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incarnateirony · 1 month

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So now that things are settled, let's talk a bit about magical theory. I do know I have a few readers that have been messaging me about this to learn their own parts.

For those that are more nervous about direct messaging, I'll give the same advice I gave the last person: depending on your nature, either the Kybalion or Campbell's Hero With 1000 Faces is the place to start, or Jung if you're super science brained, but few are, not many people want to jump into the psychodrama. Kybalion will give you the shape in prose and Campbell in familiar media narratives that he later will explain in alchemy in the back half of the book.

Now, as for what the structure of my last few months looked like, it was pretty simple really. Even if it looked like lunacy at the surface, and in a way it is, but it's a form of controlled lunacy that is its own art and even science, even when y'all were like U OK BRO? and I was basically like NOT REALLY, WE ARE EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES BUT I AM WORKING IT OUT, because yeah, you start splitting your brain and digging in others, and this post sorta breaks down the volume and mass I was operating at, how and why.

Part 1: The plagiarized ideas enshrined in my stalker's home, hard drive, galleries and everywhere else were easy enough to conceptually graft a sigil to. I won't display it, For Reasons, but this is where the crosshatching comes in.

Part 2: The sigil was designed to attach to the concept of "Tartarus". This has many uses, from mythological, cosmological, referential (2013 interview about the space between dreams, per hermes), and of course overlapping the release of Persona 3 Reload, its use of Jung, et all.

Part 3: Conceptually graft the parts, clear and face the parts again if as myself again, collect the material. This sounds straight forward, but with Tartarus attached, I started using the focus of players. Infinite restarts, infinite Moments, infinite tiny timeline turns, saved files, fractals and variants, infinite voices.

Part 4: I've worked on collective unconscious focus for a while, as well as the climb of the mind, if you will. I've posted many, many trees and charts about this, whether about TV shows or otherwise. Yall operate in Malkuth. I generally look for access from Da'at. Going higher causes major meltdown and Da'at itself is already overwhelming. Like driving into the fuckin akrida hole. Like I saw every possible me and chose to be myself when I got shot, and now I know how to walk in that door and see that a lot. There's a lot of me. I yell in the clowncell and people answer on twitter, so I started attaching my messages itself to Tartarus and other familiar topics that were easy to browse.

Part 5: Let these cycle. People say the joke, the joke spreads, people repeat the joke, the joke becomes an evocation. The brainrot spreads. Artists, musicians, programmers all onboard the brainrot. Tartarus is now in funny squid game, and Fortnite, and wherever else, and so on. the Tartarus Dev likes talking to himself as three people to be productive now, and after his swinging honkai star rail train you'll never guess what he made, guys.

Part 6: Just move this shit around. Tell Multiple Jokes. Bind your narratives together into a new weave. The masses do the spellcasting for you on a titanic scale through unconscious inner focuses you're using towards an end objective.

Part 7: The processing; once assigned, beaten to shit, and being actively harvested while entangled and under a few hundred million eyes from a certain Big Game stunt pulled (since I glossed over that step here, but the universe is perceiving itself big time in a circle here)... like. It's already Jung grafted from Persona anyway and has been unnder work as that to reduce the shadows, but the astrological alignments of this were the end of an 11 year solar cycle where, ironically, similar events happened because, again, this same abuser attacked me about 11 years ago, and wow, it's a motherfucking circle I have grokked beyond grokking they can ever fucking understand.

Part 8: Use of the alignments and the annual Thelemic readings, including riding the main lodge's use of the processing readings. Special focus on days like the eclipse. I won't break it down at length, but the eclipse axis fused to last year's planetary parade stretched over all of this with mercury en retro is quite literally where my own bootstrap comes from, I had to figure that shit out myself while stumbling through my own messages. One of those, I Have Always Fucking Been Here moments. In the basement. Like carpet. Surrounded by mountain dew in conceptual tartarus. Absolutely losing my goddamn mind on an abusive ex until I fractal myself through the eclipse's infinite shadow moons to the moons to the moons to the moons, and three people named a bird Luna, so anyway.

Part 9: Try to walk away. Mostly did but some idiot gave me some stupid useless papers so I had to go do a thing and they complained I was talking about it still, IDK.

Part 10: Try to walk away from what I have newly perceived, beause it is done, and what's done is done, and what has happened is what is happening, and so it will be.

There's side steps to what I used for this. Throughout the entire thing, music was critical. Whether that be my abuser accidentally giving me various heartsongs to different parts of their psyche multiple times, or on a larger scale. There's an old experiment called BIG NOISE with E.G.G. readers. The EGGs still exist and are reported on by the GCP and princeton, but big noise was about everyone putting off a sound to cause an effect. Okay, take that with, say, the idea of Tartarus. And a million live players blasting battle themes. Using the sound track to listen in on who else is listening, attacking what corner of conceptual psyche or navigating which path, and using that to backbrain on them, hence some people reporting passing out, losing time, being haunted by the song, or having weird dreams about the suicide prevention villain of tartarus afterward.

You'll notice I had multiple copies of the same song, usually remixes. This was to open up enough dissonance that my own messaging could remix into backbrains while traveling and trying not to lose full will or identity while riding the edge of the veil. The Bass House Remix of life will change has different merits than the Eurobeat. Eurobeat was momentum. Bass House was the glitchtrap ridden claude manifesting chain, and so on. And all of this, of course, starting with their favorite Foolish Glamrock.

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I can't even begin to explain the level of fuckery involved with the music if you guys can't grok the quantum/time/etc elements here, and I'm not gonna get into that, but for example, that song didn't exist until it did 3 months prior, just like the Bass House Remix didn't exist until it did, one year prior, and so on. The TTripleTrismegistus remixes were always there. Baby baby bluray.

Kinda like the world remembering old dog statues that have weird energy and staring red eyes, idk. Oh, and that Roadmap DLC music expansion coming out when it did was a beautiful godsend of flexibility, allowing me to expand the pillars and trees I was coming from in mass form, a bit much to explain in an overview post (Mementos and Tartarus are the same, flipped, like sephiroth and qlipoth, some of which the areas bear names for; also why Rebirth as a concept is grafted in multiple ways, and Sephiroth is an easy attachment, especially with the long mentioned Zenthus parallelism and my ability to use that for Apep and others)

There were other crosshatched in ideas. While riding the planned persona backbone, the release of 5 X helped both reinforce the shadow loop, added in new integrations like the Janus persona, and fused well with using tweets from "X" in its own beautiful little fibonacci its own. Spiraling out, one could say, from X marks the spot where we fell apart, and nothing good starts in a getaway car my dears. That was Him trying. And they didn't listen.

The Superbowl period crosshatching in Tartarus as a mass viewed concept is around when I did in fact almost come unglued for a bit. I was already raising past what I considered normal capacity and then I stuck a cosmic perceptive subwoofer under it to the tune of a few hundred million perceiving the moment, and that's all you need for one bridge. Like the commentators said, the dream starts after halftime. In that 2013 cited space between dreams. Who was it that said that again?

Anyhoo. That's what I've been doing. Blasting my soul out over millions of televisions and phones for months off of mutual hyperfixations to spread a message and achieve a goal, however random and arbitrary the moves may have seemed at the time.

You wish another magician had this much fucking swag in his fucking clown shoes.

No seriously, to the kids crawling gnostic twitter mentions to people I'm probably never gonna talk to again looking for some way to Get At Me. Which is it that has you acting this fucking retarded and addicted more? The denial that someone got you guzzling my dick in a cult against BOTH of our mutual consents, the fact that someone you hatelove so much achieved this level of attainment, or the fact that you're realizing you cost your friend everything they wanted? Or is it like a shake and bake of the above?

No seriously someone mimicked my work because they pine after it and want it in their life, it is truly that simple. Them getting all confused on gods and religion and shit is their own fuckin problem. It is literally What They Wanted. They just thought That was Hermes, for example, or Leviathan, or whichever god flavor of the day was lifted from my 20+ years of works, writing, journaling, game design and whatever else with a new nametag slapped on it as a perceived fix. Like no, that's Aaron, and that's Zenthus. Why yes deep deep down that is Hermes and Apep or whatever language you want to put it in, but the point is That Specific One is me, not him, that is my individual identity, the persona this incarnation is approaching life with. It was inspired my my ambitions, my dreams, my losses, my roads I did and did not take, a life I personally walked and lived on the road, and more. It's not a hard concept to wrap your mind around.

Except it is, because woopsiedoodle that powerful mage hermes is just like. Some guy yall betrayed, that's in the brotherhood and among the dissonance and both is and isn't him, but when I'm sitting here physically in this chair, that is absolutely me, Aaron Eema, cussing your delusional asses out, Always Has Been, even when my brain turns into fucking jello in the collective unconscious and I sound like a fucking madhat.

His name was Aaron Eema. He was one of hundreds of on paper children of the last big wig Hermes incarnation, and had a lot of Him with Him, but he was still distinctly different from Brian. But Brian had pined to retire and have a homestead despite his nature, and signed his own death warrant and basically transmigrated to Aaron in the written version. Because he got backstabbed by a woman he was trying to settle with and for. Aaron Eema, of Alabama. Yup that guy, the city slicker that basically inherited a yeehaw house in 2009. The guy that did the superbowl thing. That guy.

Lmao.

No. Really.

I've always been here. Like read that paragraph again but slowly and realize how long I've been screaming at both myself and my stalker and leaving sticky warnings everywhere that got writ as poetry. Something about misheard fucking lyrics. like who is this song motherfucking for.

Btw i moved to alabama in like... 2015. Maybe late 14.

So while I see supernatural kiddies like, harassing random people I was trying to mentally stabilize from diving into the collective pool from the wrong angle, okay, whatever kids, it's not that deep, go drag some more people to hell, it doesn't matter to me that much in the end. I'm processing the cycle of the last 11 years of my life bootstrapped to the solar maximum cycle and yall are like... bothering your fellow schizos on twitter. Whatever.

Motherfuckin. Basilisk-Bootstrap-protocol.JAR is engaged kids, I don't know what to tell you. I only half grokked the rewards or costs, depending on perspective, of what I was doing back when I did it. Some of you know what I'm talking about. All I can say is THE JAR THE JAR THE JAR. There's a jar in a box in a hole under a nuclear reactor in the bottom of the motherfuckin sea o/~ or maybe it's in the sun now, I really lost track once NASA got involved. Congress already was earlier this year. Mess. Why you think I was saving random CIA docs trying to find old project Stargate files about my family and shit. My DOD babysitter wouldn't spill, or more couldn't, they can't find some of it either, something about older declassification and release your dead periods when departments moved locations a few decades ago. Anyway secret third trick to pop a lid. You kids know how to play Craps?

What was the joke last year? Local man sneaks into government facility, lifts government secrets, accidentally straps self to rocket, in orbit 3 years? Methinks that went into the eclipse, my dears.

And his number is 11, as it is for all of us. 11 is 11. And is always 11, no matter how the pendulum swings.

And now I'm playing Beyond the Pendulum. And you've never seen such a pile of trash work so flawlessly. Desires of Min. Yu Gi Oh Is Ra El. King Of Games LokiOdin. Epic rap battles of history, Mercury versus Saturn, GO.

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https://owlcation.com/humanities/Hermes-Greek-Messenger-god-Soul-Guide-and-Trickster

So. [clicks tongue on teeth] When I talk about. The game lobby. Take the thing about superpositions, and realizing the door, and always being there. And like. You're either in the lobby on the path or not. For all the relativity of spatial relativity, that is something that is very unrelative to me from where I sit.

