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moved-to-void-kissed · 3 years

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Split of Twin Flowers

After being rescued from the realm of darkness, Aria seeks a way to give Ves a chance at living her own life, while also continuing to survive in her own right. Aqua brings her to the scientists at Radiant Garden to see if they have a solution, and for Aria to explain her situation, but the only option available may carry some worrying implications.. (3937 words)

Takes place after the ending of KH3. Content warning for mentions of battle scars, talk of a character being possessed, an event comparable to an exorcism (it’s kind of hard to explain in non-series-specific terms, sorry), and rather a lot of self-insert-focused exposition.

(Comments on and reblogs of my work are always okay, and appreciated, but are by no means required. I recommend reading this piece on the original document, but if that doesn't work, a transcript has been copied and pasted under the readmore.)

This is a piece I have been working on for a long time, and am very proud of, so I really appreciate anyone who takes the time to read it. I hope it isn’t quite as heavy as the content warnings may possibly indicate. I’m also using it as my post for the twenty-ninth day of sapphic September; there’s just one more to go!

Document transcript:

The door to the laboratory opened halfway, and a young woman tentatively poked her head around it. Upon seeing that she was not interrupting anything, she smiled and emerged more properly, brushing a lock of blue hair from her face.

“Oh, Master Aqua!” The lone scientist in the room smiled warmly as he noticed her. “Thank you for coming. I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Thank you, Ienzo.” Aqua replied, even if she did still in fact look rather tired. The long battle to defeat Master Xehanort and the true Organisation still felt fresh in her mind, and although it was a fight that the light had eventually won, it had still taken quite a toll on her. Not only that, but she hadn’t had the same chance to rest as the others - though thoughts of locating Sora still weighed on everyone’s minds, Aqua had been more concerned with finding a way back into the realm of darkness in order to rescue Aria, her partner who she had so unwillingly abandoned..

Now that Aria was finally free as well, Aqua could let herself relax a bit more, and with that lowering of her guard came much contemplation of everything she had gone through.

“Um.. Master Aqua?”

“Ah!”

She’d been staring off into space again, judging by Ienzo’s worried expression half-visible under his hair.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, don’t worry!” she replied, slightly embarrassed at her lapse in concentration. The young scientist did not look entirely convinced, but he seemed content enough to continue.

“I’m the only one here at the moment, but I should still be able to help with what we talked about over the Gummiphone. Did you happen to bring Aria with you?”

At this, the half-open door Aqua had come through continued to swing open as if of its own accord, only to reveal another young woman entering the laboratory with a somewhat nervous expression. She had clearly been through a lot, and the realm of darkness she had reportedly been trapped in for aeons had definitely left its mark on her; several large patches of darkness could be seen spanning her face and body, with one reaching down her left eye like a melting wound.

“Yes, I’m here..”

Her catlike eyes flickered nervously around the room, and it soon became apparent that what Ienzo had thought was a cape were in fact a pair of black feathered wings, both subconsciously curling around her shoulders. It was only upon recognising that Ienzo was the only one present, and that his initial reaction to seeing her was not as negative as she was expecting, that she was able to relax slightly and explain herself from behind a now-steeled facade.

“My name is Aria.” she said, looking up at the scientist from under her messy blonde hair. “Aqua said you might be able to help me achieve something. Has she already.. told you about, well-”

“We’ve already spoken a little bit using the Gummiphone I was given before, but he said it was best for us to come and talk in person to try and get everything clear.” Aqua stepped in after sensing Aria’s hesitation and took her hand to support her partner. “It’s alright - you can trust him,” she whispered close to her ear.

Trusting only in her love’s reassurance, Aria started to explain her intentions to Ienzo, who seemed content to listen even considering the clear presence of darkness she had; this silent gesture of tolerance was greatly appreciated. She appeared hesitant to reveal much of her true nature as a Heartless, but she did what she could to inquire whether the young scientist knew any way for a heart to be released from its current body and inhabit a different one, allowing the dormant self within the original body to reawaken. Unfortunately, Ienzo remained pensive, even after she had said her part.

“So, you’re looking for a way for a heart to enter a new body? I’m sorry, but.. I’m not sure we’ll be able to help you. Any of the resources we could have used - which is to say, the replicas, they would have been perfect for this - were taken by Roxas, Xion, and Naminé’s hearts.”

“Oh. So, there is nothing you can do?” Aria persisted, but Ienzo shook his head.

Then came a flash of hesitant inspiration.

“Unless..” He trailed off and turned to look down one of the corridors leading away from the main lab space. “Could you two come with me, please?”

“Of course!” said Aqua brightly, as Aria nodded in assent.

==========

The three left the main hub of the laboratory to walk down the corridor, which felt as though it was turning downwards into a basement level of sorts. Once there, they came to a tall door which Ienzo unlocked with some sort of biometric scanner, and this opened out into yet another laboratory space with a similar layout to the first - however, this one seemed in a less presentable condition than the other, and its lack of windows seemed to be what was giving it a more foreboding presence. There was a distinct sense that something bad had happened here, once upon a time.

“After you and the other Guardians of Light helped to defeat Master Xehanort,” Ienzo was saying to Aqua, “we went back to the Keyblade Graveyard to see if there was anything to salvage from the battlefield, and we were able to bring this back with us.”

He gestured to a container at the far wall, in which the two Keyblade wielders could now see a strange white figure suspended inside, resembling a featureless mannequin. It appeared to be dressed in some kind of dark robes, of a dull purple colour inlaid with sharp red motifs, worn over pieces of tarnished metal armour. A number of scuffs and dents littered the otherwise-smooth surface, and Aria could sense traces of a dark presence seeping from the container, despite the blank nature of the figure itself.

“What is this..?”

“This is one of the replicas that Even created, back when he was still Vexen, and a member of the first Organisation.” Ienzo explained. “The first twelve were prototypes, initially abandoned as failures, since they were made before his assistant provided the data needed to perfect them, but.. From what I understand, the real Organisation - which Vexen was also a part of at the beginning - repurposed those twelve into vessels for Xehanort’s heart, as backups in case the people they brought through time fell in battle again.”

“That’s right, I remember fighting these now.” muttered Aqua. “But, didn’t they fuse into one form, eventually?”

“That’s what I thought, too, from your accounts of the situation.” replied the scientist. “I’m not sure if Sora defeating the replicas in battle made them all separate out again, since they weren’t really designed to be fused, or if this one was already too damaged to combine with the others in the first place. Regardless, it was the only one we recovered.”

He now turned to face the blank figure with a concerned expression. “We’ve been running some experiments to see whether it can be repurposed for anything, but.. There’s a lot of darkness still lingering within it, so it wouldn’t be safe for a heart of light to inhabit without risking it also being afflicted by that darkness. And we haven’t found a good way of destroying that darkness without compromising the replica, either.”

“I could sense the dark power when I saw it, so corruption would seem a likely outcome.” Aria mused. “This would also be darkness from Xehanort, so.. it isn’t that surprising that some part of it stuck around. Persistence did seem to be his only worthwhile trait.”

She had crossed her arms in contempt at this last part, but seemed satisfied enough to relax after studying the replica further. “It shouldn’t matter any more than he did in the long run, though.”

“Hmm..” Aqua seemed concerned about the prospect, but was trying to keep an open mind. “What do you make of it, Aria?”

“Well..” She took a moment to examine the figure with an unchanging expression. “The replica body itself has sustained some damage from the fight, but I don’t see why that would affect my ability to inhabit it - it’s just possible that those injuries would reflect in my new appearance, which is.. nothing I’m not accustomed to. And, if the heart within a replica determines its appearance, then maybe what’s left of my heart - or, I suppose, the heart that I once was - would be able to smooth over those gaps. Though, if it’s the latter, that could mean my appearance ends up changing, which.. is not what I want.”

Aqua tentatively nodded, but Ienzo seemed more visibly confused.

“I’m sorry to interject, but- what do you mean by “the heart that you once were”? You’re saying that that’s different to your heart, somehow?”

“..In a sense, yes. How do I explain this..?” There was a slight pause as Aria tried to gather her thoughts, and it was clear she was still trying to think by the hesitant nature of her words that followed. She had seen right through to the heart of the man standing before her, which glowed with a newly-restored lustre. It was a heart that sought to help people, and sought knowledge in order to do that, though there were visible flickers of a long-seated regret present as well. Still, it was a heart that she judged would not judge her, so she decided to provide it with the truth she hoped would sate it.

“Though I look mostly human to you, this- isn’t technically my body, however much I treated it as such. If I were to let go of this vessel, or be driven out from her, you would see me as I really am - a Heartless, a flowering thing. However, Heartless are created when a heart is consumed by darkness, so.. surely the appearance I would take if I were to possess a blank replica would be that of the person this heart - my heart - used to belong to. Only, I don’t- I don’t really see myself as him, or as Ves. I am different, I am my own- well, person, if I can even call myself that. Yet, when I imagine my appearance outside of this vessel, I can only see myself as a Heartless. Does that make any sense?”

“I think I follow..” the scientist mumbled, though his still-furrowed brow seemed to indicate otherwise. “So, you kept your memories of who you were, even after turning into a Heartless? Kairi had implied that the same thing happened to Sora, but.. I’d just attributed that to him turning the Keyblade of heart on himself to free her, so it wouldn’t have happened to anyone else.”

This claim caused Aria to shake her head. “To my knowledge, the method is irrelevant; what matters is the intention. The more willingly a person opens their heart to the darkness, the more of their mind they keep when their heart is consumed, and they become a Heartless. I believe this is what happened with Ansem, though he actively sought after darkness so strongly that he retained a human appearance as well as mind. The emblem on his chest was the only way an onlooker could tell his true nature. When it comes to my original self, he was a Keyblade wielder, very similar to what I know of Sora, but… though he certainly did not willingly or deliberately let his heart be consumed, he was able to accept his fate in his final moments, and that is what allowed the Heartless formed at his demise - so, in other words, me - to retain some semblance of mind and self. Just.. not as much of it.”

“Oh. Yes, I think that makes more sense now. Thank you for the clarification.” said Ienzo. He was writing something furiously in a book that seemed to appear out of nowhere, then became startled when he realised his blunder. In an instant, he opened his mouth to ask something, but closed it with relief when Aria’s expression reassured him she did not mind him making notes about her.

It was Aqua’s turn to speak up now. “It’s so interesting to hear about this from you, Aria - but, I can’t say I’ve seen that kind of behaviour in any of the Heartless I’ve fought before. Had you noticed it at any point while we were in the realm of darkness?”

“Not that I can recall.” she replied. “It isn't exactly that common of an occurrence, considering most people’s disdain for the darkness. And, not only that, but..” She turned away from the other two here, and her next words came much more reluctantly again.

“Before I took over Ves, I remember feeling that I was losing myself - all I was driven by was this desire to be complete again, to be human again, but that was fading away over time. Then, when I found her, I didn’t necessarily feel more human, but what sense of humanity I did have was no longer fading away. So, if I hadn’t found her or someone like her in time, I probably would have lost my sense of self completely, and become just as mindless as most other Heartless are. It’s only thanks to the type of Heartless I became that I was even able to possess her in the first place, and.. I didn’t start to truly feel more like a person until I met other Keyblade wielders, and they interacted with me.”

“I see, I see.. So you’re saying that, in those Heartless that retain a sense of who they were before becoming Heartless, the remnants of normal heart behaviour - of humanity, if you will - have to be nurtured by others in order to be sustained, and will just be lost to the darkness if not actively encouraged?”

“Yes.”

Ienzo paused to finish hastily scribbling this knowledge down in his notebook, then lifted his head in realisation once he had had some time to think. “I think I might remember something of that from the old Organisation, actually.. Though, the memory is very hazy..”

To stop his mind from wandering as it wanted to, he returned to address the matter at hand.

“From what you’ve said, Aria, it does sound like you’d be able to make use of this replica - and you may well be the only one who could. I don’t think there’s any other solution here for you, and.. I say there’s no better way to find out than by experimenting. Give me a moment to get everything ready, and then we’ll be set to see if it works!”

Aria nodded, content with the proposal, but Aqua reached out to take her hand with a worried expression.

“Aria, are you sure you want to do this..?”

“Of course I am, Aqua. This is why I came here.” she replied. Then she hesitated again. “..Why, is there something wrong?”

“Well, no, it’s just-” Aqua took a moment to settle her whirling thoughts, holding both of Aria’s hands in her own now. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when I use my Keyblade on you. I don’t want to hurt you, or even destroy you. And, if something happened with the darkness infecting the replica, then..”

Aria couldn’t bring herself to meet Aqua’s gaze, but it was clear she appreciated the consideration, and did her best to reassure her love. “If I could leave of my own accord, I would have done so by now, but.. we’ve become too intertwined for me to do that myself. And Ves is not quite strong enough to drive me out from within - it’s enough of an effort for her to stay existing in the first place. So.. an outside force seems to be the only way to separate us. And there isn’t anyone I’d trust to wield that force, other than you.”

Despite herself, Aqua couldn’t help but smile at the last admission, and she felt her normal confidence returning. “..Alright then. If you’re sure about this, then.. I’m happy to be able to help.”

The two embraced for a moment, then there was a pause of silence as Aria took a few steps back to stand in the middle of the room. Once Ienzo had brought the replica out of its container, he carried it around to the other end of the laboratory, closer to the other two. Aqua summoned her Brightcrest Keyblade, then slowly raised its tip to be level with the X on Aria’s outfit. She took a deep breath, then pointed the Keyblade directly at her partner, echoing the movement used to open the paths to new worlds.

Aria instinctively flinched when a thin beam of bright light shot forward from the tip of Aqua’s Keyblade, striking her directly in the chest. She was then forced down into a kneel as an aura of pink-tinted darkness began to escape from her body. Her expression was grim, as if she was in pain, but Aqua caught sight of a hint of a smile before the darkness now emanating much more rapidly from her form started rising up to create something above her. It almost completely engulfed her body as if to pull it upwards too, seeming particularly concentrated around her head and wings, before disconnecting entirely to drop a drained figure to the floor. This left a dense collection of dark pink wisps, amalgamating in the air.

Ienzo was now well off to the side, looking rather alarmed, but his expression was replaced with complete surprise when the amorphous cluster of darkness coalesced, giving way to what looked like a floating mass of pink petals. Eventually, it turned around to reveal a large jagged mouth and piercing yellow eyes, staring with an expression he found difficult to interpret. The Heartless stayed floating in place for a moment, as if disoriented, then suddenly appeared to notice Aqua, staring at her curiously.

“Aria..?”

Her tentative call was clearly recognised by the flowering monster, which began to float cautiously towards her. She still had her Keyblade summoned, and her hand was trembling ever-so-slightly - whether with nervousness, uncertainty, or something else entirely, it was impossible to tell. Then, Ienzo stepped between the two and lifted up the replica body, hoping that Aria still remembered the plan.

“Here!”

It seemed the Heartless remained aware, as she moved forwards more purposefully after this, and collided directly with the empty vessel’s centre. A few petals scattered from the force, but it took only a few moments for the Heartless’ form to disappear entirely, appearing to be absorbed into the replica body. This caused another aura of darkness to manifest, enveloping the blank surface of the replica and making Ienzo recoil from the body - but it caught itself as it fell from his grasp to end up kneeling on all fours. A few more moments passed, as the darkness engulfed the entire body in a shell, before gradually dissipating after a few gold sparks were seen being forced out of the system.

The figure that stood up was slightly smaller than the replica had looked in the container, with catlike ears now poking upwards from a fluffy head of golden blonde hair. As she lifted her head, a cluster of cute freckles were seen scattered across her face, though in what Aqua thought was a slightly different arrangement than before. There were other little differences here and there, as well - the shape of her face, the way her hair fell at the back, how she stood dressed in the unfamiliar clothes from the replica in the middle of the silent laboratory.

But all of Aqua’s worries disappeared when the girl standing before her opened her eyes. Neither the bright, empty yellow of the lesser, mindless Heartless, nor a piercing orange like the seeker of darkness, nor even the harsh cold shade between the two that Aria’s eyes had been before, but a warm and resolute amber was the colour that met Aqua’s gaze, and regarded her with a renewed sense of gratitude and love.

“Aria!”

The Keyblade Master ran across the room towards her partner and nearly knocked her over with the energy of her emotions. Aria was nervous, but comfortably allowed herself to melt into Aqua’s embrace, now able to feel the connection between the pair even more strongly than before. Something felt so much more tangible about her presence now, and the relief coursing through her new body was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“Aqua, it really worked..!” she smiled, speaking in a quiet voice filled with gratitude.

“I’m so glad you’re alright!” exclaimed Aqua, who also had a few tears in her eyes. “How do you feel? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s all fine, I promise.” she asserted. “The replica’s darkness was not organised; it was just remnants that my presence has removed. I feel.. different, but in the best possible way. I could never have done this without you here with me - thank you, so much, for being here..”

She trailed off, still smiling at her partner, and another wonderful moment came and went. Then, a movement from behind Aqua caused Aria’s expression to take on a slightly fearful quality, and she turned her head to see what was happening. The cause of this movement was the figure left behind when Aqua set Aria free, who was slowly trying to get to her feet, her heart’s light flickering nervously. A bright green eye could be seen darting anxiously around the room from under her hair, but she was too weak to properly move, and quickly fell back to the ground again. Ienzo stepped in to support her, and his assistance was clearly welcomed as she was just about able to stand.

“Please take her somewhere she can recover.” Aria requested hurriedly. “After everything I put her through, she needs every opportunity she can to rest and adjust to being herself again..”

“Don’t worry. We have good facilities here.” Ienzo assured her. “Everything will be fine.”

This did little to ease Aria’s guilt, but the gesture was nevertheless appreciated. “Thank you, Ienzo.”

The scientist nodded, and then slowly helped the girl walk to the corridor. She appeared to be very shaken, and was glancing at everything with apprehension and unfamiliarity, but as she turned the corner of the corridor, she looked back at the couple still standing side-by-side, and met the eyes of both her saviour and her prison.

(For all that you have done to me, I know why you do not deserve forgiveness.

But, this is not the first time we have seen each other face-to-face since that day, thanks to that mirror you found in the darkness.

And ever since that moment, you have sought a way to free yourself from me. To let me live the life you once denied me. To break the hold that any other being you’d call your kind would do everything to strengthen.

You calculated the risks, but you still took them - the risk you would lose everything and the one person you cared for, for the sake of me getting to “get rid of you”.

So, who am I to judge a person - the person you have become - by the actions of the creature you once were..?)

A ghost of a smile flickered over her face, and the long-held vessel finally free again spoke of her own accord for the first time since the age of ancient fairytales.

“Thank you, Aria..”

#a call from the void #creations from the void #kingdom hearts selfshipping #this post is okay to reblog!#sapphicseptember2021 #selfship #selfshipping #love: wayfinding waters (aqua)#selfship: survivors of the dark (aqua/aria)#self‑insert: darkness' champion (aria)#and also featuring #self‑insert: ruby in the light (ves)#read the post carefully before opening the readmore please #or opening the document (which is how I recommend reading this one)#I have spent a long time trying to write this piece #i am proud of it

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stagbells · 3 years

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Summerdew and Sweet Kisses

From: @daikoski

To: @strawberryaeris

Written work under readmore!

notes: hello!! i had lots of fun writing this, it was such a joy to work on! it’s my first time writing lacenet, so i hope you enjoy!! summertime love :D

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It’s date night, and Lace has full reign on what they’re doing today.

It’s less of a spoken thing and more a silent agreement that one of them can take the lead and decide what sort of day the two will share together. Whether it be cozying it up at home, or working on individual projects with the other close by, going hunting, or seeking out a new activity to share, most of everything is free game when it comes to them.

To which, she’s deliberately chosen something new.

Hornet had mentioned one time, in idle conversation, that she’d never really swam for the sake of it. If anything, it was a shortcut, if she couldn’t easily cross the body of water with her needle and silk. That she hadn’t really considered it as a fun passing of time, a recreational activity of sorts.

Well. Neither had Lace, but the thought of it now sounds far more appealing now that they’ve both claimed better lives for each other, for Hornet’s family, doesn’t it? It’s safer now, and they’re easing into a life beyond just fine, but something good instead.

And... there are plenty of beautiful, isolated spots within the land that Lace has seen, and what better to enjoy it than with her darling?

And what a pretty little area it is too; a pond, hidden within the depths of a lush grove. hidden, but with evidence of prior life, if the cute wooden dock is any indicator. The surface of the pond is scattered with aquatic plants in little vibrant clusters, pearls of colour that sway with the breeze.

“Are you sure you don’t want to enter the water, dear?”

From her spot, with Hornet sitting perched on the dock, dangling her peets into the water and swishing them around in such a way that makes Lace laugh, before settling her always so composed regard on her, she looks nothing less than perfect. And also very wary of getting wet beyond that.

Cute.

“I’m considering it,” is just enough of a not-response that Lace hums, a touch understanding, a touch mischievous. Ah yes. She’s considering it.

Hornet has been sitting on the edge of the dock for almost an hour now, the two making idle conversation as they enjoy the balmy air that’s heavy-sweet with ripening fruits and bright flowers, hot to the point of being almost unbearable, but alas, she is still considering it.

Such a shame.

Lace splashes the unsuspecting spider.

