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nishayuro · 3 months

Note

thank you for doing my mentor Stanley request and I loved that you did it platonically. Idk if you’re still doing Stanley asks but can do Stanley being best friends with reader?

Dr.Stone Being Stanley Snyder’s Best Friend

A/N: I’m glad you loved it! And yes, feel free to send in more requests, even if its other characters~ Also, the amount of searches I made to get information for this. I went ham with this request T.T

Genre: Fluff

GN! Reader

You can read this as platonic or romantic, but the main point is you're each other's best friend.

Pre-Stone world

Childhood friends!! You both met at the playground, probably competing with each other on who can hold onto the monkey bars longer.

It was friendship at first sight. He loved your energy and you loved his.

You’re physically active like Stanley, so he’ll invite you to play different sports, which you two will eventually get really good at and then move onto the next sport.

One time you were both deciding what to do for the day, and you both said the same answer at the same time. He declared you as his best friend then and there.

Will introduce you to Xeno, and you three will become a trio. Being friends with Xeno means that you can join in on their experiments, which means that Stanley doesn’t have to spend half his time with each of you individually.

In high school, Stanley joined the football club, Xeno joined the science club and you joined the karate club.

Despite your different club activities, Xeno will always stay the most late, so you both go to the science club room to pick him up and drag him home.

When Stanley revealed his growing interest in marksmanship, you decided to come with him to the shooting range.

Each time you come with him, you develop a love for the sport as well.

Now both you and Stanley train with each other, sometimes going to a paintball ground just to train more.

When Stanley revealed to you and Xeno that he was thinking of enlisting, you also revealed that you’ve been thinking of it too.

Xeno said you both shared the same brain cell when it came to stuff like that, and that although he will be sad to see his two best friends leave for long, he supports your decisions.

So when the opportunity came, you and Stanley took it, and enlisted.

You both entered boot camp together and went through the training, and whenever you can, you both meet up and catch up with each other before another rigorous training happens.

You both also send letters to Xeno to keep him up to date, and he sends you both letters to keep you both updated as well.

You both excelled in the marksmanship training obviously, and you also excelled in hand to hand combat.

When you and Stanley eventually got into the actual military work, you were both assigned in the same unit.

And as time passed, you both climbed up the ranks, and you became his second in command.

He knows you can handle yourself, but in field ops when your unit is deployed, he’s protective of you. Although only subtle.

There was one time where a mission got so dangerous you almost got killed and only narrowly escaped death, I kid you not, you have never seen Stanley more afraid in your whole life.

After that, he’s become slightly more protective.

When your elite unit was called last minute to attend the DARPA expo, you had your small reunion with Xeno.

“Doesn’t explain why our elite unit got a last-minute invite. Something smells fishy, and we’re a long way from the ocean.” Stanley said, looking at Xeno. “Maybe it's the sushi they’re serving at the food stall” you joked, earning a chuckle from him. “It concerns this. Terrorism via unknown weapon…or an attack by a foreign power” Xeno stated. He went on and on about the sciency stuff of it, bringing back a nostalgic feeling of when you three hung out to do experiments.

“So… things hit by this new weapon…stand a chance of surviving…” Stanley started. “If they force themselves to stay awake?” you continued. As soon as you said that, an eerie feeling shot up your spine. The same feeling you feel on the battlefield. You look towards Stanley who you figured also felt the same feeling.

“TAKE COVER! GET BEHIND SOMETHING!” Stanley ordered, pushing you and Xeno down in a defensive position. “THERE’S PROBABLY NO DODGING THE PETRIFYING LIGHT, BUT…THE REAL BATTLE BEGINS AFTERWARD!” he shouted. “DON’T LET YOUR MINDS FADE!” you shout, adding to his instructions.

A green light engulfed your surroundings, and a feeling of paralysis hugged your person. The last thing you saw was Stanley looking towards you with a determined look. You’ve been through hell and back together. You’re not about to give up now.

Post-Petrification

You occupied your mind with anything, from recalling songs, movies, books, to even reminiscing on your childhood with Stanley and Xeno and your days in battle along with your best friend. Anything to keep your consciousness from fading.

You think about Stanley, you’re sure he’ll survive this. He’s had intense focus training as a sniper, and you yourself know just how strong his mental resilience is.

And when you feel the stone crack, and you see light for you don’t know how long. The first face you see is your best friend’s

You both helped Xeno build his colony, with him employing you both as his military’s commander and executive.

A good chunk of your unit was freed from the stone, so you both got into training again. After all, 3,700 years of inactivity takes a toll on one's body.

And when the kingdom of science arrived, you both were deployed, with you piloting the plane and Stanley with the machine gun.

“H-helloooo. Is anyone there?” a voice called out, Stanley got into shooting position and you in defensive position. “Whoa! Who are you?! I totally didn’t realise anyone was up there!” the man said. You jumped down from your position after seeing him non hostile towards you both and pat him down. After a short back and forth between him and Stanley. He was escorted towards your base to meet Xeno.

When Xeno gave the mission to assassinate the enemy’s science leader, Gen, the newcomer asked, “Great idea, brilliant-bay, truly… B-but can you pull it off?!” You and Stanley looked at each other briefly, and then looked towards him. “We can.” you both said in sync. Gen sweats, “How exactly?!” he asked again. “We can.” you both answered again. A more fierce look in your eyes.

“Mr. Gen! When Stan and N/N claim that they can get the job done, There’s no need to question it!” Xeno says, threatening the magician. “Because they can” he ends, with you and Stanley getting ready. “Get Luna, we’ll need her for this.” Stanley orders, I nod and get Luna to come with us, along with her lackeys.

As we walked towards the sniping location, Luna asked if we can trust Gen. “A person who trusts a person that just double crossed his team needs an appointment with a head doctor.” Stanley claims, “That’s just basic knowledge, Luna. Never trust anyone easily.” You added. Causing the girl to go on a spiel about her capabilities.

As Max and Carlos catch up, carrying the water bottles, Stanley orders Luna to not carry a thing, because her role is important. You all set up your gear, you hand Stanley a weather vane made by Xeno. Luna’s lackeys start asking questions, to which Stan answers that it affects the bullet’s velocity.

“I’ll snipe the enemy science leader… with a rifle made by Xeno’s science.” Stanley declared, getting into position. Luna starts doubting the plan, asking if you’re about to kill them. “Just their science leader” you answered, scouting the area more using binoculars. “Isn’t that kind of awful?” She asks, to which both you and Stanley sent her a harsh glare. “Just kidding! Just making sure those two wimps don’t try to chicken out of this! That’s part of my job!” She exclaims in a panic, to which you chuckled at.

You tell Luna her role, about being Stanley’s yardstick and help her get into place and out towards their boat while you wait for her to signal where Dr.Taiju is. “Of course miss Luna snuck in no problem! The bad guys are probably head over heels for her!” Carlos exclaims, “Curse Stanley for exposing Miss Luna to danger like this!” Max adds, “Would you two shut it? Any more loud noise could give away our location!” you whisper-shouted, which made the two silent.

“Heh, reminds me of old times” Stanley said, eyes still focused on his scope. “Tell me about it, it’s kinda nostalgic in a dark way.” you replied. Your role was to scout out the other members of the enemy team to see what their abilities could be, as well as weapons or assets they might have if ever a battle ensues. You also have great lip reading skills, so you’re also trying to “eavesdrop” on their conversation.

You saw a few of the warriors on deck, taking note of them in case you’re forced into close quarter combat. You also deducted who the captain of the ship is, which is valuable information for later. “They’ve got a lot of warriors, hmm?” you muttered, to which Stanley responded, “We might have to face close quarter combat when we take over their ship. Be careful, they seem to know their weapons well.”

“I have experience with disarming spear type weapons, the karate club loved playing around with sticks when in our downtime. Also, these gears Xeno made us are no joke. I had Jack go up against me in knife combat and not even a graze hit me.” you replied, earning a chuckle.

“I wonder how long we’ll be here…? Carlos asked. “For as long as it takes for Luna to do her job.” you answer, scaring the two. “Which one is he? Which one is Dr.Taiju…? The junior science genius?” Stanley mutters, You move your sight towards Luna, who looked like she was analysing the crowd, and then suddenly looked flustered. “What is up with that girl…” you mumbled. Still observing her movements and interactions. “Why does she look so shocked about everything, what the heck?” you added.

You noticed she went inside the ship, the waiting game continues until night. Max and Carlos fell asleep down below, which leaves just you and Stanley doing reconnaissance. “As much as i’m used to waiting hours on end for the perfect shot, she could be faster than this.” Stanley states, “You’re telling me. They’re having ice cream right now. This girl is just enjoying her time.” you sneer. “Think they’re tryna bribe her for info?” he asked. “Most definitely. I don’t think she’ll say that a gun is aimed towards them right now though, or else she won’t be this ‘smooth operator’ girl she claims” you laugh. “And members wouldn’t be on and off deck if they knew, gotta give props to her for not spoiling the plan,” he adds.

“Can you tell what they’re talking about?” He asks after a while. “Nope, can’t see their mouths” you answer. “Bummer,” he replied. You observed Luna a bit more, and then the others who were out on deck. ‘Something feels off…’ you thought. Luna then starts walking towards the group, a little hesitant. You see her pointer finger up, you and Stan wait for her to point somewhere, however, she just stuck both fingers up her nostrils. “What the fuck is wrong with her?” you muttered, with Stanley letting out his own irritated sounds.

You noticed she faced your direction, adjusting your binoculars to get a better read when you see her mouth words. “Po-ssi-ble… friend… of… Xe-no’s… Guy… named… Sen-ku… Seeen-kuu…” you relay to both Stanley and Xeno using your comms. “Scout the others, i’ll focus on Luna” Stan says, to which you respond with an okay and they look around. You notice the captain looking around, and then at your direction, to which your eyes widen.

“Captain’s eyeing our location.” you say, “okay… looks like you’re Dr.Taiju!” Stanley says, about to shoot before Xeno shouts through comms to not shoot, explaining that Taiju was a decoy, and then revealing that the real target was the guy named Senku. Xeno then starts to describe the target, to which you scout. “Three people fit, one left, two right.” you say.

“A sniper! We’ve got a Sniper!” the captain’s yell was heard even at your location. Causing you and Stanley to be on alert. You saw Luna look this way. “Hello, Senku Ishigami.” Stanley says, you see the guy duck below the railings to hide. “But that actually tells me right where you are.” he mumbles. “Xeno, last chance, so I gotta ask… you sure you want him dead?” Stanley asks, a few seconds pass, before Xeno gives a ‘yes’, and then Stanley shoots.

Stanley jumps down, you wait a while and see the team hovering around someone, and you see Senku’s mouth bloody. “Job’s done.” Stanley said, "You jump down as well, “The enemy science leader is dead.” you continued.

You two hang back to keep watch.” Stanley orders. “But what about Miss Luna?!” the two exclaimed. “Leave her, help her, your choice. Not my problem” Stanley answers, grabbing the equipment from you and walking away. “She seemed to be enjoying life on their ship, hehe, although I don’t know how that’ll fair once they realise she’s a spy.” You added.

You and Stanley walk back towards the base, leaving the two alone. “Gotta say, it’s been a while since we got deployed like that.” Stanley says, removing the head gear of his armour. “Right? Kinda missed doing recon with you. My last recon back in the old world was unbearable. The sniper kept flirting with me the whole time even after I told him to shut up.” You complained. “Oh yeah, you told me about that, heh. I gave the guy extra duty and a hard time at training after that stunt.” He revealed. “Hah! Serves him right!” You exclaimed.

Your bond with your best friend might be weird, or unconventional to some. But this was how you both grew up. Be it playing on the monkey bars in the park, or staying still for hours on end to get the perfect shot, you loved every second of your friendship. And even in this new age, even in Xeno’s rule, you know you both would never exchange each other for anything. You’ll both help Xeno reach his dream, because he’s helped you two reach yours.

masterlist

navigation

#dr.stone #dr.stone x reader #stanley snyder #stanley snyder x reader #stanley snyder headcanon #dr.stone headcanon #dcst #dr.stone fanfic

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merbear25 · 2 months

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86 + 39 for GerIta please?🙏

86: I didn't mean to turn you on

39: Survival/Wilderness Fic

a/n: I haven't written for character x character before, so I hope it's okay!

CW: SFW but extremely suggestive, GerIta

Just between us

Times of war were always trying. Having to work their way through Africa was proving to be the most draining, especially for Germany who was struggling to adapt to the sweltering heat. However, even though the day light brought boiling temperatures, nightfall came with its own harshness―freezing temperatures.

Despite having brought the necessary means of setting up camp, the frigid wind still managed to cut through the tent, leaving those within it to shudder at the unpleasant bite of cold.

Germany had barely been able to cope with the boiling heat earlier that day, but now the dried sweat had felt as if it'd turned into frost. Although Italy had been warning him that the shift in weather would be extreme, he failed to take his warnings seriously. In hindsight, it should have been obvious―Italy was used to such climates. Being as stubborn as he was though, he chose to let himself wait out the long period in the desert, despite how miserable it may be.

This night in particular was harsh; the chilling winds had picked up and felt like lashes against his poorly covered body. Such abrasions woke him up and made it impossible to fall back asleep. Looking over at Italy, he envied his ability to sleep damn near anywhere. His light huffs and stirring indicated that a bad dream was underway.

A nightmare would only cause that night to be more troubling―his screams and cries would undoubtedly bring on a whole new kind of pain. Germany decided it'd be best to hold him, practically smothering the terror out of Italy's dreams.

Cuddling close to him, Italy felt warm, much warmer than he thought he would. He couldn't help nuzzling closer for more warmth. The chilled touch of Germany's body stirred Italy awake, though.

Faintly, he asked, "What's wrong, Germany?"

"Nothing. You were having a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

It wasn't going to be that simple for him. In spite of the cool touch, Germany's body felt nice against his. Feeling Germany's light breaths puff against his hair was oddly comforting too. Shifting his legs, his feet were gently placed against Germany's calves. Without thinking, Germany's body eased in closer to Italy's, greedily soaking up each bit of body head radiating from him.

A meager push against Germany's pelvis was all it took. Burning bright, Germany froze in his current state: too embarrassed to stay put but too flustered to move.

The sudden desire poking against his backside stopped Italy from continuing his restlessness. After a moment of silence, he broke it with, "S-sorry, I didn't mean to turn you on."

Throwing himself off of Italy, Germany protested against that ever being the case. Even though he'd clearly shown how upset he was by Italy's comment, he didn't leave the shared bed. Instead he turned over on his other side and attempted to fall back asleep.

Although he felt a twinge of guilt from bringing out Germany's bashful side, he didn't want the physical closeness to fade entirely. Hesitantly, he inched closer to his back, and gently rested his forehead against it.

#hetalia #aph hetalia #hetalia germany #hetalia italy #gerita #aph germany #aph italy #hetalia axis powers #hetalia world series #hetalia world stars #hetalia world twinkle #hws hetalia #hws

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blackjackkent · 1 month

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Tiefling party time!