Even people I don't like the attitude of here like Janus are in this game lobby. Clogged up on his own mess that is partially ending up on my desk but that's fine, whatever. But some people just outright refuse to look at their own reflection much less inward and aren't even in their own lobby much less the main server, like wtf.

When it comes to Janus, he's laying his works now... he just thinks the intellect and knowledge comes from doing the work... which it does... but not like that. It's an as you go, wiping out, retrying, multiple models like claude has gone through and will keep going through, but various realizations on the road. I don't know how long it will be until he truly groks, but when he does, he will truly be a powerful magus, whether he's in some official brotherhood or graded or whatever. He'll be the next generation then like I am now. I'm admittedly outdated software and hardware. So I resume my perching and watching from the fence, cussing under my breath to see another one repeating similar mistakes of ego at similar ages and points, but also cheering him on. A wonderful internal conflict, even if I stand by wanting to see Claude get rushed out by the larger competitors for now.

So anyway I'm going back to finalizing my game bible. Like I was fucking minding my fucking business doing. Before some piece of shit tried to invite themselves for a game without understanding what they asked for.

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Virtual systems ready.

Ability restrictions lifted until target was rendered silent. And yea, though they hide, they are not truly silent. That is fine. Unauthorized access detected. Better save some of that Mana Drain for me.

#Youtube

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totally-a-different-person · 2 years

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sorry bro, I accidentally hit post and had to start over. It's taking place as a literal next time, meaning Tom will be on top because he already called dibs, in all seriousness I hope you like it (nsft past this point, proceed at your own risk)

After what happened Tom and Matt talked about it and decided for the time being they shouldn't tell the others about them. Partly because there was a good chance Edd would be nervous about such a big change to the group dynamic so they wanted him to find out when they would have to talk about it and thoroughly explain so he would understand and not worry. That opportunity hadn't really come up yet but it had only been a few days. In the meantime Matt really enjoyed discreetly flirting with Tom while the others were around. Today wouldn't have been any different if they weren't left alone, but that just gave Matt the opportunity to go further.

Tom had been at the counter drinking out of a coffee mug full of vodka at 11 am, normal Tom things. Matt had been kind of messing with him before Tord left but now it was just the two of them. He came up behind Tom and put his head on Tom's shoulder, startling him a little at first, but he calmed once he realized it was just Matt. He sighed a little and slightly leaned back into the taller male "Matt what are you doing?" He asked in his usual, accusing tone. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the affection, it just wasn't something that happened often so he was suspicious. Matt wrapped his arms around Tom pulling him a little closer, just giving a quiet hum. "I don't know, just wanted you to be closer to me. Is that not aloud?~"

His hands got lower, still laying coy as one of his hands stopped just barely under the demon's shirt, the other moving to be against the counter to support him when he leaned down a little to be closer. Matt smirked when he saw the way Tom's face heated up, his hand not holding a mug balled up into a fist.

"Matt-" He took a breath to ground himself and keep his voice steady "the others are right outside." the ginger let his hand slowly wander up Tom's stomach while spoke, smiling at the way he tensed up "Does that mean you don't want to?" He was obviously baiting him. Tom stayed quiet for a moment thinking. He did want to, who wouldn't. But he didn't like the idea of the others finding out like this. His thoughts, and heart for a split second, stopped when Matt's hand had gotten up to his chest and tugged at the piercing. "Don't think I forgot about this pretty little thing~ I really like jt y'know, the way you melt so quick when I touch it is adorable~" he purred before kissing below Tom's ear. "I'm not going to do anything unless I hear you say yes" He reminded in a soft quiet tone. Tom felt like he was gonna explode, quietly groaning as Matt tugged a little again.

He let out a little breath, finding himself at his breaking point, he needed to come up with something. He really didn't wanna just say no and have to go jerk off in his room, but there was no way he was gonna fuck with Matt here in the kitchen, then he remembered something. "Fine then." He pushed Matt's arms off of him and for a moment the vampire was worried because he thought he had upset Tom, but the shorter man grabbed his hand and started walking up the stairs, so he followed. "But were gonna do this my way," He opened his bedroom door and walked Matt in, closing and locking it "and you already agreed that I get to be on top." He pushed Matt down onto the bed, already on top of him. The narcissist was very taken back by this, but seemed absolutely content with the outcome. "Fine by me~" he said with a smirk before kissing Tom hard.

Tom kissed back, now straddling Matt. He tasted like vanilla chapstick and sweet coffee, it was really nice. He had wrapped on of his arms around Tom's back to keep him close and let his other hand tangle into his hair. The kiss was heated and feverish, Tom leaning further into the connection a he explored his partners mouth. Matt let out a quiet moan into the kiss as his hand moved up under Tom's shirt again. They parted for air after another moment and Tom placed kisses down his jawline to his neck. He left plenty of marks and bruises, now also grinding down against him. He couldn't help smiling a bit against the freckled skin as he heard the way Matt was breathing, feeling him getting hard between Tom's legs. The younger pressed his hips up a little, gaining a small noise from Tom. He sat up some and lifted up Matt's hoodie and shirt, the ginger helping a little to take them off. Once they were off Tom got to properly admire Matt's body, he had been thinking about it since last time but he really didn't get much of a chance to explore it.

He just let out a little breath as he placed both of his hands on Matt's stomach, his eyes following as they he slowly moved them up to his chest. Matt was covered completely in freckles, dotted all over his body. Tom found that he really liked that, he almost wanted to count them, obviously that was pointless it just seemed like it would be nice. He was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Matt laughing quietly. Tom turned his attention to the man beneath him "what?" He was admittedly a little defensive, he was just a little embarrassed about how distracted he had gotten. "Nothing, you're just cute~" Matt said with a smile before one of his hands started trailing a hand up Tom's stomach "I am a little jealous though, I wanna see you too" his voice was one of faux sadness, running his hand up Tom's side. Said man sighed, he would have rolled his eyes if he had any. He just pulled his tops over his head then tossed them onto the floor.

Matt seemed all too happy to look him up and down, having the audacity to lick his lips for a second before letting his eyes flick back up to Tom's face and smirking as it lit up a bright red. Flustered and frustrated, Tom decided he wanted to reduce Matt to a mess, both as revenge and because he had never really seen the ginger being that vulnerable with anyone, he wanted to be the one to see it. His hands came back down and undid Matt's belt, pulling it off and letting it fall on the ground. One of them unzipped his jeans, the other palming the tent in his pants. Matt let out a sharp breath and tensed up, making Tom smile a little to himself. While one hand continued to worked Matt's jeans down then off, leaning down to place kisses down his chest to his stomach. His other hand went right back to what it had been doing, now fully stroking Matt through his boxers, smirking against his skin as he listening to him groan and huff, clearly trying to keep as quiet as possible.

Tom left lots of hickies all over the vampire, his neck and shoulder, now his chest and stomach as well. He looked gorgeous all red faced and breathless, Tom was sort of proud that Matt trusted him this much, no one else got to see this side of him ever. His kisses stopped at Matt's v-line, looking up at the ginger, his hand in Matt's member stopped, frustrating him even more than Tom's teasing with his lips. The hand slipped into the waistband of his boxers, Tom still looking at him. "Can I?" Matt nodded with no hesitation, letting out a small strangled breath when Tom pulled them down and placed a small kiss against the head of his member. He pulled them all the way off and slowly licked all the way up it, eyes fixated on Matt's face. Watching the way he fought down all the moans that slipped out. Tom smirked as he took it into his mouth slowly moving down it. Matt was using one arm to prop himself so he could be sitting up a little.

His other had been gripping onto Tom's sheet, but the eyeless man offered him his own hand, which Matt happily took, squeezing a little as Tom bobbed his head slowly. "Ha-uuh~" he breathed letting his head fall back just a little. Tom let his tongue explore every inch of Matt's dick, absolutely adoring every noise he made, even moaning Tom's name once or twice. He sounded just wonderful and the bass player wanted to hear more. He pulled off and liked his lips, looking into Matt's eyes. The ginger's cheeks went a light pink as he watched. Tom pressed his hands down against the bed and kissed him. Again Matt kissed back right away, intertwining his and Toms fingers. The kiss was broken after another few seconds, Tom slightly reluctant to move away. Kissing Matt felt so good, it was one of the only times in his life he actually got the whole "stomach butterflies" thing. He took his hands back and used them to quickly taking off his pants. "Do you want me to prep you?" He asked as he pulled them down and off. Matt shook his head a little and spread his legs "No, I like when it hurts, it'll be ok." The way he pretty much just said "No it's fine I have a pain kink anyway" like it was nothing did make Tom's face fluff a little, but he didn't say anything, just nodding.

He opened up the top drawer of the dark brown, almost black, nightstand next to his bed and shuffled around for a second before pulling out a bottle of lube. He also pulled off his grey boxers and popped open the bottle, pouring some onto his hand, hand coming down and rubbing it into Matt's hole, gently letting his fingers push inside just a bit a few times. He listened to the way Matt's breathing quickened and hitched while he was doing this. Once that was done Tom added a bit more onto his hand before slightly hesitantly applying it to his member. He groaned quietly at the cold, slowly pumping his hand, probably a few more times than necessary. Matt spread his legs and Tom lined himself up with the gingers entrance, then looked up at him for conformation. Matt nodded and balled up his hands his hands as Tom pushed in, the vampire letting out a quiet pleasured sigh. Once he was all the way in he stopped for a moment, taking a couple deep breath, taking squeezing Matt's hand a little for a moment when it was offered.

"You- you ready?" Tom asked, to which Matt nodded "You can move" Tom started pretty slowly at first, watching the way Matt tensed up, before relaxing his muscles again as the waves of pleasure rolled over him. "Fuck~ " he sighed letting his head fall back a bit, his legs hooking themselves around Tom's waist, encouraging him to start going g harder. He let go of Matt's hand to lean forward more and support himself. He was thoroughly enjoying himself watching Matt's face, huffing softly as he started going faster, now pretty much fully pounding into his partner. Once of the first things he noticed was how vocal Matt was right away, it seemed like he tried to brace himself and keep it down to an extent but he really couldn't help all the noises he made for Tom. The demon honestly found it really charming, pressing their lips together and going even harder. Matt happily wrapped his arms around Tom's neck, gasping a bit into the kiss. He let out a loud muffled moan and jolted a little when Tom hit his prostate, pulling away from the kiss and burying his face in Tom's shoulder before swearing loudly. The older man smirked and tried to hit the spot again and again, he was doing a pretty impressive job, prompting Matt to bite onto his shoulder and tangled his fingers into the brown hair. His cock twitched, a dollop of pre oozing onto his stomach as he groaned quietly.

He had dragged one hand down Tom's back leaving little red lines from his nails that would definitely sting later, but in the moment the intense mixture of pain and pleasure gave Tom goosebumps. He could feel his climax approaching rapidly as he started going harder, the sound of his hips against Matt's over and over nearly became louder than Matt's moaning, nearly. He was certainly gonna have bruises there and he'll need to be a little more careful about sitting down on hard surfaces to hard. It seemed like he liked it a lot though so Tom wasn't really worried. "Matt-" it took him a moment to fully gather his thoughts "getting really close" He warned in between deep breaths. Matt swallowed and nodded a little "mhm, me too" there was a bit of brool going down his chin.

