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restapesta · 3 years

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They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was three in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around them only lit up by the white light of the always-opened drive-through.

It had been a craving that brought them here. Ian waking up for a midnight snack, realizing that Mickey was quite awake too, unable to truly rest until he knew his husband was near, with him. He had been standing in front of the fridge inside their scarcely illuminated kitchen, with Mickey sitting on the kitchen counter, legs criss-crossed watching him. Ian had been contemplating what would be best suited to satiate his hunger, besides the man licking strawberry yogurt clean off the spoon.

A light bulb had lit up above his head.

"Get ready."

"What?"

He threw his hoodie Mickey's way. It was big on Ian most of the time, but it was good enough to keep a person warm. "Trust me, Mick."

Mickey placed the gray sweatshirt over his head, pulling it over his torso until he was engulfed in it. Ian rummaged slowly around for their phones, wallets, and keys, searching for them in the dark. His eyes had accommodated to it, and the moonlight filtering in through the windows helped.

"Where are we going?"

"You look great in my clothes, you know. And, you'll see."

He grasped Mickey by the hand, their fingers locked together in a soft embrace, feeling the warmth of each other's skin. Mickey didn't resist for a moment, trusting Ian with his entire life, following after him like a moth to a flame. The only sound echoing throughout the silent apartment had been the turning of the key inside their lock, and later on the slight thudding of quiet steps outside in the hall before their door.

First they got inside their car, both Mickey and Ian staying silent as the redhead drove through the Westside streets—empty and calm. They were enjoying the peace, the clock on their dashboard showing 02:47, and their bodies were still touching, Ian's palm resting flat against Mickey's pajama-bottom-covered thigh, the ones he felt no need to change out of. Ian was in his too, checkered and amusing, reminding Mickey of a grandpa. It was ten minutes before the logo came into view, large and inviting.

Mickey's stomach rumbled unwittingly as he glanced at his husband, noting the twinkle in his eye. He himself was draped in a thick black sweatshirt, the hood obnoxiously pulled over his head, wisps of hair poking out, flaming red.

"Really?" Mickey asked, a slight flutter in his stomach at the image of it all.

"Open 24/7."

"That's your response?"

"Come on, baby, you're just hangry. Let's get some food in ya'."

Mickey couldn't argue.

Now they were in the car, stuffing their faces with hamburgers and fries, downing them with Coke like madmen—something about late nights made them starved—talking amongst one another with mouths filled with food. With anybody else, it probably would've been disgusting and unattractive.

But not with them. Never with them.

They were playing a game.

Twenty questions that were turning into thirty, all asked with no clear goal in mind, simply the first thing to pop into either one of their heads, out of their mouths only for them to hear.

"Have you ever thought about playing the ?"

"You know I play guitar."

"Do you want a guitar for your birthday?"

"It's my turn to ask the question."

"'kay. Ask."

"How old are those tiny as fuck briefs you have hidden in our dresser and why the fuck do you never wear them?"

"Those are two questions."

"You're blushing."

"'m not."

"Answer it, bitch."

"Just so you know, those briefs are brand new and they fucking fit amazing."

"Why was I then denied the pleasure?"

"Mick—"

"As soon as we get home, you're putting them on."

"Fine."

"You're gonna try them then too."

"Why?"

"Your ass. Have you seen your fucking ass?"

Mickey grinned.

They lapsed into silence as they slurped on the last few sips of their Cokes, plastic squeaking in their hands.

Ian finished his drink with a loud sigh, discarding the cup with the rest of the trash that was sitting between them. Mickey followed suit. They were stuffed now and slightly sleepy, drowsiness appearing in their eyes.

Mickey watched as Ian leaned back in his seat. They had reclined them all the way, so Ian was practically laying in it, long legs sprawled out underneath the console. He placed his hands across his stomach, palms across one another.

"What was the best day of your life?" He asked like the sap he was.

Mickey smiled at the question, teasing, "It's my turn."

"Mickey."

"Okay, fine," He chuckled, not wanting to play that specific game of pull and tug, content with the peacefulness of it all. "Let me think about it."

First kiss. Engagement. Wedding. Anniversary. Too many moments to pick from, each stained with a problem they had faced and overcame, beautiful in their own fucked up ways.

He nibbled on his lower lip as he recalled a memory of compete and utter happiness. No problems, no worries, no sadness. It dawned on him, the sensation like drinking water after days of dehydration.

"Remember that trip to Oklahoma?"

A smile graced Ian's features, his eyes briefly closing as he seemed to recall the day. "Don't think I could forget."

"We spent a whole day at that fair. Rented out a room at some shitty motel. From morning till night we went on every single ride possible. Literally saw every attraction there." He was getting lost in the memory, chest swelling with happiness. "Kissed on top of the Ferris wheel at midnight when it was just about to close, like fucking dorks."

He turned around to glance at Ian. He was looking straight at him, the small upturn of his lips reading clear in his eyes, gazing at Mickey like he was everything to him in this entire world.

Whispering, Mickey said, "That was the best day of my life."

Ian grabbed a hold of his hand slowly, delicately, placing it in his lap, the action making warmth heat Mickey's cheeks. Mickey leaned against his own seat, mirroring his husband, eyes on him all the way.

"The best day of my life was the 21st of June, 2021," Ian said longingly as if he was reading the beginning of some old fairytale-type story.

Mickey couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at Ian's sweet earnestness. "You know the date?"

Ian shot him a look, no bite in it whatsoever. "Allow me to tell the story, please?"

Mickey bit his lip to stop smiling. "Okay, okay, you're allowed."

Ian smacked lightly at Mickey's chest, not moving an inch, still slumped in his seat lazily.

"That night I had a dream," He began. "It wasn't even like a dream. More like a fucking vision—and I know how weird that sounds, trust me. But it was literally like a vision, clear and vivid and everything.

"Anyways, the dream—or vision, whatever—was of you and me, sitting in two lawn chairs, staring out into the world. But the thing is, we were older. Like, ninety-year-old old. We were just staring ahead. Then at each other. The way we looked at each other is how we look at each other now—filled with a bunch of love and fondness. It was just the two of us, together, old and gray."

Ian stopped and took a deep breath, leaning forward in his seat, locking eyes with Mickey who was listening carefully. Mickey straightened himself as well, and they were just sitting in their car, gazing softly at one another as Ian told the story, the remnants of their endeavor resting between them.

"So," He continued. "On the 21st of June, 2021, I woke up and all I could think about was that dream. It was like—like on a fucking loop inside my head, and each time I even glanced at you, I just saw the two of us, old and together.

"And I realized, as fucking weird as it sounds, that it was us. I swear Mick, it was you and me, years from now, just sitting in fucking lawn chairs, staring out into the world. Into each other's eyes." His eyes shone. "And all throughout that day, I knew that one day, we'd get there. That you and I would spend the rest of our lives together until we were wrinkly and gray and doing nothing but being together. Each time I even saw you from the cone of my eye, grumpy and frowning at whatever, I was so happy because I would get to spend the rest of my life with you.

"That, until the day I died, I would have you as my partner. My husband. My best friend. The love of my fucking life; by my side until there is nothing left in the world to do but sit by each other and just watch as time goes by.

"Just you and me, Mick. Until the end."

Mickey watched him inhale deeply.

"Best day of my fucking life, and I get to live it forever."

A tear slipped out of Mickey's eye. He felt it on his cheek, rolling down, hot against the already warm skin, yet all he could see was Ian. Ian with the shimmering orbs and that look in his eye like he was staring at everything he needed in life.

Mickey pulled his hand out of Ian's from where it was resting in his lap, then raised them to palm Ian's cheeks, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Lips moving together in the dark, serendipitous in all ways, the vulnerability for once a blessing instead of a curse.

"You never told me that story," He whispered against Ian's lips.

"It just felt right for me to know. Maybe we were just both waiting for this moment, unknowingly."

Another tear, filled with so much.

"We both live the best day of our life like that, Ian. Every single day."

Ian nodded, smiling against Mickey's lips. "I know, my love. I know."

They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was four in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around lit up by only them, the love palpable like a glow, allowing them to see clearly; see all the things that were important to them.

A person needed the match to their gasoline so they could light the fire that would burn and simmer. A person, too, needed the cord to their plug that would alight the darkness of the inside of their chest.

Because one would be lost without the glow in the dark. Or at least not be able to truly see.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #shameless #shameless us #fanfic #*ficlet #i went deep at the end #it is currently 2:24 in the morning #perhaps i am having an existential crisis #but i had a dream of this story #and it made something ache inside my chest #❤️

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kitkatopinions · 3 years

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The sad thing is that Blake's most healthiest option romance wise is someone who gives her space and willing to let her go. Sun fits this description perfectly. But they went with a codependent toxic relationship partially held together by guilt in which one side is clearly submissive and the other too worried and insecure.

Yeah, tbh, the send off to Sun at the start of volume six made me think they would pick up the relationship where it left off eventually for a couple different reasons, but one of them was this reason.

I want to preface this post by saying that A. I don’t really like Bumblebee and I don’t need a reason to dislike it even though I have reason to dislike it, B. I’ve shipped BlackSun from Sun’s first introduction, and C. also I’m coming at this as someone who has been in a co-dependent relationship, so all three of those things means I’m naturally a little biased. I’m not pretending this is all a super objective, impersonal interpretation. This is just me talking honestly about my thoughts towards a ship I don’t like. Bees, I’m sorry if this shows up in your tags, Tumblr is being screwy and I’m not trying to rain on anyone else’s posts. I’m using filterables and putting this under a keep reading to try and make it easier for Bumblebee fans to not see this.

I had - when I saw season six’s opening ep - given the show mad props for writing a romance driven relationship where the partners didn’t have to stay together all the time to still care about each other and be secure. It felt like the perfect move to me to get some distance between their characters while firmly establishing that Sun had never done the things he’d done ‘to win the girl,’ and didn’t consider himself ‘letting Blake go.’ Sun not only being willing to spend this time away from Blake, but to not even need it really said, and to have his own stuff he needed to do as well... All of that felt like a healthy, independent relationship. I don’t mean to get personal on main, but I’ve been in a relationship where I felt partially responsible for my partner’s happiness and he tried to do things like keep me from my friends or guilt me into things. I ignored the red flags because our relationship was important to me, but it made me feel pretty unhappy because I was always worried that if I didn’t do the things he wanted, he would get upset and over-react, and put himself down until I built him back up, and if we didn’t spend the majority of our time together, he would start talking about feeling like I didn’t really care that much about him and how lonely he felt. This was really exhausting to me, especially since I’m an introvert.

Sun always seemed like such a good partner for Blake because he was always so self-possessed, so confident in who he was already, independent and happy and accepting of Blake’s independence. Sun was always there for Blake, but he also was the one usually pushing her towards interacting with others too, they were able to go do separate things and even go on completely different missions with confidence and without drama. For a character who had previously been in a destructive, possessive, controlling, abusive relationship, it had seemed like a scene that clearly established Blake and Sun’s relationship as one where Sun wasn’t expecting Blake to stay with him all the time, respected her goals and her independence, and had his own life and his own friends too. I had kind of just assumed that the choice to have Sun leave the group and go to Vacuo was to further their relationship. Upon rewatching the scene later now that I know that the writers were already starting to try to implement Bumbleby, I can see how the show writers might’ve been intending that scene to be an amiable goodbye where Sun confirms to Neptune that they aren’t actually an item with his ‘it was never about that.’ But I just have to shake my head, because I was giving the writers credit for something they didn’t do.

Instead, they were trying to tie off the relationship between Sun and Blake by having him leave, not cementing Blake’s independence and Sun’s encouragement of that (and they tied it off badly imo because Blake freakin’ kissed the boy lol.) And once they had Sun leave, they started setting Blake up with Yang. I want to clarify that there’s nothing wrong with the writers deciding to go with Blake x Yang, and the ship itself was not a totally baseless one. I’m personally disappointed that one of my favorite RWBY ships isn’t going to be endgame, and I personally don’t like the idea of Blake and Yang as a couple. But my problem isn’t really with the ship itself, it’s with how the show writers have chosen to write the ship in execution.

Getting past the queerbaitery nature of Bumblebee as a ship, the choices surrounding Blake and Yang seem faulty on both sides (which I also think is important to remember. I’ve seen loads of people recognizing that Bumblebee as written in the show is destructive to Blake, but I’ve seen much fewer people talk about how it’s not the best for Yang too.)

Let’s start from the fact that Blake is an abuse victim. She was previously in a relationship with Adam and talks about his destructive and violent behavior. Blake has a really hard time trusting people because of how Adam had acted. He was explosive, manipulative, and he got angry at and hurt Blake specifically for leaving him. The last thing Blake would need is a relationship where she feels personally responsible for the stability of another person. The last thing she needs is to be pressured into staying with someone. The last thing she needs is to be expected to be with that person without the option of ever working with others. The last thing she needs is to be in a relationship where she can’t be apart from someone even temporarily without that person getting anxious and insecure or without having to feel guilty and like she did something wrong.

And yet the show has her in a relationship with someone that has abandonment issues. The show has her promise to stay with Yang in a moment of huge trauma, Blake crying out a desperate denial to the accusations of the abusive ex who had made her life hell, after he tried to again separate her from anyone she loved and she was forced to kill someone she had once deeply cared about. It was also a really weird choice of the writers to have the characters respond to a question over if they’d ever thought about working with other partners with dismissive and cold behavior as if the very idea was somehow wrong (especially since Yang spent quite a bit of time pre-volume six working with Weiss and Blake spent so much of her time working with Sun.) And the writers chose to frame Blake and Yang leaving on temporary separate missions in volume eight to result in insecurity and anxiety from Yang and guilt for Blake. On top of that, Yang is a person with a strong temper and aggressive tendencies. Although she seemed to be trying to work through those problems in seasons four and five, Yang backslid and seems just as controlled by her anger and her insecurities as her volume 2 self now, who had lashed out at Blake and angrily pushed her for not listening in ‘burning the candle.’

As for Yang, she lost her mom when she was very young (Ruby was a toddler,) and her dad temporarily shut down after that. She soon found out her biological mom had left her when she was a baby and spent her whole life wondering why while her uncle spent that time flitting in and out of her life and taking on dangerous missions - the same types of missions that had killed the woman who had raised Yang for the first part of her life. Yang has deep seeded fears of being abandoned and losing her loved ones, and she also has a history of trying to take care of and support the people around her even at her own personal expense. While Yang’s more selfless moments in season five - like giving up her dream of getting answers from Raven to follow and protect Ruby even when she clearly wasn’t wholly healed from her trauma - are admirable, what Yang absolutely doesn’t need in a partner is someone who she feels like she has to protect and save and sacrifice for. What Yang absolutely doesn’t need in a partner is someone she feels like she can’t rely on to be there for her. What she doesn’t need in a partner is someone who can’t give her stability or struggles to trust her. What she doesn’t need in a partner is someone who won’t call her out when she goes a little too far. And yet the writers chose to put Yang with someone who runs on the regular, the only member of their team who thought Yang might be lying about Mercury, someone who needs time and distance when Yang clearly needs someone who is consistent and present. And then the writers made it so that Yang and Blake spend very little time with anyone else. The writers made it so that they can’t be apart without guilt and anxieties.

And you guys, Blake in seasons 6-8 feels so needy. She’s consistently in need of saving, consistently doesn’t stand for herself, seems like she needs a lot of reassurance in her relationship, she’s consistently waiting for other people to make moves, etc. Even when Blake convinces Yang to divulge top secret information to Robyn, when Ironwood confronts them about it, Blake backs up and leaves Yang to explain their actions. In the early seasons, it feels like Yang cares more about their friendship than Blake does and that she’s putting in more effort, which don’t get me wrong, makes total sense since Blake had just gotten out of an abusive relationship and Yang’s clear anger problems (and her using a laser pointer to try and force Blake to talk to her,) might’ve made Blake hesitant to get close to or open up to Yang. But while it no longer feels like Yang cares more, it still feels like Yang puts in more work. Yang is constantly reassuring, protecting, comforting, and stepping up for Blake, while Blake is so passive and acts so dependent that I personally can’t help but feel like Yang must be exhausted. Yang needs stability and reassurance too, Yang needs a partner she can talk to and rely on to be there. When the writers did write Blake as trying to comfort and take care of Yang, it was way too much and had undertones of ableism. And I know, I know they had this ‘we’re taking care of each other’ moment when they were fighting Adam, but that’s just what we were told for one scene, and not what we’ve actually seen in their relationship.

The worst thing is that it didn’t need to be that way. Bumbleby could’ve been a really good ship that built on their foundation. Blake used to be an independent, brave, strong, active character. Blake stood up for herself to Weiss, told Ozpin to his face that he needed to do more for the Faunus, used to have a great, creative fighting style, used to be this sassy girl who’d banter with Sun and with Yang and when she did start opening up to Yang, it was a great way to start evolving their characters to be a strong relationship. In V3 when Blake admitted that she had doubts about Yang due to her past experiences with Adam, but opened herself up and decided to trust Yang anyway when Yang looked her in the eyes and told her sincerely exactly what had happened... That was so great and it really showed off the dynamic the two of them were starting to adapt. CRWBY might’ve immediately separated the two, but A. Seasons four and most of season five had great set up for them to work through their problems and then continue to grow that great dynamic we started seeing in the first three seasons. And B. their respective arcs continued their growth as characters even apart from each other. While I wish that RWBY had let the two work some of this out together, the growth that we were getting did make them more suited for each other. I’ll always ship BlackSun. But Yang getting a hold on her emotions, maturing, starting to work through her abandonment issues, and displaying just what a caring, honest person she was, at the same time that Blake was working through her past and her fears, learning to let people in, strengthening her resolve, and coming into her own as a leader... Come on, those two characters could’ve easily developed a good, healthy, strong, independent relationship and I’m legitimately sad that’s not what we got, especially since we sacrificed so much of Blake’s personality to get a worse ship.

I don’t even know what to say about it, tbh. Idk what else the writers expected us to think with how they wrote things. I’ve heard before that there was probably a cut scene in volume eight that included Yang and Blake fighting (which would then justify Yang and Blake’s reactions when they reunited,) and I do believe that, but the writers chose not to include it, and that made them look worse as a couple. Just like they chose not to include a scene where Blake and Yang work through the problem of Blake having left Yang without a word of explanation at the end of Volume 3. And they didn’t include a scene where Blake explains herself and Yang realizes that maybe she was being a little shortsighted about the trauma Blake had also gone through. And they didn’t include a scene where Blake actually learned that she didn’t have to protect or take care of Yang in volume six. And they haven’t included a scene where Blake puts just as much effort into their relationship as Yang does. And they didn’t include a scene where the two make it clear that they’re fine being apart. If anything, CRWBY has established the opposite, and it isn’t enough to just say that they’re taking care of each other, when they don’t show that to be the case.

