenty years.

If she gave in to herself, if she let herself start devouring books and knowledge, what would become of her then? Who would she be? What pedestals would she stand on, that even her handmaids and her friends, and her family could not climb to stand beside her on?

She didn’t want to do that again, but her skin itched and her mind yearned. There was so much she didn’t know. There were so many places she had never been. This world was strange and new and-

She knew everything, she told herself. She knew how water flowed and clouds formed. She knew how cells gathered together to make a person. She knew how lightning cracked through the skies to the seas. She didn’t need to go to Ohara, there was nothing else she needed to know.

But god, there was so much she wanted to know.

And here was her husband, offering it to her.

On top of that, he did something only the Orseolo brothers ever really did to her.

He called her on her behavior. He saw her behavior.

Tori slowly reached up, and took both of his hands in hers. Her smile was soft, and affectionate. She wanted to grin like a loon, but she didn’t know she could do that yet. She’d had a little too much training.

“I want to. I want to go to Ohara.”

Tori was traveling more these days than she had ever travelled in her entire life. In either life.

The trip from Komugi to Ohara wasn’t a straight shot across the Calm Belt. They had to sail all the way to Reverse Mountain, and then down to the West Blue. The Big Mom pirates didn’t have seastone lining their ships, only the small ship that ferried her away from Komugi, sans her husband but including his young brother.

At twenty five he was one year older than Tori and still only half grown for a Charlotte, meaning he was actually a foot shorter than Tori was. It was strange to look down on anyone from Katakuri’s family, but whenever they were together she found herself staring at the short cropped purple hair of Charlotte Cracker.

He was cute, this young. He didn’t have his scar yet and he was all bright eyed and cheerful and utterly terrible at staying still. He also glued himself to Tori’s side as soon as Katakuri asked him to keep an eye on her.

He only had a modest bounty yet, and that was mostly because he was Big Mom’s son, so he could leave Paradise and not get a whole army of Marine’s on his ass. Unlike Katakuri, who had already gone toe to toe with no less than three rear admirals.

When she thought about it, he could probably kill her with a napkin.

It was a good thing they got along.

Privately, Tori wondered if she wasn’t already halfway in love with him. They were too alike.

Yet, he couldn't be more different from his younger brother.

“Hey,” she caught him by his elbow when he went nearly skipping by. They both stayed steady when the boat lurched into the dock. “Calm down, FireCracker. We’re here already. You can stretch your legs,” she teased. He’d gone completely stir crazy somewhere around the second week on the ship, and it was on the backs of the fighters in the crew that his energy fell. He sharpened his skill and sword at their expense.

Now, he was about ready to leap over the side of the ship and start a fight with whoever he saw. Given that this was an island of scholars, he wouldn’t find anyone who could pose a challenge.

“Behave,” Tori warned him, and led the way off the boat.

They both towered across the other inhabitants of the island by at least three feet in all directions. The crew was more average sized and they ran around like bees securing their space at the docks. Tori didn’t know how long she was going to be here. She didn't even know how long Ohara was going to be here, but she was going to take advantage of what time she had.

Cracker was supposed to watch over her, he’d been sent to do as much by his brother, but she doubted it would last long. She was going to be reading, and he would get bored of that soon enough.

Cracker reminded her, in some ways, of Gemma. He was a brilliant, brutal fighter and he knew it. But while Gemma was cunning and vicious he was cocky and perhaps a bit foolish. And neither of them could stay still for very long. The curse of always being ‘able’.

Tori had to crane her neck up, up, up to see the tops of the Tree of Knowledge. It was amazing. It was ancient and towering and it enveloped the entire island in a cool shadow.

It was every bit as magnificent as Tori had ever dreamed, and then some.

“It’s strange, don’t you think?” she asked, drawing Cracker’s attention to her. Her handmaidens had stayed on Komugi, dressed as her in turns, to distract anyone who might wish her harm.

“What is?” he asked, looking away from where he was eying one of the dock workers.

“The tree of knowledge. It’s old and big. I’ve always thought of knowledge as new and ever growing, infinite possibilities.”

Cracker squinted at her.

“... Mama sure picked a good person for my brother.”

Tori was so startled she didn’t even think of saying anything to him before he was off harassing a strong looking man down the block.

“A good person huh?” Tori started to smile. Maybe that was true. And maybe Mama had picked out a good person for her, too.

The hallways of the library of Ohara were vast and packed with so many books it almost made her head spin.

It was wonderful and just a little bit frightening.

A lot a bit frightening.

There was so much knowledge here, so much she could learn and find. It reminded her all too much of fairs and vicious competitions and night spent sitting in front of her parents while they snapped at her any time she didn’t answer perfectly.

Even more so, because she knew all of this knowledge was about to disappear. It was going to vanish off the face of the earth, lost forever in the flames of a Buster Call.

It hadn’t registered before. Tori had known, consciously, that there were a lot of books. She had known that a lot had been lost. But to see it? In person, with her own eyes?

It made her sick to her stomach. Alexandria burned, Carthage was razed, Yunchin was destroyed, Baghdad was sacked, and the Aztecs were utterly destroyed. So much had been lost from her old world, and now so much again was going to be lost from here. How long? How long until this tree was felled?

Tori’s fingers itched. Her stomach churned. No, absolutely not.

Tori caught the arm of a passing librarian, marked by her name tag.

“Excuse me,” she said politely, ignoring the fact that the woman didn’t even reach her shoulder. “Do you have paper available for the public?”

The woman looked at her, surprised, and nodded.

“Ah, yes. There’s paper available next to the almanacs.”

Tori thanked her a left her to her work. She found the papers and pends, and grabbed the first almanac off the shelf.

She began.

It was slow going at first, until she got into the rhythm of it. No one seemed to notice what she was doing, or if they did they were too intimidated to remark on the fact that she was copying down each book she came across.

In tiny short hand, each stroke of her pen no thicker than even a quarter inch, she wrote down everything. All of it, page after page she copied every book she could get her hands on. She lost all track of time.

The spell of translation didn’t break until a ruckus of whispers broke through the small reading room she had found herself in. It smelled like books and ink and dust.

She looked up, expecting the whispering to be about her, but it wasn’t.

There was a tiny, tiny little girl standing in the doorway, a book as thick as her head in her hands. Her hair was short and straight, even darker than Tori’s, and her eyes were wide and blue.

Tori wasn’t the only person in the room. Most of the tables were full of people, and when the little girl started looking around those same tables were suddenly over flowing with books and papers, and there was no room for a child anywhere.

Tori very intentionally moved the books around. The too-small chair she sat in creaked, giving her away to the little girl. There was only one space left in the room, if she wanted it.

It took a few minutes before the soft thud of a book on the table across from her told Tori that she was no longer alone. Robins head popped up the other side a minute later.