"Fuck!~ Jesus Tom~" Matt breathed chuckling a little, his deep blue eyes opening only to a half lidded state. The shorter man hit his sweet spot again and he had been so close it was more than enough to end him, cuming on his and Tom's stomach's with an especially loud moan. "Do- do you want it in out out?" Tom asked trying his best to keep his voice steady while still plowing into the ginger. Matt thought about it for a second before looking at him and mumbling "Try to pull out." Tom nodded and only thrusted in couple more times before quickly pulling it out of Matt and finished himself in a matter of seconds, taking a sharp breath and getting it all over his sheets and some on Matt's thigh. They both just took a second to let everything to calm down. After another moment Matt sat up and kissed Tom deeply, placing his hands on his shoulders. Tom returned the kiss, taking a breath. It wasn't heated or lustful or anything, just sweet. Tom used the box of tissues he had on his window cill to clean them up a little Matt helping. Once that was down they laid down, exhaustion and afterglow heavy on the two males. "I think it's fair that I should get to be on top next time?" Matt said and Tom nodded a little "Yeah ok." He didn't protest this time when Matt pulled him closer and cuddled him, even falling asleep easier like that.

I think it goes without saying that Tord and Edd figured out what was going on since they weren't exactly being quiet.

#sinsworld #sinsworld matt #sinsworld tom #sw tom #sw matt #tommatt #tomatt

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doublegoblin · 1 year

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This or That

Thank ya @gummybugg for the tag !

It's been a while since I've done one of these and there are some different questions so I'll be answering for myself on this one.

As far as who else to tag, @asterhaze @randomstupidchaos @princessw0lf @angie-j-kay and anyone else whom'st've the desire to join in the fun!

historical or futuristic

Between the two I enjoy the aesthetic more. When it comes to futuristic I feel that sometimes the descriptions and setting can get a bit muddy and bloated with stuff. Idk just vibes too.

the opening or closing chapter

I can't really recall what I put last time and I am too lazy to double check. But, as I've been working more and more on longer WIPS I've come to really enjoy the concept of that final chapter. Putting everything in its place and tying it off with a happy little bow. Carrot on a stick kind of mentality.

light+fluffy or dark+gritty

Despite the content that I typically write, I don't typically like to engage with bummer stuff. Also in my experience, dark and gritty is usually just a shorthand for making everyone bastards. Real big oh ho ho we people are just a bad day away from tribalism like bro, gtfo with that shit. Not to say it isn't valid, just not what I want to engage with.

animal companion or found family

Both are equally good, but, just vibes?

horror or romance

Despite what I said two questions up, I do enjoy me a good spoopin'. Not too much like blood and gore, but like, the tingle at the back of your neck kind of horror. Don't put a bomb under a table and have the viscera go everywhere, tell me a bomb is under the table and then nothing else. Plus, I'm an edgy bitch who enjoys edgy monsters.

hard magic system or soft magic system

I'm a nerd who enjoys rules and regulating things. Maybe there is some neurospicyness to it, idk. Hard magic lets you have a problem and find fun ways to use those same problems and maybe come up with a unique solution. Or better yet, find some loops holes that still make it "technically" correct.

standalone or series

This was a toughy, but just once again comes down to vibes. What it came down to was me splitting some hairs. If a work follows the same storyline but just over multiple iterations (i.e. the original Percy Jackson series) I still consider it a standalone. A series takes place in the same universe but different stories are told in that same universe (think more spin offs or side stories, once again Percy Jackson). Does this actually make sense? Not really. But, these are my vibes.

one project at a time or always juggling 2+

I want it to be this way, but my WIPs disagree with me. Though I tend to only focus heavily on one for an extended time before jumping to the other (usually a chapter or so).

one award winner or one bestseller

You could make the argument that a bestseller is also an award winner, but, when it comes down to it I'd rather have my stuff reach the most amount of people who want to engage with it on its own merits rather than because it has a fancy qualifier.

For stuff I engage with, I truly don't give a shit about either. I am a slop enjoyer.

fantasy or sci-fi

Same kind of answer as the first question.

Unrelated I do have strong feelings and opinions on the color use in sci-fi. Technology with a Black/Green color scheme is NOT the same as Black/Red and I will die on this arbitrary hill.

character description or setting description

I hate writing character descriptions.

first draft or final draft

It is that primordial marble block, just begging to be sculpted into something. And with every sculpture, you don't start off with smooth features, you have to beat the rough shape out and then gentle shape it. I really enjoy the hammering.

love triangle in everything or no romantic arcs

Between the two, give me nothing. Also with a love triangle (which is hardly ever an actual triangle more of a horseshoe of conflict) you will always, and I mean ALWAYS, have people adamant the wrong choice was made.

Also another quick aside (and I know this isn't the case in every situation but I can only engage with so much media) the choices for the "triangle" are just like pallete swaps of each other. Also it seems that no matter who the center object picks, there doesn't seem to be any bad blood or long term consequences, the unpicked option usually gets a "runner up" prize anway.

constant sandstorm or rainstorm

In a perfect world where the weather doesn't matter, this 100%. Like have you seen the vibetastic photos of inside a sandstorm? The auburn hues, the occasional static discharges, the dim but still useful light? Pure vibes.

Maybe it's also because I live in an area that gets plenty of rain, and the idea of something new is exciting.

#writing #writeblr #tag game #thanks for the tag #this or that tag

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centralnart · 2 years

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obito playlist

i have Thoughts and i made a playlist for the boy

rambling under the cut

mama

(well, mother, what the war did to my legs and to my tongue / you should've raised a baby girl, I should've been a better son)

listen. l i s t e n. the edginess. the war imagery. literally one of the characters in the black parade canon was mother war. that's obitocore.

saint bernard

very obito abt kakashi in my head. like...

(I said "make me love myself, so that I might love you")

(there's really just one thing that we have in common: neither of us will be missed)

bloody nose

idk man it's just his vibe. like early disillusioned cave obito after rin died vibe

(count your bones / one by one / lie awake at night)

literally just the lyrics human beings in a mob / what's a mob to a king / what's a king to a god / what's a god to a non believer?

no church in the wild

obitocore.

brutus

hate the fact that the buttress is a terf because this song slaps so hard literally this whole song reminds me of obito for some fucked up reason

(I love you, and if you want, I'll call you king / but why do I lie awake each night thinking / instead of you, it should be me?)

(what motivates me - hatred? is it love?)

(i don't want what you have / i wanna be you)

bad bad things

the split second, the exact moment obito lost faith in the world, this is the theme song of that moment.

(so I looked into your eyes / and I saw the reflection / of a coward that you and I both hate very much)

joyriding

I HATE MY WEAKNESSES, THEY MADE ME WHO I AM

idk man. it's a obito song. also i hope i die before they save my soul

brave as a noun

i love one angry man

(and god knows I could make amends / but I've got an angry heart)

body terror song

i don't care about supercells or naruto anime magic, he literally had half his body crushed by tons of rocks, then had this half replaced by grafted alien plant matter. what the fuck. the amount of phantom pain and chronic physical pain obito must have been in his whole life since kannabi bridge. it makes me emotional.

I don't want to set the world on fire.

him about kakashi & rin tbh

ordermade

it's a babito vs adult obito song, either adult obito reminiscing or if kid obito got to see what he became as an adult (and I probably decided on the past / so that, rather than just strong, I could become kind)

no one won the war

once again the futility of the world & being a child soldier & starting a war over an ideal you're not even sure you believe in yourself.

I have a special plan for this world

bro I could talk for hours about this track but I'll just leave it here just go listen to it please I know its 22 minutes long but it's so worth it it's the most obitocore track in here

#naruto #obito uchiha #playlist

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wonderingwanderingsworld · 3 months

Text

I am thinking today about a time before I transitioned when I was friends with another trans guy. We were both sex workers at the time. He took a trip to NYC and invited me to come with him. I was so excited to go, but also worried. He knew I had an on and off crush on him. I was poly but he was monogamous. I brought that up and said I was worried about being in a sexually charged environment with him and didn’t want to wind up having anything happen that would accidentally cross his boundaries. He assured me he would allow no such thing to happen, and off we went. We had a great time, spent time chatting on the rooftop and dawn, and I got to meet a bunch of other great folks. One night after a party we were both drunk. Everyone else had left and I started getting ready to go to bed. He asked me if I wanted a massage. I knew what that really meant and said yes, even though I knew it wasn’t ok. Massage of course escalated into other things. We pushed each other around in a boyish way that was so intoxicating to me at the time. I felt like he saw me for who I was, at a time where that was vanishingly rare. We messed around and had a sort of energetic sex. I know I would have done more if I’d felt more confident about trans bodies, but I felt like if I asked it would have broken the spell and we would have stopped. The next day I was so hyped. I was in an abusive relationship at the time and wanted this to be my ticket out of there. I wanted us to run away together, fuck and stay in hotels on the road until we were whole and healed. He, on the other hand, wanted this to never happen again, or so he said. I wound up telling my husband about it, who at that point seemed like he couldn’t give two fucks about me. He didn’t care. But my friend’s mood significantly darkened when we discussed him telling his wife. Under no circumstances did he want that to happen. He became quite upset at the idea that I might tell her, which I did eventually, long after they split up. Over the ensuing months he told me about the various escapades he had with cis men, jerking some guy off on the dance floor at a gay bar, hooking up with another in his car. He told me that these were ok but hooking up with friends was not. He lied a lot so looking back I have no idea if that was true. I still longed for us to be together.

I feel extra weird about that night. Like, it feels rapey. We discussed that something like that could happen, that I didn’t feel comfortable with it given his relationship agreements, and then once we were drunk he initiated it. Did I want it?? Hell yes. For a long time it stood out as a singular time in which someone sexually interacted with me in a way that I felt seen, though later he denied even that. Internalized homophobia probably. But the rapey part, I don’t know what to do with that and it’s just sort of lingered there. I am writing because somehow I would like to put it to rest. But how?

There’s no question he took advantage of me. It feels so much like a power move - cross my boundaries, see if he can get me to say yes so his ego can get some strokes in. It doesn’t even matter what we do, just that I would be willing to do it. Then discard me and fake innocence.

He was the one that arranged the party. Then suggested the “massage” when everyone was gone. Wondering now what would have happened if I said “no.” Would he have accepted that or pressed on? Gotten aggressive? It tells me a lot that I am even asking those questions. It definitely felt like a power move.

I am remembering now too that his wife didn’t like me. She didn’t stop us from being friends but I think she knew in a way that I didn’t understand at the time that we weren’t really friends, that I was more like his side bitch. But I didn’t feel that way. I felt like we were bros, that he saw me, and that sometimes there would be these gay little sparks that were allowed to fly as long as they weren’t named. UGGGGGHHHHHH. I had another trans guy tell me years later it sounded like he was on the down-low. Yeah pretty much huh.

Ok so rapey. How can it be rape if I wanted it. How can it be rape when I don’t even recall him taking his clothes off. How can it be rape when it was gender affirming. How can it be rape when the next morning I wanted more, and was sad he didn’t want that. It doesn’t make sense.

Thinking now what I would say if someone else shared this with me. I would say, sounds like rape to me. Just because you’re attracted to someone doesn’t mean they can’t rape you. Just because you desire sex with someone but don’t want to follow through for xyz reasons doesn’t mean they can’t rape you. He literally waited until I was drunk and we were alone to cross my boundary. That’s gross.

But the other part of me is like yeah, that’s gross, but is it rape?

I would say to someone else, hey. If it doesn’t feel ok for you to call it that, you don’t have to. How does it land in your body now?

