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suna-reversed · 3 years

Text

𝐩𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

toji fushiguro x reader

You could have anyone you want

Why would you want to be with me?

I’m nothing special

WC- 8k+ || MINORS DNI !!

my fic for the “great conjunction collab”

Warnings/tags- (unprotected sex, oral sex, slight voyeurism, choking, nipple play, mating press, size kink, slight breeding kink) (historical AU, non-canon timeline, greek mythology, hades-persephone retelling, mentions of misogyny/sexism, depression, religion, hurt/comfort, angst, heartbreak, major character injury, descriptions of blood, violence and death, manipulation)

𝙀𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙖 - 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙙

It would be an understatement to say that Toji, despite being one of them, had never felt like part of the clan and had hated the whole Zenin bloodline through all his years of suffering.

And the only thing he hated more than his own blood? It was the damned nobles who looked down upon him- mocking his lack of power under whispers and rumours. The spineless cowards didn’t even have the courage to spit those venomous words at his face.

He kept note of every single one of them- it was hard not to with how their laughs echoed in his mind each night as he dug his nails into his palms. So of course his attention was bound to drift towards the mother and daughter from a titled family that happened to take residence in the Zenin estate when they got news that their home down-south had been attacked.

𝘼𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙚𝙖- 𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮

Your home had not been attacked. It was all planned of course- your travel to the mountains up north that crossed the Zenin abode, your mother having fabricated the news so that she had an excuse to find an honourable match for you from one of the most powerful clans. Her sly spies had already done the dirty work, providing you with two suitable men- even if one of them was twice your own age and the other known for his aggressiveness.

The white gown your mother had dolled you in and the orchids she had braided into your hair had every single eye focused on you as you made your way up to your chambers. You kept your head down, too nervous to meet the eye of anyone- hoping no older man took an interest in your facade of purity and innocence and decided to stake his claim on your body. Oh, how you wished you could get away from this life, get away from the wretched woman you had to call your mother, get away from all of it- the stupid clan- the stupid suitors- the stupi-

“Ah!”

You yelped as your body crashed into what seemed to be a rock hard wall of muscles, the scent of night chilled mist and cedar taking over your senses. You blinked.

Gulping, you moved back a step, ready to start sputtering apologies before your mother peeled your skin off for already having embarrassed yourself. Instead, your words stayed stuck in your throat as your gaze met with an intense pair of orbs- filled to the brim with the rage of achilles, but somehow also his sorrow. Your breath hitched in your throat, and in the back of your mind, you knew you should do something- move, apologise, scowl like a noble lady would if nothing else- but all you could do was stand there stunned, the man’s stance mirroring your own.

You flinched as the pot-bellied butler who was leading you down the hallway came back, and you thought the dark haired man might kill him right there for interrupting the burning moment between you two. Instead, you were shocked as he let himself get pushed to the side, stuffing his hands into his pockets, head down as he made a beeline towards the exit.

You barely felt the crescent moons being engraved into your skin as your mother dragged you to your room by the arm, a clipped smile on her face.

𝙊𝙧𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙪𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙀𝙪𝙧𝙮𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙚- 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

“Toji”

He continued walking, even as his eyes held a warning look. Gritting his teeth, he increased his pace.

“Toji-”

He shuddered. Say it again, he wanted to command, instead he turned the corner, hands curling into tight fists.

He had been confused at first, almost appalled, at you- at your audacity to try and act like he wasn’t who he was- a piece of scum, the lowest of the lowly in the clan. But it seemed like this is how you had decided to spend the rest of your time whenever you weren’t being flagged by suitors or being paraded around your mother as the ideal of a chaste loyal wife.

He had indulged you the first time you had struck up a conversation. Perhaps that was his initial mistake. His second being committed just now as he turned to you, the glee on your face making bile rise up to his throat. He had seen women like you before- well born “ladies” of the court in dire need of a good fuck, before they were packaged off like objects to a husband who’d only ever look at them as a vessel for carrying his children. Toji huffed in annoyance, eyes doing a quick scan of his surroundings before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into one of the storage rooms right around the corner.

“Look-”

Toji cut himself off as he saw the baffled look on your face, your eyes starting to fill up with fear and panic. Somehow, he found himself speechless, the bitter words of telling you to go look for pleasure in a whorehouse now dissolving on the tip of his tongue.

He knew who you were being considered as a match for- having overheard the conversation during a clan meeting- it was supposed to be the sons of one of the higher ups and he could already picture the half wilted life you’d be living. And right then, something clicked in Toji’s mind- all those years of hatred and resentment flashing before his eyes as you hesitantly stepped back, tears welling up in your eyes, and right there, Toji knew what he wanted to do- what he had to.

He took a deep breath and your heart hammered even harder in your chest. He had been different from the rest of them- you had known it from the first time. However, now you doubted your own wits, trying to recall the ways of combat you had seen the soldiers back home perform- even though you didn’t quite see how you’d succeed against the tall burly mass of flesh that towered above you. You jumped back as he strode right towards you- eyes clenched shut, hands raised in front of your face ready for the impact and pain.

You were met with nothingness, barely feeling the light brush of his arm as he moved past you.

Toji sighed at your almost childish antics, even though he agreed your actions would have been justifiable if it was any other man having pulled you into such a secluded place. He waited for you to calm down, lazily looking for the latch of the huge glass window situated on the other side of the room. He easily lifted it open, biceps flexing as he did so- placing his hands on the ledge before pulling himself to the other side.

He turned back towards your gawking figure, rolling his eyes, ready to put forward the offer that would decide if you were worth his time and effort or not. He extended his hand, trying to ignore the heat crawling up to the tip of his ears at the giddy relief-filled grin that spread across your face as he asked,

“You ever visited the countryside princess?”

You must be an angel in disguise, he finds himself thinking. It terrified him- the time he had spent staring at the column of your neck, watching your chest fall and rise with every breath- and the time he could have spent simply admiring every crook and nook of your body.

You looked serene in the golden hour of the afternoon, lying on the grass with your eyes shut, sunlight cascading down your figure making it seem as if you carried your own halo. Toji was afraid you’d sprout wings any second now, disappearing away to someplace heavenly- someplace better than the hell you were about to be condemned to- someplace that didn’t have monsters like him. But at last, you were only a human- soon to be one of the Zenins if nothing else.

The time you had sneaked out to the lake in the countryside with him had not been the last of your rendezvous. You had been quite different from what Toji had expected. You hadn’t made any advances towards him but you weren’t the pure little thing everyone believed you to be either.

You were smart to say the least- a trait that families often suppressed in women of your status, trying to force them into nothing but submissive concubines for their future husband. You were oddly aware of it- had mentioned your doomed fate quite a few times now, and he was struck by how you always laughed, as if your own self being stripped away was a joke. You seemed to do that quite a bit, and he understood it in some twisted way of his own plight.

Even as his mind kept reminding him that you had still grown up being pampered, being spoiled, having others do your work for you- others like him. But conversation had flowed so naturally with you, he found himself showing you more and more of his places of solitude he had found all over the village through his years of misery.

You were also naive in many ways, but still blunt in twice as many. Toji had rolled his eyes as he had asked you what you did with your free time back home- the answer was expected- it always had to be something related to the arts and education, trying to pump the ladies full of culture so that they have something to talk about at the dozen balls and galas they’d be attending every month. However, he had almost choked on the pear he chewed as you had started listing names of erotica after erotica- the titles being lewd enough to let him know just how filthy the content inside would be.

You had burst into laughter at the look on his face, crumbs of fruit left on the side of his mouth making him look even more bizarre. You had reached up your fingers almost instinctively, eyes widening as you realised you had brushed them over the scar he never seemed to talk about. His hand was wrapped around your wrist in less than a second, halting it in place.

He had stared right back at you, breaths heavy, eyes calculating as he loosened the grip around your skin, but not before he lifted your fingers to press against the mark once more. You swore you could have heard the drumming of your heart, and perhaps he did too.

As you brushed away the remaining bit of the sweet fruit, you couldn’t help but notice the flush that had formed on his cheeks, even as he scowled.

𝙀𝙧𝙤𝙨- 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙚.

“You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.”

You’re bent over the table in the storage room that has somehow become your portal of escape from the person you have to pretend to be. It’s not the first time Toji has whispered his filthy administrations into your ear, but he’s never done it quite so close to where anyone could walk in and catch you red handed.

Perhaps it was the fact that his face had turned a sick shade of green at the sight of your suitor tucking your hair behind your ear, your lips twitching upwards at something he said- the same way they had twitched up the night before when he had risen from in between your legs, the taste of yourself flooding your mouth as he had pressed his lips to yours.

This is exactly what you were here for, and despite it, Toji knew who’s name you screamed at the end of every day. So then why did another hand on you ignite a bestial flame inside his chest? Why did he feel the need to pull you away in the dead of the night amongst the crowd of tipsy people, ridding you of the fabric of your dress in one swift movement as he had pressed you against the nearest surface.

You didn't panic for even a moment, you knew it was his hand just from the touch of it, his hot breath against the shell of your ear, and his throbbing member pressed against the curve of your behind as a thumb rubbed circles into your hip bone.

You throw your head back against his muscular chest, craning your neck upwards till you meet his eyes- they soften for the briefest of moments, but the way his tip brushes against your underwear-clad core seems to fill them with raw electricity once more. And you think he’s going to fuck you right there- make you cry out his name for letting another man so close to you. Instead, you gasp as his rough hands grab the flesh of your thighs, kneading the muscle as he spins you around, a smirk being flashed your way as he gets on his knees.

He looks ethereal in that moment. And your breath hitches in your throat as you realise you’ve made a fallen angel bow before you- have tricked him into thinking you can cleanse him of his deeds when the only sinner in this room was you. The way his lips press against the inside of your thighs, nose rubbing against your freshly flowing juices- it’s tantalising, even worse when he takes both your hands in his as they try to find solace in his locks, pinning them to your sides onto the table instead.

He rests his chin right below the apex of your mound, eyes wandering to your face as he sighs, the lazy but smug curve of his lips accentuating the scar you had grown to cherish as much as your own heartbeat.

Your chest is heaving, the sound of your heavy breathing hanging in the silence of the room as you look down at him. If this was to be his ruination- his fall from grace- Toji would die a happy man. The scent of you is lingering right below his nose, his mouth watering alone at the thought, but he cannot seem to pull away his eyes from your beguiling face, bathed in the moonlight. The words seem to escape him before he can think twice of them.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

You’ve barely let his words settle in before he presses his thumb right against your wet heat, rubbing small circles onto your sensitive bud. You don’t have a chance to respond as he proceeds to dive into your drenched cunt- his tongue giving kitten-licks to your clit, lapping up any wetness that dares to drip down. You cry out loud as two of his fingers join his mouth’s onslaught, slapping a hand against your own mouth remembering where you were.

The sounds filling the room as he suctions your clit in between his lips are filthy- arms wrapping around and under your thighs, pulling your arousal even closer to his starving mouth, the new angle of your leg being thrown over his shoulder letting his fingers rub against the spongy spot inside your walls that makes the coil in your stomach snap. You’re grinding against his face and he’s letting you, nose pressing onto your clit as he licks up the remnants of your juices, fingers continuing to fuck you through your climax as they quiver and shake around his head.

You’re still coming down from your high, body hanging limp at an awkward angle against the hard wooden surface. His strong burly arms are easily lifting you up, carrying you towards the other side of the room- right towards the glass window. Your eyes widen as you realise the malicious idea that has popped up into your lover’s head, but you’re barely able to put in two words of protest before your feet are hitting the ground, the cold surface making you gasp as your tits are pushed against it. You’re crying out loud as he rubs his thick length against your soppy folds.

“Toji- someone could see us- we shouldn’t- ah!”

You’re cut off as he lines himself up at your entrance, a pleasurable burn down in your core as his girth stretches your walls. It always hurts. No matter how many times he’s made you cum on his fingers and tongue or prepped you up with an ointment- his size is something no one would ever get accustomed to. He knows it too, but tonight he seems to care less about taking it slow and letting you adjust. You honestly cannot care less too, not when you're gushing around him as such when he’s barely even halfway inside.

“Too big Toji- too much.” You’re mewling, hands trying to grip onto something.

“You can take it- fuck just let me-”

He’s hastily moving his fingers across your stomach to rub your pulsing bud, groaning lewdly at the way your cunt flutters around him, letting him move deeper inside of you.

The growl that leaves him as his tip hits your cervix is grossly animalistic, making you moan loudly. His other hand is coming up to grip your jaw, cheek pressed against the glass as he lifts up one of your legs, the angle letting him thrust in and out of your poor drenched hole even deeper. His thrusts turn sloppy, eyes clenched shut above you as the sounds of his balls slapping against your flesh with each thrust fill the room.

You’re both groaning in unison, his strokes getting faster as he feels your walls clamping down on him. You’re choking on a breath as his hand moves to wrap around your throat, the sensation making you moan even louder.

“Call me selfish-”

A sharp smack is delivered against the flesh of your ass causing you to arch your back, the action making your tits press up against the window even more,

“... but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.”

His lips have been suctioned to your neck, your delightful noises being muffled as he’s turning your head to the side till his tongue slips into your mouth. He tightens his grip around your neck and you’re seeing stars, along with the pace of his fingers on your clit and his rapid thrusts making the well in the bottom of your stomach come apart, tears of pleasure slipping your eyes, the feeling of his seed painting your walls making you clench against him amidst your own orgasm.

You barely feel the arms cradling your body, carrying you to set you down on the table. You furrow your brows as Toji strips himself of his shirt, and your eyes widen at the thought of him ravishing you once more so soon. Instead, you shudder as he swipes it against your sex, cleaning up his mess.

The way you beam at him, even in your exhausted state, is honestly worth the ruined shirt- he finds himself thinking as he moves to pick up your dress from the ground. He clicks his tongue as he realises just how much of shreds he had ripped it into in his feral daze. He’s lifting his head to meet your eyes, wondering how he’ll tell you that you have to find a way to get back to your chambers in this state-

“Oh-”

Your saccharine voice is pulling Toji out of his thoughts, surprise forming across his face as you burst into laughter at the sight of what he’s sure has cost twice as much as all the clothes he’d ever owned combined.

“How well do you think I’d fare going out in one of the potato sacks?”

How could he have not smiled right back at you.

𝘿𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙨- 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙚

Toji had never wanted to rip his own heart out so badly before, inject his blood with ambrosia so that he could be worthy enough for the goddess that was ready to abandon her sanctity- her piece of heaven- for him. He had always known how it would end- in an empty heath of a fire gone out long ago, the only thing keeping it burning now regret and sorrow.

Love could not have sustained you when there was barely enough space to breathe, when there was barely enough food for your kids to live off of. Once the love faded, all that’d remain would be your wish to go back to the past, getting drunk on forgetfulness so that you can survive within the stone cold walls of a house- not a home.

Once again, Toji knew what he had to do- knew he willingly stepped into this hoping to ruin what was supposed to be the prize of his own blood- in order to humiliate them and fulfill his revenge.

He also knew he was the ruined one now as thoughts of you plagued his mind day and night- how his tactful game of cat and mouse had turned into sweet kisses and hushed giggles, and how all he wanted was to find a pit stop in time where his blood did not matter, where the sins of his past did not matter. But despite it all, he knew he couldn’t have dragged you into his own hell, even if you begged him to take you.

He sighs.

You had recited the exact conversation you had with your mother- laid yourself bare before him as you poured out your heart- letting him know that it’d be worth tasting the 7 seeds of evil even if it meant living in hell for half your life.

He had thrown his head back and laughed.

“You really thought our little getaways meant anything more than a fling to me? More than just a decent fuck?”

You stood still, mouth agape at the words that had slipped past his lips, a hand fisting the fabric of his shirt right above his heart, desperately searching for the pulse of the man you’d grown to adore over the past few weeks.

He had looked down at you, the scar you had so tenderly ran your fingers over twitching upwards- in amusement- in laughter, face contorting into one of resentment- of revulsion before he had suddenly stilled.

“Did you forget your place princess? Pretty little head got too lost in a fool’s paradise- did you forget you are one of them- always have been one of them.”

He had spat the last words at you and you wanted to shake your head, wanted to tell him he was utterly wrong, but all you could do was clutch on even tighter to him.

He had put his hand over yours and you had almost begged for him to tell you that this was a sick joke- almost pleaded for him to intertwine his calloused warm hands with yours as he always did- as he had when he made you scream his name, instead you had found yourself gasping at the icy touch as he flicked away your wrist, brows furrowing in repulsion at the contact- at you.

The tears that had slipped through your eyes had only worked to make him throw his head back like a giddy child once more. He had looked up at the sky as if he was mocking the gods in Olympus - look at how I’ve so beautifully wrecked what you created,

while you had stood there looking up at him as if he was your religion, mouthing,

this is not a joke, love me, love me.

𝙊ï𝙯ú𝙨- 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙭𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛

You felt raw. But you did not fight the black hole opening up in your chest. You let it settle into your bones, nurtured the hollowness- ignited it until you felt it turn into flames instead.

You couldn’t have let the ice creep into your heart- it would mean giving up the tears, giving up the feeling of wanting to be swallowed whole by the ground beneath, and that would mean you no longer felt- no longer harboured the only thing that made you feel alive in the cage of bones and flesh your troubled mind resided in.

There was a heavy pain in between the arch of your shoulder blades- like your wings had been clipped and your halo ripped away.

You ignored the scowl that rose to her face, the way she flinched as you leaned over to rest your head in her lap. You couldn’t tell if the wetness on your cheeks was yours or hers- mourning the daughter she was going to lose. You felt your mother’s burning gaze through the back of your head all throughout the journey back home- could already feel the wrath of your father and the nasty bruises that were to come as her hand came down to rest on your head.

You instead found yourself being locked away immediately- not a single word from anyone. The only time your door opened was for a maid to serve you your half portioned meals. Not like you had an appetite or a will to do anything else.

Days passed by, perhaps weeks or months, and you counted the scattered marks on the wall beside your bed like you had done once with the freckles across his back, and you waited- for what? You weren’t quite sure yourself. You waited and waited until the day your door opened, but it wasn’t the regular pitter patter of steps of the maid who served the food.

Instead, your eyes met the raging ones of the head of your clan, and for the first time in days, an icy shiver creeped up your spine.

----

The torment you’re put through is much worse than expected. You were well aware you were to be disgraced, to be stripped of your title, but somehow the gaze of your own friends and family avoiding your beaten bloody form and ignoring your whimpers and cries of agony was what had stung the most.

The world seemed to be upside down, fading in and out of hues of colour and greys and blinding lights. You could barely feel the blood dripping down the back of your head and into your shirt as your gaze managed to remain focused on the window outside of the rattling carriage you lay in, panic rising in your chest as you recognised the familiar scenery.

You fought your hardest to stay awake, but you lost to the increasingly heavy pressure against your head, hoping your blood would run dry before you had to face the hell you were being thrown into. As your head lolled to the side, you wondered if satiating the hunger within you was worth the price you were paying- if this was what happened to every soul that had brought the god of the dead to his knees, wondered if you were the first to do so- wondered if you’d be the last.

𝙃𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙨- 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙, 𝙜𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙩

Toji had left the clan- made a living of his own by doing what he did best, by doing what he was made to- destroying and causing wreckage till there was no piece of his soul left to be salvaged.

He had avoided news about you like the plague, and had still ended up finding out that you were locked away back at your home from the gossiping servants. He had chuckled bitterly, what had he been expecting? He was right after all, you'd never have to face any consequences in life, and soon this whole scandal would be swept under the rug and you would be well on your way to marrying another wealthy brat, having filthy little kids with him who’d have the same luxuries in life and-

Toji found his heart dropping, the axe along with the freshly chopped wood he carried thumping down against the forest floor as he reached the entrance of the wooden cabin he had taken residence in. He saw the pool of blood first- the familiar mop of hair later.

No-

He must be hallucinating-

But he still found himself moving out of his own accord, gathering the crumpled figure into his arms, feeling a thick fluid drip down his skin- stain through his shirt as he tried to pick you up. A chill ran down his spine as he realised what those savages had done for your body to resist even in an unconscious state-

And that’s when his eyes slid to the nails in the ground, the sharp metal going right through the flesh of your fingertips, a note pinned to your abdomen in between your shredded dirtied clothes-

“We don’t want the gross wreckage of your perverse ruination. Keep the whore since you wanted her so much.”

A sea of rage rose in the back of Toji’s mind but it stilled, the vicerating waves crashing against the shore that was the barely noticeable action of your chest heaving. He held back what was a choked sob, mind barely sane as he took out the nails as gently as possible- a man so familiar with death yet utterly horrified by it as he counted your laboured breaths, thanked every deity out in the universe for every huff of air that he could feel against his chest as he carried you inside.

—

How do you kill a god?

You had asked him once. He had raised his brow, ruffling your hair before pushing you down onto the bed once more, intent on at least letting you know how you got to heaven.

How do you kill a god?

It now echoed in his mind as he watched your broken body lay on his bed, having done everything he could have to fix you up even though he feared there would be wounds more than just the physical ones when you gained consciousness- if you gained consciousness.

How do you kill a god?

Pit him against another god. Let him stare at his own reflection and see all his glorious flaws until he’s falling to his knees, begging for the taste of ichor to be washed out from his mouth, begging to be stripped of his damned divinity- because the curse of immortality is a heavier burden to carry than the curse of mundane suffering- because it’s easier to drown in a sea full of blood than live with it staining your hands.

𝘼𝙥𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙚- 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣.

“How do you kill a god?” You had asked him once.

Afterwards, you had lain awake late into the night as he had given you a taste of his own holiness, bare in his arms as he had muttered the words into your hair, barely a whisper as they escaped past his bleeding lips,

How do you become a god?

The burning light attacked your eyes and you flinched loud enough for your own ears to ring, and then flinched even harder as the hot searing pain spread through your body, especially across the tips of your bandage covered fingers. You tried to use your voice but your throat was like a desert and your own harsh whisper scraped against your sensitive ears.

All you could do was stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling, lying numb, waiting for your saviour- or perhaps your torturer to come.

All had gone still once the door opened, your gaze falling onto the familiar hands that carried a bowl of water and about a dozen different small bottles in a basket. You stared through him, through his wide blown eyes and through the sigh of relief that left his mouth as he rushed towards you.

How do you become a god?

There was much more you had wanted to tell your mother. You had told her you were sick of pretending, sick of being the goddess of spring when everything you touched died in your hands- how every beam of light you emitted was a stolen one from another soul. Perhaps, you had always craved pomegranates and death - had always willingly walked into the darkness with a smile and open arms.

How do you become a god?

You let him plead and writhe to have a taste of your lips - make him believe it is his only salvation. And right when his lips meet yours, you dig your teeth in deep and not let go, even as his fingers grip the column of your throat and his growls rumble inside your mouth. You let the trail of crimson coat your tongue and feel his tears burn your flesh- you make him taste your blood and take his throne.

—

He says your name like it’s a prayer and you want to rip out his heart.

Instead, you turn your head towards the wall opposite to where he stands, clenching your eyes shut, hoping the next time you wake up it won’t be here.

Still, you can hear his voice. Every single day of every waking moment- even as you sleep- even as you wake up in cold sweat haunted by the bittersweet melody of his laughter the day he crushed your heart in two, or the time your own blood nailed you down into the earth.

But most of all, you hate it when you can hear the gruffness of his voice, still heavy from sleep as you let him cradle your head, shushing you- letting you know it was just a nightmare- but it was a nightmare you had lived through- a nightmare he had put you through.

Not that he didn’t acknowledge it equally as much. It was odd- almost laughable the way he was so desperate to bring even just a flicker of the light back inside your eyes, breaking free from his stoic and tight lipped demeanour to whisper grossly sweet nothings into your hair.

He had explained his regrets the first few days that you had refused to even look at him, simply staring at the wall as he stripped you of your clothes to redo your bandages, not even the barest of reaction visible across your face. He had caused this.

The first words you had muttered to him weren’t of hatred or anger or sadness- they were said into the heavy air, late into the hours before dusk at a point in time where your bones still couldn't support the burden of your body,

“I need to pee.”

You had said it through gritted teeth, had scowled throughout the process of him picking you up and carrying you into the bathroom, giving you privacy to do your business.

The second time you had spoken to him was right after and it had somehow dented itself much deeper than he had expected it to, even as it was all he had been preparing himself for in the past few days,

“I hate you.”

You had said it with no anger, no poison in your words- had simply stated it like it was a mere fact.

“I know.”

—

It was weeks later and you seemed to have fallen into a strange routine.

He’d go out to do his filthy work, come back bathed in blood and dirt, even as he washed himself off outside thinking he was sly with it. You’d pretend not to notice as you’d cook for yourself, sometimes leaving bits behind as leftovers even if you had purposely spilled the extra bit of rice- had regretted it as soon as you had realised you had done it because he hadn’t had dinner in three days.

Perhaps it was the irony of the situation, and maybe even the cold winter air creeping into your bones that let him move from simply holding you when you woke from your nightmares- to him warming your bed at night even when you dreamed of nothing but the scar beside his lip.

Still, you let him know you despised him every night that he pulled your body against his chest and every morning that he rubbed his warm hands up and down your arms. Even as you felt yourself leaning into his touch, felt your heart softening at how he’d mutter apologies into your hair while he thought you were asleep, how he’d pay attention to the foods you took more of and made sure to get twice the amount next time, how he’d shred his own shirts to provide you with cloth for when you got your monthly cycles. Yet, you couldn’t find any other words to say to him.

𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚- 𝙌𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙐𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

You had woken up alone as you did on most mornings, grateful that you wouldn’t have to face the shame that came with having your limbs tangled with him. The day was like any other yet different, perhaps it was the monotonous dread of living a life such as this- of having to live at all after being stripped of everything you had called yours.

You had somehow ended up taking steps outside of the wooden door, outside of the small garden the burly man used to grow his own vegetables, and even farther outside the vines and shrubs that kept the cabin hidden from any unwanted visitors.