Not a full-on wave, of course, she isn’t that mean, but as of now, a little urging on her part wouldn’t hurt, and Hornet immediately shields herself from the water. The top-half of her cloak is soaked.

“Lace—!”

“Yes?” Her voice as innocent as she is not, she merely swishes her hands within the water, propelling herself back a bit from the dock before holding her hands out in gesture, as if to catch Hornet if she were to dive in. “My, dearest, do you need any help with that? You’re already halfway there!”

“My silk is going to melt, and my things could rust...”

“A little water won’t hurt, but if you need a place to keep them, there’s a little nook over there that’ll keep them safe.” Shrouded by bits of sweet grass and soft soil, it’s a perfect spot to keep anything important safe. Besides, they’re both well aware that both of their belongings are far sturdier than that...

“If you had wanted me in the water so bad, you could have asked.”

Kind of haphazardly, more deliberate than not, Hornet unburdens herself of all the little tools and trinkets she keeps within her cloak, before finally sliding into the water. (It’s a mess, but a mess that she understands and who is Lace to question that.)

“There. I’ve removed everything from my pockets, and I’m here now.” Her tone is just a touch grumpy, though that’s easily dismissed with the way Lace can feel the faint stutter-rumble of her purr as she rests a hand on Hornet’s chest.

“Cute, but I think the little questions I’ve scattered into our conversation were not given much heed.”

“Maybe if you asked again...” Ah, now that is most certainly petulance. “You’re enjoying making a fool of me today, aren’t you?”

Hornet’s claws are carefully gripping her own, smaller hand, and Lace brushes the pad of her thumb over her now damp fur. The distant, light waves that carry them ever so slightly kind of pushes her to Hornet, and she can only smile wider at the way her lover’s claws go to brace her gently.

“Ahh, my apologies, I'm not trying to be mean!”

“Really.”

“Mm. At least, just a little bit.”

“So you do admit it.”

“And you must believe me, dearheart, when I say I have no ill intent~!”

Intentionally, Lace lets her mandibles curl in a teasing, honey-sweet manner that always has Hornet unable to look away for just a little bit, and she relishes in the attention just as much as the way her darling swats a wave of water her way in reciprocation.

Because even if she says it in a teasing way, going so far to jab her elbow lightly into Hornet’s side with a laugh, she hopes that the cute spider knows she means every word of it.

Because she’s something wonderful, isn’t she? Direct in a way that’s refreshing, because how often is it that Lace gets to experience something like that? Sharp and honest (and even if she does sometimes struggle with expressing her feelings, she’s still honest) and it’s in such a way that makes Lace want to be the same towards her, be something more open, more real.

...Weird concept, and Lace finds herself laughing to herself, just a little trill of delight.

Yes, but nothing could ever make her stop wanting to tease the spider. Her reactions are so cute after all!

But, her sappiness can be saved for later. Not when there’s currently the cute culprit of these thoughts right in front of her. It’s fun to splash around and goad her dearest on into something of a playfight, one that results in the both being absolutely drenched, but it’s just as nice to relish the coolness of the water against her shell, and in turn be able to admire the many facets such a new experience has brought upon Hornet’s visage.

Cute.

Such as the vague flit of surprise that had so graced the spider’s face when Lace had dunked herself beneath the water; not so many bugs feel comfortable doing such a thing, after all. Or the fond, subdued smile that quirks her fangs just so with each sharp banter that slips so naturally out. It’s nice.

And when the sunlight becomes something a bit too bright and Lace can see the films of Hornet’s eyes try to flick up as she winces from it, she can’t help but bump shoulders with her, before drawing her hand over the smoothness of Hornet’s mask in an unsubtle way of blocking the light, for even just a moment.

“You’re getting water in my eyes,” Hornet half-protests, fangs scrunching but looking so much more relaxed now, and Lace can only think of it as a job well done.

She had purposefully made it so that they would go out later in the day anyways; noonlight was something so sharp sometimes, but alas, even in the evenings can the sunlight bother her dearest like so. They continue like that for a good while longer, idly floating about and conversing, one instigating another splash war on occasion.

It’s all fun and games until they have to get out of the water.

Hornet, the poor little thing, looks just a bit miserable as she works on flicking the water from the tufts of fur that lines her body, chelicerae working ever so slightly concentration. Well, it’s good she’s come prepared.

“Here you are, lover!” Easily tossing a towel around Hornet’s shoulders, Lace gives it a light tug to pull her spider down to press a little kiss and a nuzzle against the side of her mask.

“You planned for this.” Hornet is nothing short of accusatory, and she laughs, just letting a playful hum be her response as she helps tumble dry her.

“What, to trick you into the water so I can give you a kiss?”

Could it really be considered such a devious plan when she was planning on kissing her either way? Endearing thought, especially since Hornet herself is the one to go through some length to muster up something as direct as asking for a kiss. Usually all she’d need to do is start purring up a storm to leave Lace as the one giving the kisses!

At some point, Hornet had cuddled up to her, both drying beneath the steady heat of the sun, but indulging in the warmth of one another for as long as they were allowed. Laying back onto the wood of the deck, peaceful and soft and warm, where the only sounds were that of trickling water and slowing breathing.

Despite appearances, Hornet can be quite the cuddler, curling herself as close as possible to Lace, little tail and everything looping around her as she dozes. Well, this is her fate now.

She doesn’t have the heart to move and disrupt Hornet from a well-deserved nap, even if the way they cuddle always traps her beneath her weight. Not until the sun begins to fall, and the faint glimmers of the starlight begin to settle in, does Lace think of stirring the spider.

This is the sight she wanted to share with her, after all. To deliberately take a moment and enjoy the sight the massive void above has to offer, with all its strange mysteries and stories to tell. Stories she only really heard as a grub, but ones she’s more than willing to try and scrounge up to share with her lover if she so asked...

“Hello there, darling,” Lace carefully nudges her girlfriend awake, and Hornet untucks her face from the crook of her neck. “The sky is clear tonight, take a look.”

(There’s no teasing note to her voice—there’s no need to bring it forth, rather. Not when everything is so quiet, so subdued, and Hornet is still shaking off the last lingering bits of sleep from her eyes, looking so peaceful and comfortable that the sight brings an ache forth in her chest.)

(That this is something they both get to have.)

“It’s night time already?” Hornet murmurs, twisting herself to lay on her back, “Would you not get cold?” The sleepy note to her normally composed and cold voice is something so cute, and Lace leans in to give her a little nuzzle.

“No, and even if I do, I have you, as well as the shawl you had weaved for me so kindly.” And alongside that, the soft, genuine fondness in her own voice is still something so faintly unfamiliar, yet so nice. She could get used to it.

Hornet flushes a bit, perhaps at the prospect that Lace had decided to take the gift she had made for her along in case the night air became chilly, before letting a little ‘mrr’ of disappointment out.

“I am not sure if we should stay out so late...” she begins, before gesturing a bit vaguely, “that, and I had mistakenly assumed we were to return home by nightfall, so...”

Ohh, are her siblings expecting her?

Lace sits up, and unable to help it, stares for a moment. It clicks. Right. They usually go hunting during their dates, two belflies with one stone so to say.

“Did you leave your siblings at home with nothing to eat?” is her automatic question, more concerned for Hornet than anything else. Hornet sits up as well, adjusting her cloak.

“Not nothing.” Hornet frowns, but there’s a small smile hidden, tucked away beneath her mask and Lace knows she’s not truly upset at her question, “they’re most likely eating as we speak. And if they so happen to finish all of our food at home, neither are the type to allow the other to go hungry anyways...” so they could very well be hunting, too.

“Ah, but I can tell you still dislike the notion of leaving them without a fresh meal.” Lace points out, and Hornet leans into her side a bit.

“...Yes.”

“Cute! If it so soothes you, my worrier, then we can take a little detour. I wouldn’t mind if this date takes a turn for our usual.” Carefully extracting herself from Hornet’s hold, Lace hops up with ease to swipe up her belongings—including her pin.

Hornet visibly hesitates—and by visibly, there’s the slightest press of her claws against Lace’s arm, just a light pressure as if to gently tug her back to her side—before she too stands. Not one to leave things undone, not one to linger, but oh, so it seems for the both of them, lingering is just so much easier nowadays...

“Apologies...” she mumbles, and whether it be due to cutting their plans short, or the hesitation, Lace hums affectionately to comfort her. “We could stay a little longer?”

“We can always go stargazing another day, my dear. And hunting with you is always a treat, there's nothing to apologize for.” and with a little nuzzle, the two are on their way.

(A part of her delights so wonderfully at the fact she’s come to pick up so many of Hornet’s cues; not when so few bugs can say the same, and it makes her preen with a silly sweet sort of pride. Hers, just as much as she is Hornet’s.)

It isn’t until they’re both following an easy scent trail that Hornet speaks up again, breaking that routine silence and looking beautifully dangerous in the moonlight, needle and silk carrying her onwards.

“...Did you call me your ‘warrior’ or ‘worrier’?”

Pfft!

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

...

“I suppose I’ll just earn back my title as your warrior with this hunt.”

#stagbells #summer stagbells 2021 #hollow knight #lace #hornet #lacenet #written works

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plaidbooks · 3 years

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Rafael and bodyworshiping him?! he has long hours, a hard job and has been heartbroken for too long! headcanons of his partner smooching all available parts he'll allow them to love and parising him 110% how much they love him?! if it isn't clear I just wanna love this man and by damnit I shall!

Yesss! He deserves all the love! (under a readmore for length)

It takes months for you to convince him to do it. Rafael’s default setting in the bedroom is dominant, since that’s how he is in life--he thinks people expect it from him. And he doesn’t hate it, but he would like someone to take care of him for once.... Not that he’d ever say it out loud.

It starts off with small gestures; complimenting him when he was shirtless, stroking his bare back in the morning after waking up together, running your fingers through his chest hair. One time, he let you worship his cock, rather then ordering you to open your mouth. Slowly but surely, he opened up, let you see him be vulnerable.

Rafael was in a button-up shirt (sans undershirt) and his slacks, laying on his back on the bed. He looked up at you, also still fully clothed, and you smiled down at him.

“Relax, babe. Let me show you how much I love you, and your body,” you purred down at him, fingers stroking his thigh. “You let me know if there’s anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay?”

Rafael nodded. “Of course. I trust you.”

“It’s not about trust--it’s about comfort.”

Rafael swallowed, eyes softening. “Okay.”

You climbed onto the bed next to him, then leaned over him to kiss him gently. His hands went to your hips, coaxing you to lay on top of him, and you complied. You deepened the kiss, your tongue dancing with his. Gently, you pulled your lips away from his, moving to kiss he chin, then running your mouth down his jaw, to his neck. You knew better than to leave visible marks--even with a weekend off--so you only gently kissed his neck and throat. He tilted his head back, giving you access to all of him.

Your fingers went to the top button of his shirt, and popped it open.Your mouth moved to his chest, kissing and sucking at the skin that was slowly exposed as you unbuttoned his shirt. Once done, you threw the shirt open, leaned back, and smirked as your eyes roamed over his body. Moving down so you were straddling his thighs, you leaned back over him, running your lips and tongue over every bit of his solid body.

Rafael let out little gasps and huffs as you worked his torso, leaving little marks all over him. He even let out a soft chuckle as your lips tickled his belly. You stopped, giving him a look, but he said it was fine, and you continued.

You sat up, pulling one sleeve off his left arm. You grasp his hand as the material slipped off. You kissed every finger, then his palm, wrist, and inner arm. Then, you went back to the back of his hand, kissing it, then working your way up to his shoulder. You did the same to the other arm before throwing the shirt to the floor behind you.

“Did I miss a spot?” you asked sarcastically.

“Hmmm...I think here,” he replied, pointing to his lips.

You chuckled, leaning up to kiss him once more. “Liar,” you murmured against his lips. He smirked against you, stealing another kiss before you climbed off the bed. You undid his belt and fly, pulling his pants down and off.

“Uh, wait,” Rafael said, propping himself onto his elbows. You stopped to look at him, eyes scanning his face. “Not my feet, please.”

You smiled softly at him. “Okay....ankles fine?”

“Y-yeah.” You gave him another look, and he said more confidently, “ankles are fine, just not below.” You nodded, kissing the outside of an ankle before moving up. You placed kisses all over both legs, and made Rafael gasp in surprise as you bit love bites into his thighs.

“You ready for me?” you asked, playing with the waistband of his boxer-briefs. Rafael nodded eagerly, and you breathed out a chuckle. You put your mouth on his hard length, still trapped in his underwear, and Rafael let out a small groan.

You pulled his underwear down and off, letting his erection stand proud, red and weeping. You took your time worshiping his cock, licking and kissing around the shaft and balls, before taking him into your mouth. It didn’t take Rafael long to finish in your mouth with a loud groan--he was already so incredibly turned on from your actions and touches. You suck and lick him clean, swallowing everything before letting him fall from your mouth.

“That...was incredible,” Rafael breathed, his chest rising and falling.

“Mmm, I’m glad you thought so. Because I’m doing your back next before I’m riding that delicious cock. Now roll over.”

Rafael chuckled, quickly rolling onto his stomach, making you grin. “I love you, Rafael.”

“Te amo, mi amor.”

#answered #headcanon #my headcanon #rafael barba x reader #sorry for any feet people out there #but I am not and could not write it #Anonymous

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rukia-kuchiki-divided · 3 years

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Hello! For the K ask, Ichiruki please🙈🙈🙈 for:

4, 9 and 23

Every Kiss Begins with K Meme | Accepting (under readmore for length)

4: Shut-Up Kiss

9: Underwater Kiss

23: Hand/Wrist Kiss

~okay so I’m going to apologize up front because this got long and I hope you don’t mind that I decided to combine all three forms of kissing into one drabble...

Please don’t judge me too harshly for editing or ooc-ness! I wrote this in one night sooo yeah. Trigger Warnings in tags~

Arrancars had been popping up periodically throughout the World of the Living, particularly Karakura Town ever since Aizen’s fall from Hueco Mundo. It became almost a routine now, Rukia and Ichigo teaming up with Uryuu, Chad, and Orihime to ensure the safety of the innocent humans around them and disposing of the hollow. But when Rukia’s phone beeped and alerted her to the new arrancar's presence, she noted it was farther away from the town than the others.

The others were preoccupied with their own activities at the moment but between herself and Ichigo, they should be able to handle the threat adequately. It didn’t take long to get to the much less populated area on the outskirts of town. The river in particular was roaring loudly in the background as the two soul reapers stood high above it in the air. There was a prickling on the back of Rukia’s neck.

“Be careful, Ichigo. Something doesn’t feel right about this one. I think this may be a trap.”

A scoff from her right side cause an eyebrow to raise, directed at it’s source. “Did I say something amusing?”

Ichigo held her gaze steadily, leaning haphazardly on his zanpakuto as he tilted his head slightly at her. “No, you just say that so often, as if I never take this seriously. If you don’t relax, you’re gonna get wrinkles, you know.”

He made it a point to pick up his zanpakuto and look around carefully, eyes scanning. “I am taking this seriously, Rukia. Trust me.”

“Tch...” Rukia turned her head, scanning the other direction with a hint of a smile on her lips. “Baka. Don’t blame me when a hollow knocks you off your feet or something.

That’s when everything erupted. As Rukia and Ichigo both took steps in opposite directions to start scanning the nearby woods to flesh out the arrancar, the roaring of the river intensified. Impossibly fast, something reached out and grabbed Rukia’s ankles, pulling her under the water just as fast as it had appeared.

Without even enough warning to shout, Rukia was suddenly under water. She flailed wildly with her zanpakuto at whatever it was that held her feet together. She felt the satisfying feeling of her sword sinking into something softer and the grip loosened. Kicking, Rukia began to move back up toward the surface of the water, desperate for air.

This time, several appendages surrounded her, grabbing hold of not just her ankles but wrapping around the entire length of her legs as her fingertips barely grazed the surface. Rukia struggled to get a stronger grasp of her sword but suddenly, she was being swung wildly, lifting her up above the water for a brief moment.

Coughing and sputtering, she could hear Ichigo shouting her name, the familiar gathering of his energy for an attack already in the air. Behind Ichigo, an arrancar brandishing a sword of it’s own moved toward his undefended back.

“ICHIGO!”

That was all Rukia could shout before she was swung wildly about again, noting with relief that he suddenly turned to focus on his attacker instead. This time, she was brought underwater with much stronger force, her head upper body being smashed against the rocky bed of the river. Instantly, all the air she had stored came out in a choked gasp, fingers loosing their grip of her sword. Violet eyes watched with blurred vision as the blade caught in some plant life underwater, the ribbon floating toward the surface moving with the river’s current.

Everything felt cold but that wasn’t unusual for her. She welcomed the familiar cold though it was missing the icy edge Sode no Shirayuki usually brought with her. Something akin to a snake but with a multitude of tentacles swam past her, more interested in Ichigo’s battle above the surface now.

Rukia noted that either her foot had become tangled in underbrush or the hollow had ensured she wouldn’t be able to swim back to the surface without help. By now, it had been several long minutes since she’d been able to breathe and it was hard to focus her thoughts. If she could just manage to do a kido, Rukia could free herself... just one kido.

Without thinking, Rukia inhaled. Her lungs were burning and though she had fought the urge to breath in for so long, she could do so no longer and felt the rush of water in her chest. The strength in her limbs faded and she could feel the darkness of unconsciousness in her mind. Ichigo..

She could almost see his face floating in front of her, almost feel his lips kissing hers roughly, as if desperate to give her the air in his lungs. His honey brown eyes were darkened with an emotion she could not quite place and she wondered why before slipping into the darkness.

Pain. That’s what she felt first. Her chest was burning and something was pressing down hard. It came in waves, releasing and then applying pressure on her chest. It only intensified the burning sensation.

“God dammit, Rukia! Breathe! Just breathe already!”

Violet eyes opened and blinked a few times to clear away her blurred vision. Ichigo was kneeling over her, his hands over her chest, desperation in his face. His eyes locked with hers for a millisecond before that burning sensation erupted. Turning away from him, Rukia painfully coughed up the water in her lungs, sputtering and shaking slightly as Ichigo kept his hands on her back now, steadying her.

“How the hell could you scare me like that?! What were you thinking, Rukia?! You almost... you can’t leave me. Not like that. Not ever.” Ichigo’s voice seem to crack slightly as he sat back.

“Wasn’t... trying to.” Rukia’s rough voice replied, sitting up now. Every part of her body felt sore and she could feel several fractures along with the possible concussion as her head pounded. She noticed her zanpakuto laying on the ground beside Ichigo who was dripping wet.

Amber eyes followed hers, Ichigo’s hand rubbing the backside of his neck. “Yeah, I saw the ribbon in the river and figured you must be nearby. I didn’t really think, just sort of dove in after you as soon as I destroyed the two hollows - well one hollow and one arrancar.” He turned his gaze toward her, unrelenting and penetrating. There was a haunted look in those amber eyes.

“Rukia, I... well, I mean, you could have... I can’t.. my mother..” Ichigo was struggling to find the right words to express himself. She could see the way every muscle in his body tensed up, his hands curled into fits against the dirt. Ichigo’s warm reiatsu pulsed wildly against her own, fear emanating from him. He would lose himself in this fear if she didn’t pull him out of it and quickly.

Ignoring the aching and painful throbs she felt, Rukia moved to close the short distance between them, delicately placing her lips against his own the way she hazily recalled him doing in the water just before she lost consciousness. His lips were softer now, his eyes wide at first before closing and reciprocating her soft movements with his own. She was kissing him!

When she felt his reiatsu return to the warm steady glow it normally was, Rukia pulled away slightly, her breathing a bit shallow. Still, she managed to smirk up at him.

“Shut up, baka. I’m here, aren’t I? Thanks to you. I know what you meant and it’s alright.”

When Ichigo smiled, Rukia exhaled softly. He was centered now and the fear dissipated. A cool breeze flowed through the clearing causing her to shiver. It did not go unnoticed.

Without a second thought, Ichigo returned her zanpakuto to her scabbard and picked her up, gentle so as not to jostle her. “Hang on, I’ll flash step back home and get you warmed up. Then we’ll see how bad your hurt. I’m sure Dad can help while I track down Orihime.”

Rukia only grunted slightly in acknowledgement, her head resting against Ichigo’s chest as he began his flash step back toward Karakura Town. He scowled as he ran, using his shoulder to jostle her slightly.

“Rukia! Don’t fall asleep on me now! You have to stay awake!” His frown deepened when she didn’t respond. “Oi! Rukia!”

A small fist moved half heartedly for Ichigo’s face and even while holding her with one arm, he still caught it. One violet eye opened at him in irritation. “Stop yelling. I’m not deaf and I can still punch you.”

Ichigo just stared at her hand for a moment, her fist enveloped by his larger hand; a mix of amusement and irritation on his face at her antics. Without thinking, he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. It was like those rescue breathes he had given her under the water had burst open a dam, allowing both of them to use this form of affection freely now.

“Idiot. Stop scaring me.” Ichigo muttered, watching with an amused smirk at the blush that formed on her cheeks at his action.

“Tch.. never.” Rukia replied, leaning her head against his chest once more. His steady heartbeat calming her own.