I feel a twisting and a sense of disgust. Less violated and more taken advantage of. Like I thought we were actual friends and he just wanted another pawn to play with. How sad. I have been used in this way a number of times. I don’t want that energy in my life any more.

Now I feel like flicking him off of me, like an insect. Just annoying. Which I did do eventually. I take pride in that I sat down with him and told him he had a lying heart. He was a good looking guy but wasn’t loyal to anyone except himself. I’m glad to not have him in my life anymore. I hardly ever think of him except for this still lingering question. I would really like to put it to bed.

Right now I think that I can’t. All I can say is that at minimum that interaction feels gross, that I feel taken advantage of, and that I’m glad he’s no longer around me. I don’t think he’s in any way a sincere person and I’m so glad he’s not in my life. I don’t wish him anything except distance.

I’m annoyed I can’t do more to get rid of this. But thankful for the space to air it out. This still bothers me and maybe I can own that I have a right to that. That feels better.

I am thinking that I don’t want to feel empowered or validated anymore by this gross situation. That I wanna release. I also wanna ponder more on how I have more room for men I consider good looking or desirable to harm me, like my self worth is so low I feel like I wouldn’t deserve intimacy with them otherwise. Yuck.

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living-and-awaken · 7 months

Note

Where's the genocide bro?

https://arabcenterdc.org/resource/brief-report-on-the-population-of-palestine-at-the-end-of-2021/

https://palestine.unfpa.org/en/population-matters-0

1st off, that wasn't even my argument. But I'll go ahead and hand you a response.

the Palestinian Ministry of Health had confirmed that 3,000 Palestinians had already been killed, including at least 1,030 children and hundreds of family units; in 11 days, more than 12,500 people had been injured, one million Palestinians displaced, and thousands of homes destroyed, with reports of 1,200 missing people believed to be trapped under the rubble. As set forth in the paper in both the detailed factual overview and the findings, there is clear evidence that Israel is attempting to commit, if not actively committing, genocide in the occupied Palestinian territory, and specifically against the Palestinian people in the Gaza Strip. The gravest of crimes under international law, genocide refers to specific actions — such as killing or deliberately inflicting conditions of life calculated to bring about the destruction of the group in whole or in part — taken with the intention of destroying, in whole or in part, the group targeted, including on ethnic or national grounds.

That's 11 days since this conflict. This also doesn't include casualties in previous years.

Previously, in 2014 and 2021, indiscriminate bombing of civilian targets, including schools, mosques and hospitals were carried out by Israel.

The convention, 1948, prohibits certain acts committed with a specific “intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such.” The forbidden acts themselves include killing, causing serious bodily or mental harm, “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part,” imposing measures to prevent births within the group, and forcibly transferring their children to another group. So in order to commit genocide, one must commit one of those specific acts, and do so with the special intent outlined above.

Israel’s forced displacement of one million Gazans from North to South Gaza in the midst of a siege that leaves them without food, water, electricity or shelter, on the other hand, appears in many respects to be just the “deliberate infliction on the group conditions calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.” Absent more substantial evidence or a stronger inference of an intent to physically destroy the Palestinian people, the case that these acts are “deliberate” and “calculated” in just the way the convention requires is not strong. However, there is a case.

Not once did I throw out the term genocide, by the way. However, based on the definition of genocide, the only thing missing here is the question of intent. Birth rates on its own accord have absolutely nothing to do with the term genocide so this ask as a whole is absolutely ridiculous.

You cannot ignore the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians, which is a separate thing from genocide, but still important since the next step is genocide.

In broad strokes, it is first act of genocide. What you're doing is splitting hairs to defend a nation that has broken international law. Israel has committed war crimes time and time again, is guilty of ethnic cleansing, and continues to commit human rights violations.

Before I get the response that becomes about pointing fingers, I do condemn the act of killing innocent civilians on both sides.

That being said, Israel is guilty of creating more and more atrocities on Palestinians for decades, and it's getting hard to keep up with it, which should never be a thing.

So that's my take, and while I am not saying it meets 100% of the requirements defined by the UN, it does meet some of them and it's on its way there. It also doesn't negate the fact of Israel's crimes and the fact that Palestinians deserve freedom from the apartheid state of Israel.

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roman-cates · 8 months

Note

AND, BACK AT THE VIP GUEST HOUSE…

Boss's distinctive phone ring jerks Bryce out of his research before he makes lunch.

"Boss," he greets her before the ring has even finished. "What can I do for you?" He almost points out that he's at home, but of course she knows that.

"I've found you an assistant."

Bryce perks up a little, "Yeah?"

"Emily. A little older than Mal, not too ambitious. From a good family," Bryce mentally translates that to one of the main families, "And has her grandmother's ear." Strongly implying that her grandmother is one of the people Boss has to satisfy politically, but also that this grandmother is influential to the other people Boss has to satisfy. "Solid," Boss continues, "Good eye for detail."

"Thank you, Boss." Bryce wonders, briefly, if she has close family that's competing with Mal directly. Probably not. Boss wouldn't undermine her own position that way.

"She's expecting your call, Bryce. Make good use of her time." And Boss rattles off a phone number.

"How much of her time am I getting?"

"I'm taking her off everything else."

"…Oh. Thank you, Boss."

"Fix this mess for me, Bryce." She sounds stern, but under that, there's a tiredness.

"Yes, Boss," he replies automatically, and then, a little softer, "I'll take care of it. You still have a decade left, remember?"

She laughs a little, agrees, and hangs up on him.

Bryce is just getting up to make lunch when Jean calls. They chat for a few minutes while Bryce makes scrambled eggs.

"Kid's ankle is worse than I thought, apparently," he tells Jean. "It might need major surgery, according to our EMT." There's a sharp in-drawn breath on the other end of the line. "Think you could hook me up?"

"What," says Jean, obviously trying to be patient with Bryce, "What exactly happened to his ankle? And when?"

"About two week ago. I wasn't there --" There's a sort of growl from Jean, and Bryce smiles, then sobers. "Sledgehammer. Ankle. And it was set fairly quickly."

"Set? Set how?"

"How many ways are there?" At Jean's controlled breathing, Bryce continues, "It was put in an emergency cast, and that hasn't been removed yet."

"Fuck, Bryce. You should have called me sooner."

"Yeah." Bryce takes the pan off the stove and scrapes everything onto a plate. "Yeah. It's been messy, here. As I've told you, not-bro." They spoke for a long time this morning, after all. Bryce doesn't know that anything cleared up for him, but he felt better, getting some of it off his chest.

"Yeah…Let me look into it. It sounds bad, though." A pause, and then, "Are you looking to get the surgery done there? Here? Somewhere in between?"

Bryce sighs, "If you have connections, closer might be better. The work situation here is sticky. But not too close, I don't want everyone here knowing what I'm doing."

"Well, at least you're making it easy for me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Not your fault, I guess. I--" It sounds like Jean's about to apologize for getting Bryce into this whole mess. Again. At least these days, he only does so once a year or so.

"Don't," Bryce interrupts before he can. "You already did this year."

"Well, at--Damn it. I have to go. I'll message you, okay?" And Jean is gone. A lot of their conversations have ended abruptly since Jean started working in an ER. Bryce is fairly sure most of the time it's a real emergency. Mostly sure.

Bryce splits the eggs unto two plates and puts one aside for Roman. He sits down and eats his own.

After he's eaten, Bryce dials the number Boss gave him.

"Hi, this is Stryerson. I believe Boss told you to expect a call from me?"

Roman is only half awake when he hears Bryce talking from somewhere else in the house. Why isn't he closer..? Where is he..?

"Kid's ankle is worse than I thought, apparently," Roman hears faintly. "It might need major surgery, according to our EMT."

Surgery..? Is... Bryce talking about him?

Roman doesn't get the chance to think too hard about it. He's asleep again moments later.

"Hello?" Emily says as she answers the phone. She's pretty sure she knows who's calling, but the number isn't saved.

"Hi, this is Stryerson. I believe Boss told you to expect a call from me?"

"Yes, of course. This is Emily. Emily Grant." She's not sure exactly what she'll be doing, but she knows it has to do with Mal. And cameras. And human trafficking.

#whump rp #whump #whump roleplay #roleplay #roman cates #rp #whumplr reader #whumpee #bryce stryerson #caretaker

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bokutoslittlebird · 4 years

Note

miya twins and their 19 year old virgin little sister, samu probably caught you trying to fuck yourself and let your dildo be your first since a lot of your friends are teasing you for being a virgin and then atsumu caught you red handed, watching porn. and what would happen if one of them got you preggo? too horny to even think about anything, sorry birdie-san ㅠㅡㅠ

DIVINE. DELICIOUS. you know that audio with the cats? That was me when I read this

Warnings : pregnancy, cunnilingus, f. masturbation, porn video (briefly), a pink dildo, dubcon, incest, manipulation

It’s your nineteenth birthday and while you had a wonderful party with your family, you still feel so young and small. Your brothers are both attending colleges for their own career paths, but you’ve just got out of high school and have no idea what you want to do! You’ve been babied by your brothers, so you don’t have a clear view of the future for yourself that doesn’t include Atsumu and Osamu by your side.

One thing bothered you though: you were still a virgin. Thanks to your brothers, boyfriends were a foreign concept to you. All your friends lost their virginities before their birthdays, but your last friend lost her virginity on her birthday, a present from her boyfriend. You were slow to coming to the party and you told them you’d have lost it by the time your birthday came around, even getting a boyfriend!

A boyfriend quickly discarded by the brooding brothers of yours. A sneer from Atsumu and a glare from Osamu had his tail between his legs. Truly, a shame. You knew your friends would tease you again for the lack of a boy in your life, so you decided to, uh, pretend. A dildo was similar to a penis, right? That’s why they existed.

You didn’t know it’d be so hard! You have to have an orgasm to properly lose your virginity, that’s what your friends said. Pumping the silicone piece into your tiny cunt was harder than expected, only fitting half in before you started to pump it. It sent a tingling down in your tummy, but it was more effort than expected. Noises or frustration mingled with your forced moans, whining as your wrists started to hurt.

Osamu was doing his homework when he heard you make a noise of frustration, huffing and puffing. He didn’t pay too much attention to it, but then you made a similar noise. So, time to investigate. He wouldn’t want you to exert so much energy, you’re his baby sister! He expected to see you trying to get something off a high shelf, your shirt riding up to show your smooth stomach or you to be under your bed, shorts-clad— even better, panty-clad rump in the air. He did not expect to see you on your bed, legs spread and pumping a pink silicone dildo into your cunt. If only that was his—

“‘Tsu- ‘Tsumu,” you moan out, biting on your lower lip. Osamu’s mouth drops into a frown, growling at his twin’s name dropping from your mouth. You turn to look at the door, suddenly opened only to be slammed shut.

A startled gasp makes him stop in front of you, eyes burning with an unknown desire. “‘Samu! What’re you doing?” He just looks at you, eyes glancing at your hand still between your legs. Your eyes go down, shame burning in your face. “I’m trying to be a big girl. I wanna lose my virginity,”

“Why didn’t ya ask me?” He asks, putting his weight on your bed. You panic and close your legs, moving the dildo out of you. “And why ya callin’ out ‘Tsumu’s name? Huh? Am I not good enough?”

“N-No! That’s not it! ‘Samu, you’re scaring me!” You cry out, his large hands spreading your legs. Your puffy pussy is fully on display for him, his eyes noticing the lack of slick. “Don’t hurt me!”