Sun being not only willing to let Blake be with others, go her own way, and be her own person, but encouraging of that, made him a very compelling romantic prospect for her. Unfortunately I just don’t see that with Blake and Yang. Their relationship feels co-dependent, and maybe it’s just my personal experience talking and making me chafe, but I personally just don’t like it.

However, fans have been queerbaited long enough. So personal opinions aside, CRWBY give Bumblebee some confirmation you fucking cowards.

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

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Emp-Ire, “Fallen Star.”

Here it is, the end of an arc. I hope you guys like it and thank you so much for humoring my little detour. I needed this :)

The sun rose turning the sky to a bright tangerine orange. Golden rays of sun filtered across the open desert landscape, highlighting ten silhouettes against the horizon. Ten men and ten horses trekking their way across the surface of an alien planet leaving only footprints in their wake across the open landscape.

Adam lifted his head to the open sky and took a long deep breath. The scent of the alien planet in early morning was snuffed out at a moment when he received a strong whiff of cigarette smoke and coughed, looking over at Deputy Thompson, who had lit up and was taking his second long drag.

“Those will kill you you know.”

“So will continuous self doubt.”

“Point taken.”

The Deputy blew a ring of smoke into the air, “Besides, gets me relaxed before we go out to do something stupid.” he glanced towards the front of the group where the sheriff had taken point, riding on the back of his glossy black horse now coated in a thin layer of orange dust, “Ain’t that right sheriff.”

The man turned slightly in his saddle, “The only one bringing the dumb here is you Thompson.” He turned around on his horse and fell back slightly to speak with them, “Besides if it wasn’t for McBride and his group, we would all be at home drinking cold beer and spending time with our wives, but instead he’s dragged us out of bed to go chasing after him, and I intend to make him regret that.”

He turned to look at Ramirez and Adam, “Now, you boys probably didn’t hear this, so I am going to give you the rundown. Last month we caught one of McBride’s boys out past the border of Caster and Collville, and with a little bit of… persuasion, he graciously told us a few things. Turns out McBride and his men are planning on robbing a train coming from one of the outlying colonies and in towards the capital. He plans on doing it halfway through its journey between Hander and Chelsey where there are the least amount of people and the least amount of eyes.”

Ramirez snorted, “A train job, seriously? Isn’t that a bit cliche?”

The Sheriff frowned at him, “I don’t think McBride was really considering the literary appeal of white might and might not be cliche, when he determined that there is a LOT of expensive stuff being brought in on that train.”

Adam tilted his head slightly, “Like what?”

“The crops grown here on this colony are a cardinal ingredient in many pharmaceuticals all across the galaxy both human and alien. Drug companies and hospitals alike pay top dollar for our crops to be refined and bottled right here. It only grows in very specific conditions in very specific towns on the western rim. It is harvested and refined on the rim, and then put on the train to the capital where it is tested and then sealed for shipping.” If McBride gets his hands on those bottles, he can sell them on the black market at top dollar, where they will be used for refinement in a whole myriad of illicit drugs, including but not limited to human derived hormonal drugs, which support not only the black market, but also slave trafficking rings.”

Adam and Ramirez both blinked in surprise, “Really, we had…. No idea.”

“The government doesn’t like to talk about how important some of the colonies are to the workings of the inner ring, but we supply a lot of natural resources and raw products that can be both dangerous and expensive once they get out. This is not to mention that the train just so happened to fall on the very auspicious day when they are moving a group of rich city investors on that same train…. Came to take stock of their investments on the rim, and are now being shipped back to the capitol. Our job is to make it to the train before McBride does, or, barring that we don’t make it in time, we need to at least stop them and stop the train before those crates go missing.”

“How many days away are we”

“We have about two or three days, so its best we pick up the pace.”

After that their voices were silenced, and only the sound of thundering hooves could be heard over the hard packed earth.

***

Adam was shaken awake on the third day, bleary eyed and confused, rubbing sleep from his eyes and rubbing his hands along the light stubble dusting his cheeks and chin. Ramirez knelt over him, “Rise and shine sleepy head, today is the train job, you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Adam groaned and rubbed his head wobbling to his feet as the other men around him began to rouse, The air was filled with the smell of smoke from last nights dwindling campfire, now just ashes in the dirt before them.

A few of the men kicked dirt over the still smouldering remains while Adam and Ramirez worked to pack up camp, hoisting saddles onto the back of horses.

“You alright?’ Ramirez asked as he stood next to Adam, the two of them pulling their saddles onto their respective horses.

Adam nodded and shook himself little, “Yeah, just a…. Weird dream is all.”

“What was it about.”

He shrugged, “Can’t really remember much, but right before I woke up, it was like I was looking down at myself sleeping, from above, I swear I saw you walking across camp to wake me up, but…. That might just be me misremembering.”

“OR you had some sort of out of body experience.”

He snorted, “Yeah sure.”

“Remember anything else?”

“Blue fire and maybe some mountains, but that is about it.” He tightened the girth strap on his horse and patted Maroz on her soft velvet snout. The horse gummed at his hand with her upper lip, and he smiled slightly, patting her on the neck, “That’s a good girl.”

With the other men ready, the group of them saddled up and began their ride out into the desert.

The Sheriff kept there pace as fast as he could without tiring out the horses, knowing that they might need to chase.

“Not to question the wisdom of this sheriff, but how are we going to catch up with a train. I mean it may look and sound like an old time train, but we both know it isn’t, the thing can probably go at around 200 mph.”

The sheriff turned to look back at him, “That’s true, but due to the nature of the location, they have to slow the train coming through the valley, there are some pretty tight turns and curves that would be dangerous at such high speeds, not to mention that it is a common crossing rout for cattle, and the train needs to be slow in the area to keep from turning someone's livestock into pink mist. A collision that big and going that fast could also potentially derail a train. Its never happened, but the engineers say it can so thy like to keep it safe.”

“How slow?”

“Very slow, I would say about thirty mph through the hot zone, and that is….”

“About as fast as a horse can run.” Adam sighed,

“Precisely, now let's speed it up, the train is coming and we still have a ways to go.”

As the day wore on, Adam’s heart began to race, and he could feel it thudding away in his chest pressing out against the vest he wore like it was going to crash through his ribcage. Ramirez rode along beside him, a surprisingly fast learner when it came to horses and riding them.

Off in the distance, Adam caught the blast of a train whistle.”

“Speed up boys!”

Adam kicked gently against the Horse’s sides and snapped the reins, and below him Maroz bokre into a light gallop bouncing him up and down wit her thundering gate. With all ten of them riding at that speed, they sounded like rolling thunder.

Light flashed over the badge on his chest.

The whistle came again, and the roaring of the train grew louder as they poured over the ground, between rocks and around shrubs.

The plateau around them began to slope downwards, and as they came over the rise, the land below them morphed into sharp focus, a vast tract of land snaking between high plateaus, and a silver rail that ran like a glittering snake between them. And along that silver line came a roaring black goliath missing only the blaack puff of burning coal and smoke to set it aside from the trains of old.

And just behind it, ran at least a dozen black dots, slowly gaining.

“GET ON THAT TRAIN!” The sheriff shouted over the roaring, and the entire group of them broke down hill at a full gallop. Adam leaned low over his horse’s neck, feeling her body move and roar beneath him. His ears rung with the sound of the approaching train and the clatter of hives over packed earth.

The train was approaching now, fast, and he was coming up just on the left, pulling his horse into a shallow parabola that brought his run just parallel . The sounds was deafening now, though he thought he could hear the call of men’s voices. The horses legs rolled like a blur beneath him, and Maroz huffed and puffed and and snorted with exertion. He was close now, and the glittering rails of the track rolled by just to his right.

His heart throbbed in his chest.

Just ahead of him, the sheriff kicked his boots from the stirrups and threw himself sideways onto the train, grasping on with a grip of iron.

Other men began to do the same.

He heard a gunshot.

With a swift motion, he kicked his feet from the stirrups and braced his boots against the saddle. Maroz remained steady below him, and with a final prayer and a deep breath, he launched himself sideways reaching and grasping for anything he could hold to.

He caught one of the hand rails beside a compartment door and was jerked away from Maroz as her gait slowed.

His feet whipped behind him in the wind before he scrambled o gain purchase, the leather of his gloves helping maintain his grip as he hauled himself upwards and onto the side of the train just between compartments.

A voice, from over the sound of the roaring, and he looked back to see Ramirez and his horse sprinting after.

The horse’s back was lathered and wet, its eyes wild as it pushed itself forward.

Ramirez clung on with gritted teeth.

Adam reached out a hand, “JUMP!”

And like the good marine Ramirez was, no fear and no questions, he kicked his way frew and threw himself awkwardly sideways.

He would have landed below the train had Adam not caught him by the wrist and hauled him inward, where he scrambled onto a precarious handhold.

“GET INSIDE.” Adam shouted, “I’m going to head back to the cargo car.”

Ramirez nodded, swinging around Adam and onto the hitch that held the cars together. Adam hauled himself upward and onto the top of the speeding train. Wind whipped at the brim of his hat, and te bandana around his neck.

He jogged along the top of the train, his boots thundering against the meta.

At the end of the train a man appeared, one of McBride’s men, and Adam had just enough time to duck to the side as a bullet hissed past him.

He turned and fired off one shot. It went a bit wide, but caught the man by the brim of the hat, blowing it completely off. It got caught up in a gust of wind that pulled it down and under the train.Adam fired another shot just as the man was preparing to fire again.

The bullet caught the man in the upper chest, and before Adam could really take in what had happened, the man fell, pitching backwards off the train and hitting the ground hard in a cloud of dust only to vanish as the train whipped past.

Adam stood, stunned for a second. He’d never shot someone before, at least no one human, but the sound of gunfire broke him from his reverie, and he dived down as the bullets flew past him, crawling across the open top of the train with clawing hands. Another head appeared over the edge, and he fired off a wild shot with one hand hoping to t least deter the man for a moment.

His bullet did more than that, and before he knew it another body had fallen to the dust below the train.

Footsteps on the train behind him, and he rolled around in panic only to see the Sheriff running past him, “GET TO THAT CARGO CAR!”

Adam leapt to his feet, racing forward alongside the sheriff, wobbling slightly as the train rolled forward.

The Sheriff held a shotgun in one hand, and it only took the first two of McBride’s men to figure out what that meant.

Adam raced alon after him until a hail of bullets stopped them in their tracks.

They dropped down before one of the cargo cars and found Deputy Thompson with his back pressed against the wall, “THEY’RE TRYING TO DISCONNECT THE CARGO CARS!” he shouted over the sound of the wind.

“If they do that we’re fucked!”

The sheriff turned and looked at Adam, “You go up top,Thompson and I will go distract them from the inside. If you can get your hands on McBride, do it, and keep them from detaching that car.”

Adam nodded and jumped up to catch onto the edge of the car as the two other men prepared themselves to breach the door. Adam had just pulled his feat up when he heard the slame of the door being pushed open and the rapidfire of gunshots. He used the noise as cover to run along the top of the car as th men were distracted.

He could hear voices and more gunfire as the fight concentrated inside that cargo car.

He had just com upon the edge when he looked down, Finding McBride and one other man desperately working to get the clamp undone.

Adam didn't’ waste time.

A sharp gunshot was the only warning McBride and his man had before the second man pitched backwards and fell over the connecting metal clamp.. McBride looked up only to find a gun aimed at his face.

McBride went to pull his weapon but there was a sharp click as Adam fired…. But there was no gunshot.

McBride was still in the process of lifting his weapon as Adam made a last second decision, leaping downwards towards McBride.

The man’s eyes widened, and he jerked to the side. There was a gunshot, but the bullet went wide. A hot flash of searing pain cut along the underside of his ribcage before he slammed into McBride, pitching them both back through the opening and into the cargo car.

They were a mass of tangled rolling limbs as they scrambled to gain the upper hand. McBride grabbed him by the font of the vest with one hand and punched him repeatedly with the other until he was seeing stars. With one last ditch effort he kicked the man in the chest sending him pitching backwards towards the door. McBride landed on the floor with the clatter, and the two of them leaped to their feet.

Adam ran forward throwing a sharp jab at the man’s face which caught him along the cheek. McBride came in close slapping him against a pile of crates, and they ended up clawing at each other, grappling for the other man’s throat like two vicious dogs going for the kill.

Adam Kneed McBride in the stomach sending him staggering back before coming in with a low uppercut to the face.

He reeled backwards hand to his nose.blood already streaming down his face.

Adam looked around desperately for an upper hand, and, surprisingly, found one. A long steel rod stacked up against the wall, likely for use in some kind of construction, and left as scrap.

It grabbed it.

McBride laughed, “What are you going to do with that, hit me over the head with it?”

It was a bit of an enclosed space, but there was still enough room, and Adam spun it in one hand like the shaft of a Drev spear, and crouched low in a ready position point forward, using a stance that he thought was the inferno, before realizing that, somehow he had gotten the foot placing wrong.

That was strange, why had it felt so natural.

Like he had done it before.

He shifted his stance and grinned at McBride motioning him forward, “Why not come see.”

The look on McBride’s face was one of apprehension at first, glancing between Adam and his improvised weapon.

At some point, his pride overtook him, and he came charging forward, likely trying to get inside Adam’s guard before he could strike.

A pity that Adam was trained with the spear, a pity for McBride at least, because instead of swinging the shaft at him from above, he struck forward like a snake, trusting with an overhand grip, that sid the rod don the length of his arm and protruded from just under his triceps.

McBride doubled over, holding to his sternum with a look of agony.

WIth another sharp crack, Adam came down with the reverse end of the spear wheeling it around in a blur and sending the man crashing to the ground, unmoing. He staggered back to his feet bleeding from his lip, and from his nose, and from a cut above his eye. He was seeing stars, but he still had enough energy to hogtie McBride and grab his loaded weapon from the floor before heading into the car.

There was one man left, and with the pressing of cold steel to his temple, the man stopped and raised his hands.

“Might want to put the gun down, partner.” Adam hissed, some measure of sarcasm entering his voice.

The man’s weapon clattered to the ground.

The Sheriff and Thompson stepped from behind cover.

“You get McBride?”

“Yeah I got him, trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey.”

“What happened to your face.”

Adam frowned, and the two other men laughed.

“Thomspon, you take care of McBride, Vir and I are going to check the rest of the train and clean up whatever mess has been left.”

The other man nodded, and Adam fell into step with the Sheriff as they moved up through the inside of the train. All they found at first were scared passengers cowering in their seats, but finally, they met up with a man trying to make his way through one of the doors and into the next car.

Adam and the sheriff aimed their weapons, “Stop right there, your boss has been captured, and it might be best for you to surrender now.”

The man raised his hands wide and scared.

“Come slowly.”

Adam saw what the man was thinking seconds before it happened, and raised his weapon to late as the man went bolting through the door.

He and the sheriff broke into a run chasing after the man and down the length of the train.

They made it to the last car, when the man stopped in the middle, Adam looked up his gun raised to see what had stopped him. Ramirez was coming through the opposite door, whistling tunelessly. His eyes fell on Adam first, “I was wondering when you were going to…. His voice fell away as he saw the man between them.

A clear calculation had gone through the bandit’s head and he raised his gun towards his only hope of exit, and fired.

Ramirez jerked once eyes wide and then….fell backwards as if in slow motion.

Adam screamed, and the two of them raised their weapons at the same time, unable to fire for fear of hitting Ramirez a second time.

The man brushed past him thundering through the door. Adam leapt forward, catching Ramirez just before he hit the ground urging the sheriff forward, “Get that Bastard.”

He knelt on the hard metal floor of the train carriage, holding Ramirez in his arms. The look of shock had still not passed from the other man’s face, and Adam’s hands shook, “Ramirez…… R-ramirez.” His voice quivered a bit as he desperately looked for the bullet wound, sure he was going to see a spot of blood begin leaking across the other man's chest at any moment.”

Ramirez blinked in shock.

“Ramirez! I….Angel, stay with me dammit. Where were you hit!”

Ramirez blinked again reaching up with a shaking hand and began patting at his chest and body brows knit in confusion, “I…. I thought.”

Both of their heads turned, very slowly as they caught sight of a glittering bit of gold lying on the ground before them.

A dented, golden star.

Adam sighed in exasperation relief.

“No friggin way.”

Ramirez stared at the star on the floor, “Huh, ill be damned.” He looked up at Adam, “You know if I had known a nearth death experience would be what it took for you to hold me like this, I might have tried to die sooner.”

Adam harumphed and dropped ramirez unceremoniously to the ground with a thud, “Drama queen.”

Ramirez grunted, “I thought we were having a moment, you using my first name and all.”

“The only moment we are going to have is the moment I put my boot up your ass.”

“Kinky.” Ramirez said, reaching down and picking up the deputy star from the floor inspecting it with some measure of pride. Up ahead the train was beginning to grind to a slow halt.

The Sheriff returned a moment later, dragging the man who had made the ill fated attempt to Kill Ramirez.

He seemed only marginally surprised to see Ramirez on his feet, and laughed when he saw the star, “Well I'll be…. First time I’ve ever seen that happen.”

He looked between the two of them.

“Good work boys, some damn good work.”

***

The capital city stank of horses and mud, but the two men were smiling as the sheriff saw them off at the train station, “We owe you boys a debt of gratitude. Risking your lives like that, and helping us take down McBride and his cronies. This county will be forever grateful.”

The two of them looked down at the gold stars on the front of their vests, and slowly reached up sadly unpinning them from the front of their shirts and holding them out to the sheriff.

The man shook his head, “Keep em. And I’d be glad to work with you again if you ever decide to return. You’ve earned my respect and more.”

The train whistle bored, and the two of them were forced to step inside waving to the sheriff and the other deputies as the train began to roll forward slowly with a soft chug, chug, chug.

Ramirez and Adam left town surprisingly forlorn to watch their friends, and their horses go.

But they had a stack of pictures both print and on their implants.