#hesesols #rukiakuchikidivided #☽ ❂ IchiRuki - The Sun and The Moon ❂ ☾#❊Open Meme - Mission in Progress❊#ask #❊Ask - Inquiry Accepted❊#ichiruki #TW drowning #~no character death #drabble #~i hope you like it #~and it's not too ooc #~under readmore for length

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liquidstar · 4 years

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;-; You’re all so nice.... Thank you...... yes of course I will talk about these ocs, though I guess I should point out that they're actually kind of old but I just haven't worked on them in a while so they're still very much a wip (also the art is slightly old too but not by too long) I’m really sorry I haven't been making more oc content lately, my arms still hurt but they're getting better :) but all that aside I will talk about the dreamworld ocs now

Right off the bat I should probably say these characters are in a completely seperate story from my main ocs in Anthea, their story is a different one in a different universe. The world that the characters grew up in is really just the normal world, not anywhere fantastical. The fantasy element comes into play when they go to sleep: They’re sent to a parallel world in their dreams (basically an isekai anime with less commitment lol)

I haven't figured out all the specifics of how everything operates just yet, because like I said its a wip, but one important thing to note is that aside from the two main protagonists the characters all live in different parts of the world (Also this means a couple of them have incredibly questionable sleeping schedules that I’ll have to come up with excuses for lol) and in the real world they’ll really only communicate virtually. Also These characters are really the only ones ive come up with so far, and since its a wip aspects of them are bound to change along the way in terms of design personality and maybe even their names.

For now ill show you what I have under a readmore, I put their names ages and pronouns in a mini bio but ill elaborate a little bit more on them too, I also added flags for any lgbt orientation they may have and the country they live because that'll obviously be important to know if they don’t all live in the same place.

Anyway more under the cut

Abby is an upbeat and friendly girl who lives in Tacoma, Washington. She’s only started dreaming in the dream world (Better name TBA) very recently and at first believes that she’s just a lucid dreamer, until she meets Wednesday in her dreams and realizes it’s all very real. Note: The pink things on her head in the dream outfit are the tips of a very big bow

Wednesday is a girl who recently moved to Tacoma and started attending the same school as Abby, though they didn’t really interact for a while since typically she has a very shy and anxious demeanor, but she’s also been dreaming in the dream world the longest and in there she’s able to find her own inner confidence that she struggles with in “real” life.

C.J. is a character who I have yet to come up with an actual first name for but somehow the C seemed fitting. He’s sort of the goofball type, the type to make people laugh, he just likes to see people smile! He also lives relatively close to Abby and Wednesday in Vancouver, Canada

André is a boy from Salvador, Brazil, he’s the type of person who’s incredibly hard working, maybe overly so, and hasn’t been in the dream world for very long but he still sees it as a place where he can let go of any frustrations or anxieties he may have in “real” life and feel more free. He sees it as somewhere where doesn’t have to try as hard and just relax.

Note: I should point out that the character’s first name is Thao, but since in Vietnamese names tend to be written surname first I chose to do it that way in the reference image, but I’m still saying this to avoid confusion! Anyway! Thao is a boy who just unfortunately never got out of his edgy middle school phase so you can bet that the second he woke up in a fantasy world he knew exactly what was going on and was going to dress in black and red with hot-rod flames, that was a given. He lives in Hue, Vietnam.

Mehazabien is a bookish and academic girl who lives in Mansoura, Egypt. She’s been in the dream world for a few years now and she knows the ropes better than anyone because she loves to learn all she can about it. She got sent to a fantasy world and decided to read more, that’s just how she has fun.

Elie is the last kid of the bunch, they live in Lille, France. They’re new to the dreamworld but they’re absolutely foaming at the mouth to explore it as soon as they can, everything about it excites their imagination and they wanna see it all. Note: The moon emblem that all the other kids have somewhere on their body is not viable here because it’s on their back.

That’s it for now! Again these are all just wips and they can change as I develop them and the story more, so I welcome any and all input on them, please don’t be shy! Also if you have questions feel free to ask those too since it forces me to think about stuff :p it’s helpful. I may revamp the designs a bit too since the art is slightly old, we’ll see....

#also that sun/moon symbol between the flags is sort of moot point for this post but its supposed to mean which world the characters live in #sun being the real world moon being the dream world. but the main characters live in both so itll really serve more of a purpose when i add-#more characters on both ends. but its useful it has a purpose do not worry #also obviously on the left its their real world look and on the right their dream world look just making sure on that one :p #umm idk if i should put this in my main oc tag? i guess i will since i dont have another tag for it #finn's ocs #and they are my ocs so its fine lol

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queenharumiura · 3 years

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(When you casually remember you have another KHR blog that you can connect timelines with for the luls. This tiny brain rot hasn't left me so I thought to write a small thing for it. Readmore bc i'm shy.)

@belacedia

With a small bird perched on her shoulder, Haru was led down the long halls by Kusakabe, who was quite used to escorting her to and fro on the behest of Hibari Kyouya, the Cloud Guardian of the Vongola.

Haru was showed into a room where Hibari was already sipping a warm cup of tea at. It never ceased to amaze her how this room in particular was filled to the brim with Japanese aesthetic. A traditional room fitting for a man who was somewhat old-fashioned.

She didn’t know what exactly she was called in here for, but she didn’t feel unnerved by his presence. Over the years, the two would interact with each other at random and one could say they’ve formed something akin to a friendship. At least, that was how Haru saw it.

Don’t get her wrong, it took an incredibly long amount of time to reach a stage where the two could enjoy a cup of tea together as Haru would speak on random inanities. The little bird, who Haru dubbed ‘Mi-chan,’ flew towards Hibari, perching on his outstretched finger. “Miura.” He greets her calmly.

“Hibari-san.” She greets back as she simply approaches, sitting down at the table where a cup of tea was already poured for her. “Can I ask why you’ve sent Mi-chan to me today?” Not bothering to waste time with the pleasantries, she cut right to the chase.

The warmth of the teacup felt comforting as her nerves were wound tight in anticipation. While there were many yellow feathered ‘minions’ under Hibari’s command, there was one in particular that Haru often interacted with, and it was due to the fact that Haru had found it injured one day and nursed it back to health before returning it to Hibari’s side.

Having grown attached to Haru, Hibari deemed it useful to allow this one lone bird to serve as a liaison between Haru and himself. It was quite rare when the bird that Haru has affectionately named ‘Mi-chan’ was used for any business other than spoiling the bird with treats, so being summoned the way she had today had Haru feeling nervous.

“A couple birds have reported something interesting. A certain Prince has been visiting you frequently.”

Haru almost dropped her tea in shock, but she managed to keep the cup in her hands by fumbling. She wasn't expecting to be having this conversation with Hibari of all people. “Hahi? They told you about that? Well- it’s not wrong…” She awkwardly fiddled with the cup in her hands. “… He’s been visiting me often.” At a certain point, she’d dare say he was just terrorizing her by getting on her nerves, but at large, it was mostly harmless.

She did ponder on this fact in her downtime, but it did seem like Belphegor’s frequent visits didn't go completely unnoticed. So far, it seemed that only Hibari knew about it (Or rather he was the only one to outright confront her about it).

Eyebrows raised in surprise, “You called me here just for that?” Her tone was incredulous as he never involved himself in her business as it wasn’t his place to do so. The two would talk on occasion and it was merely due to the fact that Haru put forth the effort to try to get along with all of the guardians, and that included Hibari. It was accurate to say that the both of them had come to a common agreement to simply accept each other’s existence and not bother the other.

It helped that Haru got along with the yellow avians, often looking after them if they wanted to rest after a long day of hard work. It only took one of the avians to speak well of her for the rest to understand that she was a ‘good person who can serve as a secondary food source.’

Not one to owe others favors, Hibari willingly associated with her on occasion. Luckily, Haru never asked too much of him, so they could interact with each other in peace. “What is he planning to do in Namimori that involves your cooperation?” His teacup now empty, she had his entire attention. Obviously, this conversation would not budge from this topic.

She blinks a few times before she chuckles quietly. “I don’t think anyone has plans to harm Namimori, Hibari-san. I understand the concern, but he can be agreeable if you’re willing to meet him halfway. He certainly is very lacking in sociability, but he’s doing his best… I think. Even though his reputation is what it is, he is able to be civil, so I don’t think you need to be concerned about his casual visits.” She has absolutely no intention of stating that Belphegor wouldn’t destroy Namimori if a mission was involved.

“You have a positive opinion of him.” Hibari notes, his piercing gaze picking every small movement of hers down as his mind then collates everything together to form a coherent but unorthodox thought. “Don’t get played.” A pointed comment that both would be able to understand.

Of course, he was referring to a certain 10th generation mafia boss. “Tsuna-san didn’t play around with me.” Haru hisses, instantly going on the defensive. Being played would suggest that he even looked in her direction to begin with—which he didn’t. Just like the lightning comes and goes with a sudden flash, her temper could leave as quickly as it came. “I don't think Bel is playing around with me. I feel he's being sincere. At the very least, he doesn’t force any expectations on me. He respects my ambitions more than some others we know, and I appreciate that. He’s surprisingly--- likable at times. Would I be stupid for thinking about him?” Who knew there'd come a day when Haru speaks about relationships with the Hibari Kyouya?

The matter of relationships and feelings were foreign ground for the likes of Hibari, who much preferred to keep to himself, save for those he approves of. Just as she didn’t interfere with his business, he wouldn’t interfere with hers. If she could objectively deduce that she trusted the destructive Prince, that was her choice to make.

Surely, she wouldn’t continue the mistake of falling for yet another person who wouldn’t look her way. Then again, perhaps that wouldn’t be an issue, if Belphegor’s frequent visits were of any indication. It was also true to say that he hadn't received any reports of any significant property damage in Namimori immediately following Belphegor's casual visits, so it may be beneficial to relax his guard on the matter.

Steel cold eyes glanced at the woman across the table, noting the indecisive sheen in her eyes. The normally ambitious and self-assured woman had moments of hesitation, it seems. “It’s your choice to make. Don’t belittle yourself. Any damage to Namimori and it’s people will be met with force.”

"With force!" The yellow bird chimes in randomly, flapping its wings energetically.

A small smile graces Haru’s features as she read between the lines, “Haru is being made into a convenient excuse for a fight, hm? At least give me a chance to fight for myself first.” In other words, should anything go wrong, the best person to have as an ally in Namimori was Hibari himself. There were some benefits to trying to befriend the guardians, wouldn’t you know?

It was only a matter of time before others learned about what was going on, so it would be beneficial for all parties involved for her to make her decision quickly, lest she be bothered by a couple of worried nagging guys.

“I told you all this in confidence, you know? Of course, you wouldn’t go blabbing, right?”

“Your private life is of no business to the rest.” Living life without an annoying pest worrying about inanities was a day well spent, after all.

“Hibari-san understands well.”

She thought it was a bit early to be considering anything in seriousness, but it never hurt to cover your bases. The moment Gokudera or Tsuna heard about Belphegor’s frequent visits, her life was going to be rife with annoyances. Hibari wouldn’t alert the others to what he’s noticed and he may feel it necessary to ensure the others are kept in the dark for the sake of peace and quiet.

The moment Tsunayoshi’s worries trickle down the ranks of the Vongola, Namimori’s peace would surely take the fall. Barring a Prince from doing whatever he wished to do? That reeked of property damage.

Really, it was nice having someone like him as a ‘friend’, sometimes. “Since I’m here, let me tell you about a recipe I’ve thought up recently. I think the birds would love it. It would be tasty and healthy for them.”

"Hm. Give the recipe to Kusakabe."

“Roger that.”

#Belacedia #Neo Drabble #((Guest muse: Hibari))#((The setting for this in my mind would be after the bazooka thread and before the time Bel breaks into her apartment))#((This brain rot hasn't left the since the day I thought about it and it's high time for me to do something about it))#((Now I can let this thought rest))

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reynesofcastamere · 4 years

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Distorted Supernova

(A/N: For context, this is set about a year or so prior to the previous installments in this series. Also, the readmore is going directly under my notes this time. Just to be safe. Warnings for bad partner/BDSM etiquette, biting, blood, orgasm denial, and some autoerotic asphyxiation. Not Safe For Work. Mando’a translations are marked with [ ]. Unbeta’d.)

Ahsoka’s nails scrabble desperately against the headboard, seeking a better grip while Maul- “Ah!” Sharp pressure on the pulsing bud between her thighs. He’s never been shy about sinking his teeth into every possible inch of her body, or pushing the boundaries of her endurance to the point where pain and pleasure blur. Her moans rise and crest, trailing off into a hiss when he grinds the slippery nub between his incisors. He hasn’t broken the skin, but it’s still just a bit too much. She’s trembling as he eases up gradually, the long swipes of his tongue soothing one ache and inflaming another. If he could just keep doing that...But no, he’s withdrawing again, licking the traces of her from his lips as he surveys his ‘handiwork’. The long expanse of skin between collarbone and lower thighs bears a liberal scattering of bruises and bites, flush with desire and exertion while her breath comes in ragged gasps. Ahsoka has no idea how long she’s been kept on the edge, completion just out of reach. And the Force...There is no separation here, no sharp divide between Dark and Light. Only energy, freezing and sparking all at once. Ahsoka can feel his hunger as if it is a monster from one of the stories that the younglings used to tell each other, something that could swallow her whole in one gulp. Maul certainly looks the part, white teeth stark against darkly-patterned skin, auric eyes glowing in the dim light. It is in a near-haze that she watches him shift and lower his mouth to hers, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders as if moving through water instead of air. She tastes herself on him while their tongues duel and twine, humming as he growls, her fingers raking down his back. Her hips cant slightly, seeking friction that he quickly denies her, and she tears herself viciously away from their kiss to scowl up at him. “What kind of game are you playing?” And it is a game. She is in his room, his bed for the first time since this whole...affair started. On top of that, he’s deliberately drawing things out when his usual method is to have her coming hard, fast, and as many times as possible. As if, in some corner of his twisted mind, it is both a punishment for not remaining at his side and a reminder of what he does to her. Which right now consists of smirking and a decidedly-pleased gleam in his eyes. “I had wondered when your much-vaunted patience would finally reach its’ limit.” Maul chuckles, not even having the decency to be startled when she flips them over, glaring intensely. The smug bastard actually purrs when she pins his hands down. Of course he’d enjoy working her into a state of half-maddened arousal and refuse to let her climax until she gives him what he wants. These emotions give him power over her, after all. “I can still leave at any time.” Ahsoka warns sharply. It’s the most effective threat she can utilize against him right now. “You need this more than I do. Now finish what you started.” She gives his wrists a sharp squeeze before letting go, making him watch as she sits back, bracing herself with one hand; the other spreading her core open and slipping two fingers inside. “Or I will.” Groaning through clenched teeth, eyes fluttering shut. Her sex is drenched, sensitive, and aching. So much so that she gets caught up in the sensation of touching herself, of finally getting the relief so desperately sought-after. “You are learning.” Oh Maker, she hadn’t even noticed- His breath against her already-molten cunt was like adding illerium to a bonfire. Then his tongue slips inside and his thumb is giving just the right amount of pressure on her nub to-Ahsoka Tano screams, body twitching and thrashing beyond her means to control it. She careens from one sensation to the next, any small movement within herself seeming to trigger another wave of pleasure-pain-pleasure-more until, after a small eternity, it finally ebbs. Her eyes open, breath shaking as she carefully withdraws her fingers and re-adjusts her position. This time, she does feel her sometimes-lover move underneath her, until she is once again straddling his hips. Maul looks...approving. As if her actions had brought her another step closer to the Dark, to being ‘his’. Never. He can keep trying to drag her very being into the deepest pits imaginable. Ahsoka will still fight her way out, every time. The double-beep of her wrist-comm interrupts these thoughts, moving as quickly as she can to retrieve it from the nightstand and kneel on the edge of the bed. “Receiving.”

“This is Dash. See any sharks where you’re fishing?” Asks a female voice with a rounded Mid Rim accent. “There’s a fin in the water, but it’s far off. Sea’s calm and the skies are clear. How about you?” Ahsoka verifies after performing the mandatory checks. She can’t afford to take her current location or whatever signal-scrambling tech the Shadow Collective might have in place for granted. Not when so much is on the line. “Weather’s fine where I am.” There’s a brief pause, but it’s enough for Maul to insinuate himself behind her. Before she can even think to ask what he’s doing, she’s being dragged backwards into his lap and-He’s filling her in one stroke, cold metal pressing against her rear and the back of her thighs. “There’s a situation on Corellia.” Maul’s right hand is already around her throat, his left arm keeping her arms bent and pinned to her chest. Of all the-! She mutes the comm still in her hands. “Stop.” Ahsoka instructs in a low hiss, suppressing a moan when she feels him start moving. The first penetration usually takes a bit of...adjustment for them both. Right now he barely has to put any strength into his thrusts to reach her deepest point.

“No.” He snarls in response, cutting off her air for a few moments before relaxing his grip again.. “I have to take this!” “Then I suggest you do so quickly.” “I’m not going to let you-” “Having signal problems? Please respond.” Oh, kark it all. She has seconds to make a decision and her options are limited. Either 1) she has Dash call back later, and risk the unknown situation getting worse. 2) Fight Maul to a standstill and then continue the call, which will not be easy or quick to accomplish, or. 3) Be extremely unprofessional, let him...take her, and hope that she can get all the pertinent details without the agent on the other end of the line figuring out what is going on. With a shaky exhale, Ahsoka turns off the mute function. “Just a brief patch of interference. What kind of situation?” How. Just. How in the name of the Mortis gods is she getting aroused? He’s only circling his hips right now, barely stirring up her insides, fingers applying enough intermittent pressure on the sides of her neck to slow the flow of blood to her brain. Her body should be rejecting every part of this, but instead her core is trying to pull him in deeper. “The kind that requires an extraction and some smash-and-grab.” Dash replies. “There’s a team assembling on Devaron. How soon can you be there?” Ahsoka has to bite down on her lower lip to silence a moan, running the calculations in her head. “Just under a week in hyperspace. Five days if I can swap for a better ship.” She might even be able to do it without selling a limb. Provided she doesn’t kill Maul after this. Dash hums as she thinks it over. “Not great, but it’ll have to do. How’s your condition? Heard you got sent to deal with the Broker again.” Oh, Sithspawn. Ahsoka is going to have to speak very carefully if she doesn’t want the agent on the other end of the line to wind up dead. Or worse. Most of the people she works with most closely might not know exactly who ‘the Broker’ is, but they don’t have...a great opinion of Maul. For various and completely justified reasons. One of which is that Fulcrum comes back from their meetings generally looking like someone dragged her through a field of salt crystals on Crait. Bacta patches and the Force can only do so much. Ahsoka doesn’t know for certain if the Rebellion has figured out the exact level of their...involvement by now. Of course, she could have avoided that particular complication by not sleeping with him in the first place, but it’s too late for that. “I’m-” He cuts off her air temporarily again, biting hard just underneath her jaw. She hisses, feeling the blood well up and be laved away just as quickly. “-fine.” The grip relaxes, though she can feel him starting to pick up the pace. “I need coordinates and details for the mission.” “Sure thing. Just, look, I know we need all the help we can get, but maybe you should take backup next time. Or assign someone else to him for a bit. Can’t outrun Imps if you’ve basically gone five rounds with a Wookiee.” Maul goes deathly still as the Dark Side surges. In a fit of desperation, she angles her head to kiss him, hoping that his need will outweigh any thoughts of murder and/or dismemberment. Ahsoka can only give half her attention to the numbers and facts being listed off, because he is utterly determined to possess her mouth like it’s the only thing keeping him alive right now. Eventually, she manages to pull back. “That’s everything. Any questions?” Dash asks, forcing her fellow intelligence operative to internally review what she’d heard and made certain it was correct. “No. Everything is affirmative. Fulcrum out.” The second she cuts the call, he pulls out, only to flip and turn her onto her back. Maul enters her ruthlessly this time, muffling her cry with his mouth. It’s this desperate clash of tongue and teeth interspersed with broken gasps as her limbs wind around his body, fingers clawing at his shoulderblades. Then suddenly her lips are skimming the side of his neck and biting down as he hammers into a spot that makes her arch in sheer, carnal rapture. He roars like a ravening beast as his blood fills her mouth. fisting his hands in the sheets near her hips. “Ner darasuum cuyan. [My eternal survivour]” He breathes. While she does not understand the words, Maul’s tone borders on...On worship, and his eyes- Climax overwhelms her, sudden and bordering on agony as he follows and they’re howling like Sriluurian dark wolves in the enclosed space... Ahsoka comes back to herself with Maul’s head resting in the valley between her breasts. Gripping some of his posterior horns, she forces him to meet her hard gaze. “Do not. Ever. Do that again.” She holds her grip and her stare long enough to make certain he understands that this is one of the boundaries that he cannot ignore or abuse at a whim. If he crosses the line again, she will leave or make him wish he’d never touched her in the first place. Possibly both. “As you command, Lady Tano.” Maul acquiesces as he pulls out of her, but otherwise continues to stay in the position of being a very odd blanket once she releases him. “I was not aware that your Alliance considers you so weak as to need protection from me.” He remarks in an offhanded fashion, nose scrunching in slight distaste. She gives a long, exasperated sigh. “It’s not like that.” “Explain.” He counters, head slightly tilted and brow raised. “Very few people know that I’m meeting with you. Or what our actual history is.” This day is now officially bizarre, even by her standards. “They see me going off to bargain with a shady underworld contact and coming back-most of the time- limping or covered in minor injuries.” And this is where the explanation might get tricky. “So the general consensus is either that I’m letting you abuse me because I’m being ordered to...Or that you’re strong enough that I can’t stop it from happening.” Those who do know his identity think he’s been trying to murder her and failing at it for one reason or another, but that’s hardly an important detail. “Ridiculous. You would not have lived this long if these scratches-” His left thumb idly traces a mark on her ribcage.”-were enough to incapacitate you.” Which, coming from him, is...Almost sweet? In any case, she doesn’t have the time to ponder his mood. Ahsoka steals a brief kiss from him and carefully sits up. “Careful, that was almost an actual compliment. Think you can lend me a ride?” She teases, extracting herself out from under him to start the process of cleaning up and getting dressed. “I was mistaken. Clearly you are a terrified, delicate waif who wilts at the mere thought of my displeasure.” Maul deadpans, getting up to retrieve a disposable datapad and typing something into it, handing it to her before beginning to set himself to rights. “Give that to Kast. She should be in the hangar at this time.” “Thank you.” They both finish up quickly, but before she can leave, he cups her jaw in one hand and presses their foreheads together. His eyes are hooded, but no less intense for it. “Oya, cuyan. Meh gar kyrayc, shuk bah ni. [Stay alive, survivour. You’re no use to me dead] ” “You know I don’t speak Mando’a.” “Then I shall keep my advantage until you learn, atin jetii [stubborn Jedi] .” He’s actually smiling for once as his hand drops and he lets her pass out of his private domain. Back into the light, where her duties wait. (A/N: Good GRIEF this thing is a monster. X_X Apologies for any butchering of Mando’a. Also, for context, ‘Oya’ is one of those words with multiple meanings, including ‘Let’s hunt!’, but is generally used as a cheer or encouragement. I simply went with the meaning that worked best for that particular line. And...ok, I probably DON’T need to clarify this, but I feel like I should? Since they’re using the Force to share some level of emotional and physical sensation, it doesn’t matter whether Maul has his original equipment, an attachable toy, or a prosthesis. So long as Ahsoka climaxes, he does too. Or at least, that’s how it works out in my writing. XD Anyway, hope you all enjoyed and cheers to everyone.)

