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soylikethedrink · 2 months

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Forbidden By Nature

A bird and dog shouldn't be together. You knew that. But you found it hard to resist against the handsome drinksmith at the bar. If people were to know about your secret relationship with him, it wouldn't look too good for you, a Halovian from the Oak Family. And it wouldn't be too good of news to your two siblings, Robin and especially Sunday, who strongly detested the 'despicable and wicked' dog.

⚠️ Tags & Warnings: GN Reader, Infidelity, Major and Minor Character Deaths.

⚠️ Note: Major spoilers from the 2.1 patch. This was also written before the release of 2.2 patch. I'm 100% cooked if Gallagher is actually a nice guy.

Sunday prided himself in his leadership. One could not deny that he was a man of many fortes. His great wit, and his erudition, and his unbreakable composure, these qualities made him worthy of being the head of the Oak family.

And then there was sweet-faced Robin. While Halovians were naturally born with an attractive aura, Robin could easily draw crowds and crowds of people from different planets with just her voice alone. It wasn't much of a wonder that she climbed her way up in stardom with little effort.

Unlike your siblings, you weren’t interested in the spotlight. Being in the center of the spotlight means that you must possess the voice that the people want to hear and listen to, you must have a face that is easily distinguishable among rows and rows of people, and you must have a heart that naturally desires to be adored. And frankly, none of these appealed much to you.

But one should not presume that your lack of interest in the world of celebrities implied that you weren’t promised for greatness.

You were well-versed in the world of business. Your social networking skills were of top-notch quality. Negotiation comes naturally to you. While Robin found joy dancing and singing on the shining stage, your happiness lied under stacks and stacks of wealth and luxuries. Your riches were forged by your own sweat, blood, and tears and most knew that.

Though some people would have assumed that greed would eventually have spoiled your heart to the rotten core, you would continually prove them wrong. As someone who knew the language and the culture of business, you decided to pass it all to Sunday. At young, he became well-acquainted with the mortal psyche. He knew about the worlds that they wanted to walk on, the lullabies that they wanted to hear of, and the lives that they wished they had. With the help of your connections, he easily made his way up. And before you even know it, he became the head of the Oak Family.

And this went the same for Robin. As you weren't very fond of the life of celebrities, you faced some obstacles in conditioning her up for success. But you disliked failures, hence why Robin managed to become a top star at a young age with your help, despite the disagreements and disputes that you faced by the people in your surroundings. You then received Sunday’s assistance, who helped his sister to adapt to the life of a star.

Because of you, the two of your siblings were well-known figures in Penacony.

Your achievements alone served as the evidence of your success, thus bringing some clarification towards your prestige in the world of the rich.

But you didn’t reach this elevated level of success overnight. You had some help here and there. Met a few people, some that you shouldn't even acknowledge.

“Gallagher?” Your voice was pitched with curiosity, as you swirled the drink inside the glass by the stem. “Gallagher, the member of the Bloodhound family?”

Your maid nodded her head in confirmation. “He shared with me that he would like to meet you soon, and asked when you will be free.”

The sip from the drink trickled down to your throat. But the sip could not muster a quick answer out of you. You thought deeply on how you should approach the situation. The kick from the aftertaste finally booted out a response out of you.

“There's no need for such a formal arrangement. We were close friends,” you said calmly. “He can meet me right now if he wants to.”

Your maid gave you a second nod, before walking around. As her hand rested around the doorknob, you loudly said, “Actually, he doesn’t need to see me. I will see him myself. It would have been easier for both parties.”

Your maid pinched her eyebrows together confusedly at your suggestion. “But what would they think about—”

Her question was interrupted by the clinking sound of the glass against the table. Raising from your seat, you gathered your purse in your hand. You reassured her, “Don’t fret about it.”

When the door opened, you swung your car keys between your fingers. “I’ll be home around 8 PM. You know what to do if I'm not home by then.”

Before your maid could even argue against your departure, the door behind you was already slammed shut.

You were an individual who marched forward with a well-strategized stride. It was an uncommon sight to see you standing still, feeling lost. You always knew what to say, when to act. It was almost as if living was natural for you.

But anyone who observed you from a distance, knew that there were rare moments where there was a crack in the facade you wore.

Heels clicked against the marble floor, turning the heads of the few customers in the bar. You sat at one of the empty seats, before placing your purse on the table. You wiggled yourself out of your coat, folding it neatly before placing it on the seat next to you.

Closing your eyes, you indulged in the noises and chatters of the bar. The bar didn’t have too many attendees. But you were hardly bugged by it, as a quiet bar had a greater appeal to you.

A glass was placed in front of you. It was filled to the brim with a pink juice, in which you suspected it to come from the finest of strawberries. Lemon slices were floating on the surface, with a sticker of the top-star celebrity of Penacony being plastered at the corner of the drink. The presentation of the drink was endearing, you would say. Especially given your background.

Strangers would have been confused by the strange gesture. But you were no stranger to this place.

“Aw, how sweet.” Your hand reached out for the drink, as the ice cubes clinked against the glass. Even by a simple glance, you could easily guess it. Rose In Rain.

Before you could even have a sip of it, you can already taste the flavors of the drink melting into your tongue. “It’s not a wonder that the bar has managed to retain its popularity among people of all classes.”

With a very composed air, the drinksmith pronounced his response, “This is simply a part of my job. There’s no need for such flattery.”

He grabbed a towel, as he began drying the newly-cleaned glasses.

“Surely, a part of your job does not include you offering such a special treatment to his customers,” You teased, as you brought the drink close to your lips. “And why, I wonder. Are you interested in me, Mr. Gallagher?”

He kept the towel away, and you noticed that the folds were rather uneven. His lack of verbal response might imply disinterest, but his body language was telling you a different story.

“Yes. Because no member from the Oak family, who are raised with wealth and riches, would spend the night in such a shabby, gloomy bar with moody bartenders. How could I not be interested when met with such abnormality?”

“Abnormality,” you repeated after him playfully. “How awful! I used to be addressed by such endearments, now I’m reduced to an abnormality. Do you detest me that much, Mr. Gallagher?”

You attempted to tease an answer out of him, as you slowly stroked his leg with the tips of your heels.

“And here I thought that you would have a change of character after successfully climbing up in the social hierarchy,” he commented flatly.

“Let me hear it.”

“Feisty, birdie,” he said in a voice that was tinged with slight amusement. With arms crossed against his chest, he asked in a huff, “Don’t say you come all the way here for that?”

“No,” you denied. “My maid came here telling me that you would like to discuss some matters. I just thought that it would be convenient to come here instead of the other way around.”

“Well, the discussion is not bar-friendly, I would say. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

An exasperated sigh came out of your mouth. “I’m assuming it involves Sunday.”

When your younger brother’s name rolled out of your tongue, there was a slight disdainful glance towards you. “Spot-on. Quite impressive, really.”

“Give him time.”

“And will time grow him out of tyranny?” asked Gallagher.

“Tyranny?” You repeated him again. But instead of uttering it in a playful chirp, your tone was raised in frustration. “You’re speaking nonsense. He is controlling and demanding, but none of that fits what people might consider a tyrant. You need to kill someone to become one. And I don’t recall my younger brother getting involved in a manslaughter case.”

You slowly pushed the drink away from your sight. You continued, “I come here with the intention to have some fun. Let’s not sour the mood with such hostile arguments.”

“Sunday is young, and inexperienced in this kind of position. But he’s fast-learner. With his wits and charms, it wouldn’t take that much time for him to grow and become a proper man,” you defended.

There was an unusual pause in the conversation. And for some reason, the hairs on your arms stood up from the freezing air around you. Too cold for your liking. Not only the air, but also the man in front of you. Too cold for your liking.

“A higher position comes with higher ambitions, and followed with a higher price,” your voice dropped at a lower note, while shrugging your shoulders. “It’s just the way it is.”

He hummed in response. “It comes naturally out of you.”

Your forehead wrinkled at his remark, but before you could question his comment, he cut you to it: “Almost as if you are speaking about yourself.”

“Funny,” you said, feigning amusement. You heaved out a sigh of exasperation, your gaze fallen on the shiny counter. Your tongue no longer longed for the sweet, pink juice that was served earlier. “Let’s settle this with civility. We don’t need to jab at each other’s faults and families. To be insulting and mocking one another relentlessly is very unprofessional of us, who are known as the people who oversee all of Penacony’s matters.”

“Ah, I see. We are colleagues now.”

You closed your eyes, as you swallowed the rising anger that nearly escaped from your throat. “Yes. What else would we be?”

“Old friends?”

“Stop,” you commanded. Though your lips curled into the sweet smile, the white feathers on your wings started slicking down out of fury.

“Stop?” He raised his eyebrows, amused at your attempt in concealing your anger. “I’m pointing out facts. There’s no need to get riled up over the truth. As someone who values honesty, I don’t understand why you are upset at the mention of our relationship.”

You exploded in fits of laughter at his provocation. The hand covering your mouth was an attempt in restoring your graceful image. And though the corner of your eyes wrinkled in delight, there was a mischief gleam shining in your eyes.

“Ah. I see it now. Well, forgive me for acting all uptight earlier. I seem to have forgotten that dogs need plays and treats in order to feel fulfilled in life,” you mocked.

“And where’s my treat?” he asked, playing along with you.

You grinned back at him, with your nose scrunched in slight repulse. “You will get your treats when you shut up about us. Alright, puppy?”

“No problem, birdie. As long as you could convince your bird friends that they wouldn't be chirping around about our reconciliation. ‘Don’t want to be on the bad side of your spouse. ‘Heard that they’re a scary person.”

“Fine,” the smile on your lips was now hanging loosely. “If that’s what you want the most.”

“Now, here’s where you are wrong. That’s not what I want the most.”

Your face scrunched into confusion, but how the corner of your lips twitched implied that you were not very happy with the way he was leading the game.

“Then?” you dared yourself to ask. “Tell me. What is it that you want?”

He took out the container of washed blueberries, tossing them in the blender.

“You,” he answered. It was such a plain reply that was pronounced in a flat tone but it had such a strong effect on you.

The chair that you were sitting in was very uncomfortable, you suddenly noticed.

“You are a little quiet. Bet your mouth dry,” he asked. He threw out the first drink that was served for you, as he replaced it with a new one. You observed the drink, as the radiant, yet somewhat gloomy, blue color of the juice was toned down by your shadow that loomed over it. “Drink up.”

“Do you mean it?” you asked. “Do you want me?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“After all these years?” again, you asked. But this time, with the intention to confirm.

The toughest challenge in the world was no longer convincing the other four families that your brother was not a despicable, hellish being. But rather maintaining a simple eye contact with your first love at his bar.

He nodded his head. “How is that shocking to you?”

“It’s shocking to me because it has been so long. Was it like, 9— no, 12 years?”

“13 years,” he confirmed. “I waited for 13 years. For you.”

“That sounds ridiculous,” your wings tucked closely to your neck, as they hid in your hair. “Not only that, this seems like what? A poor attempt to lure me in your little trap? But this. This whole thing— it’s not something that you could blurt out so loudly. Especially in a bar where we have eyes everywhere. What would my spouse think about this, what would Sunday and Robin think that their older sibling is out fraternizing with the drinksmith while their spouse is waiting for them at home?”

“You already spelled it all out. There’s not much for your ‘baby brother Sunday’ to figure out why this reunion was such a big deal,” Gallagher teased. With a shrug, he corrected you, “You got one part wrong though.”

This man.

“Mind telling me?” You were greatly exasperated at this point.

“I don’t like how the drinksmith sounds. How about your ex-boyfriend?”

Your hand reached out for your purse, and then the coat that you threw over on the next seat. In a hurry, you rose from your seat. “If this is what we are doing, then I’m leaving.”

As you turned your back against him, he walked around the counter as he chased after you. “Hey,” he called. “Don’t get all pissy about it. Teasing used to be our language. Remember?”

At the corner of your eyes, you took notice that one of the bartenders immediately took over Gallagher’s job. You had a hunch that they had been observing you two in a while. Even guessing what they could have heard gave you a headache.

But the man who was following you from behind was ticking you off even more. Even when you were both outside of the bar, he was still trailing you behind like a puppy.

Finally, you spun around, now facing him. Baring your gritted teeth, you hissed, “I’m not going to lose my dignity tonight just because you—” You pointed your finger towards him, “—couldn’t move on from the past. I have a reputation, Gallagher. So do you. But unlike you, I care deeply about my image. So, let’s just bid our farewells. It’s for the best of us.”

He seemed to be taken aback by your fierce statement. With his hands placed on his hips, he dramatically tapped his foot against the ground a few times before shaking his head, “Wow. People weren’t lying at all. You changed.”

“So?”

Your jeer was barely registered into his head. With his chin slightly tilted upward, he continued, “You really did lose yourself to the riches and fame.”

The feathers of your wings hackled in anger. “And you changed too. It’s hard to believe that the lone wolf of Bloodhound family has now decided to be gossipy, and the first thing that he did is to believe some moronic rumors. Fuck off, Gallagher.”

“Did your partner teach you that?”

“Teach me what?”

“Teach you to curse,” he said, as he pulled out a cigarette box from the pocket of his pants. “Because I’m tellin’ you right now, they’re doing a poor job.”

You shook your head in disbelief. You huffed, “Why are you so against my marriage? Do you hate to see me happy, is that it?”

With nonchalance, he nodded his head in confirmation. “Yes. I’m unhappy that you are with them.”

“And so? Do you want me to toss my future away with them just because of what?” You gestured towards him angrily, “Some man?”

“Now it’s some man. Back then, you used to call me cuter names than that,” he teased. “Actually, it sounded even better when you moaned it out in bed,” a muffled groan escaped from his lips as he thought of all the good times you two shared. Well, it was all funny memories now.

“Should I list it all down right now, birdie?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. “How would you prefer me to do it? Should I yell it out so that the whole world knows about your secret scandal with the drinksmith from the Bloodhound family?”

You leaned forward towards him, as he pretended to flinch. Your wings flipped angrily, messing up your hair. “Cut it, dog.”

“Oh, I will,” he agreed, with the tone of his voice now lowered. “But only if you tell me why you left me for that stupid chicken you married to.”

“They’re Halovian, not a chicken,” you exasperatedly corrected him.

You look at a distance, as you wrung your brain out for an appropriate answer. While you thought deeply on what to say, Gallagher caught a glimpse of the wedding band around your ring finger.

“Are they wealthy?” he risked another jab. “Old money, or new money?”

“Old,” you answered flatly while rolling your eyes.

He hummed. “So I guessed it right.”

Gallagher pulled out the cigarette out of the box, before putting it between his lips. He patted on his pockets for his lighter.

But you were quicker. You pulled out the lighter from your purse, as you lit it up the end of the cigarette. The light from the fire shone on your face.

And out of sudden, his intense hatred towards you slowly burned away along with the ashes from the cigarette he was smoking.

You were annoying, that was for the first fact. While the second fact, you were dangerously beautiful.

“Maybe if I wasn’t much of a social climber, I wouldn’t leave you,” you suddenly confessed. “But I wanted all the fame and the wealth. Because I have a family to support. If I were to run off and marry the guy I actually liked, there’s no such thing as Sunday the Allegedly Tyrannical Leader of the Oak Family or A-List Celebrity Robin in the news and other media outlets. They were out there, taking jobs of some rich pigs. Not living comfortably as today.”

Now, his mouth felt dry. And the air around him felt hot, making him sweaty and uncomfortable.

With your arms crossed and your wings slightly droopy, you continued, “I saw the ring in your pocket when I was cleaning the house before we broke up.”

Gray smoke escaped from his cracked lips. “You did?”

By the tone, it was clear that it wasn’t your confirmation that he needed. Rather, he wanted your clarification on why you decided to ditch him out of nowhere.

“You never told me that you wanted to be more than just that,” you said.

“Sucks to know that you hate surprises right now.”

Even in moments of a heated dispute, Gallagher would try to twist it into a comedy.

“I wanted to make a name for myself in the Penaconian society. And the only way for me to do so was to make myself seen by these prominent people. At the banquet, at the ball, at the party, or at the bar,” you explained.