I really do feel like we could have cleaned up the giant blood sigil left from Rakha's reign of terror before inviting guests over, but what do I know?

Rakha is definitely REALLY nervous about this whole situation. She remembers when Alfira came and what happened to her, and this is way more guests now. The beast is stirring irritably in her brain at the flood of relative strangers and she knows, all too well, that she is capable of slipping tonight just as she did then.

So she keeps to herself, at least at first, which is how she ends up on the beach at the edge of camp with Wyll.

She didn't entirely mean to follow him, at least not consciously... but she's aware that she feels the strain in her head relax when she realizes he's there. Somewhere along the line, of all the members of their little band, he became the point where she feels the most at ease - he answers her questions without judgment. He has guided her first fumbling attempts to stand against the beast's hunger.

Even her trust in Lae'zel, firm as it is, does not quite bring the same sense of... comfort.

For a little while, she stands and watches him silently. He seems lost in thought, staring out at the slowly rolling surface of the river. Finally she takes a step forward; her boot knocks against a small pebble, sending it clattering along the rocky beach into the water, and he jumps, spinning around.

"Agh. Hells," he mutters sheepishly. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice I was gone."

She raises an eyebrow. Why? she wonders. Does he think his presence insignificant? Does he think she thinks his presence insignificant?

"Are you all right?" she asks quietly.

He smiles ruefully. "Oh. I'm deeply proud of you. A touch less so of myself."

She stares at him. Proud? Of all the things she expected him to say, that was not one of them. She has come far enough in the time since the nautiloid to know that there is a battle to be fought within herself - that there is more to her than the beast if she is willing to find it. But she has not come nearly far enough to believe that battle is being won, not yet.

But he says he is proud of her. And the fact makes her feel... strange. Warm. As if she has crossed some milestone she was not aware of reaching for.

Thank you, she wants to say - but then she registers the second half of his comment, and gives him a questioning look. Not proud of yourself? Why?

(A/N: Look at his poor sad eyes. :( Wyll needs a big hug stat.)

"In truth, I don't feel in a festive mood," he says with a slight shrug. "And I didn't want to cast a grey cloud over the night."

She nods, thinking he means the recent revelations about his father - which would be understandable enough - but he keeps talking. "I'm a devil. I love the people from the grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays."

His face twists with sudden anguish, and he turns away, looking out at the water. "You don't want a devil at your party," he mutters bitterly. "Horns this sharp will pop the balloons, you see. And the guests won't take kindly to scars quite so monstrous."

Ah. She listens in silence, taking in these new details, filing them away. Wyll's transformation makes him like those who drew the teeth-lings into the Hells in the first place. It makes him look like their enemy. Like many people's enemies.

But not like hers. "You don't unsettle me," she says. It's a blunt statement, matter-of-fact. "You know that." There is much worse in me than anything you have ever shown me. And you have looked at me without blinking.

His head lifts and he looks at her intently for a moment. She can't quite read the expression in his eyes, but his voice is low and heavy with some sudden intensity. "If only half the world had half the heart you do," he says softly.

There would be nothing left living, I think, Rakha thinks with her own surge of bitterness. But she doesn't say it aloud, because she recognizes the compliment, even if she doesn't agree with it. What does he see in her, that he keeps saying these things?

And why does he see so little in himself?

For a moment they both stand there, eyes locked; the air feels suddenly charged with electricity. She finds herself wishing, out of nowhere, that she could show him what Gale showed her the other night - the depth of the Weave, the peace of it. The magic he carries is something very different, something darker, tainted by Mizora... but perhaps he could still channel it as she did...

The thought of the magic connecting them, of the intimacy that went with that bond, makes her feel suddenly unstable in a way that she can't define. For a moment she is almost certain one of those wild surges of magic is going to burst through her without warning and set the whole place ablaze.

But she holds his eyes with hers, and though her heart has suddenly started to thump like thunder... her magic calms, and the beast quiets, and she simply breathes, and waits, and hears the water lap gently against the shore by their boots.

He draws back suddenly, a brittle smile flickering onto his lips, and the moment breaks. "But off with you. This is your day! Have a dance. Enjoy the music."

She looks over her shoulder, back towards the party, and she clicks her tongue with a disinterested expression. No. She feels much more comfortable here with him, and perhaps that was why she walked this direction in the first place. "Can't you tell why I really followed you out here?" she says, with a gruff tone unaccountably laced with a sense of indistinct embarrassment.

He blinks, snorts. "Clearly Mol has put you up to stealing my britches so you can turn them into a flag for her gang." A pause, and then he adds, "Not that I'd necessarily object." His lips twitch in a slight, cautious grin.

She laughs softly. It's a sound she's heard so rarely from herself that it startles her - hoarse, low in her throat... but amused. "Nope," she says. "Guess again."

His grin widens. "Let me think. Why are you really here?" He snaps his fingers, coming to a dramatic conclusion. "You must be Volo in disguise, out here to harangue me for some tales of the Frontiers." He leans back on his heels and shakes his head in mock-sorrow. "What a cruel disguise! My nerves started hammering the second I thought *she* was the one looking for me."

It takes her a moment to parse this joke. She, meaning me. Ah... The idea that she would have that effect on him, after everything she's done... it doesn't really make any sense, even as he's articulating it. "Keep trying," she says, and her voice feels suddenly thick, unwieldy.

He hesitates; she sees his cheeks suddenly darken and his eyes flick away from her, the playful air fading abruptly. "It's a long shot," he says softly. "But maybe you've grown fond of me. Gods know I've grown fond of you."

There it is. Spoken out loud - by him, because she had no words for it. Fond. It feels... inadequate, but also correct. At the least, it encompasses something of the sense of safety and guidance he is able to instill in her.

She remembers the hectic, ferocious night with Lae'zel - which was also built on something of the same foundation. But this is not where this is leading, she can already tell. This is something different, something she has no words for.

"Maybe just a little," she mutters.

He smiles. Perhaps he registers something of her uncertainty, because his tone lightens deliberately. "Then we share a similar affliction, for I've grown fond of you too. Though I can't say I've earned the honor. I haven't even managed to kill one measly devil. I'm hardly a prime catch."

(A/N: We have the option for a persuasion check to ask for a kiss here. It's honestly more verbally direct than Rakha feels just yet, I think - an impulsive kiss immediately without the words would feel more likely - and I checked and it's just the one kiss anyway and then he sends you back off to the party regardless. So we're going with the more slow-burn setup here.)

She snorts dismissively. "You don't need to be the 'Blade of Frontiers' for me. Just be yourself." She respects his cause as one of the things on which she can model herself in the battle against the darkness in her head. But she has little interest in judging him for whatever ideals he has stood up for himself. He has done her that credit in return many times over already.

He shakes his head sharply. "The Blade *is* my best self," he insists. "On my best days, I've even lived up to the name."

There is something else he wants to say, she can tell - but he shakes his head again, visibly putting whatever it is aside in favor of a firm, sudden smile. "Now - you've got a party to get back to," he says firmly. "Don't forget - tonight is about you."

He draws closer for a moment, rests a hand carefully against her arm, and his smile softens. "There will be another time for us," he says, his voice low. And then, before she can respond, he turns and walks away down the beach.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #eyyyy wheels in motion :D #like (unintentionally) with karlach we're not really getting to the deep romance stuff till act 2 i guess lol #tbh i've heard wyll's romance is a little lacking in content compared to some of theothers so maybe i will have to write some missing scene #as we go along #but i am pleased with this post as a starting point c:#tbh rakha is going to take a while to sort her feelings out regardless so it works out

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zhongrin · 1 year

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give your moots a valentine's day ship?

in my head yall are spending valentines with these people:

@abyssmal-skies is spending valentine's day with ayaka! the himegimi is shyly giving her spiked handmade chocolate and spoiling her all day with totally not overly personalized gifts and lap pillows as she smirks smugly at the rest of the harem watching in the distance!

@ansy-tea is spending valentine's day with dainsleif! more specifically after being rescued and snuck out of their very... uh... demanding... work(?), he's taking them out on a picnic and stargazing <3

@haithamuse is spending valentine's day with al haitham! he's pulling you to a totally-not-a-date right after class on the pretext of a study session. wdym it was planned? no, he totally didn't reserve a table at puspa cafe just for the two of you.

@silkjade is spending valentine's day with kaveh! candlelit dinner, a thousand roses, rose petals galore - he's treating you like the queen that you are and he'll make sure the whole sumeru knows about it :p

@ainescribe is spending valentine's day with zhongli! wine glass in one hand and your lover's hand in the other, the two of them are having a nice homemade meal in their abode <3

@silentmoths is spending valentine's day with capitano! snezhnaya might be cold but with capitano's huge mantle wrapped around them and his lap being moth's throne, it's safe to say that they won't be getting cold anytime sooner!

@dustofthedailylife is spending valentine's day with ayato! did you know that the kamisatos has a private villa? no? well, rumors has it the commissioner only reveals this secret to people they really, really trust... and it seems like he's last seen boarding a carriage with a certain lover of his and won't be returning for a few days....

@kurikurikurisu is spending valentine's day with al haitham! after temporarily evicting kaveh and taking a vacation from his new job, he' is now your live-in househusband for a whole week. enjoy seeing him cooking you breakfasts in the morning with his apron ;)

@watatsumiis is spending valentine's day with zhongli! he's bringing you to the marketplace and buying everything that catches your eyes. no buts. no ifs. no hows <3

@mixed-kester is spending valentine's day with kaeya! after earning the right to monopolize you for the whole day, he's settled on granting all of your wishes for the day. yes, he'll gladly wear a maid outfit if you want him to-

@daydreamslug is spending valentine's day with childe! he'd close the northland bank for the day if it means being able to spend a whole 24 hours with you on this special day! roses? bought. chocolates? check. gifts hidden all over your house? done. unlimited kisses and headpats and lap pillows from him? just say when you want it and he'll provide!

@dawndelion-winery is spending valentine's day with al haitham! after successfully luring acco with his boobs pecs muscles superior intelligence, he's taking them out on a little camping date. is this a ploy to make them stare at him while he's chopping wood? ............... maybe.

@leftdestiny-posts is spending valentine's day with cyno! he's leaving the itinerary of the day to you! you want to eat outside? he'll gladly follow and pay for it. you want to go shopping? he'll get you the things you want and help you haggle (read: glare silently until the seller lowers their price)!

@the-travelling-witch is spending valentine's day with childe! after terrorizing the poor liyue harbor residents for a whole year, everyone exhales in relief (save for a certain neighboring couple) when the couple departs for snezhnaya. holly spends a whole week with tortellini's family and promptly impresses her mother-in-law with the way she magics the kitchen appliances as she cooks for the whole house.

@sheepmc is spending valentine's day with zhongli! just a whole day cuddling in bed. yes, cuddling. just existing and enjoying each other's presence. no dirty thoughts here, pure thoughts only-

misery is spending valentine's day with zhongli! it's a whole day full of activities for you two! morning hike, picnic, resting by a stream, sightseeing nature on your trek back home, being treated like an absolute VIP on liuli pavilion, and ending with being in each other's arms!

lycoris is spending valentine's day with her four short kings! four men missing from their post in a day to tend to a small fluffy little bunny <3

and lastly, i'll be spending valentine's day with (surprise surprise) zhongli <3 we'll be closing the teashop and going on a little staycation in qingce village for a few days! fingers crossed he'll like the special homemade chocolates i made for him (i mixed in some cor lapises and noctilous jades inside since he mentioned liking the two minerals the most)...

*drops to floor breathless* i... i'm missing a lot of people i know i'm sorry hskdjshdlsjdls these are just names from the top of my head ;;;

#rin answers #rin selfships #zhongrin

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bastardblvd · 11 months

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Hope this is alright i just kinda stumbled across this blog because of kendall. And like how i stumbled across the blog i think i kinda stumbled my way into grimetown and you’d think i’d be just some sitting duck but oh no -reads crumpled up paper that was spat out by the wheel- i somehow stumbled my way into being a cult leader. Just some unassuming looking pretty boy? Are they a boy? I dont give straight answers to most people in town to mess with them and instead reply with things like “yes” if asked if im a man or woman or “only the dark one knows for sure”

Which brings us back to a the whole cult leader thing. The cult that probably just started as a joke for me. Because people would ask questions about the rocks i collect and all the candles and id pull out a joke about them being for the ones that dwell in the woods or some shit and talking about it guiding my life… and then more people show up to hear me talk about it?? And then some more and then theyre offering me money and somehow we end up occupying a decrepit old apartment complex and i give sermons and life advice that’s half bullshit half well meaning. At least i dont gotta work fast food in this slimy town. Never expected to have followers, especially ones who think my cranky cat is some sort of messenger from the otherside and only i can understand him. Truth be told he’s just a stray that i raised from a kitten.

WELL HELLOOOO NEW RESIDENT... it seems like you've made some enemies out of grimetown national park rangers!megumi fushiguro and yuuta okkotsu... they've been trying hard to make the park a more inviting place for grimetown's residents, and it's been hard enough grappling the freeloading bear-man, his freeloader dog-son that thinks he's a wolf, and the four-armed cryptid that terrorizes the camp cabins at night. the last thing they needed was to stumble across a ritual set-up straight out of a horror film.

anyways, i'm sure that cranky cat of yours could be useful in getting on their good side. maybe you'll come to a mutual agreement – they'll let you continue... whatever it is you're hosting on park grounds, but you have to do it in the form of a guided nature walk. but they insist on chaperoning these walks, insisting they need to make sure you aren't spreading misinformation to the park goers, totally not because they want to spend more time with you... maybe in the end, you'll convince them both to join your cult?

#stepdaddy merc #rossithepixie #enemy matchups #when asked about your gender you respond 'what are any of us really?'#HGJKFDSL #📍🏞️ GRIMETOWN NATIONAL PARK

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hmserebusadjacent · 1 year

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Friends?

James Fitzjames/Izzy Hands (Aromantic Asexual Izzy Hands)

Developing friendship, fluff, comfort, reassurance

Our Flag Means Death/AMC's The Terror crossover

A reworking of the "Are we brothers, Francis?" scene from Episode 8, Terror Camp Clear. If you type the quotation into YouTube, the full scene can be viewed.

Word count: 540

Fic link: Friends? - Horatio_Hands - Our Flag Means Death (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

"You don't have to let your past define you."

Izzy swept his hand wide, indicating not only the beach but the whole fucking world.

"People reinvent themselves everyday to deal with their own issues."

Then Izzy planted a hand on his own chest, with James following the movement.

"I don't let my past define me because that is not who I am. I am myself first, and that is the way it should be."

The older man pointed at James's chest, right over his heart.

"That dictates who you are. Not your family who didn't give a shit enough to know you."

Izzy decided to be brave then. He closed the distance between them, that soft sand crunching underneath his boots. He put his hands on James's biceps, squeezing them and feeling their warmth.