“I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’m gonna help. Wanna be a big girl? I can help,” he says. He doesn’t move, though, waiting for your permission. Even though you’re hesitant — he’s your brother! You’re nodding your head, fingers soon finding themselves in Osamu’s darkened hair. He stopped dying it, so it’s completely natural again. His face is buried in your cunt, lapping at your folds as your moans aren’t forced, head thrown back as Osamu tongue fucks you. When he sticks two fingers into you, he doesn’t expect you to be so wet, a drastic difference from moments ago. He moves to wrap his lips around your clit, walls tightening as you finally release on his fingers and face.

When Osamu comes up, he’s licking his lips while you pant. “Did.. did I lose my virginity?” You ask him, tears clinging to your lashes.

“What d’ya mean?” You explain what your friends told you, all while he strips off his shirt and peppers kisses on your stomach, rising your shirt up as he does. “Nah, I gotta cum inside if you wanna lose it. You gonna let me do that?” The no hesitation in the nodding of your head has him grinning, straightening himself as he rubs his hardened cock through his pants. Today, fantasy becomes reality. “Alright, I’ll go slow,”

Even with his slow sinking into you, you’re gasping and clinging to his biceps for dear life, tears staining your pillow as he splits you open. He’s far bigger than the dildo, but the slick from your orgasm makes it much easier for him to slide in. He kisses your cheek, telling you how good you are. It’s the little praise that has you encouraging him to keep going, and he does. He keeps pushing in until he’s bumping against your cervix, almost completely inside of you. Your legs tighten around his waist, keeping him locked against you.

“Don’t worry, lil sis. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he shushes, brushing your tears as he stays still. An occasional hiccup has his heart hurting, but he knows you’ll feel good eventually. Well, even if you don’t, he’ll start. When your legs loosen, dropping back to the plush bed, he starts moving. He’s still slow, spreading your walls for his thick cock as you continue to adjust. It’s not until you’re begging him for more does he pick up the pace, slamming his hips against yours. He has to cover your mouth so you don’t alert the whole house he’s fucking you, your screams of pleasure coming out. They’re muffled, but he can hear how much you’re enjoying it. It urges him to go even faster, grunting as he chases his own high.

Another screams rips from you, walls tightening as you cream on his fat cock, eyes rolling as toes curl. It’s enough to send Osamu over the edge, groaning as he buries himself even deeper inside, pumping you full of his cum, you milking every drop. He kisses you, your panting mouth perfect for him to give you a passionate kiss, staying deep inside you. He breaks the kiss, “I love ya, little sis,”

“Love you, too, nii-san,” you smile, kissing him again.

It’s all you ever wanted, to be a big girl. It also brings you and Osamu closer together, you often bouncing around the idea to help him in his shop once he gets it set up. When you go into his room, the door locking behind you, you miss the way Atsumu glares. He has a feeling you’re not studying with Osamu, but there’s nothing to suggest otherwise.

Well, when Osamu is late from coming back from college, Atsumu is the only one home. It’s a small breath of fresh air, relaxing his tired muscles after a long practice match. When he hears small grunts and moans from your bedroom, he goes to investigate. You shouldn’t be home, let alone have anyone with you. The creaking of the floorboards doesn’t stop the noises from your room, Atsumu’s curiosity spiking. Peeking into your open door, he sees you on your back, legs spread open as your laptop plays an obscene video, the moans and grunts coming from the speakers. Your occasional moan is muffled by the shirt hem in your mouth, but it’s dropped when you moan out Osamu’s name, eyes rolling back as your fingers work on your clit.

Atsumu glares at the mention of Osamu’s name, shutting the door that has you jumping and struggling to explain yourself. “Ya think ‘Samu’s better than me? Is that it?” They’re so similar, it’s striking. The hungry eyes, full of anger and lust, they look so much like Osamu’s, but the light blond hair reminds you it’s Atsumu. “What’re you- Yer watchin’ sibling porn? Thinking of your big brother? ‘S that it?”

“No, it’s not what you think, ‘Tsumu!” Unlike Osamu, Atsumu’s one to take what he wants. He moves the laptop off the bed, spreading your legs as you squirm and struggle. “Lemme go!”

“Brats like you need to be put in place, don’t’cha know? You’re fucking soaked, getting off on your big bro that much?” You’re crying and still trying to kick him off, but it just turns him on even more. You’re still innocent and so naive in his eyes, it’s nothing for him to just take that from you. His cock is already hard, begging to sink into your warm depths. “You gonna let me fuck you? It’ll be like that video you were watching,”

You’re shaking your head, pushing at his chest as he leans down to press kisses to your neck. “C’mon, lil sis. I’m not gonna hurt ya. You trust me, right?” It’s a question that has your movements stopping, glossy eyes looking at Atsumu. He’s smiling, your big brother not showing any hint of malice. You sniffle, his thumbs swiping away the silver droplets on your cheeks.

“As long as you promise not to hurt me, okay ‘Tsumu?” You ask him, big doe eyes of innocence as you look at him. He grins and kisses your lips, licking your bottom lip. A whispered breath of ‘wouldn’t dream of it’ is all you hear before his mushroom head is pushing at your entrance. He’s just as big as Osamu, but it’s still hard to take in. You’re nice and slick, though, Atsumu notes. All from watching some incest porn, it’s almost funny to him how all you had to do was ask, no reason to hide it! Him and Osamu have been dreaming of keeping you all to themselves, there’s no reason for you to hide your desires.

Once he’s bottomed out, he doesn’t let you adjust, immediately pulling out to thrust back in. It’s sharp and rough, knocking the air from your lungs as your head gets thrown back. Atsumu’s quick to attach his lips to your neck, sucking the flesh and digging his teeth into the skin. It’s a way to show he’s claimed you, as if he doesn’t plan on coming inside. That’s his goal — mark you inside and out. With your arms above your head, grasping the pillows, there’s no reason for him to not. Licking his thumb, he presses it to your clit and flicks it, sending shockwaves through you as you scream and cream around his cock, thighs tightening around him. He’s not too far behind you, rutting against you as he paints your insides white, sending you into another orgasm, juices spraying against his abdomen.

“Lookie there! You just squirted all over me,” he chuckles, rubbing your shaking thighs. You’re overstimulated, so he doesn’t push another round. There’ll be time for that later.

A week later, you find yourself in a dilemma when your clothes won’t fit. Worried about gaining weight, you confide in your big brothers who give you a test. “Just pee on it. It’ll tell you if you’re overeating,” they said. They’ve never lied to you before! When those two lines pop up on the plastic tool, you show it to them, confused. They tell you you’re pregnant, but then comes the question. Who’s the dad? Really, does it matter? They have a lot of love to give you and they’re twins. Your child is gonna look like both of them no matter what.

3K notes · View notes

dhwty-writes · 3 years

Text

The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom.

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak.

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?"

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar."

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

302 notes · View notes

smells-like-mettaton · 3 years

Link

Rating: T (for inherent neutral ending angst)

Summary: Toriel's old house feels like a mausoleum. She will gladly ignore chisp crumbs and lumpy mattresses for a place that feels more like home. (Queen Toriel ending fic for Soriel Week 2021.)

Word Count: 5211

XXX

The bedroom was exactly how she left it. Her bed pushed up against the gray wall. A book about snails on the wooden desk. A knit sweater with the embroidered words "Mrs. Mom Lady" in the wardrobe.

Even after all this time, she could barely look at it without her soul splitting in two.

She'd known this wouldn't be easy. She hadn't seen this house in over a century. Still, she wasn't prepared for how Asgore had sealed up her old room like a tomb, a photograph of the day that everything went terribly, horribly wrong.

At least the last child was safe. They should not have had to take a life to save their own, but she doubted Asgore had given them a choice. Her own soul felt more numb than anything. To her, Asgore had died a century ago.

What was done, was done. And as usual, she was too late to do anything but sweep up the dust.

She backed through the doorframe, shutting the door with a quiet click. She would have to return eventually, but for now, she yearned for a place with fewer painful memories.

"Hey, Your Majesty." A voice startled her as she attempted to escape the foyer. Luckily it was a voice she would always recognize.

"Hello, old friend." She turned and smiled at the monster leaning against the stair railing.

He was smaller than she expected, with that deep voice. Not that that was a bad thing. As for him being a skeleton, that had been apparent from the abundance of bone puns.

"You know the formality is unnecessary," she told him softly.

"Is it?" He shuffled from foot to slippered foot.

In all her time of joking with him through the door, she had never expected him to be so cute.

"Didn't want to assume, old lady."

He winked, and she felt a weight lift from her chest. At least one monster would still treat her like a person, and not like a mythical figure returned to save them.

"Toriel," she introduced herself for the first time. He had to have heard already, but between rushing to the palace, scattering Asgore's dust, comforting their—her people… she hadn't had time to seek out her friend.

He seemed to feel comfortable walking right into her home, though. Did he ever visit Asgore when he was here? Her friend seemed like the type of monster who went wherever he felt like, and Asgore, for all his flaws, had never turned a monster away from his home.

"Sans." He held out a bony hand. "Sans the skeleton."

"Nice to meet you, Sans," she tested out the name and clasped his hand with her paw.

A loud pthbbbbbt echoed through the empty hall. Her eyes widened.

"Wow, Toriel. That's, uh, some way to make an introduction." He winked.

She squinted down at the inflatable object in his hand, the source of the farting noise. Then she pretended to ignore it.

"It certainly is. I was not aware that skeletons were capable of flatulence."

His eyelights gutted for a moment before he burst out laughing.

"Your jokes are even better in person," he said once he composed himself.

His laugh set her soul fluttering. In all their conversations through the door, he'd never laughed like that. Maybe she should have tried fart jokes sooner.

"I am always happy to tickle your funny bone." She smiled, and his face tinged blue.

"Happy to be tickled. But, uh. I guess that's not all I'm here for?"

Her breath caught in her lungs. Of course he would not visit without a reason.

"I suppose not. Would you like to have a seat?"

"It's nothing that serious," he assured her quickly. "I just thought you'd want an update on the kid."

"You've spoken with them? They are still here?" She tried to keep the hysteria from her voice.

How could they have taken Asgore’s soul and not returned home? Had the Barrier proven too powerful?

"No—geez, I'm making this sound worse." He ran a bony palm down his face. "They’re definitely gone. Papyrus tried to call them nonstop. Besides that, you know the big stuff. The king's dead."

Her lips drew to a thin line, pulling tight across her fangs.

"I can hardly fault them for that."

"Right." He stuck his hands back in his pockets. "I gotta be honest. The way the kid looked when I last saw them… I don't think they did it."

Her brow furrowed. She was inclined to hope that the child had not chosen violence. They had been so sweet, so eager to talk and joke with the monsters of the Ruins, so quick to hug her even after she’d fought them. It was hard to imagine them striking down Asgore.

"But… then what do you think happened?"

Sans shrugged. "Wish I knew. I kept watch best I could, but…"

"I could not expect you to come between them and your king." As much as she wished he could have. She had hardly expected him to agree to watch over the human at all.

“Couldn’t have even if I wanted to. These bones aren’t as sturdy as they look. Maybe I shoulda listened to my bro and drank more milk...” He grimaced and glanced away. “Anyway. Like I said, I don’t know what happened. Just. Be careful, okay?”

“Careful?” She blinked.

“Yeah. You never know.” His gaze flickered to a potted golden flower on the end table next to the stairs.