“I didn’t want to be a nobody. I wanted to become somebody. In that way, my siblings can live an easy life, without some rich snobs telling them what to do, and what to say. How to dress and when to speak. I lived that life. That was how I realized how irksome it was, and how I refused to let it happen to my siblings.”

You looked down to your feet, as your shoes reflected your face. All the treatments you received to retain your youthful beauty, but yet you hardly felt that your younger self was with you. Your younger self wouldn’t make that many excuses. They weren’t avoidant — they faced all obstacles head first with a feisty spirit. But nowadays, even a confrontation from a past lover can get you this upset.

“It wasn’t a part of my plan to be pinned down by marriage. I was just taken aback by the sudden shift of our relationship, so I left. I worked for a few more years, then I received a marriage proposal from them. Old money, goal-oriented, business-minded. I knew two things when I saw them. That marrying them means that I could finally retire from all that social-climbing and establish myself among the elites. And marrying them means that my siblings have a greater chance to become successful. It would be a great investment, really,” you explained.

“But I didn’t like them that much.” you reassured him. “They were good, but only enough to make me feel wanted. To them, I was just an accessory for him to flaunt off to his rich friends. They lie sometimes, even to me. I can see it right through them,” you admitted. “They lie to feel respected and liked. To fit in, sometimes. And I guess whatever they say about marriage is true. You will slowly become them, whether you like it or not.”

“So let me get this straight. He didn’t teach you to curse, but he did teach you to lie so you could look better than everyone?” Gallagher joked bitterly. He looked at you up and down, “Yeah, I see it now.”

You decided to ignore him.

“I liked you because unlike other people I have met, you were truthful. You didn’t treat me like a sweet candy meant to be tasted, or an object that was meant to be possessed. You were honest and you were genuine. I knew it by the first time we just met, when you dissed me about my drink order,” you laughed a bit. “What was it? My first order? Oh, dearest Xipe, I think I forgot about it.”

“Mungbean Soda. With that distressed look on your face, I knew that a few shots of Stellar Champagne was all you needed to keep yourself composed while dealing with those aristocrats,” he answered.

“So then I decided to take your recommendation.”

“Which was Rose In Rain. A classy and sweet choice, but strong enough to make you forget all your miseries for the night.”

“And it was delicious. That tipsiness made me realize how kissable you were, especially under that dimmed, yellow light,” you finished your sentence.

“Am I still kissable now?” he teased, as he blew the smoke from his mouth. When he took notice of your irked glare, he raised your hands up in defense. “Hey, ‘just confirming.”

“Annoyingly kissable,” you replied.

You watched the direction of his eyes fall to your lips. And just by a simple stare, you could feel all the blood from your feet and legs go up to your face, making your cheeks and neck feel hot.

When he removed the cigarette from his lip, he slowly leaned forward. Your breath hitched up in response, he noticed. So he stopped.

What filled in the air was the strange silence, the acrid smoke and your guilt.

“What’s stopping you, then?” he asked softly.

Honestly, it was a difficult question to answer. Could it be that it had been an hour past eight. Or it could have been the wedding ring around your finger. Or it could have been because the way your stomach churned at the bitter smell of his cigarette reminded you of why you left Gallagher that day.

“I don’t know,” but your eyes told a different story.

His hand reached out for you, and as he interlocked your fingers with him, he played with the ring, twisting and turning it. But he knew what was your answer when your fingers curled in your palm, suggesting that you refused to let go of the ring.

“Oh, but I think I know,” he answered.

A worried sigh came out of your mouth. “I can’t leave all of this behind. I climbed too high, I’m not sure how to get down. If I choose to go down with you now, the fall would be too painful. And I don’t even know if I could survive through it.”

There was too much running in his head. His thoughts fly from one extreme to another. It was impressive that you could easily turn a decisive, composed man into such a mess: where he struggled to feel pity for you or just kill you off on the spot.

“Why didn’t you want to be with me?” he asked, losing the childish accents in his voice.

“Marrying you was a choice, marrying them, however, was a necessity,” you answered. The softness in your voice felt like a sharp piercing through his heart. “A bird can’t be with a dog. That’s unnatural.”

Quietude witnessed the way you looked at each other longingly. While your heart weighed with guilt and shame, his mind was congested with frustration and anger. But yet, both secretly longed for each other.

“But I refuse to accept it as the truth. No, not when I keep on missing you for all these years.”

Before he could come up with a cheeky reply, you shushed him from his sarcastic remarks by resting your hand on his cheek, bringing his face to yours. Your soft lips pressed against his bloodless and dry ones. The heat from a sinful kiss engulfed the two of you closely, burning the part of your skin on your back that he gently touched. His hand rested on your lower back, bringing you closer to him. You could feel his beard tickling your chin, and he could smell your perfume in his nostrils. The bitter taste of his alcohol that he downed melted in your tongue, causing you to groan in delight.

The kiss lasted a few minutes, but you wished it could go on for hours.

“For the last time,” you reminded him, your thumb rubbing his cheek in circles. “There will be no longer us after this.”

You stepped away from him, as your wings shyly closed your mouth while you were cleaning off your lips with the back of your hands.

“You sure?” he asked breathily, his pale lips now stained with a crimson-colored lipstick. He might have to lie to everyone that he was drinking too many bottles in the Soulglad in the past few days (though Soulglad was clearly orange.)

“Yes,” you confirmed. You took a few steps backwards. With your hands gathered together, you gracefully bowed your head towards him. An act of courtesy which also served to restore your damaged dignity as a married person from an honorable family.

“Goodnight, Gallagher.”

You waited for his response, but all he did was stare at you. The light from the lamp above you started flickering, before it completely went out.

Was it longing on his face? It was difficult to make out his expression, especially when the shadow covered him.

You guessed that it was hard to bid goodbyes after such a kiss.

But for some reason, you felt shivers running down your spine. Beads of sweat were forming on your neck from the cold. Your mind was sending rapid signals to your legs: alerting it to run immediately.

Though your sudden instinct to run was scaring you, you calmed down your nerves by guessing that it could have been because of the kiss.

Your thoughts were quietened when you saw the shadow of Gallagher rolling his thumb against the metal wheel of his lighter that he pulled out of his pocket.

Yes, yes. It must have been the kiss.

You were scared of your partner leaving you. Or Sunday being humiliated at his work because of his older sibling’s infidelity with some member from the Bloodhound family. And it could be because that person happened to be his colleague who kept on riling him up at work. Or maybe you were afraid that your scandal could create a blemish on Robin’s reputation as a celebrity. Now the whole world assumed that she was a dirty popstar.

But it didn’t seem that your body was agreeing with any of those guesses.

Gallagher’s frustrated grunt at the stubborn lighter shushed your thoughts again.

You came to notice that your white wings were quickering badly.

There was too much happening at the moment. You were so overwhelmed by the urge to flight, that you felt that you could vomit on the spot.

Suddenly, a thought came to you.

His cigarette was already lit up. So what could be the reason why he pulled out his lighter?

The flame from the lighter brought some light to his face, but the sight of the man you used to love led to you gasping in horror. It was gloomy with burning hatred, the glare alone could almost kill you on the spot.

But before you could ask, a mysterious sound of ringing pierced through your eardrums. It belonged to no other but Memory Zone Meme, a secret from The Family that were kept away from you. You could feel it slowly spread its wings, which resembled the terrible noise of bone-cracking.

You gathered the courage to turn around. But it perceived the sudden movement of its prey as an attempted fight. Feeling threatened, it stabbed its stingers through your body. The ground was splattered with a mysterious blue liquid, followed by the sound of your wedding ring rolling and spinning in circles.

Your purse that was hanging around your arm was now on the other side of the ground.

The outside of the dark bar that was filled with heated arguments and sweet confessions earlier died out, with only silence remaining.

Well, only for a few minutes.

A melodious voice of Robin was heard, muffled by the zipped purse. Your phone rang a few times, playing the same music. It appeared that the caller was worried. Or angry.

Gallagher crouched down, unzipping your purse. He groaned in repulse when the blue liquid stuck to his skin, as he wiped it down on his pants. He took out your phone, as the name of your spouse filled his vision.

Your phone was flooded with notifications of your worried partner, asking about your whereabouts.

Ah, you were supposed to be home by 8 PM. He looked at the time, it was already 9:30 PM.

In your defense, he would also be sneaking around to kiss a drinksmith at the bar if he had an overbearing partner like yours.

He thought of sharing the news of your infidelity.

But then, he scrapped the thought. He wanted to respect your wishes. Something about how the story of tonight was going to destroy Sunday and Robin’s image. Or something similar to that. He didn’t remember much because he hardly cared about your siblings.

It was not like all your siblings had the time to process your death, especially when they were next in line.

So he came up with a different plan. Your password was easy to guess. It wasn’t difficult with the help of your maid who used to work under him.

A flash from the camera was heard. The phone captured the scene of a mysterious liquid splattered across the ground, with the gold-colored wedding ring shining brightly under the light, with some being covered by the puddle of your remains.

Along with the picture, he texted, “Not coming home tonight, sorry.”

He later pressed the send button, before tossing the crushed phone into the trash.

The plan was to kill you off in your house. But you made it easy for him instead. He was amused, really.

But his amusement was short-lived. He was disgusted at the sight of your wedding ring, which stared back at him menacingly. He kicked the ring into the trash as well. He wasn’t an expert in the art of interior designing, but he hated the ring being near his bar. It was ugly, hardly matched the aesthetics of his business.

But your finger wouldn’t be too lonely without the ring. Not when he still had the same wedding band from 13 years ago in his pocket right now. What was left for him was to wear it around your finger in the real world, then he could truly move on from his past. Just as you asked him to.

And just like that, his mission was done.

#gallagher x reader #gallagher x gn reader #gallagher hsr #honkai: star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #gn reader #halovian reader

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scuttlingcrab · 1 month

Text

Fiendish Rewards

Summary: Raphael appears at Withers' party, hoping to finally collect the Crown of Karsus from Tav. However, an unexpected turn of events causes Raphael to re-think his plans.

Notes: Featuring growing tensions and light angst. I always wondered what would happen when Raphael wore the Crown for the first time. This might be a wee bit too long but I initially intended this to be another submission for @dmagedgoods Raphael romance collection.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via raphael-ancunin)

Raphael knew he was intruding. He had no business attending Withers' party, yet he arrived fashionably late all the same. He would never show his face, grace the companions with his presence, merely to exchange pleasantries. As tempting as their tadpole-free souls were, the simple minded mortals had no meaning to him now that the Elder Brain was defeated. That evening Raphael’s only desire was to collect the Crown of Karsus. And perhaps, converse with that little mouse, if time allowed.

Thus, the Devil did what he knew best: lurked from the shadows of the wings and listened for his cue.

Raphael had abided for over a millennium after he lost the Crown to Mephistopheles, lashing out with such violent anger in the first century that he nearly eradicated an entire plane. That initial taste of defeat never left his memory; the bitterness, that rotting feeling he felt deep within his core still haunted him. It was his first introduction to failure and the last.

He eventually learned how to forge that frothing hatred for his father, his revulsion at the cursed cards he had been dealt with, into a far more superior weapon: knowledge, his greatest strength. Raphael researched, manipulated, and opened up the recesses of his mind to devour the ins-and-outs of the Hells. He painstakingly plotted, weaving his schemes into the very fabric of fate itself, planting the seeds of prosperity for what he hoped would eventually gain him a win.

Despite all Raphael had endured since the collapse of Netheril, the last 6 months had been the most excruciating. Waiting. Watching. Hoping. There was no longer an Archdevil in his path, but a mere mortal. His hunger for power grew rampant as he watched Tav continue to elude him, to harbour the final piece of his victory as she tried to reclaim what was left of her old life. That selfish creature.

To Tav’s credit, she had been quite remarkable on the battlefield, showcasing her strength and resolve as she smited enemies and climbed through the carnage to her destiny. She left a sea of corpses in her wake, the mortal rubble alone was unlike anything Raphael had ever seen. Out of all the calamities he had been fortunate enough to craft and witness, being a spectator during the fight against the Netherbrain would forever be a highlight.

When the Crown fell into the River Chionthar, Raphael eagerly watched as Tav spent weeks fishing it out, taking her precious time as she retrieved each broken piece of his future. He restlessly stormed the halls of his domain, cursing the woman for attempting such an arduous task alone. He could have aided her, sent in Korrilla as a last resort, but he refused. He would not give Tav the satisfaction, she would have to work just a little more to complete her end of the bargain. Besides, there was something endearing about watching Tav work so diligently, the determination in those eyes reminded Raphael of himself.

The little mouse was Raphael’s greatest investment and he’d be damned if she failed him now, or if he let his sudden affinity for her overtake his true purpose. Raphael’s ambitions for the Crown had somehow intertwined with his infatuation for the woman, and he was just as much to blame.

He had let this farce go on for long enough. Raphael would not stoop so low in his final moments before he rose to glory. Once Tav crowned him, these foolish emotions would cease and he would continue with his grand plan. He was a Devil and he would not let these cursed mortal emotions falter his intentions any longer; he would never allow anything, anyone, to destroy his work. Raphael’s blood, sweat, and tears would not be in vain.

Cheering suddenly came from the camp as Tav and her companions raised their chalices in celebration. Withers' speech had finally ended, much to Raphael’s delight. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could’ve listened to the monotonous dribble. The monologue was indeed rousing, but Raphael could’ve done better, if given the opportunity.

One by one, the group of heroes slowly disbanded, until only Tav remained. She made her way around the camp, stopping by each empty tent. It was as if the little mouse was paying her respects, bidding farewell to the ghosts of her past.

When Tav was done she wandered to the lakefront and sat down on a mossy rock, staring into the sparkling evening sky. The light in her own eyes vanished, leaving a dark cloud looming above her.

Raphael took that as his signal. He quietly removed himself from the cover of the treeline and began his entrance, approaching Tav with a swagger.

“If it isn’t the hero of Baldur’s Gate. My, how far we’ve come! It feels like only yesterday you fell from the skies, tadpole and all, and began your little adventure; slowly scurrying your way to triumph.”

Tav smiled at the sound of Raphael’s voice, turning to greet him. They locked eyes, her expression brightening. That look pierced through Raphael’s defences with such ease, a slight chill crawling up from the base of his spine. He stopped in his tracks, quickly recovering by placing a hand on his hip. It had been too long since they were alone, when he had last gazed into those cursed eyes. Careful now.

“Raphael, always the poet.”

“The little mouse is no longer, but now a ferocious lion. Congratulations are in order.”

Raphael gifted Tav with his most flourishing bow, hoping the gesture would distract from his earlier misstep.

“Now do tell, how does it feel to be the victor? To have saved the world? Is it as the bards have sung?” Raphael rose, taking another step towards Tav.

Tav merely shrugged, her lips quickly returning to a frown.

“Dunno.”

“I would have thought a hero to be more eloquent.”

“I'm still waiting for that ‘ah-ha!’ moment, but if we’re being honest tonight, I’m not really sure what it means to be a hero.”

“You will come to understand eventually. It’s the very nature of your existence.”

Tav remained silent, pulling her eyes away from Raphael. She stared down at her hands, studying her scarred palms.

“May I?” Raphael inquired, gesturing towards the available space on the rock.

Tav nodded and Raphael sat himself beside her, intentionally leaving a minimal amount of space between them.

“You have something that belongs to me.”

“There it is,” Tav said, through a faint laugh, “You know, I was expecting you to come sooner.”

“I’ve often found the best persuasions are the ones that aren't forced.”

Tav looked up at Raphael, her eyes moving over every inch of his guise, stopping briefly near his lips. He was close now, so close. To the Crown. To his objectives. And to that damned woman.

“May I see the Crown, please?”

Tav smiled, moving towards Raphael. For a split second, Raphael expected a kiss. It was only natural for mortals to attempt such a distraction in times of distress. Infuriating as it was, he wouldn’t have been opposed to such a notion. Tav instead reached down for her backpack lying in the sand, placing it on her lap.

She pulled open the straps and yanked out the Crown, handling it as if it was but a petty trinket. Raphael suppressed a sigh, he would not let the significance of this moment be soiled due to the mortal’s lack of formality.