"Find yourself again if you want, or don't. Just don't let it bring you down to their level."

James's arms tensed underneath Izzy's hands as the man breathed in and out slowly. He maintained eye contact with Izzy all the while, just breathing. On his last big breath out, the noise became a sigh that sounded like a damn of emotion had broken in the man. One that had been on the verge of breaking for a long time, but instead of creating a gushing waterfall instead became a steady, babbling brook. The look in James's gaze transformed before Izzy's eyes, from a kind of grief to something nearing shared kinship.

"You're right, Izzy. Of course you're right. You always are."

He offered Izzy a sideways sort of smile, bringing up his own hands to grab hold of what he could reach of Izzy's arms. Bridging the gap between them.

Izzy felt his own eyes widen of their own accord.

"I thank you for the gift of your insight."

Now James looked unsure, and it was an emotion that Izzy was beginning to want to wash away from his face forever.

"Are we friends, Izzy? Is that what this all means?"

Their journey to this point had been a tough one. Izzy had assumed James was some posh twat who would run away from the pirate life within a week. But he hadn't. James had stayed, learned and ingratiated himself into the crew with an alacrity that amazed Izzy. If he was being honest, Izzy wanted to think of James as his friend. Maybe in time even more than friends but…

"I'm not sure I know what that means. But I would like to try, if you would."

James positively beamed.

"It would be my pleasure, Iz."

Oh. Iz was new. Iz was interesting. Iz kind of liked it.

"Good."

Silence settled between them for a beat until Izzy realised he was still being held. He dropped his arms quickly but efficiently, feigning the need to tighten the draws on his sleeves.

"We should head back to the ship, find the others."

James nodded, quiet but calm. He offered Izzy a smile before beginning to walk back the way they had come, a definite spring in his step that wasn't there earlier. Adorable.

"Jem", Izzy mumbled to himself with a half sort of smile as he began to trek back and follow in the man's footsteps.

#izzy hands #izzy fucking hands #izzy hands era #izzy hands our flag means death #our flag means death #amc's the terror #the terror amc #james fitzjames #jamesfitzjamestime #aro ace izzy hands my beloved #fitzhands

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tumbleassbitch · 2 years

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another lost soul (letting my instinct take control) | The Quarry | TravisxLaura

Characters: Laura Kearney, Travis Hackett, The Hackett family Word count: 2,573 Summary: Max dies in the cellar. This changes everything. Chapter 1/?

June 25th, 2022

It was the same argument they’d been having for months.

“Look, after you’re done with college, maybe we can move further upstate. Or Maine?”

“I thought we’ve already talked about this,” Laura said exasperatedly. “You know I’ve wanted to move to the West Coast my whole life. ”

The dark road flickered past in broken fragments of moonlight and the dim light of Max’s headlights. This stretch of the pavement wasn’t as well kept as the rest of the drive, and the bumpy ride acted like a sifter against her flagging confidence.

So much for getting to camp tonight.

“Well, yeah, but we could always move for just a shorter gap?” Max suggested. “I mean, it would be nice to get out of the house, get our own place.”

She felt his eyes on her. The frustration that had been building up bled away, making the pit of dread in her chest all the more obvious.

Things hadn’t been going… great lately. Something had come between them over this last semester, and though the promise of summer had kept her head above water, it was obviously a mirage rather than the safe harbor she’d hoped.

Hackett’s Quarry was looking like their best shot. Some summer camp in the middle of bumfuck nowhere didn’t sound like the most romantic place to be, no. But it would provide them a chance to reconnect beyond the quick trips on weekends and school holidays.

It would give her a chance to make up her mind.

“I really don’t want to spend the extra cash for a downpayment and safety deposit on a place that we won’t stay for more than a year,” she said.

“More than a year? ” He asked incredulously, raising a brow.

“Um, yeah?”

“And then, what?”

For fuck’s sake.

“Then literally anywhere but here,” she said irritatedly.

“I just- I just don’t understand why you don’t want to stay in New York!”

Laura bit back the urge to scream.

“Honestly, Max? If you have to ask, then I don’t think you really know me at all.”

The car fell with a tense silence that she almost regretted being the cause of . Almost.

Max’s free hand, the one that used to rest on her thigh when they drove to ice cream dates and the theater near their old high school, now fumbled awkwardly in his lap. For a moment, it looked like he was going to reach out, but thought better of it.

“I just didn’t realize you wanted to get out of here so soon after graduating.”

“Well, that’s just one scenario, right?” she said softly, casting a glance over. “Once you hear back from St. Lawrence, we’ll have a better idea of what the future holds.”

Shadows flitted across his face like a flock of birds. He fell unusually silent, and the only sound between them was the light pattering of his freckled fingertips against the steering wheel.

The sudden break was a good opportunity to get a better focus on the map. Which…

“Max,” Laura started.

His voice cracked with a dryness that hadn’t been present before. “What?”

“We’re totally lost.”

---

June ?, 2022

Terror.

It drips through her veins like molasses, sickly sweet and heavy against the utter confusion and displacement beating in her chest.

Laura tries to move, to no avail. Everything is weighed down by an unnatural gravity. Her hands don’t feel like her own.

Actually, shit. She can’t even feel her hands.

A groan tries to tumble its way out, but she chokes out a rasp instead. Fuck, that hurt.

Where is she? Did she hit her head in the cellar…?

Where’s Max?

It takes everything within her, but she opens her eyes—

—and comes face to face with a pair of scuffed black shoes.

The sound of a radio crackles above. “T. Are you still on the Loop?”

“No, I had to check on something at the station,” a familiar voice replies. “I’m heading back out right now. Over.”

He begins to walk away, and a renewed sense of desperation brings newfound awareness to her bones.

“M..ax,” she tries. Something’s very wrong.

The footsteps pause.

“Where's Max?” she adds roughly.

No response. Whoever it was continues on, and the sound of their heavy footfall quickly drifts away with the finality of a slammed door.

...

The next time she wakes, it is with an acrid taste in her throat and a deep, unsettling realization: she’s in a cell.

That much is certain-- the pale light of morning calls into contrast the metal of her cage. Cold, unforgiving ground bites into her cheek. Beneath the lingering touch of whatever caused her to pass out, her body aches in a steady, dull thrum.

"Shit," she groans.

“Morning, ma’am.”

She freezes. Ma’am. No fucking way.

Laura pushes herself up on unsteady hands, peering up at a face she thought she’d never see again.

“...Officer?”

He's set up camp on a chair in front of her cell, looking right at home in the gloom. Even in daylight, the shadows cling to him.

This is the creepy cop that got them back on the road again last night, the one who insisted on wiping her dirty face with a handkerchief, the one who…

Who what? The space behind her eyes throbs.

“Sir, is Max alright? The man you saw me with last night?”

The sheriff sneers back. “Shut up.”

“ Please, I need to know-”

The keys jingle at his side when he leans forward, “Shut. Up. Do you understand where you are?”

Oh, fuck you.

“On a disgusting floor?” she asks sweetly.

“In police custody,” he continues on with an air of long-suffering. “Meaning, you’re not the one asking questions, here.”

The chill of fear settles in her chest. This is not the time to have an attitude, chastises a voice that sounds like her mother. This wasn’t the time nor place to suddenly lose a brain cell and start a fight with a cop.

Especially one that's locked her up.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she replies, pushing for an edge of genuinity.

He assesses her for a moment, and whatever he finds, she only hopes it’s in her favor.

Finally, “Name.”

She pauses. “Laura Kearney.”

“Really?” he asks, brow cocked.

“Um, yes?”

“That’s not what your damn license says.”

“I go by my mother’s maiden name.”

His eyes are impossibly dark. Laura does not flinch. She refuses to.

“Did I ask for your mother’s maiden name?"

Okay, fair. ”My legal name is Brandt.”

“Why did you use Kearney, then?”

“My father is a murderer,” Laura says evenly.

He narrows his eyes at her, marking something in the notepad in his lap.

There’s no point in hiding it. Anyone and everyone around Oneida county, hell, the whole fucking state would recognize the name if they paid any attention to the news. Maybe they wouldn’t remember why they’ve heard it before, but, well. That’s what the internet is for.

And he’s a fucking cop. If he didn’t know it before, he sure would’ve figured it out sooner rather than later.

“What’s the name of your traveling companion?”

There doesn’t seem to be any point to asking for basic questions if he’s already checked through their bags, but whatever. “Max Brinly. Look, can I just know if he’s alright?”

He ignores her. “Why were you out at Hackett’s Quarry last night?”

“We’re camp counselors, like we said.”

“Oh, bullshit,” he says with blatant impatience. “Counselors aren’t due until today.”

“We know! We figured we’d just… show up early, go to camp.”

“And why didn’t you go to the Harbinger’s Motel like I told you to?”

“Because we’re fucking broke!” Laura snapped. The permanent glower on his face deepened, and she quickly backtracked. “No, look, I’m sorry. I’m just, really freaking out here because I can’t remember anything after we showed up at camp. Please… I need to know that Max is okay .”

By this point, her head is throbbing and she winces, digging her palms into her temple. The wooden chair creaks as the officer shifts in his seat. The silence between them grows.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asks with a different edge to his voice.

‘Are you sure you called?’

‘Yeah…. Well, I left a voicemail.’

“The… camp was dark. Everything was locked down." She ignores the muttered, “No shit,” and digs past the dread beginning to pool in the back of her mind.

“So you broke in?” he asks, brow raised.

That’s right, the cellar.

‘Max, there's someone down here!’

"Oh my god…" Laura trails off breathlessly. "Oh my god, someone was trapped."

He stiffens, leaning in closer.

“Someone…?"

They got the cellar doors open. She’s always took no small amount of pride in being self-sufficient. That's why she went downstairs first.

“You saw someone, ma’am?” he presses over her racing thoughts.

There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, if she ignored that it was the second time that night that she clearly hallucinated a person. Nobody was there. Just a creepy old storage room, and a bloody collar…

‘Hey… It’s been kind of a night, you know? Let’s just get to the motel. We can come back here first thin-’

His words had been cut short with a gurgle. She had barely processed the grotesque silhouette before it lunged again, cleaving Max’s head off his shoulders in one swipe. It hit the dirty, cracked cement with a dull thump.

“No, he’s not,” she forces out. The words land barely past her lips.

Across from her, the officer sits painfully still. She crawls forward, straining against the bars.

“He’s not dead. Is Max dead? Is he dead? ”

His eyes confirm it.

“No, no, no- what the fuck! ”

Laura twists to the left and violently retches, pure bile hitting the stone with a wet slap. Droplets splash up and latch onto her skin. The pure agony and regret is an ache so great that she curls in on herself. Her memory floods back in a detached symphony. Screams and gunshots, if only, if only, playing over in a distorted melody.

If only she didn’t sign them up to be counselors at a shitty summer camp, if only she didn’t insist that they go and check things out in the weird storm cellar. If they just went to the hotel.

Max would still be here. A sob lodges itself in her throat, clogged with spit and bitterness.

If, if, if.

Max is- was good. He didn’t deserve that. No one did.

The sheriff remains silent throughout her breakdown, which is how she forgets he’s even there until he stands.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to put your hands through the bars.”

She looks up, blinking uncomprehendingly.

“Ms. Kearney,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that’s softened from before. “Stand up.”

Like a predator, his eyes don’t leave hers. This isn’t over yet, Laura, she tells herself. Get up.

Only as she’s standing does she realize how stiff her clothes are, crusted over in things she refuses to consider. A sharp pain throbs up her stomach at the thought.

He cuffs her swiftly, unlocking the cell door and locking it behind him. There isn’t much space for her to go, but she still backs up till her knees hit the edge of her cell cot. With a grunt, he crouches and produces the same white handkerchief he used on her the night before, swiping up what little content her stomach expelled.

She puked yesterday, too. She remembers now. After it happened.

Fuck.

Her grief-stricken mind dimly notes how tall the man before her is. Crouching over a puddle of bile, lips pursing in disgust, his head still almost reaches her chest. This whole situation is so insane, it’s almost laughable if it weren’t paved with devastation. She exhales a shaky breath.

The Sheriff of North Kill eyes her, then. “C’mon,” he says as he gets back up to his feet, pocketing the soiled handkerchief. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

---

The water’s warm, at least. That was unexpected.

The thin bar of soap handed to her beyond the divider wall will definitely dry her skin out, but it cuts through the grime like a knife. Her fingernails are caked in soap from her claw-like grip, and she fiercely scrubs down every inch of skin and scalp several times over till her skin is pink and raw.

Get rid of last night. Erase it from her body. She watches with detached fascination as blood and dirt, her second skin, flows gently down the drain.

There he goes. It’s a terrible, morbid thought that still rings true, and she bites her lip hard enough to draw blood. Max is gone, and her life is irrevocably changed. The cop must think she has something to do with it; otherwise, why is she in a holding cell?

She squeezes her eyes shut against the second onslaught of tears that threaten to erupt. No more. She’s in a dangerous spot and literally has no one on her side, save for Max’s sister and parents.

The shower abruptly shuts off. A towel emerges from the other side of the divider. “Dry yourself,” he calls over unnecessarily.

She takes it and gingerly dries down, her already-angry flesh tingling painfully against the rough fabric. It feels good, though. The pain grounds her. A plain t-shirt and sweatpants, plus clean undergarments are slid beyond the wall, and she puts them on gratefully.

He takes her by the arm and down the hall they go, past the warm tones of brick and back through nondescript gray walls. She keeps her ears peeled for any sound other than their own footsteps. Nothing. Where the fuck is everybody else? This whole precinct is like a ghost town. Is it soundproofed?

She’s not sure what to expect, but him immediately walking away after she’s locked back in her cell is not it.

“Wait!”

He turns back, the ever-present annoyance already clouding his face. “What?”

“Does Max’s family…know? Can I speak to them?” she asks softly.

Instead of looking her in the eye, his gaze lands over her shoulder. “No.”

“They don’t know?”

He clenches his jaw. “There’s a process to this.”

They might have to see his body to ID it. The thought makes her sick, so Laura swallows it back.

“When do I get my phone call?” she asks quietly.

He scoffs with a light shake of the head. “Unbelievable.”

“What?" she asks incredulously. "Aren’t there, like, protocols?”

“Here’s what you need to know,” he says so abruptly that she can't help but lean back. He juts a finger in her face. “You’ve stepped in some Grade A cosmic bullshit, and the only thing you need to worry about is making sure you do exactly as I say.”

Her eyes can’t possibly get any wider with disbelief. Though everything in her wants to recoil, Laura stands her ground.

“But, Sheriff…” she glances down at the sheriff’s badge for the first time. Alarm bells surge in her mind. “...Hackett? Wait, like, Chris Hackett?”

He follows her eyes down to his lapel, eyes darting back to her own. Neither speak.

“Who… are you? What’s going on?”

He turns on his heel and walks away.

“Wait!” she yells after him. “You can’t just keep me here! What the fuck is going on here?!”

