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keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

tiles & released tension

(r18+)

gang orca | sakamata kugo x reader

continuation of this fic

word count: 2.2k

the cycle of lust

warnings: fem reader, monsterfucking, weird tongue, weird dicks, marking, mouthfucking, heat cycles,

commission for @baroque-baby!!! thank u so much!!!!!!! 💗💗💗

a/n: wow here it is!! the second of the two comms :’’^) enjoy some more... Monster fucking esque stuff AND heat cycles!!!! enjoy y’all :’’^)

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Despite how physically demanding the overall experience of Kugo’s rut was, you were well taken care of. Beyond that, even. He spared no expense, forgot no detail, and left no need or want unattended.

He was a dutiful lover despite his carnal hunger.

...

You vaguely knew when it was day and night. Your temporary home had large, arching windows and skylights that let sunbeams in to bend against the rippling pool. You knew when it was bright outside, though the exact time of day didn’t seem to matter much to Kugo or you.

That ‘morning’ (whenever you awoke, it was light outside), you’d woken up in the pool, tucked against Kugo’s chest in the lapping, gentle current of the water. It was always a bit scary, waking up being naked and half-submerged.

Yet, you were always mentally-reminded that no harm would come to you. Drowning? Absolutely not. Kugo was literally holding you. If any other danger entered a twenty-meter vicinity, you were sure Kugo would be ready to crush the threat instantly.

But, there were no threats. A peaceful courtyard that let in nice light during the evening with lots of pretty flowers and landscaping.

In some of your more fucked out and fucked up moments, arms braced against the wet tile as Kugo reamed you for the umpteenth time, you found yourself dazing off at the reflections and colors as you blinked back overstimulated tears.

Yet, that morning, you’d woken up without a writhing cock in you. Though it was close by and ever-hard, just as always.

“Mornin’,” You yawned, stretching to pop a kiss onto Kugo’s cheek. His chest rumbled out a sound too low for you to hear, a new, cetacean-based feature he’d developed over his rut. “Sleep well?”

“Very.”

Considered how much cum he spilled into you and the surrounding pool the night prior, he had to be exhausted, right?

To some extent.

He was a pro hero, with the stamina to match. Not to mention most of your days were spent in the pool of perfectly treated and temperate water, allowing Kugo to be in his most optimal state whether he was fighting villains or fucking your brain out.

You weren’t complaining.

Once again, dutiful.

Kugo adjusted you as he needed, a low growl pitching from his throat.

You ended up on your knees, skin scraping the tiles on the submerged bench below. It was a favored position, allowing the upper half of your body to be up and out of the water. Though you had, several times, gotten a mouthful or noseful of water due to Kugo breeding you (so fucking well) in the pool, it wasn’t preferred.

(Most of the time.)

Kugo rumbled as he floated in the water behind you, thickly-taloned hands coming to rest on your hips under the water, “You’re so beautiful in the mornings, you have no idea.”

He’d been waxing more since all of this started. In the moments he wasn’t insatiably worked up by his primal state, he was lavishing you in compliments and kindness as you’d never seen.

Kugo fished around in a nearby float basket, pulling away with a fancily crafted bottle of lube. It was a light lavender, oil-based, and heavenly smelling as he poured a bit of it on his hand.

Considering how long and sharp his nails had become, it was far too dangerous for him to prepare you like he once did.

Good thing his cock was tapered.

You could feel the bump of it against your ass, almost slivering against your hot skin under the water. Kugo slicked it down with the lube as he grabbed another item from the basket— a small bullet vibrator, waterproof and strong.

You beamed as he laid it on the pool deck by your arms.

“Am I allowed to use that?” You asked, keeping your voice teasing and sweet, still scratchy from sleep.

Kugo grunted another primal noise.

Consider it’d been several hours since he’d had his fill of you, he was bound to be insatiable. He tended to get a bit more... animalistic when he got so needy for you.

Social conventions had been mostly negated during the weeks of Kugo’s rut, it was a necessity. Not to mention that they were difficult to even think about with the distractions at your disposal.

The tip of Kugo’s cock, slick and squirming, teased as your entrance as he settled behind you, towering over your bent frame. The water sloshed around both of you, though neither of you minded.

You were far more focused on the way the appendage was teasing from your clit to your leak cunt without rest.

Laying your head on your arms, you arched your back at an even harsher angle, just barely grinding against Kugo as he prepared you as much as his cock would allow.

(It wasn’t entirely necessary considered how often he’d been stuffing you full— your cunt was practically shaped to him by that point.)

His chest bore down on your back, heat radiating off of him as he pressed you into the tiles and pool wall. You swallowed as his hand grabbed around your throat and jaw, pulling your head to the side so his long, (also) tapered tongue could lave along your shoulders.

“You always taste so good in the mornings,” Kugo spoke low and rolling. You squeezed your eyes shut, rolling your hips back to bump against his own.

As much as he fluffed you up verbally, you could feel how he was holding himself back from wrecking you.

His talons bit into the meat of your hips, his tongue licked its way to your ear, gooey saliva mixing with the water and sweat against your skin. His deep breaths, coming harsher each minute, made his chest bear down on your own, flattening you to the til, though not fully squishing you.

“Kugo,” You spoke in a singsong voice, grabbing the vibrator and flicking it on. “Why don’t you fuck me like you mean it instead of being polite? I thought we were past formalities.”

He went still, aside from the twirl of his thin cockhead at your entrance.

“I mean,” You were pressing your luck, but that was part of the fun. “I know you want to breed me so well that I leak all day, so why not get to it?”

You hummed, just for a moment, before Kugo was pressing you down, hard, squeezing the air out of your lungs in the best possible way.

“Is that really what you want?” Kugo growled, the sound shaking in several different pitches as he fucked into your cunt in one clean stroke.

You choked on your breath, scrambling against the wet tile as the vibrator slipped out of reach into the water.

Taking him at full length in one go wasn’t impossible, but the stretch of it all at once ached. His cock pressed and writhed in your cunt as he held his hips steady, shaking slightly.

You took a shuddering breath as his fat tongue rolled over your shoulders.

“How badly do you want to be ruined?”

If you could’ve melted into the water of the pool, you would’ve.

Part of you wanted to give one last fiery retort, but you were far too mushy to muster it up as Keigo thrust fully once more. He nearly bottoms out, you figure, considering the way his cock twists against your inside, pressing at your knot of nerves.

You moaned, lips parting and falling open.

Kugo greedily took the opportunity to further crane your neck, his thick tongue dipping into your mouth, snaking along the backs of your teeth.

You were caught up in it all, the sensations seemingly so fresh after sleep. Each new slam of Kugo’s hips, the taste of him filling your mouth, and the sounds of slapping water all felt magnified.

Whining, you bucked back into his thrusts, feeling the slow expansion of his cock inside you as Kugo grew ever closer.

His throaty laugh vibrated into your own mouth, the sound almost too loud for you to fully catch as your bones rang in your flesh with the tone He took your shock to push his tongue further, deeper into your mouth, licking at the back your tongue and molars.

It was almost too much, as oxygen became a luxury.

Except, Kugo grounded you easily, the hand on your hips and the pressure of his body above yours tethering you to reality as he fucked you in earnest.

Each slap of his body against your own ignited a new wave lust in your, slick spilling down your inner thighs and into the water. Your clit ached, helplessly ignored under the pseudo-surf. You didn’t have the mind in your to try and clamor for the lost vibrator, your mind swimming far too deep to think that far.

Instead, your ground back into Kugo all your could, your noises and moans dampened by the tongue throat-fucking you.

He didn’t seem to mind at all.

You could feel yourself getting fuller and fuller, as impossible as it seemed. Kugo’s cock expanded as it neared climax, pressing at your walls before painting them white and sticky.

The grip on your jaw released, his tongue recoiling from your mouth as his head fell against your shoulder.

“How is this for ‘breeding’ you?” Kugo knew your asked, but asked anyway, chuckling at the way you desperately dripped for more of him.

You nodded, “Very, good. Very—”

Kugo’s pace became rougher.

His hand slipped under your, into the water to rub the meat of his palm into your clit in small, insistent circles. The nearby scrap of his claws only served to make you twitch and want more.

“P-Please, more!” You cried out, laying your head onto the tile as his thrusts got rougher, his teeth scraping and sucking at your neck, and his tongue soaking your skin—

And with a few final pressed of Kugo’s hand and you were coming undone for him in time with him absolutely filling you up.

It was filthy in the best possible way.

You sputtered out profanities as you came, Kugo’s hot seed spilling into you in thick, creamy spurts. The heat of it was almost scalding against the temperature of the bathwater.

Kugo kept a firm grip on you, despite the way how his skin had become so slick, fucking you through his long orgasm. It was something to do with his rut, but Kugo tended to spill into you not for seconds, but rather minutes.

It gave you time to come down as his fattened cock filled you.

You went pliant against the pool deck as another spurt of cum filled your core. Kugo was still in the throes of it, grunting every few moments and grinding into your insides. You weakly pressed back, shaking with your own breath.

Kugo’s hand pressed into your stomach, feeling the bulge of his own cock and cum filling you. The touch only strengthened your own sensations, the mix of it, and your full womb causing your eyes to roll back in your skull.