“Can I sit here?” she asked, her voice quiet and soft. Tori’s heart melted. She’d always had a soft spot for children.

“Of course you can sweetheart. There’s plenty of room.”

“Thank you,” Robin smiled shyly at her. Tori returned it, and got back to her work. She finished the book she was working on and started another. She had gone through five before Robin’s voice broke her concentration again.

“What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” Tori lifted her head. “I’m taking notes. I don’t live here, and when I leave I still want to have access to some of this information.” All of this information. At least as much as she could get her hands on.

Maybe it would have been better to find Clover or whatever his name was and tell him what was to come. To tell him to start evacuating the books, but honestly? Why would he listen to her? She was no one to him. Just a foreign princess and a pirates bride.

It was the first part of that that meant she could travel as she pleased.

“I don’t know that language,” Robin leaned forwards before she caught herself, flushing and drawing back. Tori pushed the paper over to her.

“It’s short hand. A sort of code for writing things down faster. See? That line says ‘ I destroyed Humbaba who lived in the Cedar Forest, I slew lions in the mountain passes! I grappled with the Bull that came down from heaven, and killed him .’ “

“That’s a lot,” Robin looked fascinated.

Tori smiled at her and pulled a chair beside her. “Would you like to learn?”

Robin’s whole face lit up. “Yes! Please!”

She scrambled around the table and popped up at Tori’s side, just a little sprite of curiosity and innocence that watched with rapt attention as Tori showed her what she was doing. It was a shorthand unique to her island, to her family in fact. They had records going back a thousand or more years that looked almost identical.

Tori realized quickly that if she was a genius, Robin was a super genius. She was just a child but she was already fluent in more languages that Tori had fingers to count them on and she learned everything Tori told her without needing anything repeated.

What a frightening child.

Tori did enlist her help. She had Robin translate the texts in languages other than japanese and english and in turn transcribe those for her with the promise of stories of her homeland as payment.

She felt like she was taking advantage of the child, but Robin didn’t seem to mind. She was just happy someone was talking to her.

Tori wanted to scoop her into her arms and carry her right home to Komugi, sit her down and spoil her for the rest of her life. She didn’t want this little girl to be chased all over by the government, tormented and betrayed for her entire life. She wanted to scoop her up and protect her at any cost.

It was because of Robin that Tori left the library that night to get dinner in time to see the sun burning into the horizon behind the Tree of Knowledge.

Cracked appeared with dinner for her, and enough left over for Robin to eat with them, even though he had no idea she was there.

“Did you clone yourself in there?” Cracker asked, squinting at the little girl when he caught sight of her. Tori was startled into laughing.

“Oh, yes. A mini-me,” she teased, ruffling Robin’s hair. The little girl stared up at them, stunned.

Cracker laughed harder than her and grabbed the little girl by the back of her shirt. He lifted her up when she squeaked and propped her on his shoulder while they walked back to the ship. Robin grabbed his hair, looking bewildered but not afraid.

“Where are we going?” she asked, looking around the town from her new vantage. The villagers were quickly scrambling out of their way. Tori didn’t take it personally.

“Us? We’re going to our ship to eat dinner. With you, now. But eventually we’ll go back to Tottoland.”

“Totto Land,” Robin repeated, looking off at the ocean.

Tori smiled.

“It’s where we live. Although I’m from Imperia originally. If you ever decide to travel, you should come visit me there. You’d be more than welcome.”

“Really?” Robin looked at her with such heartbreaking hope.

“Yes, really,” Tori smiled sweetly at her. “You’re very smart, sweetheart, and I think you’d like it there.”

Cracker dropped her on the deck of the ship, and the three of them descended into the cabins to eat in peace. Tori couldn't help keeping an eye on the window, searching the horizon for Navy ships.

In the morning she would go back and keep at her work, but for tonight she ate with Cracker and Robin and laughed at their silly antics. They were both so young and unburdened by the world. Tori wanted to save them, if only she had the strength.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #katakuri #charlotte Katakuri #katakuri x oc #oc #victoria di Imperia #charlotte cracker #nico robin

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enigmasalad · 5 years

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Weddings Are Places We Don’t Belong

Deceit sighed as he walked into his apartment. Today had been rather exhausting. Sure, being a bartender at a high-class club doesn’t seem like it, but it is. From making drinks for finicky and snobbish customers to keeping figurative and literal tabs on others (for his side business as an informant) he had his hands full. There was one older gentleman saying something completely homophobic as he ordered a scotch on the rocks that he so totally didn’t manipulate to give a rather hefty tip. Another lady (who was most likely going through a midlife crisis) he was serving an expensive cocktail to loudly and bluntly asked about the scarred side of his face. Yeah that was a completely idiotic and bitchy move, but Deceit would milk this opportunity for all it was worth by basically making her feel horribly guilty. So he got another large tip and satisfaction of this woman looking like she was mortified at herself. So after work like that (and a rather threatening text from a customer of his informant business he just shrugged off) he just wanted to relax with his boyfriend and their two headed snake Jekyll and Hyde. However, as he took off his shoes, he heard a frustrated shout followed by a loud crash.

“Dammit Remus.” Remus was probably having another outburst, which meant either broken furniture, walls or even fingers. Deceit entered the kitchen to see what the extent of the damages. There were broken plates and glasses on the floor. Knives and somehow spoons were embedded in cupboards and in the walls. Heck Remus managed to have a fucking skillet stuck to the ceiling by some substance that Deceit didn’t even want to guess the origin of. And of course, In the center was Remus, hair wild and eyes even wilder. Tears flowed freely down his face and his slightly sharper than average teeth were bared in fury or pain. There were glass and ceramic in his feet, hands, leg and arms. He had his arm on their cutting board and a cleaver high in the air right over it. Deceit announced his presence by clearing his throat. The crazed man dropped the cleaver that was in his hands once he spotted Deceit. “Dee..” he said, voice broken and raw from the amount of screaming he’s probably done. “Stand still Remus.” Deceit ordered. And still Remus stood. Deceit swept up the mess, which took forever. There was ceramic and glass everywhere. The man tried to get what he could but was certain one of them will have a piece of glass in their feet sometime this week. Once he was done, it was time for stage two of the outburst aftercare, treating Remus’s injuries. Deceit lead his now quiet and drained boyfriend to a dining chair and went to get the first aid supplies. When he came back, he decided to get to the bottom of this.