The one picture that they both held, was a sepia photo of a group of men standing before the sheriff’s office, all with glittering badges, accept fo the trust up group of men kneeling at their feet. At the Center stood Adam and Ramirez Adam With his hand on McBride’s shoulder like a prise hunt, and Ramirez with his dented golden star.

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twsted-tales-of-scheherazade · 4 years

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Hmm, new blog. 👀 I would like to request a fluff scenario of Sebek, Idia, and Azul with a fem!reader who is color blind. Colors can be hard sometimes.

Sebek first finds out about your condition one day when you point out how Malleus' flames didn't appear green in your eyes. They just looked brown. Naturally, the fae was shocked and asked if you were joking. You shook your head 'no' and explained how some humans like you suffer from color blindness. A specific color that he sees may not appear the same as what you see.

It wasn't just Malleus' flames. Diasomnia's signature green was not present in your vision. The bright color looked brown in your eyes and you told your boyfriend as such. His shocked expression turned aghast. As expected of Sebek, he started going on about how it was unacceptable that you were not able to see his lord's brilliance.

You were used to his tangents by now and he would most likely continue for quite a while. So you got comfy in your seat and watched in mild exasperation as the fae continued speaking.

The tea he brewed is, as always, very delicious.

"Lord Lilia...I would like you a question."

The ancient fae hummed and turned his curious gaze to the first year once he put down his bagpipe (up to this day, Sebek did not know where he got that instrument from). "What is it?"

"Is there perhaps a spell that can show someone dreams? Is it possible to meet in a dream?"

Lilia raised his eyebrows at the strange question. "Certainly. But what would you do with such a spell?"

The first year cleared his throat before he started explaining. "You see, [Name] has..." His senior stayed silent and listened attentively as he explained his plans. Once he was done, Lilia smiled. "My, my. Such a sweet gift...very well. I' shall help you."

"T-Thank you very much, Lord Lilia! I apologize for my lack of skill! I vow to make this up to you."

"Nonsense. Young love is a wonderful thing, Sebek. Just tell me how that little one reacts afterward."

The next day, you had spent a few hours after school with your boyfriend in the library, studying for the upcoming exams. Ever the gentleman, he escorted you to your dorm afterward. You gave him a kiss and bid goodnight. However, before you shut the door, you heard him say "You will have good dreams tonight. I guarantee it."

It honestly made you confused. That was a rather strange way to say good night to someone. Though you didn't think much of it and got ready for bed.

...

You open your eyes to the sight of a starry sky. You blinked before shooting up, looking around your unfamiliar surroundings. The sight of the glowing flowers surrounding you took your breath away.

"W-Wh-"

"I see the spell worked. As expected of Lord Lilia and the young maste."

You turned towards the source of the voice, eyes widening once you saw Sebek. "Y-You're hair...your clothes?! They're..." You spluttered.

He sent a smug smile your way. "How do you like it, [Name]? Surely, you see the brilliant green of Diasomnia now."

Your mind couldn't process what was happening all at once. You looked at your boyfriend then out into the clearing of flowers beneath the starry sky. It seemed to stretch on endlessly.

"Is this a dream?"

"It is. Yet, it isn't." He murmured, taking a seat beside you. "This is a world created by a powerful spell of the ancient faes. Lord Lilia had helped me with it along with the young master. To be honest, I was rather ashamed that he had to assist me too...however...he wished for you to see the world in all of its beauty. Are you happy with this, [Name]?

"...Y-Yes! A hundred times, yes! I love this! I love this so much! I love you, Sebek! Thank you!" You cried before tackling him in a hug. His strong arms caught you easily. He could hear your delighted laughter right next to his ear, causing a small blush to rise to his cheeks.

"...You haven't seen anything yet." With a snap of his fingers, small green lights started rising out of the field of flowers. You gasped as hundreds of fireflies flew through the air.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Let us explore this place. We have a few hours left before you wake up."

"Yeah!"

Sebek watched from behind as you frolicked in the endless garden, pointing out new colors you have never seen before.

Illuminated by the green fireflies, you looked even more breath-taking in his eyes.

Idia knew that you were colorblind before your relationship with him started. It honestly amazed him how your condition altered the world you saw around you. He's looked up information about color blindness on the internet several times, and with each article he read, the fact that he would never understand the world you see became even more clear.

Sometimes, he would even ask you what it was like. What colors do you see? How did your condition affect your life? Once, he showed you different pictures and with every answer, he finds himself looking at them intently, marveling about how you were seeing something different. Of course, once he catches your amused stare, he turns into an embarrassing mess and ends up curling into a ball while hiding his blushing face from view.

He never stopped thinking about you though. You said that you were used to the world you're seeing. You've been dealing with color blindness for years...but was there a way to improve your vision?

Apparently, there was. They were in the form of enchroma glasses. According to the website he found - he checked the sources and confirmed that the information there was legitimate, the glasses filter out specific color wavelengths and let people with color blindness see with normal vision. However, it was also mentioned that the effectiveness of it vary depending on the severity of color blindness.

"...Filter...these glasses filter wavelengths...can I enhance that with magic?" He murmured to himself.

"Well now, Idia. This is a rather interesting project you've thought of." Azul stated as his sky blue eyes gazed at the enchroma glasses with interest. "Humans are rather interesting...so many aspects of them are new to us."

"...You'll help me, right? I already promised to give you that new board game you wanted." Idia said with a huff.

The octopus chuckled before pushing his glasses up. "Of course. It's a deal."

Both of them had a lot of experimenting to do.

...

A few weeks later, your boyfriend had asked you to visit his room since he had something to give you. Once you arrived, he urged you to sit on his bed as he rummaged through his work desk.

"Close your eyes first."

You raised your eyebrows but complied. A few moments later, you felt something being placed on your face...they felt like glasses? Why was he making you wear glasses?

"Alright. You can open them now." You felt a tingling sensation just as your eyelids lifted. What greeted you afterward was a completely different place. A gasp left your mouth as you looked around the room.

'The colors...!'

They were more vibrant, more beautiful than you could have ever imagined. For the first time in your life, you were seeing the world that other people saw. What really took your breath away, however, was how Idia looked. Especially the glow of his hair that burned a bright blue. "Wow..." You murmured before reaching out and touching his locks.

"Wh-why are you touching my hair?" And then, the glowing blue turns into flaming red as your boyfriend stammers in embarrassment. "You're so weird..."

"Thank you, Idia. I...really wasn't expecting this."

"Y-Yeah...well...you always mention how it was a pain to deal with...the color blindness. I had Azul help me out...but it still took a long time to get the desired effect..."

"I see! I'll make sure to thank Azul too. These are amazing. And you know what I love the most about this?"

"...What?"

"I got to see you become even more beautiful in a different shade of blue." You chirped, pecking his rosy cheeks.

"Ugh...what the hell was that, so cringey..." He muttered as he pulled his hood up to hide his embarrassed face.

You laughed in response and as Idia stares at your delighted expression, he feels himself falling in love all over again.

“Angelfish? Is there something wrong?" Azul asked as he stared at your depressed state. You had curled up on the sofa with such a displeased frown that he can't help but worry.

"...I wanna go into you octopus pot and stay there forever." You mumbled. The merman blinked in confusion before setting down his pen and taking a seat beside you. He patted your head, and in turn, you moved to lay your head on his lap. "Talk to me, angelfish. I'll listen to all your troubles."

"...I mixed up my clothes today."

"Pardon?"

You sighed before looking up at his eyes. "I got up late today so I had to rush. I wasn't paying attention so I wore different colored socks and shoes. My shirt was different too. It was super embarrassing..." Your frown got deeper and you hid your face with your hands, groaning. "I think someone took a video of me dashing through the school in those clothes...god. I must have looked like a moron."

Ah...so it was one of those "colorblind problems" you've told him about. It wasn't a condition that he encountered often and the most important fact he learned from his research on it was that it affects some aspects of your life. Being able to see colors are something that most creatures take for granted. But for people like you, he can at least understand that you're going to have a hard time.

"I see. Don't worry, I'll have Jade look into it. If such a video exists, then it will be deleted immediately."

"Thanks..." You mumbled, turning to the side and burying your face in his stomach. He gave you an exasperated smile, knowing that he won't be getting any more work done today.

"Shall we perhaps go to my room? It's more comfortable on the bed."

"Yeah..."

Now, you find yourself in his embrace, still upset about your mistake earlier in the day. "It's hard dealing with colors sometimes...and frustrating."

"You can always .make a contract with me." He said with a chuckle. "I'm sure I can find a way to improve your vision."

"...Tempting. But, strangely enough, when I think about it...I don't want to. I've spent so many years with my color blindness, saw the world differently from most people...it would feel kind of wrong if I suddenly started seeing everything. Sorry...I complain a lot but I don't even want to make changes...I know it's confusing."

"That's alright. I am here to listen to other's woes after all."

"Like the sea witch, right?"

"Exactly."

You giggled before both of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. He pulled you close to his chest, letting you hear the sound of his beating heart.

"Hey, Azul...can you describe a color to me? What is that color to you? Anything will do..."

He hummed before kissing your forehead. "Alright. I can certainly try. Let me see..."

“...Blue is the color of the ocean. My home filled with mysteries that humans have yet to understand. It is also the sky we see on a sunny afternoon. Do you remember, angelfish? When Jade had dragged us to the mountains, we found a clearing and decided to lay down and rest. We looked up at the sky and stared at the clouds.

And then, when the sun had set and night took over, it becomes a canvas, being filled with twinkling stars. You loved that sight too. Why we almost spent the night in the mountains because you wanted to look at those stars and engrave it into your memory.

It’s the sound of rain falling outside. The rainy weather keeps you from going outside, so you sit by the window, watching the sky's tears. Your thoughts drift and you enjoy the warmth of a blanket around your shoulders.

It is also the color of my eyes, is it not? You've told me over and over again how you loved my eyes, glittering behind my glasses. I admit that when you first said that, it had me quite flustered."

You laughed at his statement. Azul's flustered expression was a sight to see indeed.

“Blue is the frost we see when everything becomes a winter wonderland. As we spend winter together, we also await the welcoming of a new year where we'll make new memories.

...It will also mean the sadness we feel in our lives. But do not fret, because beyond that sadness will surely be something wonderful. It is a sign that you will grow as a person through the pain you've felt..."

The merman trailed off as he heard the sound of your steady breathing. It seems you fell asleep. He smiled at you fondly before closing his eyes as well. Tomorrow is a brand new day.

"There's no need to worry, angelfish. My eyes are yours. I will let you see the world through them for as long as you need me to."

Another story has been told. To tell you the truth, I did not know much about color blindness and I wasn’t sure if I portrayed it well in these scenarios, even if I did do a bit of reading around the subject. Regardless of its possible inaccuracies, I do hope you still enjoyed it, traveler.

References:

https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/513nkf/wp_explain_a_color_to_a_blind_person/

https://www.thecut.com/2018/02/my-life-as-a-woman-with-colorblindness.html

Credits for the images used on this post:

Border: https://pngtree.com/freepng/vector-title-frame_3573975.html

Lantern decorations: https://pngtree.com/freepng/ramadan-decorations-luminous-ramadan-lantern-moon-and-star_5356170.html

Divider: https://pngtree.com/freepng/european-border-curtain-pattern_4068944.html

#Alf layla wa layla #Sebek Zigvolt #twst Sebek #Idia Shroud #twst Idia #Azul Ashengrotto #twst Azul #Diasomnia #Ignihyde #Octavinelle

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ink-and-flame · 4 years

Text

Kinktober Day 10: Better than the Day Job

Kinktober Day 10 Prompts: Prostitution (actual) ~ Hairbrush spankings ~ Over the-knee spanking Fandom: Bright Tags: Exophilia, Prostitution, male escort, spankings, first time, bdsm, reader fic Pairing: Orc/Human, Nick/Reader

[Author’s note: Look. I don’t know why I am like this, I just am. I am why we can’t have nice things. It has been a while since I have done a reader fic, so please excuse any issues with tense.]

The world was a strange and scary place sometimes. You lived your life, kept your head down, worked to keep yourself afloat, took freelance jobs where you could just to make some extra cash, and tried to stay out of trouble. The neighborhood you were in wasn’t the best, but it also wasn’t the worst. It was, however, all that you could afford. The best you could do, an apartment above a shop. The noise wasn’t so bad late at night, the weekends were a bit stressful though as it was crowded and sometimes leaving your place made you nervous with all the people hanging around.

After time, you had begun to recognize the jerseys and the jackets. That specific color of orange, it was the local orc clan turned gang. You didn’t really know much about the Fogteeth, you knew enough to know to just leave them be. They really hadn’t been in your area when you moved in, now you couldn’t throw a rock without hitting one. Not that you would, you weren’t eager to get shot for throwing rocks, plus it was kind of rude.

You had never had any issues with orcs in the past, and gang or no gang, you weren’t about to start now. You figured if you left them alone, they would leave you alone, and so far that had worked out beautifully. They still made you nervous, but the reality was that almost any group or crowd kind of did.

It took time to get used to all the staring, hearing them speak their own language, knowing they were probably saying things about you as you walked by. Or maybe you were paranoid, maybe they were just talking about their days, or sharing recipes. Still, when they stared and then spoke to each other, it felt like it was about you and you just had to pretend not to notice.

Life was weird, but it wasn’t unpleasant. There were still some things missing from your life, and while you could ease some of the loneliness with online chat and meeting up with friends, they couldn’t really help you with all of it. You didn’t have a friend with benefits option to go to, and even if you did, what you were seeking was something you weren’t sure you wanted your friends to even know about.

Again, you blamed the internet. Reading erotic stories had always been a pleasant way for you to spend some alone time, but the further down that rabbit hole you fell, the more interested you became. The kink stories had slowly, over time, become your favorite and you had been fantasizing for months about strong hands holding you down. Of orders being given and rough sex. Spanking in particular had gotten you to squirming more often than not, even your dreams were filled with it. While you had no practical experience, your mind was happy to try and fill in the gaps, which was how you ended up where you were now.

There were some things in life you had never done before, lots of things actually, but the one thing you thought you would never actually do is hire an escort. Which really was just a fancy word for prostitute, but it still helped the idea go down a little better in your head. This was much easier than cruising down the street, and the website promised discreet sessions with trained professionals. You felt that going through a service was going to be safer than trying to pick up a stranger and hoping they weren’t a murderer in disguise.

Their website was nice, professional looking, and quite well organized. You could search by a variety of criteria based on what was most important to you. Skipping over gender and race, you looked for anything that would filter by kink. It took a bit to find what you were looking for, mostly because you were still learning the technology. Each profile had a picture, though because your internet was being a bit slow, not every picture was loading or loading fully. At the end of the day, looks didn’t matter, you wanted something specific and that was what was important.

Scrolling through the options you wavered back and forth between a nice female domme, and a male dom. Both had their advantages. A woman might be a bit more understanding of your first time, but that wasn’t guaranteed. In the end you went with male, because that's where your fantasies had gone. You wanted big strong hands manhandling you. Filtering on just the male profiles you had narrowed it down to two. After removing the sadists, as you just weren’t ready for that much pain. You were stuck between two that listed themselves as sensual dominants with the option for daddy dominant scenes.

All in all it was a little confusing, you had no idea what all the different types of dominants really meant, and at the end of the day, sensual sounded right to you. You didn’t want someone that was too much into pain, this was your first time after all. After flitting back and forth you flipped a coin, random was better than no choice at all and since neither picture would load you couldn’t use appearance as a tie breaker.

Jak Blackburn it was, which was a strange way to spell a name but it was probably supposed to be Jack and ended up being misspelled or was just an unusual spelling. It was likely that this wasn’t this guys actual name. Chances were he wanted some privacy. If you were an escort you certainly wouldn’t use your real name.

Now you just had to book the session and hope you didn’t chicken out and cancel it. Which you almost did the moment after you saw it processing which forced you to step away from your computer. It only took a couple of minutes to receive a notification on your phone confirming that your payment method was valid and offering a list of scheduling options. You were surprised to see a block of time available later this evening. Were you really ready so soon?

Surprisingly, you guessed you were since you clicked it and confirmed it. Your method of payment would not be charged until after the session. You would have to provide confirmation of services received, but they required a valid payment method on file in the event that someone might try to get out of paying. You weren’t too worried, though you hoped the charge showed up as something discreet on your bank statement. You really did not want to have to explain that if anyone should ever see it.

Feeling nervous you decided to clean up your place, in a mad panicked rush. Not that it was crazy messy, but it was a little cluttered and you were embarrassed by the thought of some stranger judging how you lived your life. After that you decided on a shower to freshen up, that would leave you only a few minutes to get dressed, but you weren’t worried about what to wear as you assumed you wouldn’t be wearing it long. Or that seemed like it would be the plan.

Settling on an oversized tshirt and some shorts you sat on your couch sipping a drink as you stared at your phone. Part of you hoped he cancelled, part of you were afraid he might. You were excited and nervous, so much so that when the doorbell rang you almost tossed your drink across the room. As it was you only spilled it a little bit. Setting down the glass you got up and went to the door opening it.

Of all the things you had been expecting, the tall orc in a suit was not it. There was something about him, something unusual but also familiar. It nagged at you, tugging at your mind, but you couldn’t quite place it. Realizing you were just staring you stepped aside and gestured him in. Your face was flush with embarrassment.

“You seem surprised?”

His voice was deep, quiet, gentle sounding. Closing the door you turned to him and nodded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. I have been having issues with my internet and the pictures on the profiles weren’t loading for most of them.”

He looked surprised and his body language changed. “We can cancel at no charge. You should have informed them of the issue. I fully understand.”

He was so polite but you were a little confused. “I don’t need to cancel. I didn’t go into this with any kind of ideal in mind. Looks really aren’t what is important to me. Would you like to sit down so we can discuss?”

The orc nodded and sat on the chair near the couch. He set his bag on the floor and looked at you, his expression guarded, but gentle. He didn’t look angry, more confused than anything. You smiled awkwardly at him as you sat down and pulled your legs under you.

“So, um, this is something I have never done before. Uh, hiring an escort I mean. Well I haven’t really done any of it before and this seemed like the most logical course? I know that sounds weird but I felt that going through a website and trying to hire a professional was safer than trying to meet some rando off the internet from some dating app or chat room and hope he actually knew what he was doing, and wasn’t a murderer or something.”