And then, it all slowed.

You were both still for a moment, the remnants of your movement told in the slosh of the pool and its harsh ripples.

Kugo gently turned your face to his, smoothing back some of your hair and dropping a few deliberate kisses against your cheeks, “Are you alright?”

You nodded, blissed-out and fucked out, “Very alright.”

It was all the response you could manage.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed as Kugo pulled out of you, an odd rush of water and fertile nut mixing below you. The absence of the stretch of his cock left you wanting.

But, Kugo was a dutiful mate, even in this state.

He carefully lifted you in his arms, carrying you out from the breeding pool to a nearby room.

It was one of the rooms you slept in, that of a handful of others. This one had a rounded ceiling and high windows, cream-colored walls and a large, water-proofed lounging bed.

Kugo gently set you down on it, grabbing a blanket-sized towel and wrapping you in it as fully as he could.

He tended to focus on your physical needs after fucking, especially when you two had been doing it so much. You’d never complain about how there was almost always a perfectly chilled water bottle in your hand and a bottle of massage oil at the ready.

Still, you wanted him—

That was why you were there, after all.

Kugo had stepped out, undoubtedly gathering up the supplies to tend to your body as he knew you needed.

You flickered your gaze to a nearby mirror, taking in your own visage.

Clearly, you’d been through the wringer. Dark circles punched under your eyes, your skin pruned from so long in the sweet-smelling water, and a smattering of rakes from Kugo’s teeth laid across your shoulders.

You looked like hell.

...

You smiled.

Kugo walked back in a moment later, just as you were standing up, wobbling on your jellied legs.

He was quick to wash to you, pulling you up against his slick body (as his cock began to re-harden again), “Sit down, love, please. I can get you anything you need.”

“You can,” You beamed up at him, craning on your tiptoes and pulling him down by his neck. “And guess what I need?”

He rumbled out a laugh, undoubtedly knowing where your words were going based on your suddenly tender affections, “And what's that?”

“You.”

#gang orca x reader #gang orca #sakamata kugo #sakamata kugo x reader #salem writes #feast monster fuckers #<3333

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fangirlincorporated-blog · 3 years

Text

The Lucky Australian

Authors note: this chapter details a panic attack (based on my own experience) and may be upsetting for some readers. readers discretion is advised.

~~ 15 Bound ~~

Tell a story, one that's never been told

Remembering how did it feel,

I've got letters, I've got songs that I wrote,

And a heart lined with chromium steel,

Artifacts of darker passions,

I took the fragments and buried them under my bed

And still that ferrous sun,

It shines down on the living.

Fighting the urge to sleep, Henry showered and dressed for dinner, the heat of the day settling into the night. Aurora was so excited to take him to dinner. He never really got used to the idea of a woman paying for dinner, but she was insistent he was her guest and he found it hard to say no to her beautiful face.

Buttoning his shirt, he looked around the room. Minimal and modern is how he would describe her style, but with warmth that only a home can bring. Aurora had made a space for him in her closest. “Its not fair you live out of a suitcase for 2 months Henry” she scolded him.

“FISHY FISHY!!!” Aurora exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, he heard Pickles barking. Moving to the kitchen, he leant against the wall watching the scene before him.

Pickles was so excited for her dinner, prancing around on her paws, her eyes followed every movement Aurora made. Aurora set her bowl down and Henry watched as the dog inhaled every morsel. Aurora looked up to see him staring; she was dressed in a short white satin dress with a blue china pattern over it, her hair pulled back with nude high heels on her feet. She looked simply divine and unable to keep his hands to himself he wandered over to Aurora. He pulled her into his arms and leaned down to kiss her. Aurora's arms snaked around his neck, after the excitement of today, she finally gave him the welcome he was looking for. His arms around her and his lips caressing hers, he almost forgot about dinner. He felt Pickles pushing her way between their bodies before she let out one single loud bark.

Aurora pulled back to look at him as Pickles continued her verbal dissatisfaction that she was not the recipient of pats she wanted.

“That, right there, is why I call her the cockblock”

Henry looked down at the dog, her expectant brown eyes looking up at him as she curled her lip, ready to let out another bark.

He turned back to Aurora.

Pickles barked again

“She’s very insistent” Henry let go of Aurora to pat her

“Yeah, she used to do it all the time before-“ Aurora stopped short.

“Anyway, dinner?” Aurora grabbed her bag and keys

“Lead the way!” Henry said, as he followed her out of the house, leaving Pickles to guard her domain.

~~~~~~~~

They had finished what Henry thought was one of the best meals of his life, the ambiance of the restaurant and the company Henry had making the night better.

Henry had made Aurora promise they would go again before he left, and every other time he would visit. Aurora was only happy to fulfil his wish.

Walking back to her house, Henry was all hands, there was something about the sea air, the night and her that was driving him insane, the sooner they got home the better.

“Good thing you are within walking distance of that restaurant” Henry said into her lips, as he pinned her against the door the moment they walked in the house.

She giggled against him. Henry heard Pickles before he saw her; pulling away from Aurora he opened the back door to let Pickles relieve herself.

“Henry, got to bed, I’ll meet you in there”

“Ill hold you to that” he called to her, shedding his clothes on the way to the bedroom.

Aurora watched him go. She smiled to herself; there was no way she ever thought this possible, Henry here and wanting to be with her. She wasn’t entirely sure this creeping feeling would happen to her again. Still the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach dragged up emotions she would rather forget. They had been eating at her all day, sitting in the back of her mind, ever so silently reminding her they were there. The happiness she felt with Henry twinged with sadness. She checked the date on her phone. No wonder, it was almost that day again. Sometimes, the absence of his presence was a tidal wave she almost drowned in, other times, it was a beautiful reminder of what they shared, either way, she could never predict how it would go.

Closing and locking the door behind Pickles, Aurora turned off the lights and followed the light to her bedroom. Henry was sprawled on the bed, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“ I think we should reschedule the festivities tonight” Aurora said, changing out of her clothes.

“The spirit is willing, but the body is tired” Henry made a move to sit up.

She looked at him as she hung up her dress.

“Why do you torture me?” Henry winced.

Aurora chuckled as she pulled on a t-shirt.

“I don’t” Aurora turned off the light and got into bed, Henry pulled her into his arms.

“I’ve flown all this way and you get naked after I’ve eaten and gotten slightly drunk and tired, this is not fair” Henry whined.

Aurora chuckled.

“Go to sleep Henners”

“You give me cute nicknames. I like it, I need to find you one,” He mumbled as sleep overtook him. Seconds later, Henry was snoring gently. Aurora felt the darkness still around her, she had the worlds most wanted man entwined around her body right now, and all she could feel was the heavy guilt that she didn’t deserve this. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this wasn’t how anything was supposed to work out. How was this fair for anyone?

Aurora saw him, there in the dark. He smiled at her, frozen in time. He reached out his hand to her; Aurora grabbed at him and pulled him closer. She held his hand and he pulled it from her grasp. He kept moving away from her, a smile on his lips.

Soon though, she saw him, a mess of broken bones. His mouth open and screaming in silence, the pain in his eyes boring into hers, suddenly the world came back to her and he screamed her name.

Over and over and over and over, getting louder and louder each time, his screams drowning out anything else she was hearing. The pain crushed her chest; breathing was becoming harder to do, her body shaking with every breath that became harder to take.

Aurora woke up suddenly and fell out of the bed; she knew what was happening, as tears sprung to her eyes as she tried to breathe in the dark. All of a sudden light flooded her vision and pickles was by her side.

“Aurora?” She looked up to see a man on her bed making his way to her, she put her hand out to stop him. Her brain was frenzied trying to catch up with the changes in her room, her body panicking and not holding a breath.

“Aurora”

She looked up again and recognized Henry, she shook her head as she continued gasping for air, her lungs burning with lack of oxygen.

“What’s happening?” Suddenly he was in front of her, his hands on her, she felt pickles’ nose on her chest, her dog trying to get her to move.

“Pickles, baby, move.” Henry said, tyring to push her out of the way.

“Panic attack” She rasped.

“What?”

Aurora grasped for a breath and was able to hold it fleetingly.

“Panic attack…pickles ESA” she managed to get out.

Henry’s eyes dawned with understanding. He moved her against the wall, he grabbed her hands and put them above her head, Aurora doubled over, wanting to remain curled over herself.

“No Aurora, open your chest.” He put his hand on her sternum.

“I’m going to lightly push in, I need you to breathe in and push back with every breath ok?” she nodded.

Tears streaming down her face, she looked up to the ceiling trying to concentrate on the task at hand. Slowly, she was able to drag in breath after breath, she was able to hold it in her chest and bring her body out of the trauma it was going through. Eventually, Henry let go of her hands and she fell into a sobbing heap on the floor. She felt Henry lay down next to her, holding her in his arms until the sobs subsided and the tears dry on her face.

“Sweetheart?”

“I had a panic attack. I was dreaming and I must’ve woken up mid panic attack. I’m sorry for waking you’

“Don’t be. It was scary; you sorta fell outta bed and were just terrified. I didn’t know what to do, I’m sorry.”

Silence enveloped them. Henry Moved behind her.

“come on, the bed is much more comfortable” He bent down to pick up her small frame, and gently placed her on the mattress. He crawled in next to her and pulled the covers around them. Aurora stared at him.

“Thank you for helping, and not running away” Her voice small and barely audible, Henry kissed her.

“Do you need anything?” She shook her head.

Henry watched her until her eyes closed and sleep overcame her exhausted body.