“What made you want to impale our walls with spoons this time Remus?” he asked as he tweezed glass and ceramic out of his boyfriend’s body. “Shut the fuck up.” Remus growled. Deceit rolled his eyes. If Remus was going to be like this, fine. He can play bitchy too. He sighed and put the tweezers down and looked at Remus with an indifferent expression. “Alright, then you can tweeze the glass out of yourself and I’ll be in our room since you can handle this yourself.” Deceit said, starting to get up. “Wait! Don’t!” Remus cried, head suddenly snapping up and eyes desperate. “Then I need you to tell me what’s going on Remus. You know I won’t actually leave you, but you also know I can’t help you if you won’t cooperate.” Deceit got back down on his knees and resume cleaning up Remus. Remus shakily sighed in defeat. He let out a humorous laugh. “S-So I found out Roman has an Instagram.” Remus started. Deceit practically growled at that name. Roman. He fucking hated that bastard. Not as much as Remus, but close. He felt sick Remus felt this kind of pain again from his twin. It had been years since he saw the pompous dumbass, but the hate was still there. You see, Deceit knew Remus and his brother Roman since middle school. He quickly made friends with Remus (back then Deceit saw him as a tool, but “unfortunately” hormones and feelings had different ideas in the future) and heard about Roman from him. Apparently once the twins entered middle school, Roman decide to become one of those fake, disgusting popular kids. According to Remus, Roman went even so far as to publicly insult his childhood best friend named Virgil. Their first encounter with the anxious and pale kid was in the boy’s bathroom. Remus had led Dee to the poor boy. He decided to follow Remus’s wishes and let the boy join their group. Virgil agreed, so they were a trio from then on. They spent time together talking shit about the popular kids and plotting public humiliation for them. It was the best fun any misfit could have really. However, their plans quickly turned into revenge when Roman, egged on by his “friends”, shoved Remus in a locker. Deceit picked the locker open to find Remus pale, shaking and unusually quiet. They all quickly agreed to make the popular kids lives hell once high school started. Sure, Dee handled most of the revenge (planting drugs in lockers, framing cheating, etc) but it was a group effort. Watching popular kid after popular kid get expelled, sent to prison or disowned had the trio raise a red solo cup of booze to victory. Now it was on to target Roman. That’s when the bastard had a change of heart. Roman finally snapped out of the need of being the popular kid and as he did with poor Virgil, broke ties with them. He called them out for the peer pressuring and told them he would rather try to be a better person with no friends than be a villain and have many of them. Most of the lunchroom clapped. The small group didn’t. In fact, Deceit wanted to throw up. It was truly disgusting the amount of bullshit Roman spewed out. Like hell he was going to be a better person. Remus left a dent in the metal lunch table when he slammed down his fist in rage. Soon everything fell apart, because Roman was telling the truth. He wrote apology letters to everyone he’s hurt, joined theater and developed his own personality, or at least shown the personality he was “forced” to hide. What’s worse is Virgil started to believe him. Roman handed Virgil a literal fucking apology essay and begged for forgiveness. “I-I know I’ve hurt you beyond the point of fixing our relationship. It was stupid to do that to you when you were my best friend! Its fine if you never forgive me, but I will always regret hurting you and not treating you like a friend.” Roman looked like he was going to burst into tears. Virgil’s eyes were wide. Deceit growled. “Don’t listen to him. He’s lying, as usual;. You should burn his apology.” Deceit said, staring at the pathetic brother. Before Virgil or Roman could speak, Remus acted. He punched Roman in the gut HARD. When Roman doubled over, they left. Virgil followed, but Deceit saw his hesitation.

One day, Virgil came to Deceit’s home where he lived alone. He was obviously uncomfortable. “I read the apology.” He said. “Was it as fake as we thought?” Deceit asked with a laugh. Virgil didn’t laugh. He swallowed thickly. “No. In fact, I realized something.” The look Virgil gave Deceit still haunts him in his dreams.

“I’m no better than him. In fact, we’ve been in the same boat.” Deceit rolled his eyes. “Virgil you sound ridiculo-“ “No, I don’t. I realize we both are the same! We’ve been manipulated to do the opposite of what we’ve wanted to do, all for the sake of a fake friendship! I’ve helped you get people sent to prison for fucks sake!” Virgil almost shouted.

Deceit snapped.

“Watch your fucking mouth Petrov. You forget what we’ve done for you. Without us, you’d be nothing!” “No, with you and Remus, all I am is nothing! I’ve been a fucking tool all this time! You’ve never cared for me at all!”

Both Virgil and Deceit stood up. Deceit clenched his fist to prevent him from decking Virgil. And by the look Virgil was giving him, Virgil was silently daring him to do it. “If Roman is trying to be a better person, then maybe its time for me to try as well. I don’t care if I’m alone. At least I won’t be fake like you.”

Deceit was about to punch Virgil when the door burst in. It was Remus. He looked..disturbed. His grin was WAY too wide and tears were falling. There was something wrong, horribly wrong. Virgil backed up towards the back door, like he knew something was about to happen. “Remus what the f-“ “I killed Roman.” Deceit’s hand fell to his side as he stared at Remus in shock. He knew Remus was crazy but- “H-He tried apologizing, so I grabbed mama’s cast iron and just-“ Remus make the violent motion of hitting someone over the head with an object. He chuckled and sobbed. “I blacked out and woke up here! I-I killed him! I killed my own brother!!” Remus said hysterically. It was at that moment Virgil bolted. Remus’s head snapped up and started to run after the emo, most likely to leave no witnesses, but some pathetic and sentimental part of Deceit held Remus back. “Calm the fuck down!” Deceit demanded. “He’s escaping! He’s going to tell the police! Let me kill him for you!” Remus screamed as he struggled. As Deceit developed bruises and scratches from trying to restrain the crazed man, he knew Remus was right. Virgil was going to alert some kind of authority. They didn’t have time. They packed up their shit and left before Virgil had the chance to snitch. They found out Roman was alive with miraculously less damage than anyone thought. Plus, Virgil hadn’t said a word, saying he had no clue where Remus or Deceit were, but it was too late. They were gone. And that’s how they ended up in this apartment in London. This was the reason he was picking glass out of his tormented boyfriend in stewing silence. Deceit wrapped Remus’s arms, legs, hands and feet in bandages. He finally decided to ask the question that he was dying to know. “Why on Earth were you looking for Roman’s Instagram?” Remus chuckled, a little more alive now. “I was going to anonymously send him chain mail letters and links to vore porn. And crocs!” Remus admitted. “Jesus Christ Remus.” Deceit sighed. “But I saw that he’s engaged. To three people! They must have kinky sex. I didn’t know he was that desperate for cock. Or ass.” Deceit blinked. Three people, with Roman? What poor, gullible people decided to stick Roman? Di “Is it Virgil?” he asked. “Eh one of them is. Another is like, a sexy teacher looking guy who’d I’d let spank me with a ruler and the other is this chubby guy I’d think would have very squishy insides. I’d like to make a onesie out of him. I’d cuddle with you by a fireplace and drink wine with you wearing that.” Remus said with a grin Deceit chuckled slightly. Most people find Remus disturbing but not him. He found Remus childish and just misunderstood. It was endearing, borderline charming. Remus grinned brighter at the chuckle, but then his face was pained once more. “I just got in my head again. I hate him and I wish even to this day I could finish the job! And yet-“

Remus let out a shaky sigh. Deceit stood up and led his boyfriend to their bedroom. Stage three was comfort and reassurance, so Deceit eased Remus onto their bed and went over to their dresser. On it was the terrarium Jekyll and Hyde lived in. The snake immediately tried to slide up Deceit’s arm. Deceit held his arm up and one of the snake’s heads flicked its tongue out, tickling Deceit’s cheek. He walked back over to the bed and sat next to Remus, letting the snake slither and get comfortable on Remus. Remus giggled as the snake’s tongue flickered against his neck. “Aw they’re giving me kisses!”