#maulsoka #you bet your ass I snuck some Hades/Persephone symbolism into this #very spicy lemon #NS.FW

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foxtophat · 4 years

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HEY HEY HEY!!!! hey guys. haha. um, idk what to say exactly and tumblr likes to eat my posts so lets see how long this lasts:

its’ only been a couple months but i have been frothing at the mouth trying to figure out what next part of mercy to put out. i have a lot of much bigger stories to tell than this one, but kim and john sharing insomnia felt sort of like the right segue into those bigger bits. so for now, let’s just enjoy a 20k fic about Kim and John, and also a little about John and Nick, but mostly just about John and Jacob.

there are 3 chapters. i’ll post the 2nd one later this week (wednesday or friday i think) and the third will probably go up next monday. YEAH THAT’S RIGHT i actually have most of this one finished right out the gate!!!

as usual, i’ll put the entire chapter under a readmore in case you don’t want to leave tumblr. i hope you enjoy what i’ve got for you this time -- if not don’t worry, there will be more dramatic bullshit later :) comments, kudos, reblogs and likes are all the things that make ficwriting more fun than it already is, so consider helping me out if you enjoy what i’m doing. otherwise, have a good day!!!

Kim's dreams are normally composed of fleeting images in dark, monochrome colors. They're howling-wind nightmares or ethereal moments of peace, but they're short-lived and she's always disconnected from them. She hasn't had a real dream in probably nine years. She used to miss them, before John Seed reappeared with all of his night terrors, just in time to remind her of how good she has it. Now, she's glad that the most she has to contest with is a looming sense of dread that fades almost as soon as she wakes up.

But tonight, Kim is a long way away from all of that. She's standing at the kitchen sink in her childhood home, which is in full summer swing. The rosemary plant her mom keeps on the sill is in full bloom, thick green spikes dotted with blue puffball flowers. Beyond it, the Canadian sky is seawater green, and Kim marvels at the fluffy clouds drifting through the unnatural color. They seem to be floating by much faster than the still air outside would imply. It should rattle her, confuse her, but before that realization sinks in, her mom's voice distracts her away.

"Do you really think he's the one?" she asks, as skeptically as she had all those years ago when Kim first decided to move to Montana. Her mother had liked Nick, of course, because he was a likable guy, but Kim had known from the start that her parents were worried about her. They'd worried about her moving to a red state, about her trusting a man she'd seen a handful of times since they'd met. They hadn't understood the idea of purple pockets or internet dating, and while they supported Kim's love of rifle showmanship, they'd never trusted Nick owning more than three guns.

"What's the point, is all I'm asking," Kim's mom laughs in response to Kim's unspoken comment. "It seems strange to collect weapons..."

"Mom, he hunts !" she chides. "And anyway, he isn't the worst one out there."

"That's exactly what I worry about," her mom says. "What if something bad were to happen? His family is gone, and we'll be so far away..."

Kim sighs, the words stinging more than they should. The aqua colored sky begins to churn outside, the light filtering through a strange red haze. Inside, the sunlight reflects off the white counters, nearly blinding Kim.

"I'll be okay," she says, reciting an amalgamation of all her old defenses as her eyes readjust. "There are a lot of good people out there. They rely on each other a whole lot more than we do here."

"I worry about you, Kimiko. That's all." Her mother sighs sadly. "You'll understand when you have kids of your own."

"But mom..."

Kim tries to tell her that she already has a kid, but she can't muster up the words. After all, shouldn't she know? Wouldn't Kim have visited? Wouldn't she have brought Carmina into this very kitchen, all the surfaces glowing with light, and introduced them? Wouldn't her mom have been there when Carmina was born?

"It's unseasonably warm, isn't it," her dad remarks at the table. He's sitting there with a magazine as if he'd been there the whole time. He, like the rest of the room, glows from the inside, as though a flashlight were shining through his skin. It shines through the wood of the table, through her mom's curious smile, until Kim has to turn her face away. The room grows hotter and hotter, and in the far-off whistling wind she hears the first lonesome wail of an air-raid siren beginning to pick up. There's a blinding burst of light and howling wind, and Kim lifts her hands to her face, desperate not to look directly at the blast —

The bedroom is dark, warm and humid. At first, Kim doesn't know where she is, struggling to sit up, desperate to run, until all at once reality comes crashing back into focus. It doesn't help that she's pinned beneath Nick's arm and Carmina's full dead-sleeping weight.

Normally, moving would be out of the question. But Kim doesn't want this dream clinging to her memory, and she desperately wants to put some space between her and the nuclear glow of her mother's smile. Hell, maybe it isn't the dream at all — maybe it's the heat that's making lying here unbearable. Maybe it's the extra weight pinning her down, or a panic attack waiting in the wings — whatever it is, she needs to get up and run from it. As she worms her way out from underneath her family, Kim can feel the pressure building behind her eyes, fueled by the need to jog out the tension that will soon become unbearable. She needs to exercise the nightmare away before it sticks around and ruins the rest of her night.

It's probably already too late for that. The back of Kim's eyes are itchy with tears as she struggles to get free. She's already memorized her mom's smile, trapped forever in radioactive amber, and that alone is enough trauma to fuel ten more terrible dreams.

Nick and Carmina remain peacefully asleep, even as Kim extracts herself from the bed. That's good — the last thing she needs to do is worry Nick, whose own sleeping habits have just started to even out. He'll try to keep her company, and they'll just wind up keeping each other up, which wasn't ideal back in the day and definitely isn't ideal now .

Even though Carmina sleeps like the dead and Nick isn't likely to hear her, Kim is careful to watch out for the creakiest steps as she heads downstairs. Sunrise isn't for a few hours yet, but Kim isn't going to let that stop her from insomnia-pacing around her own home. It used to be that Kim would jog laps on the runway to clear her head, but that isn't going to work nowadays. She still wants to, of course; she's desperate to step out into the relatively cool night air and run herself ragged enough to pass out again, but that's out of the question. She's not about to break her own rule.

It's only once Kim is downstairs that she starts to relax, lighting one of the candles left out on the table. The light is just barely enough to see by, and Kim struggles to find something to clean up or organize in the half-dark. All of the coping mechanisms that got her through eight years of bunker living have fallen flat in the face of the apocalypse, but that doesn't keep her from trying them over and over again. Some techniques are more adaptable, but it isn't like she can dig into reorganizing the hangar for Nick at... whatever time it is now. Not without somebody catching her breaking her own rules about going outside alone.

If she had any books worth reading, she could throw herself into that, but she can't bear the manuals and children's books right now. Maybe if there was a radio station she could listen to... but no, she wouldn't want to risk burning out the radio after everything Nick and John went through to fix it. There's not going to be another Hail Mary when it comes to that kind of repair.

Her mom would probably use this time to make a series of endless lists. Grocery lists, to-do lists, lists of pros and cons for buying new appliances or inviting Kim's awful step-grandmother to her wedding... there was nothing that her mom couldn't organize into a column of bullet points or check-boxes. Kim could probably do with a few lists herself, but where is she supposed to get the paper? And even if a supply list wouldn't be a waste of resources, where would she go to fill it? It's going to be a while before they can pick up flour from the farmer's market again, that's for sure.

Well, at least wasting some paper will keep her mind busy. There's too much stuff they need, and she's going to drive herself crazy trying to remember all of it. Anyway, they've been using decades-old junk mail to prop up the radio desk — it can't be wasted if it was already trash, right?

She's careful in her search for a decent piece of mail, not wanting to tip the radio over as she jimmies a yellowed envelope from under the desk. It's only once she's back at the table with a worn-down nub of a pencil that she finds herself hesitating. After all, what is she supposed to write? What could they reasonably expect to get out here, with no supply chain to rely on? Everything that comes to mind is laughably improbable at best.

It doesn't really matter, though, does it? They're probably not going to be able to find anything besides what they can hunt and grow for themselves, so any food she writes down will be wishful thinking. John had offered to help their scavenging efforts, but it isn't likely they'll find working walkie-talkies or a new car. People who have been above ground longer than the Ryes have already taken over key resource points, and they'll be hard-pressed to give up things without a fair trade. And until they can reliably communicate with one another, trading is going to be nearly impossible. One day, maybe, they'll have trading posts and reliable supply chains, but like other pieces of their fractured society, that's not coming for a long time yet.

Staring at a blank piece of paper is worse than writing something stupid down, and so Kim quickly scribbles the word flour across the top of the envelope. She can't imagine that's going to be a reasonable expectation for a while, but at least it's on paper — and it's outlandish enough that it encourages her to continue, her thoughts darting between impossible dreams and honest reality. Salt , she thinks might not be quite as hard to find. Sugar, probably impossible. For now, they can hope for honey instead.

It goes on like that, growing more abstract as Kim lets herself dream. Milk, eggs, bread, twinkies , meat grinder, hamburgers, tomatoes, grains (seeds), grill (charcoal), gas, gas canisters (storage), duct tape, insulation foam (spray, sheet), toilet cleaner, toilet, hot water, plumbing, bathtub! , tarp, doors, ammunition, floodlights, security system, cans + string (security) —

Her flow is interrupted by a soft, distant thud somewhere upstairs. Kim listens for a few tense seconds, waiting to hear boots on the roof, the hiss of a walkie-talkie, or the slide-click of a gun being cocked. Without the cult, those fears go unrealized, and Kim slumps tiredly into her seat. She's just as paranoid about armed cultists tonight as she is about wild animals, although she's sure that's just her nightmare talking. Eden's Gate is nowhere near the threat it used to be.

The relief is short-lived, as is her solitude, when she hears an upstairs door click shut, followed by the sound of quick footsteps on the landing. The house is too old for any real attempt at stealth, but John tries to avoid the worst offending stairs on his way down. He only realizes Kim is there when he notices the candlelight, coming to an abrupt stop on the last step, one hand clutching the banister tight.

He's sweaty and out of sorts as he wipes his limp hair out of his face. "Oh," he rasps. "Kim."

He's surprised to see her. Kim should be surprised, too — it's one thing to know that John wanders the house at night, but it's another to see it happen in real-time. Honestly, she's barely phased by his appearance. John's sleep schedule has been bunker-erratic ever since Nick brought him home, and no amount of diurnal activity has managed to change it. If anything, Kim suspects he gets less sleep now than he did underground. It isn't for lack of trying, she's sure, but this isn't the first time she's heard him stumbling around in the dark. It's just the first time she's been in the same boat.

"Late night?" she asks.

John struggles once more with the hair in his eyes before giving up. "Just needed some air," he rasps, minding his volume. "Some water."

"Don't mind me," she replies, surprising herself with her own ambivalence. Knowing he moves around while they're sleeping is one thing, but seeing it should be upsetting. It should bother her when he avoids creaky floorboards on his way to help himself to their fresh water. It should make her angry to see him using their resources; at the very least, it should have upset her back when it began normalizing. But, honestly, it hadn't. Kim had just been relieved to see John acting like a person, and not just a haunted shell.

John wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, regarding Kim with deep uncertainty that Kim mostly makes out from his hunched shoulders and tense posture. He tries to hide just how lost he is, but Kim never misses it when he slips. It's not that she's sympathetic towards him, exactly, but she knows just enough about his history to want to pity him.

He doesn't speak, not even after the silence stretches out. Maybe he's waiting for her to make the first move?

The thought almost makes her laugh, but she still cuts him some slack. "Can't sleep either, huh?" she asks.

"Hardly ever," John replies, although he clearly isn't looking for reassurance. He takes a step away from the kitchen, hovering in the nebulous space between the table and the stairs. He's usually quick to leave Kim alone — quicker than he is with Nick, anyway — and so she appreciates the fact that he doesn't run now.

His voice cracks on its low pitch as he haltingly asks, "What are you doing?"

For just a second, Kim imagines giving John the cold shoulder and telling him it's none of his business. But the thought fades as quickly as it comes; it's replaced by the knowledge that John is just as dependent on the family's supplies as she is. Anything she needs, he'll also need. And besides, she's almost positive he'd been in control of the cult's supplies, which means he might have an idea of what they should realistically be looking for. He would know what the cult had planned to do, and she could probably translate that into useful advice.

"Just making a list," she sighs. It sounds stupid enough to make her wince, and she concedes with a joke, "You know, for the next time we're at Wal-Mart."

John huffs in amusement and approaches the table. Now that she's got an audience, Kim wants nothing more to do with the list, and so she pushes towards him before slumping back into her chair. Instead of the quick, distracted glance she had been expecting, John leans over to read it in full. The longer he reads, the more embarrassed Kim is of her late-night daydreaming, but he finishes with the list before she can grab it back.

"Some of these are... more manageable than others," he says, using the same kind of diplomacy he utilizes whenever Nick makes a particularly dumb comment.

"Uh, yeah ," she says, embarrassed even if she isn't surprised. "I know. It was just... taking up space in my head. I needed to write it down, otherwise, I'm going to be up all night."

Kim runs her hand through her hair, waiting for John to retreat as quickly as he'd arrived. Instead, John rereads the list once more. Kim can see his amusement much more plainly as he leans into the candlelight. It highlights the deep bags under his eyes as well, but who isn't carrying that particular mark of exhaustion these days?

"Ammunition isn't as high on the list as I'd imagined," he comments.

"We're okay on bullets for now," she replies. "And it's not like there's much to spare."

Whether or not that satisfies John, Kim isn't sure. He only hums in response, eyes roaming down the paper.

"I see you didn't bother to add more guns."

"We don't need more guns," Kim insists, although it's not strictly true. She's just hesitant to overwhelm the house with firearms. They've been getting on just fine with what they have — any more, and they might turn into a target themselves. One day, sure, they'll need to find something for Carmina to carry on her own, but that day is a long, long way away.

She doesn't need to explain herself to anyone, let alone John Seed, but as he watches her and waits for more, she feels compelled to justify herself. "I don't think we're going to find spare guns or ammunition just lying around, and I'm not about to take them by force. We've managed just fine with what we have."

"For now," John points out. "Things could change. It won't stay this calm forever."

"Why not?" Kim retorts, feeling childish and petulant as soon as the words leave her mouth. "Why do you even care? You're certainly not getting armed."

John clicks his tongue against his teeth. "It's not that," he says, only to abruptly roll over with a muttered, "Never mind."

If John thinks he can avoid the conversation that easily, he has another thing coming. "No, what is it?" she asks.

"It's nothing," he sighs, as if arrogantly dismissing her will keep Kim from pushing. When Kim only frowns unhappily back at him, he reluctantly relents. "Joseph had said taking your weapons was the only way we could ensure you wouldn't use them after the Collapse. And if we didn't lock them away, it would be all you would look for." He stares at the list, although Kim imagines his thoughts are about fifty miles away. "It's stunning how wrong he was about everything. But there are reminders everywhere."

John rarely speaks about Joseph; Kim hasn't heard him broach the subject of his own volition before. The only person who ever talks to him about his brother is Jerome, and those conversations are private and short. Having John bring him up with almost no needling feels like a step forward, even if it's only a small one. Even though John is anxious saying Joseph's name.

It's so easy to forget how much control Joseph had over John. Kim has to make a concentrated effort now and again to remind herself that Joseph hadn't only brainwashed normal, desperate people, but his own family. She can't imagine doing anything to Carmina or Nick that would turn them into the angry, anxious mess John had been even before the Collapse. Not even if it meant they would always do what they were told and would trust her implicitly. She couldn't bear it if Nick ever talked about her the way John talks about Joseph. It's late enough that Kim finds herself wondering how Joseph can even sleep at night.

"It's stupid," John says, taking Kim's contemplative silence as disapproval. "I should have known better."

He inhales, letting out a shaky breath, and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, they're suspiciously shiny in the candlelight. It sparks a genuine pang of sympathy in Kim, but there's nothing she can say or do to help him. Nothing she's done so far has made an impact.

"Some of this is reasonable enough," John says, desperately trying to redirect the conversation back to the list. It's an obvious, flat-footed attempt to avoid a tender spot in his psyche, but Kim is willing to let it slide.

"Sure, eventually . But we're a long way off from hot baths and backyard barbecues, much less flour and sugar."

"Those are... less reasonable," he admits, dragging his finger across one of the harder to come by items. Still, he isn't nearly as deterred as she is. "But not everything is impossible to come by. Insulation, for one. Tarp, duct tape. Components like that should be easy enough to find." He taps his finger against the envelope. "And there still places to investigate. Root cellars nobody bothered to touch. Caches you never found. Things hidden in places you wouldn't know to look, especially if you weren't in the Project."

Frowning, Kim rereads a few of the items upside-down from her side of the table. "It's been almost nine years," Kim points out, reluctant to get her hopes up so easily. "Isn't it more likely that everything good has already been discovered?"

Still... John's mentioned secret Eden's Gate supplies before. Given the size of the project and how long they were operating in the county, it's not impossible that some of their hidden stashes haven't been found yet. And they were planning for the apocalypse, right? They'd likely have saved things that could last for a long time. John isn't wrong — more ammunition and more weapons would be helpful. At the very least, they could help arm other survivors.

"It wouldn't hurt to have a look, I guess," Kim relents after thinking it over. "How good is your memory?"

That earns her a rare, quiet chuckle from John. "Middling to poor," he admits, "Although if I had a map, it would help. It would make it easier to mark what I remember."

"To think, it only took nine years and an apocalypse for you to finally hand over the intel."

John huffs, but his response is only mildly offended. "Do you want what I have to offer, or not?"

"Don't be like that," Kim says, placating him with a smile. "It would be a big help. It'll help me sleep better, anyway."

It seems there's more on John's mind than Kim teasing him, since he takes the non-apology and moves on without a fight. "Jacob had caches buried for after the Reaping," he says. "They'll most likely be weapons, but he was... hard to read. It could be that he stored survival equipment in one. There were a few in the valley, but most of them would be in the mountains."

Kim shakes her head at that. "As far as I've heard, nobody's made it very far north. And the stories I have heard aren't good. The dam broke, so a lot of the area is flooded, and supposedly the radiation is still pretty bad."

John hums briefly as he considers the facts. He leans contemplatively over the list, and for a moment Kim wonders if this was a common occurrence for him before the Collapse. How many late nights did he spend bent over a map while his brothers watched and waited for his decisions? She has to suspect it was a lot, because this is the first time she's seen John look even remotely confident.

That confidence is clear in his voice as he remarks defiantly, "I suppose the valley will do until we get airborne again. Let flooding stop us then ."

"Oh, okay," Kim laughs, checking her volume before she lets her amusement wake up the rest of her family. "You are just like Nick. Neither of you are going to give up until you get back in the sky, huh?"

"Exactly," John replies. "I won't trust anybody else to do it. Realistically, a helicopter would be the best option..."

"Oh, right," Kim chuckles. " Realistically ."

John taps accusingly at the list and raises an eyebrow at her. "Less realistic than hot water and iodized table salt?"