You had walked and walked till your feet carried you to the edge of the world, a never ending fall down below from where you stared at, the sound of water flowing signalling the presence of a river running deep under the steep cliff.

You had stopped walking, the silence of the forest being the only noise to have outdone the heavy emptiness in your heart in months. And you simply continued to stand there, bare feet digging into the dirt and grass and stone, barely realising when the light faded away and darkness took over. Hadn’t it always been like this?

It had taken no more than two rounds of the house and the trail of footsteps in the garden out back for Toji to realise you had left. His heart had dropped into his chest as he had followed the dents of your feet in the ground, careful not to step on them as his mind bitterly reminded him that it may be the last of what’s left of you by now.

He knew where the trail you had walked along led- had himself sat on the edge of it once, legs dangling off as he his mind had replayed the memory of your glossy eyes and crestfallen face when he had hit you with those fatal words months ago. Toji’s breath hitches in his throat, hands shaking as he pulls away the last branch blocking the view of the edge of the cliff.

His feet are moving faster than his mind can think as he all but falls onto his knees, clutching your abdomen as if you’d disappear forever if he let you go now. You turn around in his arms, a look of confusion on your face, your eyes still as hollow as a void but all he cares about right now is the steady thumping he can feel with his chest pressed to yours. He’s clenching his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before he’s sliding his hand into yours. You don’t protest- letting him lead you back into the warm safety of his house and he’s too relieved to consider whether your lack of resistance is a good thing or not.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed and you can hear him ruffling through something in the bathroom, door ajar, eyes glancing towards you every two seconds as if he’s expecting you to bolt out the door any second now. For once, you don’t want to stare at the wall as he walks towards you, getting down on his knees- making a blow of nostalgia hit you right in the gut. But your eyes remain fixed at the top of his head, at the dark locks that had grown out much more since the last time you had let yourself gaze at him.

You only realise what he’s been doing as you notice the bowl of water kept on the floor, hands gently lifting up your dirty feet, cleaning them of the mud and the blood from small scrapes. He’s lifting up your legs onto the bed once he’s done, adjusting your pillow as a gesture for you to lay down. He’s blowing out the lamps and soon enough you feel the mattress dip, his arms engulfing you tighter than ever before. You can feel the slight tremble in them and you feel guilty for the small pinch in your chest. You wait for his breathing to steady, head to fall limp into the crook of your neck before you roll over towards him in the dark, eyes set on the small crinkle between his forehead and brow.

The warm hand that cups Toji’s cheek has him convinced that he may have lost his mind. Opening his eyes, he knows for sure that you have. Especially as you slide your other hand into his, pulling it till it’s placed onto the crest between your collarbone and chest, adjusting it a little more towards the left. Toji’s staring intently at you, wondering if this is your way of telling him that you’re still alive- that even though you’ve been cursed and damned to living in this hell, your heart still beats- it still fights.

Toji bares his own emotions through a gesture- pulling the small hand that holds his to the apex between his upper ribs- pressing it till your fingers feel like they might just pass through his flesh. He hopes you know that if he could, he’d snap each one of his ribs open so that you can reach inside and press the palm of your hand against his beating heart, rip it right out of his body and spit inside the hollow space of his ribs with contempt- even then he’d survive on your hatred alone if it means surviving with you for the rest of his life.

“I don’t hate you.”

The words are whispered in the dead of the night with no emotion, no trace of forgiveness or affection- simply stated as if they are common knowledge.

The soft lips coming down on his own have his mind spinning. He realises what it is you wish for- to be able to live once again as a human, to feel once again as a mortal- he can almost almost hear you saying the words into his mouth as your fist bunches up the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m tired of being a god.”

He can feel his own sentiment being passed right through as his hands slide under the cloth of his shirt that you wore, exploring the expanse of your reverenced skin, mouthing his response against your cupid’s bow.

“I’ll worship you even after you fall from grace.”

And he does, pulling himself up on arms above you, dipping his fingers into your soaking sex, making quick work of ridding you and himself of your clothes. He’s tucking your legs against your chest, feet dangling over his broad shoulders as he comes forward to meet your lips. He’s pulling away and you’re mewling at the loss of contact- the loss of his taste.

“Do you want this? Do you want-” He takes a deep breath, forehead coming forward to press against yours till your noses brush against each other, “...me?”

Your response comes in the form of sliding your hands to the back of his head, pulling him forward till his lips crash against yours once more- bucking your hips up till the tip of his massive girth is brushing against your heat. He doesn’t miss the moan that escapes you, eagerly kissing you back, moving to litter a plethora of kisses against your jaw- your neck- your collarbone. When he comes back up to your face, he’s well aware of the effect he’s had on you- the want in your eyes as you lift your hips against his once more, a small plea leaving your mouth.

The need that comes over him is animalistic as he moves a hand down to position himself before sliding into your soppy hole, he swears he can see stars with how hungrily you swallow him in. You’re gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he strokes your insides so languidly. Your faces are close enough for you to feel his breath on your mouth, to feel the fall of the hot droplets on your cheeks, your own tears of grief- of freedom- of a love gone to waste so long ago combining as he continues to thrust in and out of you deeply.

He’s dipping his head and the tears are being kissed away as his hand moves down to play with your over sensitive bud. You can't stop peppering kisses against his lips, moaning his name in his ear as he hits a particular spot inside you. He can feel you getting closer with how your breaths get deeper, fingers moving faster, strokes getting sloppier.

You feel the tight coil in your stomach start to unravel, and all it takes is for him to lower his head and suction his lips around one of your nipples for you to come apart underneath him. He’s reaching his own arousal soon after, pulling out to spray his seed onto your stomach. He all but collapses on top of you, rolling over to his side once he catches his breath, another hitching in his throat as he finds you crawling onto his lap, legs straddling his waist as you bury your face into his naked chest.

This is what being a god feels like. The taste of wine coating your tongue and the way his lips meld with yours- swallow you whole and then spit you out. You reach for him again in the dark, his chest panting against yours as the moonlight cascading from the window hits his face. You rest your chin against the centre of his chest, looking up at him with droopy eyes, his own stare right back at you- filled with tenderness and affection.

“No one will ever hurt you again, I promise.”

His voice is gruff and heavy, but carries a sincerity warm enough to send tingles down your back. You can’t quite place the look on his face, it's determined- pointed. You can feel the unravelling of the violence beneath his skin as his hand comes to cradle your jaw, and you wonder just what kind of monsters the god of the underworld plans to unleash.

His hand moves to caress the back of your head, adoration-filled eyes raking over your still panting figure. He presses his lips to your temple and says your name like a prayer. It all floods in- the pain- the love- the sorrow- the joy- you’re sobbing and he’s holding you like he has time and again. Only this time, he finds himself awestruck by the spark of ember that comes alive in your eyes, even if just for a second, he knows you’re going to be fine.

The god of the dead had bowed before you, offered you his crown, his throne- would have ripped off the flesh from his own back and handed it to you without any hesitation if only you asked.

You were the goddess of spring and everyone had loved your life and light, but who except him had acknowledged the death and destruction that came along- had reached out their hands into the rotten parts of your flesh and kissed every bruise and scar?

This was Toji Fushiguro’s life now, coming back home to his precious darling each day- the only burst of spring in his everlasting winter, the only ray of light in his world swallowed by darkness.

Tonight, as you lay on him bare-bodied and covered in sweat from your previous feat, he finds you asking him about the season, about how far the harvest festival was. He’s confused at your sudden curiosity but answers you nonetheless, telling you it’s in a fortnight. He finds himself asking why.

“Every single member of our blood attends the festival- they had waited for it while they kept me away.”

It’s the first time you’re talking about the incident and he can feel you quiver in his arms. It makes his blood boil, and he finds himself protectively pulling you even closer into him.

“...they had wanted each and every single one of them to get a chance to cut through my skin.”

That’s all you say before falling asleep, the tears on Toji’s chest making a storm of anger rage inside his mind.

It’s a fortnight later and Toji watches the red and orange hues of the flames making your face glow brighter than the sun.

You’re standing there hand-in-hand with him, looking over the half wrecked ruins of the village, the screams of the people you had grown up with- who had taken no less than a second to turn their backs on you- who had left you to die- now echoing in your ears. Right on the edge of the hilltop you stand on, you see a small figure running towards the slope, clothes burnt, high pitched sobs filling the air as it succumbs to the heat that had spread through it’s bones.

She must’ve been eight or nine years old judging from her size and half burnt frills of the frock she wore. You know she’s at peace, much like the many others who would’ve faced nothing but agonising hardships being raised in the hands of your cruel persecutors- all of whom lay as nothing but bones and ash and dust now.

Toji’s worried that he’ll find the same emptiness he’s spent months breaking through as he glances over at your face. Instead, there’s a fire being reflected in your eyes, a sadistically deliciously smile stretched across your supple cheeks. He finds his own lips curving as he grips your jaw to turn your head and press his lips to yours, the screams and shouts of your monsters merely anything but white noise as your fingers come to tangle in his hair.

After all, Hades may have been the god of the dead, but it was Persephone’s wrath which brought upon the destruction.

credit- prompt list

taglist-@captainmads2092 @mahitochan @nakachuchu @bakugohoex @jotazinha @osmosly @avasparks @p-each-y-day @lilshortcakess @saturnmoon @deary-darling @menaintshit23 @tobidabio @sukuna5slut @instantnuma @kuroshitsujjiii @half-baked-biscuit @duskamethyst @sukumen @radishfern

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk smut #jjk tw #jjk angst #jjk hcs #toji angst #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji fluff #gojo smut #sukuna smut #hades persephone retelling

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ananicoleta · 3 years

Text

Together Again

(A Space Jam 2 FanFiction)

Ok, so I imagine that after Bugs "died" in Space Jam 2, he didn't show up immediately. Instead, there were needed a few days for him to reappear, time during which the Looney Tunes thought he was dead. This fic shows their thoughts during that time, as well as a surprise at the end.

Enjoy!

WARNING: angst + kinda long

Daffy crept around the forest, always looking over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed or seen him. Not that it was very likely to happen. None of the Looney Tunes paid that much attention to anyone or anything anymore, so his absence would probabpy go unnoticed. All of them - him included - were trapped in their own thoughts and regrets, and the outside world just didn't matter anymore. The dynamic, the jokes, the atmosphere weren't - couldn't - be the same. Not ever since Bugs had...

Shaking his head, the duck snapped out of the thought that threatened to cloud his mind with pain and fog his eyes with tears. He had promised himself he won't let that happened. Just focus on the road, Daffy. You're almost there.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he reached his destination. The glade he knew so well looked just the way it did when he had left. The fresh grass, wet from the rain, shone into the sunlight as if it was made of cristal. The lively river cut its path through the strong rocks, running like a carefree child, while the birds happily sang their lovely tune.

Right in the middle of the glade, stood the well-known oak tree, tall as always, like a nobleman, proudly wearing its green attire. On the trunk, there could be spotted a poster that read: Duck Season. That was what Daffy was looking for.

He walked quietly towards it, still paranoic that someone might be there and see him. They for sure would ask him what was he doing and, honestly, he didn't know either. All he knew was that if he stayed one more minute alone in his house, trying to not think about Bugs, while automatically thinking about Bugs and missing him dearly, he'd go insane. He needed to feel the taste of their old game again, even if he had to play it all by himself.

Standing near the tree, he took a deep breath and began.

"Wabbit stheason!" He said, ripping the Duck Season poster.

Then, moving to the side opposite to him, he said in a quite accurate Bugs Bunny impression.

"Duck season!"

After, Daffy moved to the other side again and repeated the procedure. This went on for a while and it was, surprisingly, relaxing. It took his mind off of things and if he pretended hard enough, he could actually see and hear Bugs...

"Daffy?"

The duck slipped and fell right in the pile of posters that he had torn. When he lifted his head, he saw none other than Elmer Fudd, looking down at him, confused. He wore his usual clothes, complete with the hat and hunting gun.

"Didn't your mother tell you it wasth rude to sthcare people?" Daffy snapped, getting back on his feet.

"Sowwy, didn't mean to cweep up on you, duck." Elmer said apologetically. Then, peeking at the pile of sheets behind Daffy, he asked.

"Uh, what were you doing hewe?"

"I could ask you the sthame question." Daffy responded, not wanting to explain himself.

Elmer sighed and sat on the grass, his expression turning sad. In that moment, Daffy realised that the reason the hunter decided to come in this specific glade was the same as his.

Sighing as well, the duck sat down near his friend, feeling the depression taking control of him again. None of them spoke for a few minutes. They just sat there in silence, listening to the forest's whispers that seemed to mourn as well, as if it could feel someone was absent.

"You miss him as well, don't you?" Daffy asked after a while.

Elmer nodded. "I nevew thought I would miss him so much. He always annoyed me, always made me cuwse him. Now, though, I would give anything to heaw him again, to do pway 'Wabbit Season! Duck Season! Fiwe' just one mowe time..."

Elmer let out a stranggled sob and Daffy bit back his tears. If he had known that a few months ago would be the last time he, Elmer and Bugs would go through their hunting routine, he wouldn't have left, no matter what Al-G Rythim would have promised him. He would have listened and stood by the rabbit's side. But he was too selfish, as usual. He wanted to spread his wings, to be the hero of his own story and didn't care when Bugs practically begged them all to not go. And now it was too late. The rabbit was dead and there was nothing he or anyone could do.

Looking over at Elmer, he saw tears falling down his cheeks. Daffy extended his hand and gently wiped them away, ignoring how wet his own eyes were getting.

"Come on, Fuddsey." He said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go home and do something else. There's nothing for us here, anymore. Maybe we can help Granny with that big dinner she wanted to prepare for all of us."

And with that, the two left the glade that held so many happy memories, never looking back, afraid that they might get a glimpse of the past, one that would make them lose their composures completely.

/////////

Porky walked through Tune Town, making his way to Granny's house. He had recieved a message that morning from her that kindly asked him if he wanted to come over and help her make a delicious meal for the family, since cooking alone was a bit depressing.

Although she didn't say it, he could tell from her tone that the reason she wanted him near was so she wouldn't have the opportunity to think about Bugs. Who could blame her? None of them wanted to think of Bugs. And they all tried so hard not to.

The pairs of enemies, like Road Runner and Wile E., Sylvester and Tweety, Foghorn Leghorn and Barnyard, went right back to chasing and teasing each other, though Porky could see the lack of energy and how forced it looked. Toons like Yosemite Sam, Marvin and Speedy were always away, probably somewhere where there was just them alone and their thoughts, where no one could bother them. Then there were the ones like Garnny, himself and occasionaly Pepe Le Pew and Penelope, that tried to cheer them all up, while they themselves were almost dead on the inside.

And it hurt a lot. It hurt to look at their dishearted family, trying to do anything in order to forget, even for a moment, that Bugs was dead. It hurt to feel so powerless to put an end to their pain, to hear them crying their hearts out, knowing that no matter what he said, it won't make a difference. It hurt to see them separated and not wanting to interact with anybody.

This was the main reason Granny had proposed the dinner.

At first, he didn't think it was such a good idea, but then he figured that they couldn't just stay in their houses forever, watching time fly by, grieving their friend. As painful as it was, he knew he had to put it all behind him and accept that they would never see Bugs again. If only they wouldn't have left...

"Hi, Porky." Came a voice from nearby.

Wipping his eyes quickly, Porky greeted his friends as well.

"H-Hi, Da-Da-Daffy. And hello, Elm-Elmer, t-too."

Seeing the black duck and the toon human cheered him up a bit. His family always managed to do that.

"Whe-where you guys o-off t-t-t, uh, going?"

"We thought we might stop at Gwanny's and hewp her with the cooking." Elmer said.

"Oh, re-really? Th-That's great, 'cause I was he-hea-heading there a-as we-we-we, uh, too."

As they walked down the road they continued to chat about this and that, just for the sake of making conversation and not walking in silence. They climbed the hill that led to the valley full of nice, suburban houses, meaning they were almost at Granny's.

When they made it to the top, Porky simply glanced in to the distance... and his heart caught in his throat. Stopping dead in his tracks, causing his other two friends to bump into him, he stared forward convinced that his eyes must be playing tricks on him.

"Hey, what gives, Pig?" An annoyed Daffy asked.

Seeing as Porky didn't answer, they followed his startled gaze, and saw exactly what had caused the pig to react like that.

Down in the valley, right near the entrance of Tune Town, there was a silhouette walking towards the suburbs. It might've been just a trick of the light, or maybe a product of their grief-struck minds, but the creature (that also appeared to have grey fur and long ears) looked an awful lot like...

"BUGS!" Daffy shouted and before one of them could do something, the duck broke into a run, all while screaming the rabbit's name at the top of his lungs.

The silhouette also started running, and in less than ten seconds, the two crashed, warping their arms around each other in a tight hug.

At that moment, Porky felt an uncontrolable smile spread across his face. All the negative feelings that had polluted his mind until then, evaporated. Instead, his heart swelled with pure and utter happiness. He also heard Elmer repeating over and over, excitedly:

"He's awive! Gwacious, he's awive!"

Letting out a joyous laugh, both of them ran as fast as they could, to hug their brothers.

Behind them, the rest of the family, that had probably heard the noise and came to see what was happening, shouted with surprise and glee, and ran right after them.

Slowly, one by one, every Looney Tune joined them in a giant, family hug that warmed their hearts and casted off their sadness.

Finally, they were all together again, and they were never ever separating.

#looney tunes #bugs bunny #elmer fudd #porky pig #daffy duck

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

Sink then float (Poe Dameron x GN reader)

Summary: Poe comes back from a mission to find that reader is experiencing a depressive episode, and he does what he can to take care of them while they’re sick. Hurt / comfort. Angst / slight fluff.

Author’s note: Was feeling super crappy at the start of the week (I’m ok now!) and this angst-bomb came out of me. Pleased to have finally written something, though it tackles a tough topic. I’ve tried to be as sensitive as possible while writing about depression, and while it’s something I have experienced in the past, of course it manifests differently for everyone. I have drawn on some personal experience to write this, but it is a fic. Therefore, it is necessarily outside of my direct experience, which opens up the possibility I may have gotten something wrong. Therefore, if you think there’s anything I’ve handled in a way that is harmful (even honest mistakes can be mistakes) I’m happy for you to send me an ask outlining this so I can correct and do better.

Warnings: It deals with reader in a depressive episode, and it is from reader’s POV. As such, it is pretty angsty, ngl, as reader’s thought process is in a bad place. The piece grows more hopeful as it progresses, and ends on a hopeful note, however it may still be difficult reading. I’ve actively tried to acknowledge in the text where reader’s thought-process is skewed by being sick e.g. when they say they are worthless, I’ve tried to directly counter this as it’s not objectively true. The last thing I want is for anyone to feel worse reading this, so I’ve tried not to validate reader’s most difficult thoughts (though what they’re going through is valid and it is valid for reader to be experiencing those thoughts)! That said, please take care when reading, as some of the feelings and thoughts set out may be triggering. Also, whilst there is no direct mention or suicidal thoughts or ideation, I am also warning for that, as there is some crossover in thought patterns. Ultimately, this is a fic about Poe being there to comfort reader, but reader finding that shred of hope inside themseleves, amidst feelings of hopelessness. I didn’t want to suggest that Poe could “fix” reader, so yes, they are still depressed at the end, but more comforted and hopeful than at the start. Sorry for all the warnings, but I wanted to be clear so you can make an informed decision on whether to read. Please stay safe!

GIF by @twillight. Yowzers, it’s PRETTY AF.

There’s no poetry any more.

There are only syllables. Vowels like an orange in your mouth. Consonants rattling between your teeth. You speak only of sleep. Your words hollow like a worn, sprung mattress; inviting rest but offering no comfort.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

There is no art any more.

Not even in a thousand burning suns. Not even as you tip your face up to the milky black. Not even in his face; that face you love. You look, and you feel numb.

Numb. Numb.

No music.

Birds sing. It’s just noise, ringing in the hollow of your body.

Noise.

You want to sleep. It is all you want, and you merely want it because you want nothing else.

No dance in your body. No motion; only stillness.

No fight left in you...

What is left, then?

Nothing?

Nothing left.

Yes.

Nothing but the robust pang of hunger.

Nothing but the parching thirst.

Nothing but this weight on your chest, pressing you to the bed.

Nothing but the refresher door taunting you because you can’t cross the chasm in five steps.

Nothing but the guilt and self-hatred, and false, invasive belief that you are worthless.

Guilt because you...

Can’t.

So much then? So much where there is “nothing”?

You are simply so full of empty that it has pushed everything good down. It has pushed you down until you are sunken. Until you are yelling at yourself from below water, sound muted.

Everything muted.

Colours. Feelings. Life. Love.

Worst of all, your love will be home soon.

Home and sleep is all you...

Home and you haven’t even...

You almost think about ...

You sigh.

You can’t.

You can’t complete the...

You feel nothing, and yet guilty tears fall to the pillow. A part of you understands you are not to blame for being sick, and still, there is this guilt.

You have him.

Poe. Poe. Poe.

So, shouldn’t you be happy?

Why can’t you be happy?

Love shakes the inside of your chest, rattling against the bars of your ribs and wanting to be known. Reminding you of what you lack. It hurts. Everything hurts when it flexes, even love. Especially love. It flexes and it feels only restriction. It feels only weight on its chest. Such pain.

He will be home soon.

You love him. You know this, intellectually. And yet, you don’t want to see him. Don’t want think of him. Because you don’t want to be seen by him.

Not like this.

You don’t want to let him down. You don’t want to break his heart by meeting his loving gaze so hollow. As if he is not sunshine. As if he is not a thousand suns blazing; and yet, instead of poetry and art and music in your heart when you think of him, there are mere syllables, images, noise. There are those vowels again, large like an orange in your mouth, consonants rattling in between your teeth as you cry muffled sounds into the pillow.

He’ll be home soon. You don’t know how soon. You don’t know how long you have layed like this.

Still, all you can do is lie empty, where the room brims with mess and misery and shadow.

All you can do is lie in this empty room, where you brim full with sorrow.

It is enough. This is enough. You are enough, though you can’t see it.

And so, because you can’t see it, can’t feel it, you bring your hands to your face, despairing. Your fingers find your hair, and it’s dirty.

You just want to sleep. You want to tug the covers back over your head and disappear but..

There is a rap at the door.

He’s home now.

A soft knock, then inistent.

He’s back.

After a week apart he’ll be so...

...disappointed to see you. At least, that’s what you mind is telling you to believe.

You turn away and close your eyes as he pushes through into the dark room. You cannot look at his sunshine. It is too bright, like the round circle of sun at the mouth of a deep well. You cannot look, so your eyes scrunch closed as he flicks on a lamp, and you hear his feet deftly pick through the mess on your floor.

You try not to look.

You try not to hear.

You try not to exist.

How can feeling nothing still hurt? How can you wish to feel even less than this, just to blunt your pain?

Still, you do feel something. You feel his sturdy weight settle on to the bed beside you.

You do hear. You hear him sigh.

Yes, he sighs, but it’s gentle, concerned, and his hand finds your shoulder, his touch like warm sand on your cold, goosepimpled skin. Rough and full of sunshine.That blessed sunshine you cannot -at the present moment-comprehend.

“Honey?” he asks, and you hear his voice, soft and tender. You hear his love, but you can’t feel it. No, you can’t.

His voice should ignite you. There should be blood moving beneath your skin but...

There is nothing. There is nothing in your mouth. Nothing but bones in your body.

“Honey, look at me, please?”

You peel your eyes open, bracing yourself for the disappointment you expect to find carved into his face. His eyes examine you, assess you, eyes flitting around the room to understand how bad things are. The state of you, the state of the room. The half-filled bottle of meds at your bedside- at least you’ve been keeping those up. That’s something. Something where you would insist there is nothing.

That look. That look in your eyes, your pupils like bleak, empty wells he tips his sunlight into, and yet he can’t reach the depths of you. Can’t warm all the way through, even as his eyes brim with tears and love.

He doesn’t look surprised, at least. He ran into one of the others first, then; Leia or Finn or Rey. They warned him. Warned him that you are worthless, a burden. No, you are not those things, you try to remember. They will have warned him that you are sick.

Suddenly, looking at him, you have words.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, your mouth as dry as sandpaper.

“Why in the hell are you sorry, baby?” he asks gently, surprised now, his eyes searching yours. How does he do that? How does he look at you as if you are beautiful, even like this? Perhaps you are beautiful, even like this. Yes, you are. He sees it when you can’t.

“Because I...” you look away from him and sigh, even these simple words taxing your energy,”...couldn’t....”

Couldn’t get out of bed.

Couldn’t want to.

Couldn’t be happy when he came home.

Couldn’t want to.

Poe doesn’t judge you though. Not for this.

He’s Poe. Of course he doesn’t. Poe knows that people are not to be judged on such blameless matters. People are not the sum of their illnesses and struggles. You are so much more to him. You are everything to him, in fact.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. Always will. That doesn’t change when you’re sick. Why would it? Why would it?

“You did just fine, honey,” he insists through a thin, watery smile. “I’m still proud of you. I’m still glad to see you.”

You look at him.

He looks back.

You know you should feel poetry in it, like all the other times he’s come home. When your skin and your heart and your breath and your words and your lips were alive. When your body danced with his.

“It’s bad this time?” he asks. “Like before?”

“I guess,” you croak.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself even though you dont deserve that hate for a second. You hate yourself for what you believe Poe must think of you, but you try to remember that your brain lies, and that Poe tells the truth. You try to remember everything he tells you over and over. You try to remember hope. Rebellions are built on hope, after all, and you? You are a Rebel; therefore, you know you must fight this too. A small, vanishing part of you knows that you can fight it, even if a louder voice in your head tells you you can’t. A voice with bad intentions. This sickness.

Still, you always promise Poe you’ll try. You always try. Have been trying. Even the refresher door becomes something that taunts you, a chasm between you and it as you try to make it there. You always try. Regardless, Poe’s always proud of you.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, his warmth and his unsurpassed beauty evident to you even now, even if it you cannot muster any ready response to it.