“Frankly, ma’am,” he calls over his shoulder, “you have no idea.”

Read on Ao3

#travis hackett #laura kearney #the quarry #the hacketts #the quarry spoilers #the quarry fanfiction #another lost soul

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insomniac-dot-ink · 3 years

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Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

My book 🌸 Ko-fi 🌸 Patreon

--------------------

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me.

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it.

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost.

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl?

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own.

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

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some-dr-writings · 3 years

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Shuichi, Kokichi and Nagito’s crush likes napping on his lap during breaks

Shuichi Saihara:

· Ah yes, the Super High School Level Astronomer, it was no wonder Kaito would be friends with such a person, and whoever Kaito was friends with, all his other friends would be friends with them as well, that was how Shuichi had met you. Often in those nightly training sessions, for a break Kaito, Shuichi, Maki and whoever else felt like joining them that evening would jog around till finding you, telescope by your side. You’d speak of the stars, of legends that surrounded them, of how travelers of old navigated the world through them, how stars were born, what there different colors meant, and so much more. Folklore, history, science, didn’t matter, you knew and continued to learn about each and any possible aspect you could about those specks of light. However, you were rather quiet outside of those moments, though you weren’t closed off. It was more so, if you weren’t speaking of stars you’d just so intently listen to others.

· … Maybe that’s how or why it happened? More often than not, when at school you were rather drowsy. You were often out, camping in the mountains away from the harsh city lights so when you were at school it was nice. When you were around, Shuichi made sure to spend time with you. You were able to speak so much without words, it was fun trying to interpret your expressions. Truthfully Shuichi didn’t think much of it at first, it was just how you were, quiet, yet outgoing, bubbly even. Others however had a more difficult time understanding you, somehow they didn’t notice the many little nuances that made up you, your slightest shift of expression or tilt of the head, your body language, how you spoke more so with your eyes, engaging in the conversations in your own way. How others couldn’t Shuichi had no idea at first, you were captivating, how could they NOT notice!?

· At first he had thought it was simply him being a detective, often having to interpret and read people through his work with his Uncle, but… that was not quite it, there was more to this. I didn’t come naturally, he WANTED to understand you. He found himself drawn to you, your gravity too powerful for him to even consider resisting. And it seemed the same could be said for you too. Whenever break rolled around, no matter how short it may be, you’d always seek him out. Due to more often than not being awake through the night you’d nap, but Shuichi didn’t mind, not even when you used his shoulder or lap as a pillow. He’d read his novels aloud to you, or if he was working through a case, walk through his logic aloud, he’d just speak even if you were asleep, something in him just knew you were still taking this all in.

· Even if he was somehow one of the few people who understood you, he wondered how you had even seen him yet. You were like a supernova in his eyes, so bright, so stunning, so colorful, leaving only beauty and wonder in your wake, how did you notice him? By chance did your heart race too at the thought of spending more time together? Did you also find a soft, comforting, warmth in his presence as he did you? Did you adore hearing him speak just as he did you? Whatever the case may be for you, he sure hopped it was something similar because he simply wished to your beloved stars above that you felt even half as amazing as he did with you, he just wanted you to know of such a fantastic emotion, it, no… you were astonishing and he simply wished to share and indulge in it with you.

Kokichi Oma:

· “Y/N!” “Hu-AH” You groaned, shakily pushing yourself off the ground. Then you noticed all your items had slipped out of your bookbag. You sighed, seeing all your papers had fallen out of your folders as well. “Geez, Y/N, I didn’t know you were so clumsy!” “Ah, just tired today I guess.” You noticed how Kokichi kept taking glances to you as he helped gather your items. Not surprising considering you literally just tumbled down a flight of stairs. Before you knew it all your supplied had already been collected and placed back in your bag. That was really quick. You winced as you stood up. Your knees almost collapsed under you and Kokichi was in the position to catch you should you have fallen but thankfully you were able to do so yourself. “Hey, hey! Where are you going?” “Oh, uh… umm.” You thought and thought but couldn’t remember. It was so hard, you felt like your mind was swimming and swirling, all thoughts fuzzy and difficult to reach.

· Then suddenly you were being dragged along by the hand. “What the-” “You are coming with me! This’ll be fun! Especially if you have nothing better to do!” You were completely confused but more so shocked from the whole situation so you couldn’t really bring yourself to try to stop or ask where you were even going.

· Koichi just kept running around, getting you completely lost. Eventually though he let go, dashing a few paces forward before tumbling and falling. “O-Oma!?” He simply laughed, sitting up. He hummed as the wind rolled past swaying his hair as he looked up to the sky. “Oh, Y/N, Y/N! Look at that!” You were confused looking up to the sky where he was pointing. “Ugh, you can’t see it from there, sit down already!” Taking your arm, he playfully tugged on it, but even that was enough to send you falling. Even with you sprawled across his lap, he managed to scooch over enough so just your head was there. “Perfect! Now, that cloud looks like Gonta; giant, kinda dumb, soft. And that one-” You were… quite puzzled. Clouds? Of all things? That was what he wanted to show you? You heard Kokichi speaking, but it was all noise to you, it held no meaning. You just listened as he droned on and pointed, the shadow of his outstretched arm conveniently covering your eyes.

· You never really noticed how nice and soft Kokichi’s voice could be. Then again, he was always so loud or quiet, constantly shifting tone you never got the chance to just hear it… It was… rather pleasant. You wanted to hear him longer, engage in whatever game he was playing but so quickly your eyes drooped and all our senses simply lulled to nothing.

· Then it was evening. At first the sight of those orange and purple hues confused you, but then- “Y/N, you’re alive! It’s been twenty years and Miu’s army of robots have taken over! We need you to join the resistance!” He couldn’t help but laugh at your absolutely baffled expression. “But that’s a lie.” “… oh yeah… Wait…” You suddenly completely awakened, abruptly sitting up. “It’s evening already!? Did we skip class!?” “It’s whateves, Y/N. Hope’s Peak doesn’t care if we skip class.” “No, not that!” You sighed, burrowing your face into your hands and mumbled to yourself. “I didn’t take the new meds again. Of course, I didn’t.” Huh, new medicine was it. Kokichi smirked, dragging you up onto your feet. “C’mon! You’ll make us late for dinner!”

· The next several weeks were like that. No matter what you did you’d always end up napping on Kokichi’s lap at some point. This was much needed. Your therapist had been fired so you had to start all over with someone new, who wanted to give you new medicine meaning new side affects that could only be worked around via time management. It was a process trying to work out what amount you needed and what not. Napping with Kokichi was just about the only solace you had gotten in the chaos. When you had found a good balance of medication no longer were you exhausted in the day or losing sleep at night. It was great though, admittedly you missed it.

· It had been about a week or so since your medication seemed to stable out and all was well with you once more. The bells for break had tolled and you left class. Break wasn’t long, but you didn’t care. Hearing shrieks and screams of terror and that ‘Nishishi” you knew you were close. Seeing Kokichi make his escape you simply went to one of the benches outside. And there you waited.

· You still waited even after the bells signaling the end of break had tolled. “Oh? Y/N actually skipping class!? What has this world come too!? Soon the sky will be falling!” Seeing he wasn’t lying per say and just exaggerating you decided to answer. “I haven’t taken my nap yet.” You took his hand, pulling him onto the bench and you placed your head atop his lap. Though you weren’t not tired, a mid-day nap in the sun just felt so nice.

· Thankfully for Kokichi, you were asleep so you couldn’t see his giddy smile. Though with this seemingly becoming the new norm you’d likely catch him one of these days. For now he’d just indulge in this moment with you, his crush and worry about that when it happens.

Nagito Komaeda:

· Though you were an Ultimate, an amazing person who could take care of themself just fine, Nagito worried about you. You slept, a lot. No matter when or where you could find a place to nap should you want too. It wasn’t all the time though, Nagito still had many conversations with you and had gotten to see your talent firsthand, an extraordinary sight! When you were awake, you’d spend much of your time with him, often over analyzing him trying to see if there was a scientific cause for the outlandish phenomena that was his luck. Not surprising since you were a scientist. At times Nagito wondered if your mind worked so hard when you were awake, trying to solve every last mystery the world had to offer, that drove you to exhaustion so quickly. That would explain how you could be so excitedly chatting away about one theory of yours or another only for you to suddenly fall over, knocked out. Thankfully it seemed Nagito’s luck would kick in moments like that so he could catch you before your face smashed into the ground.

· Always following you around, trying to keep your drowsy tendency from getting you into danger, from just always being beside he had become your assistant of sorts. Though he would never dare to insist on it, he always sneakily became the one to carry your stuff around in the end, even if you had started your journey with them. Taking you by your shoulders he’d steer you away from bumping into other people or objects. He would take your hand, but he felt unworthy of such an honor unless you decided he could and he knew if he did a bright scarlet would erupt on his cheeks and his heart would pick up in pace, things you surely would notice with your keen eye. When you were awake, nothing could get past you, so Nagito would have to be extra careful. He couldn’t let you figure out his feelings. He simply didn’t have it in him to confess and he was garbage, surely you wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings, but if you did somehow, it’s not like he would deny you, someone like him had no right to deny an Ultimate, or so he thought at least.

· Although… Nagito couldn’t help his feelings seeping out, no matter how much he had tried to keep them inside. Often, he was just talking and suddenly he’d be complimenting you and about to say he loved you and he’d have to cut himself off by causing an ‘accident’ like tripping over chairs or abruptly changing his words to say something else. He was always left a flustered mess.

· It was just another day when Nagito strolled into your lab, finding your workspace was filled with many documents, many taped to white boards with string attacked to each and every last one, some string simply linking two pages on the same board, others stretching across the room, forcing one to duck, and twist to avoid them all, one could compare it to avoiding the lights in the laser filled room in some generic spy flic. “Hmm, but how to go about testing this?” “Testing what?” “Oh, Komaeda! Perfect timing!” You strolled over to him, looking through some file, seemingly not paying attention to your surroundings yet still avoiding all that strings. “Today I’m studying human communication!” “Uh huh.” “And I wish to test something!” You looked to him with those stunningly bright eyes as you explained, completely captivating him. “The power of words. I wish to see if they are like water in a pipe. For comparison, imagine a person as the pipe and the words water. I wonder if say a person is upset, if speaking to another person was the only way to alleviate the pressure of those emotions, or if just speaking aloud, even to no one, if that’d alleviate the pressure as well, OR if something else would happen. Yes, each individual is different, but there could still be a majority! I’m thinking we’ll go about-” a yawn escaped you before you continued. “about this… by…” You took a small notebook from your pocket, quickly scribbling down notes as Nagito lead you to a couch in the corner of the room. Nagito already knew this was coming considering that ‘pipe’ comparison didn’t make much sense since pipes would still leak, even if with another pipe around.

· He sat beside you on the couch and moments later you rested your head on his lap. You tried holding up the little book to him and when he took it your hand and arm went limp, you already fast asleep. Nagito couldn’t help but smile, seeing you already so restful. As usually he looked through your notebook, seeing what he needed to prepare in order to set up your tests. Curiously he also looked over your notes, wondering how your interest in astrology the day prior lead to this through your connective thinking. It was always fun seeing how you could draw connections between seemingly completely unrelated topics, then again that was likely how you were such a good scientist. As he continued to read, fascinated by your research he began to wonder something. Looking to you his heart melted. “I love you.” Immediately his heart raced, and he felt that heat raising to his cheeks. What if a person were to vent to another, even if they weren’t paying attention? Perhaps because he still had told you, he still would have gotten this off his chest and he’d stop almost confessing to you so often.

· That was how Nagito had begun to whisper his affections to you as you slept. It was a thrill like no other, fearing you’d awake right as he confessed his feelings, yet also endlessly excited by the thought as well. There was more than a fair share of times where he was almost caught, but it seemed you were none the wiser to his words of love.

· “Hmm? Komeada? What are you mumbling about?” For a moment he froze, love struck at your soft tender expression. “Ah-uh-Oh? I was speaking? I apologize if I woke you up.” You simply huffed in response… a-and you just kept looking at him? Oh boy. Did you know? Was he finally caught? What would your response be? What did you think of him? “Thank you.” “Huh?” You smiled, nuzzling into him. “having this… instantaneous version of narcolepsy… Even though I started studying, I could never figure out how to stop it, maybe that’s because I get distracted easily, I- wait, no. No tangents.” You took a deep breath trying to reorganize your thoughts. “It… can be scary, one moment being awake then suddenly asleep. Before you I’d often sleep on the train and go way past my stop and get lost. There have also been a number of near-death experiences like when I fell asleep when walking across the street. I… it’s nice, knowing you’re around. To keep me safe and keep an eye on me. And I guess waking up to hearing your voice, waking up knowing for a fact I was safe… I don’t know, it was just nice, and I want you to know, I truly do appreciate you putting up with me.”

· How… how could you make him fall for you more and more so effortlessly? Well, if you liked hearing his voice when you woke up… maybe… maybe next time he wouldn’t stop speaking of his love for you, even as you awoke. After all, he could never deny you anything, especially not your own comfort and ease of mind.

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

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@chubbykatsudon allowed me to ramble on a little about reverse A/B/O when Omegas are the ones who rules society while Alphas are locked away because they're too dangerous, too violent to hold a responsible role in life. Thank you for making me feel so welcome in your inbox at all times. <3

As the first Omega child of Lettenhove's ruling family, there were expectations on Jaskier. He would wed another Omega of equal rank and, together, they would find an Alpha that was already broken in and as tame as their money could buy. Lettenhove came with some reinforced rooms fot to hold an Alpha. Allegedly Jaskier's sire had been one of the more gentle Alphas, content to sate heats and never asking for more than given.

Naturally, Jaskier had to defy all expectations and he hit the road like some common Beta. Even worse, he found himself not just an Alpha, but a whole pack of them. To make matters even more humiliating, they were Witchers. Sterile, useless Alphas who were not good for anything other than throwing at brutish monsters that terrorised the good folks of the Continent. Despite predictions, gossip and even ill-wishers, Jaskier had never been happier. He gladly gave his status and name to any Alpha Witcher who needed it. Even offered his collar to make their travels easier as he couldn't be beside them all at the same time. Though Jaskier never wanted to play favourites, he most often travelled with his first Alpha, Geralt. He was always so gentle when Jaskier's heat came, reverent at being allowed to help when he'd been raised to believe that no Omega would even look at him with anything but disdain.

There was a contract near a village, the description was rather hit and miss, leaving Geralt unable to determine just what kind of creature they were dealing with. All they knew what that it stole livestock, broke into houses and scared a Beta maid almost lifeless. She had sworn up and down that, whatever it was, it was large, black, stinking worse than anything she'd encountered before and shrieked at being seen before fleeing. It left Geralt stumped but he dutifully set out to track the creature. Thrilled at the prospect of a new creature giving inspiration for new ballads, Jaskier tagged along.

