#Only 2B is missing at this point and I want him so so bad I love him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rotshop · 3 years

Text

UGHHH this is so bad. (head in hands) LOOK. look. im sleepy tired and i just needed to warm up w/ something and also took exactly One break during this to grab a dirnk !!! shhh.

This was by far the worst situation you could've been in. Nevadean winters were a simple fact of how it was, but that didn't take any of the bite from the freezing winds. Some years, it would be a decent one, there would be a fair amount of hot and cold days and little snow. Not entirely pleasant, but you could work with it with in relative ease. Other years though, the season seemed to just throw it all at you, shoving everything off the shelves and toppling dominoes to see how you'd fair. It was the cruelest whenever those years came about.

This though? This had to be a fucking joke.

The others had already been on edge about the mission, as you and your partner didn't exactly have the best relationship. There'd been several attempts to switch things around so that threat would be eliminated, but ultimately they'd proven fruitless. So, with great reluctance they went along with it, though Deimos had been particularly adamant on you all meeting back up as soon as possible. He'd been especially antsy and anxious as the mission had drawn ever closer, voicing the most concerns and posing the most questions to you. He wasn't the greatest at hiding his worries when it came to those he considered close, you admired that about him.

It was almost funny with how right he'd been to worry about it. Not only had there been far ore agents and mags than expected, there was also jack shit worth taking. Obviously, this had been some sort of trap in an attempt to catch you all off guard. It'd worked, evidently, just not in the way they'd probably expected. At some point or another, it was decided you all had to get out and go. Sanford was far too injured to continue on, 2b was too stressed to think straight, and you and Hank had the luck of getting trapped on the other side of base.

You didn't exactly feel too surprised when you'd been yanked up by the back of your shirt and thrown into the back of a truck, door slamming shut seconds after. You could see a hoard of agents and mags alike nearing closer, unable to tear your gaze away from them even as your partner got in the driver's seat. There was a bit of commotion from them, barking into the comms. about needing to get out and go. You were still too distracted even when they'd begun to speed off, and far too distracted to hear Deimos' confused shouting get cut.

You could tell it was coming, somewhere in between all the pre-existing stress and dread. It was like your own version of getting a headache shortly before it storms, except all it did was tell you you'd be royally fucked for the next day or few. It was always a little too hard for you to decipher exactly how long it would be, a little too fuzzy of a reading for you to say anything accurate on the matter. All you could tell was that it was coming soon, it wouldn't stop just for your less than friendly company.

Three days. You'd been stuck driving out here for three days now.

Originally, the plan was to drive off until the agents would give up, turn around, and go back to base to find the others. It'd started off easy enough, the agents chasing after you seeming to lose interest in the hunt after a good while, turning and leaving. You weren't sure why at the moment, but the action had shifted something uncomfortably in your chest. It just felt too easy, too convenient.

You'd soon figured it out when the storm had started to kick in. It didn't seem too bad at first, a minor inconvenience that drew a little grumble and a lean forward in their seat from your companion. Then, it'd worsened and worsened. By this point, neither of you knew where you were. Sure, the anti-aahw had been all over Nevada- but that was just of the Nevada they knew about. It wouldn't be far fetched to suggest you'd both gotten turned around and were now god knows where.

Eventually, it was decided there was no progress that could be made here. You'd both have to either hope for a place to stay or that the car wouldn't fair too uncomfortably. Which, considering the lack of space in it and you with far too little energy to get into an argument, the first would be the blessing of the two. It wasn't too long until your quiet prayers from the back seat had been answered, the faintest of outlines among the storm showing some form of shelter. You could already feel exhaustion settling in, far too quickly for your own comfort. By the time Hank had pulled over to walk in, he'd had to reach into the backseat and tug you by the collar of your shirt with an impatient noise, a gentle encouragement laced with the threat of dragging you out.

You were sure you couldn't have pulled your legs further to your chest than you already had. Your spine was already beginning to set with soon-to-be-aches and cramps as you curled into yourself. You'd attempted to keep yourself as taut as possible, not wanting to look as pathetic as you felt in that moment, half-shaking on the cold hard floor of some abandoned complex. Hank had gone off a while ago, leaving you in the lobby to go look for a room to stay in- a room for him to stay in.

You'd lost track of time, too focused on trying to keep it all together as your mind threatened to go blank and shut down. It was the worst when it was like this, where you could only lay and hope for exhaustion to kick you into sleep at one point or another. Your limbs all felt heavy with weight, uncomfortable with just how impossible it seemed to move them. Every part of your body felt locked up, stuck and stiff how it was when you'd dropped down to the floor. You were at least glad you'd fallen to face the door, able to see the snow falling from your position.

Sure, it was the cause of your current estrangement. Yes, it meant you were stuck with the man who hated your guts with a burning passion. Despite all that, it was still pretty. It was surreal to see the sky something other than a burning red, though that oddness was fully welcomed if it meant a break from that damned color.

You'd been snapped out of your daze by a light nudge to your back, you attempted to summon up a sound of acknowledgement- coming up with nothing. The lack of a response earned another, rougher nudge, shoving against your spine uncomfortably. You'd jumped away from the contact with a little mix of a whine and hiss, head jerking back to meet the eyes of your 'assailant.' Red lenses met your gaze, looming over you from your place on the ground.

"Get off the floor and come with me," it wasn't a request. He'd always been especially bossy with you, a little colder and more detached from you. It didn't take a genius to tell he was on less than stellar terms with you.

You didn't have time to stagger up onto your feet, a hand finding its way to the collar of your shirt to yank you up once more. The world spun around you in a haze as you stumbled forward, attempting to re-balance yourself as best as you could in the short breath you were given. Apparently, it hadn't worked well, you ending up crashing into Hank in the process. He'd barely stirred at the movement, still as a statue despite your disturbance. Distantly, you'd noticed how his hands had moved to your back, keeping you upright. You'd also noticed how they weren't a bruising grip on your form-

"....walk?"

You'd blinked. You had no clue what he'd even asked, did he ask anything in the first place? I mean, you could've totally just imagined it. Maybe you were just dreaming already, it happens sometimes..

"I don't ask questions just for you to not answer. Can you walk?"

You'd opened your mouth to speak, shutting it shortly after. Your tongue was like lead in your mouth and your voice seemed to have gone for a walk. You weren't going to play the chances of you not answering again. Instead, you'd simply given a little nod. He was..surprisingly warm, in all honesty. You found yourself leaning further into him, unconsciously nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

He seemed satisfied by the answer, giving a little grunt of acknowledgement before pulling away. You'd caught yourself before you'd fallen, sleep snapping from you momentarily again as reality came back. By the time you found some sort of feelings in your legs again, he was already down the hall, not waiting for you by any means. You were grateful for the little burst of energy that'd found you, stumbling after him quickly.

You were reaching for his arm before you could really even process it, holding onto him once more in a moment of unconscious indulgence. You missed the little curious glance he gave you, and the way he'd pulled his arm (and subsequently you) a little closer to him. Admittedly, you leaning onto him so much did force him to slow down a bit, much to his chagrin. He didn't make any comment about it though. You didn't either, happy to just stay close as you just barely stayed awake enough to continue walking with him.

The mattress felt far more comfortable than the floor.

"Better than laying on tile, isn't it?" Came the sarcastic question.

Nevermind, fuck this mattress.

You'd given a little hum, stirring a bit as you got comfortable. You were still curled up as small as you could, some sort of attempt to salvage what little heat you had. The thin fleece blankets didn't offer much relief from the elements, serving more as an empty pressure laying on you. Despite that though, it seemed you were given some mercy, as you were just edging into unconsciousness.

"I'll be in the next room over so don't be loud, alright?"

You'd nodded slowly. There was a pause. There was an abnormally long pause, to be exact. After a few breaths you could hear the clinking of metal and the shuffling of cloth. Curiously, you'd poked your head up, looking at the man over your shoulder in confusion. He'd met your gaze, pausing for the briefest of moments as he tugged his jacket off.

"What're you doin?..." you'd managed, words slurring together drearily.

He'd given a short 'tsk,' continuing his previous ministrations as he answered. "What I'm doing is making sure you don't go into some little coma on me, I'm not carrying your ass around if you pass out that hard. That's on you."

You'd given a little displeased hum at his words, narrowing your eyes slightly at him. He didn't react. Laying your head back down, you'd sighed in some sort of content, peaceful enough in the deteriorating room. You could feel yourself falling asleep, thought slipping from you as you finally found some sot of rest.

Just before you really fell unconscious though, you could feel the weight of a jacket being draped over you. You could've sworn you felt a hand settle on your arm for a moment, tracing a few shapes and lines idly before reluctantly pulling away. You were so sure you heard the faintest of 'Goodnight,'s before the door clicked shut. You could have just been hearing things or dreaming them up, though. You'd just have to ask him about it in the morning.

#IF THE FORMATTING IS FUCKY ITS BC TUNGLE MADE ME COPY PASTE THIS FROM A DIFFERENT TEXT POST TO SAVE AS A DRAFT #BC IT WOULDNT SAVE .#i hate this site i hate this site i ha (slams my fists so violent and blood hungrilt)#employer reader #hank j wimbleton x reader #hank x reader #madcom x reader #madcom imagines #madness combat x reader #madness combat imagines #rot writes

107 notes · View notes

tobi-smp · 3 years

Text

Picture 1: Y'all make some good points. But also jack lost a life in a duel that he started after everything started to wind down. So like, I don't know about that one. [End transcription.]

Picture 2: A lot of what you’re saying is true but there is some straight up false or misguided info in here. Jack challenged Techno to a duel at the end of Doomsday. Not the other way around. [End transcription]

Picture 3: Also fun fact about the last Jack Manifold death: Techno originally told HBomb he was leaving Jack Manifolds house alone after Doomsday. This was before Jack decided to challenge him to a duel to the death. He died by his own choice, not a victim death. (And he crawled outta hell like the badass he was.) [End transcription]

I wanna talk about this argument in techno-apologist discourse, because while i haven't seen it a lot, I have seen it expressed by multiple different people in a relatively short amount of time. which says to me that it's an idea that's currently catching on.

the original prevailing argument was that doomsday wasn't that bad (or was even actively Good) because no one died, which of course is a rather unfortunate argument to the person who died. for well over half a year this was (and mostly still is) the argument.

that said, some people have taken jack's death into account and instead of reconsidering how they feel (or at least talk) about doomsday, they've decided to justify it by insisting that it's Jack's fault that he died. by stripping agency Away from techno or even outright implying that he was being merciful somehow and that jack was the aggressor.

lets take this by points here

1: technoblade has agency. regardless of the context, regardless of the result, regardless of his intent, he Chose to accept the duel and he Chose to kill jack in that duel. to argue that jack's death is his own fault is to treat technoblade like he Isn't a person, like he Doesn't have agency, like what he did was Inevitable and not a choice that he made.

2: there Is context and it makes this argument plainly ridiculous.

2b: this is a literal war in which technoblade was physically fighting literally the entirety of l'manberg and its allies.

anyone could've died for real at any moment, people have lost their canon lives in the middle of battles before, Jack lost one of his canon lives in the middle of a battle before. you don't shoot people, blow them up, send withers at them, and send attack dogs on them unless you're prepared for the reality that they could die. you don't accept a duel with someone you Know is weaker than you unless you're prepared for the reality that he might die.

it is Only by pure coincidence that jack was the only person that lost a canon life, it is only by pure coincidence that jack was the only character that lost their Final life (tubbo and tommy were both down to one, and techno had been giving them special attention). to downplay this fact is ridiculous.

2c: L'manberg was jack's Home, which technoblade had destroyed. yes manifoldland was his, but jack was there fighting for a Reason. he wasn't just challenging technoblade for kicks, he wasn't risking his own life for fun. jack had cared deeply about l'manberg and the people in it, and he was devastated by it falling apart. there's a Reason why he started a villain arc immediately after this that he hasn't recovered from.

jack, tubbo, and niki were all close friends in early l'manberg. jack joined immediately after the revolution, and when he did they streamed literally every day together for a while there. jack's arc is about feeling abandoned and about feeling like a background character. he desperately misses old friendships and old happiness that he doesn't think he can ever get back, but he Also desperately wants to be someone that matters.

jack fought for l'manberg, for those happy memories and the people he still cared about, until the very end. him choosing to take a final stand against techno and paying the price for it isn't outweighed by the existence of manifoldland, and judging that action outside of the emotions involved with the conflict is ridiculous.

blaming jack for his own death because he chose to fight technoblade when it was literally the middle of a war in which everyone there was choosing to fight technoblade and technoblade was choosing to fight them is just. Bizarre. you may as well say that no one technoblade kills should ever count against him because they knew what they were getting themselves into when they chose to be killed by technoblade.

#dream smp #jack manifold #technoblade #c!techno critical #c!technoblade critical #long post #meta

119 notes · View notes

that-gt-and-vore-stuffs · 3 years

Text

Desires and Daydreams

Me: oh yeah I’ll have this edited and out by tomorrow morning! Also Me: Ha! Sike! Time fo post at night again :)

All in all I’m so sorry this took so long for me to get out. A busy week with ball fucked me over time and energy wise. However, I now have a full 7k word fic for y’all so that’s good! I quite literally just finished editing this so I hope it’s as good as my mind told me it was about two minutes ago. Especially considering it’s a little gift of sorts for the amazing @doodlevore (AKA I saw this gem of a drawing, flipped out for a hot minute, and then decided it was writing time) Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy and I hope I did your artwork justice Doodle :)

As always, Vore under the cut :)

“Aw c’mon Doc!” the man halfheartedly whined as he attempted again to grab the small ‘medic’. Once more 2b had ducked under his hand, glaring up at him through his goggles. The taller of the two just laughed at the sight, near daggers of teeth glimmering through his toothy grin. No way in hell could he take that glare seriously like this. “You act like I was planning to hurt you. You really think I’m gonna hurt ya?”

“No,” 2b started, halting his words momentarily to dodge another attempted swipe at him. Getting caught by the man wouldn’t be the worst thing, sure - hell, he could name several things automatically worse than being grabbed by him in this hellscape of Nevada - however that did not mean that he wanted to be scooped up like some doll and put through whatever his teammate had in mind for him and the other two who were both currently busy dodging the taller’s other hand. Again his glare settled on the younger hacker. “But that does not mean I’m going to keel over and let you do whatever, Deimos. Now would you stop trying to grab us for five minutes!”

“But what’s the fun in that?” Deimos protested, swiping at Hank only for the shrunken mercenary to vault themself over his hand. Go figure, he was still going to be difficult. Hell, they all were. When he was the smallest of the group he was at their mercy and even went with it half the time, but the moment he got to have some fun they all decided to be as difficult as possible. In all honesty it wasn’t as bad as he was making it seem. Watching them run around like little mice was pretty entertaining. That didn’t mean he didn’t have plans he wanted to follow through with though! Whatever, he’d play their games for now. He’d get them eventually, and when he did he’d have his fun. “I’d stop if you all would just stand still for five seconds, but no. You all clearly wanna play so I’m gonna keep up the cat and mouse game we’ve got going.”

“But that- Deimos, you aren’t getting my point here at all!” 2b yelled up at the man, ducking under yet another swipe at him made by the youngest of their little crew. He was fairly certain it was impossible to miss what he was saying so either Deimos was less intelligent then he had grown to suspect over the years or he was flat out ignoring the man’s request to quit trying to grab them. A brief comparison of the two had crossed out the former option rather quickly. That cocky, smoking son of a gun. “Sanford! A little help?”

“Why me?” The Chad of a man yelled back as he scrambled to his feet after having to get down to avoid being grabbed. In the back of his mind he already had a sneaking suspicion as to why he was asked. He wasn’t stupid after all.

“He usually listens to you better than me!” The older hacker shot back, nearly running into Hank as he prepared himself for the next ‘attack’.

“So we’re playing that card now. Good to know.” Sanford grumbled softly, no real venom in his tone. 2b was right, at least in most contexts. He probably was the closest to Deimos out of them all and the other two’s usual intimidating approach to get Deimos to listen really wouldn’t work with them the size of the man’s hand. A sigh tugged itself from his throat as he directed his words up at the seemingly giant hacker. “Dei, c’mon now. Can’t you quit with the whole trying to grab us thing? It’s- AH!- not all that fun!”

“Damnit.” Deimos cursed under his breath, having missed Sanford yet again. Who knew trying to just grab his teammates would be so difficult. It was definitely fun, this little game of cat and mouse like in those old cartoons he’d managed to pirate, but it was still harder than he expected to actually grab them. Guess not everything gets to come easy. Or maybe he was going too easy… “Maybe not for you. Just stand still and make it easier on yourself if you’re having such a bad time.”

“That’s- Dei, you chucklehead, quit the games already and stop trying to grab us like rodents!”

Deimos just shook his head, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. His grin still stood proud on his face in all its sharp toothed glory. This was too much fun to give up so easily. Really, they expected him to quit the moment he started having fun? Please. He’d gone through too much to waste his opportunity. Getting his hands on shrinking tech had to be the best thing that’s ever happened to him, despite the difficulties and hurdles he had to jump to do such a thing. What had been a normal, boring day with no missions had turned into him watching his three shrunken teammates dash across the worn table while dodging his attempts to grab them. He was going to enjoy this, whether they liked it or not. Call this revenge for all the times he was teased for being the smallest out of all of them, or call it him being an ass. He didn’t care. For once the younger hacker wasn’t the small one in the group and boy did he have plans for it. Oh he had plans…

“Mmm…how ‘bout no.” Deimos hummed, slamming a hand down on the table next to 2b. Just as he’d hoped the man tensed, trying to keep himself steady on the shaking table. His eyes locked onto the temporarily paralyzed unofficial medic like a hawk’s to its prey, smirk morphing into a full on grin. Without hesitation he grabbed the man in a firm fist. There was one of the three. “Ha! Gotcha Doc~!”

“Mmgh- I can see that, Deimos. Now put me down!” 2BDamned didn’t shout at his teammates often. There were a few times he did, yes. Prime examples of such times included (but weren’t limited to) tracking blood all over the base, doing something absolutely reckless and facing the consequences, not following the plans they had for missions, etc. Not once had he expected to ever be yelling at one of them, specifically the smallest of their team, to put him down. Hank? Maybe. Sanford? Long shot but not impossible. Deimos? No. And yet here he was, trapped within the grasp of the younger hacker with seemingly no way to escape. It’s not like the little wiggling that his loose enough to be breathable yet tight confines could do was helping much.

“But what if I don’t wanna, Doc?” Deimos hummed, resting his other hand on the table for the first time in the past twenty-five minutes that he’d been trying to grab the others. “What if I wanna keep you trapped in my fist for the rest of the day huh? Maybe longer. It’s not like you can exactly free yourself, now can you? Huh? You gonna wiggle yourself out of my hand, 2b? Claw your way out like some baby kitten?”

“I swear to Jebus, once we’re back to normal I am going to kill you myself.” The dissenter growled, trying again to free himself from his confines. He could only imagine how utterly idiotic he looked, wiggling around like some fish out of water in Deimos’s hand. Talk about humiliating.

“Sure you will. Sure.” Deimos rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he thought through his next moves. He could just grab the other two and get on with his plans but…oh that ruined the fun of the chase! His plans and stomach could wait, he wanted to enjoy this just a little longer. Now what could he do to achieve such a thing? “And besides, that’s an ‘if’ to you, Doc. If you get back to normal. Can’t do that without my help after all, so maybe you should let me have my fun~”

“I will. Don’t think I- wait. What?” Well now that wasn’t something anyone stuck at four inches tall wanted to hear. Yes, he could probably figure out how the hell Deimos shrunk him (assuming that the hacker had gotten the information and technology from the AAHW) however Deimos had at least a bit of a point. Things would be so much easier, faster, and less dangerous if he just reversed whatever the hell he did. He….he fucking planned this. He- oh the younger hacker was in some deep shit once they were back and he was the smallest again.

“Mmm you heard me, 2b. Getting you three back requires the help of me, unless you’d rather be crushed under the boot of some agent trying to get back to normal yourselves.” Deimos hummed, his words practically swimming in cockiness. “And I don’t think any of us want that. So either you let me have my fun, or you three get to stay pocket sized until you do.”

“Deimos, don’t you even think about it.” Hank growled, eyes narrowing behind his goggles as he stepped closer to the hacker. Being this small was bad enough. It wasn’t like a MAG agent where they weren’t completely dwarfed in size. No. He was stuck the size of a fucking mouse being toyed with by their basically gigantic teammate. And to top it all off the threat of being stuck at this size now loomed over the mercenary’s head. Just fucking wonderful.

“Aw but what if I did, Hank?” The hacker asked with a raise of his eyebrow, turning his attention from the medic in his fist to the shrunken killing machine that was now glaring at him over his arm. It really was something else to see them so tiny when they usually towered over everyone. How the tables turn. “I would think this is a nice situation for you. So long as you’re hidden it’s not like the Agency could find you now. No ones gonna look for a four inch tall Hank, now are they- Hey! Sanford!”

The mentioned man’s head lifted from where he had landed on the table, 2b now laying next to him after a less than graceful ‘rescue’ from the younger hacker’s hand. His feet scrambled against the old table, attempting to gain enough traction to allow for him to stand. For a moment he looked as if he were trying to stand on ice, feet slipping out from beneath him. The doctor beside him wasn’t doing much better in the department of getting to his feet. Judging by the disappointed stare he felt burning two holes into his chest once he finally got to his feet, Hank wasn’t all that impressed with their sudden lack of coordination either. Wait, no. Hank could come later. Right now he had to deal with the giant Deimos that was currently pouting at him.

“Sorry Dei, but I’m siding with Doc here. Just put us back to normal before Hank decides to find a way to kill you at this size.” As Sanford spoke a tone far less confident then he had hoped for laced his words. Something that probably doomed him to not be listened to. Judging by the new level of cocky smeared across the hacker’s face? He was right too. Well shit. That didn’t help anything.

“Hmm…maybe but, and hear me out, I’ve got a better idea.” No one had to ask exactly what Deimos’ ‘better idea’ was. He was all too happy to demonstrate it, Hank quickly finding himself laying flat against the table with the hacker’s hand pinning him in place. The small shocked grunt from the mercenary didn’t go unnoticed by the other two, their eyes darting to their now trapped teammate. Both failed to notice the brief warning look in Hank’s eyes behind his goggles until it was too late, a warm calloused hand pinning them to the rough grain of the wood. Well, there went the idea of escape.