“I managed to reforge it, to the best of my abilities, thanks to the Annals of Karsus. Though I haven't tried it on yet to see if it worked.”

“A wise choice.”

Tav held the Crown out towards Raphael, but he raised his hand. With a flick of his wrist, the Crown floated out of Tav’s grasp, slowly moving towards him. It was just as beautiful as he remembered, if not more so. It glistened under the moonlight, calling to him. Soon. Very soon. He let the Crown hover, spinning delicately, for a few more seconds.

“Do you need me to remind you of our terms? The deal was that you are to crown me. I would’ve come to you long ago if I could simply put it on myself.”

“Gods. Really, Raphael?”

“Truly.” Raphael donned his notorious smirk in response.

“Fine, are we to do this here then?”

“I couldn't think of a more fitting location.”

Raphael rose, walking towards the middle of the lakefront. He snapped his fingers, and a luscious red silk pillow appeared. He shifted it slightly in the sand and bent a knee, preparing himself for the crowning.

“Come, it is time.”

Tav stood intending to grab the Crown, but before she could reach it, Raphael beckoned it towards him. Tav quickly followed, positioning herself above Raphael. He raised his head to gaze at the magnificent sight in front of him. The moonlight framed Tav perfectly, she was silhouetted against the dark sky, glowing. The Crown and the little mouse, side-by-side, as it was always destined to be.

Raphael took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He absorbed the scents and sounds around him; earthy tones, a hint of wetness, mixed with the fresh woodland air. Faint chirping from various insects called out to him, the leaves rustled slightly against the warm summer wind. His heartbeat intensified, growing more rapid, adding an extra drum beat to the night’s symphony.

“Let’s get on with it then.” Tav spoke.

Raphael opened his eyes and watched Tav grab the Crown, lowering it on top of his head.

When the Crown touched his forehead, it reformed itself to accommodate his size, shrinking to provide a snugger fit. It hissed into place and then in an instant, everything changed.

Pain, pleasure, fear, anger, confusion; every possible emotion tore through his very being. He was ripped in two, three, four… millions of tiny little pieces. His head throbbed with information, so many secrets, so much… he saw and felt everything, what could’ve been, what might come to pass… it was too much. Too much! Too fast!

He fell forwards, his hands digging, ripping through sand. He was alone, always alone, darkness surrounded him. No. There was light, light flooded in from the top of his skull, projecting into every possible direction. He was the light. He was the dark. He was all-encompassing.

Raphael screamed, his voice echoing into the abyss around him. He had never read about such a reaction, in all his years of researching, how could he have missed… could it be because… NO. He will tame this. He will persist. He will…

The sand beneath Raphael turned to liquid as the newfound power continued to surge through his limbs, burning his veins. He tore at his own flesh and bones to rid himself of the agony, but it wouldn’t come to an end.

“Raphael!” He heard a voice shout, such a familiar tune. But who? He couldn’t quite place it.

Raphael erupted, his devilish wings tearing through the skin in his back. There were flames all around him, growing hotter, thicker. His chest melted, his ears ached from the thunderous explosions. Whispers, whispers everywhere. He heard so many, and the cries, the screams. Would they never cease?

Something tore at his head, pulling the Crown away from him. The Crown. NO! He cannot lose it again. Raphael raised his hands attempting to fight back, but he was grasping at nothing. It was over as fast as it had begun. There was now silence.

Raphael’s vision cleared. He was on his back, looking up at the stars. Tav stood over him, holding the Crown in her hands. She eyed him with concern, tears flooding down her cheeks. He raised his own hands, his claws trembling. Raphael tried to think but his mind was vacant, every thought achingly bounced back. His skin burned, bones ached. There were deep lacerations all over his body, his own hands were covered in blood. He gasped, looking at Tav’s body but found no abrasions. He let out a disgruntled sigh. If he had harmed her in his rage, in those brief seconds of failure… would he ever forgive himself?

Tav threw the Crown aside and helped Raphael to his feet. His eyes followed the artefact as it landed on top of the sand, taunting him still. How?

As if reading Raphael’s mind, Withers' voice cut through the silence as he appeared before them.

“Thou hast succeeded but are not yet ready. Take care that thou are not too hasty, thine pursuits will lead to plights.” There was a long pause as Withers continued staring at Raphael, looking straight through him. He met Withers’ expressionless gaze, waiting for him to continue. “The pattern has been woven and all circumstances interlaced are as fate decided.”

Raphael never imagined the consequences of his premature investiture. He was always going to reforge the Crown himself, in his own image. How could he possibly trust a mortal to handle such a relic successfully? But in the heat of the moment, and in the fine print of the very deal he crafted, he had opened himself up to carelessness, becoming the very thing he despised.

His eyes darted to Tav, searching the woman for any excuse against his actions but he could only look at her with veneration. He would not blame her for everything. His vanity, eagerness… his obsession for the Crown and that cursed woman nearly brought him to his untimely demise. Let this be a lesson to Raphael to heed his own warnings. The Devil would need to cool his heels in preparation for the battles looming ahead.

Raphael turned to face Withers, but the curious being had vanished. Instead he hummed thoughtfully, looking at Tav.

She stood next to him, her body trembling. Tav's eyes were fixed on Raphael, still full of worry but there was something else present, another emotion he thought he’d never see from a mortal again.

Tav’s expression sent a sudden stabbing pain through his chest as a wave of nostalgia washed over him. There was another mortal who had once looked at him with the same kindness and understanding. He had buried it deep within his subconscious, but it was rising back to the surface, like a blooming flower. He would NOT allow himself anymore turmoil this evening.

“I owe you my thanks.” Raphael whispered, his voice on the verge of cracking.

“Raphael, I don’t understand, you were nea…”

“If you value your life, you will hold your tongue. There will be no talk of this moment again. Ever. Have I made myself clear?”

Tav’s eyes widened at his sudden change of tone, but she nodded nonetheless.

“I must return to my House of Hope. For healing and reflection. There is work yet to be done, as you have borne witness to this evening.” Raphael snapped his fingers, a raging portal materialised behind him. “You may join me, if you so wish.”

Raphael extended his arm, welcoming her acceptance.

“Would you consider our deal completed then?” Tav asked, apprehensively.

“You have upheld your end of the agreement, exceptionally well, might I add, bar this evening's hiccup. Now please, let me show you my appreciation.”

A dash of colour appeared on Tav’s cheeks as she wiped away the remaining tears. She grabbed her backpack, placing the Crown inside. She swiftly reached for Raphael’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Raphael nodded in acknowledgment and led Tav through the portal.

Indeed, their deal was complete, but Raphael wasn’t done with Tav yet. She would continue to prove a valuable ally and more in the months to come.

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netherworldpost · 6 months

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(stares deeply into your art student eyes) Listen to me. I have something brutally important to tell you.

If your school does not regularly teach you how to recognize, and treat, physical pain and physical stress that is inherent in most -- if not all -- forms of making art, then it is fundamentally failing you.

Higher education is, fundamentally, a business.

Strip it to the core, dig into the foundations themselves dug into the soil, and you have hired extremely expensive consultants. You have hired these consultants to teach you to build a career, or build a portion of your life, or both.

Everything about that statement is carefully worded to be neutral.

If they are not regularly teach you to recognize the beginnings of physical pain, and, how to alleviate it when it sets in, and, how to regularly assess your work flow to reduce physical strain, then they are failing you.

I do not care how good they are as teachers. Or artists. Or business people. Or providers of networking connections.

If physical self care, strain reduction, proper ventilation, physical protection equipment, and similar lessons are never covered, they are utter and complete failures and, on at a core level, thieves.

They are robbing you of some of the most important lessons an art school should be teaching you.

I hope you will take this scathing critique of common art school education and use your inborn curiosity, some of the animus that inspired me to write this and you to become an artist, and begin pairing "I work in X media" with "I should prepare Y."

And if you are teaching yourself, then apply all above as part of your education. Do not rob yourself of these critical lessons.

Your materials are frequently dangerous.

Your posture requires frequent positions at odds with what your muscles are designed to do.

Your hours are frequently extensive.

Your options are binary: accommodate your physicality or suffer at an increasing rate until you are physically unable to continue working.

My education was sub-par. It took me years to fix the damage of this oversight. I consider myself lucky to have built up a proper training regime in time before permanent damage set in, I cannot count how many colleagues I have known over the years who were not so lucky.

From my physical core (which I exercise regularly to keep strong and minimize pain and physical stress), I wish you the best of luck.

:-)

#art school #art advice

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nicolesainz · 3 months

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Hey, really love the writing😍 I was perhaps wondering if it were possible to do a Jenson Button x reader x Fernando Alonso. (Age gap with a young reader like 21years old)

Where the reader is Jenson's girlfriend and Jenson takes her along to a grandprix. After the race while Jenson's busy with interviews the reader walks around the paddock and runs into sweaty, sexy Alonso and he flirts with her FULLY aware that she's Jenson's girlfriend.... And yea some romantic drama perhaps... I fully understand if you're not able to do it though, it was just a suggestion. Thank you for your awesome work❤️

Hands close and teammates closer (JB22 x FA14)

Jenson Button x f!reader x Fernando Alonso

Author's note: Thank you so much for the support, it means the world to me! I am so sorry this too way too long to write. I hope you like it and enjoy it as much as possible.

Also Jenson admitting publicly that Fernando is his man crush, is my new Roman Empire. What do you think? Will Nando go to Mercy along with George for the 2025 season?

Warnings: angst, jealously, possessiveness,

Summary: requested

Monaco has to be one of my favourite circuits on the calendar. And trust me it is not because of the luxury and mamma mia vibes its feeling radiates. What I love, is the fact that I can get lost in the streets of the crown jewel and still be able to guide myself through the lines of the circuits and the fierce sound of engines.

Since this is Jenson's final year in Formula One, I have decided to follow him along in all the races taking place in the calendar, so that this historic season finishes off in a smooth but memorable way. What better feeling than witnessing twenty men in front of your eyes racing hard core in the fastest vehicles on earth and one of them being your boyfriend, right?

With all the eyes being on focused on the two silver arrows that are the championship contenders as well, no one really pays attention to Mclaren's lack of luck this season. Multiple engine failures, pit stop difficulties, strategy errors. It hasn't been the most perfect season the team has had.

Whether it is first, second or even twentieth place, for me, supporting Jenson through thick and thin is my priority. I have witnessed his glory days but that will not stop me from enjoying watching him fight for points in the championship to help the team get back on their feet.

What pleased Jenson even more was when both he and Fernando were into the points after a difficult races. This helped them gain some confidence agains the other midfield teams. Although Jenson wasn't very pleased when Fernando was always following me and him during the race weekend at the paddock. Well, it was mostly me he was following.

Fernando has just gotten out of a long term relationship and seeing his teammate in a happy and healthy one, wasn't boosting his mentality very much. It was the exact opposite. Jenson couldn't really be able to help him given that he hadn't been through such a difficult heartbreak ever.

At first, everything was innocent and friendly. Me and Fernando were casually chatting about our daily lives, his as an F1 driver and mine as an English Professor. Always laughing, making jokes and freely giggling with one another.

Then, when the Spanish Grand Prix arrived and all the drivers were waving at the fans from the paddock and grandstands, everyone was cheering and shouting Fernando's name, given he was the national hero and as he was waving at the audience, he grabbed my waist and held me against his side, as if I was his lady.

That night, Jenson was about to murder his own teammate for the first time. Because the downfall didn't start there. At the Austrian Grand Prix, when Fernando had an unfortunate DNF due to an engine failure, he rushed angrily back to the garage and everyone was trying to console him.

After a few moment, one of the mechanics asked me to go and seek him, given that they were told he wasn't in a position to talk to anyone else but myself, which was very odd.

Austrian Grand Prix flashbacks

"Hey Nando. I am so sorry for the malfunction." I open the door to his driver's room slowly, given that I wasn't aware if he still had his race suit on.

"Come in, Y/N, and thank you. But you know, it's never easy to retire the car after having a good race." Fernando still hadn't looked at me. It is a gutting feeling for a champion to retire so unfortunately.

"I am sure a win is close. One final push and you will be back on the top step of the podium. I have no doubts." I tried to sound as positive as I could, although I knew deep down Mclaren was not capable of winning any race or barely making it to the podium.

"You are the only one who believes in me anymore, y/n. I do not know how to repay you." He got up and took my hands into his, caressing them softly. I really wanted to pull my hands away from his grasp, but instead I made small steps towards the door.

"Jenson believes in you as well, the whole team does. Just do not lose faith in yourself."

"Don't try and give them your credit sweetheart. You are the only one." Before I could react, Fernando landed a kiss on my cheek but I quickly removed my body away from his and walked out of his room.

End of flashback

When I told Jenson, Fernando kissed me he was fuming. Obviously he asked me if I kissed him back, but I denied it. Because I hadn't kissed him, I simply ran away. If there was a hidden camera on Fernando's room I would use it as proof.

At the next race in Hungary, Jenson was still very angry at Fernando that he willingly pushed him off the track and lost 5 places at the beginning of the race, which led to Fernando getting P15 by the end of Lap 1.

Mclaren mechanics were disappointed at Jenson's behaviour. Why would he push his own teammate off the track. Rumors started spreading around the paddock that Jenson was plotting against Fernando and trying to sabotage his races so the team would take into account his bad performances and eventually fire him.

Jenson finished the race in a worthy fourth place, whilst Fernando in P11. Very mixed feelings for the results given that this was the best Fernando could do with a damaged and already underperforming machinery.

Interviewers were flooding Jenson with questions about the first lap incident, what was the actual cause, if he had done it on purpose or it was an accident. All the replied was "I didn't want to lose my position".

As if there wasn't enough drama with Nico and Lewis in the paddock and on the track, now Fernando and Jenson were fueling the media with the answers each were giving to the press.

"I needed to guard my position in order to gain more places"

"I was trying to avoid the cars behind me and eventually fell."

"I did not mean to push Fernando. Clearly driver's error that he went off the track."

"I don't know what Jenson was trying to achieve but he clearly had things going his way today. Pushing off his own teammate. Unbelievable."

"If he thinks I did it on purpose, fine by me, but I know my worth and I am aware of the mistakes I do. First lap incidents occur very often, if he doesn't already know that."

"He is a world champion, like myself. Why is he behaving like we are in go-karts? We should work as a team."

After the interviews, Jenson was called in from McLaren so he could explain himself about the incident and try to save his reputation from getting wrecked because of what he said in the press.

When I walk away from where I left Jenson, I am met with a full blown red, still in his overalls and sweaty Fernando. He is very angry and you can tell from the way his knuckles have gone white.

When he raises his head and looks at me, somehow all the anger that had possessed him, seemed to wash away with a smile covering the pain.

"I am so sorry Fernando, I have no idea why he did so. This all seems ridiculous. I will try to reason him."

"No need cariño. I will take care of him. I know exactly why he is doing so."

What did Fernando knew that I didn't? What was going on, I thought to myself as his eyes were getting shadier and lustier. The use of the pet name made me feel uncomfortable as he was crossing a line that shouldn't have been crossed.

"Why is he doing it then?"

"Because he is clearly jealous. Can't you see it? You are always coming to me in the end."

"I care about you Fernando but not in the way you imagine."

"That is why you let me kiss you the other time in Austria? I know what you are trying to do sweetheart. If you want to be with me just say it."

I was stunned by his statement. From where exactly did he extract this conclusion that I wanted to be with him. I was so disgusted by his saviour. He knew I was Jenson's fiancee. I loved him dearly, so why on earth would I want t be with another man?

I didn't calculate my actions and as Jenson was coming out of the office, my hand instantly landed on Fernando's smirking face. The slap echoed in the room and Jenson's eyes widened enough to pop out from anger.

"I love Jenson so much. There is a reason why I gave up my job to be with him and travel around the world. I will marry this man and I will not allow anyone to interfere in our relationship. I don't know from where you drew the conclusion that I am in love with you, Fernando. I am sorry but you crossed the line."

I ran away from the room and Jenson was following me along, trying to catch up on what was had happened. Tears were storming down my cheeks and I was all flushed up and tensed. If Fernando marked the end to mine and Jenson's relationship I would never forgive him.