~~~~~~~~

Henry woke to the sunbeams trying to break through the curtains; it took him a minute for him to catch up to the events of last night. Despite that, the beach and the heat had lulled him into some of the best sleep of his life. He turned his head to Aurora. Her breathing was steady and even, she looked a little pale, but he figured that was because her body was exhausted. He felt movement on the end of bed and looked down to see pickles looking up him. Slowly he got out of bed and pottered to the kitchen, the jangle of Pickles’ collar following him.

“Hungry?” Pickles let out a bark.

“Shhhhh! Your mum is sleeping” He looked around the kitchen and started to familiarize himself with it. He found tea, enough bread, milk and fruit as well as yogurt to fill him up. Looking in another cupboard he found protein powder and a variety of nuts, but he couldn’t find the dog food. He turned back to Pickles.

“Fluffy butt, where’s your food?”

Pickles walked over to the room next to the kitchen nearest the back door. Henry followed her and found the laundry where he found her walking harness and the biggest bag of food possible. There was a little fridge next to it that he opened, Pickles ran straight for it and stuffed her face into a packet of doggy meatballs. Henry dragged her out of the way, so he could feed her.

Pickles settled into her bowl of food and Henry opened the curtains, the early morning sun peeking through the trees in the backyard.

Henry opened the door for Pickles as she ran outside to relieve herself. He fixed himself some breakfast, careful not to wake Aurora.