A sharp laugh chased away the silence that had previously filled the air. Beneath the rim of his visor two eyes simply watched as the three small forms writhed beneath his hands. Proof of the point he had been trying to prove. The point that his three shrunken teammates had wanted to be false. No way to escape now. Not unless he allowed for it, that is. A small lightbulb lit up in his head at the thought. The idea was tempting, were he to be completely honest with himself. Give his friends hope only to crush it like a spent cig under his boot once more by trapping them in a new way. Oh but then there was the option of dangling freedom just in front of them. That was an idea…and there were so many more possibilities too. In the back of his head a small voice attempted to grab Deimos’ attention. Yelling at him in every way it could think of that even thinking about doing that to his friends was wrong, even if it was playful at its roots. He shouldn’t do such a thing to them! Though, thinking logically, there was no way they wouldn’t do the same or something similar were their positions switched. Deimos knew that much, being the shortest of their gang. A soft scoff sounded from his throat, mind made up on the matter. Unfortunately for the three pinned to the table, in the end the voice of reason was all too easily ignored by the younger hacker as he adjusted to lean forward in his chair. The smell of cigarette smoke grew in strength with each hum that passed the man’s lips, the three pinned beneath his hands only able to watch as things seemed to get worse for them.

“Heh. Much better.” Deimos said with a smile, gladly ignoring the glares he was now getting from his little friends. “Now what shall I do with you-“

Ggnnnrrrr……

“-three….”

Anyone with half a mind would think that after being interrupted by your stomach you would be embarrassed and most likely apologize. The three shrunken men on the table thought that after being interrupted by his stomach Deimos would be embarrassed and probably laugh it off. Maybe even give them a chance to run without thinking. What they didn’t expect was for him to start laughing. A deep chuckle from the back of his throat too, not just an embarrassed little giggle. It was a genuine fucking laugh. First off, why the hell was he laughing? Second, what the hell did that mean for them? After a moment of thought one thing became clear. As much as they didn’t want to admit it, the three knew what the answer to the second question was long before it was even asked. Nothing good. That’s what it meant. Especially not with that dumb grin still sitting on his face. 2b, eyes locked on Deimos’ expression, had opened his mouth to attempt prying an answer out of the younger. Before a single word could leave his lips, however, his world was flipped on its head.

Literally.

For a brief second everything stopped. The warmth and pressure from the hand holding him to the table disappeared, cold washing over him and sending a shiver down his spine. That’s when a new type of pressure appeared. It was still rough and warm, the grip of a calloused hand for sure, but it was much more concentrated than just smashing him to the table. Specifically around his right ankle. His eyes couldn’t go ‘dinner plate wide’ any faster than they did the moment he felt said pressure appear. The less-than-manly scream he had heard beside him roughly half a second earlier started to make a lot more sense by the millisecond. Especially once he was dragged backwards and up, a very similar noise escaping himself. For a brief moment everything spun before his sight leveled out. What he didn’t want to see was Deimos grinning at him. Upside down.

“Annnd there we go. Sanford, Hank, I hope you guys still have a good grip at this size~.” The hacker jabbed, grinning at the little chain his friends had formed once he started picking them up. Pinched between his thumb, pointer, and middle finger was Hank’s torso. They were currently holding onto Sanford’s ankle, looking less than pleased with the situation they were in. Sanford was gripping onto the ankle of 2BDamned as he dangled, worry painting over his features. Then there was 2b, dangling at the end of the chain upside down with a look quite similar to Hank’s plastered on his face. All in all, quite the interesting little chain they made up as he leaned back in the chair.

“Damn straight. You two drop me and you’re dead.” The ‘medic’ grumbled, all too willing to make his displeasure known.

“Aw, don’t you worry, Doc. If they drop you I’ll make sure you have a nice, soft, warm landing~”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t want to be dropped on my hea- Deimos, what the genuine fuck does that mean?” He shouldn’t have asked. The moment after the words left his mouth 2b knew he never should have asked what the younger hacker had meant with his words. Dangling over the man’s lap having to stare him in the face while upside down wasn’t ideal. Absolutely not. However, he found much preferred it to dangling inches above Deimos’ open jaws, the smell of cigarette smoke laced breath hitting him almost as hard as the realization of just how sharp the man’s teeth were. He supposed he never noticed with Dei a. rarely ever purposely showing them off, and b. him being smaller than the older hacker. That didn’t stop him from mentally smacking himself upside the head for not taking more notes of it sooner though. Especially when he was getting so…up close and personal with them now. Fuck he was close to those daggers.

“Dei- Dei, think about this!” Sanford shouted as he stared down at the sight of the man’s open mouth, praying that his friend would listen to at least some reason. Sure, they gave him shit for being the smallest of the group often. He especially did. Not once though had he, or the other two as far as he knew, expected that said teasing would lead to them possibly having to spend the day trapped in said hacker’s gut though. If they had, they would have backed off a little. But now the threat was more present than ever. And knowing Deimos? It might be longer than a day too. He wouldn’t put it past the man at all. Jebus Christ….

“Oh I have San. We’re past that point now.” Deimos hummed, his tongue lazily snaking itself over his lips as he glanced over the string of teammates that dangled from his hand. Slowly his stare became distant, his mind beginning to wander. Just how would each of them taste exactly? Would they all taste the same? But what if they each tasted different? Now wouldn’t that be something. Perhaps he wasn’t too far off picturing Sanford as a juicy sausage in his little moments to himself. Oh that would be perfect. The warm feeling of drool trailed itself lazily down his chin, each thought regarding the possible tastes of his friends encouraging an empty rumble from his midsection. He just had to find out now.

“Deimos, lower me any further and I’ll make sure you choke to death.” The man only laughed, eyes fluttering shut as he opened his mouth once more.

“Sorry Doc. ‘S too late to stop now.” Any screams of protest from his teammates fell on deaf ears as Deimos lowered the end of the little chain into his mouth. Immediately he was hit with the taste of black coffee, hints of iron, and oddly enough what tasted like whisky poking through and tickling his tongue. The soft, pleased hum escaped him long before he could even think to stop it, his mind far more focused on getting that flavor to coat his tastebuds than his actions or the saliva steadily dripping down his chin.

2BDamned had a different opinion on the matter. Specifically about the claim that it was ‘too late.’ It was not too fucking late. In fact, it was anything but. Deimos’s mouth, which absolutely reeked of cigarettes might he add, was still wide open. He wasn’t slipping down the tight tube he could see in front of him yet. He was being rolled around and licked over like some sort of candy, something which he apparently had to remind Deimos he wasn’t with a smack to the tongue. Sharp teeth surrounded the unofficial doctor on both sides, Sanford’s grip on his ankle still like iron despite the saliva now thoroughly coating his body. Try as he might to push himself out with his hands they only slipped and slid across the wet surface of Deimos’s tongue. Far too similar to how he was steadily slipping backwards.

“Dei…Dei, you can pull us out now…” Sanford yelled up to the man, ducking his head between his arms to avoid the feeling of daggers dragging down his head and neck. Jebus, his teeth really were sharper up close. The white knuckled grip he held on 2b’s ankle refused to budge as he slipped further in, eyes locked into the sight before him. Not once did he ever expect to watch the older hacker slowly disappear down his best friend’s throat with nothing he could do but hold on and pray. Yet here he was. Fuck. “Dei-!!”

“Sanford, don’t even bother at this point.” 2b groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask. Deimos wasn’t going to listen to shit. That much was clear now if it wasn’t an hour and a half ago when they’d woken up in his hands. He didn’t want to admit it, not by a long shot, however as he slid further back there wasn’t any way the dissenter could convince himself otherwise. He, and the other two, were doomed. “He’s not going to-“

Ulp~

“…..listen. God damnit.” What else was he to even expect at this point?

Try as hard as he might, Sanford found he couldn’t grip the unofficial doctor’s ankle any tighter. Not without the possibility of breaking something, considering that he most likely had already passed the ‘try not to bruise the man’ stage. No doubt the clearly handprint shaped black and blue bruise would be there in a day tops. A scolding was nearly cemented in his future now, however Sanford couldn’t find it in himself to complain about it. Compared to the hole Deimos was digging himself, with a smile on his face no less, he’d gladly take the talking to. Speaking of the hacker, either he was genuinely out of it for some reason or he was just trying to be a grade A dick.

“Deimos!! Cut it out, man!” He yelled, trying his hardest to squirm away from the licks and shifting of the man’s tongue. Unfortunately for him, nothing seemed to work. It started at his hands but all too quickly the sensation of a wet tongue dragging itself up, over, and around the pyromaniac’s arms and to his torso. The dark lenses of his signature glasses fogged over with each warm breath that washed over his body. Goosebumps dotted all exposed skin, any fabric quickly becoming drenched with saliva. The sensations slowly crawled their way down Sanford’s body, more of him no longer dangling and instead slipping across the hacker’s tongue by the moment. He watched his hands, and by extension Doc’s feet, slowly slip beyond his vision into the void-like entrance of Deimos’ throat. His arms followed not long after, the darkness enveloping more of his vision by the second. Talk about a way to spend your day.

Glk~

A soft groan rumbled around the shrunken men, the sound’s maker all too lost in his thoughts. Tastes of warm sausage, coffee, and the lingering hints of whisky and iron danced across his tongue. Each lick up the parts of Sanford’s body which remained momentarily in his mouth brought a shiver up through his spine. With each second the small body inched further back, pulling his hand toward his mouth. His fingers and the body pinned between them slipped past the hacker’s lips with ease. Layers of cloth, along with the occasional sensation of scarred skin, pressed against his tongue. The taste of a rare steak and a much stronger metallic hint, again not unlike that of blood but somehow much more pleasant, seemed all too eager to attack his taste buds. His spine seemed to reduce itself to jello in a matter of seconds, relying on the backrest of his chair for support. The smoker pulled his fingers from his mouth with a small pop, jaws shutting around his final shrunken teammate and leaving his mind to ponder over the tastes and sensation attacking his mouth and mind alike.

The word ‘still’ had been completely wiped from Deimos’s dictionary, if it had even been there to begin with. At least that’s what Hank would have told anyone who asked. His eyes had narrowed behind his red tinted goggles and now they seemed to grow thinner with each movement from the muscle beneath him. As if the heat and lingering cigarette smell from the hacker’s breath weren’t enough, the wet feeling of saliva continued to sneak itself into every fiber of his being. First his skin, then lighter clothing items like his bandana and mask, and finally seeping through his coat and multiple other layers of clothing. And just what was a better cherry on top then being rolled around near constantly. Every moment they seemed to find themself in a new position within the confines of the young hacker’s mouth. While their grip remained on Sanford’s ankles, the same could in no way be said for his patience with the man who had caused this hell by shrinking them. He swore, Deimos better enjoy his time being able to hold them like dolls because the moment they were back to normal the man would be getting a firm taste of his own medicine. Whether it be by him serving as lunch or by another form of revenge was yet to be decided. Hank could only plot so much, though. Despite how much more bearable he found thinking about a way to ‘return the favor’ to Deimos to be, he needed to at least show a little of his own irritation to the man. After all, he wasn’t just some snack. They were still Hank J. Wimbledon god damn it, and they’d prove it if they had to. How he would do that remained a mystery for what felt like hours of constant licking and flipping…until said proof came. It came in the form of a kick to the inside of Deimos’ teeth. A kick which sent him sliding backwards-

Ulk-

Glp~

And the oddly shaped lump in Deimos’ throat disappearing behind his collarbone.

Deimos’ eyes had widened in shock, a hand quickly pressing itself to his throat as it happened. In his opinion, it happened too quickly. All too fast the warm weight disappeared from his mouth, pushing itself backwards with force into his throat. Far too soon did he lose the previously vivid taste of barely cooked meat and metal, leaving him with only the memory and lingering fragments of it like the other two tastes. Too quickly had the lump in his throat been pushed down by two final swallows, disappearing down behind his collarbone. For a moment he sat there in silence, the room lacking sound except for his heavy breathing. With each rise and fall of his chest he waited. Waited for the one thing that couldn’t seem to come fast enough. Moments passed with nothing before the feeling he’d been waiting for rushed his senses. A filling warmth pooled itself in his stomach, moving around against the walls of the organ and pulling a warm chuckle from the man. His hand trailed to rest over his stomach, feeling the small bodies shift and fight beneath layers of clothing, muscle, and skin. Fangs glimmering in a grin once again as he poked at the squirming fullness in his gut.

“Well look at that.” He laughed to himself, relaxing back into his chair. His stomach gurgled under his hand, what he guessed to be a thank you of sorts now that he had what he wanted within it. Though something told him the others wouldn’t be thanking him all that much. “How are you three holding up in there?”

“Deimos, do not laugh at us or so help me Jebus- Hank, get your arm out of my face!” The words were quickly followed by what Deimos could assume was 2b pushing Hank off him and into his stomach wall from what he could feel. Those three couldn’t seem to stay still. Well, he couldn’t truly blame them if he wanted to. It had to be slippery, trapped in a wet, moving organ like his stomach and all. The mental image of his three teammates slipping around in his stomach, trying their hardest to gain footing or at least a comfortable position, drew another laugh from him. This was great.

“Dei, c’mon.” Sanford added, giving his own kick to the wall in case he had failed to grab the hacker’s attention before. Try as he might to stay out of 2BDamned and Hank’s little squabble fate seemed to have other plans as he was shoved back into them every time he got away. Or maybe that was just Deimos being Deimos. “You’ve had your fun, now spit us out you chucklehead.”

“Mmm yeah no.” Deimos hummed, drumming his fingers mindlessly on his belly as he took in the little shocks that each harsh kick or punch sent through his body to his brain. Each movement registered in his brain as a pleasurable little shock, but the harsher they were the more enjoyment they seemed to cause him. Not that he was complaining. Last he checked his teammates could tire themselves out with squirming all they wanted to if it felt this nice. “See, that’s not really the plan here. Not for a few hours at least.”

“What now?” Sanford’s voice had dropped its hopeful tone, now more monotonous and serious. Beside him he heard a growl, one he assumed to be from Hank. Was the smoker trying to get them killed? Again he punched the wall. “Dei, quit joking.”

“I ain’t joking, ‘Ford.” The young hacker replied bluntly, his shit eating grin more than audible in his words. A long, over dramatic sigh made its way from his mouth with ease as he adjusted his position to one more comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as one could get in an old chair. Smiling to himself he gave his stomach a little shove, feeling the three bodies inside shift and move under the pressure. “I just wanna sit and enjoy this for a while. It feels too nice to just give up.”

Silence fell upon the three currently held within the confines of the man’s stomach, each sitting there taking in Deimos’ words until the pressure from outside had lifted. Once it did, they all reacted their own way. Hank, for example, sat still for about ten seconds tops before a punch was thrown at the wall. Sanford, on the other hand, debated whether Hank’s approach or his attempts at reasoning with their ‘captor’ would be more effective at getting Deimos to spit them up. Then there was 2BDamned, who sat in what would’ve been an unnerving silence had they not known him. Knowing him, though, changed the meaning of the silence from ‘is this man insane to be so calm?’ to ‘Deimos just dug himself a grave’ in a split second.

“Deimos,” The unofficial medic started, “you have ten seconds to at least start spitting us up or I will force myself back up your throat simply to beat your ass.” Despite the warmth of their current confines, a chill shot up Sanford’s back. As far as he knew, the last thing you wanted to be was at the end of Doc’s threats. The man often had little to no issue going through with them, and Deimos wasn’t some special case. The laughter they heard (and felt shaking their ‘cell’ for that matter) was all it took to solidify that Deimos didn’t take them seriously at this size. Guess said threats don’t work when you’re four inches tall at best and your ‘captor’ is a smug ass bastard.

“Ha! I’d like to see you try, Doc.” Deimos chuckled, giving his stomach a firm pat which only seemed to serve to jostle around its captives more. “I might not be able to handle spice like San’ but I do know my way around feisty snacks~.”

“We aren’t food, Deimos.” Hank growled, kicking the floor beneath him. The flesh sunk under his boot, a sickening squishing sound heard as a result. A small shiver trembled up the walls, one which failed to register with the black-clad mercenary as in pain. Oh just wonderful. The sharp toothed asshole was enjoying this.

“Mmm you sure, big guy? Cause you seem like food to me right now.” Within only a few seconds of the words leaving his lips the hacker found himself met with a pleasant shockwave up the spine. Clearly a certain black-clad mercenary didn't like being called food, if the fighting he felt wash over him like a tsunami of warm, fuzzy electricity meant anything. A soft groan crawled out of his lips, his hand lazily tracing circles over his stomach. ”mm oh c-calm down in there. I didn’t mean it. I will let you out, Jeez.”

“Deimos, this isn’t funny. Spit us out.” 2b snapped, kicking the floor.

“Mmm sorry, Doc. Can't hear you heheh…” the hacker spoke, words blurring softly as he melted back into the chair.

“I’m serious!” The words fell on deaf ears.

“Dei, c’mon…” Sanford this time. His eyes drifted softly shut.

“Dei…” His grin turned into a simple smirk.

“Dei…” Didn't he get he wasn’t spitting them out yet?

“Deimos…” Oh full names now. How fancy.

“Deimos..?” Wait…that didn’t sound right.

“Deimos.” Was he losing it?

…

“DEIMOS!”

The hacker jumped, blinking rapidly as his eyes darted around. What was going on? Where were they? Who did he need to kill? Where were the others? Thoughts rushed through his head as wide eyes darted around everything in sight, looking for something they recognized. Anything to show him where he was or what was going on. Relief came to him in the form of Sanford standing in front of him, a hand on his shoulder as if he was trying to get his attention. Most importantly though they were in their base. Safe. No one was here. They weren’t under attack. He was just daydreaming. Sanford and the others were here and he was just…daydreaming- oh damn it. Go figure it was too good to be true. A groan, this time annoyed, rang from Deimos’ throat.

“Jebus- Dude, are you alright?” Sanford asked, eyebrows knit with worry and…an emotion Deimos found himself unable to name. Like he’d seen something. Something…weird. Almost like concern but not at the same time. For a brief moment an idea reared its head, only to be smashed down like a weird game of whack-a-mole within the hacker’s mind. There wasn’t any need for such an absurd idea. It’s not like Sanford could have seen his little daydream. Nope, that was safe in his head. The smoker shook his head to clear it, quickly flashing Sanford a sharp toothed grin.

“Yeah man. Just zonin’ out and daydreaming a little ‘s all. Nothing to worry about here heheh,” he laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder playfully. His eyes scanned the man’s face again, trying to see if his statement had done its job. Although the worry had dropped from Sanford’s face, the other emotion remained. Now what on earth was that for?

“Daydreamin’ huh? ‘Bout what?” The pyromaniac asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes flicked from Deimos’ eyes to his mouth, then back again as he spoke. He didn’t seem to not believe Deimos when he said he was daydreaming, so what on earth was that look for? And why was he looking at his mouth so much? Giving into the call of curiosity the sharp-toothed hacker brought a hand up to his mouth, eyes widening mouth momentarily when his fingers found a trail of saliva dripping from his lips to his chin. He’d been drooling. Whoops.

“Eh. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Deimos lied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand which he then wiped on his pant leg. So that’s what Sanford had been looking at. Oh he must’ve looked downright stupid too. Well now wasn’t that just great? He just had to hope the Chad hadn’t decided to take a photo.

“Honestly I don’t even remember what it was about.” Liar, he remembered all of it. The vivid tastes, the squirmy fullness, the thrill-

Grrrnnnggg…

Ah shit. Busted by his own stomach. For a second the hacker sat there stunned, blinking dumbly as his cheeks heated up with a pink tint. Ok just play it cool Deimos. “….though if I had to make a guess? Food heh.”

“Yeah, that would make sense heh.” Sanford laughed softly, playfully jabbing the smaller man in the stomach. He seemed to buy Deimos’s story, bringing a sense of relief to the hacker. At least he wasn’t going to press on it. “Your stomach was anything but quiet, you know.”

“Go figure. And when I can’t say anything about it too.” Quickly laughter had found itself spilling from Deimos’ mouth, his mind having calmed down when he had heard the sound from the other man. He seemed less concerned, or whatever that emotion he couldn’t name right now was. As another grumble shook through his middle the hacker lowered a hand to rest over his stomach. He got it already. He was upset the daydream of his wasn’t real after all too. Not much more he could do besides try and find something to eat now though. “Say, I’m gonna go try and snag something to shut my gut up. Wanna come?”

“Nah, I’ll pass this time.” Sanford spoke with a small shake of the head and a smile. Try as he might to play it off as friendly, it seemed that odd emotion that Deimos couldn’t name was just bound to show itself in his words. “You just go shut that thing up before the Agency uses it to track us.”

“Oh ha ha. I’m going.” Deimos laughed, giving Sanford one last playful punch to the shoulder before running off. He had food to track down somewhere in this hellscape of Nevada, unless he wanted a beating from Doc that was. He just needed something small or, hell, even temporary if he happened to come across a shrunken grunt or agent. They would work out just fine so long as he didn’t let the others find out what he’d used to shut his stomach up. Couldn’t give away anything that could relate to his little hidden desires. The emptiness in his gut wasn’t something he’d wanted back, but alas, a daydream is only a daydream and he wasn’t getting any fuller just walking around. Now where would his best chance to snag someon- something be…

…

Sanford watched as his friend ran off, smile slowly fading as Dei disappeared from his line of sight. That look of caution slipped back onto his face as he slowly turned his back to head to his room. He needed a moment to think about what he’d just seen. Try as he might, he couldn’t just forget what was now burned into his mind. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the younger hacker had been daydreaming about if you had seen him while he was in the zoned out trance of his. Mouth wide open and drooling with a hand pretending to dangle something above it, an active stomach topping it all off like some sorta weird cherry on the sundae of his best friend’s little fantasy. Oh no, he knew what that meant. And hearing him mumble the names of their other teammates, along with his own, at least once through it all? It spelled out the man’s daydream in big neon lights. The very thought sent a shiver down his spine, despite how he tried his best to shake it off.