If Kim didn't know better, she might think that John is actually teasing her. He normally saves that kind of attitude for Nick, who prefers arguing through and around problems. Kim, on the other hand, rarely has the energy to deal with avoidance tactics, and so she tends to demand his sincerity. Thankfully, the liminal time of just-about-three has softened her stance on the matter.

"Okay," she relents with a smile. "Sure. Might as well add helicopters to the list." It would be a pretty big get for them, all things considered. And anyway, John's right — Kim wouldn't trust flying in a plane jury-rigged together by anyone other than Nick.

But that's a resource that will come in the nebulous future, and Kim's too realistic to worry years in advance right now. There are more pressing concerns to deal with, first — like food, water and security. Any caches John can find will at least fulfill one of those priorities, although Kim can't imagine the cult storing anything other than ammunition and weapons. But even if the caches don't pan out, they might find valuable scrap, like logs for firewood, furniture they can re-purpose, or even old survivalist caches that nobody thought to dig up after the world ended. And now that there are four of them, Kim won't feel so uncomfortable when Nick wants to drive to the middle of nowhere looking for supplies.

Kim sighs with relief, feeling a weight roll off her back that she hadn't been trying to remove. "Things will be a lot easier if you can help us with supplies. And I'll feel better about Nick going out if he has somebody to watch his back."

John pulls the same face he usually makes when someone implies they trust him. Kim could ignore it — after all, John doesn't need to believe they trust them for it to be true. Too bad for him, it's too late at night for her to turn a blind eye. "Oh, get over it," she tells him, unable to help a lopsided smile at his offended scowl. "I seriously doubt you're planning on murdering us at this point. And I know Nick is smart enough to knock the crap out of you if he thinks you've changed your mind."

"I won't," John immediately replies.

Kim believes him, if only because there's nobody left for John to rely on other than them. "Good. Because if I can trust you, that means I won't worry about Nick when he decides to go farther than town. It means we can spend more meaningful time with Carmina, too. Anyway, Nick likes bossing you around, and you like being bossed around, so everybody wins."

John ducks his head, embarrassed, but Kim laughs to let him know she's only teasing. "Seriously," she says, relenting for his benefit, "It does help. It's good to have somebody else to rely on."

"I... want to be helpful," John replies, although Kim suspects that he might be confusing his wants and needs again. It's not quite a compulsion anymore, but even John's most heated attempts to argue about a job end with him rolling over quick. He hasn't outright refused to do something, and Kim doesn't think he ever will, if only to prove to himself one more time that he might actually be capable of change.

It might get annoying one day, but for now, Kim can respect his intense desire to make amends. She just wishes he would accept some form of gratitude or praise in return, to make it less awkward on her end.

Kim rests her hands momentarily on the tabletop, tapping her fingers briefly against the wood. "Okay," she softly declares, "I think I'm going to try to get back to sleep." Whatever she winds up dreaming about now, she's pretty sure it won't be the same awful nightmare again — and that's at least partially because of John's intervention. She figures it's worth telling him as much. "You made a pretty good distraction, so thanks."

He nods immediately in response. "Of course," he replies, momentarily bewildered as he checks Kim's expression for signs of sarcasm or annoyance. His posture relaxes as Kim stands, although Kim imagines his relief is temporary. He's pretty good at working himself up into anxious frenzies — staying out of them is another matter entirely.

"Try to get some sleep yourself, okay?" Kim suggests.

There's no way John means it when he says, "I will," but at least he's willing to placate her instead of getting mad at her being concerned in the first place.

"And try not to wake up Carmina."

John nods affirmatively. Kim's positive that he'll sneak outside once she's gone upstairs, but at least he's waiting patiently for her to leave. If it weren't for her returning exhaustion, Kim might've used him as an excuse to do her own late-night workout, but it'll have to do to merely turn a blind eye to him edging around her rule about going out after dark alone. Kim and Nick have both been woken up by the exterior doors, but John never goes beyond the planters out back, and he always closes up when he comes back in. Kim could call him out on it, but... well, it seems like he needs the freedom.

Kim says goodnight and is mildly surprised when John returns it without any lingering sarcasm. He must be pretty tired, but that's not really a surprise. Hopefully, he'll try to take some of her concern to heart, or at least pretend for her sake.

Although Carmina is definitely still asleep when Kim returns to the bedroom, Nick is watching her with bleary-eyed curiosity. He waits until she's closed the door to speak up, and even then it's a dull, quiet whisper.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

He doesn't mind waiting for Kim to creep back to bed before she answers. "It is," she tells him, gratefully crawling into bed as he opens his arms for her. He folds his arms over her shoulders, letting her wiggle into a comfortable spot before she explains in a whisper. "I needed to move around, and John came downstairs. That's all."

"Hope he wasn't a creep," Nick mumbles into her hair. Kim sighs laughingly into his collarbone, which is already sticking to her cheek with sweat. There's no way she's going to be wrapped up in Nick's arms all night, not when it's this hot, but she'll appreciate it while she's got it.

"Not yet," Kim says. "Just talking about supplies." She presses a kiss to Nick's shoulder and whispers, "We'll talk about it in the morning."

Nick hums happily into Kim's hair. "Sounds good to me," he mumbles. The less they talk about John Seed, the better, after all. Especially right now, when they're tangled up in bed with their daughter snoring next to them; there's no room for serious conversation, and there's absolutely no room for John. There's no space for the nightmares that woke her, either; as Kim falls asleep, Nick's hand tangled up in her hair, she thankfully forgets everything save for a warm, melancholy amber glow.

#fc5 #fcnd #john seed #kim rye #far cry new dawn #its only the first 5 right i can't remember #i feel like i was channeling james a janice here for a minute #HEY GUYS welcome to the kill count where we'll be tallying up all the skeletons in john seed's closet #mercyverse #my fic

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anthropwashere · 4 years

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deadfic: welcome the unknown

Another one for @goodintentionswipfest, and the oldest of the lot I’ll be posting by a significant margin! As in written in 2009 old. You’ve been warned.

Gonna put the whole fic under a readmore because JTHM fics have one setting and that’s Upsetting, so have some naval gazing from me first.

2009 was uhhhhh, some kind of year for me. It was the year I graduated high school, and the year I was a little bit homeless, and the year I wished I was a little bit homeless for longer so I could have avoided some bananas shit, and the year I spent waiting on tenterhooks mid-recession before I could run from a ehhh home life off to the military.

18 year old anthrop was working through some shit while writing this thing, is what I'm saying.

This was intended as a prequel to a fic I was working on in high school, while also being kind of a stand alone fic? If you've been with me since my JTHM days (wow) you'll recognize what it might have been for, but otherwise don't worry about it. This is a bit all over the place but there are still a lot of pieces I'm fond of and honestly, it's nice to see where I was as a writer and how far I've come in comparison? Too many of us fandom writers destroy huge swaths of our work out of this terribly sad and unnecessary shame for liking "cringy" things, and to this day I regret doing the same to virtually all the things I wrote for my first few fandoms. Cheesy and heavy-handed as this fic is, it's nice to have around still, you know? I cared about this fic. Working on it kept me sane during an extremely shitty summer. I dearly wish I still had the first draft, which I remember writing in different colored markers on folded sheets of computer paper hunched up in any random little corner I could get some time alone. Alas, like 98% of the rest of my things pre-military, it's gone for good.

Title comes from Robbers on High Street's "The Fatalist," which sure was a song I had on repeat a lot back in 2009.

Everywhere is dirty. Filth and stink and dead particles on everything he touches. He'd fallen asleep, and somebody had broken into his house and poured the offal of a thousand trash cans onto everything and smeared it in deep.

Asshole.

Really though, they are all assholes. Shit-smeared animals groping around on all fours, blind and deaf and desensitized to whatever little good was left in the world around them.

They make so much noise. All they do is scream, and whenever someone manages to gasp out a non sequitur the whole world applauds, casting them into the history books for the next generation to draw penises upon their photographs. It is all a matter of course.

It can't just be him that sees this. One look outside is enough to prove his point. Why else would he board up all the windows? To keep the assholes from looking in, of course.

The assholes are everywhere these days, screaming and fucking. Fucking. They're good at that too. Reproduction. Bucking hips and nails across skin and incredible, terrible intimacy, the exchanging of fluids. Disease of the flesh, fever of the mind. A new generation born in every positive pregnancy test, a new generation dead in every street corner abortion clinic. Babies. Disgusting, germ-ridden things. Oh God, don't let it touch him with its fat little hands shiny with saliva and the green ooze that won't cease dripping from the holes in its face. He doesn't know what'll happen, what he'll do if this thing gets too close, but he has ideas, and none of them are pleasant.

He always has ideas.

He blinks, and the baby and the stinking slut mother cooing at it with too-red lips and salon-styled hair and the bus and the roaring all vanish. He stumbles and knocks an elbow against the dresser.

The smell in here is somehow worse now. Like old vomit in high summer. Is it vomit? Is it his vomit?

He decides it's better not to now, at least not now. He feels a strange mood coming. High tide comes to drown the starfish, already dried by the sun. Perhaps it is a mood he needs, but then again, perhaps it comes too late.

Something cracks, and the edges go soft and drip in a puddle of wax.

He burns his fingers by candlelight.

"Johnny?"

"Bunny?"

His throat burns. It hurts to breathe.

"Oh thank God, you can hear me again. You're back."

"What—" He breaks off, coughing. Blood in his mouth, on his teeth. He licks them clean and swallows. "What are you talking about?"

Bunny sounds small and tired in his ears—

Mind?

—and there was fear, Johnny can hear it licking at the corners of Bunny's—

His?

—voice, but it has faded with time. Johnny suspects he has been asleep for a very long time.

"I've been trying to reach you for… God, I don't even know how long." Bunny trails off.

He looks around, his eyes struggling to see in the pre-dawn light trickling in through a dozen half-circle windows on the floor above wherever he is. More by the smell than anything, he realizes he is surrounded by blood and bodies. A part of him knows he shouldn't be comforted by this, shouldn't find this scene familiar.

And yet.

"I was scared, Nny."

He hiccups, chokes, and spits out three bullets.

The mirror is laughing at him.

He sneers at it. Squints as two left hands do two different things, almost identical but the blur is still visible, still there.

He was wrong, he knows that now. There isn't just one person, one world, one reality on the other side of the mirror. There are dozens, maybe hundreds. Maybe thousands. Not all at once, of course, but there seems to be another pair of eyes staring back, another mouth talking at everyone and no one, each time he looks hard enough, long enough. The edges blur, fingers drag in slow-motion arcs, teeth where teeth shouldn't be, a hundred shades of skin and hair and eyes.

He can't remember the last time he showered.

“You look like shit, Nny,” observes the Burger Boy.

“Yes.”

“You really should do something about it.”

“Yes.”

He drives the pen through the paper and carves something into the wood that later he won't understand.

Greasy. He is so greasy. The others in the mirror bow out of the way to let him see the unwashed, true reflection of himself. He makes a face, drags his cheeks down to his jaw and waggles his tongue, and the reflection follows accordingly. No blur.

Yep, that’s him all over.

Devi screams, her face set in a terrified, furious, how-could-you-you-shithead expression, and smashes his face against the mirror. His nose breaks on impact, glass stabs, digs, and catches, and drags down his cheeks and forehead. Blood everywhere, his blood. A tooth goes flying as his chin hits the dressing table’s pitted surface with a crack that sickens him even as the edges of his sight turn black, and the pain is more than noise can express. Blood on Devi’s knuckles. Fingers ripping out his hair.

No.

Everything pauses, then it all reverses in an instant, and he is left standing before a dirty mirror with too many faces looking back.

That already happened— a long long long long time ago

—and he is better now. Devi is better now too. He hasn’t talked to her in awhile but she is around, she is there, and everything is okay now. There is some blood dried into the floorboards still—was that were the stink is coming from?—but his scars have faded. He has forgiven, and he thought he had forgotten.

He’d gotten a new mirror and everything.

“Hi Nny.”

“Evening.”

Squee leans back on his heels before the underbelly of a machine Johnny has no understanding of and glares. With his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, smears of engine grease on his hands, sweat on his face, and looking like a mix of engineer, mad scientist, and responsible adult, Johnny has no idea how to treat the boy-now-man-next-door.

"How've you been? Whatcha been up to these days?"

There is something unspoken, something furious and accusing underneath the easy drawl of the questions. He can't imagine what Squee could be angry with him about. He is at a loss, also, at how to respond to the heavy questions thrown at him so casually. He struggles under their weight, unable to answer, unable to keep quiet, unable to lie.

Squee chuckles as he stands in one smooth motion centered on his knees and cleans his glasses with a rag from his pocket. "It's okay, shit, calm down. Not like I got a gun to your head or anything."

For some reason, he feels himself flinch. Squee's eyebrows knit and relax in an instant.

"Let's see," Squee muses. "You look like you, I'm pretty sure your car still works, and I'm currently over at Pepito's for some headfuck or another. Okay, I think I know what year this is. Awesome." He puts his glasses on and shares a smile that could cut glass.

"What are you talking about?"

Squee looks surprised, but after a moment laughs a quiet little laugh. "That's right, I forgot. This is the year you do your weird losing-time thing, yeah? Haha, you freaked me out even more all summer. I think I slept on the roof more than I did my own room. Oh God, this is even better!" He laughs again, louder, and claps a hand on the shoulder of the strange machine.

He can't think of any kind of response to this before Squee speaks again. "Fuck, Johnny, you really think seeing me at nine one day and twenty-three the next is normal?"

He thought about it. "Noooot really. No."

"That is exactly—what—How did you even recognize me?" He gestures at himself, and his eyebrows do something halfway between emulating surprise and gut-busting dislike.

"Who else could you be?"

This time his laugh is loud and body shaking, and he thumps the machine as if Johnny has said something incredibly witty. "Wow, okay, if that logic works for you it works for me, you crazy fuck."

He did not just hear that. "What did you call me?"

Squee smiles again, but his eyes remain cold and flinty and full of hate towards something—Johnny suspects—he has done in the future. Goddamnit, future self, way to ruin a good thing. But his hands still clench, his joints lock. How dare Squee? How could he?

But the boy-now-man-next-door acts as if nothing has changed. "So I can't remember how your art or lack thereof is working out in this little slice of time. You paintin' with any other color 'sides red?"

Why was Squee acting like this? "Of course I am."

He isn't.

Squee scratches his neck, scratches at scabs over long, thin lacerations in finger-shaped bruises, and Johnny wonders if what he's feeling now is how the man felt when he had still been a boy, and the scary neighbor man once crawled through the window to tell him a bedtime story.

"You know, somehow I doubt that."

His fingers itch for activity. He hasn't left the house in days, maybe weeks. Does it matter?

He licks his lips and swallows, fighting down familiar urges. He can beat this.

"Do you have a problem with me?"

"Oh god oh god oh god why are you doing this—"

"Excuse me, I asked you a question."

Gently touch the controls, tack the pressure on, oh, just a little more. Just enough to make them scream.

The back of his head itches, and when he scratches his fingers come away red. No pain, just blood. So it isn't his then. But he can't remember killing anyone.

He looks away from his hand and out the window, at the outside world creeping in through the cracks between the boards. Outside there is no sun, no moon, no stars, no anything. His breath hitches.

It's raining.

He exhales.

The door is open though he doesn't remember leaving it so, so he takes the hint and walks outside. He inhales, tasting the hot summer smell of wet concrete and the cloying reek of decomposing bodies in his front yard. The million million light bulbs of the city throw their energy skyward, and the roiling clouds eat the light whole. A weird, orange glow from above casts the city into an otherworldly scene, and, feeling a little silly, he wonders if tonight might be the beginning of the apocalypse, and the idea doesn't sound half bad.

In the driveway, the concrete is slick with oil. He stands there a while, letting the rain wash the human grease out of his hair. It takes him just as long to realize his car is missing.

"That's funny," he says aloud, wiping the rainwater out of his eyes. "I don't remember teleporting home. Unless—was it Tuesday yesterday? I don't think it was, but—"

There is a soft, scared inhale of breath, a backwards scream. He turns, and there on the sidewalk is a gray woman in a bathrobe, faded coffee stains and food crusts all down her front. She is pointing at him, her face wide, frozen in a rictus grin of fear.

"What?" he asks, reality crashing into place with a shatter of glass ripping through his ears.

Her mouth moves, but the sounds that come out are backwards and insulting, and her eyes are fish eyes, wide and lidless and staring.

"What?" he asks again, sharply, his voice ugly and tasting of ashes.

"M-mon—" the woman wheezes.

Her throat is in his hands, and he doesn't recall moving from his empty driveway.

"What are you staring at? What do you want?!" he screams.

She gags and gurgles, her tubes for eating breathing talking standing bleeding; all of it collapsing under his fingers—

which hadn't been so thin a few weeks ago

—and the grin on his face is a mile wide.

"Monster!" she whimpers as something cracks in her neck.

Monster? His hands loosen, cradle her jaw, as his mind tries to grapple with this. Why… Why would anyone call him that?

The pounding of feet, and someone wrenches the woman out of his grasp. "Jesus jump-roping Christ, Johnny!"

Dazed, he stares at the newcomer as if he's looking at everything through the wrong end of a telescope. The reek and the roaring of the public transit system returns with a bang of pneumatic doors, and Squee's mouth moves in angry shapes but the slut-mother's cooing comes out instead.

"You gonna pay or get off my bus?"

He looks at the bus driver, at the thick rolls of fat ballooning out underneath his sweaty, undersized uniform, a sneer pulling back the heavy flesh around pearly white teeth. He imagines jamming the steering wheel through the man's dislocated jaw and feels slightly better.

It's safe to imagine such atrocities. Imagine, but nothing more. He has to remember that.

"Hey kid! I'm talkin' to you!"

"Sorry," he manages through grinding teeth and a throat hot and restricted with anger. He deposits the required fare into the automated tray and darts across the yellow line before he can act upon his ideas.

He always has ideas.

He stumbles into an open seat as the bus jerks forward with a belch of black exhaust he can't see but can taste, heavy and gritty on his tongue. On his right, a plastic mommy bounces her little dolly on her knees. They are dressed in matching summer dresses. Disgusting.

How long has it been summer anyway?

He glances at the pair again and thumbs the volume on his CD player a little higher, fighting to keep his face neutral. He has never been fond of parents who treat their offspring like objects rather than the people they are going to be.

Something tugs on his sleeve and he recoils, crashing into the metal bars on his left. It takes everything he has not to retaliate against the foreign touch. His headphones are knocked askew by the impact, and Mozart's power vanishes, becomes tiny vibrations around his neck.

The baby, the child, the dull-eyed little girl has the ragged end of his sleeve in its shining, soaking wet hand. Through the fabric, he can feel its dampness, its heat. It babbles at him incoherently, green ooze dripping from its squashed little nose into the gaping, grinning mouth below.

"Oh, she likes you!" The mother cries, swooping in for the kill. Her smell washes over him—of heady perfume, hairspray, hysteria. He can see the makeup creases, the scars of plastic surgery, the shadow of a bruise on her shoulder half-hidden by her yellow sleeve. His mind jumps to all sorts of conclusions, and each one of them sickens him more than the last.

"Uh," he manages.

His hands twitch.

He is sick of this life again. All the old signs are there, everything points to one fact, but he can't bear going down that path, not yet. Later, later.

"'Later,' he says!" Crows the delighted Burger Boy. "Yes, perhaps when the scabs from the old shackles grow over the new he'll get off his scrawny ass and attempt to do something about all this!"

"Fuck you."

The Burger Boy looks at him imploringly, its meaty little hands clasped, its fangs retracted, the perfect image of a concerned friend in hideous checkered overalls. "In all seriousness, Johnny-boy, this is not something you can put off any longer. You must act now, or not at all."

"Go die in a hole."

"We both remember how effective that was the last time you tried that. Now, please—"

"Don't make me get the sledgehammer."

At least it had the decency to flinch at that, the little fuck.

The Burger Boy sighs, obviously frustrated. "I don't understand why you find it necessary to fight me so, Nny."

"Maybe it's because, oh, I don't know, you're trying to enslave me to my own kidneys?" He bites on the straw of his cherry Freezy hard enough to tear it. The plastic tastes like artificial fruit and latex gloves. "And don't call me Nny."

The Burger rolled its eyes, which shouldn't have been possible because it was pretending it was still ceramic. "So I'm no longer allowed that special little privilege, am I? Only the ghost of your dead, levitating bunny rabbit is?"

"Leave Nailbunny out of this."

"And those pathetic Doughboys as well? The very ones that conspired against you to 'serve their master', who, in case you've since forgotten, was the very creature you were charged with imprisoning behind a wall of blood and plaster?"

"That was D-Boy. Eff just wanted freedom. And really, can I blame him?" He bites the straw in half and spits it into the bathroom sink. In the mirror, his reflections mimic him, ten thousand mouths a-grinning.

"You're missing the point, though I'm hardly surprised."

A thought strikes him, and it's out of his mouth before he can think twice about it. "You know, if they ever started talking again, I think I'd still let them call me Nny. Sure, they were both exploiting my ever-increasing insanity and all that, but they were mine in the beginning. Unlike you."

It ignored the jab. "If they ever start talking again, it will be far too late."

There wasn't any soap in the bathroom.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

He blinks. "What?"