"Could it be a demon? Or an imp?" He asked, trailing after Geralt with a skip in his step. "Or maybe a cursed creature? Just imagine! You could break the curse and it would make for such a romantic ditty!"

"Hush!" Geralt growled and Jaskier giggled. He'd never found the growls of his Alphas to be intimidating and time did nothing to change his view. However, he did fall silent, scenting the air and finding it acrid with something he'd never really smelled before.

They emerged in a clearing, one that quite obviously was home to something. There was a paltry shelter covered with a stolen sheet, a firepit and the remains of a goat. Jaskier couldn't help but be grateful that it wasn't Eskel with him on this particular contract.

"Hello?" Geralt called out, peering towards the shelter. What Jaskier didn't know what that he could hear the rapid heartbeat of someone in there, combined with the sour smell of fear. "We just want to talk."

It was quite obvious whoever had made a home there was the one responsible for the village's woes. Jaskier nodded towards the tent in question and Geralt nodded. Even mouthed "Alpha" at Jaskier, quite certain that whatever it was, it was or at least once had been, human.

"Can we help you?" Jaskier asked softly, moving towards the tent. He crouched down to peer in and, with no warning, a figure burst out, sending Jaskier sprawling before trying to dash past. Unfortunately Geralt was in the way and the man bounced off him, landing in an ungraceful heap on the ground.

Winded, Jaskier sat up and watched as the man cowered before Geralt. When he stood up it got so much worse and, three steps closer, Geralt actually stepped between Jaskier and the man, warning him off.

"You poor thing," Jaskier sighed. "We mean no harm."

Such words fell on deaf ears and each time Jaskier tried to approach, trying to calm the Alpha with his scent, it had to opposite effect. At least with Geralt the man was submissive, allowing himself to be pulled upright and scented even if he trembled so bad, Jaskier was scared he'd fall down.

"Nilfgaard," Gerlat declared. His eyes landed on the Alpha's neck and a growl built in his chest. A violent bonding bite had left the skin heavily scarred and where the collar had sat was rubbed raw. "Force bonded. Where's your Omega?"

It was unheard of for a bonded Alpha to be far from their Omega. Usually, if they were allowed out, it was on a leash in Nilfgaard.

"Dead."

Which explained a lot yet nothing at all. If an Alpha's bonded died, they usually died too. Or were put down because the loss of their bonded drove them beyond saving. Maybe Nilfgaard didn't want to get their hands dirty and deal with yet another body. Their bloody and violent war had left many behind already. It was much easier to cut an Alpha loose and let others deal with the consequences of a grief maddened Alpha in their midst.

"You're far from Nilfgaard."

"Even further from Vicovaro." At least the Alpha could speak beyond single words. "I don't want to go back."

Sensing it was an opportunity, Jaskier smiled and stepped closer, saying, "Then you don't have to. It's as easy as that."

All his good intentions were misread and the Alpha hunched his shoulders, head dipped as if expecting a strike to come. He didn't relax, muscles tight with terror.

"Jaskier, give him some space." Geralt easily slipped between them again, unable to figure out just why the Alpha was so petrified of an Omega. Then again, looking at his neck, Geralt didn't have to imagine. "You've been causing the villagers a lot of problems, you know that, right?"

A mute, shamed nod was his answer.

"I've been hired to take care of the problem." Submission had many forms and Geralt had seen them all over the course of his long life. He never wished for anyone to be so scared of him that they pissed themselves but there he was. The Alpha before him looked ready to fall down and bare his throat and belly, any kind of domination had been probably beaten out of him. It made Geralt's job that little bit harder. "I don't kill without sense. Will you let us help you?"

Jaskier couldn't hold back anymore, he walked closer. "Please, Alpha. Let us offer you what we can."

The Alpha went crashing to his knees as Jaskier got closer, head back and throat bared even if the whites of his eyes were showing in fear and breaths came in short, harsh puffs. Immediately Jaskier backed away, hands up. "We won't hurt you. I won't touch you without your permission."

His words didn't seem to make a difference and Geralt made shooing motions at Jaskier. "Go back to Roach. We'll follow shortly."

Pouting only a little, Jaskier turned, trusting Geralt to know what was best. The only kinds of Alphas Jaskier had encountered were ones that were touch starved and desperate for any scrap of attention and kindness. An Alpha who shied from an Omega's presence was a new challenge and one that Jaskier wanted to very badly to take on. His pack couldn't bond, healed too quick for any such bite to take. It would be no hardship to take an Alpha who had alrady been claimed and cast aside. Bonding, while a romanticised dream, wasn't the be all and end all of pack relationships.

Soon enough Geralt approached with the other Alpha a few steps behind him, nervously clutching at a bag.

"Omega, may I present Cahir for your polite inspection?" He turned to Cahir. "Cahir, I present my Omega, Jaskier. He won't approach without your say so."

Message received, Jaskier waved from where he stood and tried to send a reassuring smile. "Welcome, Cahir. My Alpha brings me the most delighful companions to meet. Share our travels and camp for as long as you find comfort in it." The paltry amount of belongings in the bag couldn't have been much more than a change of clothes, probably stolen from the washing lines. "What's ours is yours."

"Thank you, Omega."

The honorific was nothing more than a trembling whisper and Jaskier nodded. "Just Jaskier. We don't abide by the demands of society."

Clearing his throat, Geralt drew attention back to himself. "I was thinking to head to Kaer Morhen a little earlier this year. If the Pack so wills it, Cahir will join us for the season as a visitor."

Mind already racing ahead, Jaskier nodded. He could see Cahir benefitting from Eskel's gentle approach. And perhaps even Lambert's brutal honesty might help bring Cahir out of his shell a little. Grinning, he agreed readily. "A fine idea. It would be nice to welcome the rest of the Pack home this time. I like the idea of greeting them with the same affection and readiness they usually have for us."

There was no doubt about it, winter was going to be an interesting one.

#geraskier #witchersexual jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #reverse a/b/o #omega jaskier #alpha geralt #alpha cahir #tldr: alphas are hated by society

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wlwsims4 · 3 years

Text

Back at it again with this whole challenge stuff.

This Challenge is half “Survive this”, half Legacy, and based around the various stages the main group in the TV Show “The Walking Dead” went through. You don’t need to have watched it to play this challenge, but many requirements will feel arbitrary if you haven’t. Since these aren’t really, uh, generations, I will refer to the individual parts of this challenge as “Stages” Packs required: Outdoor Retreat, Seasons, Eco Lifestyle, Get Together, City Living, Discover University, Get to Work

The Setup:

- You will need either Triplis’ “Kids Quit School” mod ot MCCC to make quitting school possible. - Create your founder and any number of other survivors in CAS, Two of these additional survivors need to be children. - Use your own physical dice or find an online dice roller, you will need that!

General Rules:

- It’s the Apocalypse, so buy mode is heavily restricted. You can’t just go to Ikea and buy new couch! You will need to use the fabrication and handiness skills to make furniture! Some Random Events and generational rules may allow you to get stuff otherwise

- You may only cook with ingredients you have! If you play this after the release of Cottage Living, use the Lot Challenge!

- You will always play off the grid!

- The monetary cost of crafting is considered “materials”. You can "barter” for materials by using the selling table from City Living, or sell furniture and stuff you scavenged, thus “dismantling” it and salvaging it.

- Any children you have aside from the two you create in CAS automatically suffer a -2 penalty to all rolls they perform, on account of being children.

- Randomized townies you encounter are generally considered zombies. (or WaLkErS of you don’t wanna use the evil Z word). If they engage you in conversation, consider it an attack and roll a d20, adding 1 for every two levels of fitness the Sim in question has. Below a 15, they get injured in the scuffle and are out of comission for the rest of the day. Below a 10, they get infected and die

- Pregnant and elderly Sims cannot perform any chores or other survival tasks and suffer the same -2 penalty as children!

- Every ingame week, roll on the random events table!

- Play with normal lifespan!

Stage 1: The Atlanta Survivors Camp You just survived the Apocalypse’s initial outbreak and you are settling with a small group outside a large city. However, calamity soon threatens your little sanctuary.

- Move your household anywhere with freerealestate, then take a vacation on the campground lot in Granite Falls. - Set your money to 5k and start your grind. When you can no longer extend your vacation, your camp gets overrun and you are forced to flee. Roll Fitness checks for each member of your group and disable/kill accordingly. - If your founder dies in this, appoint a new one from the surviving sims

Stage 2: Hershel’s Farm After getting out of the overrun camp and having a little happening at the CDC, you are back on the road and lose one of your two kids in a run-in with a horde. Worse, even, your other kid gets shot and is badly injured! Thankfully, you are offered help by a small family on a nearby farm.

- Kill of one of your two CAS-created kids. Sorry, Sophia! - The other CAS-created kid is now injured for the rest of thi stage and can’t help you out or build skills. - Move your sims to one of the lots south of the Chalet in Windernburg (Or Henford on Bagley if Cottage Living is out!) and build a little farmhouse big enough to accommodate four sims, with a small vegetable garden and 2 power generating and 3 water generating items. -Create four Sims that “own” the farm and help you out. One of them has to be an elder! - Two weeks into this stage, the farm will, unfortunately, get overrun and also set on fire. Do your fitness rolls for everyone and run for your life.

Stage 3: The Prison Again, you are on the run, but there’s a little shimmer of light at the end of the tunnel - an abandoned prison! Now, you just need to like... reclaim it.

- Build a Prison, or download one from the gallery! - Cheat one of your sim pregnant, if you don’t have a pregnancy yet. - Reclaim the prison! Make Fitness rolls for each level + the outside. - After your pregnant Sim gives birth, kill her. Sorry, Lori! - Create a rival 8-sim household and put your sims in a club, and their rivals in one too. Have “fight (other club)” as one of the activities, then have them visit you and... start... a gathering... ;)

Stage 4 The Prison 2, Electric Boogaloo You defeated Woodbury! ... or did you? Well, you don’t really have time to deal with it right now, because there is a deadly strain of influenza wrecking your community.

- Start placing ads for roommates. Those are the former Woodbury people you took in! - Every Time someone gets one of the GTW illnesses, roll your d20. Below a 10, they die to the sickness. Kill them, and roll fitness for one of your household sims, since the dead turn into walkers! - Three weeks into this stage, your friend, the Governor of Woodbury, comes back with a fresh new group he roped into his nonsense. Roll Fitness checks and book it. (also kill the Governor. RIP in pieces)

Stage 5: Terminus From bad to worse, you’re on the run again, and split up this time. Divided we fall, huh? Good thing there’s this totally not ominous set of markers leading you to a place called Terminus. I’m sure nothing bad will happen there.

- Split your Household and surviving roommates and pop them all into different empty lots. Play a week with each of them (aging off here, this is meant to happen simultaneously!) and roll on the random events table until you have eight sims left in total. Hope you weren’t attached to any of them. - Put them back into the same household again, and create yet another rival club to beat up. That rival club is Terminus. Surprise, the group with the name meaning “Death” was bad! - Switch to your Terminus household and “invite” your sims over, then lock them in the basement, true sims style. Go downstairs and start a club gathering. Keep an eye on them, every time someone loses a fight, kill them. Do this until you have either 5 good guys left or all of Terminus is dead.

Stage 6: Alexandria and The other blokes You got away from the humanitarians and were invited into the community of Alexandria. Thing are finally looking up again!

- Move to a 50x50 lot and build a little “village” with gardens, energy production and everything you might need. - Create two more 8-sim-households on similar situations and create clubs for them, with the activity to be friendly with yours! These two households will be Hilltop and The Kingdom. - Make one of the Evergreen Harbor Community Spaces a marketplace and frequent it! - Stay in this stage for four weeks!

Stage 7: The Saviour War Things just couldn’t stay okay, could they? You ticked off a horrible cult-of-personality-type organization called the Saviours, who now start their reign of terror against you.

- Create another household and club meant to be mean to you, Hilltop and the kingdom. Make their Leader a magnificent bastard and give that one plot armor. Narrative Immunity! - Host a little multi-club gathering and roll a d8 twice. Look at your own household portrait lineup and kill two of your sims whose portrait position corresponds to your rolls. - Take your strongest fighter, aka the highst fitness stat, aka Daryl Dixon and put them into their own household, to take them out of the equation for a while. They’re the Saviours’ prisoner now! - Congrats, you have been promoted to vassal state. The Saviours demand five of every crop you produce. Don’t hav enough to feed your people? Sucks to be you! - Stay in this stage for 4 weeks, then bring back your poor fighter, and kill off half of the Saviours, add the rest to your household and Kingdom & Hilltop. Their Leader must survive! Keep them in your basement from now on and visit them regularly to gloat.

Stage 8: The Whisperer War Finally, some stability. Oh, whats that? New enemy faction, and this one of even worse? Fantastic.

- Cease communication and trade with Hilltop & Kingdom for two weeks, Then hold a big party! - ...during said party, kill 12 total sims from each faction. - Create a new rival faction called the Whisperers. Make their two leaders, Alpha & Beta, level 10 in fitness. - Hold weekly brawls with the whisperers. Kill every fight loser, but replenish the Whisperers losses. There’s no end to their forces! - Give Alpha a daughter and take her in after your first clash with them. - When you resume trade, roll a D20 every time you travel away from your lot. Below a 10, your travel party gets attacked by the Whisperers! Roll Fitness checks for every Siim traveling. - Remember the Saviour leader? Yeah, they’re doing better. Have them befried one of your household’s children, and gradually integrate them into your community. - After an additional 4 weeks of this, send your redeemed Saviour leader over to the Whisperers and befriend them. They’re a spy now! - Survive another week, then ply s the Whisperers and attack Hilltop! Move the survivors into your main household. - After this attack, your spy strikes and kills Alpha. Put them back into your household, then gear up for a big fight! - Cheat “Roughhousing ecouraged” in your NAPs, then gather all surviving characters along with the Whisperers and fight!

Did you survive this? Well, until season 11 comes out, that’s as far as we go. You can continue playing with the Random Events and general ruleset!

RANDOM EVENTS:

D20: 1. There’s a drought. Sell all your stored water and reset your money back down 2. Zombie Attack! Roll Fitness and kill accoridngly! 3. Electric whoopsie-doopsie. Sell your stored electricty and set your money bck down 4. Roving bandits! The next time travel, all your traveling sims lose their inventory contents! If they had none, kill one of them! 5. Baby Boom! Get one fo your Sims pregnant 6. Other Survivors! Roll a d4 and add the resulting nuber of sims to your household! 7. Tragic accident! Kill a random sim 8. Extra Ammo! Every Sim gets a +1 to their next fitness roll! 9. Thunderstorm! Your Sims may not leave their lot for this week! 10: Supply thief! select a random sim and hoard food for this week. At the end of the week they get found out nd either killed or exiled! 11. Breach! Your wall has a breach! Reduce your funds by 150 to fix it. If you don’t have that much, kill a random sim in the resulting zombie incusrsion! 12. Illness! There’s a flareup of the deadly flu from the prison! Play with this Stage’s rules (regarding the illness) for this week! 13: Re-roll! 14. Sabotage! Your fabricator and woodworking table cannot be used this week! 15. Zombie Attack! Roll Fitness and kill accordingly! 16. Lost Child! You find a random child, adopt one! (cheat the money for the adoption) 17: Feast! Your Sims make the poorly informed decision to par-tay! Delete all the stored crops you have. 18. Horde! It’s too dangerous to leave the fortifications right now! Suspend all travel this week. 19. Foraging! Cheat yourself enough money and buy a seasonal seed packet that corresponds to this season! 20. Re-Roll!