He sat down on the porch watching Pickles wander around, it was starting to get hot already, and he wanted to go to the beach. Finding Aurora’s keys he then strapped Pickles into her harness and made his way out of the house. For a 14 year old, Pickles was a lot stronger than he thought, she practically dragged him down the street.

~~~~~~~~

An hour later, they made their way back home, Pickles very much satisfied; for once she walked at Henry’s side. He looked down at her, she was tired, and she’d probably nap for the rest of the day.

He unbuckled her harness as he opened the door, Pickles lazily walked inside, and took up residence in a sunny spot by the back door, and she lay down with a huff, not intending to move for the rest of the day. Henry smiled at her. Closing the door he noticed the TV was on, he turned to the couch to see Aurora sitting there, looking at him. She smiled weakly at him as he made his way to her.

She looked at him as he sat next to her.

“Henry, I need to talk to you”.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x ofc #australia #aussie aussie aussie oi oi oi #straya #henry cavill fluff #Spotify

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hysterialevi · 4 years

Text

His Name Was Isaac - Final Chapter

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Author’s note: Holy hell I can’t believe it’s already over. Even though this fanfic wasn’t as long as some of my other ones, I still really enjoyed writing it for you guys, and I wanted to say thanks to those of you who stuck around this long. I hope you enjoy this last chapter, and I hope you’ll be there for other stories too :)

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

THE NEXT MORNING

MOUNT HAGEN

Emptiness. Silence. Isolation.

These were the new foundations of the world.

As the lonely breeze howled loudly in the wind, and the pale sun climbed higher in the never-ending sky, Isaac remained seated in the sea of snow, devoid of any hope that once lived inside him.

He was alone.

Just like before.

After fifteen years of battling with his grief and growing up with an insatiable sense of hatred, history had repeated itself all over again.

Only this time... Isaac didn’t care.

He couldn’t find a reason to.

Without Arthur at his side, or Eliza to help guide him, the boy felt completely lost. He felt like the world was swallowing him whole, and the longer he stared aimlessly at the distant horizon, the more he wondered if there was any point in reaching the border.

How did he know that wouldn’t experience the same kind of pain in Canada? What guarantee did he have that the people he met in the future wouldn’t simply disappear like everyone else had?

The last thing Isaac wanted to do was abandon his father’s final wish... but he didn’t know if he had the strength to continue anymore.

He had already fought for so long, and yet, the end of the road didn’t appear to be any closer.

Forcing himself up from the cold ground, Isaac steadily rose to his feet and patted some snow off his coat before continuing to trudge across the unforgiving terrain, feeling more and more exhausted with every step.

He hadn’t slept ever since Arthur died, and with the amount of people hunting him down in these mountains, Isaac didn’t dare lower his gun for a moment.

Agent Fordham may have been kind enough to let him go, but even then, Isaac knew he was far from safe. He still had Dutch and Micah to worry about, and top of that, there was also the fact that Agent Ross had probably figured out by now that Isaac was still alive.

He was going to have to reach the border as soon as possible, and without any mistakes.

Slowly making his way up a steep hill, Isaac clutched his rifle close to his chest and examined the area ahead of him, keeping an eye out for any possible threats.

There was a small group of shacks sitting atop the hill -- all of which seemed abandoned -- but the young man noticed a fresh trail of footprints leading up to one of them. It looked like someone had passed through here recently, and judging by the dying campfire that was gradually withering away outside, Isaac assumed they were still nearby.

He cocked his firearm, prepared to shoot anything that moved.

Part of Isaac simply wanted to leave the cabins alone and carry on, but with the level of fatigue that was currently overtaking his body, the boy knew he needed to rest lest he collapse somewhere in the wilderness.

Gently pushing the cabin’s door open, Isaac carefully stepped inside and observed his surroundings, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

So far, the only thing to greet the young man was a lifeless room filled with nothing but a dead fireplace, and a collection of cracked windows. There were visible specks of dust floating in the sunbeams that seeped through the glass, and on the wall opposite to him, Isaac spotted another door.

It didn’t seem like anyone was home at the moment, so he continued to settle in.

Just before Isaac could take another step however, a bullet came flying through one of the windows and zipped mere centimeters past his ear, causing him to jump backwards.

He immediately slammed the front door shut and took cover, hiding behind a nearby wall.

Isaac didn’t even have a chance to see his attacker’s face before they attempted to shoot him, but just based on the muffled voice he heard talking to him afterwards, the young man knew exactly who it was.

“Well, would you look at that...” his assailant said from outside. “Here I am searchin’ high and low through these goddamn mountains -- freezin’ my ass off just to find you -- and you show up right on my doorstep. Now ain’t that a surprise?”

Isaac peeked through the window’s dusty glass, keeping an eye on the other man as he approached the cabin.

“Fuck off, Micah.” He replied. “I ain’t doin’ this with you. Not now.”

Micah laughed at that. “Why not? Lost your nerve now that daddy ain’t here to protect you? I thought you was a tough boy.” He glanced around for a bit, shrugging in curiosity. “Speakin’ of which, where is the old man? I figured he’d be wanderin’ around here with you. Hard for me to imagine the two of you splittin’ up. Somethin’ happen to him...?”

Isaac clenched his jaw in anger. “...You know damn well what happened. You caused it. Agent Ross found us ‘cause of you.”

The outlaw sighed melodramatically. “Ah, so them government boys got him in the end. Tragic. Arthur always struck me as the type who woulda fancied himself dyin’ in a more heroic fashion. Like in the fairytales. Guess he weren’t so big and bad, after all.”

Isaac subtly reached for his knife, preparing to attack Micah once he got near the door.

“He was still strong enough to beat you.”

Micah grinned in response. “Hmm, well... I just hope the same can be said for you. You’re a strong kid, Isaac. But you’re in for a rude awakenin’ once Dutch gets here. He won’t let you leave these mountains alive...” The man took out his weapon, preparing to strike. “And neither will I.”

Leaping out from cover, Isaac bolted to the front door and slammed it open right before Micah could barge in, bashing the other man in the face as he tumbled to the ground.

Meanwhile, Isaac took advantage of the opening and yanked his knife out, slicing it downwards as he tried to aim for the man’s throat. Just before he could press the knife into his skin however, Micah reached up and grabbed Isaac’s wrists in resistance, pushing back as the two of them wrestled for power.

“Fiery little shit, ain’t you?” Micah growled through bloodied teeth. “You can fight me all you want, boy... but that won’t bring your daddy back. He’s long gone, I’m afraid...!”

Isaac felt a familiar sense of hatred growing inside him again, motivating him to push down even harder.

“You shut your goddamn mouth, Micah!”

The older man chuckled deviously. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I strike a nerve? Heh. You’s your daddy’s son, alright. All emotion and no brains. It’s no wonder he’s dead now, just like that whore of a mother you had.”

Isaac let out a strained groan, fervently trying to force the blade into Micah’s neck as his arms began to quiver.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a worthless snake, Micah...! And I’m gonna make sure you die like one.”

Micah’s grin grew even wider at that. “Ah, now that’s the Isaac I know. You strut around pretendin’ to be a better man than the rest of us, but really, you’re just another killer deep down, ain’t you, princess? Same as Shay. Well, c’mon then. Show me what you got...!”

Mustering all the strength in his body, Micah easily shoved Isaac’s lean frame off of him and kicked the boy in the gut, causing him to reel back. In the meantime, Micah got up from the ground and took his own hunting knife out, slashing the weapon wildly at Isaac.

“There’s winners, and losers!” He shouted, stepping forward as the boy dodged his attacks. “Nothin’ else besides.”

Ducking under one of Micah’s swings, Isaac barely missed the edge of his blade and prepared to strike him with a counterattack, only to receive a gash to the cheek when the other man followed up with a second slice.

Stumbling backwards, Isaac watched as a few droplets of blood trickled from his face and onto the white snow beneath him, spreading in a manner similar to an ink blot.

He was already feeling worn out from trying to keep up with Micah’s vicious speed, but for the sake of making sure his father wouldn’t die in vain, Isaac refused to give up.

He brought his attention back to the outlaw, gripping the hilt of his knife even tighter than before.

“You’re wrong about my father. He did die as a hero. He died protectin’ me...” Isaac held the blade in front of him, making sure that Micah wouldn’t come close. “...But you? You’re gonna die as a rat. A traitor. Your corpse’ll become nothin’ but food for the vultures, and ain’t no one gonna give a shit about you.”

Micah smirked at the statement. “Oh, we’re all gonna die someday, cowboy. But at least my pockets will be heavier when that time comes.”

Leaping at each other, the two of them engaged in one last fight to the death as the snow danced wildly around them, coating everything behind a layer of ice. The sun was barely breaking through the clouds now, and as more time went on, Isaac could feel the weather hindering his movements more and more.

His limbs were becoming stiff in the cold, and his skin had nearly gone numb from the freezing wind that chewed through it.

But despite all the obstacles he faced, Isaac remained adamant in his mission to kill Micah and persisted with the battle, determined to put him in the ground.

Throwing a punch at the older man, Isaac buried his knuckles in Micah’s jaw and stunned him for a moment, allowing him to turn the tide of the fight. He tackled the outlaw to the snow and pinned him down with his own weight, beating the man the same way Arthur once did.

Instead of trying to block Isaac’s attacks however, Micah resorted to a quicker solution and simply jabbed his knife into the boy’s leg, causing him to shout in agony as blood began to seep through his clothes.

Isaac frantically tried to think through the pain, but was swiftly interrupted when Micah hurled him off to the side and climbed on top of him, switching their positions.

He hurriedly yanked the blade out of Isaac’s leg and diverted it to his throat, but was stopped halfway when the boy pushed back in a desperate attempt to keep the knife from reaching his neck.

“You’re pathetic, Morgan...!” Micah snarled. “Sure, you’re real tough when it comes to killin’ fools, but against anyone else, you’re just a scared little boy tryin’ to survive in a man’s world.”

Isaac groaned in effort, grinding his teeth together as he clutched Micah’s wrists with an iron grip.

“You don’t know... the first thing about me...! I don’t wanna be a killer... but for you -- I’ll make an exception...!”

Using every bit of strength that he had left in him, Isaac forcibly pushed Micah further away from him and stretched his arms out, putting some distance between his neck and the blade.

He wanted to make sure he had enough space to roll out from underneath him before making his next move, but with a new wound now throbbing in his leg, Isaac couldn’t deny that he was feeling weaker and weaker by the minute.

Giving Micah another firm shove, the boy finally managed to get him at a reasonable distance and slid free from his grasp, moving out of the way just as the man’s knife impaled the ground.

Isaac scrambled across the snow and reached for his gun, whipping it straight out of the holster as the other man came charging at him.

He only had once chance to kill Micah before he’d be on top of him again, but in spite of the risks, Isaac decided it’d best to rely on his gun rather than his strength. He barely had any energy left in him, after all, and based how much blood he was losing, the boy wasn’t sure if he could keep this up for much longer.

He aimed the barrel directly at Micah’s head, getting ready to shoot the man.

Bang.

A single gunshot thundered throughout the entire region.

Micah’s body came to a halt, and his eyes widened in pure shock.

There was a deathly gap in the fast rhythm of his breath, and within a few moments, the man’s face had been drained of all life.

What confused Isaac however, was that he had yet to pull the trigger.

Collapsing to the ground, Micah toppled over into the snow and landed on his side, revealing a third person standing behind him.

He remained paralyzed on the ground and simply lay there in bewilderment, glancing upwards at the man who just put a bullet in his back.

“...Dutch...” Micah wheezed, glaring fearfully at him. “You... shot me...”

The other man stepped next to his fallen comrade, solemnly looking down at him as a trail of smoke rose from his revolver.

“...Not soon enough, I’m afraid.”

Watching as Micah drew his final breath, Dutch stood above him in silence and simply towered over the man, finally witnessing the revenge he had thirsted for for so long.

He had known for a while now that there was a traitor within the gang, but he never had his suspicions confirmed until he read Bill’s goodbye letter.

The drunken fool had been kind enough to leave a note before he took off, and Dutch knew that if he wanted to catch Micah by surprise, he’d have to keep the warning a secret.

So, time after time, he pretended to be oblivious to the snake’s deeds and blindly went along with his plans, only to find him wrestling with the son of the very man he wished he had never pushed away to begin with.

It was a step closer to finding his redemption, he thought... and yet, Dutch felt as if he had taken two steps back.

That was the price of vengeance he supposed. But he no longer cared.

Pushing his thoughts aside for the moment, Dutch suddenly remembered that he still had Isaac to deal with and brought his attention back to the boy, aiming the gun at him.

It looked like Micah had already injured him quite a bit during their fight, but even then, Dutch knew better than to let his guard down.

He carefully approached the young man, making sure to keep him in place.

“...Arthur’s not with you?” He noted.

Isaac remained seated in the snow, shaking his head.

“...No.” He answered quietly. “He’s... he’s dead.”

Dutch’s expression sank with worry.

“...Dead?” He asked, mortified. “How? What happened?”

The young man slowly rose to his feet, careful not to alert Dutch.

“The Pinkertons cornered us just outside of Lake Isabella. Ross ended up shootin’ him. I...” Isaac’s tone softened with regret, “...I couldn’t save him.”

Dutch steadily lowered his gun in disbelief and gazed aimlessly at the view beyond the horizon, furrowing his brow in anguish.

He couldn’t believe it.

Just when he started to right the wrongs of his past, and regain some of the integrity he passed onto others... the most important person in his life had been taken away.

He treated Arthur like a complete stranger the last time he saw him, and to make matters worse, he never even had the chance to say goodbye.

All Dutch had left of the man was a broken collection of memories, and an abandoned journal that was full of unfinished thoughts.

He brought his gaze back to Isaac, observing the boy’s striking resemblance to his father.

Perhaps... there was more of Arthur in him than Dutch originally thought. Maybe it was time to put his feelings about the young man in the past, and move on with his life.

He had nothing left to fight for, after all. His mission for vengeance was completed the minute Micah’s heart came to a stop, and with Arthur dead... there was no need to worry about confronting the man any longer.

The only thing Dutch could do for his late son now was take care of the one person who still survived him, and help him flourish in a world that was so willing to kill him.

He reached down and retrieved Arthur’s fallen hat from the ground, quietly traipsing over to the boy as he patted some snow off its rim.

“Y’know what, Isaac,” Dutch said with a cough, “...I wish I could’ve realized this sooner, but...” he handed the hat to Isaac, “...you’re the last person I want dead.”

The young man took the hat into his grasp, admittedly at a loss for words.

“I-- thank you, Dutch. I won’t lie. I didn’t expect this from you.”

The older man nodded in agreement. “Neither did I.”

Isaac placed the hat back on his head, suddenly recalling Arthur’s last request.

“Hey,” he said, holding Dutch back for a moment, “before you go... my father wanted me to tell you somethin’ in case I ever saw you again. He said he never hated you, despite everything that happened. And he’s sorry he wasn’t there when you needed him.”

“He... said that?” The man sighed in heartache. “Oh, Arthur...”

Evidently grief-stricken by the message, Dutch turned away from Isaac and bit his bottom lip, attempting to hide the tears that threatened to spill. One of his biggest fears ever since learning of Micah’s betrayal was that he’d never be able to gain Arthur’s forgiveness, and yet... it was clear that he had misjudged the man once again.

Dutch let out a shaky breath, still gazing at the ground.

“Thank you... for lettin’ me know, son. I... I appreciate it.”

Isaac shared Dutch’s mournful mood. “I just wish my father could’ve been here to tell him yourself.”

Dutch nodded at that. “Me too, Isaac. Me too.”

The older man turned around and began making his way off the mountain, eager to put some distance between him and Mount Hagen.

“...I have to go now, son. You’ve... certainly given me much to think about, and I won’t forget it. But I need to handle it on my own.”

The boy stayed back, not wanting to disturb Dutch any further.

“I understand.”

“Take care of yourself. This world weren’t built for the likes of us, but you still have a chance. As for me... well, my time has passed. And I’m afraid that’s just the way it is.”

Venturing deeper into the cold, barren landscape, Dutch took his leave from the grisly scene and began descending Mount Hagen’s steep terrain, disappearing further and further into the snow.

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover from the events that transpired here -- what with news of Arthur’s death -- but he knew it was time to move on.

This chapter of madness and insanity had finally been closed now that Micah was gone, and even though Dutch had no certainty of what the future held, he had no intentions of lingering in the past either.

It had caused him enough pain. And now, he was ready to heal.

Trudging down the mountain, Dutch vanished in the distance like a phantom in the wind as the snowstorm began to pick up, completely obscuring his path. He didn’t know where he was going, or where this road would lead him, but he continued with his journey regardless.

Meanwhile, Isaac stayed behind and watched as the other man took his leave, suddenly feeling a strange sense of contentment within him.

He still had a long way to go in terms of recovery, but the boy felt like he was finally ready to accept reality.

Arthur was dead.

Eliza was dead.

And there was no way he could bring them back.

The world had taken them prematurely from Isaac’s life... and yet, he was fully aware that it’d be impossible to rectify that.

There wasn’t a single man he could kill, or a god he could pray to that would restore everything he’d lost.

He no longer had anything left to lose... and that was why he could finally start over.

Slipping his gun back into its holster, Isaac took one last glance at Micah’s corpse before removing himself from Mount Hagen’s vicinity, allowing the other man to freeze in the snow.

Even though part of him was disappointed that he didn’t get the chance to kill Micah, the young man couldn’t deny that he was also relieved. He had seen for himself just how much hatred could consume a man, and considering everything that happened these past couple of weeks, Isaac didn’t know if he’d be willing to walk down the path of vengeance again.

It nearly destroyed him, not too long ago. He killed Shay’s entire gang without a single hint of hesitation or a second thought, and at one point, he might’ve even enjoyed it.

But now... Isaac could see that Arthur was right.

As tempting as revenge could be, it wasn’t worth the sacrifice.

His humanity, his compassion, his care for others -- those were the things that kept him going. And those were the things he wanted to keep alive.

He had spent long enough wandering through this world as a killer, and now, he was ready to embrace forgiveness.

It was a difficult thing to accept, but for the sake of moving on with his life, and carrying out Arthur’s final wish, Isaac knew he had to put down the gun.

It was the only way he could allow himself to recover now, and the only thing that would permit him to seek redemption.

He had finally reached the end of the road, and freedom was waiting for him on the other side.

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE WEEK LATER

EVENING

ELIZA’S CABIN

Standing quietly in front of the lifeless house, Isaac found himself overwhelmed by the empty silence as he clutched a bundle of flowers in his grasp, wondering if he even had the strength to see his parents’ graves again.

After he left Mount Hagen, the boy traveled back to Colter against his better judgement and brought Arthur’s body here, burying him alongside Eliza.

It was probably foolish of him to remain in the United States for so long with all the people searching for him, but in spite of the danger, Isaac didn’t have the heart to leave them behind.

They were both gone from this world -- that was true -- but that didn’t mean he couldn’t ensure they had the opportunity to rest in peace.

Giving Aldo a quick pat on the neck, Isaac signaled the horse to stay behind as he approached the abandoned cabin, fiddling with his hands in nervousness.

It had been ages since he last saw this house, and just by gazing at its boarded-up windows, he could already feel an influx of memories flooding his head.

From the days he’d spend playing in the fields with Arthur, to the times he spent listening to Eliza’s singing... there wasn’t a single moment that he couldn’t remember.

Everything about this place screamed nostalgia to him, and part of Isaac wished he could stay forever.

Walking up to Arthur’s and Eliza’s graves, Isaac took a deep breath before kneeling down in front of them, trying to keep his composure.

He had given his father the same kind of cross that stood above his mother, and on the wooden planks read a small passage:

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”

It probably wasn’t the kind of message Arthur expected to be marked with when he was gone from this world, but Isaac felt it fit the man more than he may have realized.

He knew his father always saw himself as somebody who only ever did wrong, but in Isaac’s eyes, the man was a hero. He abandoned his past as an outlaw, and sacrificed everything he knew to keep his son safe. His last moments were spent ensuring that Isaac had a chance to survive, and the boy wasn’t about to forget that.

Placing the flowers next to the crosses, Isaac gazed longingly at the names that had been carved into their surface, wishing they could be there with him.

He didn’t know exactly what to say, or if anything needed to be said at all, but simply by looking at their graves, he already felt as if his parents were standing in front of him again.

It was as if their ghosts still remained in this place, and the longer Isaac stared at the cabin standing behind them, the more he felt compelled to say something in return.

“Yeah, I know...” Isaac said affectionately, “I’m still here, Dad. I promise I’ll be on my way to Canada soon, but... I wanted to say goodbye first. I never had the chance to thank you properly for everything you did, and well... I just hope you know that I always cared for you.”

He turned to Eliza’s grave. “And Ma... I’m sorry for everything that happened. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from Shay and his men, and I’m sorry that I became blinded by my hatred for so long. I know neither of you would’ve wanted me to go down that path, and I wish I could’ve realized that sooner.”

He paused for a moment, nodding in reassurance. “But I’ll do my best to be a better man from now on. I’m gonna try to help people instead of hurtin’ them, and I won’t pick up my gun again unless I have to. It’ll feel strange takin’ on such a new life, but... it’s one I’m ready to adapt.”

Isaac stood up from the ground, glancing over his shoulder at Aldo.

“...I’ve gotta go now. You know how persistent them Pinkertons can be, and I think I’ve already spent enough time lingering around here. But I’ll come visit you as much as I can. I promise.”

Walking away from the graves, Isaac slowly returned to his horse as the sun finally began to set beneath the tree line, painting the sky a striking orange color. For as far as the eye could see, nothing but vast meadows stretched out for miles into the distance, and anything that stood on the horizon was blackened into a stark silhouette.

It was like a small paradise out here, Isaac thought. The nature in this area had been left untouched by civilization’s progress, and due to its secluded location, no other souls roamed around here except for his own two parents.

It was the one place Isaac could find peace... and he had to leave it behind for now.

Climbing back onto Aldo’s addle, the young man readied himself for the journey ahead and spared a few moments to take one final look at the cabin, admittedly reluctant to separate himself from it.

It felt nice to be somewhere familiar again, but Isaac knew he couldn’t stay here forever. There was an entirely new life waiting for him beyond the border, and this was his last chance to seize it.

So, with one last goodbye, Isaac bid farewell to the place he once called home and lightly kicked his spurs into Aldo’s sides, urging the horse to begin trotting away from the scene.

He didn’t know when he’d return to the cabin again, but one thing was for sure. He had finally found the closure he needed.

Shay, Arthur, Eliza, Dutch, Micah... they were all ghosts in the wind now. There was nothing left to hold Isaac back from his future, and now, he could focus on becoming a new man.

It was the reward he received for having fought for so long. The one thing that everyone else in his life constantly died for.

The only treasure that no amount of money could buy.

Redemption.