“That makes sense. You chose a good site. Everyone on it has to go through a vetting process. If you are concerned I have some credentials here I can show you.”

Shaking your head you smiled. “The profiles were pretty thorough and linked to several pieces of documentation. I am certain that you can do what your profile says you can do, or I get my money back.”

Jak nodded and braced his forearms on his knees and leaned forward. “Since you didn’t know I was an orc, I know this isn’t that. So what am I here for? I don’t want to make any assumptions, but I brought enough of a variety of items with me that we should be ok, but I can also improvise.”

“Um, well, see.” Now you were feeling shy and nervous all over again. “I um. I want someone to spank me. I mean I want other things, but I feel like maybe I should start there before I get too crazy you know?” Well it was out. The cat was no longer laying comfortably in the bag.

Jak smiled, a soft smile. “I see, I can do that. Are you wanting any kind of sexual contact or just the spanking?”

“Oh.. uh.” Well that was not the question you thought you would struggle with. You looked him over and found that he was attractive to you. Not that you had ever really looked at an orc that way, but you hadn’t exactly not looked either. They tended to be tall, muscular, strong, those were ideal, but with Jak, it was simply his eyes. Despite the situation, his eyes held genuine kindness. Part of you wanted to know him, the real him, and not what you were paying for. “Do I have to decide right now?”

“It would help. There can be a sexual aspect to spanking and it would help me to know if you want any kind of sexual contact at all, or just the spanking with no other kind of touch.”

“OH. ok, I thought you meant like penetrative sex type sexual contact. Um. I don’t know? I honestly don’t even know if I will like being spanked.” You shrugged looking a little embarrassed.

Jak rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Ok, we will need to take this very slow and keep it simple. Instead of a safe word we will use color code. Red means full stop, the scene ends and does not continue. Yellow is pause, green is good to go after a pause. I will need to warm you up first. That means clothing stays on, and I will strike you gently through your clothes before we work up to clothes coming off.” The orc paused. “Would you be willing to tell me the rest of the fantasy, or what made you decide to finally try?”

“Oh, well I guess I just have been having these dreams for the last few months and they have been making me a little crazy. I don’t want to be in control. I want to be held down, to feel strong hands touching me. I want it rough and to feel maybe a little bit helpless.” Your face was bright red now and you were fidgeting a bit while not making eye contact. “I know, it is probably super cliche and silly, but that is what brought me to this decision.”

“I don’t think it is weird, and I am flattered that you chose me, even without seeing me. I hope that I can help you fulfill some of your fantasies and needs.” Jak leaned down and grabbed his bag. “Would you like to move this to the bedroom?”

Standing up you lead Jak to your bedroom and sat on the bed looking up at him. He really was quite tall and built. The suit somehow just made him look more imposing and while you still couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you knew him, you also weren’t sure you cared. He didn’t seem to recognize you, or if he did he hid it well, so whatever this familiarity was, it wasn’t going to be an issue.

Sitting on the bed with you he reached out and grasped your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “Jak is the name I use for this, it isn’t my real name. Normally I don’t give my real name out, but you seem like a trustworthy person and I would actually like to hear you using my real name if you are comfortable with it.”

This was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Somehow you had made him feel comfortable with you and you were now curious what his name could be. Maybe that would give you the clue you needed to know who he was. “Of course, and I will keep it confidential, along with everything else we do tonight.”

“My name is Nick, and I appreciate the discretion.”

Nick, well that really didn’t narrow anything down. It didn’t really help at all, it only made that feeling that you should know stronger. Deciding to ignore it you squeezed his hand. “Well it is nice to meet you Nick, you can call me anything you want to.” You laughed and blushed covering your face with your free hand.

“Well then, I suppose I will just have to call you princess.” His voice was soothing as he pulled you closer up into his lap. His large hand rubbing your back in a soothing motion. “Would you like to lay across my lap for this sweetheart?”

You nodded swiftly, not trusting your voice and squeaked a bit when he easily flipped you onto your stomach and draped you across his legs. He hadn’t even strained himself, and you weren’t exactly a waif or light. Your thighs squeezed together at the thought of just how strong he really was.

When he said he would start slow, he clearly meant it. The strikes were slow and gentle at first. He seemed to know how to control his strength well enough that at first it barely felt like a tap. Soon enough you were feeling warm and squirming in his lap. So far it had been rather pleasant and your mind was running away with possible scenarios on how this night could go from here.

“I think we are ready to remove some clothing don’t you princess?”

“Yes sir?” Your voice was hesitant, you weren’t sure how to respond or if it was even right to call him sir. He did make an almost growling sound so you couldn’t gauge off that, but maybe it was a good sound.

You wiggled off his lap and stripped down to just your shirt and underwear. “Is this ok?”

“If that is where you are comfortable, then yes it is perfect.” Pulling you back across his lap Nick began again with gentle taps.

Now with only your underwear as a barrier you could feel those strikes a little more now. The pain wasn’t uncomfortable, it didn’t even really hurt. There was more of a warm feeling than a feeling of pain. When his tempo increased you felt the first sting of a real strike and it made you jump a bit. The sound you made surprised you, a moan was not what you expected, but that was what came out. You were beginning to come to terms with how much you actually liked this.

Nick continued to spank you, slowly, gently, increasing the speed and strength of the strikes as you wiggled and moaned on his lap. The more he hit you, the more you began to like it. The wetness between your thighs was noticeable now, at least you noticed it, and you were certain he did too, how could he not.

You weren’t the only one aroused. You could feel something hard pressing into you, and there was really only one thing that could be. If what you were feeling was any indication, Nick wasn’t small in that department and that just made you squeeze your legs tighter. This time when he spoke, his voice was more gruff, deeper, husky in a way.

“Are you ready to take off the rest sweetheart?”

Standing up on shaky legs you nodded as he braced you while you tried to remove your clothes. It took a few tries, but you were naked in front of him now. You wanted to be shy, but you were far too aroused to care, and he wasn’t being paid to find you attractive. That alone made things a little easier. Though you had almost forgotten you were paying for this.

“You are quite beautiful. I can tell you are aroused, so I will ask again. Would you like any form of sexual contact?”

Well he was certainly not beating around any bushes and you hesitated before nodding slowly. “Maybe go slow?”

Nick nodded and pulled you back down into his lap. His large rough hands caressed over your bare bottom and you felt a thrill go through you. Again he started with small strikes, but this time he started a little harder than before. It didn’t take you long to get worked up again as his strikes fell faster and harder. The sound of skin hitting skin rang through the bedroom and you felt yourself clenching and throbbing. A desperate noise in your throat somewhere between a moan and a whine.

“You are so beautiful like this, so very beautiful. Can you handle more? I have a paddle with me, or if you have a hair brush?” His voice had a deep growl to it when he spoke.

“Hairbrush.” You panted and made a tiny sound of distress when he lifted you with one arm and lowered you onto the bed.

He came back from your bathroom holding your brush. It had an oval shape and was made of wood. You had never looked at it that way before, as an item you could use in a sexual way. After this, you might need to buy a new brush because you weren’t going to be able to see it as anything but a paddle.

Nick lifted you back onto his lap, again using only one arm, and if you didn’t know better you would think he was trying to show off. Of course any thoughts in your head disappeared the moment the brush impacted your bottom. You cried out, loudly, as he began with slow deliberate strikes. He was more gentle than when he had been using his hand, and that was a blessing as this stung. It hurt a lot more, but it still felt good.

Your core clenched desperately around nothing as you moaned and begged, you didn’t even know what you were begging for, but you needed something. There was a moment when you felt nothing the brush no longer hitting you when you felt Nicks hand press against your back holding you harder to his lap. His other hand pushed your thighs apart and his thick fingers slid over your clit and folds. Your cries became more desperate as pleasure shot through you.

Whimpering and whining you continued to beg as you finally felt one of his fingers push into you, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit. It was embarrassing, or it would have been embarrassing if you had two brain cells to rub together, how quickly you came from just that stimulation alone.

Laying across his lap limp, panting, shaking slightly, Nick lifted you up and cradled you in his lap. You snuggled into him and now that the pleasure was fading could feel just how much your ass hurt.

“I have some lotion I can rub on you. Just lay here, I will get that and some water for you.”

Nick laid you gently onto the bed and moved out of the room into the kitchen to get some water from your fridge. He set it on the nightstand and dug through his bag producing the lotion. First he rubbed it on you, making sure it soaked into the skin before helping you sit up and holding the water while you took sips.

“What about you?” your voice came out in a croak.

His arousal had been, and still was obvious. How could he make you feel so good and not have the chance to feel good himself.

“You are sweet, but that isn’t what you are paying me for. This is about you, not me.”

“You are right Nick, I am paying, and I want you to feel good too. Show me how?”

There was something fragile in his eyes as his expression softened. You still couldn’t place who he was, but in that moment, who he was, was someone you wanted desperately to know better.

“Please?”

#exophilia #Orc x Human #orc boyfriend #bright fanfiction #Kinktober 2020 #bright 2017

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winchester-reload · 4 years

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hi! i just read your fic, After Dark (for the second time, it’s amazing, easily going into my top five favorite fics of all time, your writing and characterization of dean especially is phenomenal and knocked me off my feet), but i’m still a little fuzzy on the ending. if you find time, could you possibly explain? thank you so much, your writing is beautiful

Okay, so I know I’ve had this ask for a while. I haven’t been ignoring you. It’s just that this fic is one of those stories that was so consuming when I wrote it, I have a hard time diving back in when I get asks. It was my Everest. I was obsessed with finishing it but kept trying to die at the top of the mountain (so to speak). I started writing it in June 2015 and didn’t finish it until December 2018. I have sooooo many notebooks filled with notes and rewrites for this story, it’s almost embarrassing. And, you’ve read it, so you probably know why: it’s INVOLVED. I mean, the very first chapter gives you the most important line from the penultimate chapter of the book.

So, yes. You know what? Let’s talk about After Dark. I’m ready.

Spoilers after the cut

I’m gonna do my best here to clear things up, but since you’re specifically asking about the end of the fic, I won’t do a complete chapter by chapter breakdown of the plot. Let’s instead pick up at Chapter 19 with a little more of a abridged version.

In 19, we finally get our Sam breakdown of what he’s been trying to figure out from the beginning– why it struck him as odd that Dean and Cas had hooked up this time over all the times before. He realizes that the general assumption that God was the light that beat back the darkness wasn’t actually a metaphorical idea, but was, in fact, a literal one. God wasn’t the thing that conquered the Dark, the light he yielded was. That light was Love. Fun side note: The sources Sam cites in that chapter to support his theory are all actual academic sources/philosophical ideas. You can look any of them up to find out more about love as a daemon, or The Unity of Opposites theory. So, Dean now knows that Cas is being used by Alice for something, but doesn’t know what.

Ch 20: Alice explains that the only thing that can save Dean’s soul from its eternal fate with the Darkness is if he’s “released” (so to speak) by his light. She says that the way it works is through Cas’ ultimate broken heart.

“If he takes you, you don’t die out of hate, or spite, or fear,” she whispered. “There’s no jealousy or malice or revenge. You die in stark contrast to all those things. It’s the opposite of everything he’s ever wanted for you— Wanted with you. Everything he’s ever hoped or dreamed or fought for; he does it only because he loves you, and it’s that selflessness that cleanses the shadows. It’s the power of a broken heart.”

It’s Cas’ sacrifice that will save Dean’s soul. Alice is careful to tell Dean that he was never going to survive this. Cas and everyone else is supposed to, but for Dean, it was always just a matter of where his soul ended up.

Cas, of course, says he’ll do it and that Dean needn’t ask, because there’s not really a choice here.

Ch 21: We pick back up with an echo of Rowena and realize that everything she told him in Chapter 2 actually came true. (weird, right?)

Ch 22: Cas wakes up at “the start”, only, this time’s he’s fundamentally changed from the journey. It’s in this chapter that we find out why Cas was getting glimpses from the ‘end of the story’ throughout the book:

Angels are ethereal. They’re not contained to a specific timeline–this is something they’ve talked about in canon. It was ONLY while Cas had his grace AND was actively dying that he was able to see snippets of the things that would happen after the events in Chapter 20. (IE: the dream he had in Chapter 8 of Crowley, the dream in Ch 15 where he’s walking across the field where the Winchesters crashed, even though he hadn’t actually been there yet, etc) It turned out he wasn’t actually seeing or speaking to Rowena. She was more a figment of his subconscious as he tried to warn himself where this story was going. Unfortunately, there wasn’t really any way for him to stop the train. HOWEVER,

In Cas’ lame attempt to keep from drowning Dean like “The Fish” Rowena kept calling him, he’d made the conscious decision to give Dean some “wings” in Chapter 15. The grace had proven threatening/effective enough in the fight against the Darkness to that point, that it had spent the entire story trying to snuff Cas out. It was also the only element keeping Cas from becoming infected by the Darkness the same way Sam and the rest of the people were, which is why Cas quickly became infected after extracting it.

So, when Dean got the grace in Chapter 15, it was enough to pull him back out of the Darkness’ grip and bring him back to life.

When Cas comes out the other side of the spell in this chapter, alive, as he was supposed to be, he realizes that everything had reset like Alice said it would– Except for him. He was still wearing the same clothes, and still dying from his own self-inflicted knife wound (sans Darkness insanity). (Dean, remember, was not supposed to reset. The actions he took during the fic were always supposed to be permanent for him.)

It’s then that Cas understands that it’s not over yet; they’re still fundamentally connected through Cas’ grace, and that means, there’s a CHANCE that Dean’s still alive too (and with Cas’ grace). He asks Crowley to teleport him to the field he saw in his dream and it’s here that he finds Dean, still clinging to life and staring up at the newly found stars.

Cas rallies his grace one last time by laying a hand on the burn mark left on Dean, and uses the rest of it to save him. Then, the very exhausted, very exsanguinated human Cas topples over in the field.

Ch 23: is probably where I lost you and I’m gonna tell you, it’s very intentional that I’ve made you unsure.

It starts with a dreamlike Cas in the field staring at the back of an ambulance bed. There are elements of the Darkness around him, filtering into the sky. He panics when he thinks it’s Dean on the back of the stretcher dead, but specifically points out the bare feet (Dean was in socked feet. It was mentioned multiple times in Chapter 18-20). Alice then comes out of nowhere and tackles him to the ground. She’s our dream stand-in for the things the EMTs are doing to save Cas in that moment (Cas was the one with bare feet) while she warns him that the Darkness is not gone. She tells him she’s proud of him for finding a loophole, but that he shouldn’t believe he’s won. He should, in fact, fear the opposite.

“…it doesn’t matter how fucking proud of you I am for finding it” she says. “The truth of the matter is, it’s gonna take what it’s owed— Or try… ”

Cas then wakes up in Dean’s bed and Dean tells him he was having another nightmare. It’s established at this point that Cas has been having a lot of them since becoming human. So much so, that Dean is practiced in dealing with bringing Cas back down. Cas gets frustrated with the situation and with himself and goes to wander through the bunker and get water. Dean chases after him, like the good caretaker he is.

Cas tells Dean that he doesn’t believe it’s a nightmare. He believes that the conversation with Alice really happened and that the Darkness is not gone, but, maybe, lying in wait either to attack again, or, even, MAYBE, that it already has him… (Not Dean, but Cas this time. Like a trade.)

This leaves us, the reader with the uneasy feeling that that might be true. We’re in Cas’ POV and the last we saw him, he was face down in a field bleeding out from a wound he was probably not gonna be able to recover from. If he’s not sure what’s real and what’s a dream, then how can we be? This is amplified by the fact that everything Cas has done in the story to this point has been proven true, so we want to believe him. But his unsureness feels so much more like the answer we don’t want.

Our unease is punctuated by small things like 1. Dean wearing a purple shirt* when Cas had specifically named that as a color he’d never seen Dean wear before (Ch 19). And then, of course, 2. the fact that his coat is there when it shouldn’t be. Did Alice leave it? Why would she leave it? How could she leave it?

We’re left, like Cas, not sure if the story has ended like it appears to have ended. We’re unsure if they both made it out safe. If they’re really together. And with everything so damn woven, how can we just have these plot holes????

But, that’s also kind of the nature of the trauma Cas has endured. And, if he wasn’t really living this moment with Dean, then why is he healing slowly from his wounds? Why is he out of breath before he gets to the kitchen? (You know how it is when you’ve been laid up for a long stint. EVERYTHING IT HARD.)

So, you, like Cas, find yourself placing your trust in Dean as he reassures Cas that it wouldn’t matter if it’s not over.

“Because you an’ me, we’re unbreakable.”

And now this is where you really hate me because I’m not going to tell you one way or the other. I’m gonna let the story speak for itself. I will say that I would NEVER want to put them through all of that if they couldn’t live in the sunshine on the other side, though.

*more on the color purple

#luniares #and THAT is the story that tried to kill me #essentially #destiel #destiel fic #my fic #after dark #flashing gif #my art

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missmentelle · 4 years

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I just watched the Netflix show You and it's been discussed but I don't really understand - in a relationship, how does one project their own views and fantasies onto another person? How can you tell if it's happening? Is there a certain point where it's normal or it can't be helped? It's happened a lot in the show but I'm having trouble identifying it. Also, I recommend watching You: it's a thoughtful take on how we view romantic relationships as a society and how that can be twisted

I absolutely love that show. For those of you who haven’t seen the thriller show “You”, it’s about a charismatic but underachieving man named Joe who works as the manager at a bookstore in Manhattan. He meets a young grad student named Beck when she comes into his bookstore one afternoon, and is immediately infatuated with her; he is completely consumed by his desire for a relationship with her, and it becomes clear very quickly that he’s willing to go to extreme lengths to make it happen. (Mild spoilers for Season One ahead) Joe is obsessed with Beck from the moment he lays eyes on her. But of course, he’s not really obsessed with her - he is obsessed with the person that he wants her to be. He decides - based only on her clothes, the book she buys and a three-minute conversation with her - that she’s a bookish “good girl” and an intellectual, a serious writer who values real literature and doesn’t crave men’s attention. And he’s very interested in that. She’s his Manic Pixie Dream Grad Student, whether she likes it or not. It’s clear from the very beginning that Joe thinks extremely highly of himself, and he feels entitled to a woman who is just as intelligent and sophisticated as he is - when he looks at Beck, he decides that she’s that perfect girl he’s been waiting for all along. Moreover, he decides that she’s equally interested in him - she pays for her book with a credit card, and Joe decides that she did that because she intentionally wanted Joe to learn her full name. And of course, as Joe learns more about Beck, he discovers that she’s not the artsy, aloof writer he had been envisioning in his head. She goes out drinking with friends that Joe dislikes, she has a trashy boyfriend, she posts selfies on Instagram, and doesn’t actually do any writing. But instead of deciding “oh wow, I was super wrong about this girl, I definitely got carried away”, Joe decides that the REAL Beck is the girl he fantasized about in the bookstore, and that she just needs his help to realize it. He decides that he knows what’s best for a woman who is a complete stranger to him, deliberately manipulating her life to turn her into more of the person he wants her to be, until... well, you know how it ends.