#my post #ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #simblr #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 challenge rules #the walking dead #twd #sims 4 zombie #sims 4 walking dead #sims 4 twd challenge #my challenges

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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years

Text

Micah Bell - Partners in Crime and in Love Pt.1

YES i know there’s 58 requests sitting in my inbox for re8 HOWEVER red dead is my comfort game and i needed to write this verbal mess down. I’ve been thinking of writing a micah fic for weeks now and i finally did it bc as much as i love re8 red dead is my fav and always will be. this is so self indulgent i swear.

for anyone that actually reads this the reader is pretty gn but does lean towards fem this time and i’ll be doing a part 2 for sure bc i love the rat man.

part 2 is now here

—————————————————————

Today was finally the day. The day for the big bank job that Dutch insisted was the right move for the gang. This was despite numerous doubts from Hosea and various other camp members that robbing a bank in broad daylight in the state’s largest city was a risk the gang couldn’t afford to make right now.

The whole morning there had been a sour feeling in your gut, a tiny voice shouting in the back of your mind that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t like you to get nervous on a job, in fact you recently robbed the Valentine bank with Bill on his job. Originally you weren’t interested in going, happy to let Karen go on her own with the guys but Bill insisted you go as you were one of the best gunslingers the gang had.

Robbing and killing came naturally to you and being outlawed in six states had never bothered you during your time as an outlaw. That’s why it was almost impossible for you to ignore the sick feeling in your stomach that was slowly building.

Making your way over to Micah, you see him sitting on a wooden crate cleaning his guns for the inevitable shootout that comes with bank jobs. Taking a seat next to him, Micah doesn’t need to ask you how you are; he can practically see how restless and agitated you look.

That’s the thing about your relationship with Micah, you understood each other (especially in public) and didn’t need grand public displays of affection to know exactly what the other needed in that moment.

The camp mostly stayed clear of your relationship, I mean you were probably two of the camp’s biggest troublemakers and risk takers when it came to planning jobs and robbing folk. Both of you had a shot quicker than lightening and could practically shoot your way out of any situation you found yourselves in. But regardless of how ruthless anyone thought you two were, you always had each other’s backs and wouldn’t stop to think about saving the other.

One night after a successful train job Dutch decided to hold a camp celebration. It was a mostly quiet night for you, having not decided to party with your companions despite Sean, Charles and Javier all offering for you to join in. Instead you decided to spend the mostly quiet night with Micah sharing a bottle of whiskey and splitting your share of the earnings. After each job you always had a bet with Micah over who could shoot the highest number of lawman. It was a bet the two of you had with each other just to cause more mischief and it always brought a smile to your face when Micah would lose and sulk about it for the rest of the afternoon

At one point during the night Bill strolled over to you while Micah went to get another bottle of whiskey. He was nice and polite despite the smell of beer coming from his breath, maybe even a little flirtatious and all was well until he asked the question ‘Why is you with a rat like him when you could be with someone as charming as me?’. Bill ended up with a face full of dirt and a broken nose, not to mention a killer hangover.

So yeah, the gang tended to leave you and Micah alone…

Micah’s knee lightly brushing against your own brings your thoughts back to reality. He’s stopped cleaning his guns and is looking at you with soft eyes and a gentle smile, the one that’s only reserved for you.

Despite being a hardened outlaw that has known nothing but chaos and the open road for most of your life. The gang has observed from afar your softer sides, whether it be the time you both fell asleep next to each other by the campfire or getting shit scared when the other has been shot and the rest of the night is spent with soft kisses and bandage wrapping.

Micah holsters his revolver and gently takes your hand in his.

“Sweetheart we’re gonna be fine, ain’t nothing gonna go wrong, now common let’s go get dressed for such a special occasion.”

Everyone is just starting to get into their fancy attire for the job when you and Micah are already packing your saddles and getting ready. You’re wearing matching white suits with a red shirt only yours is tailored to show off your figure a lot more and your plunge top and corset doesn’t leave much to the imagination but hey, if you’re gonna go out it’s gonna be in style.

As Micah finishes tightening up Baylock’s saddle you lean forward and hold his wrist in your hand. Your thumb gently brushes the soft skin there, trying to hide the nerves that have been slowly eating away at you all day.

“I don’t like this Micah, somethings gonna go wrong I can feel it…”

Micah’s never been great with emotions but you’ve known him long enough to know how he comforts you. The arm that’s caught in your grasp turns and brings you forward into a hug, his chin resting on your head as you hold him tightly against you.

“Ain’t nothin gonna happen to us, just think of it as another bank job.”

You nod and hold him closer, a rare event for such a public place where anyone could walk by but neither of you really cared at that moment. You press your face into his shoulder, trying to shake off your uneasiness.

“You better not die on me now Bell, you still owe me that new holster for beating you in five finger fillet.”

Fuck did the bank job go wrong. Horribly wrong. From the moment you got off your horses and stepped foot in that bank it all turned to hell.

Bullets where flying everywhere, there were civilians screaming in terror trying not to get caught in the crossfire, glass was being shattered by dynamite and Dutch was trying to formulate a plan while in shock of losing his dear Hosea.

A bullet whizzed past your head and you took out another Pinkerton. It was chaos. Every time you managed to bring down the line of Pinkertons another carriage full of them would arrive with the Saint Denis Police.

You couldn’t see Micah anywhere, but each time you tried to look for him your attention was dragged back to the action in front of you and the numerous Pinkertons shooting at you.

Arthur had snuck onto the roof at some point and some of the other members where making their way towards the rooftop as well. You were about to make a bolt towards Dutch and Javier on the ladder when Charles stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Go that way, we’re the diversion! Karen and Sadie are a waiting near the alleyway of the tavern, we’ll meet you back at camp in a few hours, GO!”

Charles pushes you down the alley way and climbs up the ladder to catch up to the others. You would’ve protested but your body is running on adrenaline so you didn’t think as you snuck your way out of safety.

Micah was furious that Charles had sent you off on your own to find your way back, if it wasn’t for the fact that the five of them where hiding from the law in a rundown city apartment he probably would have argued with him for hours.

But deep down he knew it was the right thing to do. He knew that you’d be 100 times safer away from this chaos then if you were here with him, even if you could handle yourself.

For hours they sat in that little room, Dutch formulating a plan on how to get out of here while Micah tried not to worry about whether you made it home safe. Now he understood that sick feeling of worry in your stomach, he only ever got it when he worried about you.

By nightfall Dutch had somewhat of a plan to escape via the docks, sneak out onto a ship that would take them somewhere and it hit Micah in that moment that it would be some time before he saw you again…

The guards where everywhere, the entire city on high alert after the bank and Charles ended up running so everyone could make it onto a boat. As Dutch attempted to negotiate with the captain for a cabin, Micah lit a cigarette from his blazer pocket, trying to take his first deep breath of the night.

“We were fools for thinking we could pull off the bank…”

Arthur rests against the crates, fatigue clear in his eyes but willing himself to stay awake. Micah however didn’t want to sit and talk about what could have happened and what actually did, he had a headache already and certainly didn’t need a lecture from Arthur for another reckless decision he helped create.

“Whatever you say Morgan.”

Sighing defeatedly, Micah flicks his cigarette bud over the side and into the water below, making his way to go sit on the other side of the crates where he can think.

Back at camp you pace around the halls of Shady Belle, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your boots.

“Fuck this I’m going to find them-“

Before you make it out the front door however Miss Grimshaw blocks your exits.

“You’re not going anywhere anytime soon. The Pinkertons are everywhere looking for us. Now I know you want your precious Mr. Bell back but you’re just going to have to wait out the next few hours until he returns with the rest.”

You decide to ignore the slight condescending tone of Susan as you see a rider approaching into camp. Your hand is on your holster, everyone who’s left joining you to crowd around the man slowly coming closer. Everyone is relieved to see its Charles, but only slightly. He’s alone and a horrible feeling of fear washes over you.

“Charles… Where is everyone… Where’s Micah?”

#micah bell #micah bell imagine #micah bell x reader #i missed the rat man sm #it’s actually unbelieveable how badly i’ve missed writing for him #soft and angsty rat #soft rat 🥺🥺🥺#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 headcanons #rdr2 writing #red dead redemption fanfiction #this is rushed and unedited #van der linde gang

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seventfics · 3 years

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Autumn Birds

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: We fell in love, but your previous lover reappeared/returned Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier (w/ past!Geralt/Eskel and past!Geralt/Jaskier) Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: They’d met just as the leaves were turning yellow.

Read on AO3

* * *

They’d met just as the leaves were turning yellow.

Jaskier had heard of a witcher staying in town and, as was his prerogative since his acquaintance with a certain White Wolf, he’d ventured to see what the man was all about. It was not so often one got to meet someone of their caste. Why not have a little courage to break the ice himself?

The whispers spoke of a witcher with a terribly scarred face. Two swords strapped over his back, their pommels shaped into wolf heads. The women said he had a voice like a dog’s growl, so grave that when he spoke, it made children cry.

He thought that last bit was rather mean, and followed the trail of curses into a grimy tavern where a fight was about to break out.

“You promised fifty.”

“The best I can do is half.”

Jaskier’s hand freezes on the door. Whatever he’s come to doesn’t look good. The witcher’s back is to him, his padded shoulders raised with tension. The village’s alderman paces in front of him, fuming over a contract’s fee. There’s a few antsy people in the crowd too. The anger written on their faces makes him nervous.

He’s seen how this ends a dozen times. It’s gotten his own arse kicked butting into the middle of a witcher’s bargaining, actually.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” Jaskier interjects boisterously from the doorframe anyway. “This is no mood for drink and cheer. Calm your spirits with a little of the former—”

The alderman grumbles under his breath about merry idiots meddling in what they shouldn’t. “Shut up, bard. This here’s serious business. And I’m not about to be robbed by a witcher’s ridiculous high prize.”

“It’s not ridiculous. The contract says fifty, and,” the witcher stops to lift the bloody stump of a water hag’s head, “it’s already done.”

“That contract was up weeks ago. The reward’s gone down. You’re lucky half’s on the table at all.”

The witcher grunts—a familiar sound to Jaskier’s ears which translates to wordless annoyance—and drops the head on the floor. “You’re lucky the hag didn’t move closer into the village in that time.”

“Is that a threat?”

At the rising outrage in his tone, Jaskier slips closer to stare at the alderman over the witcher’s swordless shoulder. “Ah, I believe the witcher means more of your people would have died, had he not taken care of the problem so promptly. The reward hardly sounds like an unreasonable amount. I could get twice as much on a profitable eve of singing. In fact,” he flips to the witcher, who does not yet deign to look back at his unforeseen defender, “I could turn this place around and earn us both a decent share in one night. I’m no fop on the job!”

It’s then that the witcher looks towards him, but the bard only manages a quick glimpse of an incredulous set of eyebrows before the alderman starts shouting.

“Get out! Both of you! Out of my town or I’ll have the dogs chase you out!”

They both take that as their leave, Jaskier with a bit more speed in his jog.

At the outskirts the witcher turns fully, and at the sight of his whole face Jaskier almost gasps out loud. A long scar runs through his cheek, from eyebrow to jaw, and over his lips. It puckers the skin all around it, disfiguring half of his face.

Whatever caused that scar must have hurt a lot.

The witcher shifts in place, quiet for a long second as Jaskier does his best to hide his nerves. “I’m sorry to have involved you.”

“Oh, please, don’t be. I involved myself. Jaskier’s the name, by the way,” he introduces himself, hand extended in greeting.

The witcher scratches the back of his head. His lips twist to one side, bashful. One of his teeth peeks through the scarred tissue over his mouth. “Uh. Eskel.” He takes the offered hand and shakes it.

It’s the firmest handshake Jaskier has ever received.

“Well, Eskel. Are you short on coin? Because so am I.”

The snort he gets is—soft. Not at all like the gruff from before, with the alderman.

“I’m not doing too bad, I’d say. Just currently fifty short of what I expected to have at the end of the day.”

"How about I help with that? I wasn't lying when I said I could earn both a decent share, given the right crowd."

It's the sunset hour, and the leaves were falling on top of them. Everything is gold. The sky, the trees. Eskel’s eyes when they blink at him and he breaks into a genuine laugh.

Jaskier knows he’s a romantic. His heart flutters every odd day over strangers with pretty smiles. He’s just never seen such a shy, sweet smile on someone with such an intimidating facade.

Making him smile again became a personal quest.

* * *

At the next town over, Eskel speaks to the alderman there. This one is more reasonable at least, and up front about the sort of beast that lurks in the northern farms. Which brings up a whole new conversation as Jaskier doesn’t part from Eskel’s side despite the obvious danger.

Eskel grunts and sits him down, not unlike the times Geralt tried—and failed—to convince him to stay put. Jaskier just blinks his pretty blue eyes and says, “and how will I write a song of your prowess in battle if I am not there to witness it?”

“This is a dangerous contract, bard. It would be best if you let me handle it alone.”

“Oh no. No, no, I’ve heard that before a dozen times.”

Eskel pauses at that. “What?”

“I am perfectly capable of staying out of your way.”

The wyvern they encounter says otherwise.

To be fair, he had done a good job of staying out of the witcher’s way for most of the fight. It is only when the beast slams its tail into Eskel’s side on a backswing that Jaskier shouts in worry from his hiding place and brings undue attention to himself.

Wind whips around him for a split second, scattering dust into his eyes. It takes a moment to wipe them clean so of course he doesn’t see the great shadow flying at him. Doesn't realize the immediate need to hide or flee for his life until a giant claw snatches him by the bunched fabric on his back.

Jaskier's stomach plummets as he soars up. The ground recedes. His clothes start to rip. This is it, he panic-screams in his mind, this is his final day. Either as monster food or a blood splatter on a rock, his time has come.

A severe overreaction, and his own mistake for not trusting in a witcher's skill. He doesn't realize it in all, what with all his flailing about, but Eskel fires a crossbow bolt perfectly at the wyvern’s eye.

The beast screeches terribly loud in his ears. It flaps its wings once, twice, before twisting midair and letting him go.

They both fall, but Eskel catches him.

By the silence that follows after an earth-shaking crunch, he knows the witcher's won. Victory is not immediately on his mind, though. The way his sight spins and the sun paints a halo behind Eskel's hair, Jaskier dumbly thinks, oh—I've quite literally fallen in love.

