#HE GETS YOU HIGH AS FECK BOI
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Ok but after getting home from the gala he needs extra kissies from Viktor 🥺🥺🥺 he is just so tired of playing pretty boy for research money
So sorry this one took so long to answer, but this one is just too good, it deserved a ficlet too!! (This is in reference to this ask about Crystal Rose Jayce.)
Fic is not explicit, but it is suggestive as feck.
Crystal Veneer
Jayce didn’t mean to take his anger out on the door to the lab—the concussive bang echoing through the wide-open space like a gunshot as he kicked it inward with so much force it slammed into the wall and dented it. But the stress of the evening had just been building and building and building like a flame with infinite fuels, and he just had to let it out.
Galas. Parties. Schmoozing with the most conceited and stuck-up bureaucrats Piltover had to offer, and all just so his research could continue. It was a vicious circle, an Ouroboros of depressing proportions—have idea, need funding, kiss asses, get funding, execute idea, repeat ad nauseam. There was no getting ahead of it either, because there was never enough—he’d always end up supplementing the funds with his own when he inevitably depleted it all in the process. So there was never excess, never a little bit to put away to kickstart the next project.
And he was fairly certain they all wanted it that way—the idea of him having free rein with his own time and research scared them. They didn’t want to be left behind. So instead they kept him on an ever-tightening leash so that they could all slap their names next to his on anything and everything he invented. So that no idea was singular, nothing belonged to him—in the end, everything he made belonged to his investors. He was just a veneer on top so that it would sell.
He grumbled to himself as he bit at the middle finger of his left glove, ripping it off with his teeth and tossing it onto his desk as the evening played out in his head—the fake smiles, the rigid posture he’d had to hold that now had his shoulder blades burning. The scattered conversations and gossip about him, as if he wasn’t standing right there. Calling him ‘Golden Boy’ and ‘Defender’ and ‘Man of Progress’ in tones that suggested he was nothing more than that—their little trophy they could hold up high when they needed something to brag about. So many monikers, and yet he was fairly certain some of them had forgotten his actual name at this point.
It was a heavy, raucous clang, clang, clang like rotary chains that startled Jayce from his brooding. The sound echoed from the far corner of the lab, eerie and haunting, and he frantically spun around to meet it—raising the Mercury Hammer and yanking on the trigger to open the hammerhead and charge it.
The source of the sound was immediately clear as the azure glow of the hammer illuminated the space—Viktor, the Machine Herald himself, dramatically clapping his metal hands together and meandering in from the shadows.
“Bravo, Defender,” he drawled, punctuating it with one more slow, metallic clap of his hands. “I’ve seen whores give more convincing performances.”
Jayce released a long, annoyed sigh; letting the hammer droop in his hold as he rolled his eyes and turned back to face his desk. He didn’t typically turn his back on Viktor, especially when he didn’t yet know what kind of mood his old friend was in, but… after the night he’d had? He would honestly welcome the Hexclaw blow to his spine. At least he would finally feel something, even if it was for target practice.
“The fuck do you want, V? I’m really not in the mood,” he snapped, unceremoniously tossing the hammer down to thunder onto the floor. He wouldn’t typically do that either, relinquish his only weapon, but he couldn’t bear its weight anymore. He’d been carrying it all night; just another prop for the partygoers to ogle. A prop held by a prop—bit on the nose, if you asked him. But then again… no one typically did.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Viktor deadpanned back, and Jayce could hear the reverb of those metal boot heels hitting stone as he took a few steps closer. “You got your funding, didn’t you? That’s what matters—so you had to prance around like a pretty peacock for their enjoyment to get it… mm. Let’s face it, you’ve always been good at that part, haven’t you Defender?”
Defender… defender, defender… pretty boy, Golden Boy. Dance for them, boy, it’s why you’re here.
Rage built at the base of his throat, making it feel like he’d swallowed molten glass. His chest went tight and his hands balled into fists so hard that his fingernails curled into the oak surface of the desk. Pain shot through his jaw as he viciously ground his teeth, but it wasn’t enough to bite back the scream,
“Can just one fucking person call me by my goddamn name?!”
And before he’d even registered moving, he had grabbed the bottle of liquor before him (it was a gift from Camille—she knew he hated these funding galas, so she’d sent it over as a pre-game gift… complete with red velvet bow) and flung it ferociously against the nearest wall. The spray of liquor and shattered glass rained down onto his desk and clothes alike, and the sharp chill of it was enough to douse his anger with regret.
That was a gift, she was just being nice—why do you always take your anger out on the wrong people? Punish the wrong people? Maybe they’re all right to write you off, disregard any usefulness you may have in exchange for displaying you like a trophy. At least you can’t hurt anyone if you just shut up and smile…
“Oh, Jayce…”
The maelstrom in his brain all came to a screeching halt—Viktor’s voice, now calm and coaxing and so achingly smooth as it cascaded over the sharp edges of Jayce’s anger that it was smothered altogether.
“Jayce…”
A bone-shaking shudder went down Jayce’s spine as Viktor’s weight, Viktor’s warmth was suddenly pressed wholeheartedly to his back. And those metal hands, so sure and strong, began to slither around Jayce’s waist to sprawl over his stomach—ruching up his shirt and untucking it as they went. They soothed over his ribcage, following the lines of his finely pressed waistcoat until they were splayed out on his pecs, where they roughly pulled him back hard against Viktor’s body.
Viktor’s breath was warm and moist on the back of Jayce’s neck as those familiar lips followed his hairline and pressed a kiss there, just behind his ear.
“My Jayce…”
Jayce’s knees nearly buckled at the words, so sensually growled into his sensitive skin that he suddenly felt feverish—hot and achy, shivery and weak…
The hum of the Hexclaw caught his attention though, and for a moment he almost panicked—fuck, let my guard down, let my stupid emotions get the better of me, and now he’s got me ripe for the pulverizing…
But instead, it simply curled down and around Jayce’s front, delicately plucking the violet rose boutonnières from his lapel. It curved back then, holding the flowers out and waiting as Viktor leaned in and inhaled of them, long and slow.
“Mm…” he grunted, the sound vaguely dissatisfied, and then the Hexclaw was unceremoniously (and rather comically) tossing the flowers away.
“Window dressing,” Viktor continued, and suddenly Jayce was being spun around with force, lifted, and plopped back down onto the desk, his knees pushed wide to accommodate Viktor’s hips. Jayce yelped with surprise, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it… Viktor’s strength, the unbridled ease with which he handled Jayce’s not-inconsiderable size. To be the focus of Viktor’s attention, to be seen and analyzed and handled. Like he was something worthy of the effort, and not just some fancy centerpiece to be ignored.
And now that he was recovering his bearings, Jayce found Viktor’s mask removed—the sound of it clattering to the floor going almost unnoticed as Jayce lost himself in those familiar glowing eyes.
“This was what I always hated about Piltover, Jayce,” Viktor positively purred Jayce’s name again, and it soothed some burning need that had been scratching at Jayce’s ribcage. Say it again… say it again and again and again, please, then maybe I won’t catch fire. Or maybe I will, but either way, just say it again…
“They always felt the need to decorate that which was objectively already perfect,” Viktor continued, one hand gripping Jayce’s wrist and bringing his one still-gloved hand up between them.
He held Jayce’s gaze with hawklike intensity as the Hexclaw came down, gently pinched at the middle finger of his glove, and pulled it off. And Jayce gulped past a monstrous frog in his throat as Viktor slowly leaned in, placing warm, velvety kisses to each finger, one by torturous one.
And once he’d finished, his hands slid down beneath the lapels of Jayce’s evening coat and slowly, sensually pushed it back and off, until the metal embellishments rang out against the desk. Before Jayce could even re-situate his arms, he found Viktor’s hands wrapped firmly around his lower back and pulling.
The movement had Jayce fully flush against Viktor’s chest, and he could do little else but whine as Viktor nuzzled into his neck again, asking, suggesting. And Jayce couldn’t comply fast enough; rolling his head back and gripping at Viktor’s armor for purchase as those lovely lips latched on once more—biting and kissing and sucking until his skin was moist and hot.
“My Jayce…”
Jayce could hardly breathe now, the intensity of this need constricting like a python around his lungs. Your Jayce, yes, yours, yours, always yours. Show me you want me, show me you need me, show me I’m not just some pretty thing you can prop up on a pedestal and ogle…
Jayce’s skull ached when the Hexclaw forced him back upright, but the pain melted away as he was met with Viktor’s lips crashing into his own. He wholly gave into it, his entire body curling into Viktor’s as those soft, supple lips sucked away all the anger and frustration.
Viktor tasted of something sweet and fruity, something familiar and nostalgic… and Jayce chuckled against Viktor’s lips when he figured it out. It was those prickly pear sweets Jayce kept in a jar on his desk, for those evenings when he needed a sugar kick to keep him going. Viktor must have raided the lab while he waited for Jayce to return from that ridiculous Crystal Rose Gala—likely polishing off half the jar, with that insatiable sweet tooth of his.
“I see someone found my stash,” Jayce cooed into Viktor’s mouth, punctuating it by taking Viktor’s lower lip and sucking it between his own.
“What can I say, I was bored,” Viktor replied, his augmented hand beginning to soothe back and forth over Jayce’s thigh, driving him to maddening distraction.
“Impatient as ever,” Jayce chided back, pecking a single quick kiss before going on, “you do have to share me…”
Viktor growled back at him, his torso angling forward so quickly that Jayce had no choice but to fall back against the desk, thighs squeezing at Viktor’s hips for stability.
Viktor prowled in over him, caging him in with those heavy metal arms and crouching low so his lips barely brushed Jayce’s.
“No. No, I don’t. I don’t share with ungrateful Pilties. If they aren’t going to appreciate you, Jayce, then I’m just going to have to keep you…”
He propped himself up with the Hexclaw then, both hands joining at Jayce’s chest to begin unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt.
“…all to myself.”
Jayce lost track of time after that, all thoughts of being nothing more than a decoration obliterated by Viktor’s thorough, doting hands.
#arcane#arcane league of legends#league of legends#jayce talis#jayce giopara#Crystal rose Jayce#lol jayce#arcane Viktor#machine herald viktor#jayvik#vikjayce#ficlet#jayvik fanfiction#my writing#asks#ace answers
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no bc i love my granda so so much, he's literally the epitome of what teenage boys and young men should idolise, instead of andrew tate and all that bullshit.
he loves and geniunely cares about animals and children, he geniunely tried to raise his children the best he could, even after 50 or so years of marriage he still looks at my granny like she's hung him the stars and moon, he compliments her every chance he gets, his eyes geniunely light up when he talks about his grandchidren, children, wife, and dogs.
he's never once raised a hand to my granny, and even after all the time they've been together he's still at her beck and call and he always walks on the side of the footpath closest to the road.
he's not afraid to act stupid when he's playing with his grandchildren, wearing tiaras and cowboy hats and putting on horrible american accents. he used to be a teacher in a low income part of his city and didn't give up on those children, he never taught the boys or girls differently, he would take my ma and my auntie and uncles to get a poke every friday after school. (the vanilla kind that you get in the wee metal things in ice cream shops, so proper good ones)
he always listens to what me and my sister and my cousins have to say and he doesnt look down on us and isnt condescending at all just because we're young. he treats me like an academic almost when we discuss theology and history together. the man lives and breathes respect.
the only time i've ever seen him ever lose his temper was when the topic of pedos and people harming children came up. the only time i've ever been scared of him is when i was like 6 and he dressed up as santa and came to our house, (i didnt realise he was santa at first and thought some strange man with a strange voice broke into our house)
he's insanely smart and gave me tips on how to slack off in classes and still get good marks (it was at that conversation i realised thats where i got it from)
idek, just, my granda is soft spoken, he treats service workers with respect, he always always always treats my granny like she deserves the world and more, in all my years i have never ever heard about or seen the man making a joke or demeaning comment towards her, the only thing close to it would be teasing where they both go back and forth.
not to mention how much i love my granny, she could make everything out of nothing and still stretch it. she's resourceful and soso witty. i'm always told i look like her and remind people of how she acted when she was younger, and i hope thats true. she takes no shit from anyone, and battled breast cancer (and won) like it was no ones business, my granda supported her 110% of the way. her ma and da were scottish and she likes to cling onto that heritage, making shortbreads and all. back when my granny and granda used to race greyhounds (ages ago before i was even born) she always had a knack for picking out good ones.
i know this was supposed to be about my granda but theyre a package deal, they come in a pair. and my granny's fecking amazing and its a sin to not sing her praises.
tbh, my granny and granda are some of my most respected ever role models. and he and my granny are the reason i believe that true love can exist and that it can prevail. idek why but they give me hope.
in terms of incels or whatver the fuck, he's what a "high-quaility man" should be. not some wifebeater who objectifies and harms women.
#this is personal so sorry for the personal kind of rant lads#my granny says i have [her maiden name] eyes and it makes me so happy that i have something tying me to her on my person at all times ykwim#in terms of incels or whatver the fuck;he's what a “high-quality man” should be. not some wifebeater who laughs about harming women.#this man grew up and raised his children while he lived somewhere surrounded in violence. he had a shitty traumatising childhood#but he still loved and found love in everything and had a wonderful life. he never took anything for granted; especially not his wife.#idk how to explain it but just; he had every reason to be violent and hateful but he wasnt and isnt. thats what we should idolise.#not blood. not gore. not violence or dominance. idolise healing and caring and morality
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can you please do some simon feck hcs where reader is a hitman/assassin?
Stars Around Scars | Simon Feck x GN!Reader
Simon Feck x GN!Reader
Word Count | 985
Author’s Note | ngl, this concept took me a little bit to warm up to but...I kind of love it. like. our poor boy. he'd be so shaken up by you but so...enamored. you are badass and he is so fond. so so so fond. Also, yes, I had to turn it tragic.
Warnings | mentions of a death, mentions of scars, bits of fluff and angst, nothing else I can think of!
Simon first meets you in an airport. Well. He doesn't exactly meet you. He sees you. Sees you talking to yourself for a split second from where you sit before picking up a book that was laying in your lap and opening it to a random page. He thinks it's odd, of course. But he's had plenty of strangers pick apart his own mannerisms. So, airing on the side of politeness, he ignores the way your eyes continue to trail him as he walks by.
An hour later, as Simon is waiting for his flight, a corpse is found in the men's room.
And Simon clicks the pieces together almost immediately. He knows the inconspicuous look of a person on a mission. And he can't help but wonder how you pulled it off.
He'd seen Roy complete his fair share of missions before. But Roy was a lot more...raucous. You were slick. Making just the right amount of waves so that you blend into the rest of the scenery. That's probably why the CIA keeps you around.