When you first start watching You, it can be hard to understand how messed-up Joe actually is. He is the main character of the show, and the narrator. He is also capable of great kindness - he genuinely cares for the neglected child who lives in an abusive household next door - and it kinda feels like we’re supposed to root for him. After all, he just wants what’s best for Beck. He sees who she really is inside, and he knows that she deserves better than the life she has right now. He just wants her to reach her full potential and stop wasting time with people who don’t really care about her... what could be so bad about that?

The problem, of course, is that Joe doesn’t know jack shit about Beck, and he has no right to decide what is and isn’t good for her. She is a grown-ass woman, and he is a stranger she met at a bookstore. Joe claims to have good intentions, but his intentions aren’t the point here - nobody has the right to meddle in someone else’s life behind their back, no matter how much they love and care about them. When you truly care about someone, you respect their choices - Joe has absolutely no respect for the decisions Beck makes, and sees no issues with isolating, stalking and terrorizing her if it gets him what he wants. Joe claims that Beck is miserable, but we don’t know actually know that - he filters everything he sees through a very thick lens of his own self-interest. He doesn’t allow her basic autonomy to choose what matters to her. Beck is not actually a real person to Joe - she is a prize that he wants to win.

Think about the show from Beck’s perspective - you’re an adult, with your own whole, complete life. You have friends, dreams, a boyfriend, guilty pleasures. You make bad choices sometimes, sure, but they are YOUR choices, and you have the freedom to make them. And then you walk into a shop one day and the man behind the counter suddenly decides that you’re his soulmate and it’s now his job to make decisions for you. You barely know this guy, but he thinks he has the right to control your life - he wants to control who you date, who you talk to, and how you spend your time. Imagine doing something as ordinary as paying for a book with your credit card, and having the person behind the counter interpret this as evidence that you want them to Google you and come to your house. The very idea of it is terrifying.

The plot of You is obviously a huge dramatization, but the same dynamic does appear in real-life abusive relationships. Abusers often have very specific ideas about what their ideal partner should be like, and they believe - consciously or unconsciously - that they are “owed” this person. When they meet someone, they tend to decide extremely quickly that THIS is finally the person they’ve been waiting for all along. They don’t really feel the need to get to know the person as an individual - they assume that they already know everything they need to know about the person, and that the relationship will be effortless. When that inevitably doesn’t pan out because their partner is a real person with needs and flaws, they get angry and the abuse starts to come out - they try harder and harder to control their partner and force them back into being the perfect person they’d envisioned, and they lash out angrily when that doesn’t work.

Although it’s nowhere near as extreme as what happened in You, I’ve had my own experiences with dating someone who was projecting their fantasies on me. My long-term college boyfriend was several years older than me, and already finished with grad school while I was still an undergrad. As the relationship went on, it became very clear that he was looking for a meek, nerdy girl who would appreciate his geek interests but never try to overshadow him. He strongly encouraged me to do the nerdy thing he approved of - cosplaying, attending conventions, playing D&D - but didn’t want me wearing makeup (I wear winged liner every day of my life), dyeing my hair strange colours (which I used to do quite often as a student) or even wearing my contact lenses instead of glasses (I got contacts the moment I was old enough and haven’t been seen in my glasses since). He was hugely threatened by the fact that I took my academics seriously, and he freaked out when I was accepted to an Ivy League grad school because “it would be so humiliating to have a girlfriend who went to a better school than I did”. He had a very specific vision of the kind of girlfriend he wanted to have, and he was prepared to try to stamp out the parts of me that didn’t align with what he wanted. It’s okay to have standards and expectations for the kind of partner you want to have. That’s normal. I’d argue that it’s necessary. Speaking from personal experience, life is a lot easier when you expect your partners to have mastered basic communication and coping skills. And sometimes you will need to look for a partner who has very specific traits - if your dream is to have 12 children and live on a goat farm, you need to find a partner who is on board with that goal. It’s also fine to have preferences in terms of aesthetics, interests and lifestyles - we’re always going to have certain things that we find appealing, and it’s okay to be into that. What’s not okay is to have such rigid expectations about how our future partner will look, dress and behave that we can’t cope with not getting our exact fantasy. It’s fine to think that dating a quirky art major with a nose ring would be awesome. It’s not fine to think that dating a quirky art major with a nose ring is the answer to all your problems. And it’s definitely not fine to latch on to the first quirky art major with a nose ring that you can find, and then punish them when they turn out to be a complex human with real issues and not just a living doll. Whenever you’re dating, it’s important to remember that you are dating a real, live human, and not a cartoon character. They are going to grow and change, and they are going to have flaws, off-days and traits that don’t match up with your fantasies. Your punky goth girlfriend is going to have days where she just wants to lounge around the house in her pajamas and watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Your tough, manly lumberjack boyfriend might have a super sensitive gag reflex and spend an awful lot of time on the phone with his mom. We’re all weird, and each of us needs to have the freedom to be our own kind of weird in a relationship - if you find that your desire to be with someone is extremely dependent on their appearance, dress, weight, hobbies, friends, job, etc, and you can’t handle not having control over those things, you aren’t ready to date. The other big red flag to look for here is how fast someone rushes the relationship. If you’re projecting your fantasies on someone, you don’t really feel much need to get to know them - like Joe, you’re pretty sure that you know everything that you need to know about them soon after meeting. You are fully expecting this person to be the fantasy partner you desire, and so there’s no point waiting to see how the relationship goes - within weeks, you’re ready to move in together, adopt a pet together, and even get engaged. If you’re convinced that a person you met three weeks ago is your soulmate, it’s time to stop and take a hard look at things - you don’t know a person you meet three weeks ago, and you have no idea if they’re your soulmate or not. You are trying to date a fantasy and not a real person. Hope this answers your question! MM

#Anonymous

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ganymedesclock · 5 years

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Who do you think is more unknowable and eldritch: The Radiance or The Pale King?

With respect, I’m about to hijack this question, but you’ve activated my trap card. (I will drop a follow-up post that is actually Hollow Knight meta, though, since you are asking for that)

To be a bit less flippant about it: I have a lot of emotions about unknowable and eldritch. Overwhelmingly they tangle together with my feelings on normal.

I don’t think that these are useful terms to use the way that we often use them.

Let’s take a bit of a history walk.

The concept of the eldritch is often conflated very closely with the concept of the lovecraftian horror- established, of course, by Howard Phillips Lovecraft. Lovecraft illustrated in lavish detail the idea of things that are literally unknowable- that to try and hold them in our mind, to try and make sense of them, will destroy us. And that these things will inevitably encroach, move closer into us, and we will end, we will be ended and destroyed because these things will come into our minds, into our lives, and tear them apart for the irreconcilability.

This is what a lovecraftian horror means: it is something that we cannot reconcile with ourselves in any way.

Here is the important, vital thing about Howard Phillips Lovecraft:

He was a horribly racist man.

This is vital.

Because here’s the thing that I resent about a lovecraftian horror: it is not horror. We hear about “incomprehensible eldritch beings” all the time in games and stories.

How do they act?

They are almost invariably hostile. They come after you. They’re here to destroy you.

This is not horror.

This is a reassurance.

Because we are put in the position of someone who destroys that incomprehensible being. We are definitely never put in a position where our lack of context hampers us. They are incomprehensible because they do not need to be comprehended. We don’t have to think about them. We don’t have to think about their feelings or ever try to understand because they don’t need to be understood. And, yet, we understand enough to say for sure that they are bad. They are bad, but we don’t understand how to talk to them. We don’t understand how they’re thinking. But we know they’re bad.

In this way, Lovecraft has designed a beautiful, perfect system of the world specifically for bigots. Because if you are bigoted, you are forced eventually to reconcile with the fact that your models of humanity are ignorant. That people, shockingly, remain people, no matter their background, spoken language, genetics, physiology, disability, or neurodivergence. That if I forced a white man from New York onto a deserted island with his only company being an aborigines man from Australia, without any spoken language between them and few experiences in common, unless one of them actively ended the situation with violence, they would come to understand each other, and have qualities in common.

Incomprehensible eldritch horror does not exist. It is rooted in a feigned weakness of the human mind, that was dreamed, in part, by a white bigot who was terrified of anything unlike him, and terrified especially that he would see ignorance and selfishness in the pedestal he created to elevate himself and others he thought of as worthy peers above all other kinds of human being.

Here is the reason this matters to me so much: I am not, in fact, an eldritch monster wearing skin. But we don’t have a lot of those running around. We do, however, have neurodivergent human beings. I’m one of them.

From an early age, I was told that my brain is strange. That I do not think like normal people. That my thinking is disordered. This seemed strange to me. My brain does not hurt. I am not filled with suffering. Some things are hard for me. But there are things hard for everyone.

But, I was told, many times, over and over again, my brain is not normal. I am not a normal human. I need to look at the normal humans, the real humans, and study them, and understand them, and become like them. Any time something seemed hard or frustrating it was proof I had to try harder to become a real human.

In a sense, I lived Lovecraft’s horror story. I was, from my own perspective, a lone mote of humanity cast adrift in an alien world, a world I could not understand, a world that was upsetting and strange and hurt me.

I was not, however, broken to pieces by it. Nor was I filled with hatred or repulsion for the strange creatures I saw. I observed and I came to understand. When they were happy, I wanted to be happy too. Being the only normal person was lonely. I envied the way they slipped sinuously through barriers that stalked me. I wondered if I, too, could have those features, could build approximations, could emulate them, could seem like them. Now that I have grown, I am praised by my alien peers, for how much like them I seem. That I am so good at speaking the way they expect me to speak. That I thrive in this environment.

Now, if you’re following, you may have taken pause at the fact that I call myself the normal one here. After all, I’m neurodivergent! Neurodivergent isn’t normal. Autistic people like me aren’t normal. People like you are normal!

That’s the kicker, though.

Normal is not real, and this, this is the inherent failure of cordoning off characters as incomprehensible.

Because every single character is normal. Everybody on the planet is normal.

Developmentally, psychologically, “normal” is a set of blinders we put on. Because when our early primordial ancestors walked into the same meadow they usually came to, they were beset by a maelstrom of sensory information. And they have only so much energy, so much effort to look and listen and smell and feel. They cannot see, in full excruciating detail, the same buttercup that has been there every day they have come to this meadow. They cannot ruminate deep on the color yellow, the shape of the petals, until it has hewn itself deep in their mind.

They cannot, because that patch of orange at the edge of the meadow was not there yesterday. And it is not in the same place as it was an hour ago.

Our brains recognize patterns. They do this to keep us safe and help us navigate the universe at all. In that sense, there is no holiness to normal. Normal is not ever guaranteed to be good for us. Normal is just the thing that our brain filters out, does not look very hard at unless we consciously fight that reflex. It is the background against which we contrast unknown.

I am normal. My autism is normal. If I had been raised on some kind of colony of exclusively autistic people, and you showed me a neurotypical person, I would have laughed at them. What a silly weird bizarre person! Why are they STARING like that? Why don’t they shake or flap or rock when they’re happy? Are they afraid of emotions, so they lock ramrod straight like that? This poor soul, you know, I took them to the fabric store and they didn’t touch anything, didn’t feel all the lovely textures and patterns. Could you give this creature a bouquet? Do they know how to appreciate any of their senses? A pitiful beast! Someone teach them how to be normal!

Normal becomes a rub. It becomes a sticking point, however, because we chose to live together, and we made rules, and in these rules, we betrayed our hand, our sense of normal.

The truth is if I abandoned Howard Phillips Lovecraft on a deserted island with Cthulu, I really sincerely believe that he would get over his mind-breaking wretched horror. He would find, to his shock and revulsion, that perhaps the first time he looks upon this creature’s visage it hurts. But the tenth time, or twelfth time, or twentieth time, it is merely a face.

Normal is a structure assembled by our minds for convenience and we act as if it is a god, when in reality it is merely a tool and one we can slap off the table and send clattering to the floor as if it is a doll we no longer want to play with.

Because my entire life, I have been told that I have a monster’s brain, a disordered brain, a brain twisted in a curious shape that harms my ability to understand others.

In my life I have met and imagined countless people, countless creatures, some very wildly different from me in priorities and behavior.

I have never in my life met an incomprehensible creature. But I have met plenty of things that I thought were incomprehensible- until I spent any time with them at all.

I have followed and spoken to and heard the stories of schizophrenic people. They were, surprisingly, not monsters.

I work with babies. They are not monsters either.

I have never met an incomprehensible monster. And every time I think I may have, I have been wrong, and I have needed to try harder.

So, to me, to call something truly alien in a sense that we can’t know what’s going on in their head, I remember that “lovecraftian” carries the name of a racist, inextricably embedded in its etymology.

#neurodivergence #long post #readmore #scatter44

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

Note

Wine

do the thing - send in all the prompts.

So! I spent way too much time listening to songs about wine to grab some inspiration. Here you have an old country song meeting total canon divergence - I hope you enjoy <3

The fall in New York was always Peter’s favorite. The mugginess that sat over the city during the summer started to dissipate – the last dredges of it clinging, but just barely. A sharp temperature change swooped in overnight and brought chilly mornings – the actual need for a hoodie something Peter came to love over the years. Though there weren’t a lot of trees in his neighborhood, the subway ride to get to Central Park wasn’t too bad; he could see the leaves change and watch as nature prepared for a jump into the colder months.

Luckily, Peter graduated from high school with a pretty impressive resume that secured him an internship at Stark Industries – so he got to stay in the city and enjoy the changing of the seasons there for at least another four years. NYU orientation excited Peter more than he thought and the idea of starting in the coveted SI labs made his skin prickle with anticipation.

He walked over to Stark Tower earlier in the week to get his credentials and access badge – the sight of it making his mouth water. Ever since, he’d been dreaming about what kind of opportunities awaited him there.

On his first official day, Peter wandered into one of the elevators and hit the button for his floor. The elevator car was a little bit crowded and his smaller stature got him pushed to the back of it. He watched for the first few floors, the doors opening and closing – people moving into and out of the elevator; all of it lulling him into a sense of comfortability. He exited the elevator on his floor with a swift smile on his face.

Turning the corner, Peter let out a loud huff when he ran straight into something that felt solid and immovable, but pliable all the same. A soft grunt had him looking up, his cheeks starting to flare with heat when he realized the person he just tried to tackle was none other than Tony Stark himself. Peter was too afraid to move any further, so he froze - his chest flush against Tony’s.

In this proximity, Peter could feel the arc reactor on the older man’s chest, the hum of it alive, tangible – his solid core and legs were warm where they pressed against his own. Widening his eyes, Peter suddenly realized just how close they were and took a step back.

“Oh shit, Mr. Stark – I mean – “ Peter babbled for a second, his brain pinging off the side of his head like a pinball from the combination of too much stimulus and the delectable smell of cedar wood, mint, and the slightest undertone of musk. He looked at him then, Peter noticing for the first time that Tony’s face was pulling into a smile, the deep crinkles by his eyes way more flattering than they had any right to be.

Peter’s right shoulder was surrounded by long fingers and a palm that radiated heat – Mr. Stark’s grip moderate, the idea of it there without being all that threatening. “No worries, kid. I was talking to Jarvis and wasn’t paying attention.”

The most important person in this entire building was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and hilarity. Peter was still stuck on the warm hand engulfing his upper arm, the touch distracting – making it so hard to pay attention.

“Jarvis, sir? The AI that runs most of this building and the battle tactics in your suit?” Peter blurted a moment later, his face red as a beet. He went from not being able to keep up with the conversation to rushing forward, his head down and brain to mouth filter on obvious holiday. “I got to come to the big scholar’s dinner you threw in May. I was valedictorian at Midtown Science and Tech, so I got to see the interactivity of your penthouse. Very, very, very impressive, Mr. Stark – sir.”

Tony tilted his head and quirked an eyebrow at him – the man’s eyes hard to decipher behind the blue-tinted glasses. Peter wondered if that’s why they became his trademark – if no one could see his eyes, they probably couldn’t guess what he was going to do next, either. Slipping his tongue out to wet his suddenly dry lips, Peter flashed him a smile – the fact that the man hadn’t run off to wherever he was going surprising.

And if he were honest with himself, satisfying. He would have chopped off his own foot to get face time with Tony Stark – now he had the man’s attention, enough so that the hand on Peter’s shoulder hadn’t dropped. “Midtown, huh? Must have a good head on your shoulders, then. What department did they stick you in - ” The hand on his shoulder shifted until those fingers were playing with his credential instead. “Peter Parker.”

Just hearing his name on the other’s lips sent a shiver down his spine. The magazines and TV broadcasts did not do the man justice – he was gorgeous, charming, and had the sexiest voice. They didn’t let this guy talk nearly enough. His eyes roamed over Tony’s face, down the length of his body, then back up until their gazes were locked. “I’m in Testing, sir. I applied for R&D, but they didn’t have any spots left.”

White teeth bit into a plump bottom lip, Peter watching avidly as they did. He could feel the heat radiating from his face and neck – the blush completely overtaking him now. Oh, how he wanted to be those teeth, that lip looked like something that needed to be worshipped – explored with his own lips and tongue, enjoyed for its thickness and the rush of color that would come to it after a few nibbles and several hundred kisses.

“Cool – leaves you free to come work with me, then. I could use an assistant. And stop with sir shit, okay? I’m Tony. I’ll have Jarvis change the security clearances you have. The labs on 103 – I’ll be up there in about an hour. Go familiarize yourself,” Tony said, his words demanding – the man probably not even thinking about how monumental the things he just said were.

Peter looked at him dumbfounded for a second, mouth open at the jaw like a broken hinge. The other merely smiled at him, the eyes behind his sunglasses moving over him for a second. “Jarvis, have Peter Parker’s clearance changed to include my office and lab.” He looked Peter dead in the eye while he spoke, the words leaving no room for Peter to doubt any longer.