You shake your head.

“I’m disgusting.”

“Kriff, me too,” he says, his tone natural and easy, and refusing to shrink away from your pain- from the temporarary reality of you, as some do. “Came straight here. Five days on a mission without a shower? We can stink together,” he adds, with a tentative, lopsided smile, hoping to tease one from you too.

Poe has no trouble being hopeful, where that has never come easily to you.

Still, he’s here. He’s here at your side, all warm, sandy voice and his soft, loving eyes. Even if you had been convinced he would never come back. He is here. His rough hand is swooping over your cheek. Caring for you, even though he must be so tired himself.

Your eyes grow watery and your lower lip trembles. “I should be caring for you, you shouldn’t have to come back to me like this, after fighting...”

“Hey,” he protests, his voice hushed but his tone insistent. “You’ve been fighting too, baby. We both got our missions, yeah? If you ask me, I think you got the raw end of the deal.”

He’s perfect. He’s so perfect. You will the blood to move under your skin. You will your heart to ignite, but there’s nothing.

Correction; there’s nothing yet. It will come. It will get better.

Poe’s voice and eyes soothe you as you contemplate this. “There’s nowhere else I wanna be. I just wanna hold you. Okay, baby? Missed your beautiful face. Missed you so much. I’m kriffin’ lucky to come back to you.”

Missed your smile, he might have said. You missed it too. Misplaced it.

Forgot how to...

Your thought-spiral is interupted as Poe shifts slowly on the bed, and he curls his warm, sturdy body around yours, holding his beloved little spoon tightly.

He’s wrapped around you, but you wish you could feel him.

Still, as his arms wind around you to tug you into him, you clasp his forearms tightly against your chest. A part of you knows. A part of you feels. You know how important this is. That he is home.

“Mission go ok?” you ask in monotone.

“Yeah,” he says, exhaling a tired puff of air into the back of your neck.

You wish you could melt for him and comfort him in return. You try, at least.

You try, but you feel like a gargoyle carved from stone, sorrow frozen on you. Face locked in a grimace. What mason would be so cruel as this? To make this bitter emotion permanent as stone? However, as he squeezes you tighter, fits against you so naturally, so familiar... As he touches you, you remember you are, in fact, skin and bone. You remember, even though the memory may be distant, that although your heart is heavy now, it once was light.

If it once was light it can be that way again.

He kisses your hair, even though it is dirty. He breathes you in, even though you are not clean. He loves you, and even if you think you are broken, he thinks you are perfect.

You are perfect.

His body heat suffuses through you, and you hadn’t realised how cold you were, until he warmed you. Poe had noticed, though. Poe loves you.

“Have you eaten? Drank anything?” he whispers into your neck, after a moment of holding you in gratitude and breathing deep, relieved breaths.

“Finn made me eat something,” you say, almost embarrassed, even though you know Poe does not judge you. “Managed half a ration. It was... today? I think it was today, I don’t know...”

“That’s good, baby!” he praises, entirely genuine. You feel him shift on the bed behind you, sitting up with his back against the headboard.

“C’mere,” he encourages softly, bundling you into his chest, and producing a ration bar from the pocket of his flight suit. “Split this with me while I tell you about the mission, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, and Poe can hear that you sound a little sceptical. You doubt you have the energy to engage with him.

“I’ll tell you all the funny and horrific stories of your boyfriend’s heroics this past week. Shall I do The Thing as well?” he asks, and you swivel your head to look-up at him, seeing him tick up an eyebrow, slightly amused.

“Yes please,” you say, and you even manage the barest of smiles.

Poe proceeds to tell you all about his week as you nestle into his chest, his voice flowing through you like warm sand, pouring in and filling up just a little of the emptiness inside you. He also does The Thing, and he intersperses his animated storytelling with “your” part too, so that you don’t have to worry about upholding a conversation. So that you only have to listen, and you don’t have to worry that you aren’t able to react as you typically would.

“That would be the bit right there you’d laugh,” he says as he recounts his finest dumbassery from the mission. A small smile inches over your face, as though you are rehearsing your own emotions. Trying them out. “Yeah, I think that one would be dumb enough to get a belly laugh from you.”

He continues.

“This would be the bit you would tear off my clothes because I’m a dashing badass,” he adds as he relays how he took down a ton of TIEs. “Yeah, definitely. You’d try to get steamy right about now.”

It might be odd, but it is a comfort. It doesn’t remind you what you lack. You feel less of a deficit this way, as it reminds you what you’re capable of. That it is not always like this. That you do not always feel like this.

Will not, as soon as you’re better.

“And you, honey? Mission report?”

You sigh, trying to think through what you have done, rather than what you haven’t. Even if the things to recount don’t sound as impressive as Poe’s, he always insists the battle is no less worthy. You are worth fighting for, after all.

“Well... I got a lot of sleep. Beebs made sure I took my meds.” It’s a short list, but what could be more important than that? The fact that you held on? Then, you have your first playful thought in days. “My love came home to me, and he thinks he’s all that, but he stinks pretty bad,” you tease, as if you weren’t in an entirely equal state.

“Kriff, you’re teasing me from your sick bed?” Poe’s chest shakes against you in gentle mirth. “Brutal, honey. Kriffin’ brutal.” You have a point though, he concedes. “We should both shower though, huh? Before someone catches a whiff and reports a possible herd of bantha in room z88?”

He clocks your trepidation as your eyes flick over to that taunting refresher door.

He squeezes your arm, and somehow manages to be encouraging without even a hint of being condescending. “Pretty far, huh? You can do it yourself tomorrow, but.. d’ya want your big strong man to carry you for now, baby?”

“Yes please,” you smile, and Poe shifts once again. First, he strips off his flight suit and tosses it aside, and then he peels back the covers and helps you to stand. Then, he helps you step out of your vest and pants, before swooping you up and carrying you the five paces to the refresher door, setting you down gently. You glance back at the rumpled bed, which still calls out to you, and although it is a short distance away, you feel like you have trekked across a damn galaxy.

Poe begins to run the water warm in the shower, casually handing you a fresh tumbler of water to sip on as he does so. Then, he takes your hand and eases you under the stream of water.

Poe’s broad hands lather up your body and your hair, feeling like an act of worship as he slowly, gently, washes days of rest away from you, without question. Without expecting anything from you in return except to let him- and even then, only if you want to. He then makes short work of rinsing off his own body, searching your eyes as he does so.

Water is a funny thing, you think- it can drown and it can cleanse. It can be gentle and forceful, deep and still or turbulent. After days of drowning, it feels good simply to be clean. To begin to rise to the surface.

You reach towards that circle of sunlight at the mouth of the well. You look a little deeper into his eyes. See a little further.

“A little better?” he asks.

You nod. A little better.

You step out with him, and even though he’s tired -ragged from this mission- he dries you off.

He changes your sheets.

He picks your dirty laundry up from your floor and throws it in the basket. He throws away your trash.

He let the light in.

Literally.

Then figuratively.

Yes, you still feel so heavy. So, so heavy.

But you know. A part of you knows that lightness will come again, if you just hang on. You can see it. You can see that light at the surface, still out of reach, but not forever.

You watch him as he cares for you in all these small ways and suddenly there are vowels and consonants pushing out from beneath your ribs.

“I love you,” you say as you perch on the edge of the bed, right where he seated you, not thinking to move.

He pauses, dropping what he’s doing and coming to kneel on the floor in front of you. Tenderly, ever so tenderly, he takes your face in his hands, and his warm eyes are as intense as you’ve ever seen him, as if he can’t believe that you fought hard enough to push this love out from the depths. For him. Even though you are so sunken. Even though you cannot do it for yourself yet.

“I love you too,” he promises, entirely earnest.

You push a small smile on to your face, even though you know you need not wear masks for him.

Yes, it got bad again, but it will get better.

You hang on, and that’s enough. More than enough.

You have to hang on, because there will come a day you’ll be so glad you did.

When everything in your chest rises up and gasps for air and lets you breathe again. You will break the surface and come back strong and eager for this life.

“It scares me when you’re sick. I love you so much.”

“I’ll be okay again,” you nod. “Or, I’ll try.”

That’s all anyone could ask of you. That’s all you can ask of yourself.

That is enough. More than enough.

You are enough. You are more than enough for him.

You look at him. He looks back.

His face. His face is art. You feel all those things; poetry, art, music, dance. They’re there. They’re just sunken. Muted.

Poetry is in the pauses too. The blank lines and empty spaces; in the missed beats. You will come back to yourself, and you will make new art. Feel new things. Things more full and replete with joy. Joy can clamber from out of the deepest wells, given time. It will. It will again.

“Can I kiss you?” Poe asks shyly. “Been desperate to kiss you,” he admits, the corners of his plush lips tugging up into a smile. He is sunshine. He is beautiful. Perfect.

You nod, and his lips meet yours, chaste and gentle, and not expecting anything in return.

You try your best to feel him. To feel at all.

You close your eyes and hope you will open your heart. It has begun, with a crack to let the light in.

There is fight left in you, even if you can’t see it. Even when you can’t feel it.

“I’m so happy to be home with you,” Poe says, and his words are greeted with silence.

That’d be the bit you’d usually say... I’m so happy too. But Poe offers his words freely, and you know he doesn’t expect anything from you in return. He doesn’t expect your happiness. He simply wants to give you his.

This is not a warm story, but he is warm.

Correction; this is not a warm story, not yet.

But, oh. Oh, it will be.

It was so, in the chapter before, and it will be, in the chapter which is coming.

And you? You will thaw, I promise. Not because of him. But because of you. Because you’re a fighter. Because no matter how long you may be sunken, you will float.

Poetry takes a breath sometimes. Misses a beat. It is not a waste. It is not worthelss, this pause. Sometimes it is needed. The big breath hope takes before it floats to the surface. So, maybe there is hope.

Yes. There’s hope.

There is hope.

Hope is like the sun. If you only believe it when you see it you'll never make it through the night. Isn’t that what Leia says?

You will make it through this night.

This is how you feel now but will not be how you feel forever. You are not carved from stone. You are a fluid thing; you are made of water. Sometimes, you can drown in yourself, and sometimes you can be cleansed. You are always moving and ebbing, even if it’s so far below the surface that you cannot detect the shift.

This will shift.

Love and life and light are straining, deep down, and after all that straining, pushing, trying, when they resurface they will be strong.

There’s a reason they say hope floats.

It cannot be drowned forever, even if it is is drowned right now. It is not set in stone. You will float, up beyond that circle of sunshine. You will heal, even though you are hurt.

Poe knows this. His eyes tell you all this, but most of all, you know it; no, you feel it, in the depths of you. This is truth.

Poe peels back the covers, and he tugs you to his bare body, warm flesh against yours.

He’s tired. All his body can speak of now is sleep.

You are both tired of fighting, so for now, you must rest, and try again tomorrow. You stroke his hair and he strokes your back, and for now, this is enough.

Yes, for now, this is more than enough.

You are enough.

#poe dameron x reader #Oscar Isaac #poe dameron angst #tw: depressive episode #tw: depression #tw: suicidal ideation #star wars #tw: hunger #tw: food

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missanthropicprinciple · 3 years

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A Tale of Elio and My Fixation with Lovable Androids

TL;DR Feel free to scroll past this unless you’re keen to read my ramblings about androids, Neoclassical art, children’s lit, and bad science fiction movies.

Since the late 1990s one of my favourite books has been A Tale of Time City (1989) by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s a mildly confusing story but engaging, with memorable characters, including the android Elio, pictured above - my own fan art from a few years ago. Studio Ghibli really needs to make this film if no one does a live-action version, seeing as they brought Jones’ novel Howl’s Moving Castle to life. Here’s a scan of my favourite edition with mesmerizing cover art by Richard Bober.

This book inspired me so much I’ve done research on it. I wasn’t in a class in grad school that allowed me to write about it so I took it on as a casual independent project in 2019. Two days after my dad died of cancer I was scheduled to present my paper on Elio from ATOTC. Needless to say I was not able to finish writing the essay. I told the department coordinator I would likely not attend but I would let him know. He was seriously surprised that I showed up. I must have looked like a ghost - wearing a nice top, skirt, tights, and short heels. I was still in total shock but I thought I might as well press on. My paper’s working tile remains as it was: Elio: Android Autonomy and the Personification of the Sun God. I presented a long bullet point list of working ideas and research done up until that point. My work is still on the broad side because it’s an intersection of young adult fiction, Neoclassic art, and android autonomy; I have some narrowing to do. Here are my main arguments thus far:

Firstly, the android character Elio’s physical characteristics and personality are inspired by Helios, the Hellenistic Greek god and personification of the sun. Apparently, Elio is a Spanish name meaning sun and also an Italian given name referring to the element helium, originally derived from the Greek name of the sun-god Helios.

Secondly, Elio and Helios share more than an etymological connection and the comparison of Elio to Helios can be articulated in two distinct ways: the aesthetic comparison, and that Elio possesses some of the qualities Helios is known for. Jones’ work repeatedly associates Elio with sunlight and golden hues, aspects which are exemplified in the 1765 Neoclassical painting Helios as the Personification of Midday by Anton Raphael Mengs. (I vaguely remember translating a couple passages from a large art book written in German when I was studying Neoclassical art.)

This work is considered an unusual depiction of Helios. Mengs uses a motif of the glowing arrow which is interpreted by François-Xavier Fabre as a symbol of the midday heat and the sun's rays which penetrate and give light to the earth. The representation of the sun in this way is considered unusual for the 18th century because it goes against Classical and Baroque iconography which portrays Helios riding a chariot. Ironically, Jones references this. Elio proclaims his fondness for films, particularly the chariot race from Ben Hur. Elio, like Mengs’ depiction of Helios, lacks a chariot but retains his beauty and powers.

As for Elio possessing some of the qualities of Helios, the god is often referred to as “all seeing” or “Zeus’s eye.” Similarly, Elio has the ability to anticipate problems and see what humans do not, but not because he’s a god, but because he’s a servant. However, this is where his self governing comes into play when he uses his observations to take action beyond any directives he has been given. His physical strength, like Helios, exceeds that of humans. Elio himself says, “my utmost is more than twice that of a born-human” (Jones, 211).

Thirdly, Elio’s self awareness allows him to use both his powers of observation and superior physical strength independent from humans. He does not always wait to be told how to use his power; he wields it. Not only does he play a part equal to that of humans in Jones’ plot, he specifically controls the fates of certain human characters. For example, he doesn’t always utilize his speed when he’s at the beck and call of his master, Sempitern. He makes choices not to fully comply with the demands made of him.

My fourth point, which I can’t quite articulate well, is that the most significant dynamic of this comparison is the body of Elio and how his physicality interacts with his autonomy. Elio acts as an individual who contributes to a wider mythology just as Helios does. Yet, while Elio is superior to humans in many ways, his quasi-humanity allows him to act in ways which align with Helios’ qualities.

For example, Elio makes personal choices and exhibits emotions not necessary for him, as an android, to function. He confesses a desire to harm another android out of annoyance where a passionate opinion would not be expected from an android. This human failing is indicative of the same autonomy which allows him to act as Helios does. Elio has been constructed as a superhuman body in terms of his abilities, however, the human qualities which contribute to his Helios-like powers undermine his intended purpose.

Ultimately, Elio ascends the usefulness of his “owned” body by acting independently from the humans who utilize him. His human qualities make him vulnerable and therefore he loses some of his godlike powers. Elio, while only an assistant to his human owners, utilizes his own physical and mental powers to maintain his autonomy. Conversely, his god-like qualities make Elio more human rather than affirming his android identity.

This is a very complex subject and I don’t really know where I’m going with it and have possibly made some suppositional errors. TL;DR: What I do know is that Elio presents a paradox: being idealized for his abilities allows him to be autonomous while being autonomous disrupts the servitude of his body.

I am in the process of determining what lens I will use to analyze Elio’s experience and functionality of being an android. I’m thinking about using Alan Turning’s 1950 work Computing Machinery and Intelligence. I’m still navigating the literary theory aspect, or indeed philosophical aspect, of this area of study.

This brings me to something I came across later that relates to Elio and ATOTC.

SPOILERS AHEAD

The closest depiction of an android that I’ve seen to Elio other than Data is from a terrible and somewhat forgotten science fiction film from 1989. “Byron”, (played by pre-Jurassic Park-fame Bob Peck) the android in the painfully awful film Slipstream comes very close to Elio in terms of tone, attitude, and characterization. Despite the embarrassingly bad script and dialogue, Peck does a bang-up job, seemingly acting in a wonderful film running parallel to the absolute trash his co-stars were apparently “acting” in. Yes, I rewatched this film just to write this analysis. (The secondhand embarrassment is off the charts and I had it playing at a low volume most of the time Byron was not on the screen.)

When you first see Byron he’s acting out autonomy but you’re not aware he’s an android. The audience is told he’s an escaped fugitive, a murderer, and that’s all we know for over half the film. Yet there are several clues. When you first see him he’s running over rugged terrain in a suit which was kind of a big hint but nothing makes sense in this film so I just thought that it was a weird costume choice. Then he’s literally shot with a grappling hook. He doesn’t seem to be in pain even though he’s shocked by it, and then is pulled down by a bounty hunter named Tasker (Mark Hamill) and hits the ground from a great height and doesn’t die. He just quotes what I think is John Gillespie Magee, Jr.’s "High Flight”: “I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth….and touched the face of God.” Next time you see him, he’s in handcuffs, looking super depressed, and apparently not bleeding out from the now absent grapple hook that’s gone through his forearm.

He eventually quotes Lord Byron to cryptically indicate his name which is lost on Bill Paxton’s character, Matt. “Byron” essentially means cowshed. It’s ironic because Byron the android is in many ways a receptacle of knowledge. Matt even says sarcastically, “Well aren’t you a walking storeroom of information,” and Byron responds cheerfully, “Yes.”

Byron breaks out of his handcuffs saying they’d “become rather superfluous.” You think he’s just showing off but once you know he’s an android you know he’s just honest all the time. He then heals a blind child and paraphrases Psalm 127:3. Matt says, “I didn’t know you were a healer.” Apparently Byron can perform cataract surgery in less than five minutes. Along their journey together (Bill is set on collecting the bounty on Byron’s head before Tasker can catch up) they camp out. Byron sleeps with his eyes open. (Even if he is an android wouldn’t his eyes need to be “cleaned” in the same way humans need to close our eyes and blink?) Matt wakes up to find Byron seemingly strangling him. “I was feeling your carotid pulse,” he explains. “I was just checking for arrhythmia and episodes of ventricular tachycardia.” At this point you realize he’s not so much a spiritual healer as a doctor who philosophizes a lot.

Byron’s miraculous behavior and pontificating is called into question by a nomadic spiritual community which has been torn apart by an attack on their village. As he lays dying, Ben Kingsley’s character calls Byron a “false prophet” but his faith in this stranger is somewhat restored when he says, “all that will be left of me is bits of gold in the sand. You have a soul, do not abandon it in death.”

Another character says, “The stranger is no mortal man.” Therefore it is clear that Byron likely isn’t human. We don’t find out he’s an android until 46 minutes into the film. Once that’s cleared up, other concepts arise in the script. While not well executed, they are really interesting; emotion both positive and negative, free will, perfection, A.I. slavery, and murder are all addressed throughout the second half of the film. Byron says he doesn’t understand “hate” in context of his “master” to whom he was nurse, brother, father, mentor, and friend, but he admits he was more of a slave than anything else.

The character Ariel takes an interest in him for a variety of reasons, especially romantically. In one very evocative moment we see Byron in a museum exhibit, a false garden of Eden, full of fake vegetation and taxidermies, full body mounts. So we’ve got an android having an Adam experience. Whether or not he experiences “original sin” with Ariel or if he’s “fully functional” is never acknowledged. Although one woman says, “Amanda slept with a robot?!” (who the f**k is Amanda?!) and a man says to another sitting next to him, “I hear they’re rather mechanical in the saddle.”

Byron is less concerned with consummation and more excited about love, sleep, and dreaming. When he is with Ariel he doesn’t quite know how to act in terms of sexual play and then apologizes: “I’m not accustomed to being loved.” We see him closing his eyes when he’s cuddled up with Ariel; the next day he is certainly very pleased that he fell asleep with his eyes closed and had a dream.

In terms of his servitude and autonomy they did not spend an adequate portion of the exposition on it. Matt has a change of heart and says instead of collecting the bounty, he’ll set him free as it’s briefly revealed that Byron killed his “master” upon the man’s request. Naturally, this brings up a lot of confusing feelings for Byron. “Is this what it’s like to be human? I don’t think I’m up to it,” he says. “Can I be trusted with human feelings?” And in a way he cannot. Ariel is brutally shot by Tasker.

Byron is angered over Ariel’s death and follows the bounty hunter to his ship. Instead of taking him in to collect a reward, Tasker tries to run him down with the glider plane. Byron manages to get himself caught in the engine and starts to strangle his assailant. Tasker quotes “touched the face of god” which brings Byron to his senses and he stops killing Luke Skywalker Tasker and tries to save the plane. It looks like he’s going to hot-wire it but then uses the wires like reins (chariot imagery???). They crash into the side of a mountain slope. Tasker dies but Byron survives. Apparently he’s basically indestructible and somewhat godlike. “I’m too dangerous to be human,” Byron tells Matt. In the end, he goes off in search of the place he’d been dreaming about.

Although in terms of physical appearance the two androids are vastly different, they have so much in common. Here are some basic concepts.

Character: Both are stoic, formal, intelligent, honest

Indestructible: Byron is injured with a grappling hook, takes a major fall of about 20 or 30 feet without a scratch: he is somewhat godlike or slave-like, meant to withstand destruction and pain. Elio is less indestructible but easily repaired.

Healer: Byron has the skills to heal people with basic surgery. Elio doesn’t take his own injuries seriously and experiences pain for the first time (Jones, 218-9).

Both think they deserve to be punished: Elio states this quite clearly (Jones, 276) and Byron says the same thing about himself with resigned passivity.

Complex relationship with “human emotions”: Both come to terms with violence, anger, and love.

Autonomy: At the end of the film Byron goes off on his own to look for a promised land. Elio decides his own fate by deciding to accompany the children of the story, stating that Vivian is a “particular favorite” of his (278).

Dreaming and stories: Byron is searching for a place, “where I think I belong,” he says, which is a place he often thinks and dreams about. Dreaming is considered to be a human attribute, a non-essential bi-product to consciousness. Elio enjoys stories and old films (Jones, 180), similarly “human” in nature.

(Peck, seen here waiting for Bill Paxton to learn how to act. Sorry, I’m salty.)

Disclaimer: This is a work in progress! This project is an intersection of niche subjects that interest no one but myself.

Anyway, my point is (yes, I did have a point...or rather several) was that if anyone should adapt A Tale of Time City, Byron from Slipstream is the best example of how Elio should be portrayed in terms of characterization. I feel that Slipstream should have been centered around Byron. The film was kind of like, just about the “we’re both fighting over the bounty of this fugitive” sorta thing. It would have made more sense to focus on Byron as he is arguably the most interesting character and represents many of the conflicts within the story. I would like to combine my research on ATOTC and Slipstream one day. In any case, this is a good start.

Works Cited (WIP)

Jones, Diana W. A Tale of Time City: Knopf, 1987. Print. Perkowitz, Sidney. Digital People: From Bionic Humans to Androids. Washington, D.C: Joseph Henry Press, 2004. Print.

Roettgen, Steffi, and Anton R. Mengs. Anton Raphael Mengs: 1728-1779 Part 2. München: Hirmer, 1999. Print.

Turing, A. M. “Computing Machinery and Intelligence.” Mind, vol. 59, no. 236, 1950, pp. 433–460. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2251299. Wilson, Eric. The Melancholy Android: On the Psychology of Sacred Machines. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006. Print

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mymoonagedaydream · 4 years

Text

Only the Good Die Young (Part 3)

Summary: Before you could commit to a future with Bucky, you had to learn about his past

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Terrible language, anti-religious sentiment, harmful relationship with parents, smoking

Author's Note: Lordy, it’s a good job Billy Joel has such a banging back catalogue. This is inspired by the lovely ‘Just the Way You Are’.

---

Soft sunlight bled through the curtains and caused your eyes to flicker open. As they adjusted to the brightness, the slightly stained roof of the trailer bedroom came into focus. Memories of the night before slowly trickled back into your mind and you smiled to yourself, stretching your arms upwards. When you moved to spread them sideways across the bed, you expected one of them to hit another body, but both just dropped straight onto the mattress.

You jerked upright, scanning the room for life. You were alone. Wrapping the sheet around yourself and scooching off the bed, you scurried through to the front room. Buck was probably just making breakfast or something.

No sign of him.

Clutching the sheet a little tighter, you opened the trailer door, only to see that his bike was missing too. A mild panic started to set in as you were unable to prevent hundreds of depressing scenarios racing through your mind simultaneously.

Why would he drive off without saying anything?

You gathered your clothes, dumped unceremoniously in a pile on the floor, and threw them on. Taking a few deep breaths, you tried to calm yourself down, but you couldn’t fight off the intrusive thoughts. The rational part of you knew that he’d probably just nipped out quickly, that he’d return soon, but in the back of your mind you couldn’t stop worrying that he’d got what he wanted and left for good.

Why didn’t he leave a note or wake you?

You spent the next fifteen minutes searching, pacing and overthinking, until finally, you heard a motorbike engine approaching in the distance.

A wave of relief hit you. Maybe you’d overreacted a little.

You were just scared. You knew that if this fling with Bucky went on much longer, it would grow into something with the potential to absolutely shatter you. It was terrifying to think how invested you were in a guy you’d only properly known for a matter of days. You couldn’t shake your mother’s shrill voice, incessantly warning you about him and his reputation.

At least if it ended now, it’d be a little easier to pick up the pieces.