“They’re not concerned about you. They just think you smell bad.” Deceit said. “We have the best sons. I love them so much.” Remus sighed as he snuggled the duo headed snake. Deceit smiled softly. Within minutes, he, Remus and their “sons” were cuddling. Remus turned his head to Deceit and looked at him with a soft kind of look that was always only for him. “Thank you.” He said. “It’s no problem.” Deceit responded. Remus looked at the ceiling. “I just…miss home sometimes. Yes, even Roman, even though I want to send him to hell. I miss causing trouble with Virgil. Making him terrified of his shadow. Watching him shrink away when I flirted with him.” Deceit listened carefully, stroking Remus’s messy hair with careful fingers. He listened about the places they’d hang out at back home, like the abandoned strip mall or the playground at night. Remus chattered about the alleyways that had the best dumpsters to dive in and the convenience store bagged pickles that always smelled funny. How back then Deceit easily snuck into liquor stores and bars and somehow always got them free drinks. Then Remus closed his eyes and his voice grew shaky. “I miss mama. I miss her hugs, her food, her songs when she’d clean, when she’d yell at me for stabbing birds with sharpened sticks. W-When she would try to make me bring you to our house cause you were “too skinny”. But she always looked at me differently than Roman. I-I just don’t know what I did wrong for them to hate me. What did I do?”

“She loved you, I think. Just not the way you needed. She was too focused on reforming you to society’s unrealistic standards, she didn’t take time to understand that there’s nothing wrong with you. That you just have an enhanced view on reality that cowards are too blind to see.” Deceit answered. So, there they lay, Deceit whispering reassurances and Remus giving him and their “Sons” kisses and affection. This was just another day in their hellish life but, they had each other.

“Weddings suck anyways. You just watch a princess and a butler shove cake into each other’s mouths and say how much they love each other even though they’ll most likely hate each other in ten years.” Remus grinned the dangerous smile that didn’t make Deceit’s chest feel warm and his cheeks flush. “The only release they get is when death does them part!” Deceit laughed loudly. That was true! “Virgil’s made a huge mistake. I hope he’s happy when he dies.” Remus said. “Probably not. He’s never happy.” Deceit hummed. “No one will be happy in all honesty.” Remus agreed.

Deceit’s life is rough. He’s a bartender for snobs and an informant for the criminal underworld. He lives in an apartment with knives and spoons in the walls and glass on the floor. He has a boyfriend who has violent meltdowns and who destroys their home on some days, and others just does the oddest things. They have a freak of nature snake as their only family members. And you know what? It was perfect.

Remus turned over with a smirk and pulled Deceit closer to him.

“Lets have some comfort fucking Dee.”

Deceit sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Dammit Remus.”

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dainty-baneberry · 4 years

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Prompt #26: When Pigs Fly

(Lower La Noscea, Eorzea. Post 3.15 Heavensward and the Scholastic quests.) Candlekeep Quay was a sleepy little port on the edge of Lower La Noscea In years past only the candle-keeps of Oschon's Torch made use of the port. When the nearby and much more heavily settled Moraby Drydocks were damaged in the Calamity, the Quay was pressed into service and expanded. Once the flood of artisans and supplies had seen to the repairs of the Drydocks, Candlekeep Quay was once again forgotten. Dealing only with the most pedestrian of domestic cargo. It was “guarded” by a handful of greenhorn Yellow Jackets. The most pressing thing they had to concern themselves with was the occasional drunk argument over one of the local girls who was a renown flirt. It was of great surprise to those that were station there, then, that at half past the bell of 6pm Storm Sargent Orrick arrived on the ferry from Aleport. He claimed to have been hailed there by a Yellow Jacket named Sylskaetsyn who had penned an urgent missive regarding a crate of contraband that arrived with no name. Sylskaetsyn, confused and having penned no such letter, then became the sole witness to a most peculiar murder. A cloaked figure, dressed all in black stepped out from a pile of barrels, shot Storm Sargeant Orrick at close range in the chest, and disappeared into the wilds of the Salt Strand before anyone could react. Inspector Briardien adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he bent down to inspect the corpse of the late Storm Sargent Orrick. At barely 2 bells old it was still considered fresh. The blood splatter from the wound suggested that the weapon used to dispatch the man had been of high caliber. The slender Elezen man's brow puckered a little; “Tell me, Sylskaetsyn, do you note anything unusual about the Sargeant's shirt?”

“Other than its got a dirty great hole through it... can't say as I do.” Sylskaetsyn observed. “Scorch marks.” Inspector Briardem pointed at the tell-tale markings. “And not caused by black powder, as one would expect from a projectile revolver. This wound was created by a magitek weapon.” “Magitek!” Sylskaetsyn fully started back a step. “S'wot Imperials use, ain't it? Ain't none of that round here.” “To an extent, aye, indeed it is.” Inspect Briardem rose, adjusting his glasses again and his silvery gray hair besides. The Ishgardian Elezen man was impeccably neat at all times. “There are only two peoples on this Star whom are known to use weaponry that would create a wound with this pattern etched into the victims clothing. Those in the Imperial army, as we have already deduced and Ishgardian Machinists. And if you were to ask me if either are likely to answer whom might have done this, I should ask you when did pigs start to fly.” “Machi-what?” “Precisely.” the Inspector waved Sylskaetsyn's question away. He had already anticipated that the unpopular Ishgardian discipline would be a complete unknown in this backwater Eorzean port. “Tell me, do you happen to know if the good Sargeant had any enemies?” “D'ye have a week?” a female voice snorted, fairly dripping with disgust. “And there weren't nowt good 'bout him neither!” “Do forgive me, I do not believe I caught your name?” The elezen man peer down his nose at the pretty, if somewhat shabbily dressed miqo'te woman. Her blue black hair was tipped with white and her uniform marked her as a Mealvaan's Gate assessor. “A'zumyn.” The woman stated clearly, striding over. “If you check the dead man's pockets you'll find a book of names of people he were extorting.” That raised Inspector Briardien's eyebrows sharply but he almost instantly collected himself to rifle through the slain Storm Sargeant's pants. As promised within one of the pockets he found a slim, leather bound notebook. The Inspector had no qualms about flicking through the pages, noting 18 different names. All of which appeared to be miqo'te names by the tell tale letter prefix that denoted their tribe. Bar one.