Because as soon as Simon lands in the States, heading off to a federal building where he'll be given protection for his journey, he finally meets you.
"Simon, this is Agent Y/N. They will be seeing you through your trip to Austria."
Your smile is subdued; strictly professional as you shake his hand. He's been contracted out to do some work for a lab in Vienna. And he realizes how screwed he is. The job itself is easy. But spending three full months with you in Austria? He's no stranger to mingling with morally dubious characters, but if you didn't make his knees weak, this would be far easier.
His mouth dries up when you say that you're pleased to be working with him.
The whole trip starts off cordially.
You hold his hand in public and play it off as if he's your partner. The idea makes butterflies flutter in his stomach. God, he wishes that he could actually call you his.
The problem is that he can't tell when you're acting. When you smile and laugh during dinner, he has no clue if it's real. And if the hand holding is fake, then why do your palms get all sweaty? Why do you hang off of him like it means anything at all?
He starts to hate it. Starts to peel you off of him the second you and him are out of sight of people.
"You don't have to do that." he mumbles as you both step into the elevator of his building. Simon hates that the floor he works on is so high up. It allows you to argue back.
"Who said I had to?"
"What?"
You glance up at the fluorescent elevator lights, wondering if you should actually say it. Would it be overstepping some line? You've got ten more floors left until you're at his. Might as well give him something to think about besides that lab work.
"What if I wanted to?"
Simon is frozen as you stand on your toes to kiss his cheek. "Didn't have to do that. But I wanted to."
You'd known many people who had been allured by you. But Simon was by far your favorite. He was just so new to everything. So pure and undesiring of anything aside from your attention and affection.
He kisses your cheek every single morning, drapes his jacket around you when you shiver in public, and lets you listen to his iPod with him on the morning train to work.
And when you think you see the shadow of some assailant out of the corner of your eye, Simon catches it. He simply smiles comfortingly, cheeks perking up as he rubs slow circles on your knee. It calms you considerably. Keeps you alert but diminishes your anxiety, which only sharpens your focus.
At night, when it's just you and him, lying in bed, he can't help but notice the little scars littering your flesh. Probably from past missions. This life isn't easy on the mind or the body. And while he isn't surprised to see them and doesn't want you to have to think of the incidents that gave you them, he wants to acknowledge them. So he traces over them, and draws little stars, amending the old wounds in his own head.
It's difficult not to love him immediately after that. This isn't just simple fun anymore. But you've known this fluttery feeling a few times before. In this line of work, those feelings mean nothing except for the pain they offer. It's better for both of you if you stepped away.
As the weeks pass during the final month, you distance yourself from him. You don't even pretend to be a couple in public anymore. Don't let him huddle into your side during the night. You always keep a few inches between yourself and him. Close enough to do your job, but far enough away that Simon wonders what he's done wrong.
By the last day of the Austria trip, you barely look at him. Barely acknowledge him as you take care of the luggage and board the plane. It's only when you leave that he sees the facade fall away just a little.
You extend your hand to shake his. Just like when he first met you. "It was an honor working with you, Simon." your voice cracks saying his name and your hand is just as clammy as he remembers, grasping his a little tighter than you should. He doesn't even get a chance to say goodbye to you before you let go and turn, leaving him hanging like a scarecrow.
Just like you did at that airport, you fade into the scenery of the airport. Still, your being lingers with him. And he's not sure if he'll ever feel you truly leave.
#paul dano#danonation#danocel#knight and day#simon feck#simon feck x reader#simon feck x you#simon feck x y/n#simon feck fluff#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚
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Daniel comes off as totally irresistible in your MobAU. I bet Terry was all “That little Italian Omega means nothing to me, I can get over this.” And then he fails to, spectacularly. Oops. Anyway, just how desperate was Terry to have his wedding night, lol?
Desperate enough! In fact:
“You're being honeytrapped, you know that.” John crosses his arms, face set in a signature scowl.
He looks at him. “Do you have anything new to say?”
“It bears repeating.” He lifts his chin. “Terry, they're stalling. Only people who do that are weak. Do you want them to regroup first?”
“We can take 'em, John, but can we hold them?”
“The feck you take me for? Of course!”
He smiles. “Johnny. I don't have time to play dictator. I, we, we need to expand, and if I have to waste my people babysitting some resentful Italians, that's not ever gonna work. There's the Russians, Chinese, Arabs and they're hungry.”
John sniffs. “We could take Russians, or Chinese or half of feckin England if we stick to our ground.”
“Sure, and then, when we're depleted, some damned cartel boss is going to swoop in. Let them do that to the other ones first.”
John leans on his hand fixes him. “If this is about the Prima Donna -”
“It's a boy, John.”
“It's a goat for all I care. It's trouble, you eejit. How often have you seen him, once?” He scoffs. “Jesus, Terry. They're throwing kitties at you as we speak.”
He sighs. “Trying to buy their way in, they don't offer anything.”
“Oh, and he does?”
Christ, that smell. The ripeness of him. Health, too. He'd not lacked for anything. But those eyes were quick. The fire in them. And those lips...
John shakes his head. “Jesus, it's like fucking Troy.” He stands up. “You're getting killed tonight, you eejit, so I'm putting everyone on high alert. Again.”
Terry grins. “All I ask.”
“I will squeeze your Mandy for a payout, so,” John says. “That English bitch of hers can pay for the service.”
“I have no doubt,” Terry says. “You'll be King of the block, Johnny.”
But never more, and that is what he needs to find a way to prevent.
And this way is looking ever more appealing.
***
Sweet Mother of God, is he gorgeous.
And even more pissed off than last time.
“It's good to see you” gets him an: “Is it? Why?”
He touches his arm. “Come now, don't fish for compliments.” He leans over, whispers in his ear: “You know you're beautiful.”
The boy freezes for half a second. “And that's the most important thing?”
“It's all I know as yet.” He straightens up. “I was hoping we could change that.”
He blushes, look away, seemingly not a day older than fourteen. “And what if I don't want that?”
“Then you might miss out on some fun.” He winks at him. “C'mon. What do you have to lose?”
In fact, nobody can stay snippy on the subject of fun for very long, Terry knows that from experience, and soon enough they're knee deep into a discussion of Pop vs Swing. The boy is really into guitar, keeps talking about some fella called Reinhardt. It's refreshing, after all the Benny Goodman talk. But then he leans over, whispers in a conspiratorial tone: “But who I really like is Robert Johnson.”
Terry nearly spits out his wine. “Johnson?” he says, trying not to laugh. “Sweetheart. What do you have to be blue about?”
The hurt that flashes over his face makes Terry wants to kick himself. “I don't know,” the boy says, pulling back. “People not taking you seriously?”
“Daniele,” his mother interjects suddenly. “All this music talk – why don't you play us something?”
He frowns. “Ah, no, Ma...”
“Yes,” the Don says. “What a good idea. Daniele, get your instrument.”
There's a murmur of assent. And of course Terry wants to hear it, but he hates how the boy ducks together. “Why don't we all play something?” he says, looking at the rather grand piano in the adjacent room.
“My son is very good,” the Don says. “In fact, I'd say he sometimes even plays too much.”
Bastard. The utter bastard. Why put him on the spot like that? “Really, it'd be my pleasure,” Terry says, but the Don has fixed his son again. “Now, please, Daniele.”
Poor sweetheart, but there's little to be done. They all file into the other room as he slinks away to get a guitar.
But oh, baby knows his instrument. He can see the look of concentration that only comes from genuine enjoyment. Turn inside, Terry wants to whisper to him. Where it's you and the notes. Nothing else.
And when he seems poised to do just that:
“Mozart,” the Don says.
His head shoots up. “What?”
“It's all I've heard you play for days,” the Don says. “Mozart.”
“I'm not done with that one yet,” he says, turning pale. He looks to the room. “It's not written for guitar, I was transcribing it, please...”
The Don gives a thin smile. “Mozart.”
“Come on, Daniel!” that's the eldest. “We've all heard it!”
And now Terry can't help himself. “Do you mind?”
The boy seems to make a decision, by all accounts to get it the hell over with. He sits down, breathes in, and starts.
Oh, sweetheart. Sweetheart. It's Alla Turca, and those quick sixteenths are hard enough as it is on piano. (He should know, with old Dougal Andrews always urging him to play 'real music' until he finally relented and taught him this one, free of charge.) But those runs need supporting chords, and that's murderously difficult on solo guitar, so you're constantly stuck making compromises. It's not impossible, but it's hardly intuitive, and he sees the boy's brow furrow in pained concentration.
And then he stops.
Of course. Terry doesn't wait but walks over, opens the piano and continues the piece, hoping he's found the right key – by all accounts, he has – and nods at Daniel. The boy understands, plays the repetition as intended, but at least, with Terry on chords, he has his hands free to focus on the melody.
He sees him breathe out, relax.
Good boy.
He's even joking around with the tempi a little bit, little showoff, and draws out the end chord ridiculously long, until Terry sees the Don pull a face.
Serves him right.
“Thanks,” he mumbles and moves to put away his guitar, determinedly avoiding eye contact.
Well, he'll have to make him listen, then, won't he?
Terry puts his fingers back on the keys, can't help picturing what he'd like to do if those fingers were caressing someone's skin. And yet, he can't but well up a little; the last person he'd played this for was Mandy.
Oh, Danny Boy...
Not something often played in a room full of Italians, and he sees the uncle give him a hard look in the minute pause between phrases.
He plays all four verses, improvising as he goes. Then he closes the piano, looks back at the omega.
The boy gives him a half smile.
“I thought they played this at funerals?”
For one second, Terry's stunned.
This brat. Feckin Hell!
The Don nods at him. “Thank you, Daniele. Mr. Silver. Care to join me for a cigar?”
He looks back at the boy, who's had the decency to turn bright red.
Just you wait, little one.
Back in the Don's room, he smokes the cigar standing up. “I'm not going to spoil him.”
The Don's smile is thin lipped. “That's what I said to my wife.”
Terry grins. “I can't make out if he's brave or stupid at times.”
The Don lifts his chin. “He is very young.” He stands from behind the desk. “Do we have a deal?”
Terry straightens up as well. “I would never let him go,” he says. “Not for the whole world.”
“Don't worry,” the Don says. “I won't.” He nods. “I'll have my attorney send you the details. My wife Lucille will be in charge of the arrangements.” He walks past him, opens the door.
“Good night, son.”
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He who walks with Kobolds
From one of my favorite twitter posters who creates some interesting character and item concepts for my brain to go completely gonzo on.
[Shitty Item Idea: Tyrannoswordus Rex- This sword can summon a single friendly T Rex once per day.]
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Fighter: "Hey, how do you know if you accidentally created a cult?"
Cleric: 0.o "a cult?"
Fighter: "well, remember that kobold raiding party we fought last week?"
Cleric: "yeah!"
Bard: "OMG! it's so cute, they keep leaving little trinkets in his bedroll."
Fighter: "yeah...cute..."
Cleric: *pinches their nose* "they saw you summon Rexy when the owlbears charged out of the woods, right?"
Fighter: "yeah, i guess...they did run away after he appeared and chomped the owlbears."
Cleric: *deep sigh* "oh gods..."
Bard: *laughs and wipes tear* "this is great."
Fighter: *annoyed* "why are YOU laughing? I didn't ask for this!"
Bard: *holding sides* "oh god, i'm going to write the greatest song ever about the fighter who walks with Kobolds...Bwahahahaha!"
Cleric: "sorry my dude, looks like you're now the high priest of your own kobold clan."
Fighter: "great....that's just great, like i didn't have enough to worry about now..."
"it's 2am, the party is sleeping around the fire. the fighter is awakened by the slight tugs of a tiny armored kobold holding a little spear who chitters and whistles worryingly while pointing off in the distance where something really big is crashing through the trees. the fighter rouses the rest of the party, and soon a tarrasque comes charging out of the night.
the fighter feels a tug at their leg where the kobold points to the sword and then makes a crude version of the summoning gesture he uses to summon the t-rex in the air above it's head. They want to fight along side their new found god.
The party is not supprised at the juevinile tarrasque, they've fought bigger and badder things. What caught them off guard was the short barks and whistles as 50 kobolds rise from the tall grass around the party in a defensive formation."
Bard: *smirks* "I told you this would be fun."
Fighter: "Yeah, laught it up lute boy....i can just as easily tell them you are not one of my "deciples" in their new religion and have them steal all your spare socks i know you have hidden in the waggon for the glory of Rexy. "
Bard: "You wouldn't dare! How rude to threaten the theft of a gentlemen's socks." *smirk* "Tsk, tsk, tsk."
Dwarven Artificer: "Oh sweet mother under the mountain! would you two give it a rest already! we've got bigger problems than the dandy's sock fetish!"
Wizard: "indeed, it appears our tarrasque problem is about to get a little worse!"
Fighter: "worse! what do you mean "worse" I........oh feck me sideways with a churn bucket you scaly bastards! that's just great..."
*out of the forest charges two raptor drakes hot on the heels of the tarrasque*
Bard: "well, color me intrigued....so....who had death by raptor on their dungeon bingo card?"
Fighter: "Aww, stuff it lute boy! 'that tears it! *unsheathes the summoning blade* feck this! Rexy! Come Forth! *makes summoning kata in the air*
the spectral form of the t-rex erupts from the tip of the blade to a thunderous roar (followed by the collective "Ooooooh" barks, chirps, and whistles of the grass hidden kobold horde. which collectively causes confusion between the two raptor drakes and the tarrasque squaring off at the other end of the field.
Fighter: "Rexy! (t-rex looks back with that all too common look of something about to have a really great time and they know it) Get em'!"
with a roar, rexy charges towards the monsters with 50 kobolds in tow which is insanely weird to see a big dino followed by 50 separate grass trails weaving too and fro with excided growls, barks, and chirps erupting from the undergrowth.
the rest of the party take up flanking positions casting buffs, enchantments, and protection spells upon their newly acquired battle pack. several of the kobolds have raced up the dinos tail to take protective stances along the t-rex's back and head with their tiny spears and slinging stones from little slings turning rexy into an effective living battle tank. those not riding their god are busy harassing the raptors and tarrasque with their spears, little knives, and slings. this will definately go down in the party's history as one of the most insane things they've ever saw.