‘Oh hey.’ Bucky came through the door with a paper bag full of groceries. He circled an arm around your waist, planting a kiss on your cheek before moving to the kitchen. ‘I grabbed a few things from the store, figured you were probably tired of hot dogs.’

‘You didn’t wake me up, I would’ve come with.’

‘Ah you’ve never seen yourself sleeping. Waking up that face would feel like slapping a puppy.’ Chuckling, he glanced over, noticing that you were a little subdued. He squinted and smirked. ‘Were you worried?’

You slid your hands into your pockets, trying so hard to look relaxed that you probably ended up looking like a junkie in withdrawal. ‘Worried?’

‘Man, I can read you like a book. You thought I was gone for good, thought all I wanted was a roll in the hay, didn’t ya?’ He grinned and stopped putting away the groceries, instead moving over to you and placing his hands on your waist. ‘I mean that last part is true, but I thought I might as well come back for seconds.’

You smacked him on the shoulders, trying to suppress a smile. ‘Asshole.’

---

Bucky suggested the two of you drive down to the beach, get some fresh air to take your mind off what he called your ‘runaway boyfriend complex’. He was also completely beside himself when you admitted that you’d never been to the seaside- the church camp you went to every single childhood summer was deep in the forest, about as far from a beach as you could get.

After driving for a while you started smelling the sea air. Fresh and briny, you couldn’t stop pulling in lungfuls of it, drinking the scent like a thick soup. You watched over Bucky’s shoulder as the green horizon was gradually swallowed by blue, as far as the eye could see. It was breathtaking.

He stopped the bike close to the edge of the sand. The weather was cool and breezy with clouds covering the sky, so the beach was all but empty. You surveyed the vast expanse of sand stretching in both directions.

You didn’t know why it took an intervention by Bucky for you to realise how much more there is to the world than god and grades, but you did know that you owed him a hell of a lot for doing it.

Too distracted by the view and by your profound inner monologue, you didn’t notice what he was up to. He’d pulled his shoes and socks off along with his jacket, dumping them next to the bike. He only caught your attention when he raced out in front of you, shouting ‘what the hell you waiting for, doll-face?’

You quickly followed suit, undressing and running to catch up with him.

The crisp sea breeze and the soft sand between your toes should probably have been relaxing, but the gradually closing gap between you and Bucky was making your heart thump like a bass drum. He slowed down and you took the opportunity to jump up onto his back.

Holding your legs tight, he started spinning around, but you slipped from his grasp and landed flat onto the sand.

‘Shit, are you alright?’ He dropped onto his hands and knees over you, concern melting from his face when he realised you were laughing.

‘Didn’t realise you had such a weak grip, Barnes.’

‘Right, that’s it.’ He gathered you up in his arms. ‘You’re going in the sea.’

He waded in up to his knees, threatening to drop you whenever you tried to wriggle. It took some convincing before he let you down, and he roared with laughter at your reaction to the freezing water.

After paddling for a while, the two of you went to sit down on some rocks. You brushed all the windswept hairs out of your eyes, your feet were tingling with cold and sand was making your thighs chafe, but the giddy grin didn’t shift from your face for a second.

Bucky took out a pack of cigarettes and placed one between his lips, fumbling around in his pockets for a lighter. You considered for a second before hesitantly holding your hand out to him, silently requesting one. He looked down at it then up to your face, raising one eyebrow in suspicion.

‘You ever tried one before?’ You shook your head faintly, a little embarrassed at your lack of experience. He smirked and pushed the pack back into his pocket. ‘Nah.’

‘Nah?’

‘Don't go changing to try and please me.’ He lit the cigarette and put an arm around your shoulders. ‘I like you just the way you are.’

Admittedly, you were semi-aiming for a Sandy-from-Grease type situation there, but it was probably a good thing that he shot you down before you embarrassed yourself with a phlegmy coughing fit.

Besides, you’d never been a huge fan of the whole change yourself to impress guys message. At least Bucky seemed to feel the same.

‘C’mon.’ He stood up and offered you his arm. ‘It’s freezing, let’s go back.’

---

As soon as you were both through the door, Bucky caught your mouth with his and moved your legs up around his waist, carrying you over to the sofa. Your back hit the armrest and you pulled him tight to you, toes curling in anticipation. His mouth moved down to your neck and your chest shuddered at the feeling of his soft lips and warm breath. You felt his hand snake up underneath your shirt, causing you to arch your back further into him. You closed your eyes, completely relaxing under his touch.

Suddenly, the trailer door swung open, hitting the outside wall with an almighty crash.

The sound made you jump out of your skin. Bucky snapped his head round before swiftly launching himself off you. A heavy boot landed through the entrance, followed by two shaking hands fumbling around to grab the doorframe and heave a stooped, burly body through the gap.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Bucky was almost shouting at the swaying figure standing in the doorway. ‘I told you I was here.’

‘You didn’t tell me nothin’ boy.’

The stranger had the voice of a lifelong chain-smoker or an alcoholic who only drank kerosene, by the looks of him he was quite possibly both. You swung your legs off the couch and scooched yourself to the edge of the seat, readying for some kind of fight-or-flight situation, not that you’d be much use at either.

The guest nodded towards you. ‘Who’s that?’

Bucky gestured his hand in your direction. ‘This is y/n.’ Then he turned to look at you with some kind of vague warning in his eyes. ‘Y/n, this is my old man.’

Ah. Shit.

Old man gave a gruff chuckle, pushing past his son and stumbling to the kitchen. He coughed harshly into his hand for a minute before beginning to haphazardly rifle through the cupboards.

Bucky rubbed his forehead, not wavering his gaze from his father. It was jarring to see him so stressed. If this situation was enough to make him freak out, maybe his father was more dangerous than he looked.

‘Not your usual type, son.’ You looked over to see the intruder propped against the counter, leering at you over a can of beer.

‘Don’t.’ Bucky’s voice was low, threatening. ‘Take what you want and go, alright?’

‘What’s the deal with this one then? Prison? Meth?’ He was smirking as he took a long gulp from his can, watching Bucky tense up and approach him slowly.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the tension weighing heavy in the air. The two men were face to face now, one still slouched, the other stood menacingly straight with his jaw clenched and shoulders squared.

‘She a hooker?’

Bucky swiftly grabbed two fistfuls of his father’s shirt and pulled him away from the counter, the half-empty beer clattering to the ground and exploding with suds. You felt foolish just sitting there, watching, but there was no way in hell you were going to intervene.

‘You gonna hit me son?’ The intruder spat, his face inches away from his son’s. ‘Over a bit of cheap tail?’

Bucky stood firm, looking as though he was ready to crack the man’s skull against the wall.

‘Hey, you.’ The father turned his head towards you, chuckling and flashing a wicked grin. ‘I got a joke for you.’

‘Don’t talk to her.’

‘It’s one of my boy’s favourites, he loves it.’ He glared at you through glazed eyes. ‘What’s a woman?’

You just stared back at him, waiting.

‘A life support system for a cunt.’

With that Bucky seemed to snap, spinning round and shoving his father harshly towards the open door. Unable to stay balanced on his trembling legs, the man stumbled backwards through the gap and landed with a loud thud on the grass outside. Bucky quickly jumped out after him, slamming the door, leaving you alone inside the trailer.

You heard shouting and crashing, prompting you to jump up from your seat and cross over to the front window. The fight had moved by the time you drew the curtain back, you couldn’t see them but god you hoped Bucky was winning.

You didn’t know why, but in that moment the only useful thing you felt you could do was clean up all the spilled beer. Grabbing a fistful of kitchen towels, you knelt down and wiped them over the puddle, feeling hot tears welling up in your eyes.

You’d almost finished when the trailer door clicked open and Bucky stumbled back in, grazes on his knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. He didn’t look at you, just stumbled over to the couch and flopped down, head in his hands.

You grabbed a cloth and wet it, moving over silently and sitting beside him.

‘Let me see.’ It was barely a whisper, you had no idea if he was still volatile.

To your relief, he dropped his hands and fell backwards into the cushions. It looked like he’d taken a firm punch to the nose, but it wasn’t broken. The worst injuries he had were on his knuckles, you hated to imagine what his dad’s face ended up looking like.

He flinched as you pressed the towel to his hand, his eyes started searching your face.

‘I didn’t want you to hear all that stuff. Not like that, anyway. Not from him.’

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. You didn’t want to lie and say that his father’s words hadn’t upset you- hearing about his past from someone that actually knew him had just reignited all your worries. You knew people could change but, that much? That fast?

‘Would you have told me if he hadn’t?’ You muttered, keeping your gaze fixed on his injuries, avoiding his eyes as best you could.

He chuckled. ‘Yeah, eventually I would’ve told you that I used to have terrible taste in girls and jokes.’

You didn’t react, causing his chuckles to fade awkwardly. He moved his hand up to cup the side of your face, gently shifting it up so your gaze met his. He squinted at you slightly, prompting you to speak

You sighed. ‘Why are you interested in me, Buck? I know you said you like me how I am and everything, but I’m obviously not your type at all.’

‘I don’t know.’ The honesty of that hit you pretty hard. He stroked his thumb across your cheek. ‘I think we’re the same. Your parents chose the bible, mine chose the bottle, both of us got royally fucked up as a result.’

‘I don’t know if trauma bonding is a great foundation for a relationship.’

He bit his lip, his voice swimming with desperate sincerity. ‘I just want someone I can talk to, I’m tired of having some pretty face tell me pretty lies.’

‘I’m just struggling to see a happy ending here Buck.’ Tears were welling in your eyes and your voice was cracking. ‘We don’t have any money or support, I don’t even know if I can afford to go back to college.’

He pulled you into a tight hug.

‘I took the good times, I’ll take the bad times.’

---

Part Four

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@shawnie--jo

---

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robynsaurr · 3 years

Text

Goh comforts Ash (fanfic!)

Authors note: hello cherries :) This fic discusses a lot about depression/mental health. Depression is something I suffer with, and a coping mechanism I use is venting out my emotions through writing. As always, there won't be anything too heavy in this fic. Enjoy :) Goh couldn't entirely place when the change in Ash happened.

One moment he was the loud, excitable and happy kid Goh was used to. His smile was enough to brighten anyone's day, his laughter was enough to light up the every star in the sky.

But one day it all seemed to change. That shine in his eyes hollowed, always appearing dark and haunted. He smiled less, and whenever he did his eyes wouldn't light up. It looked forced.

At first he'd tried to make an effort, although even getting out of bed appeared to be exhausting. His voice become monotone and emotionless.

Maybe it was a good thing Ash wasn't the best at acting or nobody would've known he wasn't okay.

And Goh hurt because Ash was hurting. Because he bottled everything up inside and wouldn't tell a soul about what was going on in his head.

He almost felt hurt that Ash wouldn't tell him what was wrong. They were best friends now, why couldn't Ash trust him?

But then this is Ash we're talking about. Goh recalled the day Ash had become sick. He didnt say anything all day, until he eventually collapsed.

Ash was just like that, anything about Pokémon battling and he wouldn't shut up for days, but it seemed like he'd rather be shocked ten times in a row by Pikachu's thunderbolt rather than talk about his feelings.

It was nearly 5am on a Tuesday morning, and Goh had just woken uo after a disturbed sleep, tossing and turning as he thought about Ash.

He didn't have to be up early. Usually the alarm would sound at 10am. But Goh couldn't sleep.

He got dressed and brushed his teeth, then walked over to Ash's sleeping form om the lower bunk.

Goh gently shook his shoulder.

"Ash. Ash!" He whispered loudly.

Ash groaned, waking up more easily than he usually does. The amber sunlight shone in through the crack between the curtain, hurting his tired eyes. "Goh, it's early" he grumbled.

"So? You were barely asleep anyway. You never wake up that quick" Goh watched as Ash rapidly blinked his eyes, waking up properly now.

"What is it?"

"I need to talk to you. Get dressed, We're going out"

Confused, Ash reluctantly pulled a shirt and a pair of pants out his drawer. He got dressed, cramming his hat down on his knotted, messy hair.

Goh took him by his wrist, leaving the room. It was just them, Pikachu was still asleep on Ash's bed.

They both walked silently, past the town, into a more desolate area. It was a small grassy cliff by a large tree that looked over the town. The sky was lit up by a soft morning glow of ambers and oranges as the sun began to rise on the early winter morning.

It was truly beautiful, Goh and Ash stood by eachother, just taking in the scenery.

Ash turned his head to look at Goh. "Why'd you take me here?"

"I just wanted to watch the sun rise"

For a moment or two, there was silence, and all they felt was the cold winter air stinging their skin.

"And I need to talk to you, Ash"

Ash swallowed, suddenly feeling slightly nervous. "About what?"

"You. You've been different lately. Please, just tell me what's wrong"

Ash opened his mouth, but Goh cut in before he could protest.

"And don't tell me its nothing because I know it's not!"

Ash nodded, and he was quiet for a moment. After a long pause, he shut his eyes and sighed.

"I-I have something wrong with me"

He had his eyes closed. His cheeks were burning with shame and his fingers were curled into fists.

Before Goh could question him, he continued.

"It started happening two years back. Whenever winter came round... things just got worse. Getting out of bed was hard... I couldn't eat, I just felt so sad all the time. All I wanted to do was cry..." Ash had his head turned away from Goh, staring into the distance.

"I could hide it at first. Until it began to get worse... I told my mum. She took me to a doctor" Ash swallowed, taking a deep breath. "He said I had something called seasonal affective disorder. He gave me pills for it, although they didn't really do much. No one else knew apart from Mum. It felt embarrassing, shameful, I d-didn't want anyone else to know..."

"Ash..." Goh put a hand on his shoulder. "Is that all it is?"

Ash blinked, stunned. He still had his head turned, like he was confessing a deep, dark secret.

"It's okay. It happens, people suffer from these things. It's not shameful, it's not a bad thing." Goh paused, looking at Ash, who had tears brimming in his eyes. "It's a part of life. And it's not a nice thing to feel, but if you talk to people... we can help you. People care about you, Ash. I care about you. And we want you to be okay"

Tears were spilling down Ash's cheeks.

"Ash..." Goh continued. "I don't want the Ash who fakes a smile. I want the real Ash. You don't have to fake anything anymore. I'm here for you"

Ash didn't move. He was stunned by Goh's words. He hadn't expected them at all.

He thought he'd laugh at him, tell him he was an attention seeker. Or think he was weak or a coward.

Goh tilted Ash's chin up with his hand. Ash looked up into his eyes.

"Th-thank you”

Goh wrapped his arms round him, and they stood, wrapped in eachothers embrace for several minutes.

"Ash? Let's take a break from research or training today. We can look around the shops for souvenirs and go to the beach together instead"

Ash smiled, his first genuine smile in weeks.

"Sounds good.

Authors note: I am sorry for the lack of quality in this fic! i wrote it as a coping mechanism so it's not the best, but i still hope you enjoyed. much love <3

(also yes i wrote “mum” instead of “mom” im sorry sadly i am british 😔✌)

#journeyshipping #fatedencountershipping #firstfriendshipping #ash x gou #ash x goh #satoshi x gou #satoshi #ash #Ash Ketchum #goh #gou #pokemon #angst #anipoke #fanfic #fanfiction #hurt #comfort #satogou

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hanniiesuckle17 · 4 years

Text

Little Stars

A/n: THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 1.5K!!! THISMEANS SO MUCH TO ME SO HERES A LITTLE IMAGINES I WROTE OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD THAN K YUO GUYS AGain

(this is way longer than I thought it would be! also not edited lol sorry)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: maybe like one or two curse words, sexual tension??

Summary: Y/n is an up and coming artist. The problem is her collection deadline is one past up and coming. Lacking motivation since the job was assigned she is stuck the day before her deadline with no paintings or photos and thoroughly depressed. That is until shes see inspiration outside her window. Inspiration by the name of Lee Felix.

Genre: Fluff, strangers to ‘lovers’,

✧

Empty. My brain was empty. I had two months. Two months to come up with a small exhibit for a local gallery I was signed to. Two months. For five paintings. Or photos. Or both. TOO MANY DECISIONS. Decisions...granted I should have made...two months ago.

I sat near the biggest window in my apartment. Sunlight streamed through the glass, casting a natural glow on the stark white canvas. I just needed a theme. A subject. I know! I could do a five-part exhibition on tea kettles!

“Oh for pete’s sake, I’m going crazy,” I said head in my hands.

I can’t paint teapots. Flowers are overdone. What the hell am I supposed to paint? This exhibition was a huge deal. I had nothing and my deadline was tomorrow night.

That’s it. I’m done. My short career is finished. I should just throw away all my paints and pencils and chalk and coal and trash all the canvases that littered my apartment. I glanced at my phone which sat a few feet away from me on a small wooden table littered with tubes of paint and jars filled with brushes and blades covered in paint.

An hour had passed and I still had yet to touch my brush to the canvas. Groaning, I rested my forehead against the linen canvas. “Come on, Y/n. Search your artsy soul for inspiration.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I tried to imagine the canvas being filled by something beautiful. Something worthy of love and legacy. Something that could burn a hole in my life and set it on fire. Something to ignite my passion again.

When I opened them, of course, the canvas was still empty and my brain was too.

With the thousandth aggravated sigh of the hour, I sat up and looked out the huge window near me. My eyes caught on a flash of blonde hair. Down on the street, a boy with light hair and bright eyes was bouncing along with two other boys. They were joking around and laughing, as people who’s entire job wasn’t on the line would do. For some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

All of a sudden I could see the brush strokes of his hair on my canvas. The delicate lines of his eyes. I needed to paint him.

I launched myself out of the chair and rushed to the door. My feet took the stairs two at a time and I jumped the last three before sprinting out onto the street. My head turned in all directions trying to find the boy I saw from my window. Once again, I found his blonde mop bouncing and laughing down the street, away from my apartment.

“Hey!” I called out, running to catch up.

Good grief boys walk fast. “Hey! You! With the blonde hair!” At my words, the three boys turned around, astonished someone was running at them. After a few words, the boys started running away. “No! Wait! I need to talk to the Blonde Guy!” I yelled out of breath. Desperate, I ran after them. Thankfully they turned down an alley only a few feet away that I knew was a dead end.

I put my hands on my knees catching my breath. The three boys stared at me a little fearful. “Look, I just need to talk to Goldilocks. I saw him from my window and there was just something about you. It inspired me.”

“Well... yeah. We’re kind of famous. We get that a lot.” The boy with doe-like eyes and dark, almost black hair said like it was obvious. The boy with blonde hair elbowed him in the stomach making the other laugh.

“You’re famous?” I asked, finally standing upright. They looked between each other surprised.

“You don’t know who we are?” The youngest looking asked. He reminded me of a fox I painted once. “Sorry. We thought you were a crazy fan.” To be honest I hadn’t really been keeping up with the news or popular things lately. I had been holed up in my apartment trying to paint. “We’re from a group called Stray Kids. I’m Jeongin. The rude guy is Jisung, and that’s Felix.”

My eye immediately darted to the boy now known to me as Felix. “Felix...” I said looking him over. He was even more entrancing up close. He had soft sun spots dancing across his cheeks and nose that brightened up his face. Freckles. How cute. How different.

“Yeah...what’s your name?”

“Uh- I’m Y/n, Y/n L/n.”

Jeongin’s eyes widened. “Hyung! Isn’t she that painter that Hyunijn likes? He dragged us to that gallery last year to see her stuff.” Jisung nodded and looked from me back to Felix. “Our friend loves your stuff. He made us take a bunch of pictures of him in front of it.”

“Oh, that’s awesome.” I couldn’t take my eyes off Felix, and he noticed.

“Do you think we could like buy a painting off you? That would shut him up for like a solid six months.” Jisung said pulling out his wallet. “How much are we talking?”

“For something I have with me? Not in a gallery? Probably like....Fifteen.” I said, still quite distracted. My imagination was spiraling out of control with how I wanted to paint the boy in front of me. How I wanted to capture his image. Photograph him.

“Fifteen bucks? Great! That’s awes-”

“Fifteen hundred.”

Felix burst into laughter as the look on Jisung’s face fell. His hand was frozen, extended out in front of him, already prepared to give me fifteen dollars. My heart skipped a beat watching Felix’s bright grin. He practically glowed.

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you choose any painting you want from my apartment and I’ll sign it for...Hyunjin, was it?” The boys nodded. “I’ll give it to you if Felix will help me finish my new exhibition. It shouldn’t take long. I’ll even-”

“Sure.”

Felix shrugged with a small smile, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looked me over with a soft and happy gaze. It seemed I intrigued him as much as he intrigued me.

“My apartment is just around the corner.”

“Cool. Just a heads up, I’ve never modeled except for like album jackets and stuff.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The closer he got, the harder it was not to smile. Jisung and Jeongin were joking behind us, something about Felix finally getting into a pretty girl’s apartment, but it all kind of faded away as I walked back with Felix. I felt the passion to paint again burning in my stomach.

✧

Felix patiently waited as I opened the door to my apartment. When we entered I hastily cleaned up some random junk cluttering the counters as he looked around. There was nothing I could do about the multiple canvases lying in stacks all around the living room.

“Wow. You are really good.” He said looking at a large canvas painted with bright and happy colors near my kitchen. Why did the compliment feel different coming from him?

“Thank you very much. I’ve had a bit of a dry spell recently.”

“For how long?”

“Give or take three months.”

Felix chuckled and looked at the other paintings near him. While he explored my art-filled apartment, I set up my camera on a tripod near the window and adjusted the position of my easel. “So, how is this gonna work?”

“Um...I’m not entirely sure. I’ve never been inspired like this before. I really have no idea what medium I’ll end up using...so I’m sort of using...all of them.” Felix laughed again watching me frantically prepping everything I could possibly need. I didn’t miss the lingering stares he cast my way.

“We’re doing photos? Should I like put on a base or something?”

“NO!” He was a little shocked at my outburst. He probably wasn’t used to being photographed without makeup. “Sorry. I just- I don’t want you covered up. I want to paint everything. Everything about you.” I looked to see a shy blush on Felix’s face as he came to stand near me by the window.

“So, I sit here?” He motioned to the windowsill, overlooking the street on which I discovered him. The light hit him perfectly, bouncing of his cheekbones and practically giving him a halo.

I nodded quietly and adjusted a few settings on my camera before returning to my easel. Felix looked at me with a smile. I laughed seeing he was trying to pose and stay very still.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll ask you to be still if I need to.”

The sound of the camera clicking filled the apartment as Felix watched me paint him. The lines came easy to me as if I had painted him many times before. He watched as I painted the lines of his face and his eyes quickly appeared on the canvas, staring back at me just like he was.

“Do you want some music? This will take a while. I’ve got five pieces to do.” Felix chuckled, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down and his eyes crinkling into crescent moons.

“Music would be wonderful.” With a smile, I shoved my wet paintbrush behind my ear, streaking my cheek and possibly my hair, and shuffled over to turn on my stereo. Felix let a curious grin slip onto his lips. “Classical?”

“Do you like it? It helps me focus.” He nodded and looked out the window. His eyes closed as the sound of soft violins floated through the apartment. “So, Felix, what’s your favorite book.” He was a little shocked at the random question, but that happy smile returned.

“Ummm...let’s see,” While he thought I continued painting, the basics of his face and form already done. I quickly painted the window and background so I could go back to focusing on the shadows and details of Felix’s face. My hands worked quickly, shading in the dark patches behind the cushions and curtains.

“Peter Rabbit.”

“Like the kid’s book?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing! It’s just different. I knew there was something special about you.” I said with a laugh, grabbing a smaller brush and looking at the shadows behind Felix. He tilted his head, resting it on the window.

“Why did you pick me?”

The movement of my brush stopped. My eyes met the dark brown stare Felix held. He smirked noticing the heat rushing to my cheeks. “I thought you looked like a shooting star.” His eyebrows rose and he tried not to laugh.

“That’s quite the artist's answer.”

“Well, I am an artist.”

He chuckled and started playing with the edge of his sleeve. “So, a shooting star?” Again, I blushed. The painting was almost finished I just needed to finish the details of his eyes and cheeks. “Yeah. I don’t know. You just seemed so full of life. Something fleeting. Something...ephemeral.”

“Ephemeral? As in not lasting? What am I supposed to turn into dust after you’ve finished with me?” He laughed, his eyes crinkling. My eyes trailed down his cheeks to look at the stars dancing across his skin. The freckles scattered about his cheeks. Delicately, I began placing each and every spot as Felix told me about his life.

“It’s finished.”

“Can I see?” He said jumping up from the window sill. I shook my head and grabbed the still wet canvas. “Come on, Y/n! Let me see!” He chased me around the living room trying to carefully grab the painting. I laughed when his arms wrapped around my waist and he pulled me to him.

“You can see it when the collection is complete! We have more art to make!” He laughed and let me place the painting away to dry. Together we walked over back to the window and he sat back down, watching me expectantly.

I scanned through the photos the camera captured. They were fantastic. They were the perfect candids. I could edit these into black and white and it would be gorgeous. Felix came to look over my shoulder. He gasped at the pictures.

“How the hell did you do that?” Felix gently took the camera and scrolled through the pictures. “Seriously. You were busy painting. How did you do this?” I shrugged and cleaned some of my brushes while he looked through the photos.

“Sometimes it is not about the angle or the position. It’s just what the subject is doing or feeling.” I took the camera and scrolled to a certain picture. “Like this one.” Felix looked at the picture. It was him leaning against the window, his eyes crescents and aimed somewhere off frame. “Do you know when this was?” He shook his head and looked to me.

“When I called you a shooting star.” Felix looked at the photo again, seeing it in a new light.

“So, what’s next?”

I felt so close to Felix. Like I had known him for years. Had it really only been a few hours? My eyes traced the lines of his shoulders and back. The perfect canvas.

“Can I...paint on you?”

His eyes widened for a millisecond and he let out a breathy laugh. “Have you done it before?” I shrugged and wiped my paint stained hands on my jeans. When I looked up he had moved a little closer.