At first, it felt weird being in the lab that was twice the size of his own apartment. There were millions of dollars’ worth of equipment spread out all over the room and the coveted Iron Man armor was in parts and pieces on one of the longer lab tables. Peter walked over without a thought and looked at each of the pieces – his fingers skimming just barely over the surface of the metal on the face mask. It felt cool to the touch and sent tingles down his spine. Not wanting to fuck anything up, he took a few steps back and settled behind one of the emptier tables. Seeing some schematics for suit updates, Peter pulled them to him and started to read.

Tony found him there a little while later, the man looking at him curiously when Peter finally noticed his presence. “I gave you free reign in here and that’s what you settled on?” The man loosened the knot in his tie while he spoke, the expensive piece of fabric soaring across the room a moment later. “What do you think? I’m trying to put a better stabilizer in the glove – but it gets bigger the more energy I want to yield from it.”

After looking at the plans for a while, he’d come up with a number of things that could be tweaked here and there. With that specific question in mind, Peter opened up to a page towards the back and pointed out one of the equations. “I think if you change this coefficient, you’ll be able to get rid of the size and still have the same amount of energy you’re looking for.”

They spent the rest of the day reworking some of the math – the begrudging grin on Tony’s face more than enough to know that he’d done good; that whatever test Tony was giving him, he passed with flying colors.

The weeks flew by after that – Peter enjoyed every second in the lab, even when they spent 14 hours within the confines of it. There weren’t a lot of things calling Peter away, so he allowed himself to get swept up in it – the excitement of working with Tony on the Iron Man suits, the knowledge and technique he was learning, and the developing crush that would not go away, no matter what he did.

Close to the end of the year, both men were exhaustedly working on solving the palladium problem of Tony’s arc reactor – they’d been going for 45 hours straight, neither leaving the lab for anything other than bathroom breaks and to answer the door for takeout. It was wearing on them; Peter could tell by the sluggish conversation and the snippiness of the older man. In his time working in the lab, Peter knew the further away they were from an answer, the more on edge Tony got.

Finally, after 50 hours of doing nothing but staring at the multidimensional schematic in front of them, Tony finally found the answer. It happened suddenly, Peter was talking through an idea, his hands moving the diagram around until Tony stopped him, his eyes flashing.

“Pete, I’ve got it.”

Tony quickly started to prattle off his findings, his hands moving a mile a minute while he described the process and the tools they’d need. Without much thought, Peter jumped into Tony’s arms, his fatigue and excitement getting the best of him.

“Thank God,” Peter mumbled into the skin of Tony’s neck – after 20 hours of sleep and a few rushed orders, they’d finally be that much closer to figuring out how to save Tony from the poison slowly trickling through his veins. Tony’s presence was solid and warm, the feeling of his body not any different than that first encounter – except it was – completely different.

Now, Peter knew how much those legs carried to keep so many things in the air at once. He understood that his core kept his shoulders upright, shoulders that were constantly trying to lift and remove the burden of the world. A shuddering breath left his mouth, his thoughts not anywhere near appropriate for the moment they were currently in.

The sudden space between them almost drew a moan from his lips, Peter so absorbed in the feel of Tony against him that he missed it instantly. Hands framed his cheeks a half a second later – Peter’s chin tilting up to suss out the purpose, to see what exactly Tony had on his mind in that moment. What he found there stopped him dead in his tracks – heat, arousal, confusion, anticipation – all the things Peter figured were reflected in his own eyes.

“You know I’m an old guy, right? Twice your age – could be your dad kind of old,” Tony mumbled, his face pressing in to close the gap between them. With mere inches separating them, he stopped – amber eyes looking into his, waiting for the answer – for him to fill in the last bit of empty space.

Peter let his actions answer for him – the swift press of their lips together more than enough to shock him to the core. The rightness of it couldn’t be denied, despite the glaringly obvious details that might say otherwise.

The soft caress of their lips lingered until the need for breath arose, Peter pulling back first to see the serene look of Tony with his eyes closed and a full-face smile. Tucking his lower lip between his teeth, Peter shook his head, fondness painted into his expression. “You know what they say about fine wine, Tony.” He brushed his nose against the older man’s, the words stuck in the heavy air between them.

In the brief seconds before they kissed again, he whispered “it just gets sweeter with time.” He felt the smile on Tony’s lips in their kiss, the softness of it divine, the taste sweet – like promise and love.

#goindownshipping #starker #ironspider #ask prompts #prompts #thanks for the prompt <3 #bobbie writes

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p-artsypants · 5 years

Text

Longest Night (33)- Waking

A lot of people commented about how horrifying it would be to wake up in the middle of surgery. Anesthesia awareness happens to about 1 in a 1000 patients, and I was one of those lucky ducks!

It wasn’t major surgery, but I still wasn’t supposed to wake up. I was getting my wisdom teeth removed. They recommended I bring in headphones and listen to music. I was only conscience enough to hear my music. At one point a song came on that I didn’t want to listen to, so I opened my eyes and looked down to my iPod. The orthodontist stopped and said, “Oh just changing the song?”

And then I looked up, seeing two doctors there, with blood covered gloves, and a bunch of instruments sticking out of my mouth.

It’s the only thing I remember from getting that surgery. Not the recovery, not the appointment, not even the song that prompted it. It also only felt like it took 15 minutes, but apparently it was two hours. Anesthesia really messes with the perceived perception of time when you’re only semiconscious.

It’s really a horrifying experience.

Ao3 | FF.net

—

Dr. Ernest Boucher would consider himself lucky. He had a loving wife, and a patient son, who understood the importance of his father’s job and didn’t take it personally when he had to suddenly leave.

And now, after a 48 hour shift, he was returning home. Exhausted, hungry, and stressed, but home.

“I’m home!” He called in the door.

“Oh honey!” His wife called from the other room. “We just sat down for dinner! Come take a seat, I’ll make you up a plate!”

Ernest hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes. Home cooking, a hot shower, and to sleep for a few hours in his bed…that’s all he wanted.

His wife wrapped an arm around his waist and smooched his cheek. “I made Lasagna.”

“Lasagna…I love lasagna…” He said dreamily.

As he came into the kitchen, he saw his son, pouring himself a soda. “Hey Pop! You look like you got hit by a truck!” The boy laughed.

His son was 17 years old, blonde hair, athletic, looked a lot like Adrien. Several times during the surgery, Ernest imagined it was his boy on the table.

He sympathized with Gabriel Agreste, who looked like a complete mess.

“Pop? You good?”

Ernest yanked on his son’s arm and pulled him into a tight hug. “Just happy to see you, Kiddo.”

With a shrug, Ernest’s son hugged his father back.

—

After a filling dinner and a 8 hour night’s sleep, Ernest arose. His pager hadn’t gone off in the middle of the night. So surely Adrien and Marinette were either in the same place they were, or any minor problems were solved by the team.

He showered, shaved, and got dressed.

His boy was already at school, but had left him a text in the morning.

“You’re my superhero!” It read, simply.

The words brought tears to his eyes.

His wife made him breakfast, a big one with lots of protein to keep him full until he had a late lunch. She also filled up his coffee mug with a fancy kind that outdid the hospital brew.

And then, with another kiss, he was back off to the hospital.

Or at least that was the plan. He was not expecting to be swarmed outside his house by the media.

“Dr. Boucher! What kind of surgery did Adrien have?!”

“Is Marinette alright?”

“Did Chat lose his arm?”

“Did Adrien survive from the whipping!?”

“Have you talked to the families yet?!”

“Dr. Boucher!”

“Dr. Boucher, over here!”

Completely overwhelmed, his head swiveled everywhere his name was called until he was dizzy.

“Stop!” He shouted, hands out.

The crowd calmed to a murmur.

“Everyone be quiet! Just give me a moment!”

Well, if he was a little dazed before, now he was wide awake.

The media settled down, waiting to hear him.

“Bring the mics closer, I’m only going to say this once. Then I must get back to the hospital!”

Obediently, the news crews all passed microphones up to the front, where some poor intern was put in charge of holding them up like a bouquet in front of the good doctor.

Ernest clear his throat. “Alright. Due to patient confidentiality, I can’t get into specifics. But I can tell you that as of when I left last night, both Marinette and Adrien were alive and asleep. They both received care for several wounds inflicted from Salo, including the flogging. Adrien’s arm has not yet been addressed, because of other more serious surgeries first. That is all I can tell you now, thank you.”

The crowd parted as he headed to his car, but they continued to ask questions as he climbed inside.

Ernest took a sip of his coffee as he started the car. He wasn’t sure how the media found out he was in charge of the team. He didn’t worry about it, but it wasn’t expected. Some nurse who hadn’t read their email probably blurted something to someone.

Oh well. He supposed the nugget he gave was fair enough. After a month of knowing absolutely everything happening to the heroes, and then knowing nothing? It would leave people asking questions.

And with Hawkmoth battling with the auxiliary heroes on the Arc de Triomphe, there probably weren’t any more threats to worry about.

He hoped.

—

A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through the boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away—away—to an indefinite distance—it died. The nightingale’s song was then the only voice of the hour: in listening to it, I again wept. Mr. Rochester sat quiet, looking at me gently and seriously. Some time passed before he spoke; he at last said—

“Come to my side, Jane, and let us explain and understand one another.”

“I will never again come to your side: I am torn away now, and cannot return.”

It was a weird dream. No visuals, no feelings. Just a soft voice of a mother recanting a story. She spoke quietly, tenderly, just a hum above a whisper.

Then she felt sensations. Pins and needles of sleepiness in her toes, the ache and twinge of long set wounds.

Her knees ached, as they were unaccustomed to having her legs stretched out. But she found she lacked the strength to move.

Was she awake? Or asleep? Neither, she supposed, balancing on the edge of both. That blissful state of absolute comfort.

Slowly, Marinette back tracked in time. What did she remember?

The haunting image of Adrien bleeding out in that chair, watching him collapse in the hall, his slowly languid breaths in that room.

And then a haze. They moved, somewhere. Wetness, like rain. Running?

It was like looking through a thick cotton curtain, muffling sound and sight.

And now she was here. Wherever ‘here‘ was.

Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his grasp: for I was still incredulous.

“Do you doubt me, Jane?”

“Entirely.”

“You have no faith in me?”

“Not a whit.”

It was the perfect temperature. Not too hot, not too cold. A soft bed, cradling her as if she was fragile, and a warm blanket weighing her to the bed. A soft ambient light held back the darkness, but didn’t pierce through her lids.

Marinette tried to open her eyes, caked as they were. The light was dim, illuminating gridded ceiling titles immediately above her. It smelled faintly of chemicals, while a droning hiss carried through the air. Her neck ached, but as she tilted her head, she briefly looked around the room. No one to her left, though she did see a strange machine and a metal stand, an IV stand. A tube ran from the bag down to her arm. A door cracked open revealed a bathroom and another door on the far side of the room was closed, but silhouetted figure stood in the window.

To her right, she found the owner of the voice, her own mother, sitting in a chair by her side, hand in hers, and reading from a book. Jane Eyre, as it looked. Farther down the bed, her father sat in another chair, his hand wrapped loosely around her foot.

Behind her parents, orange light filtered through the light curtains.

A bright red blob caught her attention. Tikki laid curled up on her chest.

A moment more, allowing her brain to digest all she could see, and she realized she was in a hospital.

The how and when escaped her.

“What, me!” I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness— and especially in his incivility—to credit his sincerity: “me who have not a friend in the world but you- if you are my friend: not a shilling but what you have given me?”

“You, Jane, I must have you for my own—entirely my own. Will you be mine? Say yes, quickly.”

“Mr. Rochester, let me look at your face: turn to the moonlight.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to read your countenance—turn!”

“There! you will find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratched page. Read on: only make haste, for I suffer.”

“Marinette?” Her father interrupted.

Marinette didn’t respond verbally, not knowing if she had the strength to do so. Instead, she squeezed her hand and twitched her foot.

Warm lips pressed to her forehead, as she came to find a mask on her face. She couldn’t speak, even if she wanted to.

“Just sleep, my darling.” Sabine said softly. “You’re very tired.”

She was. That was true.

The warmth, the quiet, the softness, it was soothing.

Safe.

Sleep.

Safe.

Adrien.

She awoke with a jolt. It had only been a few minutes, so she thought, but the room was different. Brighter. Day light peered in the window, and her father was gone.

“Honey? Are you okay?” Sabine asked, seeing Marinette startle awake. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Adrien.” She said, in response.

Understanding came over Sabine’s face. “Yes darling, he’s here. He’s in ICU. He’ll be okay.”

She pulled on the mask that covered her face, immediately struggling to breathe. “I need to see him!”

Sabine just calmly replaced the mask. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”

Marinette grabbed her wrist. “Where is he? Where’s Chat?” She began to cry.

Sabine pressed a button nearby. “Ssh, darling. He’s alright. Just relax.”

Marinette shook her head, forcing the mask from her face. “I don’t believe you! I need to see him! Adrien!”

A female nurse hurried into the room. “Oh dear, she’s up!” The woman smiled.

“She wants to see Adrien.”

The nurse came to the bed, clasping Marinette’s hands. “Oh honey, I know you do. But you’re in no shape to get out of bed.”

“I don’t care! I need to see Adrien! Please!” Her voice was breaking, as she desperately tried to get out of the bed. She was exhausted, and everything hurt as she moved.

“I’m sorry dear, but you need to calm down.” The nurse pressed the mask back to her face and held it there, as her other hand went to the machine at her side.

“Let me go! He needs me! Please I don’t want to leave him alone!”

The nurse petted her hair gently. “Shh, just relax. Breathe. Breathe nice and deep.”

“No! No! No…no…” she felt weaker. Her vision blurred as the room tilted.

Sleep. Her brain demanded.

Sleep.

Adrien.

She jolted again. Wakefulness coming to her quite quickly. Things had changed again, though she was only out for a few minutes, right? Except, now it was dark outside, and both of her parents were missing.

“Marinette! You’re awake again!” Tikki chirped, floating in front of her.

Marinette stared, not knowing what to say. Surely there should be some tearful reunion, right? Or perhaps shame or guilt?

But her mind was in one place.

“Tikki, spots on.”

Tikki had a millisecond to gasp before being sucked into the earrings.

The suit disconnected her from all the tubes and wires. The needles in her veins were forced out, the pads on her chest were peeled off. She ripped the mask off, finding it difficult to breathe again, but not eager to go back to sleep.

All resulting in alarms blaring.

Ladybug had to act quickly to find him. She pushed up, her arms trembling with the action. Her back twinged, as her torn flesh stretched and twisted.

By time she swung her legs over the side of the bed, the nurse appeared. A male nurse this time, roughly the same age as her father, and built like a fridge.

“Whoa there, little lady!” He rushed to her. “You can’t be getting up. Do you need to use the bathroom? We can get you a bedpan.”

She swatted him away, “don’t touch me!”

“What are you trying to do, Ladybug? Let me help you before you hurt yourself.”

“I’m going to see Chat! And you’re not going to stop me!” She glared at him, daring him to try to stop her.

He studied the intensity of her glare, and sighed. “Alright. Just relax a second, alright?”

She didn’t, but stopped trying to stand.

“My name is John, I’m the night shift nurse for you.”

She looked at him blankly.

“Now,” he took her hand gently. “I will take you to Adrien, but we have to do it the hospital way, okay? You don’t want to hurt yourself more, right? Chat wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

She softened at the tone. “You’ll take me to him?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I’ll take you to your husband.”

Husband.

So that wedding really was official after all? It hadn’t felt real. No one treated them like husband and wife. They were only treated like garbage.

Her shoulders relaxed, fist uncurled, jaw unclenched. “What’s the hospital way?” She asked.

“I’m going to get you a wheelchair. We’ll reconnect you to the IV, because you’ve got to get your fluids up. Then we’ll stay for a little while, but when it starts hurting too much, we’ll bring you back.”

“I can’t stay with him?”

John knelt in front of her, and held her hands tightly. “Ladybug, Adrien is in critical condition. He lost a lot of blood. We gave him a blood transfusion, but the rest is up to him. He needs constant surveillance.”

“Is…is he going to be okay?”

“I think so. He hasn’t passed yet.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“You were admitted four days ago. You’ve been in and out of sleep for the last two.”

She frowned, considering this. Finally, she relented. “Spots off.”

In a flash of pink, Marinette returned, and with her, more pain. She cried out, as John squeezed her hand.

“I’m going to go get that wheelchair, alright? Stay seated, please.” And he hurried out of the room.

Marinette rested her hands on her knees. Her very knobby, scabbed over knees. She wore thick socks, which made her stick legs look even smaller. She was covered in all sorts of cuts and bruises she hadn’t seen in the dark, and her right hand, which had been branded, was wrapped with thick gauze.

She dared not look in the mirror.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked, sadly.

“I’m sorry, Tikki,” was all she could say.

“You don’t need to apologize.” The kwami nuzzled against her cheek. “I’m just glad you’re safe now. Things are going to be weird, and you might be a little irrational. But that’s okay. I still love you.”

Marinette shuttered at the affection, reaching up to hold her against her cheek. “I love you too Tikki.”

John returned shortly, pushing a chair along. “Here we are.”

At his arrival, Marinette pushed against the mattress and tried to slide to the floor. But as her feet made contact, a sharp pain bolted up her legs and she moaned in pain.

“I gotcha,” John directed her to sit, not allowing her to stand for more than a second. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“What…what’s wrong with my legs?” She asked as the pain subsided.

“You have infection in both of your feet. From running around the catacombs for several hours with no shoes on.”

She hummed in understanding.

Carefully, John eased her into the foot rests. Then he had her hold out her arm so he could reattach the IV. “This is a saline solution, just to get your fluids up. You’re still pretty dehydrated.”

“I’m thirsty.” She admitted.

“I’ll get you some water in just a second, okay?”

Marinette couldn’t watch as he inserted the needle, but did look after he started to secure the tube for the IV. “Its…bizarre.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s…so strange to have you be nice to me. Like…I know you’re a nurse, and that you’re only trying to take care of me…”

“But you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, right?”

She nodded.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Marinette. I might boss you around a little, but I only have your best interests at heart.”

She decided to relax then, leaning back. Her back twinged with the movement. “Agh,” she hissed.

“When we get back, I’ll get you some pain killers.”