~~~~~~~~~~

FOUR YEARS LATER

1911

SOMEWHERE IN NEW AUSTIN

Hopping off his mount, John Marston approached the makeshift clinic standing in front of him as he carefully searched the area, admittedly skeptical of how much information he would receive from this visit.

According to the locals, there was a rather eccentric doctor who had been seen traveling around these parts... but he wasn’t anything like the ones that worked in the hospitals.

For starters, he was an outlaw. He hadn’t committed any crimes in recent years except for evading the Pinkertons’ grasp, but the idea of a criminal doctor was still strange to John. And on top of that, the man apparently had some crucial information regarding the locations of Bill Williamson and Dutch van der Linde.

He didn’t know why the hell Dutch or Bill would’ve been in contact with a man such as this one, but John supposed he was about to find out.

Making his way up the clinic’s wooden stairs, John opened the front door and prepared to let himself in, only to be interrupted when he found the barrel of a shotgun staring back at him.

He couldn’t quite see the face of the person holding it just yet due to the darkness inside, but John assumed it was the doctor he had heard so much about.

He raised his hands in the air, backing away slowly.

“Whoa, now...” Marston said, attempting to defuse the situation, “easy, mister. I mean you no harm.”

The doctor chuckled at that. “Them’s some funny words comin’ from a man with as many guns as you. You think I haven’t heard that one before? Who are you? You with the law?”

John hesitated to answer. “Well, I am workin’ with the government, but I ain’t here to take nobody in. I’m just here to see a doctor. I assume that’s you?”

The other man didn’t trust him just yet. “Depends on what you need. You sick? Dying? Both?”

Marston shook his head. “No, nothin’ like that. I’m just lookin’ for information. I need to find two outlaws named Bill Williamson and Dutch van der Linde, and I’ve been told that you’re the person to talk to.”

The doctor fell silent at that, clearly surprised to hear those names again.

“...Why d’you wanna find them?”

John sighed in discontent. The truth was, he didn’t want to find them. Not after all the conflict that ensued between them. But he had no choice.

“I have to.” He settled with. “For the sake of my family. For my wife, and son. Their safety depends on it.”

The doctor didn’t quite understand what he meant by that, but figured it was best not to ask too many questions. This man was linked to the government, after all, and the last thing he needed was for them to come sniffing around his clinic.

“...I see. Well, in that case...”

Putting the shotgun away, the doctor finally opened the door and stepped out from the clinic’s shadows, revealing his full identity.