“I’ve never really wanted to. Like I said, I don’t want to capture your image...covered up. It should be seen naturally.”

Felix smiled. “So, where are we doing this?” He said softly. My heart thumped against my chest. I pointed to an open space on the wood floor and he nodded. I grabbed some body paints I had lying around in a cabinet and brought them over to Felix.

“Let me know if anything gets uncomfortable and I’ll stop.” He nodded and slipped his shirt over his head. I motioned for him to lie on his stomach and he followed my instruction. Felix shivered when his tan skin touched the cool wood floor.

“What got you into painting?” Felix asked, resting his head on his arms. I picked out the brush I wanted to start with. My palm rested on his shoulder as the brush hovered over his back.

“I’m not really sure. You see...I really sucked at math.”

Felix let out the largest laugh, one that shook his whole chest. I took the opportunity to start painting. Soon his lower back was filled with swirling colors of blues and purples. “Is everything okay?” Felix asked, interrupting his own story.

“Yeah, just an awkward angle.”

“You can adjust if you want to. I don’t mind.” My skin started to crawl when Felix turned to me in the eye. Like he was inviting me to come even closer to him. He smiled at the blush on my cheeks before turning his head away. Hesitantly, I situated myself above Felix, slowly resting some of my weight on the lowest part of his back possible. I saw him smile when he felt my knees on either side of his hips.

Felix continued his story about something one of his friends named Chan did the other night. The sound of his low voice mixed with the music still playing guided my brush like it had a mind of its own. When I looked at my work, a nebula with hundreds of little stars was born onto his skin.

“I think it’s done.”

Carefully, I got off of Felix and helped him up. I set the camera up again and it started taking pictures. Taking Felix’s hand I pulled him in front of the lens and positioned him with his back towards the camera. He watched me as I positioned his body, my hands unintentionally lingering on his shoulders.

Felix turned to me as I began to pull away. “I didn’t know art could be so intimate.” I looked down to see his hand on my arm, his body was slightly turned at the waist towards me and his eyes bore into mine. Never had I felt this passionate about something other than art. I liked Felix. A lot. More than I should admit after just meeting the man. “Is it supposed to be like this?”

I shook my head, hoping he wouldn't notice I stepped closer. “No,” His hand slid around the base of my back. “Maybe you are a shooting star. I couldn’t have wished for something this incredible.” He smiled and looked down at me.

“Can I kiss you? Sorry...I just-”

“You really didn’t have to ask.” Felix, let out a small laugh, almost a giggle, making me smile. My fingers traveled up his neck and into the edge of his blonde hair. “Well, are you gonna do it or are you gonna chicken out, Felix?”

“Oh shh.”

His lips tasted like strawberries. He was gentle and slow, like he was savoring every moment. When he pulled away I rested my forehead against his. “I do not regret putting off my work until the last minute.” He laughed, his eyes brightening and lighting up the whole room.

✧

Standing in the gallery felt like a second home. My exhibition hung on the wall .It was one of my greatest yet. The gallery had given me an extension after seeing the semi-finished product. A group of rowdy boys walked towards me, a familiar and handsome face leading them.

“Y/n!” He called, running up and greeting me with a kiss. The other seven boys followed after him. One of the taller ones hung towards the back clearly nervous.

“You must be Hyunjin?” I asked reaching for his hand. His eyes widened and he shook my hand vigorously. His sharp features lifted into a grin and he laughed. “You might want to let go of my hand eventually.”

“Oh. Sorry. I’m just such a big fan.”

“I know. Felix has told me all about you. I’ve got a painting signed for you in my car.” Hyunjin’s jaw dropped and I swear he almost fell backwards had Jisung not been there to catch him.

“So, what is your collection called?” The boy Felix pointed out to me as Chan asked. Felix proudly wrapped an arm around my waist as I guided the group to the first piece.

“It’s called Little Stars.” Felix, blushed when I lightly pinched his cheek. The boys marveled at the first painting. It was one of Felix sitting in my window. It was the only piece in color. We moved on to the second piece. The photo I had shown Felix of him smiling.

The next photo was a frame I had cropped to show just his eyes. Even in black and white Felix still managed to bring color and life with just a single look. “Wow, Felix! I had no idea you were this cool looking!” Minho said, marveling at the photograph. Felix kicked him as we moved forward.

The second to last photo showed the painting I did on Felix’s back. He was completely turned away from the camera, but you could see my hands on his shoulder and waist. I had edited the photo so just my hands and arms were seen. Felix smiled and kissed the top of my head before the both of us led the group to the exhibit finale.

“DAMN FELIX!” Jisung yelled.

“Jisung. We are in an art gallery. Don’t yell.” Chan scolded.

“Sorry, but Felix got game.”

I laughed and looked at the photo; it was my favorite. Felix was half turned towards me but you could still see the nebula and stars on his back, his hand was gripping my waist tightly and he smiled down at me, our foreheads pressed together. You could see my fingers pulling away from the base of his hair, giving movement to the photo.

“This is incredible, Y/n.”

“Well, it’s all you so I should say so.” He kissed my cheek with that bright smile of his. “You really are my shooting star. I’m getting everything I could ever wish for.”

✧

Requests are open, my lovelies!

Masterlist

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sweethq · 4 years

Text

#30 || Bokuto Kōtarō

♡ “Baby, please tell me why there’s a hole through the window.” // prompt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* choose a prompt here *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

𑁍 Characters: Bokuto Kōtarō, mentions of Akaashi Keiji (<3)

»»—Trigger warning(s): none—-««

➶ Genre: fluff, timeskip!AU

✎ Word count: 1.4k

-ˏˋ A/N: Wow writing things like this just remind me of how single I am and it makes me depressed. It’s okay, if he’s not Bokuto then I don’t want him. Who would’ve known that Ko breaking a window would make him this cute? ˊˎ-

“What in the world is he doing?” you mumble to yourself, the sight of your boyfriend standing in front of your shared house in a suit sparking your interest. His smile widens at the sight of your car pulling into the driveway, checking his appearance in the window’s reflection for the fifth time before running up to the car. He swiftly opens the door for you, making sure to grab your work bag from your grasp.

“Kō, what-”

“Baby! I missed you so much! Come on, I have a surprise for you inside.”

He slides his fingers to lace with yours, pulling you into the house without another word. You silently question his actions, not sure if he was acting strange or if this was just another one of Kōtarō’s weird antics. He drags you into the master bathroom that he proudly decorated just for you. The bathtub is full of hot water, paired with bubbles and flower petals. The petals also scatter the floor, a few small candles placed here and there. The sight is breathtaking. You turn to Kōtarō, a nervous smile present on his face.

“So, do you like it?”

“Kō, it’s beautiful! What’s the occasion?”

“I know that you really like bubble baths but are always too tired to make one when you get home from work, so I thought I’d surprise you! I hope this helps you feel a little more relaxed.” You smile at his words, leaning up to press a kiss on his lips.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, baby.”

Kōtarō left the bathroom and let you do your thing. The hot water feels like bliss against your cool skin, the scent of the candles taking you to another world. You can’t remember the last time you felt this relaxed, almost as if all of your worries and struggles disappeared.

When you exit the bathroom, you notice an outfit laid out on the bed with a note attached.

I’ve always loved this outfit on you, it’s one of my favorites. Put it on and join me down in the kitchen. And don’t bother putting on any makeup, you’re already beautiful.

Even after all these years together, Kōtarō’s words never fail to make your heart rate increase. He always makes sure you feel loved.

You did as he said, getting dressed before making your way into the kitchen. Kōtarō is standing in the entryway, a bouquet of flowers firm in his grasp. You glance behind him and notice the setup on the dining room table. Flower petals were once again scattered, this time on the table that was highlighted with a meal for two and a bottle of wine. All of the curtains were shut, the only light that illuminated the dining area were the tall candles that decorated the countertop. You can feel the tears forming in your eyes when you think about the amount of effort he put into all of this. Kōtarō is very alarmed when he notices a tear roll down your flushed cheeks.

“O-oh my god please don’t cry! Do you not like it? We can do something else if you want, I just thought-” Kōtarō is flustered at the sudden change of emotions, trying to think of a way to fix it. You cut him off with a bone crushing hug.

“You dummy. I love it. I love you.” He never failed to make you feel like the most special person in the world. Kōtarō pulls away from the hug and starts peppering you with kisses all over your face, making you squeal.

The two of you enjoy your meal together, Kōtarō even bringing out a dessert he had made from the refrigerator. You tell him about your day at work; about how you may be getting promoted in the near future and how your coworker who constantly gets on your nerves made a huge mistake and earned himself a scolding. Kōtarō tells you about his day, which he says was uneventful; full of bird watching and trying to perfect a headstand (A/N: honestly, could totally see him doing this random ass shit one day for absolutely no reason). As he was in the midst of explaining how close he was to being able to do a headstand, you cut him off.

“Wait- What time is it? We’re gonna miss the sunset!” you exclaim, quickly searching for your phone to check the time. Watching the sunset was one of your favorite things to do with Kōtarō. Since you spend your entire day at work, it’s one of the things you can do with each other every day when you get home. You love the way the sun creates a golden canvas on everything that it touches, and you especially love the sight of Kōtarō in the yellow sunlight, the rays making his eyes sparkle more than they already do.

You sigh in relief when the clock tells you that the sun was still above the horizon.

“Whew, that was close. I thought we missed it and broke our tradition,” you mutter, a frown prominent on your face. You walk to each of the windows, drawing the curtains to let the golden rays shine into your home. As you approach the window above the kitchen sink, Kōtarō grabs your wrist, making you stop your movements.

“No, not that one.”

“Why not?” You’re genuinely confused, his palms soon becoming sweaty.

“Uh, because. If you do, it’s going to be way too bright in here. Let’s just leave that one closed, yeah?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, this window is the one with the best view! Stop being weird,” you comment, tapping your index finger to his nose twice. Your hand reaches to push the curtain aside, waiting to let the warmth of the sun hit your face.

“Wait-” Kōtarō starts, but is cut off by the bright light in his eyes and a slight breeze through the broken glass. He peers down to look at your face, trying to read your expression to no avail.

“Baby, please tell me why there’s a hole through the window.” Kōtarō freezes, not sure if he should be relieved or terrified at the lack of emotion in your voice. He starts to cower away like a guilty puppy.

“I-I’m sorry, it was an accident! Akaashi came over today and we were playing volleyball in the yard and I was making fun of him because I’m still better than him and he said that he is better than me at every other sport and I wanted to prove him wrong so I grabbed a baseball and tried to pitch it to him but it slipped out of my hand and it went through the window and I messed up but I’m going to get it fixed don’t worry so please don’t be mad at me I love you!” You stare blankly at his face, both impressed and concerned that he was able to push that out without taking a single breath. His face turns a bright red from embarrassment and the lack of oxygen as you laugh wholeheartedly.

“I’m sure Akaashi knows just how good you are at other sports now,” you breathe out, not being able to suppress your laughter. Kōtarō was so close to entering his emo mode when you made the comment, crossing his arms and pouting like a child.

“I’m just joking baby. Is that why you did all of this for me tonight? Because you felt guilty for breaking the window?”

“Yeah.. Please don’t be mad.” You frown at his sullen presence. You take a step towards him and bring your hand to caress his face, smiling when he leans into your touch.

“Babe, I’m not mad at you. How can I be when you went through all this trouble just to make it up to me? You may be an idiot at times, but you’re a thoughtful idiot, and most importantly, you’re my idiot.”

“Thank you?” A chuckle escapes your smiling lips, pulling Kōtarō into a tight hug. He nuzzles his face into your neck, inhaling your scent of strawberries and vanilla that drives him wild. You can’t help but melt into his embrace, his arms have always been your safe haven.

“Let’s just forget about the window and go to bed. I want to cuddle,” you whine to your boyfriend, his ears perking up at the thought of snuggling under the blankets and holding you close. He felt so lucky to have someone like you who loves every part of him, even though he has many flaws. Little does he know that to you, he is the most perfect human and you wouldn’t change him for the world.

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu social media #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu writers #bokuto kotarou #bokuto x reader

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missmonsters2 · 5 years

Text

About You || Part II

Gif by: giuliacommissions (please check her out if you’d like to commission her for gifs and other work 💞)

PAIRING: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wanda had never known loss like she has until she lost Pietro. It’s debilitating. She can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even leave her house. Life is fading fast, and she’s not sure if she even wants to hang on. Enter you, a stranger that reconnects her to the daily things that makes life beautiful.

Warnings: Deals with loss & grief and the spectrum of emotions and depression that comes with it. Please note there is no glorification in any of this. Loss, grief, and depression are nothing beautiful. Also, please don’t hesitate or reach out for help if you are in a dark place. Love you, lovelies 💘

Genre: Angst & Romance

NOTE: Please drop a comment if you’d like to be part of the tag list! 😚

PART I

PART II of X

Translations + Transliteration Это если вы так говорите/Eto yesli vy tak govorite - It is if you say so

Count: 1464

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“So, who is she?” Steve asked as he peered over Wanda’s still body in bed, hair sprawled wildly.

“A headache,” Wanda sluggishly replied with her eyes closed. “Tell her to leave.”

Steve had come over to check on Wanda, surprised to see that there were no longer liquor bottles on the floor, the photos, and papers all cleaned up.

There weren’t even the usual clothes strewn around.

"It’s already noon, it’s time to get up.”

The voice caused Steve to look over at the door where you entered in, making your way to the windows. You opened up the curtains, letting the sunlight in as Wanda hissed quietly.

“I’m Steve, Wanda’s friend.”

You introduced yourself with a smile. “I’m here to help Wanda.”

“She asked for your help?” Steve said confusedly, and it was fair. It would be out of character for Wanda.

You shook your head, “No, we’re friends.”

Wanda wanted to scream about how you were lying, but then she would actually have to explain to Steve how she met you, where she met you, and what she was doing.

Steve understood the grief and the depression but left it at that, thinking Wanda wasn’t taking anything further.

And she didn’t have the heart to tell him.

“That’s great!” Steve exclaimed. “Let’s exchange numbers. Any friend of Wanda’s is a friend of mine.”

The two of you exchanged numbers while Wanda listened to a tiny clicking on their phones.

“I was going to clean up but looks like you beat me to it,” Steve grinned at you while you returned it.

He stood up, digging into his pocket and then gave you a key.

“This is a spare key to the house, please have it. I have to head to work now, but don’t hesitate to call me for anything.”

You stared at the key Steve left in your hand with a slight furrow in your brows.

Wanda heard Steve leave, his footsteps getting quieter until she heard the click of the door. She knew that you were still standing there, waiting for her to get up, but Wanda doesn’t care.

She will not defer to you, and so, she goes back to sleep.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Pietro!”

Wanda wakes up in a cold sweat, chest heaving as if she’s run a marathon.

She looks around the empty room. There’s still light out, but Wanda can tell it’s becoming the evening.

Wanda let out a heavy sigh, burying her face into her hands as she let out a choked sob.

Another nightmare.

Another dream where she would see Pietro, cycling through his death.

It was chipping away at her.

Her home was clean now because of you, but Wanda couldn’t find what she wanted the most.

Her tears ran down her cheeks, traveling to her chin, the saltiness, and aloneness on her lips.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the empty room.

It was her fault.

She was alone and it was her fault. Wanda couldn’t help but replay the incident over and over again, thinking about what if she just made a different choice?

Would Pietro still be here?

The thoughts were slowly killing her.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Flashback...

“You should give everything a chance,” Pietro told Wanda as they skipped class, sitting out on the hill enjoying the warm sun.

“For how long should I give it a chance?”

“Hm,” Pietro hummed, “Maybe a year?”

Wanda scoffed, “And if it was a waste of my time?”

Pietro only grinned at her. “Nothing is a waste of your time, Wanda. If anything, at least you’ve experienced something new.”

Wanda picked at the grass underneath her before running her fingers through the long stems. She looked up, scrunching her eyes as she glanced at the blue sky, soft clouds slowly moving by.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay?” Pietro asked amusedly at his sister, taken by her lack of arguing more with him.

“Это если вы так говорите,” Wanda looks down at her knees.

Pietro merely laughed, ruffling his younger sister’s hair as she scowled at him.

Still, she leaned just slightly against his arm, basking in the warm sunny day.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wanda had listened to Pietro and given his death a chance for a year. She had endured the grief and pain alone with nothing getting better.

And now, you had come, loud and invasive with no regard for Wanda’s space.

Wanda wiped her tears--or sweat, she wasn’t sure at this point, giving a humorless chuckle. She perked up slightly when she heard the door jiggle aggressively, keys unlocking the door before the knob turned and footsteps entered in.

“Wanda! If you’re still sleeping, I will strangle you!”

Wanda silently groaned. God help her.

Natasha was here.

Before Wanda even had time to react, Natasha was already in her room, ripping the blankets off and exposing her to the cold.

“Why are you like this? I just want to sleep.” Wanda whined, retracting her legs into her body to try to keep the warmth in.

“Have you eaten yet? Natasha asked, completely ignoring what Wanda said. She dragged the other girl to the kitchen while Wanda rubbed her eye tiredly.

“Why are you here? Go back to work, I’m fine,” Wanda grumbled.

“You’re my chosen family,” Natasha tells her. “You’re my job too.”

Natasha may be the only reason Wanda was still eating. It was a forceful method, but it got the job nonetheless. Natasha was not as gentle as Steve.

“Did you make the food?” Wanda eyed the food Natasha put down in front of her. As much as Wanda wanted to go, she refused to go by food poisoning.

“No,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “This is compliments of Tony’s chef.”

Wanda nodded but didn’t make any move to eat. Natasha looked around the house, the mess from a few days ago now gone.

“Steve tells me you made a new friend.” Natasha turns her head back to Wanda.

Wanda holds her grimace.

A nuisance, really, she thinks.

“Is she coming today?” Natasha asks.

Wanda hopes not.

“Maybe,” she says instead.

“Good,” Natasha hums. “I’m glad there’s someone new in your life.”

It was then it occurred to Wanda she doesn’t know where you are. It was answered when she heard the doorknob jiggling again before you came in with grocery bags.

“Hey, I bought some--oh, hello,” you greet Natasha when you realize Wanda wasn’t alone. You introduce yourself to her, earning a smile and a name back from Natasha.

“Great timing,” Natasha says as she gathers her belongings. “I have to head back to work to finish some things, but feel free to eat some of the food.”

Natasha eyes Wanda before raising her brow. “And keep a close eye on Wanda when she eats, she’s sneaky.”

You scrunched your face at that.

“Wanda,” Natasha calls her, “eat the food. I’ll be checking the garbage and sink when I’m back.”

Wanda doesn’t say anything as Natasha leaves, leaving the two of you in silence.

“The food looks good,” you say to break the quiet.

Wanda doesn’t respond.

“Are you hungry?”

No response.

“You should eat it before it gets col--”

“I’m not eating,” Wanda tells you plainly, getting up and walking into the living room.

You sigh lightly, trailing after her until you stood before her--invading Wanda’s space.

“Steve told me you’ve been like this for a year.”

Wanda doesn’t say anything. “You’ve been mourning for a year.”

The way you said it, like you felt sorry for her, like you could empathize how she’s felt--what she’s been through--it made Wanda clench her jaw.

“Is this worth it?”

Whatever apathy Wanda felt disappeared with those words. Instead, a white, hot rage overcame her as she clenched her jaw.

“It would hurt him to see you like thi--”

“Don’t you dare talk about him,” Wanda hissed.

It was silent as you took in the threat, taking another breath before talking again.

“He would’ve wanted you to move--”

“Do you have any siblings?”

The question threw you off and Wanda narrows her eyes at you.

“Do you have a brother or sister who loved you, would do anything for you?”

The question leaves you quiet and Wanda feels a quiet satisfaction from your lack of answer, her anger slipping away until she’s dull again.

“Stop acting like you can understand my pain,” Wanda walks to take a seat on the couch, ignoring your presence once more. She expects you to leave from her callous words and harsh behavior, not ever coming back.

“No, I don’t have any siblings,” you say after a moment of silence, your lips quirking half-heartedly up, and surprising Wanda.

“And it makes me a little envious.”

PART III

#mm: my fics #series: about you #genre: angst #genre: romance #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x ofc #Wanda Maximoff Imagine #Scarlet witch x reader #Scarlet Witch Imagine #Avengers #avengers imagine #Avengers AU #avengers reader insert #marvel imagine #modern avengers AU #the maximoff twins

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always-and-forever-a-killjoy · 4 years

Text

Coming Home Chapter 2

Hello fuckers I know I promised this chapter yesterday but then I fell asleep because I was incredibly exhausted. So I'm posting it today because I deserve it Also, the song for the last chapter was Revolution Radio by Green Day, which no one guessed! I'll give you a hint for this chapter- it's very far off from Green Day or My Chemical Romance.

Title: Coming, Coming Home

Chapter Title: Cause I’m with you this time

Chapter Wordcount: 3333

Chapter Summary:

Cherri Cola settles into living with Dr. Death Defying and White Lily, figures out that someone actually cares about him, and makes some reckless decisions.

Warnings: implied/referenced past abuse, referenced past misgendering, light panic/anxiety attack, non-graphic/canon-typical violence and injury, uhhh i *think* that's it? (If you want to know what parts to skip, go to the end notes on AO3- I also put a brief summary of any important info in those parts. Stay safe!)

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen @no-braincells-here @piratecherricola (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

Chapter 1 AO3 Link

Chapter 1 Tumblr Post

(Actual fic under the cut)

It took a few months for Cherri to really settle in to living with the other two. He was younger than them, and lacked the shared experience of fighting in the Helium Wars. But all three of them had the shared understanding of having grown up too fast, the pain and weariness in the other’s eyes mirroring his exactly. Not to mention that running a pirate radio station and attempting to spark a rebellion did tend to bond people. Having each others’ backs in firefights, fixing the radio equipment together, and eating their meals as a group only aided that process.

So 109 WKIL slowly got off the ground, heading into the sky just as promised. Their transmitter was fairly decent, and so their range was large even if few listeners were tuning in right now. But the rebellion grew daily, neutrals and Battery City folk abandoning a more peaceful life under the hand of Better Living Industries for the wild world of a killjoy. White Lily spoke over the radio at least weekly, encouraging them to fight, to not let themselves be squashed under bli’s heel.

“Power is not given, but taken. If you hate oppression, you better be ready to fight against the oppressor and give it everything you’ve got.”

Cherri was sitting in his usual spot under the broadcast desk, making sure that all the equipment was running smoothly as White Lily spoke above him. Her voice didn’t have the deep, gravelly weight of D’s, but the fire in it was inspiring. There had always been something about White Lily that made people want to follow her, D had told him. Some spark in her spirit that kindled fires in others, bringing them together under her leadership.

“Better Living may have bombs, and gas, and more ray guns than we can dream of getting our grubby little killjoy paws on. But we have something they can never replace: spirit. You can’t make a fiery heart with pills and white walls. They can take our bodies, shoot us full of plasma and throw us to the wolves. But they can never touch our spirit. Never. We will rise again, as many times as they try to throw us down.

"The spirit of the desert is something they can’t kill with any amount of laser beams. Any size of bomb, any number of exterminators. None of it will squash our spirit, and that’s what makes us invincible. As long as a single killjoy rises to fight, Better Living Industries cannot win. So get out there, crash queens! Get your vehicles, motorbabies. Angel kissers, grab your med kits, and kerosene saints, your matches. We’ve got a corporation to overthrow, and we’re not stopping at just nipping at their heels. Killjoys, it’s time to make some noise!”

She clicked off the radio. “How was that?”

“Good,” Cherri told her. “Inspiring. Makes you want to fistfight an exterminator.”

“Oh good, that’s what I was hoping for.” Lily paused. “No fistfighting exterminators though, that’s a bad idea.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Oh yes I can,” Lily laughed. She was still grinning as she reached to help Cherri out from under the desk, a grin both achingly close and achingly far to one he remembered. There were days when she looked so much like his sister it hurt, not in her features but in the way she laughed and her teasing grin as she and D bantered back and forth.

Cherri tried not to think about it as he pulled himself to his feet. “And how do you plan on stopping me?”

“Hmm…I think I shall tackle you.”

“Then what?”

“Make D lecture you nonstop until you fall asleep.”

Cherri laughed as they headed back into the house. "Good luck with that."

So far, they hadn’t had to move the van from its position in front of their home in Zone Four, but all of them knew it was only a matter of time before bli would be breathing down their necks.

“We have some time,” D said that evening. “Our signal will be hard to track, and we don’t have a wide enough reach to be a threat to Better Living Industries yet.”

“We’re getting there, though,” Lily commented, digging around for the last bit of power pup in her can.

“True, we’ve got a lot more listeners now than we did before.” Cherri was already finished with his, playing with his dented spoon and reflecting the sunlight across the room idly. “It’s going to be hard to stay hidden for long, not when the other killjoys whisper about our station and spread the word between themselves.”

“The more people who know, the easier it is for Better Living to find us,” D agreed. “Of course, we need people to know so they’ll tune in, but we’ll have to be careful as we get larger.”

“Careful, careful, you’re always careful.” Lily leaned back in her chair, setting down her spoon. “I’m not saying we abandon all caution, but there’s going to be risks running a rebellion. A lot of the time, we’ll just have to decide if they’re worth taking.”

Cherri nodded, still examining the spoon. “And a lot of the time they will be.”

“Didn’t know you were such a daredevil, Cher.” He made to glare at Lily, but she went on. “You’re right though. Everything’s a risk, and we’re going to have to take a lot of them.”

“I don’t like that,” D put in.

“None of us do, except maybe Cherri the daredevil over here. But we’re doing it.”

“We’re doing it,” D agreed tiredly.

“I’m not a fucking daredevil,” Cherri muttered. That was….mostly true. Risk for the sake of risk wasn’t exactly his thing, but risk for any other sake was. As long as only his life was at risk, it was a risk worth taking. He figured, at least.

“You’re pretty fucking daring, Cher.”