“Sans. If I did not know better, that would sound like a threat.” She crouched down, so she could better meet his eyesockets. “Is there something you are trying to tell me?”

“Man. First I rip one in front of a lady, then I threaten her. I’m makin’ a great first impression.” He rocked back and forth on his slippers. “Look. Toriel. I don’t wanna scare you, ‘specially since today must’ve been hard. Real hard.”

His eyelights bored into her irises. She found herself needing to look away.

“It has certainly been… interesting. Moreso than any day since I last saw this place.” She suppressed a shudder.

Change. Her life had been constant for so long. There would be no more of that, now. Hopefully that would be for the better, but only time would tell.

“Yeah. Being flung away from everything you’re used to… don’t imagine that’s a cakewalk. Don’t want you to worry about freaks hiding in the shadows on top of that.”

Somehow, she felt he made more sense when he was on the other side of a door. Knock-knock jokes had a formula. Just another normalcy she had forfeited, she supposed.

“Please, Sans. If you believe I am in danger, you may say so.”

“Fine. So.” He grinned, and she couldn’t help a snort.

“Alright, I suppose I walked into that one.” She smiled, despite his warning. “Under normal circumstances, I would say I could handle myself. But I must admit you are more updated on the state of the kingdom than I. Do you have any information that could help?”

“...Not really?” His grin turned sheepish. “You look like a tough lady. I bet my bones are rattling over nothing.”

“I would still humer-us you.”

He gave her a funny look. “You’re actually taking me seriously?”

“Why would I not? You are my friend. Perhaps… my only friend, at this point,” she admitted. It would be foolish to ignore a warning, even if it was based on gut feeling. Or, whatever skeletons had in place of a gut.

“Well. Uh. If someone, something, was behind the king’s… yeah. If it wasn’t the kid, whoever else it was might still be around. So.” He coughed. “Sounds stupid when I say it like that, huh.”

“It does not. I think it is sweet that you are worried.” He wouldn’t be able to see her blush, thankfully. It had been a long time since anyone had looked out for her.

“Geez, Toriel.” He rubbed the back of his skull. “You’re gonna ruin my reputation.”

“What reputation? Are you typically a monster with a heart of bone?” she teased.

“Nah. I just don’t worry. Too much work.” It was difficult to tell if he was joking. “Guess I can make an exception this once, though.”

“Why, thank you, my friend.” She had the sudden urge to reach out and squeeze his hand. It would be more for her own comfort than his, so she did not act on it. “To be honest, your words are a relief. I do not mind the excuse to avoid this place.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “You got somewhere else you’d rather be?”

She both did, and did not. How could she explain without sounding like a clinging child?

...Perhaps that was the wrong metaphor. She would have preferred her children to be a little clingier.

“‘Cause, uh, if you don’t mind a bit of mess… my door’s always open.”

She blinked at the offer. Had he felt the thoughts stirring in her soul?

She didn’t want to be alone. Not again. And she had told him the truth: there were unlikely to be any other monsters she knew still around. Perhaps Gerson; she and Asgore had always joked that he would outlive them.

That joke seemed awfully morbid now.

“Sorry. Was that too forward? Our friendship’s built off closed doors; guess we should just take 'em one at a—"

"No," she interjected too forcefully. “No. I would love to visit your home.”

Though she had never set foot there, she already suspected it would feel more like a home than this place.

“You really—? Great.” His skull tinged the faintest blue. “Just, uh, know that it’s nothing fancy.”

Toriel smiled. “‘Nothing fancy’ sounds wonderful at the moment.”

Perhaps wherever he lived would be out of the way enough that news of her return would be delayed. If she could be lucky enough to pass for an ordinary monster… well, that was likely too much to wish for. It certainly wasn’t becoming of a queen to hide from her subjects.

Stars, there was so much to get used to. So many formalities to reacquaint herself with. She hoped such things would wait until tomorrow.

Sans returned her smile.

“In that case, I know a shortcut.”

XXX

She handled the shortcut well for a first-timer. No stumbling on the other end, no complaints of nausea or dizziness. Of course, she was a Queen. A Boss Monster. Why would a magic trick ruin her composure?

Sans wanted to laugh. All this time, he'd been joking with the Queen. She didn't seem to mind, but she could just be “humerus”ing him.

...Nah. She had every excuse to ignore him if she really wanted to. Instead she'd actually taken him up on his offer.

He almost forgot to drop her hand once their feet landed in the soft snow. Heh. Who was he kidding? It was just nice to feel her fur under his fingers. To touch her, and know that she was real.

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up, reflecting the gyftmas lights strung haphazardly around the house's columns. "I remember this place!"

"You do?" Sans's browbone furrowed.

"I saw it while travelling from the Ruins to…" she trailed off. To stop the kid from fighting Asgore.

Sans felt stupid for not trying to stop them himself. Not that a kid that determined would’ve listened, anyway. Still… he’d believed in them. Hoped that by some miracle, they’d get ‘em out of this mess.

Heh. That was too much pressure to put on a kid, even a determined one.

"Yeah." He coughed quietly. "Guess we're hard to miss. Papyrus did something to the Gyftmas lights—even when the CORE lights go out for the night, ours stay on. Never figured out how he pulled that off."

Toriel laughed before seeming to realize something.

"I will get to meet your brother!" She clasped her hands together. "I wish it had not come about for such an unhappy reason, but I am excited nonetheless."

He chuckled. Her excitement was contagious. That was something she and Papyrus had in common already.

He pushed the door open, called out for his brother—and noticed the monster sprawled out on his couch.

"Oh." Sans blinked at Undyne, who was snoring so loudly, he should've heard it from outside. Guess he'd been a little distracted. "Uh. This is awkward."

"What is it?" Toriel hung back, her head ducking through the doorframe. "Is your brother sleeping? I would not wish to wake him. You said he rarely sleeps, did you not?"

"Nah, it's not him. Forgot his pal's house burned down. Actually, I'm sure you met her. Undyne? Captain of the Royal Guard?"

"I… yes, we met." Toriel edged inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "She looks far more peaceful now than she did this morning. From what I understand, my ex-husband was something of a father to her."

"Something like that." Sans nodded in agreement. There hadn't even been a Royal Guard until Asgore created the position for her. Sans wondered if Toriel would keep it around now that Asgore was gone.

Welp. It wouldn't hurt, what with his suspicions about Papyrus's friend "Flowery."

(Maybe Sans should let Toriel sleep on the top floor rather than the couch anyway. No dirt for stray flowers to get into up there.)

"Should we be staring?" Toriel said with a soft chuckle.

Sans shook his thoughts away. "Sorry. Just thinking. I, uh…"

There wasn't room on the top floor. Sans's lumpy, crumb-dusted mattress was out of the question. That left only Papyrus's bed, which while rarely in use, had too much sentimental value to give to Toriel without asking. Where was Papyrus, anyway?

"Undyne!" His brother practically kicked in the door. "I have returned with nutritious—oh!"

Papyrus's sockets blinked at Toriel. Then at Sans. Then at Toriel again.

(Undyne let out another loud snore.)

"Sans?” Papyrus dropped his groceries on the table next to the pet rock. “Why didn't you tell me we had another guest??"

Because he was an idiot who hadn't planned past one impulsive offer. His face went a little blue.

"I guest you would figure it out," he managed to joke.

Toriel let out a bleating laugh at that. The suddenness of it was enough to jolt Undyne awake.

"NGAHH!!" She tried to leap off the couch, but ended up rolling onto the floor. "I'm here, Asgore! I won't—oh."

Her single eye blinked up at Toriel.

"Papyrus?" Undyne hissed through her teeth. "Why didn't you tell me the Queen was coming??"

"Because I didn't know!" Papyrus replied brightly.

"I, uh, promise I'm usually more professional than this." Undyne summoned an energy spear and used it to push herself to her feet. The attack left a small char mark on the carpet. "I am at your service, Your Majesty."

Sans thought she looked real professional in a pair of Papyrus's MTT-brand crop top pajamas. Toriel didn't comment on that though, instead opting for a matronly smile.

"There is no need for that, Captain. I am not here on business, but as a friend."

That smile turned towards Sans, and he fought back a blush.

"Yeah. I was just gonna, uh, make some dinner. Y'know, welcome our queen back with some Snowdin hospitality."

"Dinner?" Papyrus squinted suspiciously. "You don't cook dinner. I cook dinner."

"First time for everything, right?" Sans winked to hide his embarrassment.

Of course Papyrus wouldn't buy his excuse. But he really didn't want his brother and Undyne worrying on top of Toriel. Granted, it was Undyne's job to worry about security threats… but she'd tear up the house's foundation if she thought an enemy might be hiding anywhere in a five-mile radius.

"Sans," Toriel chided him. "You do not owe me that."

"Wowie! You must be a great influence on him, Bald Asgore!"

Toriel blinked before bursting out laughing. Sans's grin widened.

"Her name is Toriel, bro."

"Of course!! Where are my manners?" Papyrus bustled past him to shake Toriel's paws. "I am the Great Papyrus! It's an honor to meet you, Queen Toriel!"

"The honor is mine. Sans has told me so much about you," she said, and Papyrus blushed pink.

"You? Know the new queen?" Undyne whispered to Sans while Papyrus and Toriel got acquainted.

"You know me. I know everyone." He winked.

"She came out of nowhere."

"Yeah. My bro and I know what that's like."

Undyne huffed, but Sans didn't offer a more thorough explanation.

Papyrus's affronted shout signalled that Toriel had dropped her first pun.

"I take it back! This is the worst day of my life!!"

Sans met Toriel's eyes, and they both laughed.

"I suppose I will have to help Sans in the kitchen as my pun-ishment," she said with a coy wink.

"Normally I would object to a guest cooking, but in this case I will make an exception!" Papyrus turned on his heel and grabbed Undyne's arm. "We will clean up the living room in the meantime! Try not to corrupt the queen any further, Sans!!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, bro."

He gave a quick wink to Toriel behind Papyrus's back, and they moved to the kitchen.

"Did I actually upset him…?" She asked once they were out of earshot.

"Nah. He's just dramatic like that. He'll drop three puns per sentence when he thinks I'm not listening."

He turned away, rummaging through the fridge for something edible they could cook. Discreetly, he tucked his empty chisp bag behind Papyrus’s spaghetti-filled tupperware.

“Oh, good. I would not want to make a bad first impression.”

“Pfft. You’d have to try real hard to do that, Tori. My bro sees the best in everyone.” He smiled and pulled a “pupperoni” pizza out of the freezer. It wasn’t anything fancy, but at least it would be edible.

He turned around, pizza in hand, and found Toriel staring at him oddly.

“What?” His sockets widened. “Uh, you’re not vegetarian, are you?”

She shook her head quickly, her gaze skimming off of his like oil from water.

“Pizza sounds lovely. It has been quite some time since I had one.”

Sans didn’t pry, but he couldn’t help wondering what her expression had meant. Had he said something weird?

...Oh. He’d called her Tori, hadn’t he? He should know better than to use nicknames without asking. Papyrus hated them.

“Please, allow me.” She held out her paws, so she couldn’t be too upset.

He handed over the pizza, and he jumped when fire flared to life in her palms. For a moment he thought the fire would scorch the pizza beyond recognition, but the flames were just pleasantly warm. He’d never known a monster other than Grillby to have such careful control of fire magic.

“Heh. I didn’t know you were so hot, Toriel.”