He wanted to believe it when he tried to tell himself that Deimos wouldn’t ever shrink them, much less try to eat them. He really did. All that he’d seen along with logic itself, however, pointed him at it with the firm proof that his words were lies. The man would no doubt take advantage of it, if he ever found a way to shrink them, even if he were to keep them as safe as possible. Just as he had with any unfortunate shrunken agents or grunts he happened upon when he was alone (or at least when he thought he was) Safe or not safe, the fact of the matter still stood. Sanford did not want to spend however long within the confines of his friend’s gut, especially if he wasn’t alone. Being in there had to be bad enough. Him not being able to do anything about it either only made the situation worse. Reasoning with the hacker was most likely hopeless and he wasn’t about to beg. What was left? Pray? God, if Deimos ever managed to get his hands on the Agency’s shrinking technology then one thing was downright certain. Boy were he, Hank, and 2b doomed…

#soft vore #mawedness combat #it took me long enough #but it’s finally done #i have so many ideas for fics based on drawings by a handful of artists #this one though…this one made me go for it and write it #congrats doodle #you and your art shot me with my own inspiration Gun #and I’ve just gotta say amazing work again #you were one of the main three/four who inspired me to write M4dc0m #anyway #I hope you enjoy the fic you caused :)

64 notes · View notes

manianart · 3 years

Text

Unlikely Allience pt1

Months.

It had been months now since Sheriff had joined the Nexus project and it only took him a week of that to regret his decision. Phobos and Auditor turned out to be real and true psychopaths. They didn’t care to make everything better or to turn reality back to normal.

No. They only cared for power.

Sheriff rubbed a hand down his face. It had been days since the last time he had gotten anything even resembling sleep. His last interaction with Phobos had robbed him of the ability to fall asleep. He had lost a locator chip for one of their deliveries to one of the rebels. And he had paid for it.

Rubbing at his stomach he winced as some of the cuts from that interactions still gave off a sore sting. The door on his “office”, which was honestly more of a broom closet than a true office given to him by Auditor to keep him out of the way, suddenly slammed open, making him jump slightly. Phobos stepped inside, his face scrunched up in anger as always as he glared at Sheriff.

Ph: “You! We got work for you. Come!”

Sheriff held onto his chest, his heart racing at the sudden loud noise, before nodding and rushing after the other man, who had already left. They walked towards the facilities interrogation cells.

Strange.

Those hadn’t been used in a long while. Whenever they found a rebel in the city they usually just shot them. They had tried to interrogate them when they first captured them but they all said the same thing, nothing interesting or important, so at some point they just started to shoot them.

Two guards were waiting outside one of the cells. The doors to the cells were reinforced and thick as a grown mans forearm. Who were they keeping in that room that needed two additional guards?

His questions were clearly showing on his face apparently as Phobos answered them by simply opening the door.

Hank.

Hank J. Wimbleton was sitting at the table in that cell, bound to the chair he had been placed on. Sheriff felt a shiver run down his spine at the sight of the other man. A growl made Sheriff tense up and look next to him.

Phobos was looking even angrier now, glaring at Hank before sharply turning his head towards the Sheriff.

Ph: “Normally I’d never give you this job, you are far too incompetent to do this right, but I have no other choice right now! I have to finish an important mission so I can’t do it myself. Just ask him the questions on the paper I left you and DON’T fuck it up, got that?!”

Sheriff flinched a bit at the last sentence, nodding quickly. Phobos huffed out hard, glaring at the other a moment longer before nodding and heading off, taking the guards with him. Sheriff looked after them, worried. Phobos was almost up the stairs, the cells being in the basement, when he sharply turned once more.

Ph: “The alarm is on. No guards needed now.” “You’re disposable” is what Sheriff got from that sentence. He wanted to yell back, anger rising, but as soon as it started to rise Phobos had turned, walked the last few steps back up the stairs and was out of sight.

Sheriffs shoulders slumped again, seeing that he had missed his opportunity. Carefully looking over to where Hank sat he flinched as he met the others stare. Hank was glaring at him, his anger and venom even trumping Phobos. Sheriff started to shiver before quickly looking away towards the table. There it was, the piece of paper Phobos had put some questions on for Sheriff to read out. Uneasiness still making his motions stiff and machine-like he sat down opposite Hank, trying desperately to ignore the others menacing glare stuck on him. He swallowed a few times trying to regain his voice but soon he just sighed, accepting that this wouldn’t be easy.

Slowly looking up he swallowed one more time before starting the questioning.

Half an hour later and it was clear that Hank wasn’t going to answer him, having kept silent with a dead glare the whole time Sheriff asked the questions given to him. Sheriff sighed, his heart really not in it anymore by now. He was tired. Tired and hurting and so so done with this all. Looking up for the first time in 15 minutes he met Hanks eyes. Hanks glare had dulled down to an angry but bored expression. Sheriff must’ve looked pretty damn terrible because he saw the other mans expression shift ever so slightly as he looked up. Why was he even still doing this? This was ridiculous. His heart wasn’t in it anymore and he knew it. He just wanted out. But he knew that his only escape would be death and he really didn’t want to end his own life like that. He wasn’t ready to do that...he was a coward.

An idea suddenly made Sheriff perk up a bit. Hank. He could use Hank for that. Not just to end his own suffering but Hank did want to stop the Nexus project so if he set him free he’d not only help himself but all the other people caught up in this shit.

Sheriff got up fast, nearly tipping over his chair and even getting a questioning look from Hank. Good. On camera it would look like he was just too frustrated to continue. Just to be sure Sheriff mumbled a small “eff this” before leaving the room as fast as he could, slamming the door just for theatrical emphasis.

Once outside he looked around the corridor. No more cameras, great! Rushing over to the room where the recording control panels and the alarm controls were stored he quickly disabled everything. Video, audio and alarm all turned off to really ensure Hank had enough time to get out of the basement. With that done Sheriff swallowed down some of his anxiety about the next part. He slowly got up again, having leaned down over the panels he was now straightening himself out again until he stood tall once more. Or well, as tall as someone could stand that was facing his certain death. Slowly he made his way back over to the interrogation room, a small knife in his hand that he had kept hidden inside his jacket just in case. Once there he opened the door and stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind himself so if any Grunts came by they wouldn’t be interrupted. H: “You done just asking hmh? But if you want to torture infromation out of me that knife is too small.” Sheriff flinched at the others voice but didn’t really pay any mind to the words that were being said.

He was too focused on his task at hand. Slowly walking over to Hank he made sure the other couldn’t reach out to him too fast. He at least wanted to explain what he was doing.

Sh: “I’ll cut you loose now.”

H: “WHAT?!” Sh: “With Phobos gone you’ll be able to get out of the building almost effortlessly. Just head up and then left and you’ll be pretty much out already. You can use my key card for the door. I turned off all video and audio recordings around and the alarm is off too. Just… once you are cut loose...make it quick, okay? Please don’t let it hurt too bad when you…” Sheriff swallowed hard.

Sh: “When you knock me out. I know I’m a coward for asking this of you but...please.” Sheriff exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding before slowly approaching Hank and starting to cut him loose. First the legs then the arms and then the torso. Once his work was done he just let himself fall to his knees, the knife he had been using clattering to the floor and sliding away from him.

It was done. No turning back now.

Hank stood tall, looming over him for a few moments.

H: “Why?”

Sh: “... guess I just realized that these guys really aren’t the people I want to be affiliated with.” Hank nodded.

Sh: “Make it quick, okay?”

H: “Chair.”

Sheriff furrowed his brows.

Did he just misshear the other? Did Hank say fair and had his mask just muffled his words. Before Sheriff could even fully turn towards the other to ask he felt something hit his head full force and his world went black.

--Hanks POV of all this--

He had cursed himself when he had gotten caught but better him than the others. He could withstand a lot more and he was sure he’d be able to break free at some point eventually.

Once they had brought him to a cell and bound him to a chair that hope had somewhat waned but he hadn’t given his worries away.

Phobos, the one eyed freak, had laughed at him and promised all sorts of ways he’d torture the answers to his questions out of him but in the middle of his rambling he had gotten a message and his twisted smile turned into a scowl to filled with anger it reminded Hank of the time someone tried to take away 2Bs laptop.

He had to snort at the thought of what 2B had done to the person making Phobos turn towards him, almost foaming from his mouth. More yelling but this time anger was the cause. Hank just looked uninterested at that point. Phobos wanted to yell more but got a second message. Hank smiled as the other man left the room, his walking speed indicating his anger. He had hoped he’d get some time to think about how to break out but only 15 minutes later Phobos reappeared at the door.

Hank shot him an angry glare and noticed that he wasn’t alone. The Sheriff was with him. Hank shot a death glare towards the cowardly Sheriff, knowing that the man would flinch and start to show signs of fear. Hank reveled in that fact, being able to strike fear into a man even when he was bound and unable to fight and or kill.

He heard Phobos bark orders towards the Sheriff, making the man flinch again before rushing off. Sheriff looked after the other for a while before sighing and walking over to a chair to sit across from Hank, picking up a piece of paper on a clip board and starting to read out questions.

When did that get there? Oh well, whatever. Hank just kept glaring at the other, completely blanking out his voice.

It must’ve been about half an hour before the other man started to slow and eventually stop his questions all together. Hank saw him deflate as he looked up for the first time in a while to meet his eyes. He looked tired. Tired and...sad? Hank felt his facade fall for a second, feeling almost bad for the other man for some unknown reason.

A minute or two passed before the other man suddenly jumped up from his chair with an “eff this” muttered under his breath. Sheriff stormed out the door, leaving Hank to ponder what the man would do when Phobos found out that he had gotten not a single answer out of him. Sheriff and Phobos didn’t seem to be getting along all that well. Hank wasn’t surprised. The Sheriff was a coward.

Hank had started to think about his escape again when the door was opened again. The Sheriff stood in the door for a moment, a knife in his hand.

H: ““You done just asking hmh? But if you want to torture infromation out of me that knife is too small.”

Hank wanted the other to leave again to get better equipment. Partially to get him away to have time to think and partially because Hank felt kind of insulted by that ditzy little knife. Seriously, what did the Sheriff think Hank could withstand?

Sheriff started slowly walking over to Hank, making sure Hank couldn’t reach out to him.

Sh: “I’ll cut you loose now.”

Hank blinked.

Sheriff paused, seeming to swallow a lump in his throat.

Sh: “When you knock me out. I know I’m a coward for asking this of you but...please.”

Right after that request the Sheriff got to work, slicing through Hanks restraints with the small knife. It only took seconds before Hank could stand up. The first thing he did was stretch, his back popping a few times as he did.

He turned to the other man, who was kneeling on the floor now, looking terribly small.

H: “Why?”

Sh: “... guess I just realized that these guys really aren’t the people I want to be affiliated with.” Hank nodded.

Sh: “Make it quick, okay?”

Hank gave that a thought. The Sheriff seemed to really be at the end of his wits but...it felt wrong to kill the man now.

H: “Chair.”

Hank grabbed a hold of the chair he had just been bound to seconds before, seeing it was a foldable chair. Walking up to the Sheriff he reeled back and hit the man with the chair, knocking him out cold and leaving him unconscious before he even hit the floor.

What now?

Hank leaned over the Sheriff, grabbing the knife and putting it in his pocket just in case. Looking at the man before him he felt a pang of...something. Did he really want to kill this man? It doesn’t seem like he was even worth killing anymore now. Then again, leaving him here would definitely get him killed either way. Hank gave a long groan, rubbing the bridge of his nose not really believing what he was about to do.

Leaning down again he picked up the other man, surprised at how light he was, and threw him over his shoulder.

Rummaging around in the others pocket beforehand to find the key card the other had mentioned and strolling out the complex the way the other had described.

Soon they were in a small apartment used by the resistance as hideout. Once there Hank tied up the Sheriff, just because the man was pathetic didn’t mean Hank trusted the other to not run and tattle on one of their hideouts.

Now he’d have to wait.

5 hours later Sheriff stirred awake

--original POV--

Sheriff awoke with his head pounding like crazy. Where was he? Wait. He was still alive. Moving around a little he felt something restraining his wrists and ankles. Now he started to breathe faster. This wasn’t good. Had Phobos come back early and intervened?

If that was the case Sheriff wanted nothing of what was to come. Starting to struggle he seized up as a low voice reached his ears.

H: “Stop moving, you’ll hurt yourself. Don’t wanna waste medical supplies on you just because you decide it’d be fun to be stupid.”

Sheriffs vision was still blurry but it only took him a few seconds to realize that that voice did not belong to Phobos but instead the man he had freed earlier. He looked over, relaxing a bit.

Hank stood from the chair he had been sitting on, a look on his face Sheriff couldn’t place.

Oh no. Did he just bring him along to torture him?

H: “Jeez. What did they do to you in that shit organization of theirs to make you relax when you see the man that tried to and succeeded in killing you before?”

Sheriff blinked a few times at that. His brain was still slow so it took him a while to respond.

Sh: “I-..uhm..where-?”

H: “My hideout. I’ll keep you around just in case. Plus, you might be able to tell me some interesting things about the organization.” Sheriff nodded at that, hoping Hank wouldn’t ask any questions too soon. Because if he did he’d find out that Sheriff too didn’t know that much.

H: “For now I thought of a solution to keep you where you are without having to supervise you 24 / 7”

At that Hank brought up a long chain with a cuff attached to it. Sheriff followed the long chain over to a wall where the second cuff was attached to a heater. The chain was long enough for him to move around the room and maybe even the other two attached rooms but probably not long enough to let him reach the front door.

He sighed. Well, it was better than being dead or getting tortured at least.

Soon the cuff was around his ankle.

H: “I’ll remove the other restraints now. Don’t be stupid!”

Sheriff nodded, holding out his wrists and ankles and waiting patiently for the other to do as he said.

Once free he rubbed his reddened skin a bit to soothe the ache.

Sh: “. . . what now?”

H: “I’m heading to bed. Yours is right over there. DO NOT try anything stupid or I’ll put a bullet in your head faster than you can blink!”

Sheriff gave a quick nod at that, shying away from the other as he loomed over him.

With that and a last warning glare Hank left the room.

Sheriff watched him walk out and close the door behind himself. Looking over to where Hank had pointed he saw a basic bed with a pillow and some sheets. With wobbly legs he got up from the chair he had been in and made his way over to the bed only to collapse onto it and curl into a tight ball.

What was going to happen now? Did he make the right choice? What would Hank do once he found out that Sheriff wasn’t of any use? All these questions slowly faded into the background as Sheriff curled up even more, flinging the blanket that was provided to him over himself and closing his eyes.

He could think about all those things tomorrow. For now all he wanted to do was sleep away the headache and other aches riddling his body.

#madness combat #Madcom #madcom fanart #madcom fanfic #madcom hank #madcom sheriff #hank j. wimbleton #take this

30 notes · View notes

tippytopdays · 3 years

Text

Just a Typical Morning

literally slapped a fresh coat of paint on this little thing and did some proofreading, posting here because it's not really a story i feel like belongs on my Ao3

_____________________________________________________________

A snap. A small flare of light. A hiss. The light goes out with a brief spike of pain. The scent of nicotine filling his lungs, sitting there for a moment before being lazily huffed back out. He rolled the cig between his teeth, canines catching the paper.

For once, it was a slow day. Quiet too, if the silent city ruins said anything about it. No howling of some crazy Zed in the alleyways, no rushing of cars; nothing. Then again it’s probably something like, 6AM if he thought about it, since the sun wasn’t high enough yet to count as day.

Well as close to day as it could get, he assumed. It wasn’t like he knew anything else, anyways.

Deimos gripped the cig between his fingers, watching the flecks of tobacco sprinkle over the railing. The balcony was small, granted, but it was enough. Throw on a piece of metal or two along the railing and it even made for some quick cover if there was an attack. Overhead assault was harder to avoid, especially from so high up.

The end of the cigarette glowed dimly as he inhaled, smoke trailing into the air.

He didn’t like being up this early. It was too quiet.

Normally by now he would probably be going downstairs to fetch some grub from the cafeteria with Ford, talk about their evenings or whatever else would come up. Sometimes he’d be scrambling to get his gear on to check whatever combusted in the lower levels. Of course if it was the mercs just screwing around and breaking whatever had gotten mixed up with their roughhousing then he’d get upset. Fixing that shit isn’t easy you know, but it wasn’t worth straining his voice anyways; Ford could do that for him in spades.

He sighed in a soft plume of smoke. Really, what else can you do when the hired help has to be a bunch of knuckleheads, anyways?

Whatever it was, he definitely wasn’t throwing any parties for them that’s for sure. Last thing anyone needed was those guys keeping everyone up all night by being loud as fuck.

Another drag, a slight shake in his fingers as they met his lips.

His arms hurt like Hell from having to spend so long rewiring that at this point he was surprised they were even remotely steady at all. And when he thought about it him waking up at the ass end of dawn because the comms had crashed again was probably a good reason as to why he was up so early. Digging around in cramped crawl spaces was not how he wanted to spend his day; and being tossed into a late night mission on top of it was even lower on that list.

Damn his bed seemed real inviting, early morning or not.

When was the last time he’d slept in? Or just had a day off? Sure they’d had low days along with the high ones, but when did they get an actual break where they could relax? The last time there wasn’t some kind of emergency or chaos outside their doors was at least a decade ago at this point, maybe less. He didn’t really have it in him to care much, since he didn’t keep track of the days anymore. No point to it.

More smoke filled his lungs. He really should just get some extra shut eye, rest until he felt better.

But, for some reason, he couldn’t.

He’d snapped to awareness with a cold feeling of dread weighing down his stomach. It had been so strong he’d shot up, halfway reaching for the pistol at his bedside thinking someone was there. But there wasn’t. It was dead quiet, like the moments after a bad mission.

Maybe that’s why he was outside right now. The casual air helped to mask the intent in his eyes as he scanned the skyline.

A glint of reflected light from a nearby rooftop nearly made him crush the cig in his hands as he tensed. Eyes snapping upwards he focused, but relaxed when all he found was a few familiar faces among one of the many teams patrolling the area. He snorted, smoke curling around his face.

Another pull, the cold wash of nicotine a nice cleanse to the tension in the air.

He was overthinking this.

And after all they’d been through, who could blame him really? Being constantly on the run would make anyone look over their shoulder or keep a gun within reach. Still, it wasn’t like the Agency knew where they were this time. To add to it nothing could get through the blast doors even if it tried. They’d tested those well enough for him to be certain.

It was just a very quiet night and he wasn’t used to it. That had to be it.

The cig smoldered between his lips in one last drag before he flicked the used butt over the railing. Arms raising over his head he stretched with a groan, “Damn,” He muttered, wincing at the series of pops going up his spine, “Ya’d think I’m getting old with how I crack like a handful of spaghetti.”

He was done with his morning smoke anyways.

Mobility returned to his spine Deimos rubbed at his neck he turned his back to the city, meandering back inside. Hitting the switch beside the glass door to slide it shut behind him he glanced at the clock on the comically cluttered bedside table he owned. Yep, too early for him to be this awake, if the glaring red 7:37 was anything to go by. Well mostly glaring, since his cap was haphazardly draped over it when he’d tossed it there yesterday. Or last night, he didn’t look at it then because he was too busy flopping face first into bed.

A healthy gurgling from his stomach brought him out of his thoughts.

That’s right. He didn’t eat last night either. Not really any time to when you’re face first into the ugly end of some bastardized wiring job done nearly half a decade ago. He hummed under his breath.

Was it too early to get something from the cafeteria? It was still morning he supposed; maybe some breakfast sausage would be left this time since he’d be able to get there first for once. The thought alone was tantalizing despite the exhaustion tugging at the edge of his conscious.

Did he even change after all that sweatshop work yesterday?

Pulling at the hem of his tank top he took a whiff. Yep, stunk of old sweat and probably a hint of grease; he didn’t. Pants probably didn’t smell too great either but who would check those and not come off like a weirdo? A quick sweep of the cargo pants half hanging off his hips proved them to be good enough with no obvious stains or rips.

Deimos shrugged. It was good enough. At least he didn’t stink of blood or anything, otherwise Doc would be on his ass hard. Though it wasn’t like anyone would be able to tell the difference in this sausage fest anyways. He’d be fine for a quick early morning bite.

Just needed to grab his jacket and boots and he’d be good to go.

Deimos scratched the stubble lining his jawline while he scanned the room. He’d taken off his jacket somewhere mid collapse but he couldn’t place where. He wasn’t one to lose things—most of the time at least—but sometimes it felt like they just up and disappeared. With his luck it would probably end up in a really obnoxious place like behind the bed or something. Not like that would happen since the thing was braced up against the wall in the corner so it had to be somewhere around here.

He paused when he noticed the distinctly leather looking lump laying on the floor beside said furniture.

Oh. There it is.

Approaching the bed he picked up his jacket off the floor. It still had some dust from when he’d been crawling through the vents last night as he swiped a hand over the shoulder. He grimaced at the sticky webbing that stuck to his fingers; a few cobwebs, too. Gross. Shaking it to clear out any excess dust he threw it on haphazardly, adjusting his pants once it was snugly over his shoulders. Belt tightened up again he’d turned towards the table and nearly tripped over his own boots.

Welp, at least those weren’t far either. Glad he’d had half the mind to take those off before crashing.

Cursing a bit under his breath he snatched his cap off the clock. With a quick sweep of his hand through his hair to straighten it a bit he put his hat on and sat on the bed, scooting his boots closer with a foot. Once they were laced up and buckled he got to his feet, ready for the day—or at least, the really early morning.

He glanced at the clock again. It blinked lazily at 8AM.

Eh, early enough. But the call of some sweet breakfast sausage was not to be ignored.

The moment he turned towards the door there was a series of firm knocks. He jumped, nearly tripping again as he cracked out, “Uh, yeah?” Damn that cig wasn’t enough apparently because his nerves must still be fried from that morning.

“Deimos, it’s me.”

His lips quirked a bit, confused. Normally, Doc only went after him when something broke or got jammed up again but a glance at the tablet resting on the table face up didn’t reveal a blinking light for a missed message. Unless something went wrong in the handful of seconds he’d been standing there then why was he trying to talk to him now of all times, “Hang on.” Tromping across the room he swiped his code in, the door opening with a hiss.