____________________________
an hour later the party is resting comfortably by the fire while the kobolds are joyously dancing around the fallen monsters taking trophies and presenting choice bits of monster meat to the lounging t-rex recieving scritches and grooming from the kobolds while others are dropping off pristine pointy teeth, feathers, and choice scales from the monsters onto the fighter's very crowded bedroll. one shy kobold presents the bard with a shiny rock they found while battling, and the wizard is trying to show the enthralled kobolds how to harvest the most valuable bits from the monsters without damaging them, somewhat unsuccessfully. The dwarf is trading small pocket whittling daggers they craft as a campfire hobby to pass the time between adventures to the kobolds in exchange for raptor scales, talons, and hides the dwarf can use later to make some fairly pricey armors. the cleric is getting herbs, grasses, and various fungus and tree barks when the kobolds looked into the clerics pouches and saw what they were carrying. the fighter keeps trying to refuse the little bone necklaces and clan tags the kobolds are trying to tie around the fighters boots, with the fighter trying to explain that the bones make too much noise in battle and make it difficult to hunt properly t the confused looks of the kobolds.
the entire time, the damned bard is giggling when they are not furiously scribbling down the beginnings of what they feel will surely become their magnum opus.
Cleric: "so, how long do you intend for rexy to lounge about before we hit the next town?"
Fighter: "eh, he's still got another 16 hours on his summons, big guy's earned it, the kobolds don't seem to mind, and at least with rexy around the rest of the area's monsters don't seem too interested in a fight, especially after what we've seen. enjoy the break and get some sleep. the little furballs are keeping watch. no helping it now, we've been adopted by a kobold clan. i just hope the guild will understand, and we can keep the lil' guys from wrecking too much havock in the towns. it's a problem for another day.
the rest of the party: "indeed..."
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Question for each of the FGG: how would you describe your childhood?
Evan: "Things certainly could have been better, but I was a very sick boy. My family did their best. My sister was like a second mother to me; I don't know where I'd be without her. She and Mama sacrificed a lot just to make me happy. And my papa, well...I know he loved me too, even if he didn't like to show it. I had the best childhood I could have had, given the circumstances. I only wish I had shown more gratitude. I was a nasty little brat."
Lukas: "Miserable. I don't want to talk about it."
Glenvar: "I grew up without a Pa. It was just my Ma and two sisters, so I was the maska of the house. Of course that don't mean shite when yer knee-high and gettin' knocked around by punks half yer age...Feck childhood. I'm glad it's behind me."
Alaine: "It was great! I mean, my family was really poor, but money isn't everything, you know? There was a lot of love in that crappy old house. My parents worked so hard. Sometimes I'd help Dad find scrap metal or I'd go help Mom catch critters for dinner. But mostly I just ran around the village and played with my friends. Mom and Dad wanted me to go to school in the big city so I wouldn't be a peasant like them when I grew up. I always wonder what they'd think of me now."
Jeimos: "Oh, it was dreadful! What a depressing little existence I lived! Looking back on it now, it almost feels like a bad dream. My parents were quite wealthy and I realize I was privileged in many ways, but that wealth couldn't buy me happiness. My parents did their best with me, I suppose. It's just that their best was simply not good enough. I was a difficult child. I can't imagine trying to raise a pest like me, especially in a dystopian empire like Damijana. I used to resent my parents for the rotten childhood I had, but I've come to realize it wasn't exactly their fault. I just wish I could see them one last time..."
Isaac: "I don't remember most of it. All I remember is waking up in a weird black place, then the Guys took me away. My childhood with them was the best, I wouldn't change a thing! I used to get mad 'cause they wouldn't let me come with them on contracts when I was little, but I know why now. I wasn't ready yet. They taught me everything I know, and I know a lot of stuff! Sometimes I think I know too much stuff. The more stuff I know, the more stuff they make me do, so like, maybe I should get rid of some stuff so I can go back to being a kid?"
Linde: "I never knew how good I had it until it was gone. My parents gave me everything--and I mean absolutely everything a girl could want! I had a loving family and a beautiful house in Zhoulcha, I was enrolled in school at the World Athenaeum, I had my whole future laid out in front of me and I didn't appreciate it at all! All I did was whine and complain. 'Boohoo, I'm so ugly!', 'Boohoo, I don't want to study floemancy!', 'Boohoo this, boohoo that!' Ugh! If I could just go back in time, I would never complain again."
Balthazaar: "Me 'n my brothers didn't have a lot growing up, but we appreciated what we did have. My parents were honest, hard-working people. I had a lot of respect for them. Not a lot of respect for my brothers--we fought like animals--but at the end of the day we always put it behind us. Those were simpler times then. Sure wish I could go back..."
Skel: "It was the last time I was--and ever shall be--happy. That's all I have to say about that."
Javaan: "My childhood? Pff, I was a never a child! Back where I'm from, you become a man the moment you fall out of your mother! I came out swinging 'cause the world was swinging on me from the start. I had to fight for my life every day. But you know what? I'm a better person for it. Soft lives make soft people. I'm hard as stone, baby!"
Elska: "My mother died when I was young, and my aunties raised me for a time. This was a bad time. I was not happy with so many mothers. They could not agree on anything, and nothing I did could please them. When I started refusing their milk, my father took me away from them and raised me himself. The times with my father were the finest times of my life. I hope I am making him proud."
Mr. Ocean: "That was all so long ago...I can hardly remember it now. I had many difficulties, as I recall. I was a slow child. My parents worried that I would struggle all my life. I suppose I do struggle still, but it is my own fault. My mother always told me that people would be unkind to me because I was different, so I must be kind to myself. I should have listened to her."
Zeffer: "My good-for-nothing father took off when I was still in diapers. Mother worked her hands to the bone for me. I was all she had after Father left, and she was all I ever had until I met Evan. We lived in a bad area. She was afraid the filth around us would drag me down and swallow me like it swallowed my father and all the other men in that shit-hole town. She begged me to rise above it. Spent every coin she had just to send me to school, and half the time I just skipped class to drink with my hoodlum friends anyway. I know she was disappointed in me. I wanted to be better, but I just...I didn't believe I could be anything more than a worthless punk, I guess."
*
Questions/Comments?
Lore Masterpost
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Let's Talk About Love by Claire Kann
Read time: 2 Days
Rating: 5/5
The quote: "I use Tumblr, which is probably the best support system for me right now. I mean, it's a super garbage fire of discourse sometimes, but really, we all just hyper-love everyone and everything and want our ships to sail, regardless of canon or what anyone else thinks. And there'll be posts with literally thousands of notes that'll make the rounds saying things like, 'If you're Black and ace, you're valid and I love you.,' which is really nice to read when you're not expecting it. You know the saying, 'love is love,' right? I've heard it thousands of times, but I've learned it, internalized it, because of the blogs I follow on Tumblr." — Alice
I'm on an aspec binge apparently. Two of my three of most recent books feature asexuality prominently, as does my next one. Anywho this one has been on my tbr for far too long, that is the prompt it's filling on my Dymocks Reading Challenge List. Quick review because I am so backlogged on reviews right now. To start with it is worth reading, especially for ace people.
I enjoyed Let's Talk About Love is uses friendship well, in that way that friendship is so, so messy. There is perfect ignorance of asexuality and the truth of it. Or at least the truth of Alice's experience. Alice biromantic (as with Upside Down that dual label is unusual) and maybe most importantly Alice is African American. Alice is fun and funny. Her personality is perfect for this kind of story. She will make you laugh and you will feel her pain. Love interest Takumi is a lot for the reader to deal with, because we see him through Alice's eyes. We never see him objectively. That said he's my type anyway nerdy, cute and charming as hell. His reaction to Alice and her truth is while not natural almost understandable given the lack of education on asexuality in the broader community (even among young people), that lack of education is part of the point. One of the things that Claire Kann wants to improve.
If I have any complaints about Let's Talk About Love it's that the ending feels a little bit rushed. It feels kinda like a few more pages would have made for a more comfortable resolution to Alice's relationships with Feenie and Takumi. There is something about Alice's narrative style. It feels like she is talking, not to the reader, to a friend. It's written with lots of brackets adding comments. The story does ultimately leave a lot of questions about Takumi's background and especially his family though in some ways this does fit due to his reluctance to talk about them. The twins, Megumi and Mayumi, are fecking adorable though. I'm not entirely sure who the intended audience is but it does feel like it suits the aces of all ages that came to terms with their sexuality on tumblr. There are quite a few of us, many of us older, many of us learning about our sexuality through the internet because there is little to no local support or queer education in high schools.
I do still have some quotes to add. Beware most of these are from the second half of the book.
"Calm down. What happened?"
"I just wanted to wear a cute costume, you know? And everything was great, but Feenie and Ryan left me and boys are awful when they're drunk and I can't even get drunk to drown my disappointed sorrows because Jesus knows it's not safe in there. And I'm just so
"I just wanted to wear a cute costume, you know? And everything was great, but Feenie and Ryan left me and boys are awful when they're drunk and I can't even get drunk to drown my disappointed sorrows because Jesus knows it's not safe in there. And I'm just so mad I could spit." — This quote and the scene it comes from are so much to read. They are confronting in a way that is relatable for all women. I quite like it though. (Takumi and Alice, p.119-20)
"Can you sing? Because that sounds like something a siren would say. Warn me before you sing me to my death so your conscience can be clear." — I think that line may almost be on par with a fallen angel line for pick up lines. Though at least this is somewhat cerebral. (Takumi, p.223)
"Before, you said 'bisexual minus the sexual' but didn't add in a substitute. If you don't care about sex, what do care about?" — I like Alice's description of her sexuality. It is so simple but so accessible for those who aren't fluent in the ace world but at least know the queer basics. (Takumi, p.236)
"Sex is too much a part of everything, and I don't think it's reasonable to tell my partner I don't ever want to sleep with them and expect them to stick around. I'm not saying they wouldn't agree. I personally am not okay with asking. And I'm not saying I wouldn't want to try again someday, but I don't want them to have the expectation that I will. It has to be my choice and a lot of people don't respect that." — Alice
#asexuality#queer#book review#ktreviews#read 2022#dymocksreadingchallenge#claire kann#let's talk about love#lets talk about love#booklr
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How many partners have the main 7 had?
Bro, I can't see any of them as having a lot of partners, or even 2, they all single as feck. Besides Zoe of course, I can't tell the exact number, but it's pretty high, especially compared to the rest of them xd. The best I can do is to give those who had canon crushes them as partners. So it would be Pepper and Captain Cuddles (hey, I genuinely think they cute), Sunil and Deliah (I actually kinda like the though of them being a couple at some point at some point), and heck, maybe even Penny Ling and Mr. VonFuzzlebut. They can all be exs, or end up with them forever uuuu, who knows. Maybe Sunil would have more? I said that he's actually pretty objectively attractive, so I can definitely see him being kinda "in demand", maybe once or twice he was in some different relationship, either he genuinely was willing to at least try, or didn't want to be rude and simply accepted (and then regretted it of course). Maybe Russell and Blythe were at some point together? They tried to see if they would work together but at the end decided that they would rather stay as friends. That's just a maybe though, could have happened, haven't had to.
Minka, I really don't think she'd be that interested in romatic relationship to frantically look for it. Friends? Hell yeah. Romatic partners on the other hand? She'd rather wait for "the right one" instead of putting so much effort into something that might not last in the same way. Besides, if she's to find that partner, she'd rather find them naturally within her friends, whom she already knows and has a connection with.
Penny Ling had her crushes, but most of the time she was too shy to try anything and they simply passed with time.
Vinnie is waay too loyal to one person to even try anything else than that one person. And listen, he's just not all that attractive as a romantic partner. Personality is one thing, but he's just kinda ugly. I know I know, I love him and he's the prettiest boy for me! But he's also my damn self-projection, so in universe, he's not exactly the epitome of objective attraction. He's short, so pale he looks almost sickly, bones-showing underweight, some people don't like freckles (fucking weird people, gottem). In other words, he's perfect, to me, but objectively he's just not because I need him like that. Oh, but he's suuch a pretty boiii.
But, the one though that I have is that if Penny Ling and him ended up as the last ones out of their group being single with their crushes being already taken, they would get together. Just this sort of situation that since everyone else has someone, and they just feel like such outsiders because of that, out of this "neccessity" they get together. They don't love each other like that, they simply don't want to be the weird two out, so they might as well. They like each other enough to do it, that's for sure. In some way, they do it out of spite, to show their actual crushes (who may or may not know that they feel this way) that they can do perfectly well without them (they can't and are going crazy).
As you can see I don't have anything certain, so this is mostly a jumble of my thoughts and scenarios that might or might not have happened.
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Im. I love you? Your answer to that ask is beautiful, also I forgot about the other meaning for weed for a moment and got confused like, 'is morgana-ren a stoner? Beefy weed muscles???' and now i cant help but imagine stoned Shiggy. Specifically him forcefully shotgunning his captive because hes bored and if hes getting stoned she might as well too. Laughing at her when she gets spacey. This is a fun train of thought lol, thanks for inspiring it
I am a ridiculous and incoherent person. My first instinct is to literally reply with complete gibberish to most things. Shaming me has absolutely Z E R O effect because I have no shame. I’m a ridonkulous person. Last time I got high, I just laid in bed singing “Secret tunnel, secret tunnel” for like 3 hours.
To be fair, I would also do that completely buttfuck sober.
Gods I wish I had a gif of Shig smonkin some donk wods, but since I don’t, you’ll have to settle for me writing it.
PSA after the fact: I AM SO SORRY IT GOT A LIL CREEPY BUT TO BE FAIR, IT’S ME AND IF YOU SENDIN ME SHIT YOU KNOW YOU HAVE TO BE REAL FECKIN’ SPECIFIC OR ELSE I’M GUNNA MAKE IT CREEPY also weed hits me way different than it does most folks so it’s really hard for me to be able to accurately describe how it might be to anyone else. SO imagine this is supervillain quirky weed he has special made to calm his...uh,.. never ending rage. also it’s ridiculously longer than I planned. cause I get carried away. anyway love you!
His room is dank and smells like mold and must.
Tight metal bindings cut into your wrists, leaving you raw with crusted blood despite the fact you stopped fighting days ago. Your tailbone feels bruised from constantly shifting on his worn down carpet, your legs prickling and aching from inactivity.
He’s kept you bound here for a while, handcuffs looped through the foot of his bed. You’re not entirely sure how long, since his ratty blackout curtains make it hard to see daylight. He’s got them taped down, blocking out all but the tiniest slivers of light. Like most of his life, his room exists in total darkness.
Time has little meaning here.
He doesn’t leave you alone often, only really exiting the room to bring you food which you refuse to eat. Most of it has been kicked into the corner, the soft buzz of fruit flies accumulating more and more by the day. It frustrates him, but he’s keen on reminding you that he’s patient. You’ll relent eventually.