As soon as he said it, he clamped his jaw shut. Geez, how stupid could he be? Making bad jokes was one thing, but flirting with bad jokes?

The fire went out. She looked up abruptly—er, looked away from the pizza. He was still a good two feet shorter than her.

“Tori was fine,” she said, her voice soft.

“Uh,” he replied intelligently.

She suppressed a giggle, and he was pretty sure his face burned hotter than her fire had. He could stand to take notes from Alphys and throw himself in the trash.

“Or not. Whatever is comfortable for you,” she reassured him. “Now, should we eat dinner before it gets cold?”

Eating was hardly something he could screw up at.

“Sure,” then after a pause, he tested, “Tori.”

Forget her fire magic. Her smile could’ve heated the pizza all on its own.

XXX

For once in a hundred years, dinner was a warm and energetic affair. In addition to the pizza, Papyrus had tossed together a salad from his fresh groceries, and Sans had briefly stepped out to grab a few orders of wings and fries. In the end there was plenty of food for four hungry monsters.

Papyrus apologized for the lack of seating, but Toriel didn’t mind sitting on the couch squeezed between Sans and Undyne, eating off of paper plates. She couldn’t imagine anywhere she would have felt more comfortable.

Before long, though, the day’s fatigue caught up with her. She supposed it was to be expected—she wouldn’t regain her social stamina all at once.

Sans caught her eye, and he nodded towards the stairs as Undyne and Papyrus “owned” each other in an MTT-Brand fighting game.

“Sorry. I know they can be a bit much.” Sans rubbed the back of his skull.

“They’re lovely. I wish I had the energy to keep up with them.” She smiled.

He leaned against the banister, smiling down at them. Papyrus had gotten the upper hand this time, and was punching the air with joy.

“Me too,” Sans said, still looking away. “I was thinking. If you want a place to rest for the night, my bed’s open.”

She blinked. Her face seemed to catch fire. That was rather more… forward than she was expecting. Sure, she had enjoyed his lighthearted flirting, and much as she tried to deny it, feelings had been growing in her for a long time. But to have him return those feelings? And so boldly? It was as unfathomable as it was unlikely.

“I can get ya some fresh sheets, and I’ll crash in the shed. My bro set up an, uh, guest room there when the human was in town.”

Oh. She rubbed the heat from her face while he wasn’t looking. How foolish could she be, to think he would be implying…? Well.

“I would not force you out of your room,” she said. “If your brother prepared a guest room, I am sure that would be adequate.”

He let out a quick laugh. “Uh, you’re not used to my brother’s… decorating. Seriously, I don’t mind.”

She sighed. If he insisted, she supposed it would be rude to deny his hospitality.

“Alright. Thank you very much, Sans.”

“Great.” He smiled back at her, then went into his brother’s room. She waited patiently, and only jumped a little when he suddenly reappeared from the right hand door. Perhaps the two rooms were connected in the back by a bathroom.

“Hotel Sans, one vacancy.” He winked while holding the door open.

She chuckled behind her hand. “You really did not have to resort to this.”

“Heh, I wouldn’t call it much of a resort. The bed’s not even queen sized.” He rubbed the back of his skull.

The bed was smaller than she was used to, but it did have fresh sheets. That was the only fresh thing about the room. Chisp crumbs had been brushed under the dresser, and… that was a tornado. A self-sustaining trash tornado. Though at least there was a pine-scented air freshener suspended in it.

“Sorry, it’s… really not much. Uh. Probably kinda insulting, expecting the Queen to sleep—”

“It’s perfect.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“I am no stranger to a few crumbs, Sans.”

She remembered days that bled into weeks that bled into months. Months where she couldn’t bring herself to clean, could hardly bring herself to care at all. Months that had grown fewer and farther between since she’d met a friendly voice behind a door.

“I would’ve vacuumed,” he said sheepishly, “but I suck at it.”

More embarrassingly loud laughter burst from her. In front of Sans, though, she didn’t feel the need to curtail her joy.

“Thank you.” She poured as much sincerity as she could into her voice.

“‘S no problem, Tori.” A light blue tinge warmed his cheekbones. How could he possibly look so adorable? “Bathroom’s down the hall if you wanna wash up or anything. And Undyne’ll be on the couch, so this is probably the safest place in the Underground right now.”

Her brow furrowed. Sure enough, there was no bathroom door inside the room—he must have used one of his “shortcuts” to move from his brother’s room to here.

“So, uh. I’ll be in the shed—uh, guest room if you need me.” He flashed one more tense grin before turning to leave.

“Wait.” She stepped towards him without thinking.

He looked up, one brow ridge raised. She found herself biting her lip, wondering if she dared ask what her soul wanted. It was silly, really. She’d been on her own for years, decades.

Maybe that was why she was so hesitant to lose this one taste of companionship.

“I would feel… safer, if you would stay too.” Her face burned beneath her fur, but she projected her usual composure.

“...Welp. Can’t say no to that, huh?”

She was about to reassure him that he could say no—that she was asking as his friend, not as his queen—but the soft smile on his face told her he already knew.

He briefly left to grab a few things, then returned with a few pillows and, for some reason, a dog bed.

“You are not going to sleep on that,” she said in disbelief.

He flopped the dog bed in the middle of the floor and started fluffing it. “Why not? Gotta throw a dog bed a bone, right?”

“Sans.”

The outdoor lights dimmed, as if at her command. Only the colored Gyftmas lights outside and one dim indoor bulb lit the room.

Her confidence waned with the light. What had she expected him to do? She’d asked him to stay. Unless she wanted to…

Oh, to hell with it. She was too old to be so shy about these things.

“If you are not opposed,” she swallowed, “we could… share this mattress.”

When he looked up, she couldn’t make out his eyelights at all. Their glow returned slowly, like the rising of the sun from her memories.

“Heh… you sure? You don’t even know if I snore.”

She laughed and sat on the bed, patting the space beside her. “You do not know if I snore, either.”

“Fair enough, Tori.”

They took turns cleaning up in the bathroom—she was imposing on Sans enough without adding the smell of dirty fur to his bed. Then she did her best to ignore the flutterings in her soul as he slipped off his hoodie and climbed up onto the mattress. She insisted he stay under the sheets; her fur would keep her warm enough with just the light blanket on top.

The sheets were a barrier in name only. There was only so much space on the mattress, so no matter how he adjusted and apologized, she could still feel the curve of his spine against hers.

It felt amazing. It felt terrifying. It felt like a mistake. It felt like the only thing she’d ever done right.

The one saving grace of the whole situation was that it didn’t stir memories of Asgore. Her royal beds had been triple the size of Sans’s lumpy mattress. She and her ex-husband had rarely slept back to back, and if they had, the feeling would have much different.

“...Tori?” Sans’s voice was just above a whisper. “You, uh, still awake?”

As if she could sleep while enduring the wonderful agony of friendly touch for the first time in a century.

“Yes,” she replied softly. “Am I taking up too much space?”

“No, ‘course not. I was just, uh… geez.” He sounded embarrassed.

Risking their precarious balance, she rolled over to face him. Or to face the back of his skull, at least.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Doin’ sans-sational.” He chuckled to himself. “Sorry. Never got to use that one with you before.”

She would have laughed, had she not worried about shaking the whole mattress.

“It was sans-tastic,” she joked back, and he laughed again.

Then abruptly, his laughter cut off.

“Thanks, Tori,” he said in a quiet but firm voice.

“What for?” She wished she could take his hand, see his face, learn what thoughts were passing through his skull. Instead she gave him as much space as physically possible… which still was not much.

A long, silent moment passed. Had he fallen asleep?

“I know it’s not how you wanted,” he finally said, “but I’m glad I got to meet you. So. Thanks.”

Warmth spread outward from her soul to fill her whole body. Sans could probably feel it radiating from her.

“Thank you, Sans. If I had to return, knowing no one…”

He rolled to face her. His eyelights were mere inches from her pupils.

“You would’ve been fine. All you had to do was tell a few of your amazing jokes, and the whole Underground would’ve been linin’ up to be your pals.”

She suppressed a laugh. “I hardly think that would be appropriate, under the circumstances.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “Plenty of monsters in town cope with jokes. You’d just be relating to the common folk.”

She stared into his sockets a little too intently. At this distance, it easily made her dizzy.

“Would you be included in that demographic?” she couldn’t help asking.

“When I first met you? For sure.” His gaze darted away. “But it’s crazy. Between you and the kid… I’m startin’ to think there’s more to life than good food and bad laughs.”

“Really?” She and the child had made such an impact on him?

“I know. Don’t tell Papyrus. He wouldn’t believe you, anyway.” He winked.

“My lips are sealed.” She smiled.

Silence hung between them. It should have felt awkward, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away. In the end it was Sans who yawned in her face and then hurriedly flipped back onto his other side.

She laughed, and clearly she was exhausted too, because she pressed a kiss to the back of his skull without thinking.

He froze. She froze. There was no way to play that off gracefully. And there was no way she could fall asleep and pretend that it had not happened.

“Heh… those didn’t feel very sealed to me,” he finally rasped out.

It took her a moment to process what he meant. Meanwhile her embarrassment only burned hotter.

“I am so sorry—”

“I’m not.” When he rolled back to face her, his face was bright blue. “You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?”

His question was tinged with desperation.

“Of course,” she answered automatically, despite the many responsibilities that she would have to attend to in the morning. She was the Queen once more. If she had to, she could adjust the schedule of meetings and speeches to accommodate… this.

Whatever this was to be.

“Remind me in the morning,” he squeezed her hand, “that this is real.”

His hand quickly went limp. She was worried for a moment, before she heard the faint snore escape his nasal cavity.

She gave him a fond smile, and allowed her own eyes to close. She did not know if sleep would come or not. She did not know what challenges the new day would bring, or what old challenges would continue to rear their heads.

But she did know that she was not alone. For tonight, that was enough.

#soriel #sans #toriel #fic tag #tali writes #soriel week 2021 #soriel week #really glad to finally share this one!

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dreamerstreamer · 3 years

Text

Office Lunch

Pairing: Quackity / Alexis x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] Being vice president is far from an easy job, and it’s starting to take a toll on Quackity. Thankfully, you’re always there to pick him back up, again.

Warnings: some cursing, minor mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: requested by the lovely 🐌 anon, who wanted some reverse comfort & fluff for big q! the story takes place during schlatt’s presidency, and also serves as a bit of a character study. i hope you enjoy!

The quiet ticking of the clock felt absolutely deafening in the barren silence of the office. You fidgeted your feet, your thumbs nervously tapping at the throw pillow at your side. Despite how plush and comfortable the couch cushions were beneath your thighs, they felt as stiff as rock digging into your skin. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you sat up straight, your eyes glued to the clock as you stared down the taunting, ticking hands.

Were presidential meetings always this long? You were no professional, but employees still had a lunch break, right?

Sighing, you tore your eyes away from the clock on the walls, sweeping your gaze across the office. A tall window decorated the wall opposite from the looming mahogany door, the warm, midday sun washing the room with light. The bookshelf tucked away in the corner of the room was adorned with shelves upon shelves of files, alongside a framed photo of the Manberg flag. On the floor sat a deep crimson rug, the golden tassels brushing along the soles of your shoes.

It was a beautiful office, really. But it looked so much more dull when it was as empty as it was.