Doc was standing in front of his room, arms behind his back and head turned away as he kept his focus down the hall before turning to face him. He scanned him head to foot, “You look like shit.”

Deimos rolled his eyes with a huff, “Good morning to you too, Doc.” Leave it to him to state the obvious. Not like he didn’t already feel like crap in more than a few ways. He propped an arm against the door as he nodded towards him, “What’s up?”

2B stood a bit straighter, and just by his posture alone he had a feeling that whatever he was going to say wasn’t good, “Boss called in this morning, we have another assignment.”

Well he wasn’t wrong.

Deimos sighed, traces of smoke licking at his tongue as he tossed his head back, “Seriously? Now? Doc I haven’t eaten yet.” As if to prove his point his stomach made yet another unhappy glug. Both men glanced down, the tech sweeping a hand towards it with brows raised.

“I can tell.” Doc merely returned his gaze placidly, “Have you seen Sanford yet?”

He shook his head, “Nah. Haven’t left until now.” Though if he were to take a guess, he’d say the demolition’s expert would be working out somewhere.

It seemed they shared the same thought as 2B nodded, “I assume he might be downstairs at this hour. I did hear some commotion from one of the training decks.”

He chuckled a bit. Typical Ford.

“I want you to be ready within the hour, Deimos. You’ll get to eat when you get back. I’ll tell the staff in the kitchen to keep something in the oven for you.” He turned around, fully intending to leave before adding, “And also, get some washing done when you get back. You smell like a corpse.” With that he took his leave while Deimos scowled at his back.

Great. Of course it would be doc who’d notice.

Still he only sighed, punching the code into the panel to lock the door behind him. Getting his gear from the locker he had downstairs would only take a couple of minutes, and Ford should already be up if he was taking up a training room.

Just another day in Nevada, per the usual.

Things never really change.

#madness combat #Deimos #2BDamned #my writing #fun

18 notes · View notes

adeptisauric · 4 years

Text

Lunar Tears ❥ Oneshot

▹ 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 : nier: automata

⋱ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 9s / gender-neutral!reader

▹ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : the war against machine lifeforms is finally over. yet, you’re still the only human alive and you’re in love with a broken android.

▹ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : profanity (i think, i literally can’t remember if there is any at this point)

▹ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫(𝐬) : i do not own any characters within nier automata! nor do i own you, the reader.

✂ ────────

▹ 𝐚/𝐧 : this is my first oneshot that i written back in december of 2018. it might not be the best... but i’m proud of it. also, yes, you can find this on wattpad, quotev, and ao3 as well!

✂ ────────

"Nines, where are you taking me?" I grumbled as my limbs nonchalantly carried my body as I proceeded to follow the white-haired android to our untold destination.

"You'll see~" he purred in reply, adorably bounding about our hike.

Not gonna lie, I felt a little jealous by the boy's everlasting energy... it must be entertaining being an artificial humanoid. Furthermore, it also must be a little boring at times.

Breathing softly, I halt in my steps, refusing to move any longer. It was at this point where I was tolerably tired, I mean, we've been traveling on foot for what seemed to be seven hours. Call me lazy, I just don't care and I despise all things exercise.

"Mm? Oh, come on, (Y/n)! It's barely just a few more miles away," 9S pouted while I shook my head and my butt found a portion of ruins to set itself down on, "Do I have to carry you?"

Blinking, my orbs were fixed upon his unmasked features as I took his query into consideration. "Yes," I answered plainly, a grin now upon my lips.

Without about word, my body was hoisted bridal style into his arms and he was already proceeding to walk.

Eager aren't we?

Our little adventure was quite tranquil... yet quite quiet. But, I didn't mind the quietness of the air among us, it just enabled me to rethink of my history and how it placed me directly here, right in this moment.

When I originally arrived, I was terrified and very bewildered. I couldn't remember much of what transpired in my life, nor how I even got here. Nevertheless, now thinking about it, I was quite satisfied that whatever occurred, occurred. Because, if it didn't, I wouldn't have met the love of my life... 9S.

Yes, after I got here, everything was quite absurd, but now things are subtle and tranquil. There are no more hostile machine lifeforms... and YoRHa is no longer exists.

I've got Nines all to myself...

"We here," he expressed softly, placing me down on my feet which tore me out of my trance.

"The commercial facility?" I uttered, perplexed, "Why here?"

9S shot me a smirk, "It's what's underneath this."

What?

Feeling quite simple-minded, he took my hand and escorted me to the—what I deemed was broken—elevator. Once he pushed the button and the doors open, he scooted me on inside before pushing the solitary button there.

"You're going to love this, I have no doubt about it," Nines murmured rather happily. Before the doors could open, he promptly planted his palms over my orbs and led me out a bit. "Okay, ready? One, two, three-"

Uncovering my eyes, I was met with a brilliant light of—maybe—over a thousand flowers. I suppose I was gazing at them like I was some kid in a candy store because I overheard 9S chuckle vividly.

"So, what do you think?"

"I... I love this place!" I eventually cracked, hopping up and down a bit before spinning on my heels to face him—only to have him tuck one of the numerous flowers behind my ear.

"I'm glad," he beamed with surprisingly adoring orbs, "They're called Lunar Tears, I imagined since you like looking at pretty things, that you would love these."

Oh, Nines.

He held my hand once again, guiding me into the center of the patch, "Though... nothing is more fascinating than you."

My mouth went dry a bit, shocked by his words.

'...nothing is more fascinating than you'.

I didn't know what to respond, in truth, I didn't know what to even do. It was like he broke me entirely—but, not in a bad way. "Thank you..." I ultimately mustered up, my eyes becoming now fascinated by the ground, "...for everything."

Is it corrupt for me to love an android so much? To have my heart feel like it's rupturing every time he's near me or whenever I overhear his name? Probably not. However, I truly don't want to destroy him... like when 2B had died in front of his orbs.

9S isn't mentally okay right now... he just puts a mask on to make me feel content.

"You're welcome," he answered lastly, his voice appearing a bit complicated. "Hey... (Y/n), look at me."

My head snapped up once he said those words, my eyes finding his. He seemed so lost—like he wasn't there at all.

Was he reminiscing about what transpired? Or is he just gradually losing all emotion?

Before I could ask anything, he had seized my face tenderly as his lips led themselves to mine. Of course, I was overwhelmed, but, I instantly obtain my thoughts back and returned his affectionate kiss. Genuinely, I don't certainly know what startled me more, the fact that he kissed me or that he actually was a fucking wondrous kisser.

As suddenly as the kiss occurred, it ended. Feeling the loss of his warm saddens me, but what had me grimacing was his following words.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," his speech was now irregular as he conversed, "I love you, yet I can't love you. Me, loving you, will presumably tear you apart... and I don't-"

I silenced him with another kiss considering it seemed like the only way to get him to shut the hell up. I could tell he was taken by surprise but he took it anyways.

"Are you mad?" he questioned, breaking our kiss for the second time, his orbs wide.

"Yes, 9S, I am. In fact, I'm in insane—I'm insanely in love with you," I responded, staring him straight into his blue eyes with my (E/c) ones, "And, I don't care if you 'break' me because I'm already broken. But, with you, I'm genuinely happy and I'm discovering my missing pieces one by one with you."

Nines just blinked at me, taking a few moments to grasp everything that I just said to him before his expression went into an indecipherable state. "...in love with me?" he began to murmur softly, yet, I could only pick up on the last few words of his sentence.

Are you repeating what I-

Not even a few seconds later, my train of logic was cut off by the impact of 9S' form against mine, knocking us both off our feet and into the lunar tears.

"You love me even though I'm mentally wrecked?" he whispered into my right ear, causing a shiver to shoot down my spine by how close he was.

Honestly, I couldn't move—well, I could move my arms... but that's not the point. He was essentially perching on top of my stomach, bending over me.

"Nines... I love you no matter what." I muttered, my hand stretching up and caressing his check. Shortly, he got to the position where he was now resting beside me, his head resting upon my breast while enveloping his arms about my torso.

"Do me a favor then..." he commenced, softly, "...don't let me go."

#fanfiction #nier automata #9s #9s x reader #nier #nier automata x reader #insert reader #gender neutral reader #fanfic #last human #android x human #android x reader #spoilers for nier automata #after game #machine lifeforms #androids

305 notes · View notes

tamakiamajikistentacles · 3 years

Text

Disappearance 2: The Sighting {Katsuki Bakugo}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Thank you all so much for your support with this story so far, I hope you continue to enjoy it!

Disappearance Masterlist

He dreamt of Chiasa often.

On bad nights his mind created terrible scenarios about who she was with and where she was and what was happening to her. Other better nights let him fantasize about finding her and bringing her back to his agency with a smug grin as he reunited with the love of his life.

Most nights, though, his dreams were memories. Soft around the edges and sometimes fuzzy in detail, but as real as he could remember.

That night he had a dream about finding their first apartment for just themselves. It was going to be a far cry from sharing a townhome with Kaminari and Jiro, mostly because it wasn’t going to be as cluttered and full of ridiculous pranks but also because it would finally be theirs.

He could vividly remember coming home from one of the early meetings with the Hero Public Safety Commission about starting his own agency and seeing her in the sitting room practically vibrating with excitement. She’d pulled him down beside her and all but shoved her tablet into his face to look at what she’d found, declaring that their search was over.

And it had been. The building had twenty-four security and desk staff, keycard resident entry, and was in a safer neighborhood with a low crime rate. He could see it was a short walk to the nearest train station and if he got the approval for his agency and secured the building he wanted, it wouldn’t be a long commute at all. Two bedrooms was well within their budget and would allow her to have a dedicated office space for her work from home position instead of her current setup at the foot of their bed.

He didn’t realize he’d been grinning until she poked his cheek and asked an impatient, “Well?”

“Let’s apply.”

She let out a happy squeal as she threw her arms around his shoulders, kissing his face repeatedly as he tried to keep a hold on her tablet. Her grip only seemed to grow tighter the more he weakly fought her embrace.

“Katsuki, this is going to be amazing!” she laughed, kissing his temple one final time as she pulled back slightly to cuddle against him. This time he didn’t fight the embrace, instead wrapping an arm around her to keep her close.

He’d scoffed. “’Course it’ll be amazing. It’s you and me.”

“You and me,” she agreed with a smile.

He could hear her saying those words as clear as day in his memories. It had started as a joke about the first time they’d gone out alone without friends; he’d asked her if she wanted to go to a new mochi shop and she immediately went to text the rest of their friends before he stopped her, grunting, “You and me.”

After some time it just became theirs. Three words with just as much weight as I love you. It was a simple way to say more important things—“I’m here for you” and “We’re in this together” and “The two of us cannot be broken.”

It was a part of how their bond became as strong as it did, and he missed hearing it in person.

Cool, early September air was left behind as the door to his agency closed behind him. He wasn’t thrilled with the weather beginning to take a turn towards lower temperatures, knowing his quirk took longer to build up its power. As much as he hated being called a “slow starter” in the winter it wasn’t entirely untrue.

Hikari greeted him with a curt good morning as he passed her desk and slid a few papers his way without looking up. He grabbed them and in their place set down a travel mug of peppermint tea and a small blue bento, his own low mornin’ barely audible.

Making his way to his office he looked over the patrol routes for the day and the notations about the current goings-on of the areas. It was fairly run-of-the-mill with little suspected villain activity, a perfect time to allow some of the newer sidekicks and interns to tag along with his people for the day.

Surprisingly this was one of the things he enjoyed about running his own agency. Planning and strategizing were some of his strong suits despite how much he did enjoy blasting headfirst into battle when he could. But as the man in charge he liked being control of where his people were posted a lot too.

He had already decided who would be taking which patrol by the time everyone was gathered in the large conference room in their hero costumes, some more bleary-eyed than others. Mugs of coffee and tea billowed steam above the table and Kirishima’s branded shaker bottle stood taller than all of them.

Kaminari yawned lazily and Sero elbowed him in the ribs at the stern glare of their boss.

“Three sectors, little activity save for the corner tea shop on route 2B,” he started as everyone turned their eyes towards him. “Cellophane and Pinky, you two are taking the sidekicks to sector 1. Route A to Cellophane, B to Pinky. Choose your sidekicks and report it before you leave.”

The two heroes fist bumped and shot grins and thumbs up towards the sidekicks across the table from them. They were the best to get collaboration on the brain when it came to the newer recruits.

“Sector 2 goes to Red Riot and Chargebolt. Red, you’re on route A with the two interns and Chargebolt you’re taking route B so make sure that shitty shop isn’t getting worse.”

He knew that Kirishima was the perfect option for guiding the wide-eyed interns through some of their first tastes of the hero life. Plus, he was the best defense if trouble arose and backup would take time.

“I’m taking sector 3 myself. Questions?” When no one responded, he concluded, “Alright, get out there.”

Kaminari shot a smile to everyone he came across on his patrol. Chargebolt was a well-liked figure and regarded very highly as a personable hero when spotted in public. He was proud to have cultivated that good will with the people and was oftentimes the one who handled the media for the Dynamight agency alongside Kirishima, Red Riot’s popularity one of the only heroes higher than himself.

Quieter times to stop and chat with his fans were always his favorite but days like this that required more vigilance he did what he could with smiles and waves to those he saw. Even if there was only suspected villain activity at the tiny tea shop across from the mall he had to keep a close eye on it.

He tried to spend as much time as he could with the shop in view while still patrolling the rest of the route. Nothing of note caught his attention all morning and well into the afternoon.

Then the afterschool crowd and post workday crowds filled the area. He began to see a few suspicious characters that he reported back to the agency when he had a chance, but none of them gave any other indication of wrongdoing. He preferred to be thorough, though, just like Bakugo liked.

Half a dozen notes later, as the sun was low in the sky, he started to plan his evening once he got home. Jiro had the day off which meant she would spend most of it in the studio and bring home their favorite takeout. She was always in a great mood after a day in the studio too, and he loved seeing her so happy.

The tinkling bell of the tea shop’s door opening brought him from his thoughts and his gaze fell on a scraggly-haired brunette stepping into the evening air. From where he was down the street, he could see her pull the hand of a small boy to come stand by her on the sidewalk. Dark, matted hair sat atop his head and he scratched at the arm the woman held.

The closer he got the more he noticed about them—the woman’s ill-fitting dress and oversized sweater in much warmer contrast to the boy’s too short jeans and short sleeved tshirt. The boy shook from the cold and he quickened his pace, everything in him ready to shrug off his jacket and wrap the child in it while giving a few choice words to the mother.

As he approached he saw the woman’s eyes darting furiously as she hurriedly crossed towards one of the mall’s department store entrances, the boy shuffling along beside her as he went from scratching his arm to scratching his neck. Her grip on his arm looked tighter than it should be, and she walked quickly with no regard for if he could keep up with her longer strides.

Kaminari took in as many details as possibly as he began crossing too before stopping dead in his tracks in the crosswalk when the woman turned and said something to the boy. Her profile fit all of his observations in place and he tried to make himself move forward to confirm what he thought he was seeing.

By the time his body started to cooperate the duo had disappeared into the crowded department store and he was left at the door with only startled suspicions and half-formed what if scenarios in his mind. He had to tell someone, someone other than Bakugo who would surely fly off the handle on him for losing sight of the woman.

As he went to radio Kirishima, his comm came on with an incoming message from the redhead instead—“Charge, rendezvous in twenty at our starting point to head back to the agency?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed breathlessly. “Yeah, I’ll see you there.”

Kirishima nudged him in the side, concerned for his usually loud blonde friend who had barely said a word on their journey back to the agency. “Are you okay, man? You’re never this quiet.”

Kaminari chewed the inside of his cheek as he pulled on his street clothes. With a sigh he ruffled his hair with his hand before rubbing his face.

“I saw something weird on my route at the tea shop.”

“Oh damn, what happened? Did you let Bakugo know yet? You know he needs those villain updates as soon as possible.”

He waved his hands to stop the questions. “No, I didn’t tell him yet but it wasn’t… I don’t know if it was villains.”

The redhead’s eyebrows knitted together. “Then what was so weird?”

“Right before you radioed me near the end of patrol I was finishing notes on some shady people around the shop when this lady and kid stepped out. They both looked, I don’t know, greasy? And she was dressed warm while the little boy she was with was shivering in just a tshirt.”

“That’s not exactly our kind of suspicious, dude, but we can—"

“But the fact that she looked like Chiasa is suspicious!”

Kirishima froze, whispering, “What?”

He nodded. “She looked like Chiasa with longer hair.”

“With… with a kid?”

“Yeah, little dark-haired kid that kept scratching at his arms and neck. I felt so bad for the little guy, he looked so cold—”

“Kaminari, focus!” Kirishima said harshly, cutting off his rambling. “We need to tell Bakugo. Even if it’s not her, he needs this lead. He has to see it through. On the off chance it is actually her… I don’t even know how he could react.”

“Plus she has a lot of explaining to do about where she’s been,” Kaminari sighed. “It’s been so long.”

Kirishima nodded sadly. “It has, but we need to let Bakugo lead on this. Whether or not it was really her and will get him closer to finding her, I don’t know. But he needs to do this. It’s the only way for him to move forward.”

Closing their lockers, they gathered their bags and made their way to their small shared office. The day being fairly quiet aside from the two brunettes being sighted allowed them to finish their patrol reports quickly and send them to Bakugo for his review.

They knew he waited until all reports were received to begin looking them over and they had never been more grateful for Mina’s inability to focus, knowing for a fact that she was always the last person to submit her reports. Passing her still in costume talking animatedly to the sidekicks about their day let them know that this time wasn’t going to be any different. It allowed them to speak with Bakugo before he had to read the information and hopefully let them do damage control too.

Hikari was just leaving his office as they came to the doorway, a tired smile on her lips as she shuffled the papers in her hands.

Kaminari knocked on the doorframe as she passed them to head back to her desk and without looking up was called in by their friend and boss.

“What?” he grunted, continuing to loosen his gauntlets to set them aside. Unlike the rest of them he preferred to write his reports before changing completely.

Kaminari cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling Kirishima’s hand on his shoulder for support. As long as he’d known Bakugo and been on the receiving end of his temper and explosions, this had to be one of the most nerve-wracking conversations he was going to start.

“I’ve got some news from my patrol today.”

Red eyes snapped up to meet his. “Villains at the tea shop? What happened? Was it in your report? You never called for backup and I know we didn’t have anyone detained in any of our sectors.”

He spoke quickly, his shoulders tensing with each word as he prepared himself to don his gauntlets once again to find whoever was stirring up trouble in his agency’s territory.

“No, no, it was just an observation but I wanted to tell you about it in person—”

“Then spit it out!”

“I think… I think it’s possible that I saw Chiasa come out of the tea shop with a little dark-haired boy. I’m not one-hundred percent sure if it was her but it sure as hell looked like her.”

Bakugo stood rigid behind his desk. Over four years of not a single clue as to where she was or if she was safe and now she reappeared right in his agency’s backyard. If it was her.

He would pull all the surveillance he could find in the area based on Kaminari’s report and go through it with a fine-toothed comb. He would know if it were her. There was no one he knew better.

If he decided it was her then their patrol routes were about to get a shakeup and he was about to get answers years in the making. But that was for him to know, at least for now.

“I’ll review your report. Send Hikari back on your way out and I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said evenly.

The two other heroes exchanged surprised looks, expecting a much bigger reaction than a few long moments of silence. They watched him sit down and start his computer, his body language tense but not to the level they had anticipated.

“You don’t want to—”

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he repeated, eyes flicking up to see their stunned faces. He watched them blankly until they seemed to take the hint ad turned to leave.

He sat alone typing his report after making his request to Hikari to go through the proper channels for the surveillance footage he wanted and warning her that he would likely need more after reviewing Kaminari’s report. She didn’t seem to mind, letting him know that she would tell him as soon as the requested film came in.

So until then he sat in his office allowing himself to grasp onto this small straw of hope, holding tight to the first real evidence he’d had in years that he might be able to use to bring her home.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated!

Disappearance Masterlist

12 notes · View notes

bladekindeyewear · 3 years

Text

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-12-25

I’m not going to spend time BLOGGING an upd8 on Christmas morning!

...yes I am who the fuck am I kidding. (Bonus stuff and Hiveswap are still well on hold though.)

So are we gonna follow up on the main ship? Probably not, right, with that perfect Karkat point to cut away, right? We’re just going to leave Roxy’s question hanging, as well as makeouts etiquette, and leave while having seen a COUPLE FRAMES of non-possessed canon Jade with only whatever fun fanart was inspired across the internet by the moment to tide us over????

Yeah, probably.

Ugh, more Dirk. I guess it’s overdue. :(

> CHAPTER 16. Welcome to my Secret Lair

Oh huh, I guess not? So... Jane’s, or Rose and Kanaya’s?

Karkat stays for longer than John thought he would. They talk a bit, but mostly they are quiet. Eventually, Karkat gets called away on yet more important war business, leaving John with one final touch on the shoulder. John leans into it in response, though he’s a bit ashamed of chasing down a sliver of physical affection so soon after obliterating Karkat’s evening like he had.

Pretty much, yeah. Can’t blame either of them.

When Karkat is finally gone, John still doesn’t move. It isn’t as though he has nowhere else to go, since there are quite a few places he might attempt to make himself useful, for better or for worse.

You’re still abandoning the task that was explicitly yours to protect your literal kid and his friends, but, oh well. Low-point. Dave dead, house dead, broke news, I get it.

He just doesn’t feel ready for that yet. The remnants of his house are still smoldering, and he can’t stop staring at them. It would make sense, he thinks, to want to root around through the rubble for anything that’s still intact; some half-charred keepsake to claim as the last thing left that’s still his. But he doesn’t want to do it, and he doesn’t want to think about it. And he still can’t move.

Can’t move. No Breath huh? What’s going to get him to, then?

> (==>)

Oh boy, that might help. XD She’s pretty good at that.

> (==>)

Still with the waistline gap. And was his phone always yellow like his God-Tier shoes?

ROXY: hey john can u do me a quick solid ROXY: actly idk how quick itll be but its definitely solid ROXY: harry anderson says i just missed u being here but could u skip back on over?