Truth be told, your willpower is starting to give. Your body is stiff and sore, head perpetually aching from crying. His moods are like whiplash, one second crooning to you how special you are to him, the next backhanding you and calling you a stubborn bitch. You don’t know what he wants from you. If the fates were merciful, he’d get it over with and just kill you.
Ending your life doesn’t seem like it’s high on his list of priorities.
He’s facing away from you now, tinkering with something on his desk by the light of his various computer monitors. You can’t make out what it is, only that he’s been at it for the past ten minutes. Grateful as you are for his lack of attention, it always makes you nervous when he gets preoccupied. It usually means he’s working on some new and exciting way to break you.
You take comfort in the momentary peace, some temporary reprieve from the invasive leer of those horrid crimson eyes scanning over you in the darkness. Whatever he’s doing, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Only steel yourself against what he gives you when he’s finished.
He reaches into his desk, pulling out a plastic bag of something you can’t make out. All you know is when you hear the ziplock open, a strange scent floods the room. It smells vaguely familiar, but between your fucked up headspace and even worse situation, you can’t really bring yourself to care.
Leaning against the little metal bed leg you’re imprisoned against, you realize just how heavy your eyes are as you rest the back of your head on his threadbare mattress. Fighting off oncoming waves of pulsing anxiety takes most of your energy reserve, and bouts of sleep tend to come few and far between when you’re sleeping in the den of a predator.You’re so tired, so worn down, and you don’t know what else he could do to you that he hasn’t already done or planning to do. It would be a lie to say you hadn’t considered saying that to him, but you feel like tempting the universe or him isn’t a great idea right now. Either way, your eyelashes feel like weights dragging you under into the sea of sleep.
You’re almost there when his chair squeaks and you jolt awake, that overwhelming sense of dread coming over you. Your instincts blare and somehow you just know his eyes are on you again, waiting for you to acknowledge him. He wants your attention, and he expects you to give it.
Dragging your exhausted lids open when you know you’ll have to see that terrifying man is a burden you haven’t grown accustomed to having quite yet, but it’s one you bear anyway. Besides, you know that if he thinks you’re ignoring him, he has no problem forcing you to look at him. It’s easier to just give him what he wants. He hurts you less that way.
So you do, and just like you expected, he’s simpering down at you, holding something you can’t make out in his hands. Gulping comes on impulse; he looks far too pleased and that never bodes well for you.
“Do you know what this is?”
He holds it out and it takes you a second to make it out in the dark, but you know that basic shape.
“I-is that a pipe?”
“At least you know that much.” He gives you a cheeky lip quirk, making heat rise in your cheeks. Palming it in one hand, he uses the other to fish in his pocket, one finger carefully pulled outside the kangaroo pouch of his jacket. Following his movements, your brows furrow and curiosity almost wills you to speak. The words stall in your mouth, however, when you see him pull a cheap lighter out between two fingers.
He flicks it a few times with his thumb, sparking the light and sending small cinders dancing across the his lap. After a few tries, it finally holds. The light across his face only makes him seem all the more sinister, exacerbating the shadows that reside in the craggy, marred flesh of his cheeks. The flame dances in his pupils and the orange tinged shine glimmers off the edges of his weirdly perfect, jagged teeth. It’s extremely unsettling.
He lets the flame die, picking his pipe back up and tapping it on the desk once or twice.
“I don’t do this often. I usually prefer to keep a clear head.” He lazily arches back in his chair, inhaling the dank stench of the sticky green plant packed in his pipe before returning his gaze to you. “But in some cases, I find it can help you relax.”
Bringing the pipe to his face, he wraps his chapped lips around the bit and sparks the lighter again. You watch as the flame is sucked toward the bowl, igniting the contents and bringing them to a dull simmer.Thumb twitching on the carb and pinkie pulled away, he inhales, letting his head lull back on the seat of his chair. After a few seconds and a suppressed cough or two, he leans forward and exhales, sending a splay of thick, billowing smoke directly into your face.
You turn your head, watery eyes clinging shut, but it’s not enough to keep the acrid stench from clogging through your sinuses. It constricts your throat, compelling an instinctive cough from deep in your chest. Whatever it is he’s smoking, it’s strong.
His high pitched laugh echoes off the barren walls of his room as you scrunch your nose and try to disperse the smoke pooled in your face. When the air finally clears, he’s leaning toward you, arms resting on his knees with the pipe in one hand and his lighter in the other. The little embers still burn beneath the lip of the bowl, little grey spirals rising up from the still burning plant clusters.
He holds it out to you (as if you could take it with your hands restrained behind your back), hyena-grinning as you scowl up towards him.
“You should try a little. It might make you a little more-” Pausing, he pretends to be in thought. More mockery, you really wish you were desensitized to it by now. “-friendly.”
“I would have been friendly if you hadn’t kidnapped me like some sort of psychopath!”
He rolls his eyes at your outburst, languidly pushing himself off of his dilapidated computer chair and crouching down next to you instead. You know better than to kick at him, he won’t hesitate to break your legs to keep you in line. All you can do is stare at him nervously as he shakes his shaggy pale hair out over his forehead, still sporting that unnerving expression. His scarlet eyes burn arguably brighter than fire from the pipe, and exponentially more threatening.
He moves a little closer into your space, bringing the piece back up to his lips and lighting it up once again. He takes a deep inhale this time, even deeper than the first. Chest puffed and breath held, his lanky arm reaches out back behind him places the still-burning pipe back on the desk, gaze never leaving yours.You figure he’s going to blow it in your face again, either to be annoying or to try and give you some sort of shitty second rate high to make you more malleable.
It’s obnoxious, but not even close to the worst thing he’s done to you.
Yet, his cold, dry fingers grab at your jaw, forcing you to keep your attention on him. A chipped nail from his thumb prods at your lower lip and you realize he wants you to open your mouth. You could tell him to go fuck himself, but that only gives him what he wants, if only for a moment. Instead, you choose to glower at him.
If looks could kill, he would probably keel over, but unfortunately you live in a world where he has the upper hand. He squints at you, something you know would be equally as furious as your own grimace if his features had the freedom to express it. The fingers on your chin clamp down, digging into your soft skin in a bruising grip. The more you defy him, the more he punishes you, and his large hands have more than the power they need to cause you pain.
Eventually you feel your jaw start to crack. You try to hold out, try to stay your ground, but it becomes too much. Between his brutal strength and your already weakened condition, it’s no use fighting him on something he really wants.
You open your mouth, if only to cry in pain, and he immediately crashes his lips against yours.Teeth clack as you try to shake him off, but it’s too late. He’s breathing his air into your lungs, caustic mixture of the taste of the weed and the bitter scent of his breath swirling deep inside you. You try to heave it back at him, but the damage is done. Smoke barely seeps from the tiny cracks he allows between your faces, and your need to breathe is stronger than your ability to fight, so eventually, you relent.
You gulp the air he gives you down, just wanting him to get the fuck away from you. You can feel his lips quirk in a smile as you fight the urge to spit up from the foul scent of his exhale, ripped and bloodied lips scratching against yours. Eventually when he does pull away from you, you go into a hysterical coughing fit and between your bouts, you can hear him cackle.
You finally manage to calm yourself, but whatever it is he’s made you inhale, it’s strong. Stronger than anything you’re used to. Even second hand, your head is already humming, and you can feel your chest tighten against your will.
“You feel it, don’t you?” High pitched giggling and a weirdly gentle brush of a hand across your buzzing, swollen cheek. You go to swat him off, hissing in pain when the metal edge round holding you back cuts into an already existing cut. “Soon you won’t have any fight left in you at all.”
He leaves you alone for a minute, door clicking behind him. You catch your breath in his absence, eyes scanning your surroundings. You look for something, anything he has left within your reach that you can use to escape. It’s what you do during the exceedingly brief moments he’s not around, and so far, it hasn’t yielded any results, but you refuse to give up.
The curtains likely mean that there’s presumably a window behind there. If you can just get free, you might be able to jump out. Problem is you’re stuck with your hands restrained behind you on a metal bed post. It doesn’t matter how much you kick and scream, no one ever comes, so it’s probably safe to say whoever is below or above you doesn’t give a shit. You need to get out of these cuffs.
He smokes, at least occasionally. He’s probably got a bobby pin around here for scraping. If he’s anything like your mates, they probably litter the floor. To be fair, even if you get one, you don’t really know what to do with it. You could try your hand at lockpicking?
Heh. Hand. Get it? Cause all those hands?
Focus.
The biggest problem right now is the handcuffs. Technically, you could get out of them, but you’d have to disjoint your fingers to do it, which takes away from your already pathetic chances at escaping. It hurts to move your wrists, let alone yank on them. Why the fuck did this asshole have handcuffs anyway? Unless he’s doing some kinky shit in his down time. You wouldn’t put it past him, he’s obviously a weird guy. He seems like the type to be into some dirty stuff. You don’t know who with, but there’s probably villain fuckers out there he could find and take advantage of. Gross.
You audibly laugh.That’s funny.That’s really funny. You don’t know why, but the thought makes you giggle uncontrollably. Your mind refuses to stay on track.
Fucking focus!
Somewhere far away, you hear the door open and his heavy footsteps off to the side of you. Too late. You’re still laughing.
“Hey Shigaraki-”
He’s leaning down next to you, fucking with something behind you. Your hands. He’s messing around your hands. He’s cold. Why are his hands always so goddamn cold? Is that why he’s a villain? Cold hands? That would make you a villain too.
Your head feels several sizes too big, and you can’t help but think about how he smells like dust. Everything feels slow. You can feel your heart pumping. You can hear it too.
“-You should like, just let me go.That would be kinda cool. My hands hurt.”
You don’t notice they aren’t even cuffed anymore, or that he’s scooping you up in his arms and gently placing you on his bed.
“Don’t try to fight, now. You need a tolerance to before it’ll feel normal. You’ll only hurt yourself, and that would be such a shame.”
You can tell he’s mocking you again, but you just chortle because the words are processing like a slurry. The back of your head feels so soft. It’s definitely not the awful metal he’s made you crick your neck on the past little while. He’s touching your arms and it tickles. Flashes of his face play in your mind a little slower than they’re probably actually happening. It’s terrifying, but the fear doesn’t register. You wanna touch his face. You bet it feels funny.
You can hear the click of handcuffs again, and you know he’s cuffed you once again (so rude), just somewhere new now. Your fingers grip and you feel metal bars. A bed frame. Again. Uuugh. You kick your feet a little and they bounce off the mattress. Bouncy.
There’s a weight shift near your feet, and before you can really understand what’s happening, he’s on top of you, face hovering less than an inch above yours. Your cheeks are burning as his flaxen hair tickles and curtains you, and no matter how hard you want to, you can’t stop staring at his eyes. They’re so fucking intense you swear they scorch you. Like an abyss, you feel yourself being swallowed inside them as they stare long into you. Hate. Rage. So much embodied negativity you can practically feel it. Panic blooms in your chest but your body is reacting too slow. All you can do is squirm.
“Shh-” He’s caged your head in his arms, and his breath is glossing your cheek, just as sour as before but somehow you know what’s about to happen is much worse than forcefully smoking you out. “This’ll be much better for you if you relax and give in. Who knows? You could even enjoy it.”
He grinds his clothed pelvis into yours, and while somewhere inside your head, sirens are blaring, all your body can process is pressure against your most sensitive area. You whine, and he takes the opportunity to press his lips to yours again. Your mouth is slack and moist, so it’s nice and easy for him to slide his slimy, disgusting tongue down your throat. With your brain short circuiting from both shock and whatever he’s made you consume, your body doesn’t have enough control over its facilities to fight back.
He kisses you long and hard, if you can call whatever he’s doing to you kissing. It’s more like he’s trying to devour you. Sloppy, wet, and possessive, like he’s trying to choke you with his essence. It could have been a minute. It could have been hours. You don’t know.
When he does finally pull away, you can feel your stomach lurch as he laps at the string of spit that connects you to him, but you only blink your eyes wearily despite your extreme bodily reaction. You feel sleepy, or more accurately, your eyelids feel kinda heavy. Really heavy. Something visceral is telling you to stay awake, to keep fighting, but you just can’t. You can hear yourself speak but you don’t even know what you’re saying. You don’t remember.
“You’re cute like this, all spacey and stupid.” He flicks your forehead and your eyes flicker back open, but only briefly. “I guess it hit you kinda hard, huh? Sorry about that. I should have warned you. It must’ve slipped my mind.”
He presses his mouth to yours again, a little softer this time. You’re almost out at this point, everything feels so heavy. So sluggish. You barely feel his long, thin fingers glide slowly up your shirt.
“I think you could come to like it here with me if you stop being stubborn. But that’s okay. I forgive you. Like I told you before. I’m patient. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
#Shigaraki#Shigaraki x Reader#tw implied noncon#drugging???#slight somnophilia#kidnapping#sorry weed actually hits me different than it hits other people#and when I tried to do research on how to accurately portray it they basically said you cant lmao#HE GETS YOU HIGH AS FECK BOI#It's special villain quirk weed dont ask lmao#this ended up ridiculous#just like me#it's doing that thing again where it cuts off the read more JUST under the ask#will someone send me a picture for how it shows up on your dash? Am I the only one seeing this?
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“I can’t believe you!”
Erin rolled her eyes, carefully setting the two beers on their table as she slided back on her booth seat. “For the love of God, Michelle.”
Not that she thought this would stop her, of course.
It didn’t.
“I mean, for years you won’t shut up about the wee fecker, and how he’s the biggest ride in Derry and all that shit, and now you go and do this?!”
“What’s going on?” Clare asked, intrigued, getting back from the loo at the same time. “Jeez Michelle, calm down, you’re spilling my drink!”
Too drunk and too upset - and well, too herself, really - to give a feck, Michelle uncereminously slided said beer over to her before dropping on her own seat, an accusing finger pointed at Erin’s face.
“She’s a fecking chicken is what’s going on,” and Erin just snorted. “I’m telling you, there’s still time - just go for it, for feck’s sake! Here, I’ll do it for you.”
“Michelle, for the last time - No.”
“And why not? That’s your chance, you won’t get another one, you know.”
“You do realize that I don’t give a feck, right?”
“About what exactly?” Clare tried again, also trying as best as she could to wipe all the spilled beer from her glass so she could actually hold it.
Michelle didn’t grant her so much as a glance.
“Aye, like hell you don’t give a feck, Erin. Five years - five years ! Five years I’ve had to listen to you talk about the wanker and watch you do every stupid shit you could think of to get his attention, and now you’re just going to stand there like an idiot?”
“Yes, and if you remember correctly, that particular stupid crush ended in high school.”
“It doesn’t matter that it ended or not - he’s still hot, there’s nothing to think about here.”
“Oh my God, expand and explain, people - expand and explain!”