"Give me one goddamn reason, one very good goddamn reason you had for strangling my mother, or so fucking help me Johnny—!"

Squee is definitely reminding him of himself now. Great. Fantastic. Fuck.

"Um."

The Burger Boy scowls, its face transmogrifying into the fanged, drooling thing it really is. "You remember how terrible it was to toil under the merciless whip of the System! I know you do because I am a part of you, though you refuse to believe as such! And though you hate what I have to offer, you must realize that I am far more preferable as I am now than what I could become unless you tear free of the System's grip now!"

"I AM FREE!"

With a snap of ceramic he breaks it's right arm off, and the two of them scream in pain and hate, in the same voice, in one voice.

"I." He jabs at his chest with the arm, feeling it squirm under his fingers.

"Am." He drops it to the bloodstained linoleum.

"Free." He grinds the arm to dust under the heel of his boot. His reflections are too blurred, too scattered, to see how many follow suit.

Gripping the hole where a limb had been seconds ago, its ugly face twisted further by agony, the Burger Boy pants, "There is no such thing as freedom! No!" It screams, harsh and violent, as he opens his mouth to retort, "Listen to me. Hear me out. Please."

A heartbeat passes. Five. He closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted, and nods. The figurine sighs and leans against the faucet, settling its insect eyes on the spilled Freezy in the tub.

"Let's get one thing straight. I don't want you thinking that the puppet masters are singling you out for sport. God knows you aren't anything special. Everyone is a slave to one thing or another." It pauses to laugh bleakly. "Perhaps even those who fancy themselves the masters of this game of Monopoly must bow their neck to the chopping block one day. Who am I to know? I am but a series of chemical reactions created in the misfiring neurons of a sick man's brain. But never mind that. What I'm trying to say here is that there has been no other way. Ever. There has been no freedom, no choice. It is all preordained. This is the way of all things."

Every part of him rebels against this. No free will? Impossible. His life is his own, now more than ever. Yes, he had been a slave, once. But that had just been the luck of the draw, an accident, like winning the lottery or getting hit by a truck. It was… unpredictable, impossible to preordain. Heat in his chest, his jaw tight and creaking. "They told me—" He begins, his voice ready to rise into a shriek.

"It was only temporary. Even stone must crumble, Johnny."

His legs turn to jelly at a terrible, terrifying thought. He grips the sink, licks his lips and tastes salt and cherries and fear. In a soft, weak voice he barely recognizes as his own he finally asks, "Are they going to make me a flusher again?"

"They already have."

"Mom, can you make it back to the house on your own?" As he speaks, Squee performs a quick once-over on the gasping woman clinging like a burr to his chest. His face betrays him, showing the extent of the damage done even as he keeps his voice upbeat, a stream of happy reassurances pouring out with the rain even as his eyes confirm a far more dire prognosis. "Johnny and I need to, um, talk."

"Who—" Her voice fractures in her collapsed throat, and she chokes and dry heaves until her face is purple with strain.

Squee holds her until she calms. "Johnny's our neighbor, Mom. We've lived next to him since—for as long as I can remember."

"O-oh. He looks ni-ice. I-is he a friend o-of yours?"

Squee makes a face remarkably comparable to the one a particularly vehement guest made once after Johnny had made him swallow a pound of nails. "Just—go inside, Mom. Go see if Dad's awake, okay? See if he'll call 911 for you."

"Okay sweetie." Her voice is wet and crackling, like stiff paper going soft beneath a steady drip of water. He recognizes the sound, and suspects now that he may have squeezed too hard. But she had insulted him, hadn't she? Called him a fucking monster. How could he let that go without proper retaliation?

"And tell Dad I'll be in in a min—oh festering whore tits, your eyes are bleeding."

"Don't swear, honey."

"Sorry. Johnny?"

He can't help but flinch. "Yes?"

Squee swallows, looking almost frightened before setting his jaw and glaring hard at him. "You are going to go in your house, sit your ass down on your couch, and you are going to stay the fu—stay there until I can get Dad to give me the keys so I can get Mom to the ER. See, betcha I gotta do it 'cause Dad is an incompetent, loveless douche with a heart of coal. But I'm gonna do it fast, 'cause you and I? We need to talk."

"I—"

Squee got him off with a sharp gesture. "Uh-uh. Not today. Not gonna play that game. Get in your house."

He got in his house.

"Slavery is inherent in all things, Johnny. It is only a question of to what. Once before you were selected to be a Flusher—"

"And I failed. Miserably, I might add."

The Burger Boy shook its head firmly. "You excelled."

"Clearly we're remembering my experiences in the After Life differently."

"Clearly you forget what kind of monster was imprisoned behind that wall."

"I never saw it. I died before I had the chance."

"It doesn't matter whether you saw it or not! What you had to do to keep it locked up should tell you more than enough."

"I—"

"I think somebody with a say in things liked what you were doing down here. Otherwise, why else tether you to this particular yoke a second time? If your memories of what Satan said to you are correct, you are practically the very antithesis of Flusher material!" It hobbles towards him, it's ungainly waddle exacerbated by its missing arm. Drool spills freely from between jutting fangs that cut at its lips with every overeager exclamation. "Take a good look at me, boy. The very moment the System slapped the manacles back on your wrists it began to take me as well. These changes are the result of your inaction."

His reflections smile bitterly. "You claim to be mine one minute and admit you're not the next. One or the other; it can't be both."

It stares at him with a steady, curious expression. "Can't it? The System is trying to take me from you. That is one truth. Another is that I am fighting it as best I can. Just as your Doughboys did, not so long ago."

He sneers and says nothing.

"I am resisting," the Burger Boy continues, "but I cannot win. The changes done to this form you've assigned me are the result of every foot of ground lost. You must see how much faster the transformation is in me compared to the Doughboys! You must understand that you are no longer a mere Flusher! For the Wall Monster remembers how effective it was to use your own madness against you, and now an eye is upon you, Johnny! The merciless, unflinching eye of the System in its entirety, and the System is more powerful than either of us can possibly comprehend."

He locks his fingers around the lip of the sink to keep from shaking. Slowly, the words trickle out of his mouth, pooling in a pile of warm paranoia in the drain. "Everything you say only goes to prove how much they have already conquered you, taken you from me and twisted you into some… thing. Some monster braying about hope even as it settles its jaws around my neck."

He drops his gaze from the figurine, from the mirror, afraid of the triumph he knows he will find there. "I can't trust you."

The Burger Boy positively beams. "Now you're catching on."

"Nailbunny, what should I do?"

resist

"Who? Who do I fight? Him? The System?"

resist

"Whether I like it or not, he's my only source of information. Even if he's manipulating me, he at least has the decency to forewarn me, unlike his predecessors. If push comes to shove, I think I could beat him. But what—what if he's telling the truth? What if he can help me?"

resist

"Nailbunny?"

resist

re—

"Please! Oh god, this hurts so much! Stop!"

"Shut up. The machine's barely even warmed up."

The sobbing blob tied to one of many torture devices he keeps humming at the ready cringes as his hand floats above the dial. He allows himself a brief smile.

"W-what do you want? Jesus Christ, I just m-met you! What did I even do?!"

He opens his mouth, a speech rife with injustice suffered under the merciless hands of a society dead from the neck up on the tip of his tongue, only to find himself unable to remember who this woman is and why he has her strapped into the Needler.

He laughs, and turns the dial up anyway.

—sist

The baby, the child, the dull-eyed little girl releases its iron grip on his sleeve and forgets him instantly, yet the mother perseveres, eager to speak with another human being. It seems he has no choice but to participate in a conversation with this woman until his stop, as every other seat is taken. And besides, it would be rude to just stand up and walk away.

You could kill her.

He frowns and ignores the voice, but nevertheless finds it unsettling. Meat's all for living and talking and eating and fucking and being an actual human, not murder. This is very out of character. Still pondering over it, he glances at the woman and finds her staring at him, expecting something from him.

"What?" he asks, itching to put his headphones on again. He really likes the piece vibrating against his collarbone.

"Where did you buy your shirt?" the woman asks, as if she's repeating herself. She probably is.

He peels his eyes away from her surgically swollen lips long enough to glance down at himself. Black and gray, with an obnoxious splash of color amid the stripes that makes his head hurt. He doesn't recognize it.

"I, uh, don't remember," he says.

"Oh, that's too bad! My little brother loves that show."

He nods mutely, allowing his thumb to play with the volume of his CD player. The woman keeps talking, and Carl Orff rages at fate in a whispered rise and fall of Latin and violins.

The girl touches his hand again, and he accepts without protest that he will kill these two in their matching summer dresses with an eager blare of trumpets.

"Slavery to a broken machine or slavery to life and all its pains and pleasures." Meat touches his arm with its remaining hand. Through his sleeve, he can feel its dampness, its heat. "Decision time is now or never, Nny."

He laughs. "I am a broken machine."

Sometimes other people appear in the mirrors. Just brief flashes, overlapping the current other-self dominating the rest, and he knows it's foolish, but he can't help but wonder.

What is it like to have friends?

"—and it's being called the worst crime in the tri-county area since the café massacre two years ago. With twenty-seven dead at the scene and another twelve in critical condition, we here at the Channel 4 News Network can't help but agree. What do you think of it, Jeff?"

"It's a real atrocity, Nadine. The man who did this must be a real psycho, a total monster."

"Oh yes. And speaking of the killer, a woman—who has asked to remain anonymous—has stepped forward, claiming to have been at the club when the murders were committed. She also claims to be the one who halted the massacre by shooting the killer three times, despite having already been wounded."

"It is true a thus-far unidentified blood sample was recovered from the scene, as well as the bullets matching the woman's gun, but nothing conclusive has been determined yet. However, the woman has agreed to meet with a sketch artist once she's recovered from the attack, and a drawing of the killer will be sent to all media coverages when available."

"In the meantime, if anyone has any information regarding the killer or his whereabouts, we would appreciate it if you would call the number at the bottom of the screen. Please, don't hesitate—"

The reporter's face freezes for an instant before exploding in a supernova of white noise. Jolted out of a daydream, he instinctively reaches for the remote to mute the atrocious sound, but pauses before letting his hand fall.

The sound is… oddly pleasant.

He leaves it on for three days.

He decides to call it Reverend Meat. It just… seems to fit.

He pauses at the couch only briefly, wondering what happened outside and what kind of reaction he should be having, but his legs give out and once he hits the floor it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Something skitters away, startled by the sound and vibrations of his body striking the wood. A minute passes or maybe five before it skitters back, probing his fingers with inquisitive antennae. His nerves won't respond to the signals his brain sends, to flinch away or crush the insect before it has a chance to grow bolder. He panics briefly, fear and helplessness clawing their way through his chest cavity, but then, as if a switch is flipped inside him, he relaxes.

The insect, whatever it is, takes a cautious nibble at the calloused tip of his ring finger. There is a tiny flash of pain, but no instinctive recoil from the source of the hurt. He is truly unable to move, than. The insect continues to bite, finding the outer layers of his skin tasty enough to merit further excavation. A second insect, crawling out of some unseen hole beyond his limited vision, joins the first, and is quickly followed by a third, a fourth, a dozen, too many to differentiate by feel alone and before he knows it an entire colony of carnivorous insects are biting into him, eating his flesh, burrowing under his clothes, his skin, crawling in his mouth and into his soft, wet insides, and he can't do anything to stop it.

It hurts, God it hurts, and he thinks wildly to himself that if he manages to live through this he will never ever strap a jar of bugs between another guest's teeth, ever again, because this is beyond torture, beyond ironic justice, beyond what words can describe: it just fucking hurts.

But then they reach his spinal cord and, like a city-wide power outage, his pain receptors begin to shut down, and then it's only the sounds of thousands of tiny mouths chewing. Until the insects turn their attention to his face, at least, being eaten alive isn't quite as bad as movies would lead him to believe. It's certainly slower, for one thing, and it lacks the nerve-wracking horror soundtrack, but perhaps that's for the better. The sounds he does hear are far from pleasant: squishing and crunching and gnawing and if he still had a stomach it'd probably be heaving by this point. He can see nothing but the dusty edge of darkness beneath his couch, but it's easy to imagine how gruesome he must look.

He's seen the results of this kind of thing with his own eyes, after all.

By the time they reach his head, they have already chewed through something vital in his chest and nowhere can he feel anything, any ache any pain any sadness any anger any loneliness and God is that an improvement. Consciousness fades to a dull spark somewhere in his increasingly exposed ribcage, perhaps somewhere just behind his collarbone, and he is hollowed out as rapidly as a properly upgraded power tool can scoop the mush out of a pumpkin. He is home to a colony of army ants, or a vast nest of ravenous, newborn spiders. That buzzing he hears could be the many vibrating wings of mating flies, or the first comb of a beehive being constructed among his bones. Certainly this is some species of insect that won't hesitate to swarm over a piece of meat—however stringy—before it has a chance to defend itself. Maybe it's even a school of land-bound piranha. He can imagine all sorts of culprits and has little trouble believing in all of them.

He wonders if honey from a human hive would be any good, but immediately discards the idea, revolted. He's practically thinking cannibalism here! Or, rather, self-cannibalism. Can a person self-cannibalize when they no longer have a digestive system? He'll have to try that sometime.

He wonders.

"Johnny?"

He blinks with magically undevoured eyelids, and is whole.

Sometimes, if he focuses hard enough, long enough, on these days when others flicker by in the mirrors, sometimes these flickers steady, become memorable faces, re-memorable people. And if memory serves, most of these people are dead.

The implications leave him with aching knuckles.

"I am not a monster."

"You just keep telling yourself that. Hey, maybe if you wish hard enough it might even come true one day!" Meat cackles and kicks his toothbrush into the toilet bowl.

"I wasn't always like this. I haven't always lived here. I haven't always been alone."

"How can you be so sure?”

Frustrated. Does he really have to state the obvious?

"No one is born knowing how to speak or read or write, or how to drive a car, or how to use money. Inherent knowledge is limited in humans. I may no longer have the memories of being taught, but the result is still the same. I know how to mix paints because I probably took classes in high school. I know how to use a camera, order dinner at a restaurant, do my own laundry, because someone else was there to teach me. Fuck, someone hated me enough to give me you."

"Who?"

"What?"

"Who gave me to you?" Meat's smile tries to appear kind, yet it is condescending, as if it is speaking to a child. "It's a simple enough question, dear boy."

"I—you said it was a girl—that we—" He swears. "You know I don't remember."

"Who gave you an understanding of the English language? Where is the license that proves you once passed a test at the DMV?"

"I—"

"Can you prove that you did not simply read the directions in some art books, or on the camera's packaging, or in a Laundromat? Perhaps, on the same strange whim that made you steal some Styrofoam Pillsbury Doughboy figurines, you came across my body yourself?"

"You said—"

"I thought you didn't trust me."

His knuckles burn white.

"Well, Johnny?"

"You know I can't prove any of that."

Meat's eyes glitter with delight. "Then, dear Johnny, how can you be so sure?"

At the edge of a stage bright with colored lights, he curls his hands around a microphone and smiles. The audience—

so many eyes watching him, and yet he couldn't be more relaxed

—has hushed; yet their screams still ring in his ears.

He is not alone on this stage.

He doesn't dare turn to see who is playing softly behind him, afraid it'll be people the mirrors have shown him that are alive in some other Johnny's life but dead dead dead in his. His heart pounds, and for once the ache in his throat feels good. This is all so wonderfully terrifying, sickeningly familiar. Has he dreamed this before?

He comes to a stop inches from the audience's reaching hands. Good God, he has them right in the palm of his hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he breathes into the microphone, and every spark of life in this vast room is shining its light on him, and it is all so beautiful, so perfect, so alien.

"What we have here is a moral conundrum."

"Bunny, I'm worried."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one. But really, there's so much to worry about. Please, elaborate for me."

"I haven't gone anywhere I might run the chance of killing someone in months. Just drive-thrus and that fully automated shopping center. Until recently, the only other people I've interacted with haven't bothered me or have been out of reach. It's only been these past couple weeks I've attempted anything more. Walking in parks, public transportation. You know."

"I know."

"What I can't figure out is how I ended up in that club at all."

The television is on, too low to be heard. In its pale blue glow, he carefully touches his chest, wincing when his fingers press against three tender circles: one on his sternum, another between his sixth and seventh ribs, and the last just beneath his ribcage. Tiny puckered scars ache in the center of each purple bruise.

"If I remember correctly, you recognized something who went inside and followed after."

"Why would—that doesn't sound like something I'd do."

"You stalked Devi for nearly a year."

He scowls. "Unnecessary, Bunny."

"Is it?"

He thumps his boots onto the coffee table and says nothing. Bunny presses on.

"It was a woman. Short hair, glasses, surprisingly compassionate to your… cause."

"Wait, do you mean that one woman with that shitty boyfriend I Tazered once? When I saw that movie—"

"Yes."

"Wow, really? I figured the Wall Monster got her after reality collapsed." He taps his chin thoughtfully. "What was her name? Did it start with a… a T?"

"Tess."

"Yeah!" He pauses. "She… recognized me first."

"Uh-huh."

"She practically ran into the building. They didn't even card her. She must have been a regular."

"Or she worked there."

"Or she worked there," he agrees. "That anyone could recognize me—" he trails off. A beat passes, and he continues on a different vein. "But what set me off? What caused me to break again, after I'd been doing so well?"

"That shouldn't be your chief concern, Johnny."

He looks at the disembodied rabbit head, little more than a skull now, and tiny and fragile-looking without it's maggot-riddled skin. "Oh?"

"You should be asking why you were sent back again."

Those other people in the mirror, those strangers, those friends, those dead bodies in motion, would sometimes pause beside his reflection. They smile, laugh; get mad and fight back and actually live; attack and be attacked; get scared and fight back and die. Some of it looks fun, some of it looks ridiculous. A lot of it scares him, more than he'd like to admit.

He wishes one of them would notice him.

His fingers touch glass.

#jthm #johnny the homicidal maniac #deadfic #my writing #if you know the comic then you know what kind of violence and fuckery to expect #otherwise good grief i apologize to anyone checking this out who doesn't know the source material and just likes my writing #i also dearly apologize for the lack of contractions #18 year old anthrop didn't know what the fuck she was doing

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moved-to-void-kissed · 3 years

Text

Secrets in the Springs

Document link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WDYCocrod_P7bcyH9DIaacjpIXv9I8r-UEkdmWANdxw/edit?usp=sharing

Sapphire, Pyra, Mythra, Nia and Poppi spend an evening relaxing together in Mor Ardain’s famous hot springs, where a couple of secrets begin to reveal themselves. In the process, Pyra makes an important decision. (1650 words) Replaces the XC2 cutscene “Secret in the Springs” from the start of Chapter 4. Content warning for some description of an old significant physical injury.

This is a piece I originally posted to my old blog, but I’ve updated it slightly to reflect some changes to the storyline and figured it would be good to post again! Don’t worry, it’s mostly much happier than the previous writing I posted here - especially once you get to the end, hehe~

Reblogs are appreciated, but by no means required! Comments should be on, and there’s also a transcript of the document under the readmore!

The sandstorms from earlier in the day had thankfully settled down - the evening was still very warm, but a soft wind drifting through Alba Cavanich made the heat much more pleasant. Behind the inn that rested on Smùide Mountain, the group had taken the opportunity to relax in the local hot springs - Rex and Tora had gone earlier in the evening and appeared much more refreshed for the experience, but now it was the ladies’ bathing slot, and all of them were eager to spend the evening enjoying a relaxing bath together.

Sapphire in particular was not used to the arid conditions on Mor Ardain’s Titan, given that her homeland within Uraya was a much more subdued and watery kingdom, so she also relished the opportunity to try out the hot springs. By the time she had gotten ready, Poppi was already happily playing about in the springs, while Nia had her back to the entrance and only her head was above the water. Finally, Sapphire tentatively poked her head around the corner of the changing room, so that it was all that could be seen from within the baths themselves.

“It’s just us here, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry!” Nia turned her head to smile, though Sapphire did think she looked somewhat nervous. “The inn seemed pretty much empty when we first got here, so I don’t reckon anyone else’ll be coming in.”

Poppi nodded in agreement. “Probability of interruption from other people very small. Therefore, is perfect time for all to enjoy springs together. The water very nice temperature, even for Poppi!”

“Hang on.. Should you even be in the bath?” Nia had turned back to face the mechanical girl, and was now looking at her with a tilted head to show confusion. “Won’t you rust or something?”

In response, Poppi shook her head and kept smiling, eyes bright as ever. “There no problem. Poppi made from special alloy. No rust or need for oil!” The faint orange glow of her leg joints was visible even through the water, showing that she was kicking them back and forth in her usual manner.

Sapphire smiled at this, only to then jump when she realised Pyra was standing right behind her. Except it wasn’t Pyra - where she expected to see kind red eyes instead lay cold golden ones, and the familiar short bob of red hair was replaced by flowing blonde strands.

“Wh- Mythra?!”

“Yeah?” She looked unamused.

“Sorry, mate, you really startled me there!”

Wanting to give Mythra some space, Sapphire stepped out from behind the entrance to the changing room into the proper springs area, prompting Poppi to look surprised and Nia to turn around because of that. Although she still had a towel around her body, the other girls could now all see several swathes of what looked like very old grazes on Sapphire’s arms and the backs of her legs. They seemed to have healed, yet still appeared somewhat serious.