Nice, huh! No judgment, just a hey-any-chance-you-could-swing-back. He sort of needs to be needed right now, in a simple, almost everyday non-judgmental way I guess. (That’s what he NEEDED anyway-- whether he deserved it though is up for debate.)

ROXY: i need help w/smth and yr darling boy is holed up in his room working on some fuckin craft project or other and cant be bothered

YES SEW JOHN A BETTER FITTING FUCKING OUTFIT

ROXY: and now that me and u are freshly on speakin terms again i might as well take advantage of that olive branch and put u to work ROXY: assumin you havent died in an air raid, that is ROXY: which id also be interested in knowin about so if u wld be so kind as to reply instead of leavin me hangin

Heheheh. Gosh Roxy is always the best.

JOHN: yea yea sorry im here. JOHN: i just had a hard time getting my phone out of these fucking tiny pants.

Hah.

JOHN: and also my house is bombed out so i'm kinda grappling with that. JOHN: but i honestly am not sure how much longer i need to sit around staring at it. trying to align my memories of my youth with whatever is happening right now so JOHN: short version is no i’m not dead, and yeah i can come back over there and help you out. ROXY: oh sweet yr alive and down to do manual labor its a win/win JOHN: see you soon.

Yep! Pulled away from all the metaphorical, ultra-meaningful bullshit, back to some brass tacks with some easy humor. Definitely something Roxy can do well.~

> (==>)

EXCUSE ME. What is that outfit and pose. Did you--

ROXY: sup ROXY: follow me ROXY: well were just going to my room so i guess technically u know the way JOHN: haha ok.

Did you invite him over for the manual labor of banging you while your son is sewing in the other room

Or maybe the labor is making him a new sibling. JFC

Is this plan part of why we got the sudden content warning that was mocked or was that mainly for Hiveswap

John follows, trying to shake the ominous feeling he got from what she’d just said. He’d been in and out of this house a lot in the past few days. Why should this be any different?

I DUNNO JOHN DOES THIS SEEM DIFFERENT TO YOU

> (==>)

Yea this seems like a fucc room.

JOHN: it’s not like i could forget! ROXY: ya i guess u only really saw the living room when you were here the other day but i have changed some stuff up ROXY: done a lil redecoratin here n there

So it’s MORE of a fucc room than previously >__>”

ROXY: may have to do a smidge more if my old bff decides im next on the list for bombing out ROXY: but so far so good

Ah geez.

ROXY: just a coupla exploded cars in the yard from some shenanigans our dear son and his friends were in but u kno it is what it is!!!

Well, that’ll buff out easy.

ROXY: can i get u anything? ROXY: just made some coffee JOHN: no, uh, i’m good.

Of course she has a fancy handled winecoffeeglass (and the handle does look ridiculous but it’d be too hot to hold otherwise)

Roxy shrugs and swirls her own coffee around in her novelty mug. John looks around. A lot about the room is the same. The family photos, the rug. There’s a lot more cat stuff in there now, though. The bed is new. John feels like he’s about to take a test he hasn’t studied for. He makes himself focus on what she’s saying.

That would be the feeling.

> (==>)

MY GOD. Roxy is so fucking good at this holy shit

She KNOWS she’s making him squirm and she loves it

JOHN: so uh anyway. JOHN: what was this favor? ROXY: yo why dont u just come rest yr tush for a bit ROXY: take a lil relax next 2 me here JOHN: haha uh. JOHN: roxy i uh. JOHN: im flattered, but i don’t know if that’s really the right step right now. JOHN: don’t get me wrong, everything seems so fucked up right now that when i try to think about what might actually BE the right step, it feels like a huge cartoon question mark might physically manifest over my head. JOHN: but I’m not sure if um rekindling our physical relationship is really the best--

So is Roxy trolling him, about to reveal she wasn’t thinking of sex and was just making things seem sultry? Or just had “lol jk” as an option-select, maybe.

> (==>)

ROXY: r u kiddin me rn egbert JOHN: i’m not? unless you were, in which case yeah lets say i was also kidding. JOHN: oh my god, i’m sorry, i don’t know why this making me freak out.

OH NOOO NOT THE DISDAAAAIN - CRITICAL HIT D:

ROXY: i remember our past boot knockin with fondness but that is a situation im not interested in revisiting

boot knockin XD

ROXY: look john ROXY: i was trying to be polite about it ROXY: offering u sustenance n rest n all ROXY: but you look like shit ROXY: i just wanted to catch up on the whole heinous war situation were in and maybe check in on e/o before leaping strait to the real n actual nonsexual manual labor favor i have in mind for u JOHN: oh.

Hey, she can’t help looking sexy she’s too good at it.

Is the manual labor moving the crashed cars? Can’t Roxy pull that off on her own, or... banish the cars to the void or something? (Oh, but WOULD she want to do it on her own when she can rope in John and bring him down to earth by giving him a useful task? And admittedly his strength and wallet would make things easier.)

John feels his shoulders unbunch. Of course. Yeah. He’s almost embarrassed by how relieved he feels. So what if his ex wife wanted to hook up? Shouldn’t that be a situation he could navigate? Don’t people like to find solace in human physical connection during dire times? Why did the idea of it make his mind white out in panic more than, say, any number of the traumas he just experienced?

Probably some gender stuff mixed up in there too, June.

He doesn’t know, but he believes Roxy that he must look pretty haggard. He probably feels haggard? Maybe sitting down will feel better.

Just put your feet up yeah

> (==>)

WHAT A CUTE IMAGE

JOHN: sorry. like i said, my "how to react to stuff" meter is completely fucked right now. ROXY: thats fair bud

she’s used to being patient with you don’t worry otherwise you never would’ve gotten this far

ROXY: real fast i do need to do a quick takeback of all that shit i said last time we talked about janey not being literally the most evil person we knew or whatever ROXY: i guess i was hopped up on arguin or somethin since that was before we hit our conversational vibe bc of course u were right and i shoulda listened

Ouch. Yeah, we saw just lately just how far off the deep end she was. (Where was that funny upd8 reaction art summarizing the bit where Kanaya was holding Tavros hostage and Jane was transparently debating “hmm do I let my son die?” and Kanaya and Tavros were just looking at each-other flat-mouthed nervous? I REALLY wanted to share that but I don’t usually want to reblog or put most stuff HS^2 not under a read-more, for spoiler purposes, usually.)

ROXY: im just glad ur ok ROXY: or like alive JOHN: yeah, jury's still out on "ok" but, you know. ROXY: ya ROXY: u said ur house is gone?? JOHN: yep. JOHN: completely. ROXY: jeez ROXY: i would ask how ur feelin but like the answer 2 that has got 2b "prtty bad"

Talk it ouuuut~~ get those feels out there and articulated john

JOHN: yeah. JOHN: i mean. JOHN: no? JOHN: it’s weird. JOHN: it feels like it should be a bigger deal, I guess? JOHN: like it’s my HOUSE. JOHN: but mostly it always felt like my dad’s house? JOHN: and when i started living there after i moved out of here, it was like i crammed myself back into whatever was left of my kid self? JOHN: and it didn’t feel good, but it at least was familiar, you know? JOHN: like living there let me feel closer to my dad, trying to be like the way i remember him, or like how i remember him wanting me to be, or something? JOHN: and i didn’t realize how much i hated doing that until i saw it all go up in flames. JOHN: so i guess i could have used my powers to stop the fire and save whatever was left of the place, but i couldn’t bring myself to do it. JOHN: like some fucked up part of me was glad i got there too late? JOHN: so i just sat there, watching, trying to figure out why watching my house burn down felt like i was being released from prison. JOHN: and even now i keep trying to explain it away, as though it’s because of how fucked up everything else is that it made me feel good. JOHN: but that’s just bullshit. JOHN: it DID feel good. JOHN: i DO feel free. JOHN: sorry.

I was kind of saying some Breath/Blood stuff at the time of him losing his last tie to his stubborn sticking-to-his-kid-self bit? Except now we’re mixing it in with June Egbert and his gender-identity questions too.

ROXY: no need 2 apologize ROXY: we just delved in2 my whole gender thing last time so it seems fine for u to have a turn JOHN: i didn’t say it was a gender thing.

Oh shit

ROXY: well no i just meant like i did some sharing ROXY: like referrin 2 the topic i brought up when we chatted last ROXY: but like now that u mention it ROXY: *meaningful pause* JOHN: … JOHN: i JOHN: ROXY: lol well we can move on 2 the favor part if youd rather ROXY: stick a lil pin in that topic n come back 2 it when u have had sleep

Are you just INCREDIBLY incisive Roxy or have you and John talked about this before?

ROXY: like i said the other day its not like this shits figureoutable in 1 sitting anyways JOHN: yeah... ROXY: sooooooo ROXY: movin on

It’s just fine for Roxy to slow-roll this yeah, if she’s going to pry open that door a little

ROXY: dont be mad but theres a part of the house u didnt know abt the whole time u lived here JOHN: what? ROXY: yea ROXY: i got a secret lair ROXY: for my sciences

OH FUCK YES SCIENCE LAB, of COURSE Roxy would want a cool science lab basement because she always wants a cool science lab basement

ROXY: and i get to it via a transportalizer underneath our bed ROXY: which is 2 heavy 2 move by my lonesome so i just needed to borrow some o your aforementioned powers of wind

Okay no. Wait. What the fuck?

First of all, as funny and MSPaintAdventures-y as furniture being in the way of things is, why would you block it with a bed too heavy to move, but,

Second of all, more importantly, how is a GOD-TIER ROXY not strong enough to lift a heavy bed?!?!?!? Either she’s lying to get John involved in things or this is a gendered cop-out because these characters are superheroes at the TOP of their echeladders, given obnoxiously powerful video-game strength and athletics only to then have ascended into DEITIES. God-Tier Roxy could probably have lifted a bed like that when she was SEVENTEEN! And now she’s an ADULT, out-of-shape or otherwise! If this were a whole CAR I might be willing to handwave it, but just a heavy BED?!? And none of the GUYS are going to have this much trouble lifting a bed like this, are they?? This just feels like following classic cartoony gender tropes in the complete absence of these characters’ super powers, what the fuck, and also Roxy if you didn’t make it Transportalizer-only access you could have given it an entrance you could phase through with your fancy powers to get to. FUCK.

This feels stupid.

ROXY: so if u dont mind woosh away JOHN: uh ok, well... JOHN: a secret science lair, sure, i can deal with that. JOHN: why not! JOHN: it doesn’t work out great when i do the windy thing indoors, though. ROXY: aight then no wind bending just use your mangrit

Roxy flexes, the corner of her mouth pulled up into a familiar grin. John feels his guts, so recently calmed, twist up into knots again. Her eyebrows shoot up and the smile loosens. He must have shown something on his face.

You’re already THIS sensitive about gendertalk?

ROXY: ok or just like push when i push ROXY: we both got sick muscles ROXY: no other adjectives necessary JOHN: yeah ok. ROXY: on 3?

Please, please reinforce the idea that they both have sick strength, because they fucking do and the idea that Roxy actually a hundred percent NEEDED John to do this is BS.

> (==>)

JOHN: holy shit? ROXY: sorry to lop yet another huge scoop onto ur lil brains ice cream revelation sundae JOHN: so wait, if this thing's always been under the bed, how’d you get down here before without me? ROXY: well thats neither here nor there john JOHN: i mean it is kinda. Here. ROXY: fine ok checkmate ROXY: i dont ACTUALLY need ur nerdgrit for this escapade ROXY: like im sorry but i said it ROXY: i mostly just wanted to see you and show u wats down here

THANK FUCKING CHRIST.

If that wasn’t actually just a lie to get him involved I was going to stay SO mad. Of COURSE Roxy can move a fucking BED no matter how heavy it is. OF COURSE.

ROXY: and also uve been ~sent for~ JOHN: ok but like ROXY: john i am inviting u 2 my inner sanctum ROXY: i am literally bringing out the word "sanctum" in case u werent already clued in 2 how cool this is ROXY: so do u wanna go into my secret lair or wat JOHN: yeah!? JOHN: yes? i guess? ROXY: aight good

Yes John of course you want to stop fighting it

ROXY: then as they told me in the hospital before lil h a was born ROXY: just push

eyeroll, but yeah, of course

> (==>)

Oh cool, sprite form version of her loungewear.

> (==>)

Sorry for my compulsion to post every full-frame image of Roxy in this awesome outfi-WERE YOU KEEPING CALLIOPE UNDER YOUR BED THIS WHOLE TIME?!?????

That’s like... almost a fucking metaphor isn’t it???? For the relationship you preferred in the other timeline and possibly THIS one TOO or

ROXY: hey callieee i got him ROXY: o damn john sorry i shoulda also told u callies here weve been hangin out again ROXY: 1 more freak for ur bean

Oh huh, so this isn’t an always thing. And these two can get close in more than one timeline where it would’ve worked out nicely. :)

JOHN: oh it's ok, my bean feels pretty well adjusted to freakage at this point so keep them coming if you like! ROXY: k cool i will JOHN: do i get to know what that big thing under the sheet is? ROXY: hmmmmmm no JOHN: oh ok. JOHN: are you sure? i mean, it seems like a pretty prominent feature of the room. JOHN: space. JOHN: wherever we are. ROXY: and a totally mysterious n COMPLETELY inconspicuous feature it will have to remain for now ROXY: we r kinda in a hurry here fyi ROXY: and by that i mean ROXY: we are in precisely the amount of hurry that means im excused from having to a that specific q rn JOHN: right, sorry. JOHN: i will pay no attention to the object behind the curtain. ROXY: u catch on fast egbert ROXY: anyway theres more cool info coming so just follow me

I don’t have any big theories. Is it just the Hiveswap device or something? If Calliope helped with it it’d help explain the Cherubic theme.

> (==>)

JOHN: so... this is all downstairs? JOHN: it seems like you had a lot of work done. ROXY: well no not x actly ROXY: were in the old meteor JOHN: under the house??? ROXY: ok so ROXY: in hindsight it may have been a bit misleading 2 say like ROXY: "downstairs" ROXY: in reference to a place which is hells of buried underground and may not actually be literally under the house ROXY: but there is no time to explain all that rn john so instead im going to refer u to my adorable little green friend here CALLIOPE: #U_U# ROXY: (hehe) CALLIOPE: *AHEM* CALLIOPE: hi john! CALLIOPE: long time no see. ^u^

Cherubs just really like dark cavelike places full of weird tech don’t they.

> (==>)

THEY’RE SO CUTE

JOHN: oh, uh. hey callie! JOHN: it sure has been a while huh. JOHN: now that i think about it, the last time the three of us hung out like this... CALLIOPE: was when i was aggressively third wheeling yoUr prenUptial coUrtship? CALLIOPE: if yoU dont mind, john, i'd rather not rehash that period of oUr lives. CALLIOPE: it was more than a little painfUl for me. JOHN: oh. JOHN: god, jeez, i'm sorry. i didn't mean to-- CALLIOPE: hee hee john i am only pUlling yoUr leg, don't worry. CALLIOPE: if anything i was personally a little thrilled with how things shook oUt in that respect. CALLIOPE: imagine, if yoU will, a yoUng cherUb raised in solitUde, whose only solace was the convolUted and tUmUltUoUs romantic schemata she projected onto her only friends from another Universe. CALLIOPE: and then fUrther imagine that this yoUng cherUb, throUgh varioUs even *more* convolUted contrivances, ended Up in the company of those selfsafe friends as an eqUal participant in their sphere of social discoUrse! CALLIOPE: it is a joy the like of which yoU possibly cannot fathom. u_u

Reinforcing that things turning out this way was in fact the FANTASY that Calliope was writing over in the Canon timeline. Just, heavily, HEAVILY implied that the Candy timeline is -- or at least originated as -- Calliope’s fanfiction as a Muse of Space, and its competition for audience interest with canon is the essential conflict between alt!Calliope and Dirk (or Dirk and Andrew Hussie).

CALLIOPE: so to pUt it simply, getting to experience sUch emotional drama myself was an impossibly enriching experience. CALLIOPE: possibly a first for my species! CALLIOPE: it's actUally qUite interesting, if yoU ROXY: *nudge* CALLIOPE: oh, right. yes. i'm getting a little carried away, haha. CALLIOPE: argh, i'm sorry, this is not how i planned to begin this vital conversation.

Vital conversation? What sorta truth-bombs are coming?

CALLIOPE: but to sUmmarise, what i was trying to say is: CALLIOPE: don't beat yourself Up aboUt it john. CALLIOPE: besides, hUman divorces are even more fascinating than i had ever imagined, and being able to witness yoUrs in motion was an honoUr. CALLIOPE: so i consider Us aboUt even at this point. JOHN: hahaha!!! JOHN: okay, well that's good to know! CALLIOPE: ^u^

Holy SHIT that was savage! And we’ll NEVER know whether or not she really intended it so savagely, either.~

JOHN: so um... JOHN: i hear that there's this big secret thing you wanna tell me about? CALLIOPE: oh right, yes of course! CALLIOPE: let me jUst say first of all how thrilled i am that yoU're on board. CALLIOPE: i wasn't sUre if yoUr natUral inclinations woUld have preclUded yoUr coming to such a place as this, and yet here yoU are. CALLIOPE: this whole endeavoUr will be *so* mUch easier with yoUr help.

Uh oh.

Hopefully babies aren’t involved.

JOHN: oh! well, shucks. JOHN: not really sure what that means but i'm just glad to be of use somewhere, haha. JOHN: which, speaking of somewhere, CALLIOPE: ah right, right. yoU're probably a little cUrioUs as to where the dickens we are. CALLIOPE: how much do yoU know aboUt black holes? JOHN: um... like, the big space things? CALLIOPE: they aren't always big actUally, and in fact their relative smallness is practically their defining qUality. JOHN: oh. CALLIOPE: bUt okay i think we are on the same page. CALLIOPE: so, what if i told yoU that we are inside of a black hole right now.

Oh dear, we’re getting into the canon/noncanon divide?

JOHN: um... JOHN: like, HERE? JOHN: we just transportalized into a black hole? CALLIOPE: no, i mean, what if oUr whole WORLD was inside a black hole. JOHN: ok.

Yeah, that’s gonna be John’s reaction. “ok.” Pretty much inevitable.

CALLIOPE: earth c, or at least oUr version of it, has, from the moment we crossed the victory threshold, been inside a black hole. JOHN: ok. CALLIOPE: and not just any black hole, bUt the very black hole in which the green sUn Ultimately met its demise, allowing oUr victory in the first instance! JOHN: huh! ROXY: ("huh!") ROXY: (rofl my fucking ao egbert) JOHN: (shhhh!)

And Roxy enjoys his non-reaction reactions as much as we do, hehe.

CALLIOPE: bUt, paradoxically, the critical moment which determined its capture within the black hole happened *after* that point. CALLIOPE: i refer of coUrse to yoUr decision not to retUrn to the mediUm and fight my brother. JOHN: wait, wait. JOHN: you mean, the meat and candy thing? JOHN: oh my god. JOHN: you mean i actually DID make a mistake that day. CALLIOPE: well, that's not exactly what that-- JOHN: ugh, i fucking KNEW it! JOHN: i'm so sorry. JOHN: i'm so sorry that i put the earth inside a black hole everyone. ): ROXY: john ROXY: listen ROXY: u have got to get out of this mindset i am begging you JOHN: ):

Yeah shake him out of this shit.

ROXY: your choice literally didnt matter ROXY: the whole thing was symbolic in the first place ROXY: literally symbolic in the case of the picnic i mean come on ROXY: it was just some steak and a plate of candy suckers JOHN: oh. CALLIOPE: i mean, i wouldn't go so far as to say that the meal we shared was unimportant, given the sacred significance of the two options i presented. CALLIOPE: but yes, yoUr choice of snack was infinitely less important than the choice which it presaged. CALLIOPE: and even then, calling it a choice woUld be sorely misleading. CALLIOPE: think of it like a coin flip. CALLIOPE: the series of events that led to Us being trapped beyond the event horizon of an Ubermassive black hole could be considered "tails", while the events which would have occUrred otherwise could be considered "heads". CALLIOPE: since both were possible, and paradox space is the way it is, they actUally both happened. and we jUst "happened" (hee hee) to get tails instead of heads. JOHN: you mean we ended up with the bad possibility. CALLIOPE: not at all! since both possibilities depend on one another's existence, it really doesn't make sense to call them "right" or "wrong". they both just "are". JOHN: o...kay... CALLIOPE: u_u

Yeah, it’s going to take a bit more than that to convince him he didn’t make the “wrong decision”.

CALLIOPE: i realise that this may be a lot to process. CALLIOPE: it's easy to forget that this wasn't obvioUs to everyone from the beginning. CALLIOPE: anyway, the reason i went on this tangent in the first place was to explain that the space we are standing in right now has a special significance, in that it is the location which corresponds to the black hole's singUlarity. JOHN: oh, wow. JOHN: um. JOHN: ok so, sorry if this is a dumb question to ask suddenly, but what does being inside of a black hole actually... mean for us? JOHN: is that bad? JOHN: is it like in movie, um, JOHN: shoot. JOHN: roxy what was that matthew mcconaughey movie from your earth that we watched? ROXY: u mean interstellar JOHN: RIGHT. JOHN: the one with the organ. JOHN: man. i cried at that movie so much. ROXY: lol u can say that again ROXY: iirc at least part of y u got so weepy was the fact that u couldnt believe a version of earth existed where ppl got 2 watch more mcconaughey films than you JOHN: listen. JOHN: i simply don't think you all appreciated the gift you were given. CALLIOPE: i don't believe i'm familiar with this particular film ^u^;; ROXY: oh dont worry cal you didnt miss much JOHN: (gasp)

This is all gold

ROXY: but the important point is that no its not really an interstellar type situation here egbert ROXY: ur not gonna enter a weird time vortex and change the trajectory of a little girls life with the power of love JOHN: aw.

Dammit, now we have to be on the lookout for that possibility. Or it did sort of already happen more than once to John. ...Whatever.