At the end of the table, Orla covered her ears with her hands, a terrified expression on her buzzed face, and Erin chuckled.
It was a good thing the music was so loud, because otherwise, she was pretty sure Clare’s high pitched squeals would have made the whole bar lose their minds.
Gulping down half her beer, Michelle finally turned back to their friend, her open arm pointing towards Erin. “What’s going on is David freaking Donnelly just came onto that one at the bar, and this eejit turned him down without a blink.”
She looked back at her, half angry, half disgusted. “I mean, what the feck? He’s still a ride, why in hell wouldn’t you go for it?”
Putting down the beer that Erin just brought him a little too harshly, James glared at his cousin.
“I don’t know Michelle, maybe because she has a boyfriend now or something?”
Unsurprisingly, that wasn't good enough of a reason for her, which, also unsurprisingly, she wasn’t shy about letting him know.
Amused, Erin gently ran her hand over his thigh under the table as he shook his head, annoyed, and put a gentle kiss under his jaw then leant back against him, head coming to rest in the space between his neck and shoulder.
He smelt nice. He always did, that James’ smell that she loved so much, and she breathed him in, the addition of the beer in her hand, his arm around her shoulders and their eejits friends’ voices making it all kinda perfect.
God, she was happy right now. Shitfaced, and happy.
When she tuned back in the conversation, Michelle still wasn’t finished. “I mean, it’s not even about you, dicko - he was her big high school crush, she has to ride him. Stop being so selfish, you prick!”
“Aye, it’ll be like a closure thing so it will,” and Michelle snapped her fingers in her direction, nodding and drinking.
“What? Orla!”
“I’m sorry James, but those closure things are important!”
“And I mean, I guess there’s something poetic about it being during Christmas break, you know - kinda like a holiday miracle or something.” Of course, it would have been even more poetic if Clare didn’t punctuate her sentence by a God awful burp, but she didn’t seem to mind.
Michelle put her chin in her hand. “I guess it would have been even better if it happened when we were proper adults, like getting to shag the teenage ride of your dreams years later, like in the movies, but doing it while we’re at Uni works as well, I suppose. Actually - "
Next to her, James just swore and took another sip of his beer as their friends kept listing the reasons while she should immediately run after David Donnelly and get it on.
Chuckling, Erin sat up just enough to meet his beautiful green eyes. He looked back at her, and she couldn’t help her smile from getting even bigger.
“I can’t believe them,” he pouted, a little hurt.
“I know,” she nodded, bringing her hand to his face. “They’re eejits. I mean, for one, he wasn’t my big high school crush, and I did get to shag my actual one - still do, actually.” His face lit up as that, his smirk turning a little dangerous.
Damn, that English was handsome.
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” she grinned, nuzzling him gently. She kissed the corner of lips, his chin, and felt her insides melt as his fingers tightened around her shoulder, bringing her even closer.
Erin kissed him once, twice before leaning back only slightly.
“You know I only want you, right?”
Aye, the smile he gave her at that. David Donnelly definitely had nothing, nothing on that boy.
Grinning, she put another kiss on his mouth, her thumb briefly brushing his cheek before she let her hand fall back on his chest. “You’re the biggest ride in all of Ireland, Maguire. Now, how about some shots to celebrate the end of these stupid exams?”
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Five Past Three
Oki ik i said i was on a writing break but uhmmmmm feck that :) here is some Pheonix content BC THE POOR BEBE HAS BEEN NEGLECTED OMG!!!
SO here is some backstory shenanigans that are sorta important to know heheh 👀
CW: drug use (not in too much detail but oc is high.) / i cant think of anything else BUT if i missed anything plz plz plzzzz lmk!!!!!
masterlist
Pheonix collapsed to the ground with a grunt. His whole body was tingling, almost numb. He felt as if everyone in the world was watching him. He lifted his head, no one.
The wind blew more, making Pheonix shiver.
He could still feel the pounding of the nightclub’s music in his head. Not the one he worked at, oh no no, he wouldn't get high at the place he worked at.
He scrambled in his pocket with numb fingers, trying his best to take out his phone. He tried to put in his passcode, 1-7-8-5, try again, 1-4-5-6, try again “FUCK!” Pheonix yelled, throwing his phone across the car park, hearing it crack against the concrete.
“Who’s there?” Came a voice. Pheonix curled up more in on himself. “Son, are you alright?” Phoenix's head snapped up to see an old man standing in front of him. His vision was shaking as he tried to focus in on the man. He could hear him talking but he couldn't understand! He sounded so far away, yet, he was just about a meter away.
“Hey -ah! Ya reak, boy! What did you take?!”
“Wh-what time is it?” Pheonix’s shaky voice asked. “It's five past three in the mornin’, lad. Now, are ya gonna answer my question?” Pheonix shook his head. No. To be fully honest, Pheonix didn’t know himself. He shouldn't have been so reckless! How did he even get in the carpark? He didn't remember walking here.
“This is dangerous! Someone coulda just picked you from the streets and- well, God knows what would happen! You're lucky I saw ya, lad.” His phone! That's what he was doing! “C-could you pass me my phone please, it-it's over there.” The man looked at him, confused at first before he saw the phone lying there. He strolled over and picked it up, studying the cracked screen.
The lock screen came on and the man could see some notifications. Ten missed calls from Sammy, a bunch of text messages from Sammy too and then just some regular notifications. “Well, it seems as if someone is worried about you, ya better call them back before they go absolutely mad lookin’ for ya, ay?”
Pheonix just held out his hand for the phone before asking again, “What time is it?” The man huffed, “Lad, you just asked, it's still five past three.” Pheonix’s eyebrows furrowed, “N-no, you told me that ages ago, th-the- I-”
“Shhh, it's alright, relax yourself.” He passed Pheonix’s phone over and pointed at the time, “See?” He asked in a gentle voice. Pheonix nodded as he saw the numbers through tear-filled eyes.
“I-I- yes, I’m sorry-”
“Hey, no need. Now, how about you ring your friend there and we can sort out how we can get ya home. How does that sound?” Pheonix nodded as he tried to put in his passcode once more. His hands were shaking violently as his numb fingers attempted to key in the numbers. Please try again.
“Here, how about I’ll put it in for you and you can do the talking, aye?” Pheonix nodded, “The uh, the passcode is 1-4-5-2. The man put in the code and Pheonix’s phone unlocked. The man opened the phone app and pressed the contact ‘Sammy’. It only took one ring until Sammy’s desperate voice was heard, “Pheonix?!? Pheonix are you okay?! God I'm gonna kill you if I haven't already died from a heart attack!" Pheonix chuckled slowly, " ‘m okay Sammy. Well, kinda. Theres a uh,, a man with me.”
“WHAT?! PHEONIX PUT ME ON SPEAKER RIGHT NOW!”
“Ay, it's okay, he’s makin’ it sound a lot worse than it is,” The man chuckled. Pheonix laughed, almost falling from his sitting position. “It's alright, my name is Hudson Wheeler, I’ll share the location where we are now. I was walkin’ back to my car when I saw your friend here, someone must have roofied him.. Unless he took the drugs himself. Although, I haven't gotten much chat from him.”
Sammy’s breathing was heavy on the other line as he tried to decide whether to believe it. “Alright, alright, stay on the call and send me your location right now.” Hudson went into messages and selected the button to share the location, he waited for a moment before asking, “Have you got it?”
“Yeah, yeah. Jesus Christ, Pheonix. Alright, how long can you stay with him for, Hudson?”
“As long as you need. You know, I can bring him anywhere if you need me to?”
“No, no, sorry, but no. I- I’ll collect him but it might take me a little while.”
“That's alright. No worries, I have all the time in the world.”
Sammy let out a sigh of relief, “Uhm, thank you. Thanks for helping him and I’m sorry I was salty at the start. He’s just, well we've had some bad experiences when it comes to this stuff in the past.”
“Hey, it's all good! You're a great friend.”
“See you sooooon Ssssssammmmyyyyy,” Pheonix laughed.
“Mhm… see you soon.”
Sammy hung up and Hudson looked at Pheonix, shaking his head and chuckled.
Sammy rushed out to the driveway of their house and quickly hopped into his car, keys, wallet, water, phone. That's everything, they thought. They quickly turned on the engine and reversed out of the driveway. They pulled up a map on their phone and followed the directions that came up on the screen.
They put the volume of the radio on full volume and drove. He knew he was driving over the speed limit but he had to get to his friend. They had to. Their foot pressed down on the excelerator more than intended but they didn't notice.
They didn't notice until police sirens started to blare. “No! SHIT!” They slammed the steering wheel with all his force, making their palms turn red. They thought about just speeding and avoiding the police, but he had enough things that they could get caught for than that.
They growled and pulled over, running a hand through their hair. A policeman came over and tapped on the window. Sammy blew out a huff of air and pulled down the window, “Hey officer.”
The officer shone a flashlight into the car, making Sammy wince and cover their eyes. “HEY! Hands up slowly, no sudden movements.”
“I'm s-sorry officer!”
“It's alright, now, do you know why I pulled you over?” The officer’s thick Southern accent spoke. “I'm sorry, I was going way above the speed limit, I just- I wasn't thinking, I just-”
“Hey, hey, hey, no need to get wound up now alright?” Sammy nodded.
“Alright, and where are you going to?”
Sammy thought for a moment, they couldn't give away too much. Pheonix had taken drugs. The last thing Sammy would want is their friend to get arrested!! “I uhm, I'm just going to pick up my friend.”
“Mhmm, alright. Listen, you seem like a good person, although I am quite curious why you're out this late, but listen. Drive slower and focus, got it?” Sammy nodded quickly, “Y-yes officer, thank you so much officer, I promise it won’t happen again.” The police officer chuckled slightly, “It's alright, safe drive.”
“You too.”
The officer patted the window and smiled and Sammy drove off. Slow, slow, easy, calm, relax. They looked to the map, fifteen minutes.
Hudson looked over to Pheonix who was now lying on the ground, eyes wide as he looked up at night sky. Tears streamed down his face. “Hey now, why are you crying?” Pheonix licked his dry lips and shrugged. He could see streaks of pink and green in the sky, he guessed Hudson couldn't see them.
Hudson dug into his backpack, “Ah, I knew I had it!” He took out a water bottle, “Here, sit up.” He supported Pheonix’s back and helped him sit up. He brought the water bottle to Pheonix’s lips and gently tipped the water.
Pheonix was fully leaning against Hudson for support. He gulped the water quickly and whined as Hudson took the bottle away. “Hey, I cant have ya gettin sick alright?” Pheonix whined but nodded. He then turned his body with a groan and cuddled into Hudson as he shivered.
Hudson sighed as he looked at Pheonix, “What are ya doin’ to yourself, lad?” He shielded his eyes as bright lights suddenly shone. “Looks like your friend is here. Hey, wake up.” Hudson slowly stood up, carrying Pheonix by the shoulders with him.
Sammy rushed out of their car and dashed over to Pheonix, “Oh my god, Pheonix, you idiot! Here, can you help me get him into the car please?”
“Of course.”
The pair guided Pheonix to the backseat and laid him across the back. Sammy closed the door and sighed. Hudson gave him a sympathetic smile. “Thank you, thank you so much.”
“Of course, my pleasure. I would tell you ways to help him sober up, but I'm guessing this isn't your first rodeo,” He chuckled slightly.
Sammy huffed, “No, can't say it is. But seriously, thank you. Listen, this is all I got but please take it,” Sammy handed a fifty dollar bill to Hudson. “No, hey, that's not necessary at all!”
“No, no, please take it.”
Hudson sighed and took it, “Thank you.”
“Can I give you a lift back home at all?” Hudson smiled, “Oh that's so kind, my car is actually only five minutes away but thank you.”
“Of course -no of course.”
“Well, you better get that laddo home, hm?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you.”
Sammy got back into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine. They looked in the mirror and saw Pheonix asleep. They smiled and closed his eyes for a moment. No, no, get home and then sleep. They widened his eyes and put their hands back on the steering wheel.
The drive home was fine. Sammy didn't play the radio to ensure Pheonix could rest. They kept at the right speed too, they couldn't get pulled over again. They yawned and blinked hard for a few moments.
Once the car pulled into the driveway, Sammy helped Pheonix into their house. Pheonix groaned but Sammy ignored him, “Hey, none of that now. Cmon, let's get you to your room.”
They tucked Pheonix into the guest room’s bed and left a basin on the ground just incase. “Rest up,” they whispered. “G’niiiiiiiiiight,” Pheonix chuckled.
---
taglist:
@as-a-matter-of-whump @jordanstrophe @milk-carton-whump @yesthisiswhump @kixngiggles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @happy-whumper @thelazywitchphotographer
#Pheonix#Hudson#Sammy#tw: drugs#two caretakers#writing#my writing#whump writing#(not really whumpy though jkhfjkf)#backstory#also im really sorry if there are typosssssss
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Out in the fields
Wicklow has often been referred to as the garden of Ireland. The founder of St. Bartleby’s had assumed that the sprawling landscapes and fresh air would do the young gentlemen of Ireland’s high society some good — and he wasn’t wholly wrong. There was certainly a great deal less trouble to get into in the middle of a field than there was in the more populated towns.
However, those who are determined to find trouble will inevitably make do, and such is the case on this night, with the overcast spring sky providing ample opportunity to lurk if one so desires. And, let it be said, Jack Lovett was nothing if not a professional troublemaker, in the unfortunate way that sheltered rich teenagers are.
It is true that Wicklow is the garden of Ireland, but even so, there is a smattering of abandoned lots and crumbling alleys. Tonight, Jack had picked out one of the abandoned car parks that he’d evaluated to be the best of the lots, and he currently had parked himself on top of a stack of old wooden crates. His adventuring partner for the night, a first-year university student he’d met at a rather bad concert back in the autumn, was none too happy with their predicament.
However, they’d already argued about the risk factor of skulking about in empty lots on the way over, and both thought it best to save some energy for arguing about the activity later into the night.
There isn’t much to do in Wicklow if you’re a private school student.
***
Jack flicked his lighter on and off, admiring the way it spat out sparks.
“You’re going to break that,” his companion sighed, their mouth pulled into a disapproving, thin line.
Rolling his eyes, Jack made a show of flicking the lighter shut before shoving it in his blazer’s pocket.
Ozzy smiled, leaning their weight against the almost-slick bricks of the old building. “Thanks.”
Scoffing, Jack drummed his fingers against the box on which he was sitting, the noise making a slight echo. After a moment, he looked back at Ozzy. They raised an eyebrow, and he took that as an invitation.
“What do you want to do?”
“What do I want to do?” they snorted. “You’re the one who wanted to poke around weird holes in the wall.”