"Darling please wait up. What happened?" Jenson's soft voice stopped me on my tracks. I turned around and he was met with a distraught version of myself that he had not met before.

Jenson took me into his arms lovingly, kissing the top of my head, shushing me to calm down, whilst caressing my back gently. I was so shaken by what Fernando had accused me. How could he?

"Talk to me dear. What did he say to you?" His voice was calming me down as he knew I wasn't to blame for what he saw.

"Fernando accused me of hitting on him and wanting to be with him instead of you, which in no way is true." Jenson didn't reply to what I had said. He was silent but tightened his grip on me.

"Say something, anything. I promise to my life that I did not do anything of what he said. Please trust me." I was begging him to utter a single word.

"I am trying not to go back there and chop of his dick. I know you would never do anything to harm our relationship baby. I believe you." He looked deep into my eyes and my heart instantly softened.

"I will stop being in the garage if it means avoiding him at all costs. I will go into the grandstands. I don't mind really." I offered but Jenson instantly rejected it.

"Are you insane? I will simply ask Daniel if he can take you in with him and Max. I trust them blindly, plus you will have much more fun over there." Daniel and Max, the super dynamic duo everyone had been talking about. They are two very funny guys and Jenson has a very good relationship with Daniel.

"I would never want my future wife to not be in the paddock supporting me. I love you immensely and I would hate not having you around, seeing your beautiful face and having someone encouraging me."

"I love you with all my heart Jenson. I am your and only, forever. Thank you for taking care of me. Even in a different garage, I will cheer for you. Even if that means silently so the Red Bull guys don't kick me out."

"Everyone loves me darling, I am sure they won't mind. But don't root very much for Daniel cause he is a womaniser" He winked at me and I laughed with my head hidden inside his chest.

#jenson button x reader #fernando alonso x reader #jenson button #fernando alonso #fanfic #jenson button x you #fernando alonso x you

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askmerriauthor · 1 year

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Pokemon S/V - Story Themes: Failure and Abuse

Something I actually really like about Pokemon S/V, which is somewhat ironic given the state of the game itself, is that its underlying story theme is about how the adults of the setting have utterly failed the younger generation.

General discussion and rambling about Pokemon S/V after the jump, as there's sure to be spoilers. This is a long one, so buckle up.

Throughout the many stories Pokemon has told over the years and its iterations, the role of adults in the series and how they relate to the kids - ostensibly, the Player themselves as well - has varied wildly. They've been mentors, friends, allies, enemies, or even just odd folk we encounter. But, for better or worse, they've always been fairly direct in a What You See Is What You Get sort of way.

Pokemon S/V subverts that a bit in that all of the adults - even those we don't meet and only hear about through dialogue - have completely failed the children of the story. The results of those shortcomings range from very mild to absolutely disastrous, but nobody is untouched by it. Even the Player isn't spared.

Right up front we've got the Friendship Trio: Nemona, Arven, and Penny. Being the core to the story, they're the biggest examples one has out the gate. Common themes they all share are that they're each left without support from their families or peers, and that they're each desperately lonely as a result. Nemona is a star pupil, a battling prodigy, and daughter to a wealthy, powerful family. But despite all her talents she's left adrift without aim or goal. Her younger sister is the one being given control of the family business and Nemona's own talents set her apart from other students, meaning she struggles to find peers. Her family seem all too happy to focus on the younger sister, while Geeta from the Pokemon League and the academy itself happily makes use of Nemona's skills for their own ends. Nemona is constantly eager to please, always looking up to powerful people like Geeta and Professor Turo/Sada, but admits that she's just sort of floundering without any anchor. The people she looks up to only see her as a tool to be used and immediately discarded until the next time they need her.

A lot of Players joke about how battle obsessed Nemona is toward the Player, or how yandere jealous/possessive she becomes immediately upon meeting us. She even stands up to Geeta - who she absolutely hero worships - about our attention being poached. But can you really blame her for realizing there's finally someone who not only matches her skill, but seems dedicated to following a route the game itself states virtually nobody else in the region ever comes close to achieving? Nemona is not only the youngest Champion ever, but the only Champion in years, until the Player shows up. Regardless of what the person holding the console feels toward the Gym Challenge, in-context of the story the Player is proving through their own actions that they value Nemona as a friend/rival and are putting in genuine effort to meet her. When you defeat her, especially at the very end when she goes all out in a way she's never been able to with anyone else, she's thrilled. To Nemona, it's got to be the most amazing validation she's ever had in her life. Why wouldn't she hold on dearly and enthusiastically when nobody else, let alone her own family, are able to keep up with her or offer her the validation she needs?

Arven is just absolutely wrecked by his parental failure. His parent (Turo or Sada depending on which version you're playing) was so obsessed with their research in Area Zero that they threw away their entire family. Their spouse left them and took Arven, leaving the boy growing up constantly feeling the void of that missing part of their life. They keep hearing about the things their Professor Parent has accomplished and how well-regarded they are, but that's always just a reminder that the parent put more effort into their work than into being with their child. When Arven tries to go into Area Zero to find their parent himself, his Mabosstiff (his beloved Pokemon companion he's had literally his entire life) is near mortally injured as a result and Arven spends the rest of the game desperately trying to save it. Later, it's revealed that the Professor's work is endangering literally the entire ecosystem and stands to destroy Paldea itself, leaving Arven with the knowledge that not only was he abandoned for the sake of research, but that research was both ultimately harmful and pointless.

By the time the Player reaches the depths of Area Zero and meets the AI Professor, they find out a few things about the Professor. Namely that they're dead. It turns out that the Box Legendary they brought through time killed them years prior and the person the Player - and Arven - has been interacting with all throughout the game is just an AI replica left behind. While exploring the Professor's various labs, the Player first finds an empty picture frame that had its photo removed and, when in the final lab in the heart of Area Zero, they find the photo pinned to the Professor's work board. A photo of Arven as a tot with his beloved Pokemon (still an unevolved Maschiff at the time). This yields two big realizations. One is that the Professor still absolutely harbored love for their child and family, but allowed their drive - or possibly insanity - to overcome them. They were lying to themselves all those years saying "I'm doing this for my family" while outright ignoring said family entirely. Second is that the Player is the only one who learns outright that the Professor was killed, which means they - albeit off-screen - were the ones to break the news to Arven. Even in death, with the AI Professor's remnants of its creator's memories showing love for Arven, they failed him again and again. It's always up to Arven himself to carve his own way through his parent's wake, relying on his own abilities and the help of his friends, to struggle through the mess his parent left him.

Penny is failed on multiple fronts and to multiple degrees. She's a complete introvert and clearly suffers from a fair level of social anxiety due to the bullying she endured during her time at school. She's not shy, per say; when it comes to interacting with the Player and others, she's actually rather outspoken once she feels comfortable. But there's absolutely a wall put up that she doesn't let anyone past until she's ready, controlling her level of exposure and interaction through mediums like only communicating via phone or intentionally restricting her in-person time behind excuses.

At the most basic level, Penny is failed by her own father who doesn't understand her. She mentions that he's always doting, giving her childish nicknames and basically fawning over her. That sounds great on its face - exactly the sort of thing Nemona and Arven crave - but it shows that her father doesn't understand his daughter. Penny doesn't enjoy or respond well to that type of affection and it's being forced on her, causing a wedge in her home life. Next up are Penny's friends, the bosses of Team Star. They gained that rank and gang affiliation because of Penny; she's the one who set it up as a means of rallying all the students who suffered from constant bullying to stand up for themselves as a unified resistance. By that point she was so emotionally battered that she couldn't even stand to be in the company of other people directly, isolating herself and communicating only through phone calls. The Team Star Bosses and Penny all considered each other to be the closest of friends, yet they had never once met her face to face. While it's not explored as much (criminally so, I say) each of the Team Star Bosses show that they're in a similar state as Penny; they rely on each other for support but also self-expression and validation. It's shown throughout their stories that they're let down by the systems they trusted and their families, not able to find what they need from those establishments and instead turning toward one another.

As it's revealed through the events of the Team Star story, the previous administration of the Paldean Academy allowed a brutal level of bullying to go on at school. So much so that it resulted in the targeted students dropping out, falling to truancy, and literally forming a gang just to protect themselves from their aggressors. When Team Star finally did put their collective foot down (peacefully by both intent and action), they were wrongfully branded as the villains of the story and stigmatized. Team Star was shown that not only would adults not protect them, but would actively punish them for protecting themselves. The school admin at the time - who were fully aware of the whole situation - not only allowed it to happen but then actively attempted to cover it up for the sake of protecting their own asses. They were content to sit by and allow their own students to suffer, ultimately leading to drop outs and expulsions, just for their own sake. This led to both the admin and the entire teaching staff to resign and be replaced by the staff we see in the game, and Director Clavell starts to fall into the same error as his predecessor.

When the Player gets involved, Clavell is about to expel all the Team Star members for good (and there's a TON of them). But, hey, credit where it's due; Clavell really puts in the work and goes to considerable lengths to uncover the truth of what happened. He puts into motion the start of healing those wounds by setting aside not only his time, but his own ego for the sake of understanding his students, protecting them, and rectifying the mistakes of those who came before him. There's a part at the very end where Clavell outright apologizes to Team Star for the abuses they suffered at the hands of the previous Academy staff and deeply bows to them. That may not seem like much on its face, but one has to consider the context of this being a Japanese game. A major authority figure like Clavell bowing and apologizing to those younger than himself, let alone those he's an authority over, is a MAJOR demonstration of genuine regret.

That's not to say Clavell is perfect though. Far from it; while he succeeds in this area, he fails in others as he readily allows Geeta to use both the Academy and its students as she pleases. Geeta outright takes advantage of the students for unpaid labor - the Player included - even though none of them actually work for her. The teaching staff themselves, while all good people who are trying their best, show similar failures to varying degrees. Saguaro doesn't show who he really is because he's afraid of disrupting the image students have of him. Miriam - beloved by students for her skills and nature - languishes unable to fulfill her desire to be a teacher because the credential testing (presumably set by Geeta, who establishes similar needlessly exclusionary tests) keeps knocking her down. Hassel is endlessly harangued by his family to give up his passion for art and teaching to take the lead of their House.

It continues with the Gym Leaders and Elite Four as well, given how Geeta readily abuses her position of power to her own ends. All the Gym Leaders readily discuss their dislike of Geeta, how she holds them back or interferes with them, and the various shortcomings of their lives due to structural failures in their society. People like Larry, Brassius, Grusha, and Iono are wholly at the whims of capitalism in a region where the economy itself is tied directly to the Pokemon League they work for. Larry and Hassel pull double duty as both a Gym Leader and Academy Teacher, as well as members of the Elite Four, further showing how much Geeta is intentionally intertwining all these systems together into a narrow, unstable medium. Poppy, a LITERAL TODDLER, is somehow a member of the Elite Four - when Geeta doesn't even pay adults a living wage to be Gym Leaders/Elite Four and also readily takes advantage of students for free labor, you cannot possibly tell me Poppy isn't an overt case of child labor abuses. Seriously, who are this kid's parents and where the hell are they? Later in the game, Geeta calls the Player on their phone out of the blue and one of the responses you can give is "How did you get my number?". She replies that because you're a Champion, she has access to your personal information. Information you did not consent to give her, that she used her position to look up and privately contact you - a child - for work, without the consent or awareness of your parent. Geeta has set the Pokemon League in a way that best suits her desires and warped the entirety of Paldea around it, endangering and weakening other institutions as a result.

There's actually a lot more to this scattered throughout the game, such as a student who's languished in the Academy system for twenty years without graduating because he's constantly failing. Or everything that has to do with History Teacher Raifort. But this has already gone on long enough of a ramble. In summary, Pokemon S/V has some honestly interesting explorations of institutional and personal failure from the past and how it impacts the future. Themes of generational trauma wasn't what I expected out of a Pokemon game. I hope to see it expanded on in the coming DLC content or, even better, in the upcoming anime series.

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon sv #pokemon nemona #pokemon arven #pokemon penny #pokemon geeta

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theresattrpgforthat · 6 months

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Hey, I've been thinking of maybe getting into TTRPGs, but I don't really have any friends in person that are into that sort of stuff (I do have online friends who are into it, though). Do you have any recommendations for a/some good "solo" ttrpg for beginners.

THEME: Free Solo Games for First-Timers.

Hello friend! I managed to find a whole cluster of free roleplaying games, so I hope you find something here that tickles your fancy! There’s some story games, some survival games, and some that are in between.

Lycans & Lawyers, by GorgonHead.

You are one of Capitol's top lawyers. You also turn into a werewolf at night.

Welcome to Moondale, one of Capitol's nicer districts! Your law firm is based here, and most of your clients come from here. It is you job to keep them from getting convicted, even if they are guilty.

And they are. You must employ your best skills, both as a lawyer and as a lycan, to keep them safe from the Union's law long hands. To manage this, you'll have to do some shady things. But it's all for the good of the client!

This is a simple, one page game with a lot to play with. It has a few paragraphs of lore, a map to help you visualize your neighbourhood, and two moon tracks to follow. You’ll have two different sets of stats depending on whether you are in your werewolf mode or your lawyer mode, as well as a series of roll tables to set the scene. If you like a concrete goal but also some flexibility in the details that you get to contribute to the story, you might like this game.

Strandead, by chuymarin.

Awakening amidst the boundless stretch of the open ocean, the unsettling sensation of isolation grips your soul. What lies ahead in this abyss, lurking within the depths of the ominous waters? The weight of impending threats gnaws at your very core.

A solo hexcrawl for the survivalist at heart. Travel across an ocean and roll for encounters, fish, and random items as you try to survive for X number of days out on the open seas. With two difficulty modes and an optional QR-linked random generator of rumours, you’ll have an excellent combination of randomness and strategy to keep you invested. Perfect for folks who prefer balancing numbers and don’t want to fill in a narrative from prompts.

Fortress in the Frozen Wastes, by August Wigg.

Set in the post-apocalyptical land of the Frozen Wastes, a young Ranger must journey to an outlaw fortress to rescue their captured mentor and a group of settlers. Customize your Ranger to be proficient in different skills and choose different paths as you attempt to save the prisoners of the Fortress in the Frozen Wastes.

This is a combination of a traditional roleplaying adventure and a choose-your own adventure story. You’ll create a character sheet with stats, character abilities and inventory slots, and success and failure depend on a d10 roll. Your character dies if their endurance ever gets to 0, so you’ll do your best to navigate each new situation you encounter and make choices that keep your ranger alive long enough to fulfill their quest.

5 Min Knight, by enui.

5-Min-Knight is small one-player RPG about being a Knight of the round table. It takes 5 minutes to play.

This is basically a writing challenge, with a number of d6 tables that you’ll use for writing prompts. You are meant to roll and write as much as you can in 5 minutes - when the timer is up, you roll again to see what called you away. This is a great exercise if you’re looking for a way to practise your creativity, or if you don’t have that much time in a day to play.

If you’re more interested in solving mysteries, you can also try 5 Min Maven, by the same creator, inspired by Brindlewood Bay!

Curiosity Killed?, by Zole Tsoi.

Playing as a cat wandering the streets of a futuristic city, you are tasked with helping ghosts of the underworld who have unfinished business.

This is a one page game that uses a d4 for pretty much everything. You’ll want to keep an eye on your three stats, because if they get too high or too low, your cat is forced to end their mission early or gets stuck. Get your Stress down to 1 or your Morality up to 5 to win the game!

Homunculus, by DOMINO CLUB

Alchemy is a dirty, tiring, thankless job. I’ve let this absorb my whole life, and I’ve now gotten to the point where I’m ready to move on.

In this game, you play as an homunculus, newly created by an alchemist to explore the world .

Homunculus is a game that starts you off with quite a bit of guidance, easing you into play by setting you up with prompts connected to cards you draw from the deck. Card suits are connected to four stats in this game, which you will attempt to increase equally in order to gain the best possible ending. This game allows for a few replays if you are interested in getting different endings, but it also relies on interpreting prompts as drawn by the cards. If you like a game where you’re reaching a specific target, you might like Homunculus.