CALLIOPE: to go back to your original question, john. CALLIOPE: it's not strictly speaking "bad" for Us to be inside of a black hole, mUch thoUgh that contradicts most of what anyone knows about them. CALLIOPE: of coUrse, if we had fallen into it, that woUld be a whole other kettle of fish. CALLIOPE: the tidal forces woUld have stretched Us all into spaghetti and then ripped us apart! CALLIOPE: bUt the natUre of oUr arrival was more akin to simply "being" here, sUddenly. one moment we were not, and the next moment we were, and somehow always had been. CALLIOPE: in everyday, practical terms, being inside of a black hole has very little bearing on Us. CALLIOPE: i mean, the natUre of space and time is a little finicky in here, bUt for the most part it doesn't seem to be anything too oUt of the ordinary. CALLIOPE: bUt beyond that, it means that we are sealed away from the rest of existence. CALLIOPE: oUr sphere of inflUence is limited to the sphere of the black hole's bounding horizon. CALLIOPE: as far as everyone else is concerned, we might as well not even exist! JOHN: is there no way we could let anyone know that we're in here...? CALLIOPE: almost certainly not!

No? So this doesn’t have to do with the divide?

CALLIOPE: there are very few ways for anything to escape the kind of predicament that we are in right now. one of them is to be an all-powerfUl being with control over the very fabric of space, with the energy of two Universes at yoUr disposal. CALLIOPE: in which case, escape woUld become rather trivial, if a little Unscientific. JOHN: ok. i am going to assume that we can't just do that. CALLIOPE: yoU've hit the nail on the head, UnfortUnately. U_U CALLIOPE: the method i described was the one employed by my alternate self, who yoU may recall crashed through the event horizon in the body that once belonged to jade harley. CALLIOPE: she departed through a pUnctUre she created in the black hole's surface shortly after consUming my brother, a deed which provided her with the necessary "oomph", and which was frankly rather breathtaking to watch. =u= CALLIOPE: bUt Upon her departUre, the rift closed for good. as far as i can see, there's simply no way for Us to commUnicate with the world oUtside the black hole.

What the heck? Calliope SAW all this? Is this her Muse powers at work, letting her observe these things, or was she there? And John certainly did NOT see ANY of what Calliope just said happen.

CALLIOPE: i woUld certainly be very sUrprised to find oUt that anyone had managed sUch a thing!

So we’re going to find that out if we haven’t already. Maybe something to do with the way Vrissy just conks out narcoleptically?

JOHN: ...right. JOHN: so... let me just get this straight. JOHN: knowing that we're inside of a black hole... does that actually change anything? JOHN: like, can't we just go on living like normal? CALLIOPE: oh absolUtely not. CALLIOPE: i don't know if yoU've noticed john bUt this world is on the brink of a total cataclysm. JOHN: oh.

Um, what?

CALLIOPE: oUr exclUsion from the overarching coUrse of events which governs all reality means that oUr existence here is liable to dramatic and violent Upheaval. CALLIOPE: to pUt it another way, becaUse nothing in here "matters", we are likely to be sUbjected to things which are a bit bats in the belfry, for no reason other than it's totally insignificant to the wider canon of reality. CALLIOPE: and mUch thoUgh i am personally titillated by some of the conseqUences of this predicament, it is a degrading way for Us to live. u_u JOHN: that's... certainly one way to put it, yeah...

No plot-armor for your entire timeline, I guess, yep. Outside of canon, we can imagine and write about ANYTHING happening to the characters, or just drop their existence entirely, much like a doomed offshoot timeline. It’s a plot stability that depended heavily on the threat of Lord English and being trapped in a story, and without it things are bound to see a BIT chaotic (or “degrading” if you view it as subjected to the whims of fanfic writers, certainly).

CALLIOPE: at first, i believed that this was simply necessary. Us playing tails to oUr coUnterparts' heads, the black to their white, and so forth. CALLIOPE: bUt over the years i have come to the conclUsion that this is simply not kosher. ROXY: its total bs is what it is CALLIOPE: right, yes. CALLIOPE: a steaming pile of bUllshite. CALLIOPE: and so we have decided that something needs to be done aboUt it.

Ah fuck. You’re going to regulate non-canon? “Canonize” it? Is the fact that you eventually succeed at whatever it is you’re trying to do part of why we have the story presented to us in this bifurcated structure?

ROXY: this is finally where u come in jegbert ROXY: we gots quests for yous CALLIOPE: hee hee, yes. CALLIOPE: or *a* quest, to be specific. JOHN: oh boy! ROXY: (this fkin nerd i s2g)

Roxy and Calliope setting him on this quest as a Rogue of Void and a Muse of Space feels fitting.

JOHN: i'm not sure how i can go about freeing us from a hellish space prison, but i'm up for giving it a try i guess? JOHN: i have... literally nothing better to be doing at this point. except for maybe hanging out with harry anderson. ROXY: nice save lol

YEAH WE’RE STILL GLOSSING OVER HOW YOU LEFT HIM UNPROTECTED, JERK

ROXY: but u dont need to worry abt busting us outta space jail tbh ROXY: thats not ur problem to fix JOHN: oh. JOHN: i'm... not sure i follow, then. ROXY: i mean yeah ur gonna obvs facilitate it in a sense ROXY: but only by going and busting the person who can actually help us outta normal earth jail CALLIOPE: we need yoU to free vriska from the clUtches of oUr misgUided friend jane, and bring her here, to the singUlarity. ROXY: weve been calling it the plot point CALLIOPE: yes, the plot point is a key part of oUr plan. CALLIOPE: as far as we have been able to sUrmise, the only remaining method for escaping oUr grim confinement depends on leveraging the UniqUe properties of this location to create an event of sUch catalcysmic proportions that it simply cannot be contained within the black hole any more. CALLIOPE: something SO dramatic, so hyper-relevant, that it becomes ontologically impossible for anyone to ignore it. CALLIOPE: for that, we need an individUal of sUfficient narrative cloUt, so to speak. CALLIOPE: and to liberate her, who better than the embodiment of the aspect of freedom itself? CALLIOPE: ... CALLIOPE: phew. okay, i'm finished. CALLIOPE: CALLIOPE: sorry, that took longer than i expected to go throUgh.

..............................

OOooooh, kay.

Whatever this is, it’s going to be really weird and PROBABLY infuriating and/or shippy, and I’m probably not going to like it. Plus it seems like it’s some sort of inverse belated canonization of some other black-hole-rescue theories I went on about at some point. Although, related to that link, “aspect of freedom” if anyone wasn’t paying attention! That’s a (sorta-)canon mention of the purpose of it!

They’re going to attention-wh-- attention-hog themselves out of the black hole so that they’re “considered canon” too, or close enough. Huh.

ROXY: what r u talking about cals that was great ROXY: i could listen 2 u plotsplain for years CALLIOPE: oh you >u< ROXY: fyi this was why i wanted u to get a move on eggbread ROXY: so callie could have more time 2 infodump ROXY: thats love bitchhhhhh JOHN: hahaha. JOHN: ok, well, i think i understood all that?

Love with who? Callie, John, both?

In reality, John isn’t sure what most of this means. But on balance, it feels okay? He’s gone back and forth about a hundred times in the last week about where his place in everything is, so he might as well ride this out. Plus, the last time a Lalonde kind of told him to do something, he thinks that he chose not to, and look where that got him. And it’s not like he has other plans. He may as well do this! It’s at least going to get him involved in things again, if nothing else. He turns to go, and then hears a sound. It’s the sound of feet and knocking on doors, echoed through stone and digital static.

Oh shit. Is Andrew trapped behind some fourth walls behind the curtains.

> (==>)

Oh RIGHT also that DEVICE is where they want to bring Vriska. Are they going to overturn part of canon itself with a super-retcon thus making this timeline unbelievably relevant or--? Maybe make all the PESTERQUESTS canon or something?! I don’t know. Maybe they’re INTENTIONALLY starting the game like Vriska wanted to??????

Guh, this is something so big that I don’t WANT to theorize about it, do I.

JOHN: did you hear that? ROXY: wha ROXY: oh yeah uh ROXY: i may have messaged rose and kan and jade to check on them too ROXY: so its prob onea them showin up ROXY: they don’t need to know bout all this tho ROXY: we got time to chat with them b4 u go get vriska

No, even if it’s a knock at the somehow-top-level-house-even-under-buried-- oh, right, maybe it’s covering in part a monitoring system that looks up there. But still, part of that sound was DOUBTLESS these two hiding something, all standing in front of the curtain like that.

JOHN: i’ll go stall em. ROXY: thx babe ROXY: oh is it 2 soon for that joke or JOHN: no, weirdly enough, that one’s fine. ROXY: oh good ok see u up there soon!

How is calling your significant other “babe” not cool REGARDLESS of gender?! Like wasn’t that always cool? --Oh wait is it because they’re not together or... but... guh, I don’t know.

Anyway, see y’all after the holidays at least.

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #Homestuck^2 #spoiler #spoilers #Roxy Lalonde #John Egbert #Calliope

17 notes · View notes

the-resurrection-3d · 3 years

Text

so what was ever good about acotar anyway?

For some reason, I’ve been very tempted to reread ACOTAR lately, and so I’m going to just make a quick list of what I remember specifically endearing the book to me back when I first read it in 2016 so we can compare notes later. This will, however, also include some retroactive criticisms now that we’re four years on from ACOWAR ruining everything forever.

Twigger warnings for discussions of abuse, csa and neglect, as well as me using my complimentary R Slur Pass.

For some context:

>Be 18yr me in 2016.

>Be in your first semester at college.

>Be so fed up with YA romance that you avoid books just for hinting at them in the summary.

>Be also brainstorming a series with your roommate called The Cuckmaster Saga.

This is probably going to sound embarrassing, but I’m being completely sincere when I say that part of why this book excited me was simply the novelty of finding a YA romance book that I liked.

I’d fallen out hard with YA in general by this point in my life, partially because of a string of fairy tale “retellings” that clearly gave zero fucks about the source material beyond using the iconography in its marketing. Folklore had been my special interest for a while, and my excitement for the series and all its little extra niche references coincided with finally getting to study folklore in a true academic setting.

Which leads me to point one:

I love the idea of combining BatB and the Tam Lin ballad. I know some people have complained about this, but honestly, I enjoyed finding a retelling that mimicked the mix-and-match structuring of a lot of folktales. ACOTAR isn’t even the messiest or least coherent mash-up by a huge margin. Unfortunately, this aspect of the series severely lessened as it went along — remember when we all thought ACOWAR was going to be a Snow White retelling and then there was just one scene with poisoned apples? Lmao.

[If anyone wants an author who does YA mash-ups that are actually YA, I’d recommend Rosamund Hodge, whose books are always interesting in their sheer weirdness even when the story itself slightly falters. I mean, I wrote a whole 20-page thesis on her Red Riding Hood/Maiden Without Hands retelling and still didn’t cover everything I had thoughts on. (Tragically, however, I must inform you all that she is a Catholic Reylo. Rest in pepperoni.)]

It is fucking hilarious in retrospect that SJM clearly knows a bunch of different folktales and folkloric creatures but thinks it’s believable for shadowsinger powers to have no theorized origin “even [in] the rich lore of the warrior-people” (ACOFAS 65). Bro fuck outta here.

But this leads into point two — Feyre and her family. It’s very obvious that SJM based Nesta and Elain’s dynamic with Feyre off the common folktale trope of having the youngest sibling be the only competent person in the room (and Katniss Everdeen). I thought it was honestly a lot of fun to see this trope done with some interiority; you can practically hear Feyre seethe about what useless hoes her sisters are between every line. I genuinely giggled through these parts on my initial readthrough.

I’ve seen some people complain that Nesta and Elain’s behaviors aren’t realistic in this situation, but au contraire! Nesta and Elain’s actions in book one are (...almost) perfectly realistic. Without revealing too much, my grandmother grew up in poverty with a few older sisters, and yet my great-grandmother would make her do all the work and constantly force her to give up her possessions (like her car) to the older sisters whenever they wanted them. Even to this day, when they’re all in their 70s and 80s, one of these sisters still relies on my grandma to do basic shit like balancing her checkbooks. I’ve also observed similar dynamics play out plenty of times between an adult child and an overindulgent parent, with people literally ruining their lives and bodies all for the sake of sitting at home all day buying furry porn off the internet.

Nesta and Elain are basically the psychology of this type of person split in two — Elain the soft, delicate, perpetually victimized front they put on for the world, and Nesta the ice-cold, bitter, and aggressive bitch they truly are.

Honestly, the only thing I would change about this set-up is either keep Ma Archeron alive or give Papa Archeron more personality than a plank of damp wood. What’s truly missing here is a parental figure enforcing this fucked up dynamic — I don’t remember it being clear that Feyre’s always had this role, just that she took it on after her mom’s death. Making it clear that Feyre’s always been forced to be this way — alongside giving the mom more characterization — would have gone a long way towards making this dynamic feel more realized and less like the narrative using trauma and pity as a shortcut towards reader engagement.

Then again, that would require SJM to have a female villain in this series who isn’t a rapist, and quotes I’ve seen floating around from ACOSF make it pretty clear SJM doesn’t know same-gender sexual abuse even exists.

Anyway.

Point Three (or rather 2B): Feyre realizing she doesn’t have to hang around her family just because she feels obligated to love them was a fucking banger. I loved it so much; having a story, especially a YA story, that showed you aren’t obligated to love a family that treats you like shit was so special to me. Especially since I was also leaving my family for the first time, and going home to visit them every other weekend felt like being hit point-blank with a Psyduck blast.

Thankfully, my relationship with my family has gotten a lot better, but I’m still really disappointed that Nesta and Elain were forced back into the story, rather than them reaching out to Feyre and making amends because they wanted to do better. The closest we got to this was the revelation that Nesta almost made it to the Border by herself after Feyre was taken, which was definitely badass, but also unfortunately the only Nesta scene I’ve liked in this entire fucking series. If SJM was going to force Feyre to regress into being Nesta and Elain’s tardwrangler again, then she should have followed up on Amren’s line in ACOWAR that Feyre treats Nesta and Elain the way Tamlin treated her.

“I asked them to help once—and look what happened. I won’t risk them again.”

Amren snorted. “You sound exactly like Tamlin.”

[. . .] and I said, “She’s right.” (169-170).

But I’m sure everyone who’s read ACOSF knows how well that’s going.

Point Four: the femindhjdfhfdh I can’t even write that with a straight face. I mean let’s be real, I too enjoy seeing female characters I like become queens and all that other stuff, but it was clear to me even on my initial reading of ACOMAF that it was all shallow and designed to help delineate good guys from bad guys without much in the way of nuance. It certainly took me out of the experience a little, but at least it ties into the books’ themes of recovering from abuse and shacking up with a Certified Women Respecter.

My actual point four: Truthfully I only bought this series for the meme of having the first shitty love interest getting cucked in the second book. ACOWAR gave me some complicated feelings on Tamlin, and I honestly think he should have just stopped appearing in the series after that — BUT, having him be dragged back in once per book just to call him a cuck and cockslap him around a little bit is fucking hilarious. Pointless! But hilarious.

I also think that this kind of arc is a great critique of the standard “happily ever after,” acknowledging that in real life, you’re much more likely to just pass from one abusive household to another because you don’t know what healthy love, communication, and boundaries are. (Arguably many folktales are the fantasies of women who are well aware of this reality but want to imagine a world that’s otherwise). I definitely have a lot of problems with SJM’s claims of “sex positivity,” but acknowledging that Feylin used sex as a means of avoiding communication was another great touch.

I wish that this whole King of Hybern shit was completely cut just to focus on these themes more; it’s very clear SJM only included it because fantasy series = BIG EPIC WORLD-ENDING STAKES!! I've read maybe ten pages of Throne of Glass, so I can't speak for how she handles epic fantasy there, but I know for me and a lot of other stans, the Hybern plot had licherally nothing to do with what we liked and connected to in these books.

But I must soften here, because I totally empathize with feeling like big stakes are “necessary” for a fantasy story and that no one would want to read your books without them. YA fantasy is the reason why TV Tropes coined the term “romantic plot tumor,” after all. (Source: I’m making shit up.)

What else… what else… uhhhhh. I think that might be it, at least for substantial things I don’t have to qualify too much. I of course have plenty of little things I used to like but have now been tainted because ACOWAR ruined everything forever and ACOFAS danced on the graves (such as how I liked Lucien but everyone in the books shits on him now to the point it’s stopped being funny). But this post is too long anyway.

#long post #anti sjm #abuse tw #csa tw #r slur #neglect tw #what's been eating feyre archeron?

10 notes · View notes

arseneiic · 3 years

Text

Short, sweet, and to the point. Follow these rules and we all have a great time.

1. Mutuals only. I must be following you and you must be following me. Only those that I follow can like starter calls, send in character asks, and reply to posts.

1a. I will not interact with non-Mutuals, that includes asks, unless it’s done anonymously and it doesn’t have a url attached. Anyone who breaks this rule will get about a few pardons but after that will be blocked.

2. My time is limited here in what I can do. This means that I am very selective in what I reply to. Doesn’t necessary mean that I am ignoring anyone. Some days I reply to everything and everyone, others I am so burnt out from irl things or work that I just lurk and do the bare minimum. My mental health and well-being comes before anything else.

2a. Replies vary by length and time. I normally work eight to ten hours a day and experience a lot of exhaustion. Unless I don’t see a thread or an ask going anywhere and publicly make a post saying it’s been dropped, consider everything as pending / will do ASAP. Memes are okay to send in late unless it clearly states, not accepting. My timezone is Eastern Standard Time or EST. United States is where I am located at. I am usually online from 10 PM EST to 3 AM EST unless it’s a day off from work, which the online time will vary from 12 PM EST to 3 AM EST.

2b. Role-playing is a hobby, not a job. Do not pester me for replies or asks to be answered. I am not obligated to owe anyone anything on this website. I am human and can’t cater to everyone’s needs. Being persistent here is not going to make me answer yours faster than other people.

2c. Don’t follow, unfollow, and then refollow my blog. It’s not going to make me want to follow you back, ever. It’s annoying and no one is being crafty by doing that. If you continue to do this and it isn’t a tumblr glitch, I will be inclined to block and possibly report for spam.

3. If you do need to break mutuals with me, HARD BLOCK my blog. Don’t just UNFOLLOW or SOFT BLOCK because chances are that I could mistakenly follow you again. And that’s something we both don’t want since it would be quite awkward.

3a. I have the right to unfollow whoever I want to and so do you. Please don’t go on a hunt and try to guilt trip me into following you back again. Just don’t. I can and will tell you the reason why I unfollowed you but other than that, just let me leave in peace.

3b. Personal blogs and non RP blogs will be blocked on site. Please, if you have a side blog let me know through asks so I don’t accidentally block you. IMs are not a good way to let me know since they are closed for non-mutuals.

4. Duplicates are welcomed to follow me. The more the merrier. I do not suffer from same muse anxiety and encourage any of the same muse to follow me. Only request is that you don’t steal my headcanons, edits or icons. Other than that, we should all be able to have a good time. I’m always up for twin verses or alternate universes shenanigans.

4a. Original Characters are allowed to follow me. However, they need to be a little flesh out before I make a decision to follow them back or not. Just a small backstory or biography is all that I need. Headcanons also work if there isn’t an about page but must have about one page worth for me to consider following.

4b. Crossover Characters from other shows are allowed to follow me but I must know about said muse or else I’ll have a hard time whether to follow or not. Few fandoms I won’t interact with because I have no interest in these series are: Avatar the Last Airbender, Avatar the Legend of Korra. ( more to be added ).

5. I am a multi-ship blog. Arsene himself is ageless but his physical form is around 25 when he became a shadow / persona / demon and as such, I will only be shipping him romantically with muses around the 20s to 30s range. Some threads may get a little spicy but nothing that requires a ‘do not read at work’ type of posts. I will tag those post that are suggestive with a ‘spicy: tw & spicy for ts’ and ‘Looks like someone needs proper punishment’ for blacklisting purposes.

5a. I am open to all kinds of ships, not just romantic ones. I also enjoy platonic, rivalry, and familiar bonds. All ships are open to discussions through my IM(s) or otherwise known as Instant Messenger. Chemistry is key. As long as we interact a little, there’s always the chance that both muses can be in a relationship.

6. Things for you to tag for me are: BIRDS, CHAIN LETTERS, ORGANS, DOGS. For the birds and dogs, just in real life ones trigger me. I am fine with cartoon / art / video game ones as they are not real.

6a. Things I’ll tag for you: BLOOD, GORE, DEATH, BODY HORROR, EYE HORROR, INSECTS, MAGGOTS, BRUISES, SCARS, GUNS, KNIVES, CLOWNS. If there are anything I missed that you want tagged, please let me know through IM(s).

7. I am over the age of eighteen. However, I refuse to write smut as I am not comfortable with that subject to begin with. Please never force me to write this with you and if you keep sending things to me in this type of nature, I will report you, no questions asked.

7a. If I see any form of hate and I find out it was you that sent it, I will immediately BLOCK you. No questions asked. Life is too short to send unwanted hate, anon or not. All anon hate and hate towards me and my characters ( s ) in general will be reported and then blocked, no questions asked.

8. My pen name on here is SERE. Obviously, that is not my real name but it’s what I go by. It’s short for ‘Serena’, the English name that DIC gave Usagi Tsukino in the Americanized version of Sailor Moon. It’s pronounced; SIR-REE.

9. I am not a meme source. If you need to reblog a meme from my blog and don’t plan to send me anything, reblog from the source. I hardly get asks as it is, and for you to just use me as a meme source puts a bad taste in my mouth and I feel like I’m being used, which isn’t a good feeling. If you wonder if you should send in a meme to me, please do. I love getting asks. I do hoard them from time to time like a dragon hoards treasure but I do get to them eventually. The more memes / asks, the merrier.

9a. Feel free to turn inbox replies into threads. Just remember to make separate post when replying. Do not reblog threads not meant for you and don’t reblog my headcanons. It’s okay to reblog my asks though if you want them to be keepsakes on your own blog. Also, it’s alright to reblog musings and images from me.

10. I rather not be bothered by callout posts and any potential drama that might accumulate. I am just here to have fun and I hope everyone else can too. Life is too short to spend on certain things that don’t matter in the long run. If I see multiple call out posts from you in a single day or that’s all you post, I will quietly unfollow you.

11. Out of character posts will be on here from time to time. Mostly talking about life in general or me venting once in a great while. If this annoys you, please remember that this is my blog, not yours. You are welcomed to unfollow / block at any time.