“It’s not like there would’ve been anything to do on campus,” he said, frowning defensively.
“So you should’ve come up to Dublin instead of making me take a taxi down here.”
“Yeah, true, Ozzy,” Jack admitted. “Ozzy — what’s your name from, anyway?” he asked, swinging his legs lazily from his perch.
Ozzy shrugged. “Poem.”
“What?” he furrowed his brow. “I thought the name was from that rocker bloke.”
“Why’d you even ask, then?”
“Dunno. Although I do admit it seemed like a weird choice and all, considering you don’t even listen to heavy metal. ”
“Well, there you go. That’s a bit stupid.”
“Eh, can’t win ‘em all.”
“Fair,” Ozzy exhaled, rolling their shoulders as they gazed out towards the empty car park. “The story I have isn’t that interesting, to be honest.”
Jack shot them a look. “We’re lurking in an abandoned lot so that I can smoke without one of the head boys giving me grief about cigs. Please, regale me with your poem.”
“Prick.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Fine. It’s basically about the narrator meeting a traveler from a faraway land, and they talk about there being this huge statue of the king Ozymandias out in the desert. The king had it engraved to say things such as that he was ‘the king of kings’ and that his enemies should fear even the sight of one of his monuments. All real braggadocio-type shit. But here’s the thing — the statue is the only thing that remains in that desert since his kingdom is now in ruins. It’s about arrogance and hubris. I can text it to you.”
“Huh,” Jack took a puff from what remained of his cigarette. At this point, the thing was almost only the orange filtration zone. Not that that gave him pause, though. “Cool.”
“I liked the themes,” they shrugged. “Nothing lasts forever, even the powerful die eventually, be careful with where you invest in real estate. Basic stuff.”
“Well, I’m gonna read it,” Jack declared, waving his hand. “So I don’t want any more spoilers.” Tiny trails of smoke formed as he gestured, with the mist making the lit end of the cigarette splutter and hiss intermittently.
“It is cool. Plus, my name makes whoever is talking to me sound like they’re buzzing.”
“The consonants are wicked, yeah,” Jack agreed, grinning. Ozzy grinned back.
Suddenly, Jack froze up. “Shit,” He hissed, flicking his cigarette to the ground and hurriedly grinding it into the wet dirt. Jack hopped off the empty boxes, fanning the air unsuccessfully in an attempt to disperse the smell of smoke.
“Do you have any Axe in your work bag?” he asked, cursing.
“It’s a research program. I’m not really doing any heavy physical labor,” Ozzy snorted. “I don’t bring stuff like Axe to work. That’d be weird.”
“Whatever,” Jack grimaced, and Ozzy craned their neck to see what he was looking at.
Across the gloom of the dusky car park, Ozzy could just about see the silhouette of a sleek, black Bentley. One of the older models, probably. They looked at Jack quizzically, taking a step back.
“Jack,” they began slowly. “There’s a car.”
“Yeah,” he said dismissively, still waving at the air. “Got any mints, at least?” he tried, hopeful.
“Dude, there’s a fecking car parked over there,” Ozzy stressed, eyes darting back to Jack. “No one ever comes out here. I think we should leg it. Now.”
“’S probably why he drove out here, the creep,” Jack muttered under his breath, moving to riffle through Ozzy’s bag anyway. They squawked, moving to kick his hand away from the bag, but he batted their boot away.
“Gross. Orange tic tacs?” he looked up, making a face.
Ozzy shoved their hands into their pockets. “They were out of the tea-flavored ones.”
Jack rolled his eyes as he crunched on the mints. “You should take one, too.”
“ I wasn’t smoking.”
“So? It’ll look weird if only one of us has mints. Take some!”
“What? No, it won’t. You’re mental — look, do you recognize that car?”
“Unfortunately. My classmate’s bodyguard has one just like it.”
Ozzy boggled. “Your classmate’s… bodyguard’s… car.”
Jack huffed. “Shut up. They’re practically inseparable. And my classmate is always blowing off school to do God knows what, so it adds up that he’d try to invade our car park behind the abandoned Foot Locker.”
“The Foot Locker lot isn’t really ours, though. It’s not really anybody’s. That’s a bit of the point of it being our haunt.”
“Yeah, technically — we still got here first, though,” Jack sent a glare off into the gloom. “If Butler comes over here and tells me to knock off smoking again, I’m fighting him.”
"His bodyguard's name is Butler — never mind. Please don’t get into a fight with someone whose job is being able to fight.”
“Fight professionally, maybe. I never learned karate or that MMA type stuff. I learned to fight on the streets. We’ve the advantage here.”
“There… is nothing going on between your ears. Just empty air, blowing around your thick skull,” Ozzy decided, finally cautiously taking a step closer to look at the car.
“Piss off.”
“You piss off,” they muttered back, poking their head around the rusting dumpster.
That was apparently a mistake, as they found themselves making eye contact with the gigantic man stepping out of the driver’s seat of the Bentley. He was incredibly still, like the calm ocean — barely tamed strength that had been forced into a moment of inertia.
Slowly, they felt themself raise up a hand in a small wave.
“Why are you interacting with them?” they heard Jack splutter from behind them.
“They already saw us,” Ozzy said, voice low.
The passenger door to the car swung up and out stepped another figure. He was pale enough that he seemed to glow a bit under the busted streetlight, and he was dressed in a smart, black suit. He must be the classmate, then, Ozzy decided, gaze flickering between the two. He didn’t seem like any secondary schooler they’d ever seen — but money was wont to have a funny effect on teenagers who’d never known its absence. For Jack, it’d convinced him that the world was a lot smaller and a great deal more simple than it truly was. For this other fellow, Ozzy frowned, it had seemed to do the opposite. He had the gait and demeanor of someone who knew the world was all too willing to knock him down, and he had thus decided to steel himself against any future threats preemptively.
Jack had been exaggerating their rivalry. Ozzy was sure of that.
If his classmate had seen Jack as anything more aggravating than a nuisance, it was more than likely that one day, Jack would have simply stopped showing up at the lot to hang out. In fact, it was more than likely that Ozzy would have stopped seeing Jack altogether.
Feeling a presence at their side, Ozzy turned to face Jack, who was lingering nearby. He grimaced, slinging their bag over his shoulder.
“If they've already seen us, then sprinting off will look suspicious,” he explained, hoisting the bag higher. Ozzy shot him a withering look.
“I thought you wanted to fight his bodyguard, Jack. Are you telling me you’re afraid that what, we’ll get chased?”
“Uh, yes, actually?” Jack said slowly, as though explaining something to an infant. “Neither of them understand the concept of fun.”
Their petty squabbling petered out as the two people from the car made their way over.
“Artemis,” Jack said, pursing his lips at the dark-haired young man.
Ozzy made a note of that, furrowing their brow. Artemis. Interesting.
“Hello, Jack. I must say, it’s a bit of surprise to see you out here,” Artemis remarked, tone light. Turning to face Ozzy, he appraised them.
“I’m Ozzy,” they offered.
“I don’t believe I’ve met your acquaintance before, Ozzy,” Artemis quirked his head, extending a hand in greeting.
“You’ve definitely never met,” Jack confirmed, tone somewhat brusque. “They’re a fresher at Trinity.”
Shaking Artemis’ hand, Ozzy harrumphed. “I can introduce myself, thanks. But no, we wouldn’t have met before, I don’t think.”
“Trinity?” Artemis smiled, nodding approvingly. “I gave a lecture on Balkan politics there.”
“Really? Maybe one of my friends saw it. When was it?”
Artemis waved a hand. “I was thirteen. It was some time ago.”
“Oh,” Ozzy blinked. “Good for you.”
“Quite. I must say that you’ve piqued my interest with Trinity. If I might ask: what is your focus on?”
“Classics,” Jack interjected before Ozzy could respond, puffing up slightly with pride at the mention of his friend’s work. “They’re beyond smart. Actually, you should tell Artemis about some of your papers, Ozzy. Lethal stuff.”
“Maybe some other time,” Butler announced, his voice firm, and he looked at his employer pointedly. Artemis must have picked up on whatever he was implying, as the pale young man nodded apologetically.
“I’m afraid it is time for us to part ways with you two,” Artemis explained.
Jack crossed his arms.
Ozzy put a firm hand on his shoulder before he could say something. He scowled at the strange duo in front of them but turning to look at Ozzy, his face softened.
“Enjoy your stupid car park,” Jack muttered, allowing Ozzy to maneuver them both back towards the path that led to the main foot road. He was no doubt thinking he’d got the last word in, Ozzy sighed mentally.
“Don’t think I didn’t see you smoking when we pulled into the lot, Jack Lovett,” Ozzy heard Butler call after the two of them from out in the gloom. They winced, continuing to push Jack forward.
“He’s threatened to tell my mum a few times, “ Jack remarked miserably, no doubt disappointed at his grand exit being ruined. “He knows her from some damn book club group, apparently.”
Ozzy laughed, and he gave them a hurt look.
“I’m living like a hunted man, you know! It’s not funny, Ozzy,” he sulked, and they shook their head fondly.
“You really ought to quit, Jack,” they sighed, inhaling the cool night air. It smelled vaguely of roses, with the pungent smell of tobacco beginning to fade as they walked farther and farther from the lot. It was always worth coming down from Central Dublin to visit Jack in Wicklow, they shot him a glance. Despite how much Jack might complain that St. Bartleby’s was located in the middle of absolute nowhere, Ozzy knew that deep down, he liked being away from the city. Not that Dublin was in any way as busy as some of the cities they’d seen back in London, Ozzy conceded. But even Dublin was too much for someone like Jack. He needed growing room, even at the precipice of adulthood.
“Hm. I might,” Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Jack .”
“No, I really think I might! It’s getting to the point where my mum would realize when I come home for the holidays, and the last thing I want is to get chewed out for using ‘her money to buy cigs when I should be learning',” he pitched his voice into a breathy falsetto at the end.
Ozzy chuckled. “You’ve already gotten caught, then.”
“Mum found a few I’d stuffed in my bag when I came home for Christmas. You should’ve seen her — she was huffing and red in the face for about an hour. I really got the business for that.”
“Good. Your dumbass should have realized that bringing cigs home was a monumentally stupid idea.”
“You’re mean tonight, you know that, Ozzy?” Jack grinned widely, shaking his head and knocking his shoulder into theirs.
“Whatever,” Ozzy rolled their eyes. Slowing slightly in their stride, they glanced backward, eyes narrowing to try to make out the silhouettes of Artemis and Butler.
“It… is a bit weird, you know,” they began, voice faltering. “That those two were at the car park.”
Jack snorted. “Weird is on-brand for Artemis. Besides, he wasn’t there for the car park, probably.”
“What?”
“You’d never guess it if you’d just met him, but he’s bonkers for all that like….,” Jack made a vague gesture with his hands. “Ancient aliens type shite. At least, he used to be when we were roommates. He’s gotten more normal since he was 10, but you never know, y’know?”
Ozzy stared at him, stopping in their tracks. “So that’s… a haunted car park, then?”
“Good idea for a band name — ‘haunted car park’,” Jack extended his arm, pantomiming putting it up across a poster. “But no, more like haunted hillfort.”
“There are fairy mounds in the parking lot?”
“Sometimes I forget you’re painfully British. Yeah, there are a bunch all over Wicklow. There’s one in the field behind the car park, but it’s so small you’d never see it on a touristy type guide.”
“Huh,” Ozzy said thoughtfully, looking out at the dimly lit concrete island.
“Huh?”
“Just ‘huh’,” Ozzy confirmed, turning back to continue walking.
Jack shrugged. “Fine by me.”
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REMAKE: Virtues our sin babies have despite being demons.
Everyone seen my post that the sin boys have virtues despite being the sin boys and it's not an AU thingy where they have the opposite of their sin right!.... no? Well go find it! I'll wait..... ok you couldn't find it because I deleted it. Well it doesnt matter anyway I'm about to remake the whole thing! Well sorta it was made before Belphegor got out of the attic but now that I have him outta attic and got to know him I wanna remake the whole list.
Lucifer: Temperance(opposite of Gluttony)
Gluttony is over indulgence and do we see Lucifer ever just relax or chill. Does Lucifer even know the meaning of the word? Idk if this man even sleeps...
Their is a Devilgram story where he is at a party for Barbatos and during the whole party he is trying to make his brothers behave. Not enjoying himself. Not indulging in anything just making sure his brothers arent acting like the demons that they are
He considers listening to music while he does paperwork a fecking treat... wtf luci
Mammon: Patience(opposite of Wrath)
Mammon was assigned to watch MC for a reason. He can tolerate A LOT.... and boy does mammon put up with A LOT. Like seriously dude feck Mammon's brothers! They are mean to him 😭
The fact he doesnt just deck Levi every time the 2 of them speak. Mammon is stronger than most of his brothers. If he wanted to throw hands he would win against all but Lucifer. He puts up with his weaker bros calling him scum like at least once a chapter.
The fact he doesnt actually try to kill MC for half the stuff they try to get into
Leviathan: Generosity (opposite of Greed)
Mammon may help the MC by giving them a plan but who do they go to to get the means to make it happen.
Levi let's MC play his brand new game he just got to help them with the Satan/Lucifer switch up he also was the only one to volunteer to help with getting that pic of sleeping Lucifer and bribed Beel on MCs behalf
He wants to share with the MC. He doesnt mind trading stronger spirits in his devildom pokemon go rip off with the MC because Levi is a giving demon.
Satan: Purity (opposite of Lust)
I'm subscribed to the 'Satan is a virgin' headcanon
But virgin doesnt equal pure. Satan seems the most nervous about things of a sexual nature misunderstanding what Mammon ment by first
Even in his kiss card "for you" he assumes your relationship with him is mostly platonic but still offers you a present on a holiday of romance.
Asmodeus: Zeal (opposite of Sloth)
Asmo is described as high energy more than once
He is passionate about all of his 'hobbies' from his beauty routine to... other things
All around life of the party busy body and probably has all kinds of gossip from it
Beelzebub: Gratitude (opposite of Envy)
Beel is grateful for every meal he eats. He always thanks whoever cooks for him and compliments the food if it tastes good
I hear mostly 2 different audio clips from beel I dont speak Japanese but I do know arigato means thank you and I assume the other is him saying he is hungry
Beel is thankful for his family and would do anything for them. He even thinks about them more than food
Belphegor: Humility (opposite of Pride)
Remember that huge fuck up belphie did... yeah damn belphie when you mess up you mess up big time!
But the first thing he does when he calms down is try to make things better. The next couple of chapters later he is trying to make everything right between him and his brothers just wanting to make everything ok again.