He was much younger than John expected, and had a striking resemblance to someone he once knew. His hair was short and blonde, his eyes were a mixture of blue and green, and a short beard outlined the edge of his jaw.

As for his clothes, he didn’t seem to share the same fashion sense that others in the medical field had. He wore a black Rambler Jacket paired with a rather nice set of trousers, and adorned a bronze-colored vest along with a simple puff tie to top it off. The soles of his boots were worn and covered in dirt, and on his waist rested a charcoal gun belt.

But what really caught Marston’s attention... was the unmistakable hat that sat atop the doctor’s head. It seemed to be made out of leather, and had a familiar string of rope wrapped around its crown.

It appeared to be identical to the one Arthur once wore, and just based on how similar the doctor’s features looked to the man, John suddenly found himself wondering who on earth he had just run into.

The young man rested the shotgun on his shoulder, formally introducing himself.

“I’m Doctor Morgan. How can I help?”

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #isaac morgan #John Marston #Micah Bell #Dutch Van Der Linde #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 story

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queenmuzz · 4 years

Text

Three Sparda’s and a Baby.... Part II

I’m sorry if you were expecting a cute fluffy story about three grown men attempting to take care of a baby....

Devils Never...

Ao3 link here.

Devils never feel pain. Well, not in this way, they can feel the pain of flesh burning, tearing, ripping, but not the deep cutting pain in his chest, scouring through his nerves like acid, through his shoulder and down his arm, ending at his ring finger…. Or did the pain originate from his finger, and then into his chest? Because on that finger was a slender gold band, a ring connecting him something he valued above nearly everything. Sparda freezes at the sensation. It’s a warning, but of what?

The answer may lay in what he holds in his other hand, dangling, choking, and yet still cackling. He’s heard rumours of hell gates opening up bearing a familiar three pronged symbol, and demons bearing the same sigil. And now, after weeks of searching, he’s finally gotten the culprit in his grasp. But why is there pain?

The three headed demon is down to one functioning head, the left snake one has been decapitated, the right lion one has had his jaw shattered, leaving the central goat one practically giggling in the Dark Slayer’s face.

“Heheheh” it wheezes before it coughs up black ichor, “It seems the Master’s plan has come to fruition, and I” another cough “am honoured to have played my part in your destruction” “Enough with your riddles!” Sparda barks, “Where is he!”

“Your betrayal was enough to keep Him contained, but thanks to your laxness, His servants have found out your greatest weakness.” Its eyes close in pleasure, “I will die knowing that you will lose everything….” it lets a final neighing shriek of delight, before Sparda dispatches the wretch.

Devils never value anything other than their own lives. In the Underworld, each demon looks out for what is most important, themselves. Even when they submit to another demon, it is in order to preserve their own safety, or to gain an advantage against another.

But Sparda knows exactly what this abomination is speaking of, and as the fetid corpse dissolves into ash, he realizes he’s walked into a trap. He’s been led on a wild goose chase (humanity has always found charming turn of phrases, he’s realized), and unfortunately, he’s not going to be the one to pay the price. He needs to get home as fast as possible. But he’s been led so far, that even by flying at supersonic speeds will take him a few hours. If only he had Yamato….but alas, he had given it to his eldest on his eighth birthday, as well as Rebellion to his brother (and of course, they had begged to take it to show-and-tell the next day, much to their mothers exasperation.) So as he reforms into his true state, and unfurls his wings, all he can do is pray to any Divinity that is willing to listen, to keep what he treasures most safe…

The burning pain continues until he’s around halfway the way home, and then the pain abruptly stops, replaced by ice cold. This doesn’t make Sparda feel any better.

*****

Devils never panic. When faced with unexpected circumstances, they automatically react in set patterns, analyzing their opponents and situations, and how to maximize it to their own advantage. No emotion is used, it is all instincts.

He arrives, in the middle of a destructive thunderstorm, to a home that is ablaze, despite the rain. Winds howl and thunder roars, but it’s not enough to drown out his screams of rage. There are a few remaining demons scuttling about, and he slaughters them with the finesse of two millennia of skill. But what of his wife, his children?

He braves the flames and rushes inside, screaming his wife’s name, his sons’ names, but the crackling fire obscures even his sight… surely they must be safe, surely they must have escaped…

And there he sees her, surrounded by runes of protection, keeping the flames at bay. Red and black and gold cloth, cascading like a fountain… except she’s not moving. He rushes forward, to find her collapsed, her eyes open in fear, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her long slender neck, something he used to find beautiful about her, where he placed the perfect amulet of silver and gold and ruby, is at an unnatural angle. Even so, he turns back into his human form, and places two trembling fingers on her jugular, hoping for some movement… There. Is. Nothing.

Devils never value their mates. To a demon, a mate is just a necessary inconvenience to reproduce. Thus, they choose their mates based on who is the strongest, (but not too strong, one does not want to submit to a mate, but not too weak, for the progeny will inherit that weakness). And after the deed is done, both go their separate ways, although sometimes, a last battle, often to the death, happens.

Sparda cradles his beloved wife in his arms, rocking her lifeless body back and forth. She was the light in his life, a beautiful sunbeam that scattered the clouds of his soul. Her voice, clear and sweet, could lull even the insomniac Dark Slayer into a deep slumber.

And now, she was gone, never to smile at him, nor to comb her long fingers through his hair, nor to kiss his nose, nor even to tell him how much she loved him. It was all his fault. He had sworn on the day of his marriage to love and protect her, and he had failed. He’d become too confident, too relaxed, and she had paid the price…

All he could do now was avenge her death. Perhaps it was in Mundus’s plans, but Sparda knew what he must do; rip open the barrier between the worlds and take his revenge against the so called ‘God-Emperor’. He’d either cast him down, or die in the attempt. His demon blood demanded it.

But there was still a matter that stopped him from going on a rampage….his sons. He looked around, terrified he’d find their bodies, but all he could see were the shades of corpses of lower level demons. Each smelled of magic, or gunpowder, signifying that however she had died, she had made it as hard as possible for her enemies. But one corpse, located at the doorway didn’t have the smell of either...it smelled of the blade of Rebellion. That could only mean that little Dante had been here, hopefully attempting an escape And as Sparda attempted to follow the trail, he could only hope that his youngest son had escaped.

Devils never feel terror. They can inflict terror on humans, and in some circumstances, they can feel dread in the presence of particularly strong demons, (Sparda has caused that to infinite numbers of lesser demons) But fear, or terror? No, a demon cannot feel it.

Sparda runs through the driving rain, torn between screaming for his sons, and keeping silent, afraid that it will lure them out, easy pickings for the demons. He’s terrified that they’ve already been killed, or worse, captured. He knows the lengths Mundus has gone to subjugate anyone who has defied him (the Nobodies were once somebodies, before Mundus performed his tortures on them), and what better way to punish his former second in command, if he could not take him himself?

Lightning illuminates the muddy path, showing the corpses of yet more demons, these ones fresher, and not cut by Rebellion. These ones were cut cleaner, if still a bit amateurish….obvious work of Yamato. He stills, straining to hear over the wind, rain, and thunder, and his ears pick up three sounds.

First, Dante’s terrified voice, “How much farther to the safe house?”

Secondly, Vergil’s, hissed “Shhhhh, you idiot! They’ll hear us!”

And thirdly, to Sparda’s horror, the soft sound of what seemed to be blades being sharpened. He takes his true form, striking from the shadows to find the Death Scissor at the base of a tree, skulking for what had to be the twins. It doesn’t even have a chance to fight back, as he dispatches it with one swift slice. All it could do was shriek in protest as it dissipates into mist, its mask all that remains, before it is crushed under his heel. He faces the tree (an old oak that he planted nearly a century and a half ago, when he first built the now burnt out manor), and in the flash of lightning, he sees his boys, both soaked to the bone, flattening their distinctive hairstyles to the point that they’re no longer distinguishable. Although, Sparda can tell it’s Vergil, simply because he attempts to wield Yamato confidently.

“S-stay back!” his eldest says to him, obviously terrified. Dante, equally petrified, clutches his brother’s shoulder. It breaks the Demon’s heart...his sons, while aware of their father’s identity, have only seen his true form rarely. So he retakes his human manifestation, and calls to them.

Dad!

Father!

Both sons run towards him, and he holds them close. They are both safe and unharmed, praise be, and he picks them up, to take them to the safe house, a place that will, be a sanctuary, if only temporarily.

“What about mother?” Vergil questions, and for once, the proud and eloquent Sparda is left speechless. How to tell his sons that their beloved mother will never sing to them, never kiss them goodnight, never tell them how much she loves them?

“Vergil…” Dante says, and their father knows that the younger boy was there when his mother fell, perhaps in order to save him. Does Dante feel guilty? He should not… It is his father who is to blame.

“We have no time, we must move” he says, clutching both sons as he speeds through the forest, leaving the hellscape behind.

Devils never care for their offspring . The males usually leave after mating, and the females almost always abandon their young as soon as possible. If they perish? Then they were weak, and not worth worrying about. That is the way of the Underworld, the weak are winnowed and the strong are considered rivals.