“…thank you.”

Marinette was escorted into the hall, and they almost immediately were stopped by a man in a white coat.

“John? What do you think you’re doing?” He spoke firmly, but calmly. “Miss Dupain-Cheng should not be out of bed.”

“She shouldn’t.” John agreed. “But I found that she is liable to hurt herself if she doesn’t see Mr. Agreste. She transformed.”

“Ah,” the doctor nodded, in understanding. Then he crouched so that Marinette didn’t have to crane her neck to look at him. “Hi Marinette, I’m Dr. Boucher. I’m the main physician for you and Adrien.”

She didn’t say anything, just studied him.

“I know you probably have a hard time trusting anyone right now, but I promise—“

“Stop wasting my time.” She bit, pain starting to creep into her body without the aid of painkillers. “I was promised to see Adrien.”

The doctor smirked. “Yes, of course my dear. John, I will relieve you, if you would go tell the parents where Marinette will be? I believe they are having dinner at the cafeteria right now.”

“Yes sir.”

“Thank you. I’ll meet you in ICU.” He took hold of the chair and started to push her towards the elevators.

“Are you sure I can’t stay with him?” Marinette whispered.

“No, my dear. I’m very sorry. I’ll take you to see him, but I’ll warn you that he looks very scary right now. A lot of tubes and wires all over him. But I promise it’s very his best interest.”

Marinette didn’t outwardly react, but she did feel saddened.

Over the years, Ladybug had seen Chat Noir die several times. Whether it was turning into something, vanishing completely, or hitting the side of a building too hard.

But after the cure, he always bounced back to his normal pun-loving self.

However, this was different. Of course it was. No kwami, no powers, no five minute alarms blaring in her ears. All of it was permanent. She knew that in her head.

But her heart didn’t want to see his scars.

Dr. Boucher wheeled her to an elevator, and then pressed the button for the ground floor. The back wall of the elevator was a window that looked out into the courtyard. In the night, she could look across the yard to a set of large windows, showing the cafeteria, busy with people.

The elevator came to rest, and she was led into the hall.

This was a very nice hospital, with art and sculpture along the walls. As they passed various rooms, nurses and doctors alike spotted her and stared as she went.

“They’re looking at me.” She told the doctor.

“They mean no harm.” He assured. “You should know that you and Adrien are the biggest topic of conversation in Paris right now. Everyone is curious to hear how you are.”

“It’s none of their business,” She bit.

“It’s not.” He confirmed. “But…that woman made it everyone’s business. They just want a happy ending.”

Marinette gripped the armrests. “So do I.”

“Recovery won’t be easy, but you have a wonderful support network. And I have several therapists for you both to utilize. That should make it easier for you.”

Marinette didn’t respond, only digested the information given.

Before too long, they arrived at a room in ICU, being guarded with a police officer. He frowned when he saw Marinette.

“I’d like to see Adrien.” She said sternly.

The man just looked at the doctor. “Far be it from me to stop this…but she should be up?”

“It’s only for a visit. It’s alright.”

The man nodded, and allowed them in.

Marinette’s eyes immediately fell on the figure in the bed. He was barely visible under all the tubes and wires, and bandages. He was leaning to his left, propped up with pillows, so he wasn’t resting flat on his back. She could see his bruised eyes, as his face had a heavy mask strapped to it. Some stray locks of hair stuck out from the strap that led over the top of his head. His left hand had a tube taped to it and a oximeter clamped on his finger. A blanket was pulled up to his sternum, making his chest visible, but it was covered in pads and wires, as well as the tubes that ran into his mask. Under all that was a thick gauze right in the middle of his breast bone, taped on all sides. His right arm, which had been dislocated, was in a sling, resting against his stomach. His hand, wrapped in gauze, rested on top of a Ladybug doll, the one she had made herself. Plagg rested in the crook of his wrist.

“Adrien?”

“He’s sedated right now, which is for the best. He’s intubated so he can breathe better. It would be painful if he was awake.”

“Bring me closer.”

“Please don’t move him.”

Marinette reached out and rested her hand on his wrist, careful not to accidentally nudge his arm. Her thumb rubbed over the frigid skin, trying to give him some heat.

Plagg awoke at the movement, flicking his eyes up. Many hands had come and gone in the few hours he and Gabriel had finally been allowed to see Adrien. Ever watchful, he took note of the nurses, and what they were doing, what they were checking, applying.

But seeing Marinette had confused him for a moment, because he hadn’t recognized her immediately.

But then he saw Tikki on her lap.

“Pigtails?”

“Hi Plagg,” though there wasn’t much warmth in the greeting. She did scratch him between the ears with her finger. He only looked at her sadly.

“He’s cold.” She told the doctor.

“I can get him another blanket.” He stated as he moved from behind her. “Stay put.”

She studied Adrien’s eyes, closed to slumber, but twitching slightly. The ECG graphed his steady heart beat, and the ventilator pumped air at a calm rate. Yes, he looked scary right now, but admittedly, he looked better than he had in the hell hole. He looked peaceful, comfortable, and not at all like he was fighting for his life, though he very obviously still was.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to that sliver of skin. “I’m right here, Kitty. I want to stay with you, but I’m not allowed to.” She wiped a gentle tear from her eye. “But I think we’ll be together soon. Once you’re healed enough. So get better soon, please.”

Tikki floated from Marinette’s lap and hovered over him. “Plagg? Where’s the worst injury?”

“…I don’t know.” Said the kwami. “It’s…it’s all pretty bad.”

“Probably his back.” Provided Marinette. “It was right…right down to the bone.”

Tikki nodded and flew over to his other side. Very gently, she nuzzled into his spine.

Adrien’s eyes twitched more, before they settled.

“It probably didn’t do much,” Tikki stated. “But it will help.”

“Would it help if you stayed with him?”

“He’d have to wear the earrings to get any benefits from me.” She looked meaningfully to his ears, which were bright red in most spots, while the top of his left ear was gone, stitches in place. “I don’t thing we should attempt that now.”

Marinette moaned, feeling helpless.

But Plagg wouldn’t stand it. “Hey, I’ve got some healing properties too, you know!” He floated into her face and nuzzled against her cheek, purring. The sound reverberated into her skin, her sinuses, her skull, her spine…she felt a little better. “I just have to keep purring. So tell someone to make sure I’m properly fed with cheese.”

“Oh Plagg…I will. I absolutely will.” Her voice filled with emotion.

“Oh kid…don’t cry. I’m just trying to keep things light.”

Doctor Boucher had returned to the room, but stayed in the doorway, watching with curiosity but privacy. When he noticed Marinette’s tears, he approached her. “How is your pain?”

“I’m not ready to leave yet.” She answered by deflecting.

“Okay. Just let me know.” He unfurled the blanket he’d fetched, and carefully started to drape it over Adrien’s legs. “His hands are cold.” She argued.

“That’s normal for someone with blood loss. Though he’s had a transfusion and should be alright now, he’s not moving, so his circulation isn’t very good.”

“But he’s cold. Can’t you cover him?”

“Not just yet. You can hold his hand though. Just watch the bandages.”

Marinette said nothing, just held his fingers a little tighter.

She wanted to climb up on the bed with him, snuggle up under his chin, and press delicate kisses to his cheek. But hearing that it would be bad for him stopped her from just ignoring everyone and embracing him.

This wasn’t fair.

“When do you think he’ll wake up?”

Dr. Boucher sighed. “We’ll keep him sedated a week, at least. Maybe more. We will bring him out of sedation for about an hour a day, but the goal is to keep his anxiety reduced, especially while he’s on the ventilator.”

“So I won’t be allowed to see him.” Marinette finished.

“Unfortunately, no. His father and Plagg will be here for him, though.”

It was then that Marinette realized that Adrien wasn’t wearing his Miraculous. “Plagg, where’s the ring?”

“Gabriel has it.”

“Shouldn’t Adrien be wearing it?”

“You’ll have to forgive me, Marinette.” Said the doctor. “I’m the one that suggested he not give it back to him just yet. I worried that Adrien might try to transform at the first chance he was given. And given that you did, my theory is correct.”

Marinette sighed, hating that she had been caught.

“You’re not in trouble, and we don’t blame you for doing it.” The doctor clarified. “We just can’t have either of you doing that. It won’t help.”

“I understand.” She rubbed her thumb over Adrien’s knuckles. “Thank you for letting me see him. I’ve been worried.”

“Of course. What’s your pain level?”

“Just a little longer, please.”

“Alright.”

It was then that nurse John came, accompanied by her parents, and a disheveled homeless man.

“Marinette! You shouldn’t be out of bed!” Her mother scolded.

“She knows.” Said Dr. Boucher. “But this is necessary to keep her calm. I’m watching her.”

The nurse brought over a styrofoam cup with a bendy straw. “Here you are, Marinette.”

“Thank you.” She said, taking it skeptically.

Everyone watched as she popped the lid, shook the ice around, and smelled it. Then she sipped a little bit through the straw. At the relaxed look on her face, it was obvious she found the water to be clean. She popped the lid back on and sucked more down. “This is really good.”

“It’s just water,” said Sabine, eyes watering.

“It tastes good.”

The disheveled homeless man spoke. “I’m so glad to see you awake, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I hadn’t get to check in on you since you were loaded into the ambulance.”

She hunched her shoulders. “Who are you?”

He chuckled weakly, rubbing a hand over his short beard. “I’ll admit I look pretty bad. But I didn’t realize I was unrecognizable.”

“It’s the beard, Gabriel.” Said Sabine. “It suits you though.”

“Gabriel? Gabriel Agreste?”

“Who else would be here with Adrien?”

She frowned. “Don’t know. Anyone else. Nathalie? The Gorilla? Never like you supported him before.”

“Marinette…” Sabine chastised, horrified at her behavior.

But the Marinette from the torture chamber was not known for kindness or tact. She didn’t flinch at her mother’s rebuke.

“I suppose I deserve that.” Gabriel said sadly. “Plagg has informed me that I…I may be a sociopath. This was something I wasn’t aware of before. I’m trying to improve my behavior. I’m sorry if you felt like I neglected Adrien. Things are going to be different now.”

Marinette cast her eyes over to Adrien, to her husband. “A shame this had to happen for you to see that.”

“Marinette!” Sabine exasperated.

Marinette winced, as a headache started to grow, and her wounds ached.

“I think it’s time we got you back.” Said Dr. Boucher. “We’ll get you some dinner too, hm?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Do you think you could choke down some soup? You really need to eat something.”

“I said I’m not hungry!” She barked, triggering a coughing fit. The doctor simply rubbed her back as she rode it out. After it subsided, she sobbed. “I don’t want to leave him!”

The doctor crouched at her side. “Marinette, I promise you, Adrien’s not leaving this hospital without you. He’s safe. You’re safe. It’ll only be for a little while, and then we’ll put you in the same room together. Okay?”

She glared at him.

“But you’re making yourself worse by staying here like this. You’re so brave, and so smart…but let me take care of you for a little while, okay?”

A few more tears leaked out. “It hurts.”

“Then let’s get you back upstairs, and we’ll give you pain killers, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Thats a good girl!” He smiled.

#longest night #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #chat noir #fanfiction #ml #adrienette #adrinette #ladynoir

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monsterkingdom · 5 years

Text

Heya! welcome to the masterpost I’m making to keep track of how I view my Wandersong AU that I’ve dubbed

Eya-Born

Read below!

Concept

The concept of this AU is very simple! Kiwi -- our Bard-- is a being made directly from Eya. That is to say, they are basically a demi-god.

When setting up to finally have the passing of the Universe -- Singing her song again-- Many know of the Hero who is sent to usher out this task within its final moments.

What if, before even that prophetic dream and entities start truly deteriorating-- She made a being to also challenge the idea with the knowledge of the ever so elusive Earthsong. That’s where this AU comes in!

Beginning

Eya created a being to see how much the world truly is in disarray and attempt to remedy it in their own way. A being free from fate. Free-will was her emphasis... as well as her attunement to magic-- which by default meant music.

They were sent to the Earth the Wandersong Universe knows... Specifically to a woman living in a city in the midst of industrial change. Riddled with loneliness due to a husband who got too into his work and guilt.

Seeing such an ailed child on her doorstep, a scenario one only hears in fairytales... She took the child in wholeheartedly, worrying who would leave them in such a state. After searching for the origins to no avail, she decided to raise them as her own.

Under the name Jack. Named after the fabled protagonist of many fairytales and rhymes... it seemed fitting based on their circumstances.

And thus, begins the bard’s life.. full of normality in every sense of the word.

....almost every sense of the word.

The magical properties of their music were always something they grew up with. Though, it didn’t do too much... Their mother assumed that the child was most likely part witch. As simple as that.

As least... as simple as trying to mask their child’s slightly pink tinged hair with several different hats upon growing up. Thankfully, Chismest was starting its headstrong course on being perpetually cold and gloomy by the bard’s early years and being bundled up was definitely inevitable indoors and out.

Cutting forward to the events of Wandersong, many of everything ended up panning out the same. The prophetic dreams, ghastly encounters, universal fates amounting to nothing, so on and so forth...

The not-so-Earthsong was sung. The world was saved... the zip and zap from the dreamtower was done and the dialogue with Eya congratulating them begins. However... as she starts prepping to send them off. A rumble occurs... the clouds separate and palms grasp the platform the three of them stand on.

Reunion

(now please enjoy this minor comic I did half a year ago)

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(ok end back to writing)

Kiwi then began-- as Eyala once put it-- “vicariously feeling Eya’s love through everything in the world” (paraphrasing this btw)

However, there’s... quite a lot of love to feel. Especially when you’re not used to it. That happiness... that joy... starts feeling a bit weird when you can’t turn it off.

Needless to day Kiwi didn’t adapt well.

Though... Eya, in all her overseeing capabilities... seemed to have a detached reaction to the whole situation.

“Oh fine fine...” she waved her hand slightly... the hue in Kiwi’s face settling a bit, though their face still bore an expression that showed they were still under some of the emotional weight of the whole thing.

“I suppose it is a bit much all at once... You’d probably be better off having it opened but unleashed through your own discoveries.”

Before Miriam could question further, the goddess’ gaze shifted to that of her Angelic assistance, who was watching the whole thing rather speechlessly.

“Eyala, dearest...” the melodic voice of Eya’s godly tones spooled out toward her, “I’m putting you in charge of guiding them through the basics.”

“M-Me, Eya?” She hesitantly replied, “I mean... of course!” she sputtered out.

“Eeeeeeexcellent” she chimed, “We can see they’re already experiencing increased empathy... maybe in due time they’ll be able to discover their other properties. The bard may excel beyond your basic prowess later on, Eyala, but your knowledge is a wonderful base for the poor dear...”

Eyala wordlessly nodded, clearly not about to speak up about the whole ordeal Kiwi had gone through in front of the goddess herself,

“In any case... I am greatly pleased with your performance, child. As a reminder, this is my gift to you. The locks are now undone... all that is needed is for you to learn. Maybe then you’ll be ready to take it in this way.” she smiled, eye crinkling with pleasure as Miriam helped Kiwi to their feet,

“Eyala will assist you in any way she can... She’ll probably teach you how to contact her with ease after this. However, I must leave you now... re-establishing the universe that was saved and all” she chuckled about it, hair slowly enveloping her face before she began receding into the clouds once more.

The godly presence left in an instant, leaving the trio to stand bewildered on the platform once more.

“So...” Eyala began.

“...Is she... normally like that?” Kiwi wheezed out, finally gathering their bearings.

“Yeah... she didn’t sound empathetic like the tales blab about her being.”

Eyala frowned at the two of them and clapsed her hands together, “She tries her best... but, she doesn’t get to experience things as much as she used to. Though, her love for everything is still here...”

The angel sighed and floats closer to Kiwi, holding their face slightly. A bit more tenderly than the goddess did to them previously,

“We’re gonna make this easier for you, lil’ B. I promise.”

Learning

Kiwi-- being a direct piece of Eya as opposed to a simple messenger like Eyala-- had a lot more going for them in terms of connections to things. As someone who normally was pretty darn good at burying their feelings into the dirt, suddenly feeling a good amount of what everything else did along with their own weird doubts was quite a bunch to take in.

They went through with their hellos and good-byes, keeping their misty tears in as best they could. They met up with their mother during... trying desperately to hold their tongue as she rambled on about their ‘long lost’ father finally come home... hoping all of them could live normal again. That they could be normal.

They were whisked home in the late evening after staying with Miriam for dinner... holding her closer than ever in their ever-so-tired arms... before letting her drift into the night sky and drift to their bed.

Only to be unable to sleep due to all the sudden emotions they felt. Realizing... ever suddenly.. a lot of them were from the people they interacted with. It was like having thousands of voices and waves of feelings hit you in a chaotic, nonsensical cacophony. It all felt like static, their brain muddled with thoughts not quite their own. They shook their head and for the first time in a while... they cried.

They felt the immense weight of these feelings drag down their face, the tears building and washing over their cheeks relentlessly. They couldn’t tell if they were happy, scared, or sad. Or if it was even them that felt this way.

A hand touched their shoulder, a familiar glow next to them. Kiwi needn’t even look to know it was Eyala again. checking in on them, most likely.

“Hey... Lil’ B.” her voice whispered, “I know it’s... a lot. You’re being left on a pretty bad note.” Kiwi turned,, face still full of tears and their voice caught in their throat from.. well... everything. They simply nodded in agreement.

Even Eyala could see the visible strain on Kiwi’s face.. and very well knew the reason why, “ Here. Let’s start with this instead... and I can help with the contact stuff tomorrow. We gotta help you filter this all out.” She held their hands in hers, rubbing their palms with her thumbs, “Just... focus on me. Okay? It helps to have something to think about other than people... “

Kiwi nodded... and looked Eyala over. Her hair effortlessly floating behind her in its usual ever-shifting hue... her smile, small, but visible. They could read the concern on her despite having most visible features omitted... Eyala was good at that. Expressing herself through motion and all. It reminded Kiwi of themself.

Without realizing it-- they found their head suddenly empty... well. mostly. There was still that static tingle in the back of their head. Near their neck, it felt. Almost like forgetting something important... but they pushed it down. Much like anything else they felt in the past... and let out a shaky sigh.

“That better...?”

Kiwi nodded again, looking at their hand for a sense of stability now.

It glowed... not much but. It was just a tinge... ever slightly lighter than the darkness surrounding them and Eyala, “So...” they scratchily started, “I’m really...”