He accepts responsibility for his actions even though he hates the consequences.
NOTE: I understand that some people prefer kindness or admiration for the opposite of envy but I personally believe gratitude is the opposite because if you are thankful for what you have you wouldn't care too much about what everyone else has. I also use zeal instead of diligence since zeal is about passion and a part of sloth is apathy. Language is weird.....
#obey me#shall we date obey me!#obey me!#shall we date obey me#shall we date: obey me#obey me belphie#obey me belphegor#obey me leviathan#obey me levi#obey me headcanon#obey me headcanons#obey me lucifer#swd obey me#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me asmo#obey me beel#obey me beelzebub#obey me virtues
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TPN S2 Appreciation
I remembered I started this so here we are: there's a lot of problems with s2 but you've probably heard everyone talk about them anyway so I'm skipping that and going straight to all the stuff I DID like about s2:
opening
episode 1
(episode 1) seeing them interact with the environment
(episode 1) Ray running + being out of breath animation and voice acting
episode 2
(episode 2) especially the parallel with the drop like holy shit
episode 3
(episode 3) the fish bug scene while maybe out-of-place is pretty cute and funny
(episode 3) the wall scare is pretty ominous and as of ep3, not yet stupid.
the **OPENING**
(episode 4)
(episode 5) the shot of the apple rolling and the camera turning over with it. so cool.
(episode 4) Ray shooting the demon animation cut even though Emma was robbed
(episode 4) Chris knowing the bunker tunnels after we saw him playing there with other children is really nice. Especially knowing that in the manga he's sad he can't explore properly, I think it's a nice in-character touch haha.
(episode 5) masked Norman with blood splattering behind him
Myuk Mahou cover art makes them look so cuteeeee
portraying the two worlds in parallel from the OP to wanting to care and save your family
the opening making me cry every time
cup-kun memes
(episode 3) them entering the bunker being so fecking tense and suspenseful, like i was expecting a corpse the entire time pff-
(episode 5) ray and emma using hand signals during the rooftop chase
(episode 5) the natural in-convo reveal about how they hide their scent by Lani/Thoma
(epsiode 5) the detail that they throw it in the fire to spread the masking scent when the old demon gets there
(episode 5) the old demon scene (listen ik people questioned this, but it's an old weak demon... I kind of see it like helping out a weak strong animal. I doubt this old geezer would have jumped Emma; it could reveal their location, that's true, but oh well - it’s implied he met them more often before so maybe Emma just slowly considered over time / maybe her realizing they’re not that different and all that yadayada)
(episode 5) Emma doubting herself because they've literally just been chased around (ik some people didn't like this and I get why but they've been barely surviving for like 11 months... she's lost and paralyzed, she's allowed to have her doubts, though they could be worded a bit differently. It just sucks that there wasn’t much of an arc regarding this after that, so. Yay Norman Christ has rescued us all.)
(episode 6) the reunion hug / scene, it looked so soft and nice ahhh- the entire art in that scene was just nice.
(episode 6) the atmosphere and framing of when Barbara was eating the demon meat. it came pretty unexpected and the moment you realize was such a big “ohhh… oh no.“
(episode 7) Lani and Thoma mentioning the migrating birds during their tower watch and that then later coming back when the kids think about where they could be was nice!
(episode 7) Norman’s soft “be careful” to Emma and Ray
(episode 7) Also Ray's reaction to "the gate is in gf" is just a mood haha
(episode 7) THE SHIPMENT PARALLELS! the sounds, grabbing his hand this time when he had to take hers during his shipment AHHH-
(episode 7) evolvment of the “dont do it on your own / involve your family/friends” by asking Gilda and Don to come with them on the search for Sonju/Mujika. Sadly this doesn’t carry over to ep11 where they decide to do sth as drastic as staying behind for god-knows-how-long without letting anyone know beforehand.
(episode 7) like their reactions to it are so wholesome, I really like how it is portrayed. Especially because up until now Emma was still bottling up. Idk I like that it takes a while for this to really settle in properly.
episode 8
(episode 8) “are you god?” / “I’ll be a god or a devil” / “are you a human?”
(episode 8) showing the demon suffering pretty graphically for what I expected
(episode 8) the simple fact that I got the experience of pure euphoria and a laughing attack when the parallel between Vylk and Norman was actually a thing, when I was so confused why they both had a distinct characteristic (the walking stick) in episode 5. My friends thought I was crazy but I was just big brain. (we were robbed of more stick though)
(episode 8) norman hand symbolism, with blood, Emma grabbing it, him looking at it and how it ties Emma to his plan inherently and then when it's not his blood on his hands but someone's that he's taking away from another living being.
(episode 9) the unspoken realization that he’s not the only one being tested by the test scanner was on the right-hand side. good shit. Ik thats technically not the anime’s idea but I like how they put the focus on it with blur and didn’t actively state it.
(episode 9) him coughing up blood to show how fast it’s been progressing/getting worse // though that implies he refused to take his meds OR that its that bad even with the meds which I don’t think is the point. Like the psychological warfare of giving the kids a condition that they can only fight while they’re in their prison bc they’ll run out of meds is just. hHHH
(episode 9) I really liked Norman going to talk to Vylk and… hhh- Emma *AHEM* and how he didn’t really know what to say, and .........… E-EmMa going up to him and apologizing for what demons did, showing empathy and understanding AND ABSOLUTING WRECKING NORMAN and me. man, cycle of hatred bad.
(episode 10) Emma speaking over the radio to everyone is just… so heartfelt ahh
(episode 10) The little kids sneaking amongst the others is rly cute and honestly kind of epic haha
(episode 10) the moms/sisters either not noticing them or not doing anything bc they’re on their side anyway is just… a funny thing to think about either way
(episode 10) Phil and Emma hug TvT
(episode 10/11) MICHELLEEEEEEE
(episode 11) the turning ceiling is pretty
(episode 11) I like the shadow asthetic of the Ratri exposition, generally the Ratri exposition is pretty nice aside from being so fast you cannot take all that in and process it properly
(episode 11) dramatic gate closing is dramatic
(episode 11) the slideshow of them in the human world gives nice glimpses into things, even if… very vague haha. Especially the shot of Isabella playing guitar stuck with me. And Phil on a train! Not a steam one, sadly.
(episode 11) while the demon world slideshow is uhhhhh SOMETHING, I do like that the weird dragon-on-water thing is in both the Ratri exposition during the promise thing and then also at the end, which at least gives A BIT of context to what's likely happening. Idk I liked that, but then again my standards aren't very high.
I'm not saying any of this outweighs the problems bc oh boy, but ye.
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Are we gonna see more of lance corporal Wilson or the Blind Devil?
uhhhh not as of now. But! I have a little piece of them trying to bond with Benj for you, anon!
Basically, in this piece, the Blind Devil and Corporal Wilson take Benj with them to one of BD’s boxing matches and he has a somewhat adverse reaction.
Warning for panic attacks.
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Oh god, this was horrible. This was bad, horrible, and wrong and Maidíu was laughing up there in the ring through a smashed nose and the Lance Corporal was calling him names that May would have absolutely skewered Peter for using and it was just—
It was so much.
Everything was happening in double time. Triple time. In half the space—a quarter of the space--it ought to be happening in.
Peter was going to scream.
No. He wasn’t going to scream.
He never screamed. He’d been through so much worse than this. Walls had literally caved in on him multiple times and he hadn’t screamed. Nails had pierced his skin and bullets had slammed through his thighs.
A load of shouting people crammed in around a ring wasn’t going to be the thing that undid him. Not if he had anything to say about it.
“HEY.”
It wasn’t.
“Hey? Spiderkid?”
He just needed to breathe. That’s all.
“Spiderkid? Hey, hey. Woah. You don’t look so good, hon. Here, let’s move back.”
No, he was fine, LC.
He just—
He just—
Breathing. He needed to breathe and he couldn’t breathe with all these bodies pressing against him. Pressing into him. Squeezing him from all sides—
“What’s going on?”
Who was that?
“I don’t know. Seems like some kinda asthma?” LC Wilson called over the shouting.
It wasn’t asthma. Peter didn’t have asthma. He didn’t have anything; he just needed air. That was all. A little bit of space.
“What’s your name?”
“Mine?”
“Yeah.”
“Wilson. Wade Wilson. This here’s Pete.”
“Buddy of yours?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah, wait. You’re Matty’s pal?”
“Oh, hey! Yeah, that’s us. You heard of us?”
All this chatter was making Peter’s head swim and there were huge, heavy hands on his shoulders now and he wasn’t wearing the mask or the coat, so he couldn’t swing around and tear them off. Break the bones.
Make them never, ever touch him again.
He couldn’t—
He couldn’t—
Goddamnit, he couldn’t breathe.
“The name’s Jack. Matty’s my boy. Here, I’ll take this one out for a sec.”
“You sure? I can take ‘im.”
“Nah, ease off, kid. Matt ain’t need no help. He’s fixin’ to win this one. If he asks, tell ‘im I’m out with the smallest of youse.”
The huge hand on Peter’s shoulder tensed and pushed and Peter found that he couldn’t resist it. It shoved him through a torrent of bodies, back, back, back, until suddenly, everything was cold and dark again.
They were outside.
Peter collapsed forward, gasping. Coughing. Clutching at his knees.
It was way quieter outside in the cold.
It took him a long time feel comfortable opening his eyes. Out of the corner of one of them, he saw knees. He bolted up straight and nearly stumbled back at the sight of one of the biggest men he’d ever laid eyes on.
“I’m—I’m—” he stammered, caught between an apology and something else he didn’t really know.
“You’re alright, little one,” the huge man said with a wink.
He was Irish. Fuck, he was Irish.
Peter already found parsing Maidíu’s half-New York, half-Irish accent challenging at times, but this guy?
He is cadence was so jolting that it took Peter’s brain several seconds to make the sounds into words and the words into sentences.
“I’m sorry?” he said automatically.
“I said, ‘you’re alright,’” the huge man said. “Take a coupla breaths. You’ll be alright.”
What the fuck was he saying?
Peter still couldn’t make his ears adjust.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.
The huge man huffed.
The guy was patient and oddly gentle.
Peter only found out the latter bit when he tried to go back into the ring to find the Lance Corporal. He didn’t get very far. What he got was a hand on his shoulder and a slow push back.
“I’m okay,” he told the Irishman for what felt like the fortieth time. “I’m okay, I can go back in. I won’t ralph on your floors or nothing.”
“Mm-hm,” the Irishman said, nonbelieving.
A roar went up through the house behind him. Peter jerked at the sound. The Irishman’s expression didn’t change.
“I’m not drunk,” Peter told him.
The Irishman didn’t believe him. His eyes seemed half-closed from how far down he had to look at Peter.
Peter wondered if he had a chance here on the street.
If he got a good solid punch in, in the head-region he probably could. But he only had one chance. This fucker was going to know how to fight.
“Da?”
Eh?
Peter looked up to see Maidíu with his hand on the doorframe feeling around it and turning his face back and forth.
“Right ‘ere, son,” the huge man said.
“Ah. There you are,” Maidíu said, stepping more boldly forward towards the sound of the man’s voice. His nose was disgusting. The huge man—Maidíu’s father?—looked over at him and lifted a brow.
“Come on, now, Matty. Can’t be lettin’ someone get the drop on ya like that,” he said.
“Did for the crowd,” Maidíu told him.
“Sure ya did.”
Good lord, this was Maidíu’s father. No wonder he was the size of a house.
“This one’s one of yours, son?” Maidíu’s father asked him.
“Which one?”
“Skinny ‘un. Dark ‘air, dark eye, spectacles.”
“Ah. Peter, then. Wilson said you weren’t feelin’ so good, kid. You alright?”
Uuuuuuuh no.
But neither of these massive bulls needed to know that.
“I’m okay,” he said instead. “Just had a bout of asthma or something.”
“Looked to me like the shell-shock,” Maidíu’s father said out of nowhere.
Peter’s breath froze in his chest.
“Da, don’t be scarin’ him like that,” Maidíu scolded. “C’mere, Pete. Ignore him. He thinks he knows everythin’.”
“I do know everythin’, I’m old as mountains, I am,” Maidíu’s father said.
“He serves in a war, comes back, and now he’s got every story in the worl’ in his head,” Maidíu huffed.
“I keep ‘em there with the lumps,” his dad told Peter with a wink.
“Da.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll leave youse be. It was good meetin’ you, Pete. We’ll have you ‘round to a quieter night one of this days, eh, Matt?”
“Yea, yea. Feck off, old man.”
Maidíu waited for the bigger guy to move around him before holding a hand out to Peter.
“He didn’t scare ya too bad, did he?” he asked.
Peter shook his head, then caught himself.
“No,” he said. “Just—I wanted to watch you, uh. You know. Fight. The LC seemed to be having a good time.”
Maidíu blinked sightless, scarred eyes Peter’s way and then smiled.
“It’s alright,” he said. “It can be really overwhelmin’ the first time you’re really in it. Da used to put me up high so’s he’d know I wouldn’t get crushed.”
Oh.
Oh, okay.
Peter sighed before he could stop himself. Maidíu cocked his head and carefully stepped forward, feeling with his toes for the edge of the steps his father had been previously been guarding.
“What’s the matter, Pete?” Maidíu asked gently.
“Nothing,” Peter said.
“I don’t know much, son. But I know it ain’t nothin’.”
Peter sighed again.
“I just—I wanted—I want—”
He didn’t know how to make the feeling into words. He couldn’t even do it in his head, how was he supposed to out loud?
“You want to be included?”
Oh.
Maybe like that.
“I want to have friends,” Peter felt himself say in a rush.
He didn’t mean to say it.
“I want to be like you guys. I want to just—you know. Have fun. Go to a match. Just relax and watch. But it’s like—I can’t. Every time I go out with people, it’s like I can’t make everything stop. My head’s always goin’ and everything starts getting’ really close together and I can’t help but start checkin’ over my shoulders—and it all just defeats the purpose,” Peter spewed forth in frustration.
Maidíu said nothing.
Peter sucked in a big breath.
He didn’t expect anyone to understand. He didn’t know why they would. No one else he knew had this feeling.
“Forget it,” he said.
“You know,” Maidíu’s rumbly voice said softly, “Da might not have been too far off there.”
“What?” Peter asked. “What do you mean?”
Maidíu shrugged a shoulder and itched at the drying blood on his face.
“I just mean, that—well. I was a wain when Da came back from the Front, but he had all these stories, ya know? Of men doin’ this and doin’ that. ‘Cause of the shell-shock. He used to tell me that some of his buddies’ eyes would go wide and they’d start breathin’ fast and funny. Gaspin’ like they couldn’t get enough air in, and they’d want to get out of the trench. They’d be sayin’ that they’d suffocate if they stayed in the trench. But you know, they couldn’t get up overhead. That was nothin’ but a death sentence. So.” Maidíu trailed off.