A singular Roegadyn name, Delicate Willow, stuck out like a sudden scream in near silence for how jarringly out of place it appeared. “Would you be so kind as to explain to me the manner of extortion the late Orrick was engaged in?” Inspector Briardien requested politely, his eyes still lingering on the name Delicate Willow, even as he smoothed down the front of his cobalt blue bilaud from where it had wrinkled when he bent down. His instincts were tingling. He could not say why, or how but he just knew that this event was somehow related to her. She may not have been involved in the actual killing act. She may even be wholly unaware of it but she was the lead he needed to follow. He was certain of it. “T's a simple enough scam. Loan a little coin to someone down on their luck, nothing official, just between friends. Then make it so its real hard for them to pay it back. Add a interest, a couple late fees and the next thing the mark knows the have an unpayable debt on their hands.” A'zumyn explained. “He almost got me with it, only my mentor at the Arcanists Guild stepped in and returned the coin he loaned me before he had a chance.” “The Admiral banned piracy but the bloody worst of them never can quite give it up.” Sylskaetsyn spat. “So I see.” Inspector Briardien murmured. Delicate Willow. Delicate Willow. The name reminded him of something. Delicate... Diaphanous...Airy....Elegant...Dainty. A bolt shot through Inspector Briardien, stiffening his spine suddenly. In an instant his mind was awash with with visions of a finely built woman. He had been surprised to see her, an Au Ra, in Ishgard of all places. And with one of Stephanivian Haillenarte's Machinist weapons on her hip. A carbine style, Briardien recalled. Long barreled, but slender and easily able to fit under a flowing cloak. “Sylskaetsyn, would you describe the cloaked figure you saw as “tall” ?” Inspector Briardien questioned leadingly. “Just the opposite, in fact! It all happened so quick, its hard t'say with confident what I actually saw with my own two eyes but, I do recall thinking the person might have been a wee little thing t'be hidden behind those barrels for Twelve knows how long, and none of us be any the wiser.” “Yes. Such stillness and dedication to their tasks suggests that this was the work of a professional. This was very clearly an execution by who had been watching the Quay for a long time, and knew not only to send a letter signed in your name but the exact ferry that the Storm Sargeant would arrive upon. The single shot with a magitek rifle, the quick, clean escape, all these pieces can lead us to only one conclusion. The killer was Frumentari.” Inspector Briardien announced, adjusting his glasses. “Frumen...wha?” “Spies of the Garlean Empire.” “Oh!” “Storm Sargent Orrick no doubt plied his ill-begotten game on the wrong mark and, rather than risk being unmasked, the operative saw the threat to the mission eliminated.”

It made perfect sense to Sylskaetsyn. He may have been the most senior Yellow Jacket in Candlekeep Quay but he was still green, having barely made is 25th Rank before being assigned to watch duty in the forgotten port. He had been almost certain he was going to be set up for the Storm Sargeant's murder until Inspector Briardien had unexpectedly arrived and mostly competently taken over. “I shall see this book of names turned over to the proper authorities so that they may attempt to uncover which of the names may be the Fox in the Hen House. I shall leave you to your reports and...corpse disposal.”

Inspector Briardien informed Sylskaetsyn with a collected Ishgardian bow before he turned towards the Pier. There was a ferry to Aleport with his name on it departing in the next 5 minutes and the Inspector was well desirous to be on it. “Yes! Thank you, Inspector! Not sure what we would have done if you hadn't happened along. Never would have noticed all that, the stuff about it being a professional wot done it, if you had not pointed it out.” Sylskaetsyn insisted, suddenly remembering his manners to thank the slender Elezen man and reply with an Eorzean salute.

Inspector Briardien's reputation for brilliance of mind, especially when it came to deduction, was clearly well deserved in Sylskaetsyn opinion. Inspector Briardien gave a cursory nod, which unseated his glasses and required him to adjust them on the bridge of his aquiline nose once before. As he moved toward his transport a thin smile graced his lips. He was not a betting man. He did not believe in the sport of gambling, or wagering against luck but he would place coin on Delicate Willow being a relative of some sort to the woman known as Dainty Baneberry. Inspector Briardien was no Dragonslayer, nor a Knight. He was technically a noble born but House Manseauguel of Ishgard was not one of any particular note. Yet he knew what the Warrior of Light, the Survivor of the Dragonsong had done for Ishgard. It was impossible for a man of his intellect to be blind to the future she had granted them. An Endless war, ended by her hands. A multi-generational cycle of violence broken so that peace could be known between man and dragon. An ancient crime finally exposed to the world, and those who would continue it made to answer for it. By her doing. Somewhere between Candlekeep Quay and Aleport, over the deepest part of the ocean and while the crew of the ferry were busy navigating through the dark, a small, leather bound notebook did slip from Inspector Briardien's hands and plunge, unseen, into a watery grave. A thin smile fleetingly quirked up the corner of Inspector Briardien's lips; “Ishgard remembers, Warrior of Light.��

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #writeseptember

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connorssock · 5 years

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Beloved Monster

Growing up, Gavin had all the typical fears of a child. That there was something in his closet, a monster under his bed, haunted attic. Wherever he went, he never felt alone. As a child, it was terrifying but as he grew older, he got used to it and to an extent took comfort in it. It was why he never got worried about living alone, some people hated it, Gavin didn’t mind.

It was only when he stumbled home from a double shift in the early hours of the morning that he began to question his sanity. He’d missed dinner but was too tired do much more than pop a few slices of bread in the toaster and grab the ham from the fridge. In line with his usual luck, a piece of ham slipped from between his fingers and fell to the floor with a splat. Immediately, his cat was prowling towards it and Gavin’s sleepy mind panicked. Not thinking, he kicked the ham under the fridge and out of reach.

“Thanks,” a soft hiss came and Gavin blinked.

“Did you just speak?” he asked the cat.

“No, it was me.” The voice was grating, like metal scraped over rusty metal. There was nothing Gavin could say to that other than “huh” and ump when the toast popped out.

“Want me to make you one too?” he offered, mind addled and half asleep.

“Please.”

Obediently, Gavin assembled another ham and cheese on toast and slid it under the fridge.

“Thanks.”