11a. The best way to interact with me is to send memes / asks / inbox things. I am always up for unprompted things in my inbox. Also, my instant messenger is always open if someone needs to contact me out of character or to plot something. Don’t hesitate to talk to me. I will try my best to respond.

11b. Not interacting after a month or two with me and my blog will make me silently unfollow you or result in a soft block. Or if you don’t interact with me at all, even out of character. Also, if you are gone for more than 6 months, I consider your blog inactive and will probably assume that you aren’t going to return.

12. I’m really laid-back in nature so don’t feel pressure to reply to anything I send to you. I understand that life happens and that sometimes you just need to unwind from the stress of daily life.

13. For pronouns; either SHE/HER or THEY/THEM is okay with me. My orientation is DEMIROMANTIC ASEXUAL. I love anime, manga, video games, music, drawing, and writing. If you read all of this, then thank you! I won’t ask for passcodes but please still try to remember these at some point. That’s all I ask. <3.

( rules may be updated from time to time so please check here once in awhile. I will also post when these are updated as well ).

#long post: tw #rules;;#laws;;#mobile rules;;#mobile laws;;

2 notes · View notes

the-wlw-cafe · 3 years

Text

[E]nnui - a 2BA2 fanfic

Warnings: Self-harm, self-destructive behaviour, heavily implied suicidal ideation - there’s comfort in there too I swear!

Read it on ao3 here!

Another piece of her skin had come loose near her hips. It had to have happened a while ago, judging by the dust and dirt clinging to the adhesive on its underside. She hadn’t noticed it back then, being occupied with fighting for her life, the misery, the toil and pain and the war . But now, after the end of it all? Nothing would take her mind off it. She’d catch herself absent-mindedly tugging at the loose piece every now and then, or rather, Pod would catch her and admonish her in his usual robotic manner.

Alert: Continuing to irritate the area will cause further damage to unit A2. Proposal: Stop.

And he was right, of course, but that just made her want to throw a brick at him all the more.

(She also hadn’t noticed when she’d switched to referring to Pod as he instead of it, but he didn’t call attention to the change and she’d rather die than admit she th ought of him as anything but an annoyance.)

Well, Pod wasn’t here now. Being assigned to two units, he usually split his time between monitoring 2B and herself, or sometimes the pods just headed out by themselves to do God knows what. Maybe there was a part of A2 that wondered what they were up to, a part of her that might have been curious enough to ask about it lifetimes ago, but now? The task of having to ask and listen to a reply seemed insurmountable.

Shit, she really needed to trash something. Before, whenever such thoughts threatened to overtake her, she’d simply pick a fight with the first machine she saw, rinse and repeat until she was too exhausted to continue on or move or even think. But of course even that was taken from her as the machines were gone now. Not physically gone, of course, they were still dotted throughout the landscape, but they were empty. Just vacant shells, unmoving, staring off into space.

“They’re among the stars now”, 9S had said, as if that would explain anything. A2 hadn’t had the energy to ask for clarification. They kept their distance from each other anyway, since being in the other android’s presence dredged up emotions and red hot flashes of pain pain pain she no longer had a release for.

The sound of tools scraping and metal being torn and bent drifted to her from way down below. She came up here often now, to the window where she’d first awoken again. It was a long way down, and not for the first time she wondered whether the pods had placed her there intentionally. A second chance, and an easy way to refuse the gift. Again and again she found herself drawn to this spot, looking down until the instincts she was programmed with to keep her body safe flooded her system with dizziness that forced her to back away from the window. She used to feel so far away from everything here, but apparently, the real world had forced itself even into this space. The resistance had begun scrapping the empty machines down for parts, and even though she’d tried to help them initially just to have something to do, once she was actually faced with one of the shells, still faintly whirring with the machinery still ticking away in the rusty chassis but at the same time nothing going on inside, she felt like vomiting. An echo of the time she’d shared a mind with 2B, she supposed, she’d looked into the machine’s unseeing eyes and seen Pascal, seen the children, and she just couldn’t…

With an abrupt sting of pain she realized she’d been doing it again, finding that loose piece of skin and mindlessly tugging, only this time, Pod wasn’t here to tell her off. She gritted her teeth against the sting and began pulling, watching with an almost morbid fascination as the skin peeled to reveal more of the black exoskeleton underneath –

“Stop that.”

The sudden interruption startled A2 enough to actually obey, letting go of the abused patch of skin as if it had burned her. She turned towards the newcomer, one hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her sword she no longer had a use for. She relaxed incrementally when she found that it was 2B who’d snuck up on her, her hand uselessly coming to rest at her side. She wasn’t at ease, she figured she hadn’t been at ease since the day she was fabricated, but something about the combat model seemed to calm her – a sentiment she would have laughed at weeks ago, given the many times 2B had been sent to execute her only for A2 to destroy her again and again, each time coming closer and closer to defeat as 2B profited from combat experience while her own body degraded. But there was no way of sharing a mind, memories and decades of pain with another person without retaining some familiarity after the fact.

It was difficult to see the unfiltered version of 2B she’d experienced through her memories in the carefully schooled expression of the android in front of her. The version A2 had experienced loved fiercely, cared deeply, and was hurt beyond measure, but the 2B she saw now let almost none of that show. Calm, collected. The very model of a YoRHa executioner. A2 didn’t have to ask why 2B still saw the need to guard her expression so thoroughly. After all, it was the same reason why A2 cleaned and sharpened her weapons every day with more care than she’d ever afforded her own body, or why 9S had taken to painstakingly record ing all of his memory, each minute detail of e very day he experienced with pen and paper and was keeping this treasury of memories hidden under his pillow.

“You need maintenance”, 2B stated, taking tentative steps closer and, when A2 didn’t object, sat down beside her. She didn’t look at her, instead fixating on some point in the distance, beyond the grey husks of concrete buildings leaning heavily against each other, as if they might collapse at any moment. Her voice betrayed no emotion, but the faint golden glow of the lunar tear tucked neatly above her ear said otherwise, said it’d suit your stylish looks, said thank you for the flowers, said desert roses are beautiful, aren’t they. The grief A2 felt upon these echoes flashing through her mind might as well have been her own. They’d both lost so, so many people, and yet they were still here, alive even after having literally died. It was almost funny. Almost.

“Nah, I’ll be fine”, A2 said, “I’ve survived this long even with machines looking to destroy me at every turn, I won’t fall apart now.”

2B made a non-committal sound, and a long stretch of silence followed. A2 had to stifle an irrational urge to laugh, because for two people who literally had their minds melded at some point, they sure were bad at communicating. But the silence continued, gaping, deafening, and a strange anxiety rose in A2, a compulsion to fill it with something, anything, even though she knew that no words could ever do justice to the things she longed to express, the things that bubbled and churned inside her like a vile acid she needed to expel.

“I miss it.”

A2 was almost surprised that she had spoken. She might have been inclined to believe it was a hallucination caused by one of the many glitches she’d contracted over decades of neglect of maintenance, if 2B hadn’t turned to look at her, head slightly inclined to the side, encouraging her to go on.

Well, shit. The rat was out of the bag now, or whatever the humans used to say, so there was no point in backing down. A2 leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh, craning her neck to stare at the webbing of cracks along the ceiling, because making herself vulnerable was hard enough without looking into 2B’s face and seeing whatever pity or disdain she might be too slow to hide.

“I mean, the fighting. Always being on the move. Never having a moment of quiet, never having a moment alone with your own thoughts. I was so busy surviving that I didn’t have the time to ask myself why I was surviving in the first place. I think it was spite, mainly”, she added with a mirthless chuckle that sounded hollow in the empty room. “But now, with YoRHa gone and the war over, there’s nobody left to spite, and that leaves me with…”

She didn’t voice the nothing that was on the tip of her tongue, but it hung over them like a heavy, suffocating blanket nonetheless. Truly, how selfish was she, to prefer the never-ending suffering of the war over this peace, this chance for Anemone and her people to build something new, something substantial. She didn’t dare to open her eyes and face whatever 2B must be thinking of her, and this was new too: She cared now, cared what others thought of her, because now she ha d people with opinions to care about.

And yet, the silence continued, the tension reaching a fever pitch until A2 could be ar it no longer. She braced herself and turned to face the combat model once more, no matter what she –

Oh.

2B’s gaze was trained on the horizon once more, but she’d placed a gloved hand over A2’s own, her thumb rubbing comforting circles over the exposed exoskeleton.

A2’s core temperature spiked with embarrassment as she cleared her throat. “Yeah, I…I can’t actually feel that, sorry”, she huffed. “I don’t know how it is with you newer models, but my more delicate sensors were located directly under my outer skin and I lost that ages ago. So, yeah, it’s gonna take nothing short of shoving my hand between two moving gears to actually generate some feedback.”

“Oh. I’m…sorry”, 2B murmured, removing her hand to clench it in her lap in a demure gesture that was so unlike her it made A2 feel even worse. She’d never felt self-conscious about the state of her body before. She’d been frustrated, sure, when she found her capabilities steadily decreasing the more time she spent on the run, but she’d never felt so outright ashamed that she could hear her black box whirring in her ears, but now that her deficiencies had been brought into such stark contrast against 2B, perfect, pristine 2B -

“A2.”

2B’s firm voice pulled the attacker model out of her spiralling thoughts. 2B’s eyes were focused on the spot on her hip where she’d been subconsciously scratching at the loose patch of skin again. A2 clenched her blackened fingers into a fist, fighting against the overpowering compulsion to just rip it.

“You need maintenance”, 2B repeated, with more insistence than the first time.

“Are you still on about that?” A2 groaned, running a hand through her hair.

“You’re literally coming apart at the seams!” 2B hissed, and there was fervour there, a real concern.

“Don’t I know it”, A2 said, throwing her head back and barking out a laugh that was devoid of any happiness. She just wanted this conversation to be over, she wanted 2B to stop wasting her concern on her, she just…wanted everything to stop.

Another pause, and then…a sensation, a touch, ever so lightly, ever so softly, a pair of lips against her cheek. The contact lasted a second at the most, before 2B pulled back an inch, her face still so close that A2 could feel her breath ghosting over her skin as she spoke her next words.

“Can you feel this?”

A2 didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to, not when the staccato beat of her pulse and the stuttering of her breath spoke volumes. 2B slid closer to her now, sitting directly next to her so close close close that their thighs were touching and A2 could feel it and shit, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched with care, like she mattered, like she deserved any of it. Pressure was building in her throat and she clenched her fist tighter until she could hear the joints of her fingers cracking. And still, she leaned into the contact, closed her eyes and held onto that moment while it lasted.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing”, 2B said quietly. A2 couldn’t guess how much time had passed, how long they’d simply been leaning against each other.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, A2 lied without any conviction. She had no doubt 2B would be looking right through her.

“Refusing maintenance. Coming up here every day.”

A2 opened her eyes as an errant breeze blew in through the window. She squinted against it. It was a long way down.

“Anemone is worried about you. I – we all are.”

“Well, you’re wasting your time”, A2 bit out, her voice tight against that god-damn lump in her throat. Too much, it was all too much. She had to go, go…somewhere, anywhere. Away. Away from people who looked at her, saw right through her, right down to the very core of her as if she was made of glass. She made a motion to get up, but 2B grabbed her wrist and tugged her down harshly.

“A2, you deserve to be cared for.” 2B’s voice was still so quiet, but as unyielding as the concrete beneath them. “You deserve this”, she said, one hand coming to rest against A2’s cheek. The touch was nothing but gentle, and yet it felt scalding. She batted it away.

“You of all people should know how it feels. We’ve killed, more times than we could count, more times than can ever be forgiven, it’s the only thing we were made for and the only thing we’re actually good at, and you’re telling me I deserve anything?”

2B shrunk back as if she’d struck her, and immediately a cold wave of guilt washed over A2 and settled deep and heavy in her core. She knew 2B, she could still feel the disgust and self-hatred emanating off of her whenever A2 had addressed her as 2E, they’d shared the pain of killing her closest friend over and over and over again. A2 reached out, to touch 2B, to hold her perhaps, but she thought better of it. She wasn’t made for gentleness. Everything she touched fell apart.

“I’m sorry”, she mumbled, her words falling pathetically short.

“Appreciated”, 2B said through gritted teeth, her fingers clenched into the hem of her dress so tightly her knuckles were turning white. She was close enough to touch, and yet they were miles apart. A2 had broken them miles apart. She had broken them apart, and she had no idea how to fix this divide. She wasn’t made for fixing.

“Shit, 2B, that was a fucked up thing to say to you, I’m-”

2B silenced her laughable attempts with a single, stiff wave or her hand.

“You’re right.”

A2 immediately opened her mouth to protest, to silence whatever nonsense she’d put in the combat model’s head, but then she met her eyes, cold steel blue more fiery than ever, and any words she might have said wither ed on her tongue. She was fixed to the spot, unmoving.

“And if we really are one and the same, A2, then you’ll understand why I can’t bear another death.”

It was too much, it was far too intimate. A2’s first instinct was to deflect, this was her they were talking about, she’d hardly be missed by anyone, having outlived almost all who might at some point have cared about her. And 2B, especially 2B, whom she’d killed dozens of times…

Unbidden, the ugliest memories reared their head, flashes of deep, oozing slashes in 2B’s body as her teammates stumble over themselves in retreat, flashes of loosing herself in B-Mode when she couldn’t keep up with her opponent anymore, only coming to again when her form was beaten, bloodied and almost unrecognizable. The same nausea she’d felt when asked to dismantle the machine husks rose in her again, that feeling of wrong wrong wrong and she couldn’t stomach it, not even the thought of it…

This time, she caught herself. Her hand halfway to her hip, she froze, biting her lip to distract from the urge to just tear at pieces of herself. 2B noticed, of course she noticed, placing a hand over the damaged area. It was tender, and though every fibre of her being cried out that she didn’t deserve it she didn’t deserve it she didn’t deserve it she swallowed them down. Laid her hand atop 2B’s. Threaded their fingers together.

She watched 2B fail to hide a soft gasp, and it made something within her lurch in delight. She gave 2B’s hand a gentle squeeze, wishing now more than ever to be able to feel the warmth of her hand radiating through the smooth satin glove.

It was a stupid reason. It was as good as any other.

She allowed herself to rest in this moment for a few seconds longer, then she slowly rose to her feet, groaning under the aching of her stiff joints. How long had she been up here?

“Come on, let’s head back before Anemone sends out a search party”, she said, pulling 2B upright, and when she was standing, A2 was struck to the core when she saw her smile. It was a subtle, understated thing, barely even visible, but shit, if she could make 2B smile like that one more time she knew she’d be worth something more than the scrap metal she was made of.

She took one last look out of the window over her shoulder. She could barely stomach it – it was such a long, long way down.

Feeling 2B’s hand in hers.

Making her smile.

They were better reasons than spite, she decided.

#nier #nier automata #a2 #2b #working title of this fic was freddie projects their depression onto robots

5 notes · View notes

meetthetank · 4 years

Text

Cruciamen Chapter 4: Salt Statues

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Other Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), A2 (NieR: Automata), A4 (NieR: Automata), Emil (NieR: Automata), Kainé (Nier) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, genre typical violence, On the Run, Monster of the Week, 9S is a half demon, 2B and A2 are shapeshifter Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut in the future, inaccurate depictions of medical procedures, Fantasy Biology, A2 is Nonbinary Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104214/chapters/64353769

A2 comes to the realization that they hate sand. It’s gritty, nasty, it gets into their clothes every time the wind blows. The sun reflects off the dunes and into their eyes without fail, constantly blinding them. Most heinous of all the sand’s sins is the fact that it’s practically boiling in the midday sun and burning the bottom of their feet. For a brief moment, they consider wearing shoes of some kind. Instead they resolve to bitch at Kaine for sending them out here, looking for salt of all things, as part of their repayment.

The witch’s ability to mend A2’s injuries was far more than they had expected. Within a couple of days the wound left by Hegel’s energy blast had been reduced from a searing pain to a dull throb. All the bruises, cuts, and cracked bones they hadn’t known about were patched together with skilled, but brittle hands. When she wasn’t flying at A2 with two wicked swords, Kaine seemed like an unassuming old woman. Her hands shook when pouring tea; she couldn’t stand up for very long without complaining about her back. She would look out of the windows of her hut wistfully from time to time, her sunken purple eyes betraying an age beyond what her body could present.

That, and Kaine had all the ornery fury of an elder from back home. If “respect your elders” hadn’t been drilled into their being from the day they were born, A2 would have told the old witch to shove it. But A2 can’t in good conscience refuse someone far older than them, and someone who is giving them food, shelter, and medicine.

So they trudge through the scorching desert looking for ancient brickwork jutting out of the dunes. Kaine described these structures as easily spotted from a distance, the only splash of color for miles, but A2 has yet to see anything other than sand and sand.

Movement on a dune in the distance catches their attention. They instinctively reach for their sword’s hilt and crouch low to the ground. The heat of the sand burns their face and hands, but they grit their teeth and bear the pain to get the drop on whatever demon or predator could be lurking about in such an inhospitable place. They peek over the dune inch by inch, not wanting to make any sudden movements. Without any camouflage like foliage or rocks, their pinkish hair would attract the creature’s attention if they move too fast.

As their eyes adjust to the sunlight they can make out more than one humanoid figure, but just as their heart sinks they see at least three or four smaller ones stumbling through the sand to keep up with the rest of the group. Humans, a group of ten by their count, with what looks like everything they own strapped to their backs. Even the children carry heavy loads that make their legs buckle with each step. A woman catches one of the kids as they stumble down the dune and gives him a loving pat on the head before taking his hand in hers.

A2 debates on doing what they normally do when coming across rival vagrants, doing what earned them a bad reputation along their erratic path. It’s the kids in rags that gives them pause. Those children can’t be more than ten years old and they’re forced to suffer conditions like these.

So A2 lets them continue on. They have their own issues to deal with anyway.

With a frustrated sigh, A2 takes to the desert skies. They already did a sweep from the air before, but there isn’t any harm in trying again. Kaine won’t let them back into the hut if they don’t come back with her salt, after all.

Sure enough, the ruins they’re looking for were sitting right under their nose the whole time. Red brickwork like Kaine described juts out of the sand. It would be impossible to miss, that is, if A2 wasn’t stupid. They can’t believe they looked over the white spire of some kind of cathedral as many times as they did.

A2 lands on the ground next to the spire and the building it sits on, kicking up a cloud of sand with the beating of their wings. They screw their eyes shut and shake their head back and forth as they transform back to their human form to try and get the sand out of their eyes. When that doesn’t work they furiously rub their eyes with the back of their hand, and then their thumbs. That seems to do the trick, but they hiss when their eyes are still itchy. They huff quietly, resolving to blink the remaining particles away.

The ruins around them are unlike anything they’ve ever seen. Great walls of identical bricks emerge from the sand like the spines of a great beast submerged in the dunes. Spikes of rusted, corroded metals mark the remains of buildings that had their bricks striped away by sand and time. Whatever used to live here had a unique way of building. They were able to keep their buildings standing long after their people either died out or left the city to rot—though those people must not have been that amazing if they had all died anyway.

A2 rubs their face as they look around for… actually they don’t really know what they’re looking for. They’re supposed to be looking for salt, but where in this place would that be? All of the buildings that still have all four walls are filled with sand, or totally empty where parts are above ground. If they were going to have to dig for salt deposits, Kaine could have given them a damn shovel or something.

In the center of a cluster of ruins, a strange shape sticks out of the sand. It looks like a small pillar of marble, but that shouldn’t be possible considering how soft the rock is. The desert would have swallowed it long ago, but it stands in defiance of time or nature. A2 strides over to the little piece of marble to get a better look at it. As they close in, they see five appendages sticking out of the top. It looks like a hand reaching out for the sun, or cupping it in its hand. Maybe this was a statue of some kind?

They reach out and grab the statue’s hand, its sharp, crystalline edges digging into their palm. With a small tug the hand snaps of the arm. A2 staggers back, gasping and almost dropping the statue’s hand.

“What in the…”

A2 stares at the hand, at the desperate way its fingers curl into claws, at the subtle musculature in its palm and wrist, at the ripples on its fingertips…

“Th-... This is… “

With a dry gulp, they turn the hand over to look at where it broke off. Just as they dread, there’s bone, muscle, veins and tendons. The same thing is inside the remaining arm. A clean, but geometric break across the crystal faultlines, with minute anatomical detail rendered in salt. A2 even sees the marrow running through the center of the two arm bones. Their hands shake, barely able to place the piece of salt into the roughspun bag Kaine had loaned them.

They dig through the sand, uncovering more and more of the statue. The arm connects to a shoulder, the shoulder to a neck, and the neck to a twisted screaming face. Whoever this used to be was now a moment in time, frozen in the throes of pain and terror. The realization of what was happening is clear on the poor soul’s face as they reach for the heavens for help that will never come.

A2 takes a piece of the statue’s arm and its head, stuffing them both unceremoniously into the sack.

The contents of A2’s bag are emptied out onto the wooden table as Kaine looks on with little interest.

“What the hell is this?” they ask with venom lingering behind their words.

“Salt,” Kaine responds as she picks up and examines the hand A2 brought back.

“I know it’s salt,” A2 snaps. “Why is it shaped like a person?”

“Because it used to be one.”

A2 knew the answer when they found the statue at first, but hearing Kaine say it with the same indifference that she’d use when identifying an herb unnerves them to the point of silence.

“Wh… How?! What the hell did you send me to dig up?!”

Kaine sighs, her shoulders sagging as she shuffles over to a cabinet and produces a small wooden hammer and a glass jar before sitting at the table across from A2. She picks up the salt hand and eyes it with disinterest before setting it down in front of her.

“... They’re leftovers from an event that nearly destroyed the world. The Great Dying.”

“What?!”

“A sickness tore through the ancient civilizations that existed thousands of years ago. It turned the people who were infected by it into salt piece by piece until their whole body was nothing but a white statue.”

“That… “ A2 can only stare at Kaine with their mouth agape. It is the one thing that they actually remember from their history education. They guess only the stories of great atrocities and mass death could capture the attention of the rambunctious cub that only wanted to play with wooden swords.