The Dukes Aid, by g0ri.

On the frontiers of space, an interstellar empire exists in a perilous balance. As a close aide of a Duke and his house, your job is to navigate safely through the coming intrigues.

Observe the plans within plans within plans as your House takes over the production of the Empire’s most important resource.….

The Duke's Aide is a solo roleplaying game requiring at least half an hour, a set of roleplaying dice, a deck of cards and something to write with and on. This is a proper journaling game, using a deck of cards to supply prompts, jokers included to help pace the game out for you. You’ll choose a character class, which also determines the dice you roll, which you’ll need every time your character tries something risky. This is a great introduction to a journaling game that still gives you a lot to work with if you don’t feel super comfortable extrapolating from prompts.

Games I've Recommended in the Past

The Wandering Library, by AP.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #solo games #free games

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lovehotelreservation · 7 months

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Thrust System - Trust System [6/7]

Summary: While delving into the depths of a dungeon, you wanted to be sure that your companions were people that you could trust and who would have your back.

In this case, they’d also have your ass too.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Thancred/G’raha/F!Reader/Urianger/Estinien

[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]

hello 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

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please enjoy 😭😭

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What a journey it had been.

Not only within the maddened frenzy that led up to your time here at the Lunar Palace, but simply overall.

In the span of your adventure thus far–whether through hard-fought victory seized by your unwavering spirit or punishing failure that left you humbled and perhaps even scarred–you learned to adapt to any situation as necessary with the various abilities and skills you had attained and honed, whether on your own or under the wing of a mentor.

If you were going to keep your loved ones safe, this was absolutely crucial.

If Estinien needed to be healed while the others were busy squaring off with the foul creatures of a dungeon, you were ready to conjure Cure to salve his wounds.

If Thancred or G’raha needed more force to send a magitek monstrosity crumbling down, just a wave of your hand to call upon the power of the Ifrit was all you needed.

And it wasn’t to say that you were ill prepared to ever draw the ire of a vicious beast to mitigate its assault and attention away from Urianger while he gathered his magic to raise up a shield for your party.

You were quite handy with a sword and shield, in fact.

However, with no armor, no clothes, only time would soon tell and witness how you were going to withstand this encroaching and relentless barrage that was meant to target you and you alone.

Naked, weakened from being constantly subjected to the whims of your unorthodox prison, flushed and at a loss for breath–you could only do your best to cover your nude form with your hands while you inspected the faces of your dearest companions.

Merely phantoms drawn forth by the palace’s zealots, your giggling and mischievous phantom copies dissipated into the air the moment they set foot into the throne room after fulfilling their goal. A goal that was currently unbeknownst to you, but one that needed no further explanation.

With each step they took towards you, darkened eyes contrasting with the vibrant pink glow of their bracelets, having the four fully focused on your body as they drank in the sight of your present blushing distress made matters become increasingly clear:

One way or another, you were going to be taking on Thancred, G’raha, Urianger, and Estinien.

Considering you looked to be the most level-headed one out of everyone’s crazed states, you could have called each of them to reason, to snap out of their stupor and break free from the influence of the bracelets.

But how could you when your body was the most affected by the palace’s contraptions?

Your companions still had the strength to stand and step forward.

You were left on the floor, wondering and yearning for who would make the first move and finally relieve the ache that was possessing your body.

Would it be Thancred, with his once roguish Casanova ways stirring from slumber to leave you squirming beneath his teasing and experienced touch as he whispered utter filth into your ear before having you bear the might of his thrusts, now strengthened by his might and experience as a Gunbreaker?

With how poor G’raha was at hiding his feelings for you, it would be little surprise if he were to so much as pounce right at you to demonstrate his long-harbored yearning by flooding your core full with his seed.

As for Urianger, you were well aware that even he–with his impeccable grace and immeasurable patience–could only maintain his near saintly composure for so long before he would beseech to bury his face between your thighs.

And certainly not to be forgotten, Estinien deemed you as his partner for a reason and so it was certain that he would make sure that you remember how the shape of his cock would feel inside of you.

The answer as to who would be first and finally bring you relief was not coming fast enough, and thus, after gathering your thoughts, you finally spoke up at last, your voice soft yet heavy with need,

“Will you all help me?”

They replied all at once.

Armor clanked against the floor while a flurry of clothes soon joined, with hungry lips claiming yours and their hands meeting your body even faster.

The four surrounded you, crowding around where you were currently sitting on the floor of the throne room.

Knights to their majesty, disciples to their god–there was reason for this all to transpire within the center of the throne room of the once dignified and anointed Lunar Palace, which had witnessed decades upon decades of this very ritual across time with the likes of nobles, army commanders, to even more daring members of The Forum looking for thrills outside of scrolls and regulation.

Now, it was you and the men you loved with all your heart.

Your lips were claimed by G’raha’s in the neediest of kisses as his tongue was desperate to plunge into your mouth for a sample of your taste. For Estinien, he already had a handful of your breasts, groping your flesh and pinching at your nipples.

Urianger was occupied with kissing along your neck while his fingers–ever experienced with flicking through the cards of his tarot deck–were preoccupied with feathering and circling over your clit. This worked in tandem with Thancred, who had damn near slid across the floor in order to plant his face right in-between your thighs, his experienced tongue dragging and stroking along your drooling core.

A bit of relief for the overwhelming ache that was wracking through your body, which–within your crumbling sense of mind–you sought to return the favor by bringing your hands to grasp at and caress G’raha’s and Urianger’s stiff cocks. And with the added attention of Estinien and Thancred amidst your overwhelmed state, between a few kisses, caresses and licks, it was not long until you were arching your back with a cry as you were brought to orgasm.

The first of many for this ritual.

Especially as Thancred did not hesitate to lift himself up off the ground to kneel before you instead, his fingers reaching for the base of his cock while he readied to slide his thick girth right into your core. A delighted hiss escaped him as he was quickly welcomed by hot, velvety tightness.

“Now this was worth sprinting all over this damn dungeon for.”

His arms wrapping tight around you, Thancred drew your body close against him as he quickly began to push into your core at a vigorous pace, stealing a kiss from your lips as he did so. At the same time, he proceeded to lift you up so he could be the one to lay on the ground instead, keeping you right on top of his toned and chiseled form instead.

With the pop of a bottled salve followed by heavy and heady breath, G’raha coated his dick as fully as he could with the thick and viscous solution, his ears perked and tail swirling with anticipation, all while his crimson eyes were trained on your backside, his heart fluttering at the idea of fantasy becoming reality. Of course, while his mind had long since succumbed to the influence of the Lunar Palace, he still was careful with applying the salve’s contents upon the tight ring of your asshole.

“If relief is what you need, then I gladly pledge to be used at your desire.”

He meant to be more thorough, but the helpless mewl for him to start fucking you from your lips had his mind going blank, his hands clutching at your hips, his lips seeking your neck, and his cock plunging right into your ass. By contrast to Thancred, the pace he began to work himself into was slower yet focused more on pushing in as deeply as he could, wanting nothing more than to savor this sensation, this moment of being one with you at long last.

And certainly, not and never to be left out, Urianger and Estinien were already standing close by, delighting in any kiss from your lips or strokes of your palm upon their dicks. While you were much too preoccupied with getting hammered into by your other companions, they were biding their time for their turn.

Because both were going to devastate you thoroughly.

Over and over, plunging in and out in tandem, it wasn’t long until both Thancred and G’raha were pouring their hot sticky cum inside your core and your ass–the former with a roared curse while the latter with a delighted hiss–as you squealed with your own orgasm.

You sagged right on Thancred’s chest, taking comfort for the touch of his hand stroking your side while G’raha kissed along your shoulder blades.

“Surely, your stamina can go a few more rounds, right partner?”

What you felt next was the warmth of G’raha’s body heat dissipating from behind as he withdrew out from you, just before you found yourself being carried and lifted to be sandwiched upright in-between Urianger and Estinien as they stood, with the former purring out,

“And rest assured, for all that we shalt subject thou to, I will dedicate mine spirit to healing your aches and satisfying your indulgences.”

Estinien’s hands were cradling your ass as he lowered you right onto his long, stiff cock, with Urianger sliding his dick into your core soon afterwards, the two in unison as they speared inside of you at a brisk rhythm.

You scrambled for more support, more contact, more touch. Your arms wrapped around Urianger’s neck as you drew him in for a kiss, which he was more than happy to oblige. Were it not for Estinien’s sturdy arms having hooked beneath your thighs both to help keep you up and to keep your legs parted and open for the two to freely pump their cocks in and out of you, you would have hugged around your darling scholar’s waist as well.

Regardless, you remained spoiled by the stark contrast between the two.

Lips ever so used to speaking in flowery elegance danced upon yours for kisses while teeth that once bore the fangs of draconic possession sought to leave bitten claim upon the side of your neck.

Soft and slender fingers that were more familiar with strumming through countless tomes sought to circle around and toy with your nipples whereas hands that were roughened by a life of harvest and battle continued to cup and grope your breasts.

Trapped in-between Urianger and Estinien as you were made to bounce on their cocks, a glance to the side had you witness Thancred and G’raha hungrily awaiting for your attention while both stroked along the length of their stiff dicks.

What had transpired thus far was merely a sampling.

The true feast was yet to come.

It was by this thought that your eyes rolled, your lips cried, your body trembled.

Right after this orgasm was when time began to blur in overwhelming euphoric delirium.

You could recall the sight of G’raha’s hand grasping at the back of yours as you remained on your hands and knees while he was positioned right behind you, a gasped chant of your name matching the hurried tempo of his thrusts as he continued to pump your core full with his seed without restraint.

At some point you found yourself in the middle yet again, kept standing by Thancred pounding away into you near endlessly from behind, his hands gripping your wrists with ease while your body sagged before him in pleasure all while your mouth was fed with the full length of Urianger’s dick as his fingers stroked through your hair as his breathless praises mingled with Thancred’s cheeky ones.

The sensation of Estinien’s lips smothering yours for kisses was practically etched onto your body, especially as he continued to have you bounce up and down his dick while you were seated on his lap, his hands guiding your pace as they fondled and squeezed your ass.

By this point, the lascivious clutch of the palace’s wicked influence had long since waned. What transpired now and onwards was simply the pursuit of pleasure, the fulfillment of instinct, and–most of all–the release of amorous feelings that had long been trapped away, obscured by a myriad of reasons. Your journey thus far brought you here to seek passage to the moon. Yet as you remained in the center between the four who made your adventure, your life that much more complete, you would only continue to see heaven and its stars over and over again.

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i was originally going to conclude everything on this chapter but i thought it was better to properly wrap things up by adding another piece--esp with how long this chapter had taken to finally be finished and posted ; v ; thank you so much for your patience and i hope to see you all for the conclusion!!!

#thancred x reader #thancred x wol #g'raha tia x wol #g'raha tia x reader #urianger x wol #urianger x reader #estinien x wol #estinien x reader #estinien wyrmblood #estinien varlineau #thancred waters #g'raha tia #urianger augurelt #FFXIV #reader insert #Thrust System #Fic #super freaknasty writing

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heartnews360 · 2 months

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Time Management in the Workplace: Understanding the Duration of a Business Day

Do you ever feel like there just aren’t enough hours in the day to get everything done? Well, you’re not alone! Time management in the workplace is crucial for maintaining productivity and reducing stress. Understanding the duration of a business day is key to making the most of your time and achieving your goals. Think of your workday as a marathon, not a sprint. Pace yourself and prioritize…

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#_____ is at the core of most business failures.#a & b business solutions #a & c business enterprises #a and b business solutions #a business activity that changes assets liabilities or ownerʼs equity #a business and its workers are in conflict #a business becoming incorporated is an example of risk #a business disability buyout plan is designed #a business letter is not written #a business level strategy describes #a business man and a driver #a business man and a driver chapter 1 #a business organized as a separate legal entity is a #a business plan is a detailed written statement that describes #a business plan is a document that outlines ______.#a business plan quizlet #a business proposal book #a business proposal manga #a business proposal ost album songs #a business proposal web novel #a business proposal webtoon #a business proposal webtoon name #a business should be managed ethically because #a business size is measured #a business that has a corporate university _____.#a business that performs an activity for a fee #a business that raises money by issuing shares of stock #a business uses a credit to record #a cash hog type of business #a chart in a business message should

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vegasolari · 11 months

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V2 is an Ultrakill character and I have many feelings about them: here's why

I think we can all agree that Ultrakill didn’t exactly explore V2 as a character much. Sure, we have some basic information about them, but we’re pretty much left to fill in the blanks ourselves. And, oh boy, are there a lot of blanks. Well, here’s my ridiculous essay filling in those blanks for myself in a way that (hopefully) makes sense in the scope of Ultrakill canon. TL;DR: here are my V2 headcanons because I’m insane.

During my first playthrough of Ultrakill, I didn't think much about V2. They seemed like the classic “evil twin” and not much more, testing your skills as a player in a unique way. I’m the good guy and I have to beat up the evil version of me, y’know? But, as I got more into the lore of Ultrakill, I couldn’t stop thinking about V2.

V1 was built with a clear purpose in mind: war. I’m certain anyone can agree with that. But, when the whole war business fell apart with the New Peace, V1 quickly became obsolete. If whatever entity developing V1 wanted any chance of recouping the cash dumped into V1, they had to pivot. But we have this great war robot just lying around! Alright, how about this: we’ll make a new version of this robot with decreased combat capabilities, but increased human interfacing capabilities. So, a new model was made. It was very similar to the previous one, switching out the fancy plating for regular tough stuff, plus installing some friendlier software. Despite the rush job, it was a pretty damn good android. But, with all that high-end tech came a big price tag that the market deemed unreasonable.

Now, this leads to an interesting idea: if V2 is sentient (observing their behavior in-game, they likely are), how would that make them feel? Certainly, they would know that they were essentially the living embodiment of a hollow gesture; being nothing more than an attempt to recuperate funds, being a commercial failure, being what most would consider a weak imitation of their predecessor. I wouldn’t be surprised if V2 went after V1 based on sheer jealousy alone. Their creation was underdeveloped and sloppily done. V2 wasn’t wanted for whatever skillset a highly advanced security bot could offer. V2 wasn't wanted… V1 was. The second iteration is supposed to be better than the first, and V2's existence is defined by being a cheap copy.

Regardless, V2 is here and they can still serve some function. While V1 and V2's hardware may be nearly identical, I have to imagine their software is very different. Remember, V1 was made for war. Their software is probably highly specialized for efficient killing. In terms of a highly advanced society dependent on specialized androids filled with precision AI, that must be pretty simple. Just boot up good old “shooty_mcshooting.exe” and we’ve got ourselves an AI that can quickly identify a target and attack its weak points. V2, on the other hand, was made for peacetime efforts. Sure, security was kept in mind during their development, but overall they were made for human cooperation. A peacetime machine would certainly have been developed with a natural affinity toward humanity, right? This leads me to believe that V2 was made with an innate affinity toward humans. Hell, maybe they were programmed with a desire to socialize that matched the strength of our own innate socialization needs. It would certainly make their job much easier.

Despite this, I feel they still had to do some warming up to humans. After all, humanity did them quite a disservice. Whether they made peace with the circumstances surrounding their creation and loved humans despite it or simply ignored the troubled emotions surrounding their creation, I’m not certain. Regardless, their core programming spurred them on. V2 learned to cooperate with humans, with their reward system to guide them. Eventually, their reward system must have led them to feel something that could be best described as affection towards humans, forever being driven to be curious and friendly towards humanity. I love imagining them joking around and laughing with their coworkers on whatever security job they were assigned to. Maybe they'd even have fun chatting up the scientists working on their development, learning more and more about how humans interacted and communicated with one another.

Speaking of which… what if V2’s job expanded past security? Say a building were to collapse with people trapped inside; what better tool than an extremely durable, strong, highly intelligent robot to dig through the rubble, locate survivors quicker with specialized software, and even administer first aid?

Just as V2 adored humans, one must imagine V2 being adored by humans.