“Only risks that are worth it, though.” He pretended not to see the two older ‘joys exchange glances.

True to their predictions, the rebellion grew. Their radio was a contributing factor, Cherri hoped. It certainly seemed to have grown in popularity as more killjoys entered the desert and more neutrals lay down their peaceful ways and took up arms alongside the killjoys. WKIL was something whispered about in killjoy circles, told to the newbies, the undergrads of the desert.

Cherri knew because he was the one who went and talked with them, the lesser-known face. Everyone recognized at very least the voices of D and Lily by now, the two radio speakers who rallied the rebels, but Cherri Cola was not a name whispered in legend yet. He was just a sixteen year old with a shitty ray gun and a bad haircut, which had advantages and disadvantages.

One of the advantages was the ability to go talk to random people and be seen as relatively harmless, just a teen with a bright pink mask. There was nothing about him to suggest that he was an incredible shot with a ray gun or a dangerous fighter, not in the slightest. He wore oversized clothes and perpetually looked disheveled, so he had been told. And if you didn’t look too closely at his eyes, you wouldn’t even see the fire in them.

So Cherri used that hidden advantage, appearing perfectly harmless to anyone who didn’t know him well. It was helpful for White Lily and Dr. Death Defying, since neither of them could go anywhere where there were a lot of rebels without being recognized.

And the rebellion grew and grew. Their voices were growing louder, their colors brighter even as Better Living Industries tried to squash them down. The spirit of the desert truly was rising, and a faint sense of hope had started to permeate the air. White Lily never promised that they would win. But she promised that Better Living Industries wouldn’t, so long as a single killjoy stood, and that was enough for most of the desert.

They were teenagers, mainly. The bulk of the force that was forming the current rebellion was either teenagers, running from their pasts in Battery City, or twenty-something former soldiers of the Helium Wars, running from what they had done or trying to put it right. They were young and invincible, so it seemed. The reality that they could easily die doing this hadn’t sunk in for most of the younger population of the desert, intoxicated on freedom and the thrill of the desert.

D and Lily knew that reality all too well, Cherri knew. He knew they knew what all of them were up against, had watched death in their own right in the Helium Wars, had wrought it with their own hands.

He knew what the consequences were too, a memory of bli employees in clean white suits coming to respectfully ‘recruit’ the person he loved most hovering behind a door in his mind. That door would remain closed, Cherri had decided. The past was the past- but he fought because of it anyways, knowing the horrors Better Living Industries had done.

Cherri might have been young, but he was no fool. He knew quite well that he could die, and he couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck, as Lily would put it. There were things more important than living to some grand old age, and this rebellion was one of them.

He would be lying to himself if he said that some part of him wasn’t in this for revenge, maybe a larger part than he was willing to admit.

“If you take away someone’s world, they might just burn yours down,” Cherri muttered to himself, aiming his shitty old ray gun at the empty cans Lily had set up that day. Despite how long he had already been out here, they still hadn’t managed to locate him a better weapon. That was fine, he thought, he was deadly enough even without one, but D and Lily both insisted that it would be a lot easier for him with something that wasn’t outdated by at least three years.

“What?” Cherri jumped as D came to stand next to him, aiming his own black and blue ray gun at the cans. “Did you say something, Cherri?”

“Oh, uh. Nothing.”

D shrugged, tilting his head to take aim. “You don’t have to tell me, I just figured I’d ask in case you were trying to tell me something.”

Cherri lowered his ray gun, glancing down. “I said if you take away someone’s world, they might just burn yours down.”

“Ah. True, and insightful.” Cherri didn’t have to glance over at D to know his face would be gently concerned. “Somewhat dark though, you could say.”

“Guess so.”

They were silent for a moment, apart from the zap of ray guns.

“Pasts are something to be forgotten here,” D said finally. “But if you need someone to talk to about yours, Lily and I will support you.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it, you know.”

Cherri fiddled with his ray gun. “Yeah.”

“Just putting that out there.” D turned back to their target practice.

Despite D’s words, there was a silent agreement amongst the three of them that pasts were not to be spoken of or asked about. Occasionally, D or Lily would tell a few stories, mainly from their childhood. They rarely talked about the Helium Wars, only occasionally with each other. And Cherri said nothing about his past. Instead, he pretended not to notice the days when the other two flinched at any loud sound, and they pretended not to hear him cry out in the night, when everything was silent and there was no buffer against the memories. It was a courtesy more than anything, a way to keep each other from having to speak about their darkest times. Usually, Cherri appreciated that, finding it easier to deal with any hurt alone than worry about burdening the others.

Tonight, however, was different. No matter how much he tried to calm himself down, his breath kept coming too quickly and he couldn’t drown out the voices of his past. Worthless, never going to amount to anything…should be more like Samantha…your grades are slipping again…never going to be a boy…

Cherri shivered violently, even though the blanket was tucked safely over him, and climbed off the window seat he had been using as a sort of bed, picking up said blanket. It was cold in the desert at night, no use leaving it behind.

It took him more rests of leaning against the wall and trying frantically to draw a single breath than he wanted to admit before he was down the hall to the room D and Lily had claimed. Their door was cracked open, but Cherri pushed it open a little bit further to see both of them seemingly sleeping peacefully as he stood in the doorway.

“Cher?” That was White Lily, lifting her head a bit from the mattress. “Everything okay?”

He managed to shake his head, and she gestured for him to come sit.

“What’s going on, friendo?”

“Bad dream,” Cherri whispered.

“Ah. Those are no fun. Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Lily nodded as if to say that didn’t surprise her, and she looked dreadfully like someone he used to know in that moment. “Come on then, lay on down. D won’t mind if you elbow him, he gets up at ass o’clock in the morning anyways.”

Cherri was quite certain D would, in fact, mind, but he did as she asked anyways, settling down on the creaky mattress. Lily put her arm out in what was clearly an offer, but didn’t touch him until he rolled over towards her. When he did, she wrapped her arm around him fully, pulling him closer, and Cherri felt like he could breathe for the first time since waking up.

Lily didn’t say ‘I love you’ or anything of the sort, but she did ruffle his hair and give him a quiet “Goodnight, Cher.”

And Cherri didn’t say ‘I love you’ either, but he leaned into her embrace. “Goodnight, Lily.”

True to Lily’s words, it was, in fact, what Cherri would qualify as ‘ass o’clock in the morning’ when D woke up and proceeded to wake the other two up while getting out of bed.

“Is it even light out?” Cherri questioned as Lily gave a massive yawn.

“No, which is why D’s being an asshole.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, Lil. Or you, Cherri.” He didn’t question why Cherri was there, much to Cherri’s relief.

“You did anyways,” Lily grumbled, but she released Cherri and sat up. “I guess it would be time to get up soon anyways.”

“Exactly,” D huffed.

Lily just yawn-laughed as she got up, and Cherri reluctantly followed the others downstairs. They had quick breakfast in the predawn light, followed by a bit of fussing around as they got ready for D’s morning broadcast, organizing all the news and things that had come in yesterday. Killjoys had started to send them news of the desert, to the point where they got almost as much from what people sent in/dropped off/radioed to them as what Cherri found out on his almost daily runs. It was starting to pass what he could find out on daily runs, really. But he went anyways because they still needed his info, and they needed to eat.

“Bye, Lily, D!”

“See you, Cherri,” Lily hollered back. “Be careful!”

“I will!”

The three of them split the tasks that living in the desert and running a radio station required. Today, D and Lily were taking the radio station van to drive around and talk to people, encourage them to join the cause. Cherri was taking the motorcycle to get any news and see if he couldn’t grab some power pup from a supply truck.

He sped down the road, getting in position to raid the supply truck. A one-killjoy raid was a dumb idea, for sure, but Better Living Industries hadn’t started to arm their trucks very heavily yet, and Cherri was confident enough in his ability to think he could pull it off. This was a small one, anyways. The initial raid went off without a hitch- the driver and few accompanying dracs were dead before they had time to see the teenage killjoy who hurried down from the dune to pull out as much of the contents of the truck as would fit in the sidecar of the motorbike. It was afterwards that became the problem, as a full two cars of bli employees came rushing towards the site.

“Fuck,” Cherri hissed under his breath. He quickly assessed his odds. One teenager with a shitty ray gun and a motorcycle against what must be at least one scarecrow and probably at least eight dracs was not good odds, but he doubted running away would be any better. They would chase him down, and then he wouldn’t even have the advantage of his higher vantage point. Hiding wasn’t an option either, given that dracs would search the entire area, so Cherri crouched behind the motorcycle and got ready to fire.

When the first person hopped out of the car, Cherri almost swore out loud. Not a scarecrow. An exterminator. He was so fucked.

Cherri’s hands shook slightly as he lifted the ray gun and aimed. He had to take down that exterminator as soon as possible, or he was dead. The shakiness proved his undoing, as the shot whistled past the exterminator, missing by barely half an inch and causing the Better Living operative to turn.

Fuck it. Cherri got out from behind the motorcycle and ran directly towards them, firing off shots indiscriminately. His best shot now was to overwhelm and confuse them. It seemed to be working, given that one thing they did not expect was a teenager in a bright pink mask to come running directly at them. In fact, most of the dracs froze, enough that he was able to get in a few good shots before they realized what was happening. One shot even hit the exterminator in the shoulder, but unfortunately not their shooting arm, leaving them perfectly capable of raising their gun to retaliate.

Retaliate they did, and Cherri screamed as a shot hit him in the side. “Fuck! Fuck you!” He was shaking too hard to shoot back as the exterminator held up a hand, quite calmly.

All the dracs stopped, and the exterminator strolled casually towards Cherri. “Greetings, rebel.”

Cherri spit at their feet.

“Rather rude of you, wasn’t that? I’m tempted to kill you here, you ill-mannered rebel scum.” They reached out and tilted Cherri’s chin up to look them in the eye, letting him see the cold fire that lingered there.

“Get fucked,” Cherri spat out as they took his ray gun from a shaking hand and tossed it over their shoulder.

“I do appreciate the suggestion, but I suggest you keep your mouth shut if you want to live.”

Their ray gun was positioned at his neck, and Cherri knew he had a low chance of surviving even a stun shot to that spot at such a close distance.

“I would kill you now, ill-mannered rebel, but I think I’ll let you live for one reason and one reason only- I want you to go to that ‘Doctor D’ and his friend White Lily, and tell them they will not win. We will find the radio station you killjoys speak of, we know your precious leader is hiding out in Zone Four. So go, tell them. And pray you survive that shot.”

They shoved Cherri, and he stumbled away, ignoring the pain in his side as he climbed onto the motorcycle. He revved the engine, throwing it into action and barely caring if some of the supplies fell out of the sidecar.

The exterminator watched him go with a cruel smile.

#cherri cola #dr. death defying #ttlofk #coming coming home tag #auri writes #ask to tag #white lily #killjoy oc #sometimes a family is a 21 y/o rebellion leader her tired best friend and the feral 16 y/o they picked up along the way

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songsofacagedbird · 3 years

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Self Para 002: I'm Feeling Helpless; the Damsels Are Depressed

Note: Okay so my version of self care is hurting my muses’, so I wrote this during all my kidney stuff as a way to like kinda get my mind off of it I debated if I should post this because it really was just self indulgent but since it’s set in Luxor AU and one thing mentioned it is gonna come up later on, I’ll share. (Although this isn’t required reading to understand Balo (or Ches’s) character arcs in the slightest so please don’t feel any pressure, when the thing comes up you don’t need this context).

Word Count: 2,498

TWs: Abuse (referenced), HIV, Mental Health Struggles, Disownment, Ches’s horrible sense of humor

Sunlight poured through the windows of the study hall as Balo quietly sketched. She’d given up trying to get actual work done an hour ago; learning wasn’t happening - she was thinking way too much. While she knew it was important to stay focused - if her grades slipped, she’d no longer be allowed to participate in the sports she’d worked so hard to be allowed back into - it was hard sometimes. How could she pretend everything was okay a little over a month after her world fell apart? She knew she was expected to have it together, but things kept slipping through the cracks.

Sometimes Balo questioned what would have happened if she hadn’t synced her medications with Ches. By the time she’d whispered her diagnosis to her, the puzzle pieces had already been in place. The unspoken knowledge hanging the air until she had simply cleared it out. What would have happened if she hadn’t gone to the college freshman in hopes it’d help her to remember her medications back during the initial testing phase? Would she have even figured it out?

The longer she thought about it, the more she leaned towards yes.

How long would it be until everyone else caught on to exactly what was wrong with her? Her ability to pretend like everything was sunshine and rainbows had needed to be put on hold. Her insecurities shined through even more than usual in its place. How long would it be until Caitriona tired of her, or till Jack remembered he’d had better friends and phased her out? Would it be weeks or months until her siblings followed their parents’ lead and disassociated themselves from her too? And what would the rest of the Hundred Acre Woods chat say as they finally figured out that even her own parents didn’t even want her anymore? That she’d been so bad they needed to turn their backs on her. Had her mother found out about the fact she’d swore? Was it her karma for feeling the one emotion she’d been taught would make her a horrible person?

It only took one thought to get thrown back in the spiral, currents of fear dragging her under. She’d known she’d never be enough for her father, of course. She was too soft, too artistic, too dumb, or shamed for her knowledge, and she messed up consistently. Everything he despised, with the list of reasons growing ever longer as the days went on.

As the tears start to roll down her cheeks, Balo rapidly shuts her sketchbook so she can stuff it into her bag. Had anyone in the study hall noticed the shape she was in? She wasn’t sticking around to find out. The sooner she left, the better. She barely keeps herself from running through the study hall, and she only picks up her pace once she enters the crowded halls. The faces blur together as she rushes towards her room, any attempts to slow her down easily ignored as she focuses on just getting to her destination.

Once she’s in the common room, she tries her best to muffle her sniffles, unlocking her door as quietly as she can manage without disturbing her roommate. The last thing she needed was Jenevieve to see her like this. They weren’t close, and she couldn’t put on an act, not today, when she was back in the rabbit hole.

She shuts her door quietly, not even bothering to lock it as she drops her bag on her floor next to her desk. The tears are in full force by the time she sits down, and she pulls out her sketchbook again. She doesn’t have to wait long before an idea pops in her head, and she’s grabbing her charcoals from the drawer to get started. She doesn’t look up as she pours her emotions into the page; even as the sun begins to set, her blue eyes are fixated on the page as her charcoal moves across it.

It isn’t until her bedroom door creaks open does she glance away, her head whipping around to see who was disturbing her. She only starts to relax when she sees it’s Ches, although her relief is short-lived as her friend turns on her bedroom light and settles down on her bed. “You skipped dinner again. Are you feeling okay?”

“I wasn’t hungry.” Balo responds immediately, “I appreciate you checking on me, of course, but I’m okay! Perfect, actually! I’ve never ever been better, ever. I’m just working on a project. It’s just taking up a lot of time, I’m great!” It’s a lie, one she knows her friend will pick up on as soon as it leaves her mouth. Maybe she needed better lines, prettier words to distract from just how awful she felt. She doesn’t even have to watch Ches’s expression to know she knew better, and as the guilt creeps up on her for lying, the truth bursts out. “I can’t stop trying to figure out where I went wrong and how long it’ll be until things get worse. I had to do something to deserve everything going on, right? And what if whatever it was was so bad that everyone hates me?”

“B, if you did something that horrible, you’d know what it was. I promise you, fuck ups that big can’t be missed.”

“My parents thought...”

“Your father is a waste of oxygen, and your mother is... well, sometimes things are complicated.” The look on Ches’s face when she discusses Balo’s parents is one of disdain, but she still seemingly makes an effort to censor her opinion of her mother. Undoubtedly another attempt to keep herself from hurting Balo.

The blonde goes back to working on her sketch, not quite sure what to say. Most of her friends had some sort of parental figure to go to if they needed to. Who did she have? Zander, who she didn’t feel like she should go to with her problems because he’d find some way to twist it into Jack’s fault, and Ivan, who had more than enough stuff on his plate without his little sister being added to it. She knew her friends were only trying to help, of course, but hearing she was better off didn’t ease just how much it hurt every time she tried to call her mother, and she didn’t pick up.

For a few minutes, silence settles in. But, just as Balo is finding the lack of discussion comfortable, Ches shatters it. “I know it’s hard to believe that you’re going to be okay, but things are going to get better. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay in the mean-”

The words cause something to snap in her, and she whips around to look at her friend again. “If I don’t pretend I’m okay, everyone will leave. It’s already been a month. Nobody wants to hear me whine, Ches.” She winces at just how loud her voice is, but the girl she shouted at doesn’t seem surprised by the outburst.

“That’s not true; I want to hear it.”

“You want to hear about how tired I am of hearing everyone saying they know how I feel when they can only sympathize? None of you know what it’s like to have HIV and be terrified all the time that you’ll somehow hurt everyone you love because of it. And every time you try to paint it as a good thing, my parents disowned me, it hurts. I can’t call Ivan because he needs to focus on his studies, and Zander is so stressed lately I don’t want to add more to his plate either.” Balo can’t stop the tears of frustration that fall as she talks to Ches. “Do you really want to hear me sulk?”

“Yes, and I think your brothers would also want you to come to them. Zander’s really worried about you, and from what you’ve told me about Ivan, I’m sure it’s killing him he’s not here. It’d kill me if I wasn’t.” The redhead opens her arms, and the gesture is all it takes for her to get up and steal a hug. “I’m sorry I’ve been making things worse, Balo.”

“It’s fine.” Despite her frustration, she knew she was only trying to help. It wasn’t her fault Balo didn’t want to hear it.

“It’s not fine, but now I’m aware, I can keep it in mind.” Ches squeezes her tightly, reaching up to try to smooth out Balo’s hair as she talks. “As for making us sick too, you have nothing to worry about. You’re being careful, right? Haven’t been sharing needles with anyone? Not supplying your blood to bathe virgins in or anything?”

“That’s not funny.” Balo knew she was trying to lighten the mood, but she didn’t find it amusing. She was seriously concerned. What if she messed up and she didn’t catch it? She still had no idea how she got HIV, even when she ran through the possibilities in her head. It still didn’t make sense. “I feel like I should tell the rest of the Hundred Acre Woods at least, but I can’t shake the feeling everyone will turn their backs on me too.”

“If you decide to tell the rest of our friends - nobody will go anywhere, not even Avery. We care about you, and frankly, it doesn’t fucking matter as long it’s managed and you’re okay. You being healthy and happy is all that matters. You’re not a walking biohazard or whatever the intrusive thoughts are saying. And if you get hurt, and you’re concerned about it - I’ll handle it. Okay? I’m on PReP, I’ll be fine. But none of us are going anywhere; that’d be like turning your back on someone with cancer - nobody in our friend group is that horrible of a person.”

The lack of sugarcoating in Ches’s words threw her off for a moment. There was no dancing around the point. She’d just said what she was thinking, without hesitation or pause. Finally, after a moment, she starts to protest; “you say that but family is supposed to be unconditional love, and my parents-”

“Your parents aren’t the only family you have. You have your brothers and Fettuccine, you have Caitriona and Jack, and you have us. What happened with your parents is gonna sting like a bitch, but they’re not all you have. You still have a family. Plus, when winter break comes up, we’re going to be fighting over who brings you and Zander home. I was about ready to off Jack when you said you thought you’d be staying with him this summer. I thought I’m supposed to be your parabatai.”

This time there’s no urge to tell Ches she’s not funny, perhaps because this time it’s obvious she’s serious about the fact that no matter what, she still had a place to go. If not with Ivan or Cait, she had one with Ches or Jack. None of them were going to leave her alone, although she hoped they wouldn’t fight over her. That’d be excessive. “You are my parabatai; we just have to wait a year to get tattoos.” Balo can even hear the first hints of a smile in her words as the tears start to slow down.

“Or, if your doctor says you’re good to go, we can do it before we leave France. You’re above the age of 16, it’s legal. I could ask my cousins who they’d recommend. Maybe we could drag your brother along to get that second tattoo he keeps salivating over too?” Ches seems serious about the idea, but before Balo can tell her yes, she’s continuing. “We can discuss that later, though.”

But she didn’t need to wait until later to know she’d be checking to make sure there weren’t any concerns about her getting a tattoo. They’d been discussing it for years, a parabatai rune on one of their pinkies. “I’ll ask at my next appointment.” Balo decides without hesitation, “hopefully, the answer is yes.”

“If it’s not, we’ll get them when the time comes. There’s no rush, we have forever, but you’re not throwing me off that easily. I’m really sorry about your mom, sunshine.” Of course, Ches had to bring it back to the problem at hand; there was no brushing it under the rug and skipping off into the sunset with her. Not with stuff like this, at least.

“I just wish she’d tell me herself she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I knew dad was mad about Caitriona, but I didn’t ever think she’d just... why can’t she just answer the phone?” The words are little more than a sob as she brings herself down to her knees and clings to her friend tighter. “Why doesn’t she want me anymore?”

“I’m sorry.” For the first time in years, Ches seems at a loss for words as she runs her fingers through her blonde hair. There are no attempts at a joke, no moment of insight to follow up with, and at the realization, she can’t help but cry harder again.

It’s not surprising when her friend opens her mouth again, You Are My Sunshine comes out instead of words. As she sings, Balo tries to focus on it instead of the thoughts swirling around in her head again. The further into the song she gets, the more she starts to relax.

Finally, when the song is done, she says the first thing on her mind. “Can I sleepover at yours tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course. Come on, I’ll make you dinner, and we can watch Disney movies. I’ll even let you make me watch Snow White if you’d like. I just lost my roommate, so there’s nobody to mind.”

At Ches’s words, she pulls away, nodding at the reassurance that she wouldn’t be disturbing anyone. After she stands up, she packs her sketchbook, her toothbrush, and a change of clothes into her bag. For a moment, she hesitates before she grabs the stuffed animals, her droid, and the doll on her dresser - hoping Ches wouldn’t mind her bringing them along. “I heard someone had all their stuff destroyed by the circle once, and I’d feel better if I didn’t leave them alone overnight just in case.”

“They can sleep on my dresser tonight, I don’t mind.” Ches shrugs as she offers Balo her hand. She reaches out to grasp it quickly, following her friend when she leads her out of the room and locking the door on her way out.

Maybe things weren’t okay yet, and it’d probably be a while until they were, but the more she leaned on her friends - the more she realized maybe she didn’t have to have it all together yet. She’d get there eventually, but, until then, they weren’t going anywhere. Maybe her parents didn’t want her, but they did.

And at that moment, that was enough.

#i mean tbh i know it's hard to believe but I hold back the majority of the intermuse content I DO try #i legit was never going to post this #but I had three people screaming in my ear about loving my intermuse dynamics #and these two ARE the faves like fuck Ches/Zander and Balo/Zander - Balo/Ches is the crown jewel SO #( I love the entire core 4's who am I kidding )#a dream is a wish your heart makes ( musings )#do you remember when we learned how to fly? | ches & zander #guys I'm not tagging Ches's sense of humor that was a bad joke XD #abuse tw #hiv tw #mental illness tw #disownment tw #but tell me when will my life begin? ( self paras )

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rosedavid · 5 years

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I Love You A-Latte // A Tyrus Autumn Oneshot

“Okay, you look way too happy to be here, especially for test day,” Andi comments the moment Cyrus walks in the school doors.

TJ, who was in the middle of talking music with Jonah, turns to see what Buffy means. After all, Cyrus is normally perkier than the average person, so him acting happy isn’t all that abnormal. When TJ looks at him, though, right away he notices the jubilant, carefree sparkle in Cyrus’s eyes as well as straighter, prouder posture. An easy smile stretches across his face and only grows as he approaches his friends. Clasping his hands together, he rocks back on his heels as if he’s trying to contain the excitement welling inside him.

“Yeah, normally you’d be a sweaty ball of nerves still studying as he walks through the classroom door,” Buffy adds, cocking her head.

Startled, Cyrus wonders, “But don’t you know what day today is?!”

“Wait, is today your birthday?” Jonah gasps but falters under everyone’s gaze. “Sorry, I’m bad with remembering things!”

Andi and Buffy converse to each other through eye contact and subtle gestures. TJ could never understand how the three best friends can converse that way and know exactly what each other are thinking. Every time TJ tries to make heart eyes at Cyrus, Cyrus asks him if he’s feeling okay.

“Well, I know you don’t have any type of family celebrations coming up until your Aunt Ruthie’s birthday in two weeks,” Andi begins.

Buffy continues, “And you won’t hear back about your award submission for another couple days. Also, you don’t have anything specific planned with any of us for today.”

“I still don’t understand how you three know each other’s schedules like that!” Jonah mentions offhandedly. TJ silently agrees.

“Come on, haven’t you noticed a chill in the air today?” Cyrus hints, raising his brows. “TJ?”

“Uh…” TJ trails off, biting his lip. He feels like he should be able to answer this question as Cyrus’s boyfriend, but he honestly has no idea what Cyrus is getting toward.

Obviously, the elation becomes too much for Cyrus to continue containing as everyone makes there guesses, for he finally blurts out the answer. “Autumn! Today is the first official day of autumn!”

TJ scratches his head at Cyrus’s idea of exciting news. To him, the start of fall just means colder weather and back-to-school. It means the end of summer, the end of days basking in the sunshine and staying out late at night; the end of freedom and relaxation. The others all seem to perk up at Cyrus’s comment, however.

“I can finally get some new sweaters and make some fall fashion jewelry!” Andi beams.

Buffy grins over at Jonah. “And we can officially start preparing for Halloween!”

“But Halloween’s still more than a month away,” TJ interjects.

“It’s fall, so it’s now socially acceptable, not that I care,” Buffy responds with a laugh. “I’ve had my Halloween decorations prepared for weeks!”

“I bet my Halloween decorations will be way better,” Jonah challenges.

As all of this ruckus between the group is happening, a hand squeezes his forearm. Cyrus smiles at him, the two of them nearly at eye level now. The waves of energy and exuberance flowing off Cyrus is tangible.