“Those salt deposits out in the desert are what's left of that disaster,” Kaine says,

“What the fuck could you possibly want with salt made from people?” There’s no malice in A2’s voice, just simple curiosity and confusion.

She shrugs. “It’s good quality salt.”

With the force A2 saw the day they met her, Kaine slams the hammer into the table, shattering the hand into dozens of shards. Again and again she crushes the salt down into a powder, then brushes it into the jar.

A2 grimaces, “Yeah, but… It’s… people.”

Again, Kaine shrugs. “It sells well. People around these parts have always used things like this. I remember there was a town that mummified corpses in honey, then sold the honey as a cure for all kinds of diseases.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. I’m fucking serious,” Kaine says with a barking laugh, “You’d be amazed what people think will cure shit like limp dick and cholera. I’m old, I’ve seen some shit.”

A2 laughs along with her, albeit with a twinge of hesitation. They’ve eaten a lot of things, but they’ve always steered clear of consuming human flesh. But this isn’t flesh anymore, it’s salt. And the human has been dead for thousands of years. So…

A2 stops thinking about it too much.

“So, you sell this stuff?” they ask, twisting a salinified chunk in their fingers.

“Yeah, but some of it I keep for other shit. Some potions and salves have to use this stuff specifically. Regular salt doesn’t cut it. That and it makes some damn fine cured meats.”

“You shouldn’t talk about the dead like that… “ Emil says, setting his long overcoat on a hook.

A2 doesn’t think they’ll ever get used to seeing his body covered head to toe in bandages like that, but at least this time they don’t gawk at him like a fish gasping for air.

Kaine scoffs, “What are they gonna do, salt me to death?”

“You should know better than to speak ill of the dead. It’s bad luck!” Emil huffs, putting his hands on his hip bones.

“Well I guess that explains my whole life then,” She mutters bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Silence passes between the three as what A2 brought back seems to fill the air with dread. Minutes tick by before Emil finally speaks.

“The Great Dying was horrible,” he says, his head hanging low. “One day everything was fine, but the next… It was like the whole world came crashing down in an instant. People tried to leave cities and towns to escape it but… You can’t outrun something like that.”

“You’re talking about it as if you were there,” A2 mutters.

He holds A2’s gaze with sad, lilac eyes. “People looked for something to blame. They hunted demons, dragons… each other. The Theocracy and their religion gained a lot of followers desperate for some sort of salvation or comfort.”

“That’s enough, Emil.” Kaine grunts and gathers up the chunks of salt. “What’s done is done. We can’t be burdened by the past our whole damn lives.”

A2’s chest tightens at those words, as if they were directed at them. Their eyes drift to their sword leaning against the wall and the black feather dangling from its hilt.

He’d be ashamed of them.

#nier automata #nier fanfiction #fantasy au #a2 #nier emil #kaine nier #Tanks fics

10 notes · View notes

incarnateirony · 4 years

Text

15.07 Thoughts

1. Y’all know I’ve been very opinionated about certain things, but my inbox has been such a perpetual onslaught that I haven’t had time to really *sit and genuinely write*

2. This is premised 100% off of an expansion on a beautiful post by @heliodean (x) -- or more, I would say that heliodean already wrote most of what I would begin to say, and very elegantly about the text, subtext, representation, visibility, canonicity, but that all as a simple underline to the growth evidenced by Dean. 2b. That is to say, that while the queer text is itself indivisible from the original text, I would like to expand on a few points that are also character-specific, and I didn’t want to kidnap a representation-leaning post to discuss only phantasmally attached affairs.

So again, @heliodean‘s post is an absolute must-read, but building aside on the discussion of Dean’s growth as expressed in the episode, I wanted to focus on some personal John-facing issues.

While helio mentioned Lee’s last advent of Dean being when he idolized John Winchester, which is very true, but I think several of their engagements -- including, yes, the queer narrative but not dependent on it -- are hugely reflecting.

Even if we take, in example, Dean, ass slaps, waitresses and Lee -- a common discussion point is for example that despite open flirtation, Dean dismisses her like she brought his burger over too well done, implicitly. She was there, literally while they talked about double dogging someone down, and despite ass slaps and flirts and posturing, she just kind of vanished into the aether, a thought to neither of them.

How this attaches to the John related issues actually requires dropping a level deeper, when you realize that while the implication is itself surface level text, the words hang instead in old canons, just reflecting at the surface; the sense of history being tangible between them is there for a reason. Even if you took the most heteronormative read on how to double-dick down an ungendered individual, that we hetly decide was female, and that the balls never touched or whatever because *big gay panic* the choice to literally bring that to center discussion after Dean implicitly seemed to forget it ever existed, or act like he didn’t want to talk about it until being charmed by the memory in particular.

Or perhaps, more realistically in the subtext to the *actual text* as expository line everybody is spinning circles on -- quite simply, there were triplets and there was a woman shared between them, but she wasn’t what he remembered. As far as Dean was concerned, there was one woman and, very quite-down-to-point, one man has was sharing. The fact that he happened to have trimmings of a spare woman as a commentary didn’t even plink his memory. *Holy shit*

-- (and let’s be real, MOST OF THIS WAS IN DIRECT TEXT TOO. The only “subtext” is the most liminal understanding that words connect to each other and sentences are usually related to the discussion at hand, but that’s about what people call subtext these days. Dean literally forgot and had to be reminded. I guess “subtext” is applying the working adult brain to figure out how the FUCK you forget who you were putting your dick in. The tryst itself, the bizarre things Dean forgot, these are all... well, text. And the rest is so narrowly subtext that someone missing it out of genuine ignorance and not petty malice and active choice/reconfiguration is pretty much contingent on someone literally not thinking at all)

I’m not gonna heavily debate textuality in this post because at this point, fandom dialogue is a helium inflated parody of itself on most of that, but like I really? Don’t give a shit? How someone tries to move the goalposts around? Seriously grab that whole scene at the table front to back, and then the stage, and show that to some random straight guy you know that doesn’t even watch the show. I’m going to tell you 99.9999% right now the first thing to come out of their mouth is “That’s fuckin gay” or some variation of it into various fields of PC-facing culture. The hilarity of trying to run defense lines for them at this point is somewhere out in orbit in Alpha Centauri, bitching about a whole other solar system of shit.

But taking back to that -- that waitress, that woman that just evaporated. That was a different time. That’s when Dean wanted fodder between him and anyone else he had a deep connection with. That’s when Dean *did* womanize. Did bury himself in skin.

And frankly that’s a Dean that hasn’t existed for a long time while fandom has sat in general denial about it, or the canonicity or *sets off carousel music*

(My mood every time a young bright eyed LGBT warrior thinks they’re doing a service by dismissing, deleting or denying low-visibility LGBT text)

Mutual ass slaps and vigorous bisexual reactions be damned, Lee’s adoration OF John was even brought into text, be it the solemn vigil he held up in his service, or his textual “I’m you” to Dean, and everything old Dean might have become if things hadn’t dramatically shifted gears in his life; but something the *here* and *now* is trying to make him become.

Reaching into the alchemical stuff again, be it Silver And Gold, or Nothing Gold Can Stay, or Golden Time, or now, the monster that spits out fake gold as long as you feed it, and stop caring. The thing Chuck is trying to make them. The things -- the people -- the building treasures in their life of Eileen, and Castiel, and yes, lost several episodes but not forgotten, Jack and Mary; Eileen treasure found anew, Cas a treasure lost that took the last light of his family, and Jack and Mary’s shadows, with him.

The force that broke their chain, the force that was first ready to face authority, because this was not a new battle to him; it had just been given new meaning, many years ago, when he first faced Dean. Dean echoes the broken despair Cas once saw life as from angelic roost, and Cas stands instead for every lesson Humanity taught him, and continues the fight, and walks away from a toxic vortex of destruction drilled and doubled down on by Chuck’s purposeful machinations -- machinations Dean convinced him to break from long ago, but the man that the angel fell for is not who he is now; the fire he gained from Mary went out in her death into the dark and obsessive and introverted blackened side of John Winchester, not the one that, taking his wife’s hand, disappeared into gold.

(Don’t even get me started on the recurrence of this exact shot in Dabb’s SPN, we’ll end up in a whole other aside.)

“Nothing Gold Can Stay.” This is the lesson Chuck has been trying to force down their throats alongside murder suicide. It is our target subversion, but--

This episode fundamentally *exists* to just *put Dean Winchester’s growth into perspective*. Be that textually affirmative bisexuality (regardless of if it’s visible enough for everyone’s taste, which I hold in bizarre levels of wtf question/suspicion), or about the boy of vices and basically casual misogyny and grim habit that has grown into a man that -- while he may remember it fondly with crinkles in the corner of his eyes, he doesn’t flit it to whatever filler is in the seats between them, but to that old “friend” that, you know. *jazz hands*

About his fight with resignation that has griefed him since his first demon deal, and of self worth, and of what he has learned, and of what he will deep down never let anyone take away, even if he’s made to question it.

(Dabb on 14.13 Lebanon and the lessons imbued)

This episode??? Like??? Jeremy Adams didn’t blow me out of the water. I jettisoned somewhere into another galaxy or some shit. Here I am holding tentative resignation about how bad the new (presumed) straight white male author on crew is gonna do while looking at history, but giving benefit of the doubt, making a few jokes??? And then it’s like HELLO YES ALL OF THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE. WHAT KIND OF FIRST EPISODE BLACK MAGIC? THAT WAS A BOBO LEVEL FIRST EPISODE.

Oh my god.

I mean, I’m sure we all saw it coming, like deadass you all know I’m not a genius for saying and expecting -- Dean, lessons learned and remorseful from these last few misadventures, coming in to want to talk to Cas, who has had no such giving and keeps his focus on the target, outside of his perceivably crumbled relationship. Like, expecting this is about as simple as expecting them to fight monsters, or Sam and Dean disagreeing over a method/plan.

But as unsurprising as it is, it held weight and value, after the episode -- as given in my addition to the original referenced link -- spent its entire time framing loss of best friends, empty space, the ramifications of turning one’s back, and knowing gold when you have it and what’s worth fighting for.

Now, to fall back to touching on the textuality topic: I thank 15.07 for the display of performative absurdity. It’s not the first episode to rip open and expose fandom’s dirty underbelly and intersectional marginalization forces wearing an LGBT Activism Suit -- 14.03 also did so loudly by Bobo (eg read: “The Problem with Dreamhunter” [A post that points out what people will accept for canonization when there isn't a rival ship or excessive projection of antis specific to a ship which is *SPOILER ALERT* nowhere near what everyone pretends is needed when they want to argue just to argue and some intersectional WLW vs MLM issues]) -- but it was the first to approach it directly with Dean, much less so textually.

The ridiculous redefinition of words, of “what *I* think canon means” whipped completely out of fandom generated buzz and no dictionary on the face of the planet -- the demands, and the active erasure of existing LGBT text because it wasn’t *visible enough* -- really does show a seedy side of fandom that wears a nice Representation Warrior dress sometimes, but betrays a series of issues:

Most points boil down to “I won’t acknowledge any text unless it is loud enough to argue down any idiot I ever meet”, putting the focus not on representative resonance and value of quality of text, but on personal vindication for raw argumentation. A world where trolls and their personal agendas have actually taken *greater importance* to people than the representative text, and is an absolutely abysmal motivation or bottom line for any discussion and yes, if you recoiled and feel ashamed or called out about that, rather than patching over your pride and doubling down, maybe skim the reblog tags bisexual people have left on my several dozen posts about the damages of them being actively deleted is doing.

If you care about representation, you’ll think about that. Even if it’s not the loudly visible version of representation you *want*, it is what it is, and well--it is. Pretty simply. There is no perfect fantasy world where everybody understands and wants the thing you do. And I’m not just talking about LGBT rep. I’m talking about the people you pretend to need to argue gay canon with still being absolutely flummoxed by canon itself, like them saying “family don’t end with blood” and “found family” are “fanon concepts”. People that are confused where demons go when they die. People that rebuke literally many-times textualized non-gay things just to suit their personal agenda. And shockingly, they have a personal agenda about the gay content too.

I’m talking about straight pairings like mulder and scully that got no romo’ed around even after they kissed and got pregnant and the whole nine, because bawww that’s not what the show is about so *allow me to build elaborate theories that make no sense and pretend they have standing in canon equal to the straightforward read*.

Cuz that’s where we’re at right now. Our fandom is just particularly bonky, and has been allowed to go so far off the edge of the map and away from center GA-resonant discussion that the bog standard antis have literally come up with body-mutilating necrophilia as an answer to avoid the gay, and somehow... *shruuuuug?* people act like these people not only are of equal worth but like... deserve... any consideration long term? Which is when we lean into the next point on MOTIVATION.

So ask at what point arguing with tinhats beat out your actual interest in representation and LGBT rights and media issues. Ask at what point you surrendered your focus on feeling resonant with a character that has been textually acknowledged, and traded that for implying you suddenly can’t relate to the character until he performs [X] exact function, exactly how you want, and when you want. Hell, I have even gotten an anon that literally said they would have acknowledged it if SPN had given them what they want when they wanted-- so basically, too late, not enough.

That’s not how text works. Whether the text came ten years ago or now, the text is the text. Your personal fulfillment aside, text is text. And I highly urge people to stop demanding tokenism above demographic-targeted representative types (eg bisexual, raised in the 80s in a patriarchal/power/grit based society and its own associated dogmas, fairly masculine identity, and so on) or demanding characters perform as if they were from another demographic (be it age or gender) because that’s your demographic.

Once you start removing elements of the represented demographics (LGBT, male, age, origin, etc) and wanting it to perform by way of *your* demographic’s behaviors or base line needs/wants, that’s when we’ve left representation. That’s when we’re demanding tokenization. And when you’re demanding tokenization to win internet fights with people who don’t even believe what they say, you have long left the representation wheelhouse. That’s what we call troll wars.

Do not let LGBT media representation be kidnapped into troll wars. Do not let content be degraded or removed just to engage in troll wars. And if you want to engage in troll wars, and you value the arguments more than the discussion *of* representation intersectional issues, and methods, and all around it -- then just... stop. Stop saying you want representation. Don’t.

I’m tired.

#supernatural #spn #meta #my meta #pagan life #gold #alchemy #hermeticism #jeremy adams #15.07 #dean winchester #mine

84 notes · View notes

sebthesnipe · 4 years

Text

Pencils

A prompt that myself and @gilby-the-geek-girl decided to do a ‘write this in your style’ involving Logicality roommates and Ticonderoga #2 Pencils

You can read her’s here.

Also check out her main AU that its based in on AO3 here.

If you’re interested here are some links to my work as well:

The Collection (My Oneshots)

My Dearest Procyon (My Multi-Chapter Magical!AU)

Other works by me

Now! Lets get this party started!!!!

Logan gave a small curse as another one of his pencils broke inside his cheap sharpener. He tilted the small plastic container to get a better look inside. Sure enough, a large piece of lead was stuck inside the small cone, pressing against the razor’s edge. He wouldn’t be able to resharpen his pencil until it was removed.

As he took the small pencil sharpener apart, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. Perhaps, he could rearrange his budget to allow him to purchase some better writing utensils. Patton had already convinced him to spend some extra money on the ‘B2p’s. He had been right about them. The pens were 89% recycled water bottles, which was good for the environment, and they wrote very smoothly, which helped ease the pain that writing caused.

Carpal tunnel syndrome was far more unpleasant that Logan had expected it to be. Of course, he hadn’t expected to enjoy the tingling or numbness, but the sheer amount of pain it caused was staggering. The simple act of holding a pen longer than half an hour was something he could no longer do without the help of an anti inflammatory. His all night note taking sessions were now cut by more than half, and that was on a good night with a decent writing implement.

Surgery was possible, but it would pull him out of school for far too long, and cost more than he was willing to spend without the proper insurance. He was far too close to graduation and couldn’t afford the recovery time, mentally or financially. At least, not yet. For now, he would bide his time and push onwards towards his end goal.

He sighed as he pressed his pencil into the cleared sharpener and twisted. For now, he would make due. The pens Patton had recommended were more than satisfactory, but he only had a small budget for his supplies.

He removed the pencil and examined the now sharpened tip. The graphite was uneven, but pointed enough for his note taking, though the wood around it was rough and almost fuzz-like. It would smudge the graphite’s markings if he wasn’t careful. Luckily he was accustomed to such cheap craftsmanship and could make due with what he had.

He set the sharpener aside and took stock at the desk before him. Everything had its place. His box of untouched pencils sat perfectly parallel above his notebook, directly right of his lamp. His three subject college ruled spiral was open to a half written page, marked with a small blue tab indicating that it was on the topic of Mathematics (specifically Number Theory). Behind the blue tab, a number of tabs could be seen, neatly lined along the pages, each representing a different course. To the right of his spiral lay five sharpie brand highlights, each a different color, placed in a perfectly straight line. Every color had its purpose, just as every tab of his notebook did.

Logan could not compromise when it came to certain tools. He needed a brand of highlighter that would not bleed through his textbook pages or smudge his notes whether he wrote in pen or pencil. He needed pens that were a bit more pricey so as to ensure a smooth glide without bleeding or ink transfers. He needed index cards made of a decent caliber to avoid damage or creases. All of these things were important. Far more important than the way a pencil sharpened, or turned fuzzy or smudged when he tried to erase it.

There was no more room in the budget for any pencils better than the ones that he had and that was that. He would just have to live with the way the graphite would snap when he tried to underline something. He would have to deal with the way the lead would fall out of the faux wood, or the lines seemed muted unless he put more force behind it, which made his hands hurt even worse. It was all a sacrifice he must be willing to make. He couldn’t afford better.

He couldn’t help another small growl as he made a mistake on his graph and moved to erase it, the cheap eraser ripping through the paper. He stared at the spot for a long moment, willing himself to just leave it. It was just a small hole. He could work around it. He didn’t need to redo the entire page.

It was just a hole…

A tiny inconsequential hole…

Miniscule… infinitesimal….

UGH! Logan ripped the page from the spiral, crinkling it in his hands before tossing it into the bin next to him. Everything had its place! Everything was meant to be somewhere and a hole was not meant to be in the middle of his notes!

He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to push away the headache he could feel coming on just as his phone’s alarm began to sound. It seemed more time had passed than he had expected. Logan pushed to his feet, producing his phone and swiping away the alarm as he moved to pack up and head to his first class of the day.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Logan pushed open the door to their shared dorm, dark locks falling into his eyes as they dripped water onto the mat beneath his feet. He was silent as he kicked the door shut and began to shed his outer layers.

It was late. Far later than it should have been. Logan did not like when things didn’t go according to schedule. His second class ran long, which meant he was late to lunch, which didn’t give him the sufficient amount of time to go to the library as he had planned without skipping his meal. Which made him feel a bit lethargic during his third and fourth class, causing him to forget his bag, which had him missing his train. Which meant he had to wait forty-five minutes for the next one. Then the rain started, which was not in the forecast; which meant Logan’s ten minute walk home had him soaked through completely.

It had not been a good day.

He took stock of the small apartment. Patton must have already gone to bed. The poor man had four a.m. classes. Most culinary students started earlier than the rest of the students. It was no wonder the man was so early to bed. Well, ever since Logan provided him with the optimal schedule for his ideal personal time to study/class ratio that is. It seemed to be working out for him, though Logan didn’t get to see him much anymore, which was surprisingly disappointing. The man was far too chipper, but he certainly knew how to make Logan smile.

Logan headed for his room and the attached bathroom, dropping his bag next to his desk and trying not to drip too much on the carpet. He needed to get out of his sodding clothes before he caught a cold.

Fifteen minutes, a hot shower and some dry clean clothes later and Logan felt like a new man. He checked the time. There were still a few hours before bed. It wasn’t as much as he had hoped, but he could still manage some studying.

He moved to his desk, pulling out his chair and sinking down, thankful the day was beginning to wind down. He pulled his bag closer and dug out his spiral, opening it to the page he had been working on earlier that morning and laying it out neatly exactly where it belonged. He reached for his pencil and…

He froze. His usual box of 12ct #2b cheap off-brand pencils were buried. His heart skipped a beat as he stared at what lay atop them. He couldn’t believe it. Atop those horrid, demonic, sorry-excuse for pencils lay a box of 24ct Dixon Ticonderoga premium wood #2 pencils with latex free erasers.

Logan took a moment to calm his excited heart. Before he knew it, he was reaching out with a shaky hand, collecting the box for examination. The clear plastic had been unopened, each stick perfectly preserved within the transparent packaging. Logan turned the object over in his hands, admiring its beauty as he caught sight of thick black words scrawled in sharpie on the back.

‘To Logan, From Patton. I saw these and thought of you. So, I bought them. It just felt ‘WRITE’! XD’

Logan couldn’t help but give a snort at the joke before fumbling to open the box. It almost felt like Christmas had come early as he pulled one of the pencils from its place among the others and set the box aside. He took a moment to examine the utensil in all its glory before reaching for his sharpener.

He inserted the blunted wood and twisted. Once. Twice. Thrice. He heard the sound of the graphite against metal and pulled the pencil out, bringing it to eye level for inspection.

The sharply pointed lead was smooth and crackless, forming a seamless cone with the sleek pale wood that surrounded it. It had glided so perfectly against the razor’s edge and now stood regal and polished before him. It was perhaps one of the most stunning sights he had ever laid his eyes on.

His chest tightened as his smile widened, moving to redraw the graph he had damaged earlier. He drew the lead across the paper gently, the line coming out smooth and dark. Just as it should be. He flipped the pencil in one quick and fluid motion and erased a small portion, the graphite coming off cleanly and without much force. It was satisfying and rejuvenating.

How could he have ever thought a day like this could be bad?! He had everything he ever wanted! Warm clothes, a perfectly tempered room, his desk organized exactly as it should be, and a friend who cared enough to-

Realization hit, ‘The World’s Best Pencil’ falling from his fingers and clattering to his desk (without so much as chipping the perfectly pointed tip) as he brought his hand to cover his mouth in shock.

His heart pounded against his ribs almost painfully. His other hand tangled in his still damp locks. This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts. Everything he did was purposefully calculated and scheduled. How could he… He wasn’t…. This wasn’t possible…. But the evidence was building against him.

Logan Sanders was falling in love with his best friend.

Taglist:

@nightashes

20 notes · View notes