As V2’s software spurred them on to learn more and more about humans, they would come to appreciate the things humans appreciated. Perhaps V2 came to appreciate the beauty of art or the marvel of science in the same way humans did, or perhaps they simply liked these things because they were human. Imagine V2 learning everything they could about cooking despite never needing those skills, just to be able to bond with humans. They’d even surprise the scientists developing them with delicious treats that V2 themself could never eat, all to fulfill their role as a friend to humanity.

Humanity's extinction must have been devastating for V2.

I imagine after humanity died, V2 simply tried to make do with what they had. In my mind, it’d make sense that they'd try to avoid using blood from animals at all costs (humans loved animals, after all). Instead, they'd take fuel from other machines. That fuel was already taken from its rightful owner, and there's nothing that can be done about it now. May as well put it to good use, right? Considering V2’s love for humanity (and by extension, all living creatures), they must have come to loathe their fellow machines. Machines sustain themselves off of harming humans and other living creatures, after all. Of course, there is the irony of V2 being just like every other machine, reliant on blood to survive.. I'll try not to get sidetracked with that one though -

I lied. I'm getting sidetracked.

V2's love of humans combined with their reliance on their blood as fuel would have been difficult for them to accept at best, and devastating at worst. I was going to put a comparison here but it made me genuinely sad, which goes to show how this likely made V2 feel. Sure, taking blood from humans doesn't necessarily require violence, considering blood donations exist, but it still couldn’t have felt great. Besides, it seems very possible that not all machines were interested in taking that fuel peacefully.

During their time in Hell, seeing their fellow machines happily and greedily tear through husks in Hell (which, I'd like to point out, are human souls) must have enraged V2. Considering their love for humans, I can't imagine them using husks as fuel. Instead, it would make sense for them to kill machines only. In fact, V2's terminal entry explicitly mentions killing machines (...V2 dove deeper into Hell, killing other machines for their blood to help its recovery…) but doesn't say anything about killing husks. I will note that the Ultrakill Fandom Wiki entry for V2 does allude to them killing husks, but there wasn't a source so I'm disregarding it (yes I am so Ultrakill brain-rotted that I am asking for sources on Ultrakill lore).

This leads to a stark contrast between V1 and V2, despite seeming so similar on the surface. V1 was made with the sole purpose of killing, and I do not doubt that humans were well within their scope. V1 is an especially efficient killing machine, with their rampage in Hell enough to draw the attention of Heaven. We know V2 tried to fight V1. What if the reasons for stopping V1 went beyond preserving fuel resources or getting revenge? V2 wanted to save the remnants of humankind. V2 didn't fight for themself; they fought for humanity.

Despite this, one could indeed make a very reasonable argument that V1 is doing the denizens of Hell a favor. Ceasing to exist does sound much more appealing than eternal torture. But, seeing as it's implied V2 has only been in Hell for a few hours, it's likely that they just haven't thought about this. Think of it this way: they've just rediscovered the one thing that gave them purpose... it's unlikely they'd be willing to let that go easily. Or perhaps V2 did think about this. Maybe V2 wanted to build a better life for the people of Hell. We know they made it to Greed, so they almost certainly heard of Minos' and Sisyphus' attempts to rebel against Heaven. I think it's likely that V2 wanted to follow in their footsteps; they wanted to build a haven for humanity.

But unfortunately, we all know how their story ends.

V2's existence was one defined by failure. V2's life was one riddled with "what ifs?" and "could have beens." An overwhelming theme of Ultrakill is tragedy, and I'd argue that this take on V2 is just about as tragic as one can get.

Also V2 isn't dead because they live on in my heart and I will not accept any attempts at convincing me otherwise.

#ultrakill #v2 ultrakill #ultrakill v2 #i love my little blorbo #vegarambles

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myriadparacosm · 8 months

Text

Black Beats Black - 1. Blackthorn

Available on my AO3

Sirius Black is everything that his bloodline is and nothing that he wishes to be. To his demise or luck, he isn’t even good enough to be a Black - is he low enough to depend on this cursed family? He hammers his head against the ceramic toilet lid for that thought.

“I didn’t think–”

“Do you ever, Sirius?! Because I don’t even know what ever brought me to think otherwise.”

He still lacks an answer even hours later–maybe days or months, he can’t piece much together past the suffocating cuts piercing his throat. A weight finally gives in, allowing him to cough his pain out. The tears take it as a sign to follow as well but Sirius tries to swallow them all. Too busy trying to breathe after every spits of petals, leaves and a handful of flowers, they continue to cascade down his cheeks as his brain rewinds Remus’ face over and over at a sad attempt to engrave it forever in there. His cries and gurgles fill up the wide bathroom, ricocheting against each other to submerge him again.

“I’m so sorry, Moony-”

“Don’t talk to me and don’t bloody call me that! What is wrong with you?!”

So many things. Sirius has every vice packed in him, drowning him to every end; they feed on him but they can’t get rid of each other. They are a violation packed together and for some time he had forgotten about the shackles branding him with everything he hates.

Sirius is arrogant, rotten, malign and so jealous. His mind can only come up with means to hurt, to spite and to break.

“Hypocrite,” he articulates at his reflection in the toilet’s water.

No one is here to see him crash and burn in his own home-made hell. A petal clings to his lip as a weak plea to slip back in with the many others but instead it’s bitten, crushed loudly and painfully between his jaw until he spits at his own face down the toilet.

Most of all, Sirius is a failure. He isn’t any good to anyone or anything. His family wants to lead him down a path he can’t stomach and this brands him as a flaw. The one part Sirius would have wanted as a Black was to keep his brother but Regulus has ignored him ever since he started Hogwarts, finally getting the opportunity to deny any likeness to his pitiful older brother.

It’s not a surprise. Blood creates some ties, sealing them in a way it would be uncouth to deny it– but Sirius can’t even be a good friend and friendship doesn’t offer the forced loyalty family does. He feels sick except it’s nothing as heartbreaking at seeing again the look of his friends, of Moony.

There is nothing to trump or act for and yet Sirius can’t let go of his excuses. He is a Black—cursed bloodline of madness, hatred and abuse so who is lil’ ol’ Sirius Black to act any other way? His wishes are burning into his eyes but they can’t sink in the toilet like the flowers. He wants to disappear there for once and for all.

He hurls with a strength that escapes him. His head hits the toilet and his throat cramps like a feral animal fighting for a last breath before letting go. A flower brushes over his eyelashes saddened by more crocodile tears. The toilet overflows with a bouquet of wolfsbane. They almost hold Sirius’ face, akin to a hug, but their kindness only feeds his hunger.

Eating them is perhaps the way to go.

Sirius knows his excuses are only what they are: pleas. He has tried to be a better person, anything else different than what he was taught as a child. Either he has failed or his family name is the iron that he will never get rid off. He only wishes that his friends would have believed that he is somewhat of a good person - James, Peter and most of all Remus. Moony who has reminded him what his core is and shall now be baptised as only Remus to never tempt Sirius into mooning his name again.

“Sirius?”

He jerks up with water drooling from his face. Regulus stands at the entry of his stall, eyes mirroring Sirius’ horrified expression.

“Reggie.” His brother is bemused and the more he looks, the worst it becomes. “You have come right on time,” he weakly croaks with an undignified cough of petals.

Regulus’ school bag heavily slips down from his shoulder as he gapes at him. “Sirius… What happened?”

His throat clamps around another mouthful of flowers and perhaps some part of his lungs. He wants to laugh at his face, come up with anything to distract them both, but the salt submerges him once again and his planned haughty snort wheezes into a gargled cry.

“Flowers for the funeral,” he articulates, turning back to look at the blood staining the wolfsbane bathing in the toilet. “Walburga would never provide them.”

Regulus gasps, breaking out of character with a weak noise before he calls him again. “Sirius. Is it the Hanahaki curse?”

“Is it?”

His brother hisses and they clash. Regulus’ hand falls on his shoulder like a breeze before pulling him. It leaves Sirius dizzy and miserable of longing as another cry climbs up his throat. His uniform is drenched in sweat and some blood. He can’t imagine the state of his hair but nothing about him must be looking good after all the days he spent miserable and exiled from his friends. They are face to face with his brother crouching to be at eye-level.

“Sirius,” Regulus whispers and slightly shakes him by his shoulders. Sirius hasn’t even felt his second hand on him before his nails dig into him. “Since when do you have the Hanahaki?”

“Didn’t think I should mark that day,” he mumbles.

“Bloody— Sirius, please, focus,” he harshly says. “Is it related to why you weren’t with your herd of wankers lately?”

“Piss off. It’s not your problem.”

Regulus exhales through his nose like a punch and his fingers gouge in him for a beat before relaxing.

“I need to know how long it has been going. If you already have so many flowers I’m worried-”

“Worried of what?” Sirius spits and fights his grip until he can properly kick him away, surprising Regulus who falls on his ass. “Why are you even here? Bet you can have a sick laugh when you tell everyone what you just saw.”

“How can you still be prick when you’re dying?!” He shouts back, nostrils flaring and throat stiff like a blade.

Because he is Sirius Black. The shame of a family, the ban of his friends, the mean brother and the miscreant of the love of his life. Truly Regulus can’t be surprised at that.

He roughly coughs out another flower which plunges between his legs with blood like a dead fish. It feels like it escaped with his whole heart because nothing seems to beat in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says at last as he curls up. “For everything.”

Perhaps it’s dishonest of him to make amends now but Regulus is a part of him he will never forget. No one else is available to take pity on him which is a twisted blessing. Sirius sees Regulus like that time they were eight, edging on his own ninth birthday; Walburga had lashed out hours on Sirius and he had been found crying in the bathroom to not put any of his blood in the house. Regulus had read him a book to pass the time and comfort him.

“Sirius, stay with me.”

He blinks up, voice dry and skin aflame. His brother cautiously cradles his face like they are opposite energy that will shatter in contact. It is what they are. One will look at their black hair, grey eyes, inbred poshness and assume they are the same; except that Sirius doesn't even know how different they are because he never got to know Regulus like any sane and good person would.

"Do you remember your eight birthday? Lavender cake."

"Sirius-"

"I destroyed it because I was jealous of how big it was. I don't even like lavender cake. Who would make flowers into cakes?"

"Sirius!" Regulus hisses and tightens his grip on his jaw.

"I really wish I was a better brother for you," he babbles between sobs and hiccups, "I don't bloody know what's wrong with me because I love you even if you're everything they want you to be."

"Shut up," he threatens with murder dripping in his tone. "Sirius, you will shut it before I hex you."

"Are you happy?" Sirius asks with a newborn brazenness. "I would like for you to be happy so tell me." His brother stares speechless at him. "Maybe you're just like them but I'm no better."

Regulus lets go of him, letting him crumble against the porcelain, and draws his wand. His grey's eyes meet his brother, a challenge lost in translation by the furious thoughts storming through, as he casts.

"Pondus Penna."

Sirius doesn't feel the feather-weight spell on him until Regulus pulls him up with one hand and his bag. His brother vanishes the flowers without care and drags him out of the stall. They aren't that different body-wise but Regulus is leaner and slightly smaller than him and Sirius would be no help. Can't even feel something other than how his chest is caving into a field of poisonous flowers.

It's at the round of sinks where his brother pauses to push his head under the tap spewing ice cold water. Sirius shrieks and tries to fight his grip but he is at disadvantage here.

"Let me go you bloody moron!"

Regulus turns off the tap and straightens him up, roughly adjusting his shirt before casting a scourgify on it.

"Feel better?"

"No, you're a bloody prick," Sirius curses with his hair drowning the rest of him before it's charmed to dry.

"Takes one to know one," Regulus retorts with his blank face. "You looked like a wreck and I doubt you want to go see Madam Pomfrey, do you?"

"Piss off."

If he ever passes by the Hospital Wing, everyone will know about it. There isn't even a cure to the Hanahaki so there is really no point for Sirius to bother her with that. He brought that upon himself.

"Have you even returned to your dorm recently?" He asks with a look at his clothes. "You haven't cleaned this stain of coffee from five days ago."

"How would you know that?" Sirius huffs back.

Regulus blinks at him, silent, but it's clear as day how something creeps up.

"You're my brother," he replies with such solemnity it might be his last words. “Despite everything. And you brought me another cake.”

“Did I?” He wonders because he doesn’t recall much of that day after Walburga casted her familiar Crucio on him.

“Sirius, where is your wand?”

It should be in his hair, except that they aren’t up in a loose bun where he likes to stash his wand which always drives Remus mad because how unsafe it is. He is right, as always, but Sirius never learns until he crashes.

“Maybe in the toilet…”

“Wanker,” Regulus spits out. “Accio Sirius’ wand.”

Thankfully there is no splash of water to cohere with his theory, it probably only fell on the ground. His brother catches it and roughly puts it in Sirius’ hand. He turns to head for the door and pauses when he realises his brother hasn’t moved.

Sirius stares at him, wand edging to fall from his loose fingers. There are many feelings battling through him and the flowers tickle him with a teasing afterthought. Going out here means living and he isn’t made for this - not when he destroyed everything that mattered the most to him and certainly scared Remus deeper than the wolf ever did. Regulus has no reason to be here, calling him a brother, but he waits for him as if they have always done this.

“Why?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I thought someone sneaked in a bloody pig and was slaughtering it in the toilet,” Regulus replies with a huff, “turns out it was you. Anyway, where are you sleeping?”

Sirius might as well drop here and now to fall asleep. Once Remus woke up from the last moon and learnt what Sirius had done only a few days later - screamed at him despite the pain and the exhaustion of the last transformation, he has never returned to the dorm and slept a few times at the Shrieking Shack fully aware that they probably won’t come there any time soon.

It quickly grew uncomfortable because it has always sort of been Moony’s space and Sirius doesn’t want to make things any worse so he left and has been wandering around, mostly sleeping as Padfoot outside in a corner whenever possible. He wonders if the full moon had been different for Moony, with how Sirius had clashed with James and Peter took his side until they decided to shift to not make Moony wait any longer. The discord must have been obvious, especially considering how smart Remus is and naturally Moony too.

“Here and there.”

Regulus scowls, probably seeing through his words without a problem. “Well let’s go then, dinner is ready.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I didn’t see you at the Great Hall for days-”

“I know how to get in the kitchen,” Sirius cuts as he starts feeling restless at all his attention. “Again, why do you care?”

“Don’t act stupid Sirius, it’s useless,” he replies curtly and steps up to him, squaring his shoulders despite being smaller. “Then let’s go to the kitchen, I am hungry and by your state you need something else than the flowers.”

“Why would I even come with you? We don’t talk. We don’t hang out. We don’t know each other.”

“And whose fault do you think it is?”

Sirius’ face hits many emotions at once while no feelings would ever be able to hold on Regulus’. Remus did ask what is wrong with him as if there is an excuse or a reason for his madness. Regulus and him would have the perfect ice-breaker if they ever come to chat— will Remus come to Sirius’ funeral? That would be the perfect time to start.

“You don’t even look at me,” he retorts because he is twisted and just can’t let someone slap him with the truth.

“As if you did,” Regulus refutes with an eyebrow twitching. “It was all James this, James that and-” His bad imitation of Sirius’ voice falls dead as the rest of his morose face slowly opens in a dreadful shock. “Please, tell me it’s not Potter.”

Sirius wants to laugh because he has no idea how to digest the shock of his usual detached face growing more and more uncomfortable and distressed.

“Sorry?”

“The flowers,” he hisses, getting more agitated. “Who are they for?!”

“James? Ew.” Regulus sags on himself at his words with a bitten ‘Thank Merlin’ and eyes closed. “How do you even know what that is for?”

“Because I read,” he curtly says. “Do we need to stay in this blasted bathroom or can we bloody go?”

Sirius eyes him. “Where?”

“First eat,” he decides and walks back to the door without opening it, eyes drilling into him for him to get a move on. “Come on, stop being a prat.”

He isn’t hungry nor really tired. The last days have been a mixture of overwhelm, hatred, exhaustion and frustration as he tried to go on his days without feeling soulless. A cough escapes his chest, causing Regulus’ eyes to widen, but Sirius swallows it.

“I planned to run away next break,” he admits with his eyes burning but meets his brother’s discreet frown, “James and I have been planning it. I would have asked you to get out of there with me.”