“Cool, I’m going to hit the sack. Have a good night,” Gavin turned the kitchen light off and stumbled into bed.

In the morning he almost laughed at himself and his sleep addled mind. Of all the things to hallucinate from exhaustion, a voice under his fridge which asked for some food was a new one. He basked in bed for a few more minutes, delaying the inevitable of having to fish out the ham and cheese on toast from under the fridge, now probably coated in age old dust.

Still, it had to be done and once he was finally up, cat food sorted, he knelt down by the fridge and peered under it. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness. A torch revealed nothing unusual either, not even a greasy stain where the toast had been. Scratching his head, Gavin tutted to himself, perhaps he’d dreamt the whole thing.

It was only a few days later that he was in the kitchen again that the fridge let out its usual groan as he moved to bin some gone off yoghurt. His hand stilled and he looked at the appliance.

“Was that you?” He felt so silly asking out loud whether his fridge had groaned. But it didn’t compare to his fright when the voice from before gurgled out a “maybe”.

“Cool,” he stalled for time, uncertain what to say. “You hungry?”

“Yes.”

As far as conversations went, it was a pretty stilted one. Whatever lived under his fridge didn’t seem capable of more than one word answers. Which was fair enough, Gavin wondered if he was an entity that lived in cramped, dark places, he too might struggle with words.

“Got a name?” It only seemed polite to ask. The response was a garbling hiss of consonants that should not have been possible to pronounce.

“Is that your name? Or is that you having a breakdown? Shit, you didn’t touch the electricity outlet, did you?”

“No. Name.” The voice repeated what could have been the same sounds as before, or something utterly different but Gavin’s ears caught on a bit.

“That’s getting a little too long for me to pronounce. But part of it sounded like Nines. So I’m going to call you Nines, okay?”

“Okay. Nines. Good. Like.”

If Gavin didn’t know any better, the voice sounded pleased.

From then on, Gavin’s waste took a serious nosedive. Anything on the turn or gone off could be shoved under the fridge and Nines happily chomped away on it. Sometimes, especially if it was something he very much enjoyed, the odd gurgling slurp accompanied it.

Gavin also made changes to his home. Nines was fond of dark, small crevices to hide in. The fridge was his favourite but he also liked to hang out under the washing machine in the bathroom while Gavin brushed his teeth. In the living room, Gavin sold his old coffee table and replaced it with one that sat low on the ground and was wider than his previous one. An additional benefit was that he could put his feet up much more comfortably while they watched TV. His wardrobe was a comforting nook for Nines to hide out in. More often than not, some of Gavin’s jumpers would migrate into the back corner of it, pulled from their hangers. In the end, Gavin just bought a couple more and let Nines rotate them as he pleased.

They had a bit of a game going on too. Some days, Gavin would sneak up on whatever furniture Nines was chilling under and suddenly peer under it with a torch. It was always met by a wry chuckle from somewhere else. How Nines knew Gavin was trying to catch a glimpse of him was a mystery. No matter how silent or abrupt Gavin was, Nines always evaded him.

“Why can’t I see you?”

“Ugly. Scary.”

“Well, you put up with my ugly and scarred ass, can’t be much worse than me,” Gavin tried to make a joke but the alarming growl he got in response had him backing up.

“Not ugly.”

It wasn’t something Gavin was willing to argue over, Nines sounded cross enough and Gavin had seen the things he’d eaten. He really didn’t want to be next on the menu.

“Got any family?” he tried to change tact.

“Brother. Happy.” Another string of garble followed that Gavin guessed was a name. Much like with Nines’ own name, he tried to find something that a human could pronounce.

“Let’s call him Connor, sounds close enough.” Then something struck him. “You say happy. Is that you happy or him happy?”

“Him.” Nines sounded as gentle as he ever could.

“What about you? Are you happy?” It was a heavy question and only when Gavin asked it did he realised how much he wanted the answer to be a yes.

“Almost.”

It crushed Gavin’s heart more than he thought it would. He nodded and made a little noise of acknowledgement, uncertain how to ask what he could do to make Nines happy.

In the end, he didn’t ask. But he made sure to take note of all the things Nines enjoyed more. He bought cherry yoghurt and left it in the sun for a few days before spooning it under the fridge. If sometimes he dipped a pickle in it just he hear Nines’ happy little hums, that was pure coincidence.

He also invested in blackout curtains and some evenings, he sat on the sofa in pitch black as he and Nines talked. Over time, Nines had started to string words together into sentences. Occasionally, Gavin could have sworn Nines’ voice came from the far end of the sofa, along with waves of warmth that definitely didn’t emanate from the radiators.

“Do you ever get bored just lounging in the house?” Gavin asked one night. Nines was either in the wardrobe or, since Gavin had changed to a bed with small legs, under that.

“Too bright. Too scary. Nobody want to see Nines.”

“Oh buddy, don’t put yourself down. Anyway, I think I have an idea. Would you fit in the hood of a jacket? Or a bag?” Gavin’s mind was whirling a mile a minute. He wasn’t sure how big Nines actually was. But if he fit in small dark crannies, perhaps he could curl up small.

“Fall out hood. Too heavy for bag.”

“I want to try the bag idea anyway. It would be nice to have you tag along whenever you fancied,” Gavin pressed the idea even as another one cropped up. “Hey Nines?”

“Yes?”

“You know I like you, right?” There was a soft tremor in his voice. He didn’t want to mess things up but he wanted as much as Nines was willing to offer.

“Yes?”

“Want to get on the bed? You always feel so warm and it’s a bit chilly.”

The refusal was not unexpected and Gavin didn’t take it to heart. If anything, he’d learnt that Nines was tremendously shy. Just getting him to sit on the couch had been a feat which took weeks of asking. So Gavin settled in to do the same with the bed. Each night, he asked Nines if he’d like to join him for a cuddle. And each night Nines refused. But his voice became less firm over time.

Things changed one night when Gavin had stumbled home from another late shift. He was tired, the case was dragging and there was something missing from the picture. Nobody could pinpoint it, but they were so close. Gavin never noticed that he was being followed home.

He opened his door but before he had a chance to flick the lights on, someone was barrelling into him from behind. They tumbled into the house, a hand pressed over Gavin’s mouth to keep him quiet. He struggled, kicked and scratched to no avail. There was the sound of a knife being pulled free and Gavin froze. He knew what was coming, the inevitable pain of a knife burying itself into his flesh. Bracing for it never helped but he tensed in anticipation all the same.

A slurping sound accompanied the sudden loss of tension in the body behind him. Almost in slow motion, it peeled away from him with more crunches and gulps. A soft burp sounded and Gavin tried to make sense of it all.

“You okay?” Nines’ familiar voice snapped him out of it.

“Fuck. Did you just eat him?”