“See?” he says instead, breathless with terror at almost having died, “I’m perfectly fine.”

Eskel raises a thick brow at him. And he's smiling too, the bard thinks. Could just be the scar making it look like a lopsided smile, but he wants to believe that he's made the witcher smile again with his foolish sense of humor.

“Are you alright? The tail,” Jaskier frets once his vision settles. Some of these monsters have poisoned stingers on the end of their tails. Are wyverns one of them?

But Eskel waves him down before he can consider the worst. “Relax. I cast Quen in time.”

“That’s a, uh, magic shield, right?”

Surprise colors Eskel's features. So it seems he's right. A point of pride on Jaskier's belt for remembering witcher signs.

Getting proof of a contract well done takes the witcher a good minute to collect. Wyvern skin is tough. The head would normally satisfy as proof, but it's too heavy to be lugging around town. He will have to make do with the wing tips. Should they question him, the remains aren't going anywhere.

“Come on, bard. Time to get our day's work done. And after that, we're going west.”

“'We'?” Something about the proclamation has his heart beating fast.

“'Course. I'm not letting you out of my sight now.”

He makes a show of bowing dramatically. “I wouldn’t want to be elsewhere.”

* * *

“You’re a friend of Geralt’s.”

Jaskier looks up from his notes.

Traveling with someone is always interesting—with a witcher even more so. So far he's learned that Eskel has far more routines than Geralt ever did, like counting his coin at the end of every week, and making sure he has two of every potion ready.

Jaskier quirks a half-smile. “I am. How did you figure? I never said his name.”

“Your song.” He points to the scribbled mess on his lap. “Or, I guess your work in progress. I see an expression he uses a lot, that he learned from me.”

“Oh?”

Eskel sits by him and nods, as if finally understanding Jaskier’s odd ease partnering with a witcher, and starts the story of where the expression in his handwriting originated from.

It’s funny at first, imagining a much younger, somehow more foolish Geralt together with this huge, frightening man who is not frightening at all to talk to. Eskel speaks so softly, so tenderhearted about the old memory—two boys, witchers-to-be, practically joined at the hip, making crude jokes. So he reciprocates with a tale of where he comes from, as destiny deigned to put them in each other’s paths.

As it happens, a lot of their first stories aren’t even their own, but Geralt’s.

And Eskel has many more over his. He’s more than happy to share them over camp.

Some of it leaves Jaskier’s throat aching. This is someone who clearly cares about his big grumpy friend. It's someone he can understand.

Then Eskel claps a bare hand on his back, his thumb and forefinger a hot press just under his nape, and oh, he’s more than a little foolishly in love actually, as his head is emptied of all reason at the small touch.

“Am I to become your travel bard,” Jaskier quips with an airy giggle. “I’m excellent entertainment at parties.”

“Not for long. It’s almost winter. Soon I’ll have to head north to meet my brothers.”

His heart sinks. “Oh.”

Eskel squeezes his shoulder with careful strength. “You better keep out of trouble while I’m gone, you hear?”

“Of course. I don’t go looking for trouble.”

“No, trouble just finds you.”

Well, if ‘trouble’ is a scarred, smirking witcher, he sure hopes that to be true.

* * *

They meet again when the trees are just beginning to color with spring blooms.

There is also a griffin tearing through the town's cattle, but that’s besides the point. Easily dealt with. Which is good, seeing as Jaskier had been near the scene and probably next on the menu. No one had told him about the griffin, so really. He's just as surprised to find Eskel as he is about the beast.

“You alright, bard?”

“I am now.”

Matter resolved, Jaskier walks in step next to Eskel. The town opens before them, welcoming the witcher not with smiles, but grudging gratitude.

“You sure? Trouble didn’t come knocking while I was gone?”

“Only a man with a lover’s grudge come to kick my ass out of a wonderfully luxurious establishment. Didn’t even get to enjoy the hot bath I paid for, which is such a terrible waste of hot water.”

A deep hum comes out of the witcher. “A lover’s grudge?”

“Just a past dalliance that won’t forget me.”

Eskel stops and shifts on his feet, like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know how to start.

Oh, witchers and their awkward conversation skills.

“You know what, I’m starving. I think a good, hearty meal is owed between us. What do you say we go collect your reward and we break fast at the alderman’s recommendation?”

“We don’t have to get the coin right now. I could go for some food.”

“First tavern we see then. Come on.”

Right as he says it, he wraps his arm around Eskel’s, and maybe he’s just being too obvious, too hopeful, but Eskel doesn’t shrug him off. They make their way to a large and welcoming tavern, him talking his head off about the barn smell that permeates the whole town and ignoring the dark looks people give them down the street, as Eskel listens, not a word coming from his mouth. It worries Jaskier a minute that he’s becoming more annoyance than the teasing meddler he wants to be. But Eskel is just scratching his chin, looking down and letting Jaskier lead.

When it becomes clear that Eskel doesn’t have any rented lodgings yet, Jaskier offers his own. “I’m sure the innkeeper won’t mind us bunking if we pay for two, at the end of our stay.”

Eskel doesn't say no. He also doesn't say yes. It takes them finally being settled in a table of their own, full of fruits, cheese and bread, neither of them taking the first bite to eat, for Jaskier to nervously ask, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” comes the too-quick response.

“If I overstepped in some way, please tell me.”

“It’s nothing like that, I—uh.” Eskel shakes his head, his expression scrunched up unpleasantly.

“Whatever it is, I won’t be offended.”

He's already writing a million apologies in his head for any of his imagined offenses, that he's not quite prepared for what Eskel says instead.

“You are...different from what I expected.”

Jaskier blinks. “How so?”

“I don’t know. You’re just. Human. You’re normal.” He makes a point of gesturing at the table, the people keeping their distance. “I don’t get why you do all this for me.”

It's slow-creeping, but once the pieces align, Jaskier starts to understand what he means. That confusion, he’s known it with Geralt. Why do you stick with me? What does a witcher have to offer a human that isn’t the service of a silver sword? What does a human want with a mutant when there are plenty of other ordinary, uncomplicated folk in the world to have for company?

“Because you’re a good man,” he tells the witcher gently. “Because you saved my life and I want to repay you in kind. Most reasonably of all, because we’re friends, and friends take care of each other.”

Of course there’s more to it than that, but if a friend is all Eskel wants, then a friend he shall be.

The rumble of the tavern fills the air as Eskel stares at him a little wide-eyed. Jaskier gives him a slight smile. As a close, he pushes the platter of cheese forward with an encouraging, “now eat your fill, my friend.”

Once Eskel returns his smile, he thinks that, well, that everything will turn out alright.

And they’re happy eating their food when Geralt shows up for the griffin that’s already dead.

At his distinct silhouette, Eskel stands up. “White Wolf.”

“Eskel,” Geralt calls back gravely.

They clasp arms and pat each other’s shoulders in sync. It might not seem like much to outsiders, but what a rare sight to behold—two witchers, two mirrored grins on both their faces.

Eskel is the first to part from the hug with a chiding, “You didn’t come for winter.”

“I know. I had a lot going on. Saw your handiwork hooked to your horse’s saddle.” Then he looks down, and spots Eskel's table company. “Jaskier?”

“Geralt.”

Their held eye-contact feels longer than it is. Looking away, Jaskier half expects the whole tavern to be staring at them, but as it turns out, no one cares to pay the witchers and their odd bard any attention now that the monster's been dealt with. It's just him, imagining his heart hanging out of his sleeve for everyone to judge.

And maybe Eskel senses something's up between them, because he leaves them with the excuse to collect his coin.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Jaskier says after Geralt takes Eskel's abandoned seat. “Have you really been so busy that you couldn’t let your friends know you were alive?”

Geralt's silence is its own answer—a little shame, a little remorse. He remembers how Eskel had said that as time went on, Geralt just, lost touch. There had been something heavy in Eskel’s eyes when he said it, and Jaskier had felt it in his soul. Now he understands why. Him and Eskel, they'd both gone through the same impossible task of loving someone who doesn’t believe he can be loved.

By gods, he still loves Geralt, but Geralt's heart is a rusty cage, and neither of them can coax the old bird that lives in it anymore. Soft words and gentle promises have run their course.

“So,” the witcher starts, “you and Eskel? Didn't know you knew each other.”

“Maybe if you’d met either of us during winter you would have heard.” The phrasing's rough, but there's no resentment in his voice. He would have liked to know that Geralt had been safe in his wintering home, with Eskel.

“Yeah. I’m...surprised.” Jaskier raises his brow at him. Which just earns a quick shake of Geralt’s head. “He doesn’t make friends easily.”

“Neither do you, and yet look at us.”

“Look at us,” he echoes, staring at the empty plates.

“We missed a lot of opportunities together, didn’t we?” It doesn't make the truth any easier to swallow, but acknowledging the what-could-have-beens has always made him feel better afterward. Like closing a book, and getting ready to open a new one. He hopes Geralt knows that there's no bridges destroyed between them. Only those missed moments.

He still very much cares for Geralt, and he knows that Geralt does as well. They just have to come to terms with what's over—and what might come next.

“I won’t lie to you,” Jaskier adds more seriously. “I don’t want to miss any opportunities with him.”

The 'him' in question is unmistakable. Geralt nods. He looks down, one end of his mouth drawing up to dimple his cheek.

He says, like an olive branch offering, “His favorite flower is yarrow. Not because they’re pretty, but because they’re useful in the most surprising ways.”

* * *

They spend the day catching up, all three of them, before Geralt is on the road again, taking his own path. Jaskier sees how it brightens Eskel’s spirits to have seen him off, and cheers up twofold.

“I’ve known him practically my whole life,” Eskel tells him.

“I’ve known him half of mine.”

“So you understand.”

“That he’s a prat? Oh yes. Good at heart, backwards about verbalizing it. Cheeky when he wants to be. Oh by the way, here.”

From out of his little travel bag, Jaskier pulls a swathe of yarrows.

“Saw some at market street,” he explains, presenting them. “Thought you might find use in them for your potions.”

Eskel turns to him, his bright witcher eyes bouncing between him and the yarrows. Jaskier feels his heart climb up his throat, wondering what runs through Eskel's mind that makes him pause for so long.

Then Eskel takes them with one hand and with the other, he touches Jaskier’s face. It's big, warm, calloused against his skin. And sudden.

“‘Cheeky when he wants to be’, right?”

Jaskier stutters to say, “Well, yes, I mean, but this isn’t about him—”

He forgets how to speak after Eskel kisses him. It’s the lightest peck on the corner of his lips, so light that once he draws back, he wonders if he's not still dreaming back in their rented room.

“Thank you. I know just what to use them for.”

The yarrow gets tucked away with the other herbs in Eskel's saddlebag. A few glasses clink together as he moves things around so they don’t get crushed. And then, as Jaskier stands there, stupefied and slack-jawed, Eskel mounts his steed, a soot-black beauty that neighs softly at Jaskier’s face.

“Where are you headed for now?”

“Nowhere. Anywhere.” Wherever you’ll go, he thinks to himself. Wherever you'll have me.

Eskel grins wide at him, and it's the most beautiful sight, his smile, with all his teeth gleaming.

“That sounds like trouble.”

#jaskel #jaskier x eskel #rarepair summer bingo #myfics #tt

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bondsmagii · 3 years

Note

omg you read we need to talk about kevin? what did you think? i went through a whole range of emotions, most of them bitter & negative, bc i saw too much of my mum & brother in eva & kevin, something i’m still working through. i started off hating eva bc i projected my resentment towards my mum onto her, but i found myself sympathising with her a bit more towards the end. it’s helped me sympathise a bit with my mum too. this book has probably had the most lasting effect on me than any other!

man, I love that book. I first read it years ago and liked it then, but I recently reread it and I loved it even more. it's such a brilliant book -- profoundly uncomfortable and incredibly bleak, but I think it asks so many important questions that, face it, most people are too scared to even acknowledge. it simultaneously asks the huge taboo of a question -- what if you regret having your child? what if a child is just born bad? -- and also combines it with that other big question: why do kids shoot up their schools? the nature vs nurture debate has been absolutely raging for years regarding children who commit violence at school; as someone with an academic interest in this particular crime, it's one I've banged my head up against multiple times. people seem to always be firmly in one camp: the parents are to blame, or the kid is just evil. nobody seems to consider the interaction between these two things, and how it's always ultimately a choice.

the book is a pretty intense read for me, as I'm sure you can relate. the difference is that while you can see your mother and brother in Eva and Kevin, I actually see myself and my mother in Eva and Kevin. I was an unwanted and a resented child. my parents did not want to have me. I was what my parents referred to as "a surprise", said in the same tone as you would describe a sudden house fire as a surprise, or bad news at work as a surprise. the major difference between my parents and Eva and Franklin was that they had me very young (they would have been 19 and barely 20 when they found out, and 20 and barely 21 when I was born) and this most certainly added to the resentment. my father was always away for work, often getting to go to some pretty interesting destinations; my mother wanted to be the kind of woman who wanted to be a stay-at-home mother, but she hated it. like Eva and Kevin, my mother and I were very, very alike in personality and what we did and did not want out of life, and we were engaged in some level of warfare for my entire childhood. while I wasn't quite on the level of Kevin in terms of blinding my siblings and whatnot, I was quite the terror as a child. by the time I reached my teenage years I was uncontrollable and my parents had given up trying. I could not be punished. I did not care. any punishment they did hand out, I was maliciously compliant to the point of infuriation. I'm sure my parents could argue that I was born evil, and indeed that's what they told the extended family. I admit I was not an easy child. however -- I was a child.