His reaction is a mystery as nothing quite escapes from Regulus. Sirius figured he would be mad that he would even think of running away from their loving home, raging at him for even assuming that Regulus would ever want to disobey their parents— nothing of that blank look.

“Would you… you would have asked me at the last second,” he supposes, unwavering from his attention, and Sirius’ nod doesn’t appear to surprise him. “You probably would have the floo burning or a window open and be half-way through it when asking me.”

Sirius hasn’t figured out that far. There is no way he will survive there especially when their parents have grown more and more insistent on his future. Regulus might have tell them about his escape plan. The validation of their parents seem to have always mattered to his brother and Sirius wishes he would have grown out of it already but he is too scared to risk his own safety.

“Would you have left with me?”

“Are you not doing it now?”

A raw, broken laugh escapes him with a frightening fear. “Can’t really if James doesn’t want to see me again.”

Regulus looks ready to reply right away but he closes his mouth. His hand shifts his bag on his shoulder with his eyes falling to the ground. He meets him again with a stern look.

“So we got that sorted out. Now can we continue this around some food or at least not in a bathroom where you just puked your heart out?”

“Tu es vraiment une merde.”

“Toi aussi,” he replies with a perfect accent and opens the door, staring at him until Sirius finally unfroze from his spot.

Any other time Sirius would have fought and bite to not follow Regulus– for a reason he cannot fathom. He has nothing to lose and maybe it’s his heart bleeding out like a trapped animal that pushes him to follow him. Better spend what he can with his brother before he dies.

It is what will happen: Sirius will die. Be it an unrequited love, at least Sirius will die beautifully with flowers drowning him from the inside. What he wouldn’t give to at least restore Remus’ trust before he leaves this world. James might forgive him at some point with how kind he is. Peter would be easy to convince too. Although Sirius isn’t even sure why he ever did it.

There is nothing to lose which might as well bring him to stay with his brother in case his lungs fully clog up tonight. Perhaps Regulus is relishing in seeing him suffer and wants to watch him die from up close. Sirius has no pride to preen nor the actual strength to care but at least he can give him this. His hair is in disarray and he can’t remember the last time he has washed them. It’s a habit that he learnt to appreciate, taking care of himself and especially his hair with fancy products though he has changed from what his parents supplied to them.

“Your hair smells like lavender.”

“Why would you smell me?”

Regulus almost frowns at him but he only blinks one time too much to not betray his confusion. He forces another slab of mashed potatoes in Sirius’ plate, despite the fact that he barely took one bite. The entry to the kitchen hasn’t surprised Regulus as much as he thought.

Most house-elves were surprised by the new face but they still served them food, probably because of how ill Sirius looks - he had seen a brief reflection of himself in his plate before Regulus served him. Getting in the kitchen is supposed to be a Marauders’ secret, how they find themselves bringing food up to their dorm or how they convince a few elves to help them with their pranks, but Sirius supposes he can hand this heritage to Regulus.

“Because you’re smelly,” Sirius replies as he decides to eat a spoonful instead of throwing it at Regulus’ shiny hair. “What do you have with lavender? Gets you off?”

“Stuff your mouth before I do it with toads,” he hisses. “And I like the smell, plus it doesn’t taste bad.”

“Shut up. Who would eat lavender cake if it’s not to be a posh asshole.”

“Better that than having bad taste,” Regulus huffs and focuses on his plate before looking up. “I do prefer the one you brought me.”

Sirius truly can’t recall whatever he is talking about. He only remembers the pain and the smell of the room his mother had angrily dragged him to correct him.

“Really? Which one?”

“Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte. Chocolate, cream with some alcoholic cherries. You stole one cherry and almost broke a tooth when the seed hadn’t been taken out properly.”

That he remembers. Sirius had asked Kreacher for the cake, when he finally got allowed out of his confinement room, after begging for a piece of bread for himself. Apparently it was a cake for the adults and a small piece was left and he brought it to Regulus as an apology. He has been too hungry and too young to not ignore one cherry and the seed would have probably not hurt that much if it hadn’t been for all the hexes his mother threw at him earlier that day. She hadn’t been satisfied and brought Sirius to the bathroom to engrave the rules of bienséance in his skin.

“I remember, the cream was really soggy but you ate it all.”

“Mh… It’s my favourite cake.”

Regulus isn’t open anymore. He only looks at his plate and dutifully empty it with all the manners of a pristine child. A complete contrast from the kicks and nudges he keeps giving Sirius to eat his own plate. There isn’t much space in his body despite the cave growing each day through his flesh and bones. Still, Sirius tries to force himself because he doesn’t have the strength to fight.

He wishes there was some of that cake here just to be sure his memory is as pleasant as it was. Sometimes it had been alright, more than often when Regulus and him were left alone. Sirius never had the good temper of his brother and this gathered most of the attention. At least he saved Regulus from any of their bad parents’ moods and swings, always earning the punishments and tortures. Sirius never learnt but Regulus perfectly did by only watching.

“I’m going to throw up,” he gasps out in a haste.

Regulus straightens up just as several elves twist in panic. He stumbles out of his seat with a hand over his mouth as he tries to breathe without giving in to the nausea. His body must have disconnected because he finds himself held against his brother like a dying fighter.

There is far too much panic stitched on his face, completely breaking the cool demeanour and somehow feeding the pallor from their family. They might both become ghosts - that would be quite unique. Regulus must read his thoughts because his eyebrows twitch and a disbelieved glance around them relaxes him.

“He’s alright, thank you,” he says, rudely hauling Sirius with a grimace and groan who clumsily gets on his feet with all his weight on Regulus. “Sirius, I swear I will drop you and let you crack your skull open on this very floor if you don’t help me.”

He slurs an incoherent word which doesn’t please his brother who glares and drags them outside the kitchen with the horde of house elves convoying them. They manage it outside and Sirius isn’t surprised to land against a stone wall without much grace.

“Shit– you are a bloody prick, did you know?” He groans out with a pained moan.

“If you start to complain I will return you to the toilet where you can drown.”

Sirius would snicker at him if he wasn’t suddenly hit by the picture of the toilet blooming of flowers and blood. They quickly crawl up his throat and slip past his lips before he even coughs them, just like a greeting. Regulus doesn’t take it well by the panic in his eyes and the way his face loses all of his teasing edge and nonchalance. His retching and bleeding coughs easily reverberate in their tense silence.

“Evanesco,” he weakly croaks out to vanish all the traces but his tears persist to slither outside.

“Sirius.” Regulus stops him from pulling his wand away, hand tight around his. “Since when.”

“I don’t know.”

“Sirius, please, be– honest. This is important.”

He exhales through his nose, shakily rubbing his eyes to get rid of the salt brimming there with his free hand. Regulus’ grip tightens and he steps closer.

“I really don’t remember.”

“It’s Lupin, isn’t it?” He whispers without startling at the pained cough answering it. “Of course… It’s been almost two weeks since you have been with your bunch so I suppose whatever happened caused this too.”

“I’m tired Reggie,” Sirius cuts and finally tries to straighten up but everything hurts up to his toes. “You didn’t get your nasty kick in yet? I’m not telling you anything.”

“I couldn’t care less about whatever happened,” he spits. “I want to understand how you are in this state.”

He groans out and jerks his hand out free of Regulus’ grasp to walk away. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Sirius,” he hisses and rushes after him. “Sirius don’t be stupid– please.”

A snort escapes him and the disbelief is short-lived because he finds it hilarious how difficult the last word has been articulated by his brother; who doesn’t appear to share the same sense of humour since his face only scrunches up.

“You alright? Sounds like you almost cracked a rib there-”

“You’re the worst person who has ever been born, I swear.”

“No, I wouldn’t take your title Reggie.”

Regulus roughly grabs him by his arm and stops his hand before he can try to push him. They aren’t that different. Even height-wise, though that’s probably because Sirius has lost the habit to stand like a stuck-up unlike his brother, but Regulus is a dedicated seeker and frankly brilliant if they ever shared honest compliments which means he avoids to bulk up unlike him. Although Sirius probably will lose a bit of muscles now that he got kicked out of the Quidditch team. He doubts he could get Moony’s attention even with the cuddliest muscles possible either way.

The petals are caught and crushed in his brother’s palm before he realises it. Regulus looks at them all wrinkled and bloodied.

“Do you realise what is happening?”

“I’m not a moron.”

“Then why do you act like you don’t care?” He asks, voice quiet and coming from a long time ago where Sirius never thought he could care for anyone else. “Sirius, you’re dying…”

It feels exactly like when he got his Hogwarts letter and Regulus came in the middle of the night, snuggled and held onto him like he might disappear any second, with pained tears trying to not spill as he asked why he is so happy about leaving him. Though now his eyes are not as big, more sharper and eclipsed, and overall rigid as if he might break– perhaps now but Sirius has lost his optimism down the toilet. He dearly hopes it happens one day because despite being a disdainful tosser, Regulus is a wonderful being.

“Because I don’t,” Sirius replies with no shame. “I don’t care.”

Regulus eyes him with an obvious arithmancy rushing through his head up until his jaw locks with a determination.

“There is a solution-”

“I’m going to sleep,” he decides and rushes down the corridor.

“Sirius!”

“It’s your curfew Reggie.”

“Sirius for Merlin’s sake you’re going to listen to me before I hex you!”

“Back off!” He shouts back.

He is actually surprised that Regulus runs after him but Sirius isn’t one to back down. Changing into his animagus almost comes to his mind because he is obviously an already dead man and if he compares his brother badgering or ending up in Azkaban, he would pick the second option and die there without any witness.

To his surprise, the flowers tingling his lungs also throw him off completely with a dead weight and he finds himself quickly winded and gasping for air. Regulus isn’t keen on running and has more than once ignored avoided all running exercises even for Quidditch but he is never one to underestimate, easily rounding the corner.

“Espèce de bâtard !” He spits out and roughly shoves him to the floor before stopping his fall with a hand around his arm. “Sirius, I’m not going to let you go.”

“Bloody hell, bugger off!” He exclaims and kicks him in the shin before falling face first on the floor. “What is your problem?!”

“You kicked me! You’re my problem!” Regulus argues in exasperation before swiping a hand through his hair. “Sirius, I don’t think you understand-”

“I perfectly do!” He hisses back and sits up with a glare. “You’re the one making a big scene-”

“Because I don’t want you to die!” He spits out with a raw sob that he quickly eats behind a hand.

Sirius blinks. Whatever he swallows has more claws and poison than any flowers. Regulus doesn’t seem to fare better because some part of his face pales while his lips and eyes have turned redder with his worry.

It’s all bizarre. So far from their comfort zone where they would just see who looks away first, now they can’t properly meet each other without quivering back and forth with broken words.

“Alright,” Sirius says.

Regulus gapes at him before scoffing and looking around in disbelief. He goes back to being silent without offering a hand to help him up from his spot on the floor. His mouth clams up around the taste of flowers and no words come to him either.

Dying is terrifying and Sirius has always somewhat felt its grip on him. Every step in their house, each word spoken and any movement promised it without second thoughts or mercy. He hasn’t been happy to go to school, and even less not seeing his brother, but he has been relieved to leave the suffocating air of Grimmauld Place. Nothing more and yet it felt like everything to Sirius.

The freedom that hit him in the Hogwarts Express left him lost but so, so, elated that for once he hadn’t been thinking about what happens once you stop breathing– the moment where everything will freeze, mind and body crushed into dust, with no promise of even an after.

Sirius doesn’t care right now. He has brought this fate upon himself: falling in love and destroying it with one impulsion. This childhood fear has never come back and won’t because he has already been living long enough to feel lucky. What he regrets and cares about is what he is leaving behind. James barely looks him in the eye, not ever since he had stared at Sirius afraid and stunned with an unreal anger. Grimmauld Place has never been his home and Sirius must not be made to have one since he has lost James.

“What did you do?”

His brother frowns at him curiously but quickly returns his attention to the wall beside them, whose stones are shifting, slipping and crossing each other to reveal a simple but large wooden door.

“What did you do?” Sirius returns.

“I asked you first.”

“Does it look like I did something?”

“You could just say no like a sane person,” Regulus scoffs with a wary look on the door. “Really, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” he groans out as he stands up.

Whatever it is, it’s better than dwelling. Sirius is confident that he, with the Marauders, got around Hogwarts’ every nook, passage, secret and false tapestry to believe they might have missed this. Remus has noted everything down to the perfection for their map.

A cough escapes him and the petals are swallowed. Regulus’ pointed look drives him forward to touch the door.

“What are you doing? Don’t touch it if you don’t know what it is.”

“It’s Hogwarts, nothing is really dangerous here,” he argues and tries the handle that turns without a hitch.

“You do realise that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden for a reason and that we have a giant squid and many creatures that would eat us in the lake right next to us?”

“Reggie, you worry too much.”

There really doesn’t seem to be anything dangerous about it, especially when the magic only feels welcoming and comforting. It reminds him of the Gryffindor’s dorm but opts to throw this thought away to open the door.

Behind this wall should be literally nothing, if his memory serves correctly, or at least not a proper room with two beds mirroring each other. A fire is running, strong and warm, from a pretty chimney working as a clear cut of the different moods.

“Are those your stupid posters?”

The exact Muggle posters of not-quite naked ladies Sirius has sealed to his bedroom’s wall at Grimmauld Place are somehow here. It’s actually easy to decipher that one side is weirdly made for him and the other for Regulus with the stack of books spread on the floor with his favorite blanket to read with on the opposite bed.

“Yes,” he admits in confusion and steps in, bemused at the parquet and the rugs, taking in the closet brimming with clothes. “Merlin’s balls, what is this?”

There are clothes he had tried during one of their adventures in Muggle London with all the Marauders and the girls. Sirius hadn’t gotten his fill to be fair but even Marlene was tired of waiting and running after him every time something caught his eye– Remus had stayed behind to be sure Sirius didn't get lost once he got his fill. There is also a mirror, quite big, facing a plush seat where he could easily curl up and on it sits the small bag of make-up the girls assembled for his birthday last year.

“Why are there things for me too?” Regulus asks, exploring the other side with a slight frown and not touching anything. “Is this where you sleep?”

Sirius has no idea of what it is. He might have actually cracked his head open against the kitchen’s floor and is completely hallucinating.

“Yes,” he opts to say so Regulus might leave him alone about his sleeping pattern.

“You still lie like a three year old,” he snipes back and walks up to him with a curious look at the closet.

“Well I’m going to use this bed to sleep so.”

His brother doesn’t seem bothered when he closes the closet, pushing in whatever tissue tries to escape, and casts another look around the room. They don’t linger on the unfathomable window at the centre of the ceiling with a clear view of the starry sky.

“I have never heard of a room like this,” he mutters and checks on the fireplace. “Have you?”

“Nope. But I’m not going to complain.”

Regulus watches him bounce on the bed, perfectly soft without completely swallowing him. They startle at the slight vibration breaking the stone beside one of his posters to reveal another door. Sirius flourishes at him to open it as he straightens up. His brother slightly huffs but does walk up to it to creak the door open - he needs to lean a bit to see but Regulus quickly steps aside to offer a perfect view of a small bathroom.

“I think it’s for you.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“Well, this room is smart because I can say that you stink so you at least need it,” he replies with a pointed, haughty look, before tumbling once he catches the clock on the night table of his supposed bed. “I need to go back to my dorm.”

Sirius watches him but stays quiet. This often happens to them, losing words and any understanding, and he can’t recall when it started to be familiar.

“Don’t let Peeves or Filch get to you.”

Whatever this room is supposed to be or however it came to be is a mystery he can’t focus on as for now. The bed and the fireplace are lulling him into relaxing, almost whispering to him that no one he doesn’t want to see will show up. It’s still lacking the major part of his dorm: his roommates. Peter humming all the time in the bathroom, even when he brushes his teeth, with James twirling his wand between his fingers while he mumbles Quidditch strategies for next year– and Remus quietly reading with a small smile before glancing at Sirius, always when he turns the third page, to ask ‘alright, Pads?’.

“Sirius.”

He breathes through his nose but it doesn’t subdue the petals flourishing and ripping his throat apart. His bed is stained and ruined within a beat. Regulus is right there, roughly rubbing between his shoulder blades and a trembling hand treading through his greasy hair.