“You think I’ve got shell-shock,” Peter scoffed.
“I think you got somethin’ like it,” Maidíu said. “Don’t worry, though, kid. I get those feelings too, sometimes. Comes from being blind, I suspect. Gets real lonely sometimes. But then it’s all too much at the same time, too. Helps to just come outside and breath. That’s what my old man was tryin’ to get you to do.”
Ah.
Right.
That was…embarrassing.
“You’re alright, Peter. It’s okay. Here, do me a favor, huh?”
Peter lifted his face to see Maidíu holding out a hand with rough, calloused fingers. His own hands felt small and skinny at his sides.
“Peter.”
He balled them, stepped forward and took ahold of the fingers.
“Atta boy,” Maidíu told him.
“What do you need?” Peter asked him.
“Ah, well. See, me old man’s ‘bout to pummel a man into the ropes and it’s been ages since I knew what it looked like.”
Peter frowned.
“So you want me to what?” he asked.
“Tell me what it looks like,” Maidíu asked with alight lift to his eyebrows. “Don’t have to be perfect or anythin’. But it’d be nice to hear some commentary. You know, like on the radio. Is that okay?”
Yeah. Yeah, that was okay.
“Maybe we should find the Lance Corporal first,” Peter said. “You know his commentary’ll be better than mine.”
Maidíu smiled and turned his head back towards the commotion taking place inside the building again.
“If you say so,” he said.
When Peter came in closer, the fingers in his hand migrated until they were cupped around his elbow. The light light from inside made him take a deep breath. He held it. Then took another.
“Good work,” Maidíu said. “Here, let’s stay in the back so I can hear ya over this lot.”
Yes.
Yes, let’s do that.
One foot forward up these stairs. That was all. He was helping this blind man. This blind man was his friend.
He’d be okay. They’d be in the back, away from the crowd.
“Good man, Pete. You’re a brave little thing, you know that?” Maidíu encouraged.
Peter laughed.
Brave.
Yeah.
Obviously.
He was Spiderman. He was so brave. And so stupid. So reckless and cocky.
Come along now, Spiderman. Onward march, already.
“Come on, Devilman,” he said. “Step to it, we don’t got all night.”
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A VERY REMOTE ENGLISH TEACHER
Where meditations, rants, reverie and absent seizures cross over... closer to one gun with one bullet, the rose of ruby and the cross of gold...uff, and MENTACIDE IN THE TIME OF MASQUES. Although I have never suffered from the guilty masochistic torture of ‘pleasure anxiety’, Bacchus hath indeed drowned more men than Neptune. So I stopped drinking for 18 days to fool myself I was doing something positive and threw away enough things to be minimalist again. Arf. Beauty and/or function uber alles.
Been treading water for three years and trying not to drown...big round of one hand clapping for the former poet. Meanwhile, in this temporary world and perception I have created of it, I am looking at a very possible exile one way or the other...my ‘plan’...a long phased withdrawal or hasty retreat. My wish is to stay, but once I leave, it might well be very hard to return. Read as many metaphors as you want into that but in spite of my dislike of the conservatively minded Aristotle’s ‘either/or’ nonsense, there do indeed appear to be only two this time. And appear is the operative word. Appearances can be deceptive and emotions (unless raised and focused) cloud over what should be clear. Pain has a tendency to breed worry and fear too but let’s draw a veil over that for now eh? Suppress, suppress, release comes later...breathe deep and try not to cough, onward we go where the game gets rough...Just like Tom Thumbs Blues 65.
Remember Roman Protasevich...As Lukasenko himself said...‘Belarus stood at the edge of an abyss and I helped it take a step forward’. Look good on your tombstone that will Al. Fecking outrageous the Indian PM only admitted in May that covid was transmitted in the air. He needs removing... as do two thirds of all the other world leaders East and West. Hello Bollsanaro. People are very easy to manipulate when they’re are scared or angry...and right now the world majority are both. But, ‘there is a crack in everything... that’s how the light gets in’... and ‘things could change’, doesn’t have to be for the worse. It can take decades to realise this as actual truth, but still nice to read and try internalise the following last week.’The odds actually favour the optimists, since dissipate structures are more likely to evolve into more information rich (intelligent?) forms than into primitive or chaotic forms.’ All my friends bar my best one are optimists..Hello you:-)
Ever onward deeper downward with Orban in Hungary and his mission of ‘Christian values’, which involves a familiar routine of arresting, beating and disappearing dissenters in the name of Christ and taking over the universities to replace professors with those who understand on which side their bread is buttered. Decent judges long gone. Nice fascist communism...and ex soldiers in France and the Czech republic warning of civil war...
And now spiraling we go into the black hole vortex of Disaster capitalism, ‘Let the bodies pile high’. There’s gold in them thar ills....ISLAND PARANOIA and PERFIDIOUS ALBION! A country which demands a contract, agrees, signs to it and then refuses to honour it. We look worse than ridiculous, we look deceitful. Gentlemen, your places please. Boris Johnson is a clumsy, inept, disgraceful charlatan, con merchant and LIAR. A blustering master bullshit artist, the only decent thing about his recent secret wedding is that now he legally has one less bastard child.
Recently I read that British people are displaying signs of Stockholm syndrome...in that they dislike those who hold power over them and make the rules but during the time of pandemic, they are the ones who will release the saviour vaccine and get everything moving again. So rather than rocking the boat and daring to express dissent at the DIABOLICAL handling of the last 18 months, they have mostly kept quiet and voted for the same endlessly failing, corrupt and venal politicians who made a bad situation far worse. (That said, it bears repeating that there are a few million in the UK who didn’t quite understand that that the spread of a highly contagious airborne virus can be slowed by the wearing of masks/applying basic hygiene and even took offence at being told what should have made sense to any adult homo SAPIENS half capable of cogitating for themselves. Morons and scum. Same where you are?
By the way BBC...the colossal dearth of stories about the endless government failures in relation to Covid, death, corruption and the NHS...ever since they blackmailed you with threats of revoking the TV licence fee and got you to change Directors has been noted. Long may Have I Got News For You continue the satire and balance needed in a DEMOCRACY. Obey your public servants? Why, when they do not serve few but themselves? Power OF the people? Which ones...the mob? The same bleating pricks who follow populists?
Four eyed beanpole fop Rees Mogg, with his wonderful line that the benefits of Brexit will be seen ‘over the next fifty years’...well yes, that is why most people vote in democratic elections eh?...So they will be dead or ancient before the change they hoped for comes...and the politicians who lead them now, will have all long moved on to revolving door chairman of the board offshore limited liability company paradise. Bread today jam tomorrow fairytales. What I tell you three times is true.
O, but the English do so love to be told what to do by dumb posh boys who treat them like dirt. Some are forelock tugging and some are self flagellating middle class upper class wannabes who will never get there but still feel proud they are not street level proles. Doby the house elf alien hamster Michael Gove found guilty of breaking the law. Nothing. Internal inquiries run by those connected to the money changing hands find nothing illegal. Corruption for all to see...and ignore. ‘Well, what can we do?’ The uselessly inept serial failure Dido Harding to be in charge of the National Health Service? (she of the collapsed Woolworths, Talk Talk and the 22 BILLION pound loss of the Covid Track and Trace program where non working consultants/insultants, were paid 1000 pounds a day). American style privatisation is coming where only the wealthy or criminal can afford to be repaired and well. Sick.
Meanwhile, All our imported nurses out, and all the lobster red fat Spanish costa de la sol criminals back in. Great exchange, fair trade and forward thinking. The Kremlin are manipulating/supporting Scottish independence... I read years ago about their base in Edinburgh for Russia Today (the foul insert in The Daily Telegraph) and they were already encouraging it. Rees Smug has accelerated and supported their freedom with his snobbish utterances on countries in the UK other than England and their ‘foreign languages’. With every patronising, arrogant pronouncement, the Eton trifles fuel the fire in Scotland which has a long bitter history of being tortured, murdered and subjugated by their southern masters. Perhaps the chumocracy in Downing Street believe the Celts to be as easily cowed as the middle and working classes down south. Here’s hoping not. ‘Rebellious Scots to crush’? Not this time pal.
As for the future of Britain? A dystopian open prison where the lower social classes toil only at the pleasure of their masters. The higher caste getting richer and all others cast into a living Hell of debt, crime, and sickness. Serve until you die and be thankful we allow you to exist. Increasing in utter irrelevance to the world, other than as an example of how wrong a former democracy can go. This future started decades ago...its baobab roots truly deep now. Better education and critical thinking for the masses in the UK (or anywhere else) is highly unlikely now. Optimism huh? As long as I am not in England, I will still be able to tap into it, but once enclosed long term in the group mind there...trapped in a grey quagmire. Keep smiling...
Several weeks ago, I watched a video on YT of apparently English protestors running after the police in London, some attacking and throwing things, one pulling off the pandemic mask of an officer and all shouting abuse at the outnumbered cops who had to keep pulling back. As always, to get my caffeine rush of fury going, I read the comments and was surprised to see two or three from Chinese names. Almost all comments were against the government (fair enough) and dumb against the lock down, masks, vaccinations etc. Checking again, I saw the video had been posted by CGTN...a media company owned and run by the communist party in Beijing...and not one author of diatribes had mentioned this, nor speculated with a critical thought as to why such an organisation might enjoy turning people against their own democratically elected government (however mind rippingly foul and corrupt they are).
I copy pasted the Wikipedia paragraph about the company onto the page and hoped someone else would make the connection. I wouldn’t mind so much IF there were a credible and decent alternative other than the diseased populist poison for which the demonstrating goons chant. China really cares about the standard of democracy in Britain eh? Persuade your enemies to weaken themselves. Destroying countries by encouraging their ‘patriots’.
(That was written on the anniversary of Tienanmen Square...a few days later Xi Jinping gave a speech saying ‘...a lovable and respectable’ China must be presented to the world and must ‘expand its circle of friends’. Tell that to your teenage ‘dissidents’, Muslims, Falun Gong and Tibetans being tortured and brainwashed in prisons or being used for organ harvesting. Tell it to Hong Kong and Taiwan.)
Unholy America...against abortion and the pill, sex education’s not Gods will and in the Name of Christ they kill...if truth be known, we’ve failed the test...but Jesus was a Socialist and Republican conservatives hate them. The founding fathers of America were Very clear about separation of church and state with damn good Reason. Another part time Christian, Mike Pompeo wants to be president. Q Onan deepstorm morons/Kremlin stool pigeons aka POLEZNYYE IDIOTY continue to push for Trump and his Big Lie...He with the brain where ‘In the left, nothing is right and in the right, nothing’s left.’ Arf.
Over the last two decades, the dumb have been finding their voice and are now louder and prouder of their dumbass ignorance. 74 million in the US alone, their egos unable to retreat in the face of endless evidence to the contrary, they all double down. Like children sticking their fingers in their grimy ears sing songing ‘la la la can’t hear you’. 74 million versions of Eric Cartman, loud, proud and wrong. And uuff, Megan Markle, Majorie Taylor Greene, walking Picasso collage (bad car driver) Caitlin Jenner and Ivana Trump in politics...not exactly holding a proud lantern for women eh? I’d like to buy them for what they are worth and sell them for what they think they are worth. Not very PC?
That was the point. Could easily been written about all of the men written about here too. Next examples follow...
Tucker Carlson and Alex Jones compete for who can be as mentally ill as trump. The Miami school where the husband and wife directors told teachers not to return if they had HAD their vaccine shots because their proximity to students was interfering with menstrual cycles and uuuufff...The sickness of utter mind buggering stupidity. I had my first shot, now waiting to turn reptilian when the 5G masts triangulate my position. Fnord. Covid appears to be killing more overweight meat eating males than females...perhaps testosterone is not useful for the coming Race of non binary mutant hermaphrodites...and look out for the end of the Y chromosome, coming to a temporary universe near you...in 4.6 million years. Yes, really.
Glad Netanyahu is out at last, smug corruption is never a good look unless one is a rich criminal. Ha. The Promised land of Israel...If I was in court for serial murder, breaking, entering and stealing and then defended my actions by saying that God had told me to do it, would the Judge; A. Call for a psychiatric report, B. Disregard the statement as unprovable and pass the appropriate sentence, C, say Ok mate, you’re free to go, good luck to you. ? Moses had a good schtick.
The law is only to punish the poor, do you feel as if you suffer from empathy? Once you know, you no longer need to believe. What does ‘reality’ seem to be? The more certain you are, the stupider you get and belief is the death of intelligence. The machine is running the engineers. What is the definition of rationality...the quality of being based on or in accordance with reason or logic.
Nothing is, but thinking makes it so. Epicurus.
EVERYTHING NOT COMPULSORY IS FORBIDDEN.
The glamour illusion of the mass of pointless hot influencers needs a constant renewing of the Banishing Ritual as much as all the pigslop bile coming from Fox News and Sky. Bloody long haired commie liberal faggot they cry against any not identical to them. Some days I have only flamethrowers of hatred for these idiots. Other days...not exactly self doubt, just questions...most of us seem to believe our opinions are more valid when there are emotions connected to them. Including me. Again, this seems like a very weak version of ‘truth’, unless disciplined, channeled and focused to a certain end.
Life appears to exist in order to become via chaos.
Most of us are working only not to be homeless, some because of the joy in our chosen work regardless of finances. Until ‘reality’ kicks in the door...the bondage gets tighter when you struggle. How much hardship is the individual willing to endure these days by choice? Surrounded by a universe of distraction and destruction, Maya mewling for our attention. Five years of Trump, rampant populism and Brexit doing a Hexagram 23 on democracy, compounded by the pandemic...all on top of ‘normal’ daily life. The ego feeds and the immune system breaks down. Hard to ignore without being on a mountain or in a parallel dimension and emotion free other than compassion. But BY GODDESS IT CAN AND WILL BE DONE. Ladies of Life Nin Khursag, Isis, Kali, Aradia...Love one, Love ALL. At very least have respect for thyself but be not thou proud of thine arrogance nor thy suffering.
Or just Remember where you came from, what you were, seem to be and will become.
Heal, heal, more work to do, more love to give, more love to feel, Heal. Stay in drugs, eat your school and don’t do vegetables. Impose your own reality upon and through yourself, breathe, exhale, repeat, and continue, LOVE UNDER WILL. Experience and absorb but ‘It’s a house of tricks, ignore the world’’.
Stay well, be seeing you:-)
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