“Wait, what happened to you?!” Mythra was first to speak up, sounding more worried than she ever really had. Her usual short temper still shone through, however - she seemed almost annoyed for not noticing the injuries beforehand.

“Oh, these?” Sapphire raised her arms halfheartedly, looking somewhat embarrassed. “Don’t worry. These are just left over from.. how I got to Uraya. Don’t worry, most of it’s all healed up by now. So nothing’s going to mess up the water or anything, I promise.”

There was a silence.

“..I guess I never told you guys about that, huh.”

“No, you didn’t. Not that I was awake for, anyway.” said Mythra.

“You don’t ‘ave to tell us if you don’t want to, though.” Nia added. “Only share what you’re comfortable with.”

Sapphire nodded. “Thanks, Nia. Um.. this isn’t exactly the place to go all in-depth about that kind of thing, so, ah.. I’ll just say that, from what I know, my parents and I were on a ship crossing the Cloud Sea when it capsized and got washed into Uraya’s Titan. A bit like you guys did, I guess, though there was.. a lot more of an impact. Honestly, I don’t even know how I managed to stick around long enough for Dad and his mercs to find me on one of their checkups.”

“Oh.. Are you sure you’re okay? That must have been hard..” continued Mythra, still looking worried. There was a flash of glowing energy, and suddenly Pyra was stood in her place, looking even more concerned.

“I’m so sorry for what happened to you, Sapphire! Nobody should have to go through such a horrible thing..”

“Pyra, please, I’m fine! It’s okay!” Sapphire said, a little too suddenly - quickly realising her mistake, she hastily tried to recover: “I- I really appreciate that you care so much, but, I promise I’m fine. Come on, let’s just enjoy the springs together.”

As she turned around to put her towel on the rocks behind her before lowering herself into the blissfully warm water, the true extent of Sapphire’s injuries became clearer - the old grazes were nothing in comparison to the massive streak of half-healed scar tissue covering most of her back and shoulders. Parts of it seemed to somehow reflect the low light from the torches and the glow of Poppi and Pyra’s Core Crystals, as if there were tiny specks of something shiny in there.

Nia’s worried expression had returned. “Saph, that really doesn’t look good.. You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes!” She still seemed slightly on-edge, but being in the water was clearly very relaxing for her. “I already said, it doesn’t really hurt. I’ve had all this for as long as I can remember; it’s just how I am. Trust me, it was a lot worse when I was little.”

“Poppi worried about Sapphire..” said Poppi, sounding sad. The stillness of the water and the glowing lights visible under its surface showed that she wasn’t playing about anymore.

“Aww, it’s okay, Poppi!” Sapphire turned and smiled at her again. “I’m fine, honestly!”

Pyra still wasn’t convinced. “You’d tell us if you weren’t, though, right..?” She crouched down at the side of the water and reached over to take Sapphire’s hand in her own.

“Of course I would, silly. Come on in, the water is amazing..”

This made Pyra feel more at ease, and she happily took the chance to sit next to Sapphire, who in turn was all the more grateful to be able to enjoy Pyra’s natural warmth in close proximity. Another silence then settled, though this one was much more natural, and the girls were able to take the time to properly enjoy the heat of the water and relax in the hot springs.

Eventually, never the quiet one, Poppi had something to say.

“Poppi has question for Nia.”

“Huh?”

“Why does Nia have-?” The artificial Blade’s inquisitive tone was quickly interrupted by none other than Nia herself, who at this point was almost entirely submerged in the water.

“Oh, I know what you’re gonna say, I think. Don’t- don’t worry about it.”

At this point, Mythra returned, automatically shifting away from Sapphire as she turned to face Nia herself. “I had noticed, too. It’s true, then, that you’re..?” She trailed off, not knowing how to properly word her own question.

“Mmm.. yeah.”

Mythra nodded. “Do you want us to keep it a secret?”

“I was.. a little bit embarrassed about all this, but.. Yeah, if you could, that’d be grand. Not like I could hide it here when it’s this dark, anyway. As long as you guys are all okay with me being here, then-”

“Of course, mate!” “Poppi is fine!” “Why wouldn’t we?”

The chorus of reassuring voices brought her an incredible comfort.

“Thanks, guys.”

==========

Later that evening, once everyone had retired to their rooms for the night, Mythra noticed within herself that Pyra seemed nervous.

“Something wrong?”

“What? No! I mean.. We share memories, so you’d know if something was wrong, surely?”

“I guess that’s true. But, you seemed like you were coming to a decision of some kind. And I mean, I don’t really wanna pry if I don’t have to.”

“Haha, thank you for that.. And, you’re right about the decision. So, um, Mythra - what do you think about Sapphire?”

“Uh.. she seems pretty nice? But she isn’t someone you want to make angry, given how mad she was at Malos and Akhos. I wasn’t awake yet for all that time you two spent journeying through Uraya, so this was kind of the first time I’ve gotten to interact with her properly. I can’t say I was expecting you to get into a relationship, but.. You two make a good fit for each other, even if she is a little more energetic than you tend to be.”

“You really think so?”

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right.. Sorry!”

“Why’d you ask that, anyway?”

“Well, it’s just, um.. It was so great for me to know that she’d be able to come with us after we left Uraya. I know she’s probably still worried about Vandham, but.. if his injuries have really been patched up as well as they seemed to, then he should recover without too much of a problem, right?”

“Yeah, Nia said Dromarch was able to get him stable once I took Obrona out and the ether came back.”

“Right, that was it. And, um.. Since we’ve been here in Mor Ardain, I’ve been thinking about something, and.. after that time we all spent together tonight, and being around her like that, I think I’ve figured it out. Sapphire is the person I really want to be with, for the rest of my life. ..However much longer that even ends up being.

I have no idea how I’m going to go about it, but..

I think I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

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koyacyi-vode · 4 years

Note

26 Rex and Padme? #uncommon ship. Lol

Sorry this is so late! || Prompt from this post

Prompt 26 - “I didn’t intend to kiss you.”

Characters: Rex and Padmé

The rest under a readmore!

---

Padmé held herself with such grace it was almost terrifying. Even through the last few years of running and hiding, Rex still saw the refined and practiced motions that she'd always moved with when she was a senator.

When he'd first met her, he'd seen what kind of fighter she was. He didn't have to know the harrowing tales of the Invasion of Naboo when she had been Queen and still just a child, or how she had fought alongside Jedi and clone alike on Geonosis. He'd seen it in her eyes the first time they met. The quiet but fiery determination that fueled her actions. That fire had turned into an inferno when the war had ended. Rex had always admired her for her tenacity. He'd never realized just how much of it she actually had.

She was pacing at the moment. They were waiting on word from Ahsoka, but it was taking longer than either of them would have liked. They'd only just arrived at their current safehouse, and tensions were high until they felt safe in their current location.

Rex was positioned in the window, looking down the scope of an ancient but solid sniper rifle, searching for movement in the growing darkness outside.

"Ma'am," Rex said, keeping his attention through his scope. "You should really sit down. You'll just wear yourself out," he suggested. He heard Padmé stop her pacing abruptly. She sighed.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Padmé?" she asked, a soft resignation in her tone.

"At least once more, ma'am," he said, and he grinned at the annoyed sound she made. Rex's comm crackled and then Ahsoka's voice drifted through, calm and focused.

"We're clear. But I'm going to extend my radius a bit more just in case. Area is deserted, and we weren't spotted, so we will be safe here for a few nights," she relayed. The tension seeped from Rex's shoulders immediately and he sighed, lowering his rifle. He picked up his comm.

"Copy that Fulcrum, let us know when you're on your way back," he said, and she confirmed with a rather cheeky 'roger roger' before signing off. Rex put his comm in his pocket and stood up, joints popping from being in one position for too long.

"We'll be safe for the night," he told Padmé. She visibly relaxed and nodded, the tense angles of her shoulders softening incrementally. She looked different now, and it wasn't just the lack of ostentatious senate attire. The end of the war had hardened her more than the rest of them.

"I'm going to check on them, they've been locked in the back room for a while," she murmured, and walked towards the end of the hall where they had put Luke and Leia while securing the perimeter.

When the Republic fell, he didn't think he would ever see Padmé again. But she had found them. Rex had no idea how she had managed it, but only a few weeks after everything had come to a catastrophic end she appeared with one newborn strapped to her back and one to her front. And Rex knew from that moment on he would do everything in his power to keep her and her children safe.

The twins hadn't been a surprise. He'd been well aware of Padmé's pregnancy before the end of the war. They were about four years old now. It had taken a while for Rex to get used to being around such young children. But he loved them with all of his heart, even if sometimes just the sight of them would make him ache. The familiarity of their mannerisms and faces were agonizingly similar to their father. He saw the same pain in Padmé's face every now and then when she looked at them.

They didn't talk about him much, the General. Ahsoka never spoke about him and Rex was smart enough not to even think about him with her around. It hadn't been a pleasant first conversation. Padmé had recounted her discovery of Anakin's betrayal with subdued, detached seriousness. Whether she had come to terms with it for the sake of her own sanity, or for her children, Rex would never know. Ahsoka had been distraught, and disappeared for several weeks, before returning in grim despair. From then on it had been the five of them and the ghost of the man who had once tied them all together.

Years later, it still felt like a fresh wound, seeping and septic.

Padmé returned alone, and Rex tore himself from his memories. She gave him a small smile and sat down on the dusty couch near him.

"They fell asleep," she said, answering his unasked question. "Curled next to each other right where we left them," she leaned back, sagging a bit. She was tired. They all were. Rex swallowed and walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"You should rest too, ma'am," he suggested quietly. Padmé hummed and gave him a tiny, tired smile, placing her hand on top of his. Rex had to fight to keep his face neutral, since the touch alone almost made him jump out of his skin.

"You're a kind man, Rex," she said softly. "You've done so much for me and the children. We wouldn't have made it this far without you and Ahsoka," she admitted. Rex's brow furrowed in confusion.

"You don't give yourself enough credit, ma'am," he countered. Because it was true. He believed wholeheartedly that she could hold her own. She wouldn't have to though, and he would fight to his dying breath so she wouldn't have to. But she could. Padmé snorted a laugh and the bright sound made Rex's face inexplicably heat up. She stood up and smiled at him fully, and it was rare to see her smile like that. Rex treasured every one of them.

"Your confidence in me is flattering, but I do feel much safer with you around," she said warmly, grasping both of his hands lightly between her own. Rex was momentarily transfixed with how small her hands were, slim and elegant, but not without the blemishes and calluses that told of their years of running and fighting. "Really, thank you," and she pulled him into an embrace that almost made him stumble in shock. It took him several seconds to respond and then he returned the gesture, if a bit awkwardly since she was significantly shorter and slighter than him.

It had been quite a while since anyone had hugged him, apart from the kids. Rex hadn't realized how much he had missed the physical warmth and touch of another person and he found himself melting into her arms and tightening his own around her. Padmé breathed a heavy sigh into his chest. Rex wondered if maybe she was feeling the same thing. They stayed still and quiet, just holding each other for several seconds before he spoke.

"I'm glad I can help you in any way, ma'am," he murmured, slightly mortified with how hoarse his voice was. Padme's shoulders shook with a small laugh.

"Padmé," she insisted.

"Sorry," he whispered, even though he wasn't really that sorry. Padmé's arms lowered slowly, her hands drifting across the back of Rex's shirt in a way that sent a tiny shiver down his spine, and she pulled a little further back.

This, Rex realized suddenly, was dangerous territory. Because she was definitely too close, and he didn't want to pull away. And he should pull away. But he didn't and there was a half a moment's breath between her hand sliding against the back of his neck and tilting her head and then all thoughts of retreat were blown away as she kissed him.

It was soft and hesitant, her other hand pressed up feather-light against his chest. And before Rex could get his brain to think he kissed her back. He brought one hand up to cup her cheek and the other braced on the small of her back as their lips slid together a bit firmer, a bit more insistent. He'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't thought about this. Over the past few years he'd come to admire her in more than just a professional respect. Ahsoka had found out several months ago and had teased him about it, but she had the tact not to say anything or goad him on about it. Because, well... Remembering the why made Rex's brain come to a stumbling halt.

He pulled back, not sharply, but with enough purpose that Padmé retreated. He couldn't look at her, his mind swimming in guilt. He felt almost wounded, which was a ridiculous feeling to have over this kind of thing. But the tightness in his chest was as tangible as any physical injury. He exhaled heavily through his nose, controlling his breathing the best he could. She was quiet for a few moments, most likely a bit shocked herself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't intend to kiss you." Rex risked a glance at her. Her brow was furrowed in a complicated emotion with one of her hands pressed against her mouth. Rex had a feeling he understood a bit of what was bothering her. They were connected to the same source of pain and guilt after all.

"I know," he rasped. She turned back to him and her eyes held a deep sorrow that he wished he didn't have to see. Rex sighed and closed his eyes, trying to relax the rigid posture he had accidentally locked himself into. "I think…" he searched for the right words, painfully aware of her expectant gaze on him. "I think that it's… too soon... for this," he clarified, hoping to Force that she would understand what he meant, since there was no way he could explain it any better. Padmé smiled sadly and he saw the recognition in her face, the understanding. It didn't make him as relieved as he would have liked.

"I agree," she said, and Rex's heart clenched painfully. She traced her fingertips over his cheek before she withdrew completely and Rex shuddered. He wasn't sure how they would proceed, now that this was out in the open. It was one thing to want someone. But it was another thing entirely for that desire to be requited. But they had wounds still too fresh to heal. And they both knew better than to pick at scabs.

Maybe one day, when their wounds have healed more and death wasn't trailing their every move, they could be something different together. But for now, it was safer for them to maintain their imagined distance.

"You should get some rest, ma'am," he repeated, their earlier conversation feeling like it had taken place years ago. Padmé nodded, her expression distant and melancholy. She stepped back from him, giving him some space as she walked back towards the room with the twins. When she reached the door she turned back towards him, her hand against the doorframe.

"Good night, Rex," she said softly. He nodded at her, tight and tense.

"Good night, Padmé."

#captain rex #padme amidala #sw fic #tcw fic #well its after tcw #rex x padme #i have nO idea if they have a ship name or not it is def uncommon ahaha #this one was a bit difficult for me to write i have to admit!#but it was a good challenge!#anyways sorry this took so long! hope you like it!#fluff writes #novasquad2805

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captjameshookthoughts · 4 years

Text

About *my* Hook

We all have our own version of this beloved pirate, right? Well here are some bits about mine.... gonna put this under a readmore because this has got longer than I intended...

By the time he reaches Neverland he is 38 years old.

His mother is Greek, her family has an olive farm in Kefalonia. He was born in Greece.

He calls his father a 'european mongrel', it's mostly out of spite since James sr. Likes to call himself a proper English gentleman. He's Scottish, Dutch, German, and French.

His father and mother never married, this lead young James to have a strained relationship with the wealthy 'english' side of the family.

He lived with his mother, only having written contact with his father, until he was 12 and taken to England to attend Eton.

His father was a trader who travelled so in England, James lived with his childless, unmarried aunt.

His only friend at that time was the son of his aunt's house slave.

His Greek accent was quite literally beaten out of him, but sometimes when he feels safe and relaxed it comes back out.

He wanted to become a teacher when he left school. It didn't work out.

His father brought him into the business, James didn't want to refuse since he finally felt accepted in the family.

That didn't work out either. When his father brought him out to the colonies, James learned the realities of slavery and was disgusted. All he could think of was his friend. The guilt stayed with him for the rest of his life.

James went hardcore against his father and burned every one of his father's ships.

He then ran away, back to Kefalonia.

Where he met his half sister for the first time. Her name is Chara, and he loves her so much.

She had a hard time saying 'James' when she was little, so that's when he came up with 'Jas' which was easier for her.

In Kefalonia, he fell hard for a woman who worked in a taverna. They even had plans to elope, but like much in his life it just didn't work out.

He didn't stay there for long. It was one of the first places his father came to look for him. That's when James joined piracy.

He has a large facial scar that he got when he was just 23, the first time going over the edge when the crew attacked another ship.

The next time he saw Chara, she was terrified of him, the scar made him look so different. So he started combing his hair over that side of his face to hide the scar from her.

James traveled the world as a pirate, he didn't care for staying in one general area for long, he was afraid that if he did then his father would find him.

Aside from Greek and English, he also speaks: French, Italian, Egyptian Arabic, Mandarin, Latin, and Hindi... He knows bits from other languages too, but is nowhere near fluent.

He has a LOT of books. A LOT.

The emotions that guide most of his actions are fear and guilt. He's afraid of 'forever' he's afraid of having to spend it alone and unloved. He has a lot of guilt over the people he has hurt and lives he has affected.

He loves olives, they remind him of his early childhood.

He calls himself charming and handsome, but that's all bravado. He doesn't actually believe it, he thinks that he is horrifically ugly.

There was a very long period of time where he was disgusted with his right arm. He was so disgusted that he would refuse to wear the hook, feeling that it would make the situation too 'real'.

Before losing his hand, he had a long relationship with a young woman named Charlotte, he considered leaving piracy for her. She got pregnant with another man's baby.

After that, he sailed almost aimlessly for years, until Charlotte sent word for him. He returned to the Neverport at once. (Good place to mention that my Neverland is a bit different too...)

She needed him to bring her son back, to save him from becoming a lost boy.

He tried so hard to save the boy. So hard. That was the fight that took his hand, and the boys life. James has a LOT of trauma from that event.

The last time he ever saw Charlotte, she was grieving, she was angry, she told James that no one could ever love him. He believed it. He believed that was exactly what he deserved. He classes this moment as the deepest and most devastating of all his wounds.

He is so self conscious about being 'old', so many people in Neverland are younger than he is, it just adds in to his belief that no one could love him. He feels too old for any woman to be interested.

He thinks that he's accepted that no one could love him. He hasn't.

Has some history with using Opium and Morphine.

He’s the type of person who needs like half an entire loaf of bread with his soup.

He does eventually find a wife, and for two people that have absolutely no idea how to accept being loved their relationship is surprisingly healthy.

#James Hook #Jas Hook #Captain Hook

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rexscanonwife · 4 years

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😍💚😘🐶?

Aaaa thank you so much Alexys ilysm!! ; 3 ; put under a readmore cause of course it got long (I’m so sorry mobile users ajsfkja)

😍: Name your three favorite things about your f/o - askfjhsfkaf there are so many things I love about him, but my top three favorites would have to be:

1. his smile!! his dumb, toothy, mischievous smile always makes my heart flutter and he knows it!!

2. h-his chub,,,🥺 I am literally so WEAK for chubby Beej and I just wanna cuddle up to him and rest my head on his tummy and nuzzle it,,

3. his sense of humor, while he’s sometimes a little rude I can’t help but laugh with him sometimes! He brought joy into my life when I really needed it, he has no idea how happy he really makes me.

😘: What’s your f/o’s favorite thing about YOU? weeps, I’m always really bad at these questions lmao so uhh,, it’s that I’m willing to accept him and love him as he is.

🐶: If you and your f/o were to get a pet, what would it be? probably like a rat maybe?? I’ve always wanted a couple of rats and I think he’d be really into them too.

💚: Who gets jealous? oh it’s definitely Beej! he can’t really help it, he’s never had anyone that was his and he tends to be a little possessive. He’ll get a bit pouty when I have to go out and spend some time with other people and a bit angry when that someone is too close for his liking. It was a big problem at first but we’d work on it and I’d reassure him that he’s the only one for me, but the only way to make him feel better is to hold him close for a while ahsfgjs.

💕: Who’s the clingier one in the relationship? That’s Beej again! 😅 he likes to spend every possible second with me that he can, especially since with my jobs sometimes I’m gone from first thing in the morning to late at night and it’s hard for him being alone that long. It makes him nervous. He’s kinda like a dog in that regard ajsfhkas, also in that he’s really excited when I get home where he will immediately demand that I relax with him. Other days he’s content to just follow me around the house while I do chores and artwork and he’ll rest his head on my shoulder and blab away like always.

💞: How do you both express affection? I make sure to remind him that I love him a lot by just telling him, at first it was hard to believe but I think I’ve drilled it into his head by now ajsfgsj. I’ll tell him how happy I am that he’s with me and how glad I am that we met! He’s not as good with the words so he’s very physical with his affection, touch starved as he is. He likes to always be throwing himself on me no matter what I’m doing and it shows that he wants to be around me as much as I want him around!

💗: How do you two like to cuddle? It changes depending on how we’re feeling and what we need, sometimes he wants to hold me and sometimes he needs to be held. No matter which it is though we try to close any and all space between is so we’re as close as possible, fitting ourselves together like puzzle pieces. There’s also loooots of hair stroking, back rubbing, that kind of thing!

💋: Where are your favorite places to kiss your f/o/where are their favorite places to kiss you? asjfkfafl,,, I definitely love giving him kisses on his pointy lil ears and his knuckles and his stomach!! he loves to kiss my neck and my shoulders when he hugs me from behind!! of course we both love sweet kisses on the lips as well.