Sparda sits in the cushioned chair in the small cabin, Vergil leans on his left side, Dante, his right. Both have been changed out of their cold wet clothes, toweled off, and now, hours after midnight, they’ve both finally passed out, clutching their swords, as if they are teddy bears. Their father remains awake, alert to any dangers. But, as the storm finally subsides, he senses no danger and allows himself to relax, and to think of the future. Obviously, it is too dangerous to stay here, they must flee. But to where? Sparda has accumulated residences and properties over the centuries, in various states of repair (Fortuna sounds tempting, but he has always been uncomfortable about living in an area that reveres him as a god) He needs to find a place with a good school, yet large enough where he and his boys can live in comfortable anonymity. His sons need new sets of clothing, footwear, books (for Vergil), and toys (for Dante). And Eva….

He needs to go back in the morning, no matter the danger, to retrieve what he can, and to give her an honest burial. She deserves that at least. She’d deserved so, so much more, but he’s failed her. He will have to bring her sons with him, to keep them safe from danger. They would never leave his protection ever again. He must keep her legacy safe, to honour her memory, to give himself a purpose.

Despite the rain finally stopping, he feels wetness on his cheeks. A leak on the roof? Or maybe he had forgotten to dry off his own hair….

Because as everyone knows…

Devils never Cry.

#Devil May Cry #Three Spardas and a Babby #Sparda #dante #vergil #Here be Angst

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thesunlounge · 4 years

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Reviews 353: Island Sounds from Japan 2009 - 2016

The newest release from Time Capsule carries the completely irresistible title of Island Sounds from Japan 2009 - 2016 and finds label co-founder Kay Suzuki curating a miniature compilation aiming to present a personalized window into modern Japanese music. I say personalized because, rather than seeking to reflect what is contemporaneously popular, this release celebrates what Kay calls the “Island Sound,” which comprises a sort of loose and tropically-minded ideology dedicated to expanding genre boundaries and fusing musical traditions from all around the world. Thus across the vinyl’s five tracks, we are treated to a Caribbean-tinged reggae rewrite of a legendary jazz classic, a polychromatic surf slide and Hawaiian psych groove out, a fried and freaky mutant disco stomper led by chugging funk basslines, slashing fuzz riffs, and southern blues slide guitars, and an elegiac fusion of Aino folk, Afrobeat, and dub exotica made in tribute to the profound grief experience by both Syrian refugees and oppressed indigenous cultures within Japan’s own borders. As well, Island Sounds from Japan 2009 - 2016 sits nicely alongside the recently released Oto No Wa: Selected Sounds of Japan 1988-2018 in the following sense. While many reissue labels have their sights set on Japan’s musical past, with most of the focus being given to the rare groove, jazz, city pop, and environmental ambient music of the 70s and 80s, the curators of both Island Sounds of Japan 2009 - 2016 and Oto No Wa: Selected Sounds of Japan 1988-2018 choose instead to spotlight lesser known and ever more modern corners of Japanese music, thus collecting together the kind of leftfield oddities and impossibly creative genre mashups that will inspire future generations of obsessive crate diggers, balearic minded DJs, and visionary producers.

Island Sounds from Japan 2009 - 2016 (Time Capsule, 2020) Saxophonist Akira Tatsumi made his name with The Determinations, an Osaka-based ska band operating throughout the 90s and early 00s. Following the group’s dissolution, Tatsumi dove ever deeper into Caribbean musical forms such as calypso and soca and following a solo album in 2013, he began to brainstorm ways he and his fellow musicians could develop a more distinctive musical identity…something “they could export to the world instead of merely following their influences.” Thus a regular jam out called “Akira Tatsumi presents Island Jazz Session” was born, featuring an ever-shifting collective of jazz and reggae musicians who eventually recorded an EP under the name Speak No Evil, the centerpiece of which is an inspired re-interpretation of the Wayne Shorter classic of the same name. Stabbing piano chords bring in a throbbing riddim, with hi-hats guiding the flow, snare rimshots cracking, piano chords skanking on waves of tropical sunshine, and Shinichiro Akihiro’s palm-muted guitars scratching on the beat. Tanko’s sensual basslines bob the body and work through zany high note accents as familiar horn themes flow over the mix, with Tatsumi’s alto and Motoharu’s tenor and soprano singing together through moaning reveries, descending through cinematic refrains, and bleating in bombast as Pablo Anthony’s martial snare rolls and proto-fusion drum fills break free from the riddim glide to bash and crash towards the sky. Eventually, we settle down into a deep reggae zone out while the saxophonists alight on dizzying solos, with hyperkinetic blues spirals and circular marathon cascades intertwining and occasionally shrieking towards free jazz desperation. Then comes a dreamy piano solo from Tetsuya Hataya, which intersperses blazing runs and percussive cluster chords as the entire length of the keyboard is explored. After these solo passages, we return to Shorter’s classical horn themes, with pleading blues melodies and soar ascents married to a sun-soaked Kingston skank. And following a false ending, everything drops back in heavier than before…the bass now locked into a sinister pulse while ghostly dub pianos underly a panning panorama of alien saxophone mesmerism.

The second track comes from AQATUKI, a group formed by “two guitar kids” Taaki and Chen who, together with a fluid collective of musicians, have been developing their own strand of psychedelia since the late 90s, one equally influenced by 70s space rock and 90s rave. However, for “Wakanoura,” Taaki, Chen, and friends are in bathing in rays of tropical sunshine, as the track is based around a Chen’s gemstone guitar harmonics, which themselves take inspiration from the junkyard-sourced idiophonics of Konono Nº1. As the prismatic guitar layers spread out across an infinite ocean surface, tight psych rock beats from Toda3 and Moro enter to sway the body while Taaki’s slide guitar glides between textures of Hawaiian rock and surfadelic splendor. Aknee’s bass chugs along and brings atmospheres of 50s pop romance as Chen’s crystalline harmonic webs flow into shimmering seaside arpeggios…the whole thing bringing visions of sunset skies and dolphins dashing through coral reefs. In fact, the liner notes explain that, in addition to taking inspiration from Konono Nº1, “Wakanoura” in finds the band lost in nostalgic revery as they collectively remember a beautiful sunset bar they played in the titular location. At some point, the track erupts in small scale as rimshots rain over the stereo field, basslines move down low, and double-time hi-hats add further propulsion to the rhythmic flow, with my mind drifting to the drug-induced balearica of Pharaohs and the post-rock exotica of Cul de Sac…especially as shimmering webs of polyrhythmic six string harmony support increasingly far out slide guitar explorations. Descending surf chords signal another transition, with the rhythms evolving into a sort of equatorial breakbeat while basslines dance on sunbeams, fuzzy slide hooks refract rays of tropical light, and distorted surf-psych licks hold down the groove. Elsewhere, we lock into a sort eternal two-note loop of tropical island fantasy…with everything breathing in unison and seeking out an eternal horizon…all before the cycles are broken by a glorious guitar solo, which rides high in the sky as tapped ride cymbals spread golden wavefronts in every direction.

Just as Aqatuki found themselves backpacking to India and Southeast Asia in the 90s to bathe in psychedelic radiance, so did Altz, who also took inspiratios from “Japanese punk originator[s]” Murahachibu and a host of other avant-rock bands discovered in his youth. Around the turn of the millennium, the artist began producing on his own via a computer and MPC, and has since enjoyed a prolific and eclectic career, with releases appearing on well known labels such as DFA, EM Records, and Bearfunk. “Orympia Rocks,” which comes from Bear Funk’s Hibernation (Vol. 1) sampler, slams right away into crushing disco kicks and ringing cymbals, with strange reverb effects spreading outwards into exo-planetary caverns. Chugging punk funk basslines cut in and out alongside chopped and mangled fuzz guitar riffs, which drop in and out from all sides of the mix or suddenly rocket across the spectrum while everything else flows and transforms through dub delay chains. After a surprising cut to silence, we drop back into the groove, with stoned basslines and muscular disco house freakbeats stomping beneath a grease-soaked cascade of country-fried slide guitar…a completely strange and inspired mash up that, as told by the liner notes, was inspired by Altz spinning southern rock classics such as The Allman Brothers and Lynyrd Skynyrd. The result comes off like something from the wildest reaches of the Mind Fair universe…with everything anxious, unsettled, and stubbornly refusing to lock in, preferring instead to tease out various elements while maniacally subverting well known forms of disco, house, funk, and stoner rock into a maddening dancefloor fever dream. Bleeping and blooping synthesizers beam in from faraway galaxies, crazed whistles zoom skywards, and occasionally, the slide guitar flies solo over the drums...its tremolo-soaked blues meditations fly solo before everything devolves into a storm of dubwise chaos. Later, laughing children induce LSD visions that obscure the mutant disco rock groove out and towards the end, after the drums disperse, the southern rock slide guitars transform towards Hawaiian tropicalia as calming ocean waves crash to shore.