“Yes.”

Gavin swore again and let out a laugh. He couldn’t very well report the incident now. There was no way to explain that the creature that had always lived under his bed since childhood had eaten his assailant. The absurdity of it all had Gavin laughing.

“Close the door, will you? It’s getting cold.”

He heard the door shut and even the faint glimmer of street lights was gone. Not bothering to turn a light on, Gavin picked his way through his home towards the bedroom, trusting Nines to help him stop falling over things.

Once in bed, he patted the space beside him.

“You going to come up for that cuddle then?”

“Yes.”

So it was, that at 1am on an unremarkable Thursday night, the mattress dipped and Gavin smiled.

#reed900 #dbh: rk900 #dbh: gavin #monster under the bed au #monster nines

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chrmdnbeautiful · 4 years

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Depression... maybe TMI?

With what’s going on in our world right now, I have been seeing a lot of posts about mental illnesses. I know so many people that are affected by some mental illness and I know even more that have no idea what it’s like to be locked in with our demons.

My depression may not look like someone else’s. It might be hard for you to believe that I even suffer from it or anxiety. Believe me, you wouldn’t be the first. Depression affects everyone differently. For some, depression is no big deal, a mood... they might feel down in the dumps because of something that happened, but the feeling usually fades with time. For others it’s an illness that they have to deal with day in and day out, kind of like a persistent cough that may never go away. You can manage it, but not always be cured of it.

Some days it feels like I’m drowning. Like I’m in the middle of the Pacific trying with all my might to make it to the shore. I’m physically a strong swimmer, but sometimes, emotionally, I’m just too tired to keep swimming and I fall beneath the surface. Fighting yourself every day is utterly exhausting. My worst enemy is not some mean girl from high school who tried to ruin my life, it’s me, myself, and I. Logically, I know that devil on my shoulder, that looks and sounds just like me, is just a big, fat liar. But damn if she isn’t a convincing bitch!

There are people in my life that have a hard time believing that I’ve been fighting this illness since I was ten years old. You’re so happy all the time. Kids that age don’t even know what depression is. Ten year olds have no reason to feel hopeless, like they’re better off dead. All I can say is, tell that to any child who has suffered from trauma. There are probably a lot more than you even realize. I’ll give you that I didn’t understand what I was feeling back then, but I was sure as hell feeling it. There are people in my life that choose to look no further than the smile I plaster on my face because I don’t want to feel like a burden and they don’t want to believe I have demons inside me that I can’t defeat. Other people see what’s going on and what to help but don’t know how. I appreciate these people but sometimes they end up making things worse.

Members of my own family choose to ignore the very serious illness I have been fighting for over twenty years, the very same one that has led to three, let me say that again for the people in the back, THREE suicide attempts. They would rather believe that I’m being dramatic, seeking attention rather than have a serious illness.

People try to help when they say things like it will get better or you’ll be alright. I know all of that, but in those moments when the darkness surrounds me, tries to suffocate me, I don’t feel like I will ever make it out. I will not just get over the trauma that I suffered, I will always carry that around like a scar on my heart. It’s going to take a lot of work before I can live my life without the black cloud of my abuse hanging over my head. Something I have only recently started to do willingly. Therapy only works if you want it to, I fought it for so long. The third attempt at taking my life scared me enough to seek help on my own for the first time in my life. It’s helping, but it’s not taking the pain away. I can’t make it go away, no matter how much I may want to. People just don’t seem to understand that sometimes though, I just want to scream it in their faces, but I choose not because I know they are only trying to help. I just wish they realized I can’t just snap my fingers and make my pain and anxiety disappear. That would be a cool trick if I could though, right?

My mom put me in therapy when I was twelve years old because she knew there was more to the never ending rivers of tears and constant tantrums, the separation anxiety, and the unusual social distancing. She knew that I needed more help than she could give me dealing with the big feelings left behind by the abuse I suffered for so long. She was the only one that understood that I was dealing with a weight heavier than anything I’d ever tried to carry on my own, that if we weren’t careful that weight could crush me.

My mom died when I was sixteen though, taking the one person that could see through the smiles and into my dying insides. Since then, no one has been able to help me the same way, no one can get inside the haze of self hatred to help me. My brothers, there are six of them, won’t even acknowledge there is a serious problem. I’ve been on my own in the world and in the darkness since I was sixteen. Sure, there have been people that wanted to help, but no one ever sticks around long enough to get past my walls and my trust issues, it just becomes too much of a chore. And I can’t say that I really blame them. I get tired of the shit in my head too.

People leaving is something I have grown used to. People always leave. Even my abuser chose to leave, not because he got caught or because he suddenly grew a conscience, but because he found someone else to abuse. In his words, someone better than me. I’m almost ashamed that part of me was happy that he stopped hurting me, that he found another little girl to fill my spot. Not that I wanted her to hurt, but I just wanted to stop hurting. Then there is that other part, the part I’m most ashamed of, I was sad and hurt that he chose someone else. It was like I wasn’t good enough because his attention went somewhere else. How screwed up is that?! It has become a trend in my life too, I know I deserve better than the backstabbing friends, the emotionally and sometimes physically abusive men, the lying and cheating bastards who trick me. But what if that’s all I can ever get?

My husband, who I have been with for the last ten years (married nine), doesn’t even know the extent of my deep, dark hole because I have learned my lesson in the past, if he knew too much he would leave too. My brothers choose not to know what’s going on, but even if I did tell them, they would get the lite version. I do not want to be a burden, especially to those I love.

My mom was the glue that held our family together. She was the reason we had relationships with our grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Since she passed, I’ve rarely talked to the extended members of my family. None of them know just how screwed up I am and I am never going to tell them. The stigma of mental illness is like a glaring sign in front of me, don’t tell them because they will look at you differently. There was a lot of drama surrounding my mom’s death too, which didn’t help the fragile state of our relationships. My brothers (the two oldest were hers, the rest belong to my dad) and I talk but it’s never about anything important. Well, except the one time I had to have surgery because I felt they needed to know in case I didn’t wake up. We never go too deep. It’s more like hey, how ya doing? We miss you. How are the kids? The husband? Okay, talk to you in a few months. The few times I have broached the subject with any one of my brothers about my therapy sessions, it’s always why are you going to therapy? You don’t need therapy. Life is not that hard. Our family (both sides of it, my mom’s and my dad’s) doesn’t believe in going to a stranger to fix our problems. Must be that machismo thing. Filipinos and Mexicans both suffer from it. After that though, the conversation gets too uncomfortable. They don’t want to hear the dirty details of my trauma, and I don’t really like telling them about it anyway. First, it’s embarrassing as hell and second, I’m worried about what they might think.