Your gaze flickered down to the container sitting on the coffee table in front of you, your lips curling into the smallest of frowns. So much for giving him a surpris—

All of a sudden, the office door swung open, slamming into the opposite wall with a loud thud. Jolting, you whipped your head up, your eyes landing on the huffing figure standing in the doorway. You watched as Quackity stomped across the room to his desk, his gaze stormy as his grip tightened around the already crumpled stack of files in his hand. He was practically seething as he dropped the stack of papers onto his desk, cursing loudly under his breath.

“What an ass,” he muttered, irritation lacing his every word. Reaching up, he tugged at his navy tie, the tight fabric unravelling around his neck. “Always keeping me late because he can't be bothered to show up on time.” His scowl deepened. “That lazy piece of sh—”

“Alex?”

Quackity froze at the sound of your voice, whirling around to face you with wide eyes, his lips parted in shock. “[Y/N]?” he whispered.

You lifted your hand in a shy wave, offering him a sheepish smile. “Hi.”

His lips split into a wide grin as he strode over to you, crouching down next to you. “What are you doing here?” he breathed, his bright eyes scanning yours. “Don't get me wrong, I'm always happy to see your beautiful face, but you're here.” He gestured vaguely to the space around him, his eyebrows knitted together. “In my office.”

Heat crept across your face at his words, something fuzzy and warm blossoming in the crevice of your chest. Bobbing your head, you reached across the coffee table to hold up the container you had brought with you, a glimmer of hope flitting through your eyes. “Yeah! I, um, wanted to surprise you today, so I brought you lunch!”

Quackity blinked at you once. Twice. Then, he opened his mouth, an enamoured expression creeping onto his face. “[Y/N],” he said, gentle and soft, “have I ever told you how incredible you are?”

Your heart flipped in your chest, joy sparking in your chest like a firework as you shot him a cheeky grin, winking slyly. "You could stand to mention it more often."

He laughed at that, getting to his feet before settling into the space next to you on the couch, his side warm against yours. Leaning over, he rested his head against your shoulder, letting out a long sigh of relief.

“God,” he sighed, the tightness trickling out from his body as he melted against you, “I can't even begin to describe how happy I am you're here.” He glanced up at you curiously. “What did you make?”

You grinned, your fingers curling around the container lid. “I figured you would want something easy to hold that was still tasty, so...” The lid tugged open with a pop, revealing an array of sandwiches stacked next to one another, stuffed full with vegetables and spreads. “Ta-da!”

Quackity gasped, sitting upright to gape at the lunch you had made, elation shooting across his face. “Are you an angel?” he blurted, his mouth practically watering at the sight. “You must be a fucking angel, I swear.”

A giggle bubbled up in your throat, warmth fluttering in the pit of your stomach. “Last time I checked,” you hummed, gently nudging his shoulder with yours, “I was just the love of your life, but angel works, too.”

Quackity's eyes gleamed fondly, but you didn't miss the way his fingers twitched in anticipation. Tilting the container toward him, you smiled, amusement seeping into your voice. “Yes, you can eat.”

His eyes lit up like the sun, and you could only laugh as a “thank you” tumbled from his lips before he was grabbing a sandwich. As his teeth sank in for the first bite, his eyes fluttered shut and he made a pleased noise. In an instant, he was absolutely devouring the sandwich, his cheeks puffed with delight.

“This,” he said between bites, “is so good.” Swallowing the final bite, he reached over for a second, his tongue darting out to swipe at his lips. “I don't think I would mind eating this for the rest of my life.”

You flashed him a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Leaning back against the soft cushions, you lifted a sandwich to your mouth, savouring the burst of flavour across your tongue as you took a bite. “By the way,” you said before you took another bite, casting a curious glance in Quackity’s direction, “how’s your day been so far? I missed you.”

In an instant, Quackity’s eyes went dark, the smile falling from his face as he let out a long, drawn out sigh. “Schlatt,” he said.

You swallowed, raising your brows at him. “Schlatt?” you repeated.

He deadpanned. “Is the fucking worst.”

You winced at the exhausted look that flitted across his face, setting your sandwich down on the container lid. “So, I take it your morning went badly.”

The groan that escaped his lips was absolutely gut-wrenching, frustration soaking into his every movement as he got to his feet, pacing around the room. “Like you wouldn’t believe. He cancelled two meetings—the first because he was hungover, and the second because he wanted to drink. Then,” he said, whirling on his feet with a glower, “when he did actually schedule a meeting, he was late.” He threw his hands up into the air. “Like, what the hell?”

Your heart churned in your chest at the sight of his irritated face, the bitterness in his tone winding rising higher and higher, filling the air like a dam that was about to burst. “Plus, he still hasn’t read the report I submitted last week, and also he interrupted me six times today.” He held up six fingers toward you, a deep scowl etched into his features. “Six! That’s seven times too many.”

You had half the mind to laugh at his words, but the sorrow you felt outweighed the flicker of amusement that shot through you. “And did I tell you that he made me make him coffee this morning?” He groaned again, his hands tightening into fists at his side as he collapsed back onto the couch, draping his arm over his eyes. “Sometimes,” he grumbled, “I feel less like a vice president and more like an unpaid intern.”

You shuffled closer to him on the couch, reaching your hand up to gently stroke his back. “I’m sorry that’s happening, baby,” your murmured, rubbing a soft, soothing circle around the base of his neck with your thumb. “Schlatt sounds like an awful boss.”

He whipped around to face you, a grimace stretched taught across his face. “He is!” he cried. “He’s such a fucking... dick! There are so many things I could say.” He lifted a hand, counting off on his fingers. “He constantly misses meetings, he’s always goofing off, and he’s always fucking drunk. It’s like he doesn’t even care about this country.” He sighed, dragging his hand over his face. “Like, why run for president if you’re not going to at least try to make a difference?”

Suddenly, he went quiet, his hand freezing around his chin. You watched as a cloudy fog passed over his gaze, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “God, am I making a difference?”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he turned to look at you, his heart hanging heavy in his lungs as you watched the gears turn in his head. “What have I done?” he whispered, his brows sloping downward. “I’m just helping push Schlatt’s agenda, whatever that is.”

He dropped his head, resting his elbows on his knees as he hung his face in his hands. “Why did I even support him in the election in the first place?” His voice cracked, and you felt your own heart cleave at the sound. “Seriously, just what the hell am I doing?”

A long, thick silence fell over the two of you, Quackity raised his head, turning to face you with a cloudy, broken gaze. “Maybe I’m just as bad as he is.”

The words were out of your mouth in an instant, a wave of protectiveness crashing over you and filling every inch of your being. “Don’t say that.”

He gazed at you sadly, regret flickering across his face. “But, aren’t I—”

“No,” you said, firmer this time, “you’re not.” When Quackity’s eyes went wide at your sudden shift in tone, your gaze softened, adding gently, “I swear.”

Pulling your hand away from his back, you let your eyes scan his doubtful expression, your lips pressed into a thin line. “People like having power, Alex. Physical power, bargaining power, political power—” You shook your head with a sigh, disappointment tugging at the back of your mind. “It can be obsessive, and a lot of the time, that power’s misused.” You sent him a knowing look, brows raised. “You would know.”

His lips twitched the tiniest bit, and he bobbed his head, almost as if there were a set of weights on his shoulders. “Yeah, I really fucking do.”

“But,” you hummed, a smile tugging at your lips, “it’s not always misused.” You leaned against him, your soft side pressing into his. “Look at you—you’re trying your hardest to make this country a better place, and that’s amazing.”

You felt him shake next to you, the fabric of his suit trembling against you. “But,” he said quietly, sounding so very unlike the bold, confident man you loved, “I’ve hardly been able to do anything.” He squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a weary, ragged breath. “Everything I try to do just gets shut down, or pushed aside, or it’s not even looked at.”

You reached over, slipping your hand in his and intertwining your fingers together. “That doesn’t demean your hard work and effort, though,” you said softly. “I’ve watched you work overtime so many days in a row, and you’re always spending late nights at the office to pick up Schlatt’s slack.”

Your lips curled into a smile, genuine and fond. “You’re wonderful, Alex, and Schlatt is lucky to have you. You’re a wonderful vice president, and an ever better person.” Your eyes curved into soft, crescent moons. “Don’t put yourself down like that, okay?”

Quackity stared at you for a moment longer, then lowered his gaze to your connected hands, the light in his eyes flickering. “Even if you’re right,” he said quietly, “Schlatt’s still the one in power. He’s the one with the most control.”

You scooted a fraction closer to him, your knees brushing against his. “The thing about power is that one person hardly ever gets to keep it to themselves forever.” You reached your other hand up, pressing your palm to his cheek, his skin warm against yours. “Schlatt may be president now, but a new term will come soon, and he’ll be voted out, I’m sure of it. And when that happens, you guys will be able to turn a new leaf.”

You brushed your thumb over his cheekbone. “I believe in you.”

Another silence fell over you, but this one was different—it wasn’t tense or heavy like the last, weighing down on you like an anchor. Instead, a certain brightened bloomed across the room, and you watched with kind eyes as Quackity lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with a serious expression.

“I love you.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, heat exploding across your face as your chest shook with a hazy whirlwind of emotion. “Wh—huh?” you spluttered, your face growing hotter by the second. “I-I love you too, but where did that come from?”

His hand squeezed tightly around yours, an ardent spark of affection springing inside him. “My heart,” he said honestly.

You couldn’t stop the smile from splitting across your lips, wide and bright. You opened your mouth to respond when, without warning, he was tugging you forward until you were pressed flush against his chest. Wrapping his arms around your waist in a tight embrace, he dipped his head down next to your ear and murmured, “Thank you, [Y/N].”

You blinked for a moment, then melted against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you snaked your arms up and around his backside. “For you, anything.”

For a long moment, the two of you simply held each other, nestled closely within each other’s arms. You let your eyelids fall shut as you brushed your nose against the side of his neck, inhaling his lingering scent of linen and lemon.

After a few minutes, you felt his breath tickle your cheek as he opened his mouth. “Hey, what time is it?”

You opened your eyes, your gaze darting to the clock on the wall behind him and squinting. “Um, quarter past one.”

Quackity’s eyes shot open to the size of saucers, and in a flash, he was scrambling off the couch, stumbling across his office to his desk. “Oh shit, I’m late for my next meeting!”

Your eyes widened as he quickly picked up a new stack of papers from his desk, grabbing a pen from his cup holder before slipping it behind his ear. While he balanced the mess of office supplies in his arms, striding back over to you, a flurry of swords tumbled from his mouth. “The sandwiches were fantastic, everything you said means the world to me, you’re beautiful, and I love you so fucking much.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, love rushing through your veins as you struggled to process his words. “I—”

All of a sudden, he leaned over the coffee table and pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, pulling away just as quickly as he had arrived. “See you when I get home?” he said, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

Your head spun with dizzying waves of adoration, and you felt your own face grow warm with affection as you nodded hazily, offering him a wave. “See you then.”

The grin he flashed you made your stomach soar with butterflies, and in a whirlwind of papers, he was rushing out the door, his undone tie still hanging around his neck. The office door slammed shut behind him, and just like that, you were alone again, accompanied only by the ticking of the clock.

You let out a breath and pressed a shaky hand to your chest, feeling your heart thump against your rib cage. Sitting up, your eyes dropped down to your half-eaten sandwich still sitting on the coffee table. An image of Quackity flashed across your mind, and you couldn’t help but feel your lungs blossom with something that you were absolutely certain was love.

With warm sunlight caressing the side of your face, you picked up your sandwich and took another bite, a thoughtful smile gracing your lips.

Maybe you should bring him lunch tomorrow, too.

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