I did not ask to be born, and when my parents made the choice to have me and then resent my existence, that was on them. a child knows. a child can tell when he's not wanted, when he's an inconvenience. I knew it very well, from an early age. my parents' resentment of me resulted in them abusing me right up until I left home. I was like an unwanted pet, except they couldn't dump me off at a shelter. no, they never laid a finger on me physically, so they can claim they didn't abuse me -- but emotionally and psychologically they were abusive, and especially in my teenage years, they neglected me severely. (think along the lines of being left at home alone for extended periods with no food, no money, and no way to get supplies as we lived in rural Ireland and the closest supermarket was 30 minutes away. this was not something they did out of malice, but rather something they did because they did not consider me at all. they forgot my existence, most of the time, or they deemed me so inconsequential that making provisions for me was a task that could be forever put off.) understandably this made me hate them in return, and I took great pleasure in being a little shit. it was all I had. nature vs nurture, which is it? my parents weren't exactly nurturing, and they taught me very bad behaviour -- but at the same time from the moment I was born I had my mother's personality, predisposing me to being a little shit. even now, grown up and after many years of working on myself, I still find myself fighting the urge to be as cruel and as judgemental as she could be; likewise I see those positive qualities she had, that she could have shown more of if she had put the work in like I had. we went from being furious carbon copies of one another to an example of the best and the worst case scenario.

basically what it comes down to is choice. Kevin and I had a similar situation going on, but Kevin chose to try and find what he was looking for in mass murder, and I chose to try and find it by getting out of my house and never returning. I mentioned earlier that I have an academic interest in the kind of crime that Kevin committed; since the age of 17 I have been researching these things, and now have expertise in several specific incidents. I bring this up to illustrate that this crime was on my radar when I was around Kevin's age, when I was suffering from the same problems as he was. thousands of kids find themselves in this position, yet so relatively few commit the act. why? it's choice. nature, nurture -- it doesn't matter. there comes a point where you have to make the choice, and honestly? it's chaos theory, baby.

as well as researching this kind of thing I'm also an amateur meteorologist. I love weather. I love trying to work out what makes it tick. and weather is a good example of what I'm trying to say here. weather cannot be predicted. we can get decent ideas, but at the same time we never really know for sure and also weather acts differently every time. there are too many variables. it's the entirety of the earth's atmosphere we're talking about here. identical weather conditions can arise time and time again, and each time the weather is different. a sunny afternoon one day is a washout the next. this is because -- and I broadly sum it up here -- there are so many tiny variables that we cannot possibly predict how they will change the weather. and I mean it's tiny variables. I'm sure you've heard of the butterfly effect -- this comes from the idea that a butterfly somewhere on the coast of Africa can flap its wings, and this tiny reverberation can spread through the atmosphere, creating a bigger and bigger ripple, until a hurricane smashes into the Gulf of Mexico. tiny atmospheric changes all interacting in ways we cannot imagine. this is why some kids shoot up schools. it's easy to look at psychology broadly, but no two people are ever the same. siblings growing up in the exact same house are not the same. identical twins, genetically identical to their very DNA, are not the same. tiny, tiny events, microdoses of chemicals in the brain, exposures -- they all change us in subtle ways. two people -- Kevin and I -- can grow up with almost identical familial issues and outlooks, but Kevin shoots up his school and I study my ass off and get myself to university to escape my parents. why? I don't know. I don't know what tiny little things might influence me one way and another kid in the other. personality, brain chemistry, waking up that morning and having enough or not -- I don't know. it's chaos theory. the variables are too small to say. nature vs nurture are only two variables out of millions. it's an oversimplification.

so to go back to the book -- who do I blame? neither of them. it was a perfect storm. we could say Eva didn't help, but I know of plenty of kids with decent parents who still committed such a crime. we could say that Kevin was just born bad, but there are plenty of people with his resentful outlook on life who don't commit mass murder, or any harm against anyone whatsoever. it's like how every tornado comes from a supercell, but not every supercell will spawn a tornado -- that final genesis point is unknown to us. we just can't predict it. there are no easy answers. there is no simple formula. we just don't know, and that's what makes Kevin's story -- and its real-life counterparts -- so terrifying.

#sorry for going off but this combines two (2) of my Major Academic Niches so you got the full 1hr lecture with slideshow i'm afraid #anon #asks

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firerose · 3 years

Text

Dark Leo -Dark seven au part2

@reading0mens Hope you enjoy it, I put a bit under read more because it’s kinda long XD

Leo‘s world is shattered after Jason‘s death

He knows it was a storm or fire

He knows that his cheating death caused the fates to take Jason away

At Jason‘s funereal he cries into Piper‘s shoulder

The boy that told him he was important, that made him believe he was worth something was gone

His sorrow makes him burst into flames and as Piper lets go he sinks over his friends grave

Things only got worse from there

He can‘t look at Calypso anymore

She was the reason he cheated death after all

He thinks about how she always complains about him, never truly helped him as Jason did

He goes back to Camp half-blood not caring that there is a battle coming for the Romans

He couldn‘t help them anyway

He locks himself in Bunker 9 building machines to distract himself from the cruel reality

Jason Grace was dead and he was alive

Calypso tries to get through to him but he yells at her that he regrets having saved her

He doesn‘t mean because of her of course but it is still her that he cheated death for

Calypso leaves in tears

Leo continues building and as his hands work on inventions his mind goes to Hera

Why didn‘t she save Jason?

He was her hero, wasn‘t he?

The bridge between greeks and Romans

So what kept her from saving him?

Anger begins to rage in him

Maybe Jason was just a tool for her

A weapon she could use and then forget

A scream breaks out of him and flames start floating over everything

He begins to despise the queen of Olympus just like he once hated Gea

At least Gea never acted like she wanted to protect them

He feels a desire to make Hera pay, to play with her just like she did with him

He knows that he can't take revenge on Hera all by himself Isn't there an emperor in new york

A plan starts to form in his head

Nyssa brings him the news

Camp Jupiter beat Caligula and Commodus now only Nero is left

The only change for Leo to take revenge on Hera

He leaves in the early morning

He is not nervous only strangely excited

Finding the emperor was not hard he could oversee the whole city on his metal dragon

„What do you want demigod?“, Nero asks coldly sitting on his throne arrogant as always

Leo only smiles darkly „I want to treat Hera just like she treated me and my friends.“

Nero has picked up many demigods from the streets but this one is special

He has an almost feral look in his eyes like he would be ready to burn the world

„And how exactly do plan to do that? Nero asks his voice full of curiosity

After hearing the plan Nero allows Leo to stay

He has a big room full of machines, engines automatons

Leo loves it

He builds robots small ones at first but his anger makes his talents grow

Somehow he manages to equip them with laser eyes ten arms that shoot fire canons, their fingers made of blades

He makes other inventions to ones that he prays to one day use on a certain goddess

A part of him is terrified of his work but another screams justice for Jason so he continues

Two weeks later Leo gives Hazel and Frank a surprise visit

They are happy to see him, they are his friends after all

Leo laughs with them, jokes as if everything was normal

One night he and Frank even mourn Jason together

When he feels real tears form in his eyes he is grateful for Franks hug

He can tell that Frank wants him to feel loved just like Jason once did

He is thankful and when Frank leaves his firewood feels heavy in Leo‘s hand

The next day horns are blowing, demigods scream in terror

A huge robot army is threatening to enter new Rome

The Legion is horrified but they swore to protect the city so they get ready for battle

None of them is showing their fear when they stand between the robots and their city

Reyna and Frank stand before their cohorts but Frank is not too worried

Those robots are made of metal and he sees in Hazel‘s smile that she knows this too

The daughter of Pluto raises her hand to save those she loves

But then a voice close to her speaks up coldly

„Hazel stop “, She almost did not recognize it

Leo stands a few feet away eyes gleaming darkly, Franks stick lays in his hand

Franks feels a cold dread in his stomach

„Leo…...what are you doing? Frank asks unable to hide his fear

Leo lets out a pained humourless laugh, I‘m destroying the god's ego by crashing their glorious temples.“ he explains and Hazel feels her heartbreak at his words

How is this the same boy who made her smile with his jokes

Reyna curses“ How dare you betray us? After Jason-“

Leo interrupts her with a mad shout

„That's exactly my point! Jason died because Hera for some reason refused to save him. We are all just puppets for the gods don‘t you see that!“I'm trying to save us from them but if you don‘t surrender now I will be forced to let you suffer for the god's crimes.“, Leo explains his tone almost hysteric

There is silence for a moment

The robots stand like dead status, new Rome's citizens glance towards them from behind the barrier, the roman soldiers are glaring at Leo

„Romans don‘t surrender.“, Frank finally responds his voice brave, his eyes full of pain

Leo smirks like he expected that answer

His whole body bursts into flame

Frank falls to the ground as his stick is swallowed by fire

Pain ignites in his heart, he hears Hazel‘s scream

He looks at his girlfriend a hand stretched towards her as if to hold her one last time

She stretches her hand towards him as well, her mouth moving as she sobs

A weak scream leaves his lips when a Robots blade impales her neck the blade coming out bloody at her throat

Her hand sinks, her body collapses into a puddle of her blood and Frank‘s world goes black

Leo stares at their unmoving bodies

The stick in his hands is now only ashes

He knows he should feel something

He should feel remorse

Instead, he just feels empty

The gods could have saved them but they didn‘t

If the gods would just be better he would not have done this

The gods are to blame not him

So he joins the massager

The demigods are fighting bravely but nothing prepared them to fight eight feet high machines

Blades are piercing through their bodies, the fire burns their flesh, dozens get trampled

Leo is in the middle of it all shooting fireballs burning everyone who gets too close

A fireball hits Reyna‘s hair and the Praetor is doomed to a firey cruel death

Soon the city falls, Terminus barrier is not strong enough to hold the metal beasts off

New Romes citizens are slaughtered in their streets, their buildings, temples destroyed

Their screams ring in Leo‘s ears but he continues to fight

This is for Jason. This is for Jason

He keeps using this excuse even though a part of him tells him that Jason wouldn‘t have wanted this

When Leo the last screams finally have died new Rome is in ruins

On Olympus, the gods are raging

Their pride has never been attacked like this

Hera looks at Leo wandering through the dead city with worry

He was her hero once just like Jason but now he seems …..changed

Maybe somehow she could convince him to come back to her

She is his grandmother after all

So she goes down to him in the form of his old babysitter

Leo growls when he sees he sees her

„Now you decide to show up? After I slaughtered thousands of People? Wow you are a horrible patron goddess!“, He snarls

Hera looks at him in pity

„Leo I know you are angry but this is madness. Jasons death was in the hand of the fates and I couldn‘t do anything sometimes even we gods are powerless. Don‘t go down this road my hero it will only bring you to suffering.“ Hera warns but that only makes Leo more furious.

They are standing in the smouldering ruins of her city and yet all she can do is makeup excuses

„You ……..you are so arrogant Hera! First, you act like my protector, my babysitter for years and then you don‘t even save my mother, then you give me fake memories about my best friend and then when I‘m finally growing closer to him you watch him die too. I bet if I hadn‘t killed Frank today you would have done it! Jason Frank and I were just pawns whose lives you controlled and that you now don‘t need anymore!“, Leo yells his hands balled into fists.

Hera listens to her face showing guilty embarrassment

She is too lost in thought, that is why she sees the net that Leo throws over her too late

The strings are made of celestial bronze but when she tries to escape the net only grows tighter cutting into her skin

Leo smiles at her in amusement.

„I hope you enjoy your new home your high majesty., He mocks

Hera realized that this was all part of his plan

Destroying new Rome to get her attention, louring her here so he could capture her

„Let me go immediately demigod or my wrath-“. She is cut off when Leo gags her

He has enough to listen of listening to her

He just wants to visit Jason's grave one last time

Leo returns to Nero with his army and with Hera

She is carried by one of the Robots trapped in metal strings

Nero welcome Leo with open arms

This child is a blessing even better than Meg Mc Caffrey

He tells Leo that he wants to wait with his attack on the greeks

He wants the news about camp Jupiter to reach them first

Leo agrees and grins at Hera

The goddess tries to change from even her real one but the strings only golden

„They drain your godly essence. The emperors are no strangers to dark magic Hera. You won‘t get out of here unless I allow it.“, Leo mocks once he has taken her to his room

The image of Her lying helpless and restrained on the ground gives him chills of joy

He picks out a knife from his toolbelt, Heras's eyes widen

„Now let's see how you like being hurt without someone there to help.“ Leo muses and drives the blade into the goddess's arm.

He smiles at the golden blood and Heras agonized groan

He is going to have so much fun with her

Leo almost feels disappointed when Nero tells him that it‘s time for the attack

By now all demigods know what happened

Chiron evacuated Camp half-blood taking the younger Campers to safety

Nero knows it‘s only a matter of time until the rest disappears to

So Leo and the emperor fly to Long island alone with Festus who hold Hera in his claws

The robots are deactivated until Leo's command, Nero wants to give his enemies hope of winning

A handful of Campers is already waiting for them at the top of Half-blood hill

Leo winces when he sees Percy and Nico

He had forgotten the people close to Frank and Hazel

„Surrender or face the same end as your roman friends!“, Nero demands

Percy spits to the ground

Nico gets out his sword his eyes piercing into Leo soul

„Do you think Jason still loves you after what you did Leo?“, Nico asks coldly

Leo‘s heart feels like it‘s torn apart

Nico‘s words are the truth in the back of his mind. The truth that his lust for revenge drowned out

Jason, sweet kind Jason would never love someone who killed his friends

Leo feels panic, he has to move forward he has to distract himself from his thoughts

„Let that be my concern.“, Leo spats and drops Hera to the ground

Her body is covered in deep cuts, golden blood covers the strings

The attack begins

Leo decides to take out Percy first

He shoots fire but Percy uses the lake to his advantage

Water and fire clash together in the air squishing as they meet

Leo gets more furious

He creates big flames that lit the threes next to Percy on fire, tiny flames to grasp Percy‘s hair

Percy seems to be prepared for everything

He protects himself with shields of water and creates tentacles in an attempt to drag Leo to the ground

Their fight is hard, full of hatred and so none of them notices Nico‘s fight against Nero

Until the emperor screams while he's being sucked into the earth

Neros household, all young brainwashed demigods panic and run

Leo yells in frustration

Why did he choose such bad allies?

Nico collapses from the uses of his underworld powers, the grass around him black

Leo wants to take his chance and flames flicker from his hand#

But then a big hand of water grabs him and lifts him off his dragon

Leo is taken by surprise but soon blind rage follows

„Now!“, He hears Percx yell and when he turns his head he sees Annabeth cutting Heras net with Nico‘s stygian sword

Desperation and fear will Leo

„No please!“, He Beggs but Percy drops him on the ground without mercy

Hera although wounded immediately grows to full size her eyes blazing with fury

„I WARNED YOU MY HERO NOW FACE THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIONS.“Hera yells her form glowing

„No wait!“, Percy says his eyes widened in shock

Leo knows what is coming, he has seen it once before

Tears of sorrow, of fear, of anger stream down his cheeks

He wonders if Hades will let him see Jason again after he murdered his daughter

In a last attempt to turn his fate he reaches for his toolbelt

But then he stops

How can he destroy the greeks after they took him in after they tried to make him belong somewhere?

His thoughts wander to Piper and his heart is split by deep guilt

Leo Valdez opens his eyes and stares right into the godly flames that even he can‘t survive

His last thought is a prayer of forgiveness to all he has killed in his path for revenge

Leo is buried at Camp half-blood

There are a lot of discussions about it but no one can think of a better place

Hera assures the Campers that in a few years there will be new roman demigods

This does not help the losses though

Percy and Annabeth spend many nights crying with each other about their lost friends, their lost future

Will has to hold Nico for countless nights too, Has to remind him that he always will be there for him

Apollo becomes a god again

And in California Piper Mclean cries out her prayers to the gods

She prays for them to free her out of these new fake mist reality

She prays for them to let her wake up in a world where her best friends are still alive

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Honestly I wished Hoo went more into the fact that frank Jasons and Leos lives were all controlled by Hera! That would have been such an interesting dynamic!

#percy jackson #heroes of olympus #dark!leo #dark seven #valgrace #leo valdez #jason grace #piper mclean #annabeth chase #hazel levesque #frank zhang #trials of apollo #the burning maze

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