“Aren’t you excited, Teej?” Cyrus questions, noting his lack of cheerful inputs.

He frowns. “Not really, I guess. I don’t like fall that much.”

Cyrus gasps like he just heard the most stunning revelation of his lifetime. He tugs at TJ’s arm incessantly to get his attention, even though Cyrus always has TJ’s full attention. Big brown eyes stare at him with incredulities, lips parted the slightest bit as he processes TJ’s words.

“You don’t like fall?! How could you not like fall?”

“Because it gets dark and depressing and cold, not to mention fall always means back to school!” he defends.

Meanwhile, Cyrus shakes his head stubbornly at all of TJ’s words. He looks personally offended by what TJ has to say about autumn. The way his nose scrunches up indignantly and lips pursing makes him appear even more loveable. He then begins to raise his hands like he always does right before going off on a rant.

“But TJ! What about the sweaters, scarves, and hats? The pumpkin flavored stuff? Leaves that crunch when you walk? Pretty colors everywhere? Apple cider?” Cyrus presses, to which TJ responds with a shrug.

“I just prefer summer.”

“This is blasphemy! Fall is BY FAR the superior season, and I will prove it to you!” At this statement, Cyrus tows TJ along toward the front doors, marching along with a determined look on his face.

TJ looks back at the others with confusion and slight worry. They just laugh at him, waving as they whisper about something. As it turns out, Cyrus seems to be completely set in his decision. He almost walks right out the front doors of the school before class starts. The only thing that stops him is the bell piercing the ears of the students throughout the hallways to signal first period.

“Oh. Class,” Cyrus sighs. “I almost forgot! We’ll have to wait until the end of school. To be continued!”

TJ laughs, briefly leaning his cheek against Cyrus’s dark locks. “So I wasn’t truly saved by the bell?”

“Nope! More like…delayed by the bell,” Cyrus jokes, obviously pleased with himself based on his teasing smile.

“Is today just going to consist of a punch of fall puns?”

“What can I say, I’m just a-corny person!”

TJ snorts, shaking his head as he pretends to stride away. Cyrus jogs to catch up to him, giggling the whole way. TJ jams his fingers in his ears and sticks his tongue out with mirth. Of course, it’s all in fun, so when Cyrus pulls his arms down, he doesn’t put up a fight.

“Wait, I promise no more fall puns if you join me on our fall adventure after school.”

“I suppose,” TJ relents, as if he wasn’t going to go along with Cyrus the entire time.

“Yay! We’re going to have such a gourd-time!”

“Cyrus!”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it! There’s too many good autumn puns.”

With a roll of his eyes, TJ sighs fondly and leads Cyrus to his first class like usual. They part ways with matching smiles and a lingering hand squeeze before separating. As much as TJ dreads fall, he’s already looking forward to later that afternoon.

…

After the last bell, Cyrus somehow manages to make it to TJ’s locker before TJ himself, despite Cyrus’s class being halfway across school. When Cyrus spots him approaching through the crowd, he waves with enthusiasm, already opening TJ’s locker. Ever since the first day of school, Cyrus has known his locker combination just in case TJ messes it up like he did almost every other day in middle school. Now, he has a failsafe who also leaves bonus, cute notes in his locker.

TJ heaves his stack of books he doesn’t need back into his locker for tomorrow and asks, “Did you run here?”

Huffing, Cyrus responds, “Yes, actually, I did! Thank you for noticing. Contrary to popular belief, I can run, I usually just choose not to.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run,” TJ admits. “Do you want to have a race sometime?” He laughs as Cyrus’s eye widen and he shakes his head in contradiction.

“I think my running abilities for the next month were all used in the last 60 seconds.”

TJ finishes putting stuff in his locker before they head out the door. As it turns out, Cyrus hardly ever uses his locker for books and notebooks. He gets too nervous that he’ll forget something if he leaves it in his locker, so he carries it all in his backpack with him to every class. In his locker he really only keeps his lunch, extra supplies, and a first aid kit which he insisted was necessary to have because “School nurses will never be this prepared, TJ.” Since he never leaves anything in his locker, Cyrus’s bag weighs a literal ton. TJ lifted his backpack once and almost keeled over. He honestly has no clue how Cyrus can carry that much like it’s nothing.

“Should we drop our bags off first?” TJ mentions, not wanting Cyrus to have to lug around his back-breaking bag for the whole day.

“We have to stop at my house first, anyway,” Cyrus smirks secretively.

“Should I be scared? Because I am.”

Cyrus merely giggles, chasing his hand. TJ evades him momentarily to mess with him, but can’t hold off for too long. He catches Cyrus’s hand awkwardly, adjusting their hand holding until their fingers are intertwined. Early on in their relationship, Cyrus gave him a speech on how interlacing fingers is a much more efficient way to hold hands. Of course, TJ agreed because all he cares about is that they get to hold hands. But also, interlacing fingers is way comfier.

Once they reach Cyrus’s house, they drop their bags down at the door. Unsure of what Cyrus has planned, TJ follows his lead as goes up to his room and opens his closet. TJ screws up his face, leaning over Cyrus’s shoulder to try and see what he’s rummaging for. Finally, Cyrus yanks out an armful of fabrics, almost knocking heads with TJ as he stumbles into his arms.

“What is all that?” TJ questions.

“The first step to a successful autumn!” Cyrus exclaims. “You need to get in the autumn spirit, and the best way to do that is get dressed up.”

TJ stares at him, gesturing toward the window where sunlight streams through the open blinds. “Cyrus, it’s like 70 degrees out today!”

“But fall spirit—” Cyrus protests, nudging the clothes further into TJ’s arms. He sticks out his bottom lip, somehow managing to make his lips quiver while he pouts. TJ has no clue how he does it, but he can’t ignore it.

“Alright, fine, but if I get heat stroke, that’s on you.”

A few minutes later, TJ is decked out in all the typical fall garb. He wears a slightly itchy sweater that is too big for him (and if it’s too big for him, it must drown Cyrus). A plain, dark beanie adorns his head, tucked just over his ears. To finish it all out, he wraps a fluffy scarf around his neck. Cyrus is already all decked out for the season in his patterned, pom-pom beanie, sweater, and tiny gloves.

“How are your hands so small?” TJ asks with a choked off laugh as he attempts to borrow a pair of Cyrus’s gloves. He can barely stretch them on to get over the first part of his hand.

“How are your hands so big?” Cyrus retorts, then adds, “I guess we won’t add the gloves. Let’s get going! We have lots to do.”

So, dressed in warm clothes, they head out into the 70-degree weather. Still acting secretive, Cyrus refuses to disclose where exactly they’re going (although TJ knows if he pressed hard enough, Cyrus would cave since he’s not always great at keeping secrets). The walk is slightly unbearable in the hot heat of the day. TJ has the overwhelming urge to scratch at his arms and neck since the sweat is causing the fabric to rub up against his skin. Somehow, though, Cyrus doesn’t seem too bothered by the heat.

“How are you not boiling yet?” TJ asks as they walk endlessly.

Cyrus shrugs. “I dunno. Buffy once told me that I’m akin to a grandpa with the candies in my pockets and my developed wisdom, so maybe being super sensitive to the cold is just another part of that.”

“You have candy in your pockets and you never told me?!”

Laughing, Cyrus pulls out a root-beer barrel on cue, dropping it into TJ’s open hand. “I love how you hear anything to do with food and immediately focus in on it. Luckily for you, our first activity involves food!”

Finally, the arrive at what TJ assumes is their stop. It looks like a little café. Hardly anyone is inside, and as TJ squints at it, he isn’t sure he’s even heard of this place before. They walk up to the front doors, out of breath.

“Welcome to the best, and only place, to get pumpkin donuts at!” Cyrus explains with a grand gesture of his arms. “Pumpkin flavor is a fall essential. Wait—you like pumpkin flavor, right?! I really hope so since that’s what we’re here for. I should have checked—”

“Don’t worry, I like pumpkin flavor,” TJ interrupts with a smile. He then steps forward toward the door, opening it up and holding it for Cyrus to step through.

They order the pumpkin donuts and munch on them in the shade under a large tree. TJ has to admit that they’re delicious. He usually doesn’t eat much pumpkin flavor besides pumpkin pie, but he loves the combination of spices sprinkled atop the donuts. Cyrus watches happily as TJ snarfs down the donuts. TJ licks his fingers at the end, causing Cyrus to wrinkle his nose and pass him a handful of napkins.

“So, what’s next?” he asks Cyrus.

“Next is a scenic nature walk!” Cyrus replies. “The trees out here are gorgeous.”

“Just like you,” TJ mumbles, mostly to himself. Cyrus obviously catches it, though, because the tips of his ears burn as red as the leaves around them.

TJ has never been super impressed with dead leaves falling off trees, but he’s also never seen trees colored so vibrantly. On the main streets of Shadyside, most of the leaves turn a sickly orange color before crumbling off. Out here, further from town, the trees are much prettier. Hues ranging from golden yellow to deep red cover the treetops. All around them, gradients of autumn colors speckle the branches. TJ gapes in awe, staring up at the tall trees as he and Cyrus stroll along a dirt path.

“This is amazing,” TJ chuckles in disbelief. “I’ve never seen trees like this near my house!”

“Yeah, I think the regulation trees in Shadyside are purposefully meant to not be colorful for some reason,” Cyrus sighs.

As they continue on their journey, TJ feels the air take on a slight chill as well as the background darkening. He frowns, looking up at the sky. The sun has drifted behind a cloud that came out of nowhere. As he glances upwards, a fat raindrop lands with a smack against his cheek.

“Cyrus, I think—” TJ starts, before being cut off by the sound of thunder. He startles slightly.

“Rain! This is perfect,” Cyrus laughs with joy.

“Perfect? Why would it be perfect?”

“Because, silly, I can finally show you the joys of gloomy weather.”

TJ becomes more skeptical as the sky darkens impossibly further. It seems as if dusk has already come at 4 in the afternoon. The scent of the air also changes to become more earthy. Lightning flashes in the distance, so far away that he barely catches the bright light. The rain starts as a light pattering, drizzling their clothes with speckled water spots. Then, within the span of minutes, it grows gradually in its intensity before dumping out onto them.

At this point, TJ’s extremely grateful that he’s wearing a sweater. The rain drenching them is freezing cold. Matched with the wind and the dropping temperature, it makes him shiver. Beside him, Cyrus tugs his beanie down a bit to cover the ends of his ears. Nothing can protect them from the complete onslaught of rain, though.

Through chattering teeth, TJ asks, “How is this joyful?!”

In response, Cyrus simply holds out his gloved hand which is now sopping wet. Still, TJ grasps it, letting himself be tugged toward Cyrus. Then, Cyrus reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. A familiar song comes on that makes TJ smile knowingly. Cyrus places his phone back in his pocket for slightly more protection before turning his attention back toward TJ.

“Dance in the rain with me?” Cyrus giggles, reaching up to wrap his arms around TJ’s neck.

“I thought this song was called ‘Singin’ in the Rain, not Dancin’ in the Rain!” TJ jokes, causing Cyrus to send him an accusatory look.

“And you get mad at me for my puns!”

A laugh bubbles up at the back of TJ’s throat. “Okay, fine, you can do puns. I guess it’s only fair. But first, let’s dance.”

TJ places one arm around his waist, pulling him closer. Cyrus’s hand moves down to TJ’s shoulder, while the other two intertwine in the air. They dance slowly at first, but the energy and excitement of the day causes them to mess around, shoes splashing playfully as they sway back and forth. TJ can feel his socks getting absolutely soaked, but he doesn’t care in that moment. He twirls Cyrus a few times somehow, impressing both of them. They quickly get soaked to the bone, but neither faulter in their movements. Cyrus sings the lyrics to the song under his breath, and TJ momentarily gets taken back to the night at Andi’s party.

Caught up in the song, they don’t register at first when it ends. Once they both taper off to a stop, though, TJ finds himself realizing how close they are. He can see the raindrops gathering on Cyrus’s eyelashes and the flush from cold on the tip of his nose. They stand their and breathe for a few beats of rain before their lips join in a cold, wet kiss. Still, it manages to warm TJ’s insides as he clutches the front of Cyrus’s sweater for support.

When they pull away, Cyrus gazes at him and opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something romantic. “Now we’re Kissin’ in the Rain,” he grins.

TJ laughs, swatting his shoulder. Cyrus joins in on the laughter. Soon, still giddy with excitement, they take turns leaping into deepening puddles. The continue to frolic for a bit, shoes getting caked with oozing mud.

“Hopefully I don’t loose another shoe!” Cyrus chuckles to himself. TJ makes sure to remember to ask him for the story later.

The storm starts to get closer, so they decide it’s probably best to retreat back toward town. Thankfully, Cyrus planned ahead so they don’t have to walk all the way back. His mom picks them up back at the donut place, chiding them with a smile as they climb into the car sopping wet and covered in mud. When they arrive back to Cyrus’s house, the storm is in full force. They shelter inside, removing their wet clothes and changing into comfy sweatpants and sweatshirts.

“Now, it’s time for the final piece de resistance,” Cyrus claims as he balances two full mugs in his hands. TJ takes one from him, and they bundle up together on the sofa. The mug is just hot enough that it warms his hands without burning them. Sweet steam wafts from the cups.

“Hot cocoa,” TJ comments.

“Hot chocolate, tehnically,” Cyrus corrects adamantly, “Similar, concept, but way more delicious. My mom uses actual chocolate pieces.”

TJ lifts the cup up to his lips, blowing slightly on the liquid before deciding getting his tongue burned it worth it. Searing, smooth liquid enters his mouth. It takes like melted gold, richer and more chocolatey than any hot chocolate he’s ever had. He pulls back, mouth still burning from the warmth of the drink.

“Good?”

“Amazing.”

They sit there in silence for a bit, simply listening to the sounds of the rain and sipping on their hot chocolate. TJ has never felt so content after getting rain dumped on him. He can even still feel droplets of water falling from the tips of his hair and onto his sweatshirt from being so soaked.

“So, what do you think? Are you now convinced autumn is the best season?” Cyrus wonders, finishing off the last of his hot chocolate.

TJ still feels the residual warmth radiating from his mug. The rolling thunder outside somehow seems to calm him. He thinks back to everything that happened that day, from the sweaters to the donuts to the rain to now. He still prefers the heat of the summer, the refreshing chill of the pool, and the lack of school, but today has been one of the most memorable days of his life. He decides, in that moment, that even though the individual aspects of fall may not be his favorite, doing them with Cyrus definitely is.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I think so,” TJ responds, watching the triumphant grin spread across Cyrus’s face.

“I knew I could convince you! What was it that won you over, my awesome fall puns?”

“Now those I could do without.”

“Please you know you’re FALLing in love with them,” Cyrus says, raising up his hand for a high five.

“That pun doesn’t deserve a high five!”

“Come on Teej! Don’t leaf me hanging! I love you a-latte!”

And if, the next day, TJ goes out and buys a bunch of fall sweaters with puns on them, it’s definitely not because of Cyrus.

#tyrus #tyrus fic #andi mack #andi mack fic #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #autumn #fall #tyrus fanfiction #tyrus fanfic #andi mack fanfiction #andi mack fanfic #fluff #cute #fanfiction

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reddogf13 · 4 years

Text

Escape: To Salvation Ch: 1

Blake X Val

Summery: Blake wakes up in the hell town known as Templegate. confused and alone he must fight through both his past and present for his future. however, hallucinations of festering demons haunt him along with something else more of mortal blood. now he must fight to keep his nightmares and reality separate or succumb to the deadly wilds. however is he truly as alone as he feels in this world?

status: complete

rated: M - fowl language, sensitive topics, and gore

Prequel/ main series: Escape: Aftermath CH: 20

next chap: Escape: To Salvation CH:2

_____________________________________

~Ch:1 Dust settles~

Blake fell to his knees and watched as the sun grew to burn the earth. The blazing sun blinding him till his eyes blinked. Opening again to the sound of Jessica's voice back in the school. He wasn't sure what was happening now, getting a sense as if he was floating. Following a path to Jessica's voice without an idea of what he felt inside. Depression, anger, Sadness? No, it was just hollow emptiness inside.

“The feeling of being dead.” the thought passed through his mind. Not even feeling any uplifting happiness seeing Jessica alive and well. He got down and prayed with her. Feeling cold and unhappy at the prayer she recited. Then everything went into the darkness. He floated without any thoughts for what seemed like an eternity.

“am I dead? … Did the world die? … What happened to the baby?” Blake thought, the questions passing through at what felt like a snail's pace. The last question kept repeating over and over. Blake was growing desperate to know the child's outcome.

“... did someone find her? … IS she the Antichrist? Is she okay? Is she alive?” Blake questions floated in the darkness. growing from moving at a snail's pace to zooming past. The darkness grew to be suffocating with an unexplained pressure building into a unbearable headache. Just as the pressure felt like his skull was going to split open, it popped. The pressure suddenly uplifted after one large burst of a painful heat, however the suffocation did not.

Blake opened his eyes to take a desperate gasp of air. Blinking for a moment, unmoving, as he gathered the world around him. No more darkness, he was back under the bright burning normal looking sun. the world partially scorched, but only by what seemed like a now long burnt out forest fire. Back in the hell town known as Templegate.

After gathering his surroundings he remembered his questions. Looking down to his arms to find them both bloody and empty. Fear rose along with panic at the baby missing. He quickly looked around for the baby girl. “maybe she just rolled from my hands. Maybe someone found her and took her away. Maybe an animal grabbed her from me for a meal.” Blakes mind raced, the baby's fate getting darker with each thought. He froze when he spotted a trail of fresh boot prints nearby. The tracks walking up to him and stopping before stepping off to the side to walk behind him.

Blake stared at the prints for a moment. Taking a breath of air before slowly and carefully standing. His legs popping and hurting as they moved. Something seemed off based from his last memory. The dirt he partially fell to deeply indented where his legs were. All the blood going across him turned brown from dryness. Some spots cracking off as Blake moved.

“damn, how long was I stuck in that position?” he thought with a wince. Taking note that the sun was now fully above in its afternoon slot when the last point he remembered was it just rising. As soon as he was ready to move he went forward. His body feeling horribly sore and exhausted. Feeling that if he sat down or stopped, he wouldn't be able to go forward again. His stomach painfully hollow with his mouth being as dry as the desert. He focused only on the fresh prints. Ignoring the vast decaying corpses he past. The smell, despite being difficult in the hot sunlight, he also ignored. Seeing that maggots had already infested the bodies. Clearing off huge chunks of meat from the bones. He only took his focus off once the prints lead into a building. Painfully stopping to look up to examine the building. It was a place made with wood with white painted shingles going down the walls. A cross standing at the pointed front of the roof.

Blake sighed, trying to regain some strength to get him moving inside. Getting up onto the small front step seeming the hardest thing in the world at the moment. Then he had to do the second hardest with opening the door. Pain shooting through his holed hand as he turned the knob. He took another deep breath as the door creaked open. Carefully stepping over the small door frame sticking up from the floor to enter.

He walked in with barely a thought to his own safety. He was in barely walk-able shape, forget about being able to fight. Even so, he would save his little girl and at least make sure she was taken someplace safe before collapsing. Hed fight if he had to, but who knows if it'd get him anywhere.

He stopped to catch his breath, recovering as well from the massive pain in his body. Looking over the darkness to try and figure out where to go next. The boot prints quickly disappearing past the doorway. leaving Blake to track whoever without any hints to where they went.

“you live?” a voice spoke from the darkness. Sounding honestly surprised at Blakes appearance. Blake would have jumped from the sudden voice if his body hadn't locked up in pain. He stood silent for a minute to process the voice. Slowly searching the darkness over for the figure. He recognized it, but in the state he was in his brain processed the information slowly. Then he remembered who the speaker was.

“val.” Blake growled in his mind. He swallowed to get ready as if he was going to yell in pure rage, but only ended up letting out a quiet voice. hoarse from lack of water for who knows how long.

“you took her … where is she?” Blake demanded to know, while trying to keep his body from collapsing. “the girl? She's long since passed in that chapel.” val answered, sounding calm but tired.

“no, the baby!” Blake snapped, he didn't want to deal with val. He didn't want to play a game of ring around the Rosie with questions.

“there was no baby.” val stated, sounding unfazed by Blakes tone. Blake remained silent for a second, confused. “Of course there was a baby. How could val say there wasn't? She- he- whatever was the one obsessed about bringing it into the world. Why suddenly reject its existence?!” Blakes mind went through the questions. Slowly processing through them.

“where'd you take her?!” Blake questioned, growing angry. Val sighed and finally moved to look toward him from a seated spot. Blake noticing her movement in the dark and facing her with an expression of hatred mixed with pain.

“there was no baby. Knoth convinced both of us though, didn't he?” val stated, anger pouring into her own words now.

“yes there was! Why else- why else go through all that?! You knew, it was obvious! You can't say she wasn't!” Blake snapped. Yelling in frustration only to stop so he could swallow a small amount of spit for his dry throat. Referring to how lynn was both obviously and heavily pregnant.

“i saw her birth it. I held her in my hands as lynn died on that torture table! Now where is she dammit!!” Blake began to roar. Tears welling up in his eyes as he spoke.

“there was no baby!! it was like every other pregnancy, nothing!! There. Was. Nothing!” val roared back, seeming just as angry with heavy disappointment underneath.

“... what? … I held her! She was there, crying. ... Knoth saw her too!” Blake argued again. Only now he was beginning to question himself. He was remembering all he went through now, including the Jessica hallucinations that seemed so real. Then there was also that moment with what lynn had said “there's nothing there” lynns words echoed repeatedly in his head.

“but, Knoth saw.” he spoke again, his heart slowly crumbling away. He saw val shake their head afterwards. “Knoth sees what he wants. She wasn't the first to bare the “Antichrist” or the first we managed to take from Knoth either. No child had been born at full term in years. It was either a early miscarriage or a false pregnancy. Killing the “birthing mothers” as the blood left them. Either way Knoth claimed he saw the devil child. Killing it after performing some false words before thrusting the blade.” val explained as Blake stood there quietly, mainly in an attempt to regain his voice.

“so … why was mine so different?” he asked.

“strange circumstance, same reason why we desperately kept her for the birth. Usually Knoth claimed someone he bedded with lust was carrying the evil. We would grab them in some cases with the event ending all the same. You and the girl however, fell from the sky into a fiery blaze upon landing. Everyone saw the whole thing. Knoth unfortunately made it there first, but that was a small misstep.” val explained, taking in a disappointed breath.

“he always came first.” the figure shrouded in darkness joked with a snicker. A remark Blake recognized as on the sexual side. Being not much in the mood for Vals forward humor on the subject, he gave a unamused look. “ … we thought it'd be different. That it was real this time. everything showed the signs it was and then … here we are. My loves had their throats slit or were crushed by the crumbling tunnels. I barely got out through the collapsed rock. i expected the world to shift, the earth to crack … but I only had the darkness take me over. I felt satisfied, my purpose complete, I welcomed the pain in the dark, then it ended. I was forced awake back into the world I felt I was past. I found the girl, recognized her body's state being like all the others, but at least it ended Knoth. He had finally lost and died like a coward. I wished it had been me to feel his warm blood pool onto my body.” Val spoke, her voice growing in disappointment. Looking toward the ground with a pause.

“Quite a time has past here before I woke. The rot has set in to be two days old on the dead. You were in that dark place a day longer than me, how was it?” val finished off with a question. Blake stood there, glaring in deep hatred. His mind going back and forth on whether val was telling the truth.

After a moment's thought he accepted Val was telling the truth. She never really lied, val never cared about that like Knoth did, but that also came with accepting the baby's nonexistence. It hurt Blake deeply, he pushed so hard to save lynn and failed. At the time he hoped to at least save his little girl, but she never existed either. He sighed in exhaustion, looking toward the dirty wood floor. Wondering what to do next. His only thought being he wanted to sit and maybe sleep for 10 years. He looked up to stare at val. Watching to see what she- he? Was possibly going to do. Val didn't seem to really move besides in taking a breath. Blake closed his eyes for a moment before gaining enough strength to move again. Walking back out the building onto the flat wood step. At this point Blake didn't care. He was too exhausted and practically went through everything already. Val didn't seem to react, staying in her seated spot. Not even bothering to look at him. Blake was thankful that val looked to be dressed again. He really didn't want to see that naked mud image right now. As he tried to move off the step his body collapsed onto the wood. Any attempt at getting up proving fruitless for his weakened body.

“val said she blacked out for two days based on how far the rot has been on the corpses. I was out for an extra day, so I was in some comatose state for three days?!” Blake thought, now realizing how desperately bad his bodies state was.

“... if I don't get up now, ... i'll die, ... but would it be so bad?” he wondered as he closed his eyes for just a second.

when he opened his eyes the sun was down, Blake had only fallen asleep this time. The next time however, it would definitely be his last if he didn't find food or water.

He looked around and didn't see Vals presence anywhere from his view into the darkened doorway of the building. He sat up with a few pops to his neck and back from the strange sleeping position. His body feeling a bit more energized, but the pain remaining.

Blake sat there for a while to debate on what he should do next. No lynn, no baby, now what? His only thought was to save himself, but there was no way he would get far in his current condition. He needed to find more bandages, hopefully some alcohol in the damned town, and some food and water while searching. “i swear if val plans to jump me.” he growled to himself. Wondering where val went and what they could possibly be doing with nobody around anymore.

He painfully stood to walk off the wood step. Squinting up at the bright moonlight. Gagging a bit at the rotten body smell mixing with a new one. Burnt flesh, it seems val had been busy doing some clean up. “fucking great.” Blake grumbled toward the smoldering body pile. He continued on slowly, looking about the town. It was the first time he was able to actually able to look at things. As far as he knew he no longer had to fear towns people with machetes or Marta coming at him. At the notice of a dark shape of a tree he stopped. discovering Knoths hanging body, or what's left of him.