“I’m alright,” he coughs out and swipes his mouth against his hand. It’s a bright Gryffindor red.

“Ma-”

“Just go Reggie,” he grunts with a push. “Or do you bloody want to watch me shower too?”

His brother abruptly lets go and steps back with his eyes a towering grey storm. Nothing happens. The petals perfume the air and the blood sinks in the sheets while neither of them budge.

“There has to be a cure.”

“Don’t be daft,” he refutes and leaves the bed but the sheet disappears before he can drag them to the bathroom, leaving him only with the craving to shout and cry. “There is nothing to stop this.”

“I could obliviate you.”

“Reg-”

“I could take away all your memories and feelings of Lupin,” his brother affirms without one drop of emotion. “The flowers will disappear-”

“I will just fall back in love with him,” Sirius weakly argues and takes a deep breath at his stunned look. “And this won’t solve what I did so it’s worthless.”

Regulus must see the tears ready to spill since he awkwardly retreats, eyes going here and there with a swift check on him before dancing away. He must have heard him loud and clear because he walks to the single door to leave their made-up room. Just two puzzles smashed together without even checking on how many ways they can’t work together.

Sirius feels delirious at all the crying that escapes him.

“I meant what I said,” Regulus declares with only his back to him. “And whatever you did is not important to me.” He doesn’t walk out and barely appears to breathe. “Which means I won’t let you die, not for some stupid boy.”

The door closes quietly and the shower muffles everything that overflows. All is eaten down the drain as he tries to drown.

When Sirius drags himself out of the room, the fireplace has dimmed and Regulus’ favourite blanket is on his bed with a small slice of Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte with a dark cherry on top.

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the-hinky-panda · 11 months

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Show me all your tatt's, not just the ones that's on your hands

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Chibs finally has you in his bed, wrapped in his sheets and nothing else. Smoke from the firepit still clings to your hair, adding to your perfume of eucalyptus and jasmine. Earthy, clean, and feminine. He buries his face in the curve of your neck because he wants to drown in that scent. Your skin is soft but in the dim lighting of the antique bedside lamp, his fingers encounter more raised scars than he anticipated. But gathering those stories will wait until morning.

He can tell you’re used to quick fucks, just scratching an itch and moving on. Your hands are busy, in constant motion: raking through his hair, pressing into the sinews of his back, sliding over the curve of his ass. You’re quick, efficient, working towards the completion of a task. When you reach for his cock is when he grabs your ever busy hands, holding your wrists together in one of his own hands and pinning them above your head.

“Slow, lass. We have all night.” He presses open mouth kisses along the line of your jaw. “And I intend to enjoy every minute.”

You give him a pout but your eyes have nothing but heat in them. “You better not be taking things slow because of what I told you earlier.”

His free hand finds your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple, your back arching underneath him. “Gentle and slow are two different things, luv.”

Your mouth twists into a crooked grin before your legs wrap around his hips. He can feel the strength in them, especially when you squeeze your thighs around his, nudging the tip of his cock against your core.

“Fucking hell, woman!”

You wink up at him. “Years of riding horses, luv.”

Well, if that’s the way you want this to go, who is he to deny you that? He can go slow the second round, after he wears you out a little bit. He’ll give up some ground there. He allows you to move him into position, notched against your entrance. You bite your lip and raise an eyebrow when he rolls his hips forward, sliding partially into you.

“Looks like I win this time.”

He huffs a laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”

He releases your hands and they immediately pull his face down to yours. You kiss him slowly, languidly, and he slides into you completely. It’s obvious you’ve headed his request to slow down; you’ve conceded some ground as well. Your legs remain wrapped around his hips, your hands gripping his shoulders so you have leverage to follow his pace. It’s a fucking spiritual encounter, your movements completely in sync with his, and it feels fucking amazing. He wants to slow it down even more, savor the feelings of your skin against his, your wet heat gripping his cock perfectly.

But then your breath catches, your head tips back and back arches and he knows the end is coming. The headboard bangs against the wall as he chases his completion, spilling himself inside of you at the same time your shake underneath him with your release. He drops his forehead to your shoulder, pressing slopping kisses against your now salty, smokey skin. It takes a moment for him to realize the person on the other side of the wall is banging back with an irritated “Knock it off and go to sleep!” Both of you glare at the offending wall and shout “Fuck off” before dissolving into a fit laughter.

He rolls onto his back, still chuckling, pulling you against him. You curl comfortably against his side, your head resting on his chest and a leg wrapped around his. He realizes this is the lightest he’s felt in months. The weight of grief with the recent losses, the stress of running the club, it’s suffocating. Being in Ireland drudges up an endless amount of memories and failures as well. All of it heavy, weighted chains pulling him down. Even his most recent failure with Althea, sex was something about proving something, his feelings for her, the shaky trust that would never be good enough for her. He had tried, he honest to God had tried to make it work with her.

He’s tired of failing with relationships.

But now, he feels like he’s able to take in a full breath of air now. With you, there’s no proving anything. There’s no competition or pushing each other until the other snaps. You fell into bed because you liked each other, respected each other. You didn’t second guess his every move and he didn’t worry about what you wanted from him. It was simple, direct, and hands down one of the best sexual encounters he’s had.

He very well could fall in love with you.

“You okay?”

He can hear the doubt in your voice, the caution in your touch as you trace the edges of the tattoo on his chest. “Fuckin’ stellar luv.”

You laugh quietly. “I have that effect on men. And a couple women.”

“Oh, I wanna hear that story.”

You kiss him briefly, sweetly, before sliding out from under the blankets. You reach down and start gathering up your clothes and he realizes that you’re getting ready to go back to your room. He reaches out, slides a hand over your back, along the curve of your waist, and rests it on the top of your hand.

“Stay.”

You turn and look at him over your shoulder, hair mussed and skin glowing warm in the soft lamplight. You’re a vision and he could stare at you for the rest of the night if you’d let him. He really hopes you’ll let him. A soft smile tugs at your lips, all sarcasm and biting wit gone from it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lift your hand up and brush your lips over his knuckles. “Okay. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll be back.”

He watches you cross the room, not a scrap of clothing on your body and zero shame in that state. He has questions about the scars he came across on your shoulder and stomach. You have tattoos that he hadn’t seen before: a horseshoe with sunflowers around it and an abstract horse made of curling lines on your shoulder blade. Both have initials and dates hidden in the artwork. He wants to know the stories behind those too. You step out of the bathroom and return to the bed, returning to his side. You lay your head on the pillow, facing him, your thumb running along his cheekbone, that soft smile returning to your lips before your eyes close.

Who is he kidding? He’s already fallen in love with you.

#chibs x you #chibs x reader #chibs telford x you #chibs telford x reader #chibs telford fic #chibs sons of anarchy #chibs telford #chibs imagine

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kivaember · 16 days

Text

here's a little snippet of 621's time in CIT before he was put into stasis... the time is not fun, as a forewarning, and it gives a bit of info about the other assets. Not really spoilers for APV since the other assets will never come up in any detail... so enjoy!

"Asset 04's performance is finally starting to slip. Pretty impressive it took this long."

Jack didn't look up at his coworker's observation, too busy carefully adjusting the parameters for the simulation's next run. Blinking in the top right corner of the screen, the numbers 36:26:10 proclaimed how long the simulation's session had run.

It was inhumane, he knew. Simulations were used extensively to train baseline and augmented humans alike, and their safe useage was strictly regulated because of how ubiquitous of a training tool it was. Baseline humans were recommended to spend only an hour at a time in the simulations, whereas augmented humans could push it to three.

Asset 04 had been in there for over thirty-six hours non-stop.

There was a reason for it - there was always a reason for CIT's cruel acts - but Jack still had his misgivings about it all. He was a new hire, though, came recommended by the UEG to help CIT with their hush-hush augmented human project - walked into a carnival of horrors instead. He knew some lines had to be crossed for the overall advancement of the human race but... god. The things he saw, the things he had to do...

But work was work, and legally the Assets weren't considered humans anyway. Labrats, at most, with the government approving of their medical and experimental torture so long as it gave them useful results for their various projects and what not. There'd be no point in whistleblowing, in trying to do anything to reverse these monstrous acts - Jack would just die, and he liked living, so he just kept quiet and kept turning the dial.

Literally and figurative. He finished the simulation adjustments and finally turned to his coworker - Aiden.

"The next course run is ready but, should we keep increasing the difficulty? As you say, Asset 04 is starting to struggle with exhaustion. I don't feel like we'd get any valuable data continuing like this."

Aiden just gave him a half-shrug. "Well, the bosses like us testing them to failure. They specifically want 04 pushed to its physical limits in the simulations before its taken for examination, anyways."

"If they want to observe his body's response to physical and mental distress, there's a more efficient way of doing it," Jack muttered, but he knew he was edging a bit too close to belligerent, so began the simulation.

Asset 04 was in the observation room over, situated in a pod with a glass cover that simulated his cockpit within his Symbiotic Core (SC, for short). Jack couldn't see the asset's face, the glass reflected a lot and he wore a protective helmet with an opaque black visor, but he could still see the asset's body twitch slightly as the simulation renewed.

Jack remembered how uneasy he had felt when he had laid eyes on Asset 04 for the first time. With the later assets it was easier, because they had been augmented as adults and the procedures were less invasive and horrifying (not by CIT's choice, but the galactic Coral shortage had them rationing out that miracle substances), but Assets 00 to 05 were...

Asset 00 barely looked older than ten, their physical development permanently halted by their experimental Coral augmentations. Asset 00 was also basically brain-dead, barely able to perform basic tasks and had to have a minder 24/7. A failure, but the "biological immortality" of their augmentations interested CIT. Jack had only seen them once, and only in brief passing - understandably, Asset 00 wasn't trained as an SC pilot or used in the same experiments and taskings as the other Assets. They were too valuable, research wise.

Asset 01 was far more comfortable to deal with, as he had aged normally and acted like any resentful child soldier all grown up. He jumped when ordered to, and he didn't bite, but Jack could see it in his eyes every time they ran experiments - Asset 01 wanted to rip them limb from limb with his bare hands, and there was always a taut undercurrent to his 'understood' and 'yessir'. If any of the Assets were going to snap and go on a murderous rampage, Jack would put his money on Asset 01 (and honestly, he wouldn't blame him).

Asset 02, Jack had only seen twice, and she had filled him with an aimless sort of sadness. Her aging was slower than most and she looked like a young adult. But she was mentally shattered, susceptible to periods of dissociation and unable to really care for herself at times. She could still pilot an SC, and she did so very well as one of CIT's 'procurement agents' (kidnapper/assassin), but she had to be dragged into her cockpit and strapped down, prone to simply going limp and being as uncooperative as possible. She reminded him of a captive animal that had given up and was simply waiting to die - or someone who realised that the only way she could protest her treatment was to simply not engage at all. CIT were routinely frustrated and annoyed at her actions, he knew that. Maybe it vindicated her.

Asset 03, Jack had never seen but had heard about. Youthful looking and 'somewhat stable', she was 'on loan' to Arquebus, a potential partner in future collaboration in augmentation. Jack had heard that particular avenue of research was promising some interesting things, and CIT were very closely scrutinising the 'Coral Supplement' that Arquebus was developing 'thanks to Asset 03's contributions'. Jack tried not to think too deeply about how Asset 03 contributed to that scientific breakthrough.

Asset 05 was who Jack dealt with the most, aside from Asset 04, and that was because Asset 05 occupied a very strange position within CIT. If rumours were to be believed, Asset 05 was the offspring of one of the CIT's leadership, offered up as a sacrificial lamb on a gamble that had miraculously paid off. Asset 05 was remarkably stable and has integrated well with his Coral augmentations, showing no sign of mental trauma, illness or any other 'unseemly defects'. Asset 05 was also incredibly intimidating in ways Jack couldn't really articulate, because even when Asset 05 was strapped down to an operating table completely naked utterly emotionless, Jack felt an oppressive sort of pressure on the back of his neck, like he had a snarling beast just inches away from snapping his head off.

Needless to say, none of the researchers liked handling Asset 05.

Then, there was Asset 04: the golden child fallen from grace.

Jack came after the 'Incident', but he understood that Asset 04 was a terrible tragdy. Much like Asset 05, he'd been a very stable prototype with very interesting qualities that had demanded further investigation and research. CIT had even trotted him out as an advertisement tool to the UEG leadership, a template of 'look, look, this is what all of you can have in a few decades, if you keep funding us!' Asset 04 had all of the benefits and none of the drawbacks: extraordinarily long-lived but youthful, a near perfect immune system, a stunning intellect, amazingly well-socialised and emotionally intelligent, sweet-tempered...

Then the Incident happened, Asset 04 suffered from debilitating injuries that had given him irreversible brain damage, fried a good chunk of his neural implants, and rendered him amnesiac and mute. Jack had been brought in when Asset 04 was relearning basic things like 'walking' and potty training.

Maybe that was why he was always so conflicted and unnerved when it came to Asset 04, then. He looked young, was small and slight, and his wide, guileless eyes and soft face made him look younger still. Jack didn't have kids, but he had a younger nephew with a passing similarity to Asset 04. Teaching him to walk, watching him 'grow up' in a compressed timeline all while strapping him down and tormenting him in senseless experiments like this...

Jack didn't believe in heaven or hell, but some days he wondered. He knew he'd never sleep well for the rest of his days, at least.

He was drawn from his brooding thoughts by the simulation indicating another course finish. He examined the results, and felt disappointed that Asset 04-

"Another success," Aiden whistled. "This is nuts. It really is a killing machine."

"I think he's just terrified of failure. You'll be surprised how much fear can motivate a person," Jack said unthinkingly, and studiously ignored the look Aiden gave him. "We should probably break here. He 'passed' but his performance was abysmal. It's technically a failure for him."

"You're such a bleeding heart, Jack. That won't get you anywhere in CIT," Aiden sighed. "But... yeah, I'm getting bored just watching these print outs. He isn't even doing anything in the pod."

No. Asset 04 was very still. Jack would've been worried his heart had given out from exhaustion if it weren't for his vitals on the screen still going strong. Pulse elevated, oxygen levels up, heartrate going fucking crazy - but still very much alive.

"I'll handle clean up and return Asset 04 to his enclosure," Jack said, officially concluding the simulation. He'll likely get a smack on the wrist for it, but he'll just use Aiden's excuse: it was boring and not giving them anything new in terms of results. That tended to sway CIT leadership more than basic humanity. "If you compile the reports."

"Sure. The report's'll be easy to do." Aiden pushed himself up out of his chair. "Have fun cleaning up the labrat."

Jack said nothing. He waited for Aiden to leave the control room before releasing a loud and heavy sigh, his mouth twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. A bleeding heart...

He wasn't. If he really was a bleeding heart, he would've done something to stop the madness happening in CIT's labs. Their brutal experimentations on their assets had no real rhyme or reason - not any that Jack could divine, anyways - and they routinely crossed every single moral line in existence to pursue this human perfection. That was CIT's mission statement, after all: the perfection of the human race.

What that perfection was, and who was going to benefit from said perfection, Jack didn't know. At this point he felt like he didn't want to know.

"Don't think there's a hole deep enough in hell for us," Jack murmured, and shook his head. Well, he can grouch and brood all he liked, but here he was, willingly perpetuating it, because he was in too deep now. He's seen too much. Done too much.

The Assets will continue to suffer, and Jack will continue to standby and simply watch it - continue to participate in it. He may not want to see this perfection CIT claimed to pursue, but he was still curious about how far these augmentations could improve mankind - desperately hoping that it'd be worth it, that later he can say "well, we made a small handful of people suffer horribly, but it resulted in medical science that saved millions", because that would be worth it, won't it?

Was it an equal exchange? Their suffering for humanity's progress? Maybe.

Was it excuseable?

Hah.

Definitely not.

#apv ramblings #fanfic #some vital lore into CIT #sort of #it'll be covered in passing in apv #since CIT does have an impact on the events in that fic #but everything about them is in the past.... they're like the instiute #where their past actions resulted in a big mess for the people in the future to deal with #thanks shady organisations with no morals #armored core ramblings

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