☕: How do you comfort each other on a bad day? Oh fuck I’m soft hhh,, the best way he comforts me when I’m not doing too hot is first by making me smile. He’ll do anything to get a smile, a laugh, anything out of me and then when I’m in that slightly improved mood he’ll listen about whatever’s bothering me. Sometimes he needs just some personal attention when he’s having a bad day, he doesn’t wanna talk cause again he’s not so good with the words. But he doesn’t have to. I understand him, and I’ll hold him for hours, as long as he needs.

#brie babbles #self insert talk #long post #breather and the beast #akjfhaksf im S O F T #i am so helplessly and completely smitten #this dumb nasty demon just fucking owns my heart now #he snatched it right up #space-sweetheart

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utanoprincesamascenarios · 5 years

Note

What about QN coming home to their s/o napping in one of their shirts because they smell like him?

These all got pretty long, so under a readmore they go.

Reiji

After a long day of recording variety shows with his kouhai, Reiji wanted nothing more than to unwind at home. Sure, the day had been a lot of fun, but keeping his energy up to par with his younger cohosts - especially Otoya - was quite taxing. As he unlocked his car, he glanced down at his phone. 11:57. He thought about calling his s/o to ramble on about the details of his day, but there was no way they’d be awake at this hour. He typed out a quick message that was sure to make them smile when they woke up and pocketed his phone.

When he finally reached his apartment, he was pretty surprised to see the door was unlocked. He was in a hurry that morning, but he really shouldn’t have been so careless… Camus or Ai would have yelled at him for sure.

Reiji locked the door behind him and slipped his shoes off. His bag and jacket were quickly tossed on the floor, and his hat was returned to his spot on the coat rack.

To his surprise, the sound of his TV drifted from the living room. He forgot that too? He was definitely working too much. Tonight’s sleep was much needed, and he was thankful tomorrow was his day off. With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes and wandered into the living room to shut the TV off.

He wasn’t expecting what was waiting for him there.

His s/o was sprawled out on his couch, fast asleep with the remote balanced on their chest. More importantly, one of his shirts hung loosely on them. The longer collar dipped low and the words “my girl” sprawled across their stomach, right above where the hem of the shirt rolled up. Their breathing was steady, and it took every shred of Reiji’s self control to not wake them up. They were so cute, wearing his clothes… he wanted to snap a picture of them but last time he tried to do that it only earned him a scolding.

Instead, he put the remote on the table and scooped his s/o up bridal style, taking great care not to wake them. His efforts were in vain, though, because as soon as they were in Reiji’s arms, his s/o’s eyes fluttered open and he was treated to one of their sleepy smiles.

“Hey sleepyhead, sorry I woke you up.”

His s/o wrapped their arms around his neck and nuzzled closer to him. “Sorry. I just made myself at home. I wanted to surprise you but you took too long…”

“Oh, you surprised me!” Reiji nodded down at his shirt, and his s/o hid their blushing face in his chest.

“I missed you… and your clothes smelled nice.”

Reiji just chuckled and kissed the top of his s/o’s head. “Well, now you have the real deal! And you’ll have me all night long~”

He whisked them away to his room and dropped them on his bed. Their surprised squeak just added to their charm, and Reiji followed soon after, ready to wrap them up in another hug.

As much as he’d like to get that shirt off his s/o, his tired eyes started to betray him, and he left himself drift off pressed against his s/o. His nose was buried in their hair, and he understood why they stole a shirt. Their scent was comforting. He relaxed and let out a happy sigh. He’ll sleep well tonight.

Ai leaned back in his chair and stretched his back. He had been gaming with Ren for quite some time now, and he figured it was time to take a break. He logged out and shut down his computer. Perhaps he should go and check on his s/o. They were planning on spending the night, but it had been a little while since they had popped in and checked on him.

They were both comfortable enough doing things on their own to unwind after a long day, but Ai hadn’t really talked to his s/o since dinner. They did come all the way over his place to see him, of course, so Ai left his room and went to find his s/o.

The bath was empty, the kitchen was empty… Ai peeked into the living room and found his s/o curled up on the couch, fast asleep with a book carelessly tossed to the side.

His s/o was wearing their pajama pants, but Ai noticed that they also wore one of his old shirts. They were pretty similar in size, so it was a nice fit. Their legs were drawn to their chest, and quite little snores escaped their lips. They shivered a little bit and stirred in their sleep.

Ai frowned. He was sure that the apartment was set to an adequate temperature, so why did his s/o seem cold? That wouldn’t do. Ai grabbed a throw blanket from a nearby chair and carefully draped it over his s/o. His gesture didn’t go unappreciated, even as his s/o slept. They cuddled into the blanket closer, and Ai sat down at the opposite end of the couch.

During the day, his s/o was always on the move. They were always doing something, animated and loud and it always intrigued Ai. There was always something new to discover with them.

However, when they were asleep, Ai was able to see a completely different side of them. Their features were softer somehow, and Ai had time to examine every detail on his partner. Their eyelashes, their lips, the rise and fall of their chest, the way their hands twitched slightly in their dream… Ai was happy to take it all in.

Seeing his s/o in his clothes, asleep and vulnerable, made his face feel a little hot. Weird. If his s/o was shivering, why was he feeling warm?

He covered himself with the end of the blanket and joined his s/o under the covers. They were still sleeping soundly. Ai’s legs brushed against his s/o’s and they stirred softly in their sleep. A tiny, tired noise came from them as they moved, and Ai’s cheeks flushed yet again.

Maybe he would hide their sleep shirts. That way, they’d have to wear his shirts again, and he’d have plenty of time to investigate this feeling.

Ranmaru

Ranmaru knew his s/o was busy. They always put too much on their plate; they were always working on something or helping someone out. Ranmaru really admired that about them.

However, a drawback to their go-getter attitude was they usually forgot to stop and care for themself. They constantly missed meals, or spaced on some plan they had made, or stayed up way too late at night. Ranmaru hadn’t heard from them all day, so he figured a wellness check was in order.

Homemade food was packed nicely away in his backpack as he stopped by their apartment. One knock. Two knocks. As Ranmaru knocked a third time, he figured he wouldn’t get an answer and just let himself in. He did it all the time, so he knew his s/o wouldn’t mind.

Ranmaru took the food to the kitchen and stuck it in the fridge. There wasn’t a single sound in the apartment. Just as he had thought, his s/o probably crashed after an all nighter.

Ranmaru stepped into his s/o’s room and chuckled to himself when he saw them curled up on top of a pile of blankets and pillows. They looked just like a cat. Normally, he’d scold his s/o for not taking better care of themself, but each time he caught them sleeping he couldn’t help but stop and think about how cute they really were.

Ranmaru knew better than to wake his s/o up. Of course if they knew he was there, they’d want to eat and talk with him and they wouldn’t sleep again for who knows how long. They definitely needed the rest, so Ranmaru shed his jacket and prepared to join their little cat nap.

One he sat on the edge of their bed, he noticed that his s/o had swiped one of his shirts. It was huge on them, and if Ranmaru didn’t know any better he would have guessed it was just another blanket. Their face was buried in some of the excess fabric, almost as if they had been smelling it before they fell asleep.

Ranmaru instantly felt his cheeks heat up. Did they really miss him that much? That dummy should have just called him if they wanted to see him. He knew his s/o was asleep, but he still covered his face with his hands.

As carefully as he could, Ranmaru wiggled his way under the blankets and pulled some over his s/o. They didn’t move at all. They really were out like a light. Ranmaru was definitely going to say something once they woke up. It wasn’t good for them to crash that hard.

Since they obviously weren’t going to wake up any time soon, Ranmaru wrapped his arms around his s/o and pulled them close. He ran a hand through their hair and kissed their forehead.

A tiny tinge of jealousy hit Ranmaru when he realized that he couldn’t pull the same stunt on them. He’d love to have one of their shirts to keep around when he was on the road, far away from his love.

He eyed one of their discarded shirts on the floor. Maybe he’d nab one for himself. After all, his s/o didn’t have a problem with stealing a shirt.

Ranmaru yawned and nuzzled against his s/o. That could wait. For now, a nap.

Camus

Camus knocked on his s/o’s door for the third or fourth time. He’d lost track of how long his s/o had kept him waiting. Normally the cold didn’t bother him, but it was a particularly nasty winter night, and he was growing impatient as he stood in the snow.

It was strange. He had graced them with the rare visit to their place instead of his, and they dared to keep him waiting? He sighed and fished out his spare key to the apartment. Honestly, he should have just let himself in from the start.

“S/o, I’m here. What’s keeping you?”

Camus shed his coat and put his bag on the chair by the door and stepped into the apartment. No answer either… Surely nothing bad had happened to them…

He noticed the light to their room was on, so that was the first place he investigated. Sure enough, his s/o was sprawled on their bed, sleeping soundly as if they didn’t know Camus was there in the room with them.

Camus walked over to the bed. He debated on shaking them awake, but a familiar pattern on their shirt caught his eye. That was his shirt.

He sighed and looked over at their dresser. He had bought them so many nice things, clothes and sleepwear included, and they sleep in one of his old cheap tshirts? His s/o was truly something else.

Camus didn’t have to wake his s/o up. Their eyes fluttered open, and they stretched with a yawn. They flashed him a sleepy smile, and they sat up in bed.

“Sorry, I fell asleep waiting for you.”

“I arrived at the exact time we had discussed. I did not keep you waiting.”

“I’m glad to see you too!” his s/o huffed. They crossed their arms, and Camus watched as the fabric of their - his - shirt ruffled. Although they were upset, they looked tiny in his shirt. Almost cute, even.

“Why are you wearing that? I know that you have things better suited for sleeping.”

“Oh, this? I… I don’t know.”

Camus just frowned at them. It was his turn to cross his arms.

“Alright! I missed you and you left it here last time and it still kind of smelled like you. Happy?”

They rolled back under their blanket and turned their back to him. Camus sighed and closed his eyes. He supposed it was acceptable to express their loneliness in such a manner. It wasn’t exactly the worst surprise he had encountered.

Camus leaned forward and rolled his s/o onto their back. He held out one hand and tried to coax them out of bed. Once they had finished their brief pouting, Camus pulled them to their feet and gave them a hug.

“I missed you too, but spending time together would remedy that better than sleeping our night away.”

Camus gave them a quick kiss. “And I would rather see you in the clothes I picked out for you. Why don’t we fix that?”

#utapri #uta no prince sama #reiji kotobuki #ai mikaze #ranmaru kurosaki #camus #camus utapri #quartet night #The shirts in question are the matching ones you can actually buy lol.#scenario

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do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them · 5 years

Text

self indulgent writing the first

yoof okay. let’s get this terrible party started. this is the first thing i ever finished in this fandom and immediately went “no, no this is staying confined to my google drive where it belongs” And Yet Here We Are

it’s going under a readmore for reasons of there’s a lot of talk about blood right at the beginning and also through the whole thing and- look most if not all of these things are gonna be some degree of whump okay they live in folder jail for a reason and it’s because i did hurting the sanders sides crimes

anyway this time i hurt roman and also, there’s prinxiety kinda

@altruistic-skittles

Roman was going to die.

He couldn’t remember exactly who the other man was, or why they were fighting- though he was fairly certain the answers to both were along the lines of “he’s evil,” as that was how these things usually went. He did know it had been a long and intense battle. They were both tired, and they were both bloody. Unfortunately, Roman was the only one on his knees in the dirt, trying to find the strength to lift his sword another time.

He wasn’t- he wasn’t supposed to lose, that was not how these things went, he had to keep trying. The other man swung at him, and he blocked the blow with a grunt of effort, then went for a stab that surely had to finish him off- it had to, because he couldn’t do this anymore, and he wasn’t supposed to lose.

The man knocked his sword away like it was nothing. It spun out of his hands and landed a few feet away on the ground. Roman was going to die. For possibly the first time in his life and almost certainly the last, he was truly afraid, and it paralyzed him. Even if he could move, he was too exhausted- not fast enough to do anything but prolong his death. He was already swaying, struggling to stay even as upright as he was, probably down a concerning amount of blood. Not that it mattered, he was going to die either way.

Why did he have so much time to think about this? He looked up- god, even that was harder than it should have been- and saw the man pointing his sword at him, smiling. He was enjoying this. Roman glared at him. “You haven’t won yet,” he reminded him. “I wouldn’t be so--”

“Why not?” The man took a step forward and laid the edge of his sword against the side of Roman’s face. Roman jerked away and almost fell over, knowing full well he’d just cut himself. “I could have killed you at any point in the last, oh, five minutes. You were no challenge, Prince Roman, but it was fun to watch you think you had a chance, and now I’m almost done playing with you.”

He turned suddenly and swung, and could have taken Roman’s head off if he hadn’t moved quickly. As it was, he got a new gash in his right shoulder, not to mention a few existing cuts that were bleeding again from the movement, and the blinding pain of hitting the ground hard when he already hurt all over. It took him a few seconds to realize that, yes, he was on the ground now, the other man standing over him and laughing. He tried to push himself up and only made it a few inches before he fell again, shaking with the effort. He was too hurt and exhausted to even move. He was going to die. A tear slid down his face and fell to the ground, and then a few more, and he couldn’t find the energy to care that he was crying in front of his enemy.

“Any last words, Prince?”

He had them, he knew he had them. He’d written it down somewhere. An entire monologue for exactly this occasion. It was beautiful and heartbreaking and thoughtful. He couldn’t remember a single damn line of it.

The sword went up, and there was no avoiding it this time. He turned his face away, eyes screwed shut, and his voice broke as he whispered a single word into the dirt, knowing no one could hear him. “Help.”

The sword came down. Roman did not die. There was a dark blur above him, a clang of metal hitting metal, a distorted “Get away from him!” The man he’d been fighting dissolved into nothing. The blur knelt next to him, tossing a shield to the side, and he blinked hard to bring it into focus.

“...Virge?”

“Roman,” Virgil breathed, his voice still a bit rough at the edges. “Oh god, Roman, what happened?” His hands fluttered uselessly, searching for a bit of Roman that wouldn’t hurt him more to touch, and finally settled on brushing fingers through his hair.

“You’re real,” Roman said, still trying to catch up with recent events. “I didn’t make you.”

“I- yeah, Ro.” Even more worried now than he’d started out, Virgil picked Roman’s hand up and squeezed it gently. “Why would- how- you’ve been in here too long, I should have known something was wrong sooner, I’m so sorry…”

Roman didn’t know what to say. He was crying again. “I thought, I, I thought I was going to die, how- how did you-?”

Virgil pulled Roman into his lap and wrapped his arms around him. It hurt, but Roman wasn’t going to complain about being held right now. “I felt- you thought you were going to die, and that- it’s sort of my department. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His voice got choked, and his grip on Roman tightened. “I… was almost too late.”

Roman tucked his head into the space between Virgil’s neck and shoulder and wished he could stop shaking. “I don’t know what would happen if I died here,” he whispered.

“How do I get us out?” Virgil asked sharply. There could be more danger around for all he knew, and anything could finish Roman off in his current state.

“Tell yourself it’s not real,” Roman mumbled into his shirt. With the adrenaline fading, he was just tired. “It’s just… a story I made up.”

Right. Okay. None of this was real. The swordsman certainly hadn’t been real; he’d turned to dust as soon as Virgil showed up. It was all one of Roman’s stories. A stupid reckless story he almost got himself killed in like an idiot, but nonetheless, they really were just in Roman’s room. And so, a second later, they were.

Virgil was sitting on Roman’s bedroom floor with an unconscious, gravely injured Prince in his arms. The full weight of the situation hit him at once, and his breath caught. Roman could still die, probably. “LOGAN! PATTON!”

That was the most echo his voice had ever held, and they both heard it. They dropped what they were doing and sank into Roman’s room, not even taking the time to walk ten feet to the door. It was uncharacteristically dark, the fancy curtains torn in places, and Virgil was in the middle of the floor. He was holding Roman to his chest, unconscious, and looked up when they came in with panic in his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice the tears streaming down his face.

Logan was first by a split second, and quickly pulled Patton away from the upsetting scene. “Go find my first-aid kit,” he said firmly. Patton nodded shakily and disappeared into Logan’s room. Meanwhile, Logan went to the other two and sat on the floor beside them.

“Virgil, what-” Virgil turned towards his voice, but looked right through him. He couldn’t explain anything in that state. “Okay, Virgil, I can’t help you unless you calm down. Can you breathe with me?” Logan walked him through his grounding techniques until he was, if not calm, at least coherent. “Good. Now, what happened?”

“I- he--” Virgil haltingly explained how he’d felt Roman’s fear and then found him half-dead on the ground. Patton returned at some point, steadier and with the box of medical supplies, and joined Logan at his side. Virgil shut down as soon as he finished talking, his whole body shaking, and Patton pulled him into a somewhat awkward side-hug and made comforting noises at him.

Logan coughed. He really did not know how to deal with someone so distraught. “Um… Virgil, I can see you’re still upset, but I need to take Roman now. Could you, uh, let go?” Virgil was still clinging to him, and shook his head vehemently. “Virgil, please, I’m trying to help.”

“N-no, I can’t, I, I have to protect him, I can’t--”

Patton shushed him, stroking his hair. “I know. I know, and you did, kiddo, you did so good. We’re all proud of you, Virge, but you have to let us help now, okay? You’ll still be right here, everything will be fine.”

Virgil nodded slowly, reluctantly, and relaxed his grip, allowing Logan to scoop Roman up and set him on the bed. Logan had to wince once he could see the extent of Roman’s injuries. It may have been good that he was out cold and couldn’t feel anything. He bit his lip and started patching him up, thankful he at least had a concrete way to help.

Meanwhile, Patton helped Virgil up and started to lead him to a couch where they could wait more comfortably, but stopped when the light filtering in through the curtains fell on him. Change of plans. “Virgil, would you mind leaving with me for a bit?” he asked lightly. “I think you’ll feel better after you clean up.” Virgil didn’t really seem to hear that second part, his eyes darting nervously to the bed at the mention of leaving. “It will be okay,” Patton assured him. “Logan will call us if he needs us, right, Logan?”

Logan hummed something that might have been agreement, too focused on what he was doing to listen to the question.

“There, see? Getting out of this room would make us both feel a lot better, Virge, please?”

“...Okay,” Virgil muttered. It was the first thing he’d said since returning that wasn’t panicked rambling. He let Patton take his hand and lead him out into the hallway. When he saw himself in the bathroom mirror, though, what semblance of calm he’d gained went out the window. There was blood on his clothes, on his hands, his vision narrowed to exclude all else, his breath came fast and shallow. Patton was murmuring something vague and soothing into his ear, supporting most of his weight and lowering him to sit on the floor. The tiles were cold beneath him, and he tried to focus on that, the wall behind him, the warm washcloth Patton was wrapping around one of his hands after having somehow coaxed it out of a fist.

By the time he could move again, his hands were clean. Patton brought fresh clothes from his room and hovered just outside while he changed. He had to admit, he did feel a little better now. He dragged them both back into Roman’s room as soon as possible, though Patton insisted on bringing a pile of blankets from his own room with them.

When Roman woke up, it was dark, he was in his own bed, and everything hurt slightly less. He tried to sit up, but gave up halfway and flopped back onto the pillow. “Ow…” he whined.

There was a rustling sound to his right. He turned his head and saw Virgil in a big armchair he must have dragged across the room, still half-asleep and struggling to escape the blanket cocoon Patton had inflicted on him while he was out. Patton himself was sleeping on the couch, tangled with Logan under another pile of blankets.

Virgil finally ended up on the floor, then popped back up, propping his elbows on the edge of the bed. He had the comforter from his own bed wrapped around himself in lieu of his hoodie. “You’re awake,” he whispered. “And not… dead.”

“Yes, thanks to you…” Roman sighed. “I really don’t know how to thank you properly. You saved my life, Virgil.”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, ‘s my job, protecting you guys, so. No need to thank me. Just don’t ever fucking do that again.”

Roman laughed, then winced. “Will do.” His eyes started to drift shut. Virgil was still on the floor, looking like he planned to stay there all night. Roman had a thought and shook himself awake. “Virge.”

“Hm?”

“Come up here.” Roman scooted closer to the wall and patted the space next to him. “It can’t be comfortable on the floor.”

This was true. The floor in Roman’s room was hardwood, and did not make a good mattress. “You don’t have to, I’ll just… the chair…” Virgil tried, standing up, but Roman wasn’t having it.

“No, I’ve slept in that chair before, you’re gonna be so stiff in the morning. And I already moved and everything.” Virgil hesitated, still not sure if he was actually wanted or if Roman just felt guilty about him being uncomfortable. “And… I’ll sleep better knowing you’re there.”

That settled it, and honestly, Virgil felt the same way. He climbed into the bed, dragging his blanket with him and throwing it over the both of them. He kept to his side- he was a little too emotionally fragile right now to throw his personal space to the wind- but reached out so his hand brushed Roman’s, making sure they could both feel each other’s presence.

“Thank you,” Roman whispered again, not sure himself what exactly he meant it about. Everything, he supposed. On impulse, he laced their fingers together. It could have been a trick of the light, but he thought he saw Virgil smile as he fell asleep.

#i dont really want to put these in the fandom tags #since they're specifically for a follower milestone and also im still nervous about posting them at all #only a little though i know yall will be nice #even if nothing has been edited #which it has not #my post #my writing #500 follower milestone

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