“A real child of Eya. Not just in... like... a collective universe sense. Yeah.”

“Wow...”

--WIP ATM BC BED--

#BIG HECKIN WIP!!!!#Im not tagging until IM DONE DANGIT

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becca-becky · 4 years

Text

Accepting Duplicity, Part 2/2: Can Selfishness Be Good?

Relationships: Janus & Everyone, basically

Summary: A 'what if' scenario: what if Janus took Virgil's role as the first Dark Side to try and interact with the Light Sides? (just imagine every episode pre-AA that had Virgil in it and just imagine if Janus was there instead of Virgil)

Notes: Janus's title is Duplicity, but his nickname is Vill, short for Villain because he dresses like a disney villain (original, I know). This entire thing is just if SvS, Putting Others First, and Can Lying Be Good had a baby and it was AA Part 2

Words: 3633

Also on Ao3!

*+*+^+*+*

When Janus woke up today, he was not planning on encountering the others in his room. And no, he wasn't speaking backward this time.

"Excuse me," He said with a smooth voice before appearing in his usual capelet and hat, "What are you doing in my room?" He sneered.

The others just screamed at the sight of him. Figures.

"Vill? Oh my goodness, I am so happy to see you, that's weird," Thomas said excitedly.

Janus blinked before slowly saying, "All of you just didn't scream in unison upon seeing me,"

"S-sorry," Logan stuttered out, uncharacteristically nervous, "You do this thing where you kind of just- appear ,"

"Wait, wait, wait, what is going on with my hair? Oh, come on, I just washed it like- yesterday. How did it get like this?" Thomas whined as he took off his hoodie and tried to fix his nest of a head.

Roman brightened and threw a hairbrush at him. "Welcome back, Thomas!”

"Thanks, Roman," Thomas quickly tidied up his hair and threw it back. Roman let put an 'ow' as Thomas went back to the task at hand, "Vill, you don't understand-"

"-come on-" Roman muttered.

"-for some reason, I wasn't feeling your presence at all,"

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware," Janus said idly, "It's because I wanted to- test something, you could say. Although a more proper term for my disappearance would be 'ducking out',"

"Quack," Patton mumbled.

"What- ducking out?"

"Quack, quack,"

"That's a thing you can do?" Thomas asked Logan, who muttered back: "For this video, I guess,"

"I decided to try and remove myself from the equation for the time being, since all of you seemed so adamant that my presence wasn't welcome or necessary,"

"Well, I wouldn't-" Patton started to say before he could only mouth the movements of speech. The poor dear was telling a lie.

Janus shot a sympathetic look his way, "Don't act like I'm not telling the truth, Morality,"

Patton shut his mouth.

"Well, it's because it was kind of unnecessary for you to be there during Thomas's problem solving," Roman said, a grimace set on his face.

Janus snorted, "Oh, what, I'm not allowed to be here but you, Mr. Hopes, Dreams, and Aspirations himself, are?"

"We aren't the same-"

"Noooo, of course not, especially since we both encompass what Thomas's wants and needs in life. Definitely not,"

Roman frowned and began to open his mouth.

Logan interjected, anticipating another argument, "On behalf of my fellow sides, I'd like to... apologize for our negligence towards our treatment of you. I can't imagine it was pleasant,"

Janus sighed, "It comes with the job,"

"But, I truly don't think any of us anticipated how important you are, Duplicity," Logan said earnestly. Roman and Patton gave him a look but he just gave them one of his own, daring them to argue.

Roman sighed, and nodded reluctantly, "Without you, Thomas didn't want to do anything except for work and he couldn't even put on a show for the camera despite that! He just said whatever came into his head and he had a nonexistent filter for everything. It really made me feel bad because then it was like I was useless-" Roman slapped his hand on his mouth and chuckled nervously.

Logan paused before continuing for him, "Precisely, Vill, you encompass so much more than Thomas's selfishness and deceit. You exist to keep him safe,"

"I mean, self-preservation is basically the only reason I'm here," Janus mumbled, "But I'm glad you see my purpose, Logan,"

"B-but," Patton stumbled, "I mean, I get why he’s important, but he’s still not- like us..?" He tried to say in the most polite way possible.

Janus smiled at that, "And why should I, Patton?"

"Say what?"

"Why should I be like you?" Janus reiterated, "And how am I different than you or any other side?"

"O-oh, because lying isn't- it's not, uh, I mean-"

"Tell me, Patton,"

"Because lying isn't good," Patton spit out, his frustration and adamancy clear in his tone, before putting his hands on his mouth in shock, "I- I'm sorry, I don't understand what came over-"

Janus waved his gloved hand, pretending like his statement didn't hurt him, "Don't soften the truth, Patton, we both know it only makes things worse. And to answer your -to be frank- incorrect statement, I'll say this: how can you be so sure that lying isn't bad? And what makes you or any of the others ‘better’ than me?"

"Because you aren't being honest and the others aren’t- you know, bad?"

"And how is that a bad thing, and what makes the others good?"

"Because it's- it's not- it's not ethically right, first of all, and second, there’s nothing- ethically compromising about these two,"

"And how can you be so sure?"

"Well, um, look. How would you feel if someone lied to your face about something that they didn't have to lie about and you trusted that person?"

"I'd feel hurt," Janus said curtly, already understanding where this was heading.

"And that's because you trust them to tell you things that aren't lies because you trust them to not break your trust," Patton rattled off, moving his hands around aimlessly.

"Okay, those are way too many 'trust's in one sentence," Roman said, cradling his head in his palms like he was getting a headache.

Janus ignored him, "That's only one scenario, Patton. What if you had to tell the truth about a hamster's death to a child? Would you lie to them and simply say that 'your hamster ran away' or something more comforting? Or would you tell them the blunt truth? That their hamster is gone and won't ever come back to them? And you’re still not answering my question, Morality, what do the others have that I don’t that makes them ‘good’?"

"W-well-"

"Patton, just hear me out on this. What if not all actions have the same moral consequence in different situations as moral philosopher Jonathan Dancy says? I’m paraphrasing here- but he said it's truly impossible to quantify the ethical weight of moral principles since situations can be so different from each other for many different reasons. So, curiosity during a rather morbid experience and continuously probing the people who experienced it isn’t exactly ethically right in that specific situation. Or let’s say pride; you got a callback for an audition for a- um-"

“-an Alfred Hitchcoppalucas film-!”

“-yes, that, but your friend -who also auditioned- didn’t get the callback. Now, it’s fine to feel pride in your accomplishments but you don’t just shove it in their face, because that’s just needlessly cruel. It’s all in the matter of how far you go with it,”

"Yes, but that still leaves the fact that at least lying for selfish reasons isn't the most- morally decent thing to do-" Patton argued.

"That's you making your own judgment call. Surely you know when it's necessary, to tell the truth in a situation and when it isn't? That's the whole point of moral particularism. I'm just trying to say that lying isn't the most black and white thing to do. And even then, morals aren't black and white and shouldn't be perceived as such, since morality is more of a- spectrum of grays,"

Roman snorted, "Are there 50 shades-?" He was quickly shut up by Janus with a snap of his fingers.

"Those grays vary in shades of light and dark, but they're all the same color, and that's the mindset you should have as a figment of morality simply because life isn't simple. It gets more and more complicated as it goes on. People are never truly evil or good, it's only dramatization and opinions that shape people's perception of them. Sure, there are some people who are the darkest shades of gray imaginable and some who have shades that are so light they're white, but that suddenly doesn’t make them incapable of doing good or bad. And that's why I'm here,"

"To darken Thomas's shade of gray?" Patton muttered, confused, continuously shifting his eyes between Janus and Thomas.

"No," Janus quickly said, "No, definitely not. I'm here to-"

"-show that I have a capacity for deceit, among other things," Thomas finished for him.

Patton gasped, "Kiddo..."

"Patton, Vill isn't that bad. He really isn't, or at least, he really can't be. If he was, then I would've been better off without him a few hours ago,"

Patton looked at the floor, "But Thomas, he's still-"

"We're all capable of doing bad as well as good in life, Pat," Thomas said softly. "You know that, I know that, so why are we fighting it?"

"I just want you to be a good person," Patton whispered

"And I just want to keep him safe," Janus said. Patton looked up at him, a small frown on his face. "I know you don't like me, and I know you certainly won't try and do so today or tomorrow. But- but at least trust that I want what's good for Thomas as well. I'm self-preservation, for Christ sake, I'd be going against my job description,"

"Well, then why do you always act like the embodiment of a Disney Renaissance villain all the time?" Roman blurted out.

"Roman?" Thomas asked tensely, but Roman soldiered on, rambling incessantly like if he won’t get his thoughts out on Janus now, he won’t have another opportunity later.

"What? He's a creepy cookie! You're a creepy cookie, Duplicity!"

"Roman!" Thomas repeated.

"You're like an oatmeal raisin cookie that's primarily composed of raisins, no one wants that, least of all-!"

"Pump the breaks, Princey!" Thomas said.

Roman's eyes widened like he was somehow realizing, just now, that he said all of that, "I- I'm sorry," He placed his hands on his face in embarrassment.

"You pump those breaks,"

"I'm sorry, I just- I'm feeling a bit more truthful? Just getting all of my thoughts out there, I'm-"

"Take it easy, Roman," Janus warned.

Roman groaned into his palms once more. “Ye-yeah, I got that,”

"But to answer your rather blunt question, I was under Vi-" Janus halted before continuing as though he didn't pause his sentence, "-the belief that a dark persona would help you listen to me, that maybe if I played the villain, you- you'd listen to me. But gradually, I realized that perhaps it wasn't working as I anticipated," Janus said sheepishly. "So, I needed a bit of a break from that whole spiel to attempt and- reinvent myself, you could say. I wasn't planning on leaving you for so long, and I -maybe, possibly- thought you would enjoy the lack of my presence,"

Roman snorted, "Look how well that-" He quickly shut his mouth with one look from Thomas.

A silence passed. It was stifling and Janus was about to ask if he could go back up to his bedroom so he could be actually comfortable but Logan spoke up before he could do so.

"Well, that sounded monumentally unwise and incredibly out of character for you, Duplicity,"

Janus growled, "What? Is the embodiment of selfishness not allowed to take a break?"

"Vill, you are an incredibly important survival instinct, and it's astounding that you don't realize that, even with you saying you understand your purpose," Logan sighed, "I realize that we have undermined your presence more times than Roman can count-"

"-hey-!"

"-but you simply must understand that without you around, Thomas would suffer," Logan summoned a graph and marker and gestured to the title. "The relationship between selfishness and performance can be expressed on this curve, known as the Yerkes-Dodson curve. It's named after the psychologists, R. M. Yerkes and J. D. Dodson. They-"

"Get on with it, Calculator Watch!"

Logan frowned, hurt flashing in his eyes as he reluctantly continued. He didn't even seem to realize it. Janus tensed. His room was beginning to take a bigger hold on them than he envisioned.

"Up here is where you want to be-" Logan gestured to the point of the parabola, "-the optimum degree of constructive tension. Yes, too much selfishness pushes us to this side of the curve, and performance is hindered, which is less than ideal. But without you at all, Thomas is not just on this more overworked, under prepared side of the graph which is also not ideal when you're trying to get things done. He's all the way down here,"

"By the horn of a unicorn, that was going somewhere! I thought I'd have to drag our attention away from that stupid graph like it's somehow more important than me because my self-worth is incredibly poor and I just want someone to-" Roman slapped his hands over his mouth, flashing Janus a grateful look.

Janus stared at him with wide eyes but turned his focus back to Logan, "So, without me, aren't you always on the other side of that- um-"

"Yerkes-Dodson curve, yes," Logan ended for him.

"I was blanking on the word 'parabola', but that works as well,"

"There are ways I can work on that, Vill. But I'd rather work on it with you than without you at all," Thomas said earnestly.

"I doubt you can guarantee that with Morality around," Janus said softly, stealing a glance at the side in question, who just looked down ashamedly.

"We can all work on that, Vill," Thomas amended. "It's important because you need to be listened to. You're an important part of me -all of you are- but I need to recognize how much you need to control for me to function well. You're kind of like Roman, in that sense,"

"Well, we're both multi-faceted and we do encompass a lot of your wants and needs," Janus muttered.

Logan added on, "You're what holds Thomas back from overworking himself, you're there as a protective instinct first-"

"-and you're there to make sure Thomas gets what he wants!" Patton exclaimed, startling Logan.

Patton noticed Logan's stiff form and wide eyes and quickly apologized. "Sorry, was that too loud? I was worried I wouldn't get another chance to speak and I wanted to share my thoughts before I forgot them if Vill went on another-" Patton shut his mouth and didn't continue, however, did shoot Janus a thankful look, who reciprocated it with a concerned look of his own.

"Duplicity," Janus looked to Thomas, "In small doses, you're what encourages me to treat myself a bit when I've gotten a lot of work done. To take extra time with my appearance so I'll like who I see in the mirror, and to know when enough is enough. I- I'm lucky to have you the way I do,"

"Agreed, constant narcissism isn't pleasant for others around you, nor is it healthy for your mental health if it continues to the point of a lack of empathy," Logan said, not noticing Patton and Janus's flinch. "Whether it's a symptom of a different issue, or a narcissistic disorder, or the unfortunate result of something someone is going through,"

"And I don't want to downplay any of that, but I think maybe I could benefit from trying to hear you more,"

"And I'm grateful for that, but that doesn't-" Patton cut Janus off.

"Vill, you're what helps make Thomas happy. You're the- encouragement he needs to go out and do something for himself, like getting a hot dog or a new Frogger game. And that small action, even if it isn't much, makes me grateful for you. I- I never truly realized how happy you made me whenever you encouraged Thomas to get something he wants or to take a break from studying or practicing. And I think that's as good a sign as any that you're willing to help Thomas, even if it's through small gestures. And that happiness, that drive, makes us... better," Patton said before bursting into tears, starting to ramble.

"I- I'm so sorry, I thought you were the worst person ever and now it’s like I’m confronting these two different versions of you and I just feel really sad all the time and it's not because of you, I just keep acting all happy and hoping that the bad thoughts'll just go away-"

"-I still think that curve is useless, Logan, I can easily just poof it away and then we can focus on something actually important like me because I have an incredibly small ego and I just think that our time would be better spent-"

"-well, first off, it's called a Yerkes-Dodson curve and second of all, this is the episode where I finally got listened to and now you're starting to complain? It's almost like no matter how hard I try, you never listen and just argue with me even if I’m trying to help-!"

The three lapsed into separate, overlapping arguments, venting about all of their issues and letting their emotions cloud their filters. Janus winced, "Uh, oh..."

"Uh, what the heck is going on?"

"These three have been in my room for far too long and now they can't handle the... effects of staying here for this amount of time,"

"And what are those effects?" Thomas practically yelled, trying to be heard over the three venting sides.

"Saying whatever is on your mind in full honesty and with all of the emotional clarity without thinking of the consequences. And in combination with that , they’re driving you far over the other end of that parabola, not realizing or caring about what the others are saying and simply caring about airing their frustrations to nobody in the hopes that someone will hear and listen to them,"

"What?!"

"Hold on. We're getting them all out of here. Thomas, do not forget what you've learned. Now, think of truths. Not facts, per se, just things you personally know to be true about yourself or the world around you,"

Thomas took a deep breath, trying to ignore the yells, insults, and crying and just focused on himself. "I like cats, the sky is blue, musical theatre is really important to me-" He continued listing things off as Janus sank the gradually quieting group back down to the living room.

The group popped back up again and Janus began to scold them, "Well, that was an incredibly idiotic thing you all did, but I wish I could say I was surprised,"

Roman looked at Janus, astonished, "You... rescued me,"

"I wouldn't say rescue, but I am self-preservation and you were airing out problems I had a feeling would be too… personal for us to discuss at the moment," Janus amended.

"Incredibly right, just as you keep Thomas away from joyless and unwanted situations, you also enable him to find an escape out of them," Logan said.

"Thanks, Vill," Patton said, his tear marks glistening on his face.

Janus felt his human side flush at the praise and waved his hand, "No big deal, Patton. But I still find it hard to believe you all went through that for- for me,"

Thomas smiled, "It was worth it to regain my good ol' self-care,"

"That's right and just like you saved us, it's the cautious people that work that hardest to save others and themselves from harm, whether it be mental or physical. Sometimes it's better for a society to preserve itself than be needlessly selfless," Logan added on.

"I'm glad to have you back, Duplicity, and I promise to make sure you feel listened to and strive for a better balance from here on out," Thomas's gaze refocused on the camera, "And to all of you out there-"

"Wait," Janus found himself saying. "Good lord, I might actually be considering it,"

"What?"

"If you truly want to strive to make me feel listened to, I- I'd like it to be halfway,"

"What do mean by that-?" Roman started but quickly cut himself off as Janus began to take off his glove.

"I know this might feel... unnecessary but I would still like to be on an even playing field with you all, even if it makes me a bit uncomfortable," Janus explained haltingly, flexing his fingers experimentally.

"Oh, Vill, you don't have to if you don't want to," Patton said, concern laced in between his words. The others nodded along with him, clearly in the same boat. But Janus lifted his bare hand, motioning them to silence.

Patton quieted, staring at him with a furrow in his brow.

He took a deep breath and held up his right hand right by his face, as though he was under oath.

"My- my name is Janus," He stated before quickly flicking his eyes at everyone's expressions and putting back on his glove, ignoring the clear shock and confusion from the others.

"J-Janice?" Roman snorted.

Patton and Logan glared at him. "Why's that so funny?" Thomas said with an edge in his voice.

"W-well-" Roman noticed the flash of hurt that passed through Janus's eyes and changed his answer, "-because, um, it's... not,"

Patton hummed, "It's not what I was expecting, to be honest, but I like it!" He commented brightly.

"The name comes from Roman mythology, correct?" Logan asked. Janus nodded, too stunned by the positivity to respond.

"It was... unexpected-" Roman said, shifting his weight on his feet, "-but it must have taken a lot of trust to tell us that... Janus."

Janus gave him a slight smile as Thomas began saying his pre-end card monologue. Something about learning new things about yourself and how the 'bad' things about yourself can have pros about them at times.

In truth, he wasn't paying much attention, he was busy being confused over the warm fuzzy feeling in his chest that came after the fact.

Oh god, did he have a lot to tell Virgil and Remus.

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