Hanging from a tall almost black tree knoths organs were ripped out to be strung around the branches. All sorts of objects from glass, knifes, table legs to branches, iron bars, and barbed wire stabbed or strung all through him like thread through a cloth. His face carved up almost beyond all recognition while also being burned just as much as the others. If Blakes mouth wasn't so dry he'd probably spit at the hanging corpse.

“good riddance.” Blake thought before slowly moving again. “fuck, where the hell can I find water. No way i am drinking from the well here.” Blake thought as he carefully walked into one of the shack houses. He was fully prepared to just accept death by dehydration over who knows what in the water. Taking note of more dead bodies as he started rummaging through the cabinets for food, water, or anything useful.

“more bandages, that's one thing.” Blake mumbled to himself as he stuffed a couple rolls into his bag. The rest of the house proved fruitless, along with the next three before he found a non rotten apple in the forth. He really wanted just pure water in a bottle, but he couldn't be choosy. Taking a bite of the apple then just sucking on it to try and get a nice mouthful of juice.

“these people don't have anything. Where's all the food? In the fields? Fuck, mite just have to drink from the well. Eat some of the dead fish rotting in the lake.” he thought in disgust as he moved to another shack. “still nothing.” he sighed, slamming a fridge full of old rotten vegetables. Already he was beginning to feel exhausted again. Getting frustrated as he knew he'd only been awake for maybe 15 minutes. He preferred to find more food and water first before slipping into a sleep coma. He sighed in agitation before deciding to find a room he could close off.

When he did find one in the upper stairs of a building. He blocked the door off before sitting down on the bed. Letting out a groan of pain at everything hurting. Blake sat there for a moment till he gained a little more energy. Looking to his badly injured and bloody hands.

“maybe i'll get a miracle and the tap will work.” he thought, painfully getting up to go to a nearby bathroom. He held his breath as he turned the brass nozzle. Letting out a breath of relief at the clean looking water. He worked as fast as he could, to scrub his hands clean. Then quickly trying to clean every other part of him. He could have tried the shower, but he really didn't want to strip here and get into a vulnerable spot.

Almost all of the blood, mud, and dirt was cleaned away. Blake getting a much clearer look at the holes in his hand. Hissing a bit as they were painfully sore and still bleeding quite a bit. He tried to dry them with a small piece off the new bandage. Hoping they would clot slightly as to not bleed so much. They seemed to slowly stop bleeding as a new scab formed at the wound.

After re-wrapping them in new bandage he stared at the flow of sink water. Smacking his dry mouth. He really didn't want to drink any water in this town, but he had to drink something. So he quickly gulped down a mouthful. Giving up his resistance soon after to guzzle down mouthful after mouthful of water from the tap. His body feeling major relief at the introduction of hydration.

He gasped for air after filling his stomach to the brim with just water, shutting off the tap afterwards. He headed back to the bed to fully lay down this time. Looking toward a nearby widow with moon light pouring through the dust covered glass. For a moment the thought of maybe someone else besides val stalking the town entered his mind. Should he find somewhere more hidden to sleep? At this point though, Blake didn't care. He was far too injured and tired. He didn't want to run again, and couldn't even if he tried. while at this point death would be a welcoming away from all the pain. He closed his eyes and in seconds was fast asleep.

Blake woke up to the morning sun blazing into his eyes. Squinting before carefully sitting up with a stiff groan. He rubbed his face as he put his feet onto the hardwood floor.

“find food, bottled water, and alcohol possibly.” he thought. Deep in his mind he knew the alcohol would most likely be nonexistent in this town. Alcohol wasn't looked too kindly on in religion.

“maybe I could find a bottle of wine in the chapel.” Blake thought. His heart seized at remembering lynn was dead inside that building. He'd have to face her body again once he entered. He swallowed hard wondering if hed have the strength to even face her.

He got up to slowly work his way back to the chapel. Upon seeing her body from the doorway he froze. Staring as he held back the tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly swallowed them down into the painful pit in his stomach. Carefully walking down the mostly clear isle up to her.

He swallowed down at the painful disgusting sight of maggots swarming over her. He looked away to take a few deep breaths. Desperate to hold himself together. Looking back when he felt he was ready. He needed to cover her body before he could move it.

“wrap her up in something.” he thought, looking around the chapel. Deciding on a nice piece of curtain hanging over a window. He returned to lynn with the large bundled up curtain in his hands. Carefully covering her before slowly wrapping the thing around till she was fully bundled up in the fabric.

“at least val didn't desecrate you. … I hope.” he spoke to himself. A thought of him not being entirely sure as she was stuck with val for an entire night, although he rather not think of that.

“i need to bury her, but do I want to bury her in this hell town?” he thought. In the end having no choice. He knew he couldn't carry her far, but he could at least take her to the forest edge. Past all the rotten bodies and crumbling buildings.

“Someplace under a nice tree.” he thought, leaving her body for the moment. He wanted to dig a deep grave first before carrying her body out. He searched around a bit managing to find a nice shovel. Going slightly past the town to now find a tree. Coming across a large green pine that just managed to survive the fire. Half of its green top being singed from the flames that were now long dead.

Blake returned to the chapel with his eyes welling up the entire way. By the time he reached her body the tears were overflowing.

“i'm sorry, i am so so sorry, I should have been faster. I could have made it. You could have lived, but I couldn't help you.” he cried, trying to wipe all the tears away only for the streams to be quickly replaced. He took a long deep breath to calm himself. Hugging her wrapped body for a moment before picking her up into his arms. His whole body locked up in agony from the extra weight. He stood frozen in place with her weight in his arms and took in another deep breath. Slowly working his way toward the grave, taking deep breaths the whole way in an attempt to keep his strength up.

Once at the grave he carefully got to his knees before slipping one leg after the other into the grave. Gently setting her down and fixing up her wrappings. Tears started to heavily flow again requiring him to sit next her in the grave to regain himself. He took a few deep breaths, wiped away the tears. Giving lynn's forehead a final goodbye kiss with his hand then climbed out of the grave. Standing tall next to the grave lynn was now resting in, he looked to the sky to gather some words.

“a good friend, a loving wife, never forgotten. Rest in peace … wherever you are.” Blake spoke clearly as if speaking to a actual crowd at a funeral. He folded his hands over each other and lowered his head for a moment of silence.

“amen.” Blake said in a way to end the funeral, although the word seemed sour to him. After all this his faith was even more crippled than before. All sorts of questions on why this happened passing through his mind. He wasn't going to debate it though. He was tired of religion and if who ever existed he no longer cared. Blake was going to leave it all at that. He just wanted to move on.

Blake grabbed the near by shovel and began to slowly fill in the grave. Trying his hardest not to fall apart as lynn was covered. His body was exhausted by the time he was done. The afternoon sun now shining over head. The town actually looked remotely nice in the bright sun. not every pile of dirt or tree looking like some horrified monster ready to grab hold. Much easier to see the annoying small cacti Blake remembered from all the past needles stuck in his leg.

He grabbed a nearby small wooden cross he made out of two thick branches and a tied cloth. Setting it at the head of the grave almost against the trunk of the large pine. He smoothed out the grave and circled its edging with all the nice stones and flowers he could find. Finally adding the last touch of a handful of both pink and white flowers he plucked off a cacti.

“you didn't deserve this.” Blake spoke to the grave. Shutting his eyes tight as he took a deep breath. Opening them again once he felt like he wouldn't cry again. He looked down at the grave before turning away to search the town again for supplies.

The rest of the day was unfruitful for anything. All the food old and maggot infested with no water insight. “i guess if worse comes to worse, at least I got a maggot farm.” Blake thought. His face crinkling in disgust at the thought of eating a wriggling maggot. He sat down at the stairs of a building he just left. Looking out toward Lynn's marked grave and noticing something. Val was standing near it. Blake filled with hatred glared hard enough to try burning a hole in the back of her head.

“if Val dares desecrate Lynn's grave they're going to pay.” Blake growled in his mind. Holding his glare on the unmoving figure that stared down toward the grave. He finally relaxed when Val began moving away from lynn's resting place, but not entirely. His paranoia of maybe something small was done while he wasn't looking bringing him to look over the grave. Blake stood by with an agitated expression as he examined all over the grave for any difference. Even checking the dirt for anything drawn into it. Nothing was different on the grave or anything done to the tree either.

He sighed in relief as he was not in the mood to clean up some carving or blood painted symbols. Or whatever Val may have been wanting to do. Then he turned his attention toward the fresh tracks in anger. He hated them being near and quickly scuffed fresh soil over all the nearby tracks to rid the area of there existence.

After clearing a 15 foot area surrounding the grave he went to tiredly sit by the grave. He leaned his head back to rest it against the tree. Finding himself immediately falling asleep again. When he woke only a few hours later he saw more of Vals tracks leading near the grave and away. Blake growled out of anger at seeing the tracks. Getting up to again carefully examine the grave for desecration in any way. Again, thankfully, finding nothing. Again, like before, he swept away the invading tracks in a 15 foot area around the grave. Growing quickly exhausted, thirsty, and his stomach painfully growling. He'd only eaten a apple and hot pocket within the last 4 days. The hot pocket he grabbed before the regretful helicopter trip here. He walked away from the grave to only make it 10 feet. Looking back in paranoia at leaving the grave unguarded.

He swallowed in nervousness until his painful stomach growling made him wince. He was mentally kicking himself as he left the unguarded grave, but he desperately needed food. Blake went even deeper into the town to search new areas for supplies. Finding a few more bandages and even a few useless battery's. After Knoth died and before his black out he remembered losing grip on his camera along the way. And at this point he didn't care to search for it either. It was probably laying in a pool of bloody mud and or sewage at this point. Maybe even Val took it and burned it in the body pile, who knows.

As he walked across the open dirt patch between houses he noticed more of Vals boot prints crisscrossing over the dirt. Glaring down at them, knowing Val had already raided the houses here. “probably snatched up any supplies. Fuck, now what then?” Blake thought, looking up to the bright sky momentarily in exhaustion. Now his options being between maggot farming, or picking a floating fish from the diseased lake full of mercury.

“yay to eventually looking like the mad hatter.” Blake spoke with a huff.

“maybe there's a farm around here. There has to be, no way they could feed so many from a bag of groceries fetched from a real outside town. I ran through that corn field at one point. didn't look like there was any corn though from what I remember.” he noted in his mind.

“which way to go?” he thought, looking at the varying paths leading in all directions. From all his running around he had no idea where anything was. Running through the whole night also muddling his whole sense of direction. He got an idea to look at where the sun was. It was past noon so wherever the sun was heading down to it lead toward the west. It didn't help him much in deciding a path, but he could just barely remember where the sun was before the helicopter ride and the direction they flew in.

from there he tried hard to remember every direction he walked in since the crash. Unfortunately his memory were more like blinks. He could only get points A and B of certain places. The whole between just seemed like a black warped puddle with the flash of something fuzzy forming now and again.

He found his memory no use. instead deciding to approach the best guess option. Looking at the tree lines for a thin or cleared area. Farming wasn't exactly a small patch to clear of trees. Soon spotting a massive open area between the tree line and heading straight for it. A 10 minute walk leading him up face to face with possibly the same corn field he zigzagged through.

Blake examined the stalks as he walked between the rows. Seeing no evidence of any corn. Assuming that maybe the town had harvested and eaten it all already. He noticed a bright color orange from between the long rows as he got deeper into them. Heading toward it expecting it to be leftover corn, but instead. “ … pumpkins... ?” Blake stated out loud in the middle of a pumpkin patch. Looking like none of them were harvested yet.

“had to be pumpkins. Couldn't have been something easy like fucking potatoes, but no. I don't even know how to really peel a orange I always needed lynn to do it for me. How the fuck do I eat a pumpkin?!” Blake spoke to himself. Knowing he was definitely not a cook of out of the way veggies. Usually working with simple potatoes or the most complicated being peas in a pod.

“i've heard of diced pumpkin, so do I peel it then chop it? I know I can bake the seeds, but can I also cook the guts and eat it??” Blake spoke to himself.

“if there was ever a time to figure out my own pumpkin pie recipe, it'd be now.” Blake joked. He always joked as some kind of protection mechanism. It helped uplift his spirits when down, even just a little helped him keep going.

Blake picked up a nice sized pumpkin about the size of his head. Taking it back to lynns grave and setting it down momentarily. He was happy to see no new tracks from Val around the area. Now his new goal was to find supplies for a fire and some sort of cooking pan.

“hopefully Val wont snatch it and get her own from the pumpkin patch.” Blake thought while searching the nearby shacks. Finding a pan and a small box of matches pretty quickly. Getting a lucky find of a small clean white pouch that could hold pumpkin seeds well. Returning to his pumpkin to create a small fire pit ringed with rocks. He piled a bunch of twigs and handfuls of dry leaves into the small pit. Lighting a match to place on the dry pile. Now he had to figure out what to do with the pumpkin. His best bet was roasting seeds and collect a whole bags worth of them. They would last as long as they did not get wet.

Blake grabbed a nearby broken shard of metal off a gate. He looked it over to see if there was any strange substance on it and found nothing. Leaning it against the wall to force it into a curved hook before he brought it to the fire. Letting it sit over the flames to clean anything he couldn't see sitting on the surface. then began his task of carefully carving a hole at the top of the pumpkin as if starting a jack o lantern. Picking out all the seeds he could to throw into the empty pan.

He roasted a good cup full of seeds till they turned a golden brown. Eating a few to test them determining them worthy of being stored in the pouch. Leaving still a lot of empty space for at least 6 more cup fulls of seeds inside the bag. After the pan was cleared Blake took his chances with trying to prepare the pumpkin guts. Cutting out the annoying pile and slopping it all into the pan with a sizzle as the wet goop hit the hot metal.

He sat there watching the goop pile slowly cook. Turning and mixing it with the metal piece, but finding it hard to determine if it was done or not. Half was still raw goop and the other half was now suddenly burnt. Before the last bit of it was burnt he took it off the fire to cool. Throwing more branches into the fire to keep it going. He decided he would stay by lynns grave to keep watch with the fire keeping him warm in the night.

He mixed the oddly looking pile, at this point just playing with his food. Afraid to take the first bite. He swirled it onto the metal piece like stringing noodles. Taking his first bite and scrunching up at the burnt taste covered in half slimy texture. As the first shock of flavor past he started unhappily chewing. Deciding it was better then nothing while saving the seeds for emergency case. By the end of it he was getting a bit sick from the disgusting flavor. Thankful that it was all done and gone at least till his next pumpkin. The rest of the pumpkin he would scrape out the sides and try to cook tomorrow.

He sat by the grave to lean against the tree. Sitting there and watching the sun pass into night. Making sure to keep the fire going as much as he could to keep the area lit. who knows what Val was doing out in the darkness. Honestly he really didn't want to know after all he had seen Val do. As long as they stayed far away from him that's all Blake cared for.

“if i keep going at this pace, MAYBE, I'll have enough strength to walk back in a day or two.” he thought, the back of his mind arguing the time frame to be more like a week.

“no way i am staying that long. I'll take my chances hitch hiking in the forest. Once I get home ill recover lynns body and give a proper funeral in a nice cemetery. Have this place burned to the ground with flame throwers. Probably the only way to cleanse this area of all the pollution of disease. Especially that “quarantine” area.” he grumbled in thought.

“wonder if any of the ill survived up in the mountains? Probably not with how bad that storm was. Landslide, fallen trees, and rocks would have buried them.” Blake thought. He threw a bunch more wood onto the fire, curling up against the tree to slowly drift to sleep.

The next morning he woke to a familiar sight of Vals boot prints walking nearby before going off. “ugh.” he thought with a glare. Getting up to check the grave again. Seeing nothing still and again scuffing the prints away. The feeling of paranoia coming up as he realized how close Val was getting to him in his sleep. Maybe he should go indoors from now on. That meant leaving lynn's grave unguarded however.

“i have to let go. Cant keep guarding the dead forever.” he thought. Lynn was dead now, nothing could bring her back. So why was he so diligently guarding her grave? Wanting to feel like he accomplished protecting in some way? He wasn't able to protect Jessica, wasn't able to keep lynn safe. He failed and now the last thing he wanted to do was fail a third time. Last thing he wanted to see was lynn unburied to be put up for some satanic display by Val.

Blake looked toward the sun to get the jest of what time of day it was. The sun was up a bit past sunrise but not close to afternoon yet. He yawned and stretched his cramped body. He was feeling a little better. Still sore in the legs with pain in his injured hands, but feeling much more well rested.

Blake then recalled why he went into the chapel in the first place. He wanted to find some wine or alcohol of sorts for his hands. Maybe for everything else if he found enough. Even after the small sink bath his skin still felt stained with who knows what. Inside the chapel he looked around the front podium for some sort of small storage of wine. Finding nothing his attention turned toward a shut door to the side. Trying to open the door gave no effect.

“locked? In a town that leaves everything open?” Blake wondered. Grabbing a nearby metal bar to thrust it into the door wedge. Leaning back to provide force into the door. The door creaking as it bent in a way it wasn't supposed to before shooting open as the door broke away from the locked knob.

“geeze, some fucking lock.” Blake thought, examining the knob still attached to the lock in the door frame. “why so protective of this room?” he wondered, knowing that the common lock around here was a slider over the doorway.

“ah, now I know why.” he said. Looking at the vast fancy decorating. Nice rugs, fancy bedding, large nice wood crosses, bottles of pills everywhere, a desk covered in radio equipment and wires heading out a window near the roof. Boxes of jewelry, empty wallets, a stack of bibles.

“knoths room.” Blake answered to himself. Avoiding in touching anything. Only doing so to grab a pill bottle that looked untouched so far.

“penicillin … I mite need these.” Blake recalled with his time in the quarantine area.

“Better safe than sorry.” he said before grabbing a couple of the untouched bottles and immediately swallowing two of the pills. Thankfully the labels said they were not expired yet. Hopefully he didn't manage to catch 10 different diseases.

He looked about the room, examining the radio at first to see if he could get an outside signal for a call to help. No success as only one channel seemed active which Blake could hear the microphones outside slightly buzzing or pooling static from a broken wire setup. He quickly switched it off with an aggravated huff.

His attention was then turned toward the boxes of valuables. Empty wallets cleared of cards or anything cash worthy. The jewelry being items containing large diamonds, probably solid gold or silver chains. Even expensive name brand watches among the pile.

“Knoth needed money somehow for his drug dealers. Cash out peoples cards, use cash, trade in at pawn. Not like his people would care there cards were maxed out while living away from society with debt collectors.” Blake said to himself.

He continued looking about the room. Again being careful with what exactly he was touching or rubbing his hands against.

“score!” Blake spoke excitedly as he found a couple bottles of unopened water by the bed. Removing batteries to shove them into the bag around his waist, just barely managing to fit them. He moved onto searching the drawers managing to find more useful items.

“jack Daniels, that will definitely work.” he said, undoing the bloody bandages and quickly soaking them in a large splash of the alcohol. Hissing as they both burned as if on fire. As the pain came it was quickly washed over with relief at fully having the wounds cleaned out now. Getting another bandage out to soak it slightly in a few drops before wrapping his hands with it. As Blake finished tying off the bandage he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning quickly enough to just catch a glimpse of Val disappearing from view. He stood there frozen to watch the doorway to the empty room. Waiting to see if Val would show herself again. she definitely didn't want to be seen by him as she watched what he was doing.

“maybe val was attracted by the radio coming on, afraid Knoth may have risen from the grave. I would have checked too if I suddenly heard them switching on.” he thought. He wasn't so afraid of Val out in the day in town. It was at night when he couldn't see three feet in front of him or when he was forced into a small dark space with her when he was afraid. Val wasn't so intimidating when she was pretty much the only one left. No one to back her in a fight or jump in if she had trouble. Easier advantage in a cramped tunnel over open town space. Blake was sure that Val knew that too.

“i wonder if that's why she does nightly visits? Testing how close she can get to jump me in my sleep?” he thought as he returned to searching the room. He started looking underneath the furniture. Finding mainly dust bunnies or cobwebs. Something caught his eye under the bed however. A small perfect hole the size of a quarter. He reached over and pulled up by using the hole.

After using a bit of force he assumed maybe it was nothing. But the hole seemed so out of place for him. He grabbed the hole and wiggled it a bit. The board sliding in one direction before popping up. It surprised Blake as he fully moved the board out of the way. Seeing a small hidden space containing a small black book with a bunch of pens and nothing else. He took out the small book, crawling out from under the bed, to look inside. “looks like knoths diary.” Blake sighed as he saw all those stupid gospels he wrote. A bunch of references to the actual bible. Some of his daily writings repeating the general message of “the end is near!” on every ending page. He flipped toward the front of the book finding something new. something with the government raid on the last place Knoth and his disciples lived.

“ DEC, 10th 1969 me and what's left of my flock are moving to new lands, someplace safe from peering eyes of the enemy who wishes to stop me. The government has already taken so much, how much more do they want? Now they mite be taking my followers faith in me. I've been getting many questions I do not like being asked. Questions of why I didn't foresee the raid, why god let over half of us be dragged away. Why my promises of protection and peacefulness were broken.

I've been managing to keep them at bay through words of “its what god chooses”. Usually i am spoken to by the lord so that I know the correct answer to such questions. It seems god wants me to do this on my own. It must be a test to make sure I can keep my flock faithful. Even with Marta by my side I can only make them fear me for so long. Marta can handle a few men revolting, but a whole mob? I doubt that despite Martas words of reassurance she'll take care of them. I don't want my whole flock to abandon my words and leave me with only a minor few. Or have Marta hang them when we should really be sticking together in these trying times to the new lands.

While Marta is my right hand, I am missing a left. Sure there is always laird who follows me without question, but he isn't so well on the eyes and can be too aggressive on those questioning me. I need someone with a more delicate touch of speaking. Someone intimidating, but soft enough to be approached, and above all highly devoted to me. I have a feeling laird won't be around us for much longer either. He's been doing his best to hide the symptoms of sickness, but I see it. After we are settled in the new lands and I no longer need his help in overlooking the work I will send him away.”

Blake flipped through the next few pages, finding nothing else besides same old same old. Templegate founding celebration, town built, blah blah. For a moment Blake debated on burning the diary so some poor soul wouldn't get sucked into the lies and spread the evil of knoths gospel. It may have more interesting information though as it was so carefully hidden. Knoth wasn't exactly known for hiding his teachings so this book might be holding delicate information Knoth never wanted to see the light of day. looked to have pages written for each day going back over 42 years. Would be nice to know where all this madness grew from for curiosity's sake.

He shoved the book into his jacket pocket, aiming to read more later in the night. He determined he had gathered everything useful from the room. Heading out back to lynns grave. Blake stopped in his tracks at seeing multiple boot prints swarming all around the grave. All of them left by one person. Now Val was doing this on purpose. He let out a yelling growl in anger toward the sky since Val wasn't present for him to yell at.

“i am going to snap your ankles when I get the chance!!” he shouted generally into the air. Not entirely meaning it as he knew he wasn't in good condition to fight. He once again checked over the grave, finding again to be untouched although the footprints did get incredibly close to the graves edge. The prints also having a pattern of purpose. Leaving prints around the grave in a pacing motion before making rings spreading out from the grave and then turning random. However all the prints were kept within the exact 15 foot radius Blake never wanted them to be in.

he grumbled to himself about being sick of this as he scuffed all the prints away. Getting the help from a twiggy branch he used as a makeshift broom on the dirt. When he was done he tossed the branch off to the side, spotting Vals tracks heading off in a quick manner. He growled at being left exhausted from cleaning up prints again. This needed to stop, NOW, before Val took it any further. He was tired of being tired at fixing up the mess everyday. He followed after the tracks with the idea of where they lead coming into question. Would they lead to another mine? Another town building? Was Val purposely leading him somewhere? Did she even expect him to follow this time?

He came to a small cliff edge clearing able to spot Val immediately. He stopped as he saw her peering out from behind a tree, but not toward him. she was looking intently at something down the small cliff edge. He glared at the back of there head. Confused but not really caring about whatever crazy thing they were doing currently. “hey!” Blake snapped at Val. she turned to look at him as if knowing he was there the entire time. Shushing him with a calm expression.

“they're searching.” Val spoke in an ominous manner before turning back to whatever they were looking at. Blake stared confused at her before walking forward a bit. Making sure not to get too close to Val. He looked across the lower forest area till he saw the movement of a group wearing black uniforms.

“police officers?! there searching for me and lynn. our hotel probably called police since we never officially checked out.” Blake stated.

“that's not what there here for.” Val stated.

“what else would they be here for!?” Blake argued.

“strangers don't just find Templegate. They've been here before and have come to fulfill a personal goal. Just like everyone else who has gathered to Templegate.” Val answered. Blake huffed at that answer.

“well i am going to meet them and getting out of this dump.” Blake stated before turning back to find a way down.

“the outsiders are not friendly.” Val warned, turning to look toward Blake.

“what would you know?! You think everybody's the enemy!” he snapped angrily.

“I know Templegate better than you do. Their outsiders that shouldn't be here.” Val warned, When finished she turned away to head back toward the town.

“whatever. … lunatic.” Blake said with the last part only being in thought.

As Val left his sight he made his way down. Walking through the forest brush toward the group. As he drew closer he felt the need to be silent. Something felt wrong deep inside.

“pfft, Vals lunatic talk is getting to me. Its nothing. There looking for me and lynn, Vals probably afraid of being arrested. doesn't want me to rat on her to police. No where for Val to escape now. Why else would they possibly be here?!” Blake tried to reassure in his mind.

He was coming up upon the uniformed men. Getting ready to call out when he noticed the men weren't just in regular uniform. It was bulky, like a swat team uniform. Having patches on their shoulders of a strange logo with the word Murkoff underneath. Blake swallowed as he examined the group more closely. Alongside the swat uniforms they were carrying heavy military fire power in their hands. This was no longer seeming like just a search party. He moved up just enough so he could stand behind a nearby tree. Listening carefully as the group talked amongst themselves. Still unaware of Blakes existence.

#outlast 2 #blake langermann #val outlast

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