That’s not so much the depression but the anxiety. I worry about everything all the time. I’m worried if I’m doing something wrong. I’m worried if I’m going to say the wrong thing. I’m worried if someone is going to take something I say or do the wrong way and hate me forever. I’m worried if I’ll be about to say the right thing. I’m worried if today is the day that I wake to find that my husband has left because he decided I am too messed up to deal with. I’m worried that my children will see beyond the happy facade I try to put up mostly for their benefit. I’m worried that everyone will see me for the fraud I am, I’m not good enough but I have gotten good at faking it. What happens when Dorothy looks behind the curtain to realize the wizard is just a man? What happens when they figure out that I’ve been lying to them for the last twenty years? I do everything for him, even the simplest tasks seem to fall on my shoulders. I give everything I can to being a good mom, and I feel like I fall short every day. Every time I raise my voice to my thirteen year old daughter who has been my rock since she was born, every time I snap at my ten year old son who has ADHD, I prove that I was not cut out for this mom thing. My kids are missing out on the childhood they deserve, the kind of childhood their peers have because I can’t function like other parents. My anxiety in large groups, hell my anxiety outside of my bed, my safe zone, keeps me from taking them to do fun things or even going to the park. It’s hard to enjoy an outing when I always feel like someone is out to get me, when it’s really my mind trying to beat me down. I try to be a good friend, but my family gets most of me, I have little patience and I’m irritable so much of the time, it doesn’t take much to set me off. I try to be a good sister but there is a lot of resentment there and even more worry about how they are going to react to something I say. I don’t know if they want to talk to me, I don’t know if they only do to appease some familial obligations. I don’t know that they even like me most of the time. I know they love me, we’re family, we share blood, of course they love me. But if we didn’t share DNA would they even talk to me?

Depression and anxiety are very real. They may not look all that bad because those who suffer from them are Emmy-worthy actors. Most days, I’m smiling and look happy, laughing my butt off so much that I’ve been nicknamed Giggles at work, I constantly have people commenting on how often I smile. So much so, they notice when I don’t. On the inside though, I’m exhausted and just want to give up. To be perfectly honest, if it weren’t for my daughter I would have been dead at eighteen. She saved my life. My kids are my everything, they are the only reason I get out of bed every day to fight a new fight with my demons. They are the only reason I go to work every day. They are the only reason I eat dinner every night, because I need to feed them. They are the only reason I get in the shower every night before bed, because I need to set a good example for them. The are the only reason I force myself to act like a functioning human being. Because let’s be serious, that’s all it really is, I’m acting. Day in and day out, I pretend that I wasn’t abused for so much of my childhood, I pretend that the pain of losing the one person I could count on in the world isn’t killing me every day, I pretend that the people who have given up on me didn’t chip away at what was left of my mangled heart, I pretend that I’m happy and that my mind doesn’t constantly wonder if those around me would be better off if I was dead.

My therapists and psychiatrists always look at me funny when I say that. Well, I don’t know how your children could be better off without you in this world. That devil I mentioned earlier? She is damn good at justifying just about anything. I’m screwing them up, I’m not a good mom anyway, they’d be better off with someone else raising them. Now, I do have an angel to match that devil sitting on the opposite shoulder, but she looks and sounds a lot like my mom instead of me. She is much quieter and only speaks up when the devil seems to be winning. Which I have to say hasn’t happened as much as it used to since my babies came into this world. The angel tells me that I have to fight for my kids’ sake, til the bloody fucking end if necessary. I can’t leave them with the memory of my suicide. As shitty a mom as I am, I am still their mother and they love me. If I kill myself, I would hurt them and I refuse to do that if I can help it.

My depression maybe not look like yours, or his, or even hers, but it is a very real thing. I can’t just blink or wiggle my nose and make it all disappear. I’m not just being dramatic or seeking attention. I’m tired of pretending that I’m not broken on the inside because the people around me are uncomfortable with it. I’m sorry but just imagine what it’s like to live in my head for a moment. On the outside, I’m cool, calm even and inside, I’m wondering if I’m good enough, if the person I’m talking to is waiting for me to shut the hell up so they can walk away. I’m wondering if they’re laughing at me, storing up details to retell to others later. I’m wondering if I’m going to look down on my funeral and see them there grieving for me. I wonder all the time if I’m going to die alone because I’m not enough for the people who are supposed to love me. I’m wondering if I should just go kill myself and save the people I love the burden of dealing with me. I carry these thoughts and feelings of inadequacy with me every moment of every day. The devil on my shoulder tells me every day, multiple times a day that I won’t be missed and she is so convincing that I believe her. But then the angel is there to remind me of the babies I brought into this world and how much they still need their mama.

It’s a constant battle in my head, for every demon I slay there are three more to replace it. Constant noise and racing thoughts in my head that I can’t always control. I’m pretty good at keeping that control, but every now and then my grip slips and the proof of this illness is there for everyone to see. Oh, you’re just having a bad day, right? Except, it’s so much more than that. It’s one of those hard days where I’m not strong enough to beat the demons back. It’s like I have a bunch of marbles under a cup, I can keep them in line while I have the cup and everything is good, I can pretend that I’m normal, I can smile and laugh like I’ve never had a problem in my life. But sometimes my demons are stronger than me, they knock the cup from my hands and my marbles go in every direction and I have to figure out how to corral them back under the cup before I completely lose my shit. Sometimes, I’m just so tired of fighting my demons and I was to give in, I want to let them rip me to shreds. Sometimes, I crave the peace I would get from death. Maybe, just maybe, if I’m dead I will finally be able to breathe, to rest.

I’m sorry this was so much. I’m sorry that I shared more than any of you probably wanted to know about me. But if you know someone with depression, reach out to them. Especially at times like these, they may do a good job of hiding it, but I’ll bet their struggling. You don’t have to fix them, just let them know that they’re not alone in this big, scary place. I don’t need anyone to fix me, I don’t need anyone to fight my demons for me, but it’d be nice to have someone to hold my hand through the darkness. Imagine being on a roller coaster and the scariest part of the ride takes you through a dark tunnel. I just need someone to hold my hand through the tunnel. I just want someone there to let me know I’m not alone. Because no matter how many people suffer from the same condition, no matter how many people tell you that they’re there for you if you need them, it doesn’t feel like it. Don’t talk about it, be about it. Don’t just say you’ll be there for someone, show up. Hold their hand, let them cry on your shoulder, feed them junk food, talk about silly things just to get their minds off it, take them for an adventure even if they don’t want to go. Just be there.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading. <3

#depression #depression sucks #mentalhealth #mentally ill #mentalillness #mental issues #mental breakdown #mental health #mentalhealthawareness #youarenotalone #youneedtoknow #bekind #loveyourself #mental health awareness #trauma #therapy #from me to you

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