In the liner notes, Kay Suzuki presents a beautiful and personal meditation on Keiichi Tanaka’s unique talents as well as his tragic passing. Indeed, Tanaka was a world traveller, having ventured as far as Mali, Senegal, and Morocco to learn a wide swath of rhythmic folk traditions. Coupled with a private lesson from Afrobeat legend Tony Allen, these experience established Tanaka as a distinctly skilled and diverse drummer…something that was on full display in his band Kingdom Afrorocks. After Kingdom Afrorock dissolved in 2014, Tanaka relocated from Tokyo to Hokkaido and reconnected with deep dub and Ainu folk fusionist OKI, who encouraged Tanaka to record a solo album, which eventually led to Keta Iicna Hika. However, Tanaka passed before seeing the LP’s release, which is all the more heartbreaking given how incredible the music is, with the record hinting at a deeply creative musical mind who was only just beginning to explore the full reaches of his artistic imagination. Taken from Keta Iicna Hika, “City of Aleppo” sees Tanaka and OKI creating a unique sort of blues inspired by the bombing of Aleppo, wherein mystically aligned basslines snake up and down through Afrobeat and tradition folk drum accents led by urgently tapped hats, four-four kicks, and sparse snare smacks. Sawing scrapes background kaleidoscopic layers of Ainu folk psaltery, with buzzing spiderwebs and psychotropic spirals woven from OKI’s tonkori and mukkuri. And the whole thing ebbs and flows in intensity to evoke the way sorrow hits in waves…as moments of apparent calm give way to dense cascades of pain and anguish, with the exotica drum gallop erupting into climactic flamboyance while infinite string webs evoke the spiritual suffocation of Aleppo’s occupation, as well as the historic oppression of the Ainu people at the hands of Japan’s government. OKI’s dub version of the track from Keta Iicna Hika is also included, which brilliantly deconstructs everything into miasma of oscillating echo and prismatic future folk. Basslines dance over beatless stretches, dubwise fx chains mutate and morph the Afro-Aino rhythms amidst echoing bursts of plucked string violence, and the mix is increasingly overwhelmed by psychedelic editing, with elements dropping unexpectedly, black smoke drone clouds cycling through chasms of silence, and cavernous drum fills ricocheting beneath waterfalls of fractalized psaltery.

(images from my personal copy)

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apocryphalia · 5 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device Additional Tags: Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Magic, Witchcraft Summary:

It isn't fair, he thinks, that he can feel the warm radiance of Crowley's love, can bask in it the way Crowley's snake-self coils in a sunbeam, but the demon has been cut off from this wondrous feeling. It isn't fair that Crowley spent six thousand years waiting for Aziraphale, surviving only on a thread of hope, while Aziraphale knew well the depth of Crowley's feelings and still refused to let him know they were reciprocated.

Aziraphale seeks a way to allow Crowley to feel his love, and Crowley learns just how much his angel truly cares about him.

---

Based on this post by @qorktrees!

#good omens #fanfic #aziraphale/crowley #ineffable husbands

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thorkidumpster · 5 years

Text

used

nsfw, modern au.

———

The woman is beautiful, neither brother can deny that. With her golden sunbeam hair, green eyes, and a name that is the spark to the tinder, she should be utterly unforgettable—but that spark of a name lights no fires in their hearts and it is gone from their minds in a heartbeat. She is gorgeous, and for tonight, she is their cover.

The three stand in the center of the party, engulfed by the tinny music playing from outdated speakers and blinded by the glitter on every woman’s gown. Champagne flutes float through the crowd, borne aloft by anonymous shadows.

The brothers whisper their suggestion and her lips part, greedy. The trio pull away from the glitz and glamor, tipping into an elevator that will take them to the room the brothers had already reserved for this exact purpose. As soon as the door closes, she falls upon the nearest—Loki, who accepts her kisses with a fiery yearning. Thor pulls her off and in, swallows her aroused gasp, and tastes his brother on her lips.

read more cut here

When the ding signals the end of their ride, they tumble out as an awkward collection of limbs and kisses. One breast is already falling out of her gown but she ignores it, tumbling in her high heels until Loki, frustrated, lifts her and braces her against the wall next to their door. He takes her nipple into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth as his brother fumbles with the keycard. Finally, the door opens and they have their privacy.

Caught up in her own luck, she does not even notice that the brothers barely have a glance to spare her. They strip her, they devour every inch of her skin with their hands and their mouth until she is wet and trembling, but their eyes are locked on each other’s. Their cocks, only half hard until both brothers are gloriously naked and they drink in those bodies, memorize the planes and sharp lines that they are never allowed to touch.

She takes them to bed then, working each cock in each hand. They mean to ask her how she wants them—one behind, perhaps, and one in her mouth; the common arrangement. But her teeth glitter with a suggestive grin and she digs in the bedside table, producing two condoms and a packet of lube.

The woman lays on Thor’s belly; he’s larger, and she’ll take him in her cunt. She moans as he pushes in, laying her head against his breast, unknowingly tucking herself away. Loki arranges himself behind her and tears open the packet. His fingers probe inside her ass and Thor hisses, because even with the condom, he can feel his brother’s fingers pressing through the thin membrane of flesh separating them.

She cries out when Loki enters her, not in pain, but in the blinding sort of pleasure that makes her thighs shake and her breath catch.

Loki locks his eyes onto Thor’s and, slowly, he begins to fuck into her. He dominates Thor’s vision; his black hair falling around his shoulders, his broad chest already red and flushed. His mouth hangs open and Thor longs to kiss him, taste him as he truly is and not diluted on another’s lips.

Each thrust rolls through her body—their cocks are all but pressed together and Loki’s sac occasionally rests against the base of Thor’s cock when he presses as deep as he can. It’s the closest they’ve been in nearly thirty years; the closest they’ve been since they were born.

But even then, as now, there was a barrier, because they had been fraternal twins, not identical, and each had been tucked safely into their own amniotic sac.

A tear falls from Loki’s eyes and Thor knows, as he always does, that his brother has the same thought.

They roll their hips together, finding a rhythm that is almost the same as fucking each other. One could slip out out of her and into his brother’s ass if he wanted, if he were allowed, if it weren’t the worst kind of taboo. And slip Thor does, his cock popping out of the woman right as Loki pushes in and Thor bites his lip hard to stop himself from cumming just because his cock was brushing against his brother’s backside.

They laugh—she reaches back to return Thor to his place, but bold Loki beats her. He snakes his arm behind them and wraps his hand—his hand, his skin, the heat of him stopped only by latex—and positions Thor back in line with her cunt. And his sly brother, his desperate brother, brushes his long and pale fingers against Thor’s tight sac.

Just a moment, a bare second, then they’re gone. But Loki’s dark and hooded eyes burn into his.

The woman convulses, her cunt tightens and squeezes him even closer to his brother with her loud, crashing orgasm. Thor sees the familiar line draw itself between Loki’s brows, how his lips pull thin and his eyes slide closed as he pumps his cum into the condom when it should be streaked across Thor’s belly. After his face goes lax, Loki shivers, the carefully extracts himself.

Thor is building, he knows, but he’s not there yet. He wraps his arms around her, crushing her as he fucks into her desperately. He gives Loki a pleading look and Loki returns a searing little smirk. He pulls off the messy condom, ties it off, and tosses it aside. Licking his lips, Loki begins to stroke his still half-hard, cum covered cock, showing it off in a way Thor has barely been able to see. He jerks himself just for the pleasure of his brother, displaying the cock Thor sneaks fugitive glances at during every one of these encounters. It’s beautiful, more beautiful than the woman, more beautiful than anything Thor has ever seen because his brother is more beautiful than anything he’s ever seen.

Loki mouths his brother’s name, Thor, Thor, Thor— the word silently falls off his lips as he pleasures himself and with a groan, Thor lets go. His orgasm kicks him, each wave a tiny new death as he spills into the wrong body.

They care for her after, offering her the room, but she waves them off with good nature as she redresses. She leaves the room with Loki—because this, they had decided beforehand, was Thor’s. They traded who had to sleep in the stain and scent of their sin, surrounded by the traces of his brother that he would chase into the night, face pressed into whatever pillow smelled most like him and wringing his cock dry.

Tonight, that is Thor’s fate.

#loki #thor #thorki #my writing

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anistarrose · 5 years

Text

Some Sunny Day - Ch. 11: Trust (Gravity Falls - Same Coin Theory)

Summary: When you’ve spent eons twisting the truth — especially if you’re good at it, as any con man should be — you don’t always notice when you’re not lying anymore.

Warnings: suicidal thoughts and self harm (nothing graphic, everyone lives)

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947964/chapters/45097483

Previous / Next

The Beginning

(The Same Coin Theory is by @dubsdeedubs and @renmorris!)

The shadows of shifting tree branches dappled the forest floor as sunbeams shone down from a cloudless blue sky, and Ford’s eyes burned and watered as they stubbornly refused to adjust to the late afternoon light. The greens and browns of the trees and grass looked subdued to him, like color was seeping out of the whole forest and leaving it pastel.

After Ford had filled in the others, quietly and without making eye contact, on the time paradox they seemed to be wrapped up in, they’d come this way — to a hilly patch of terrain between the manor and the Mystery Shack — on the assumption that Stan might hide here if he didn’t want to be found, and sent McGucket with Wendy and Melody to check further north. But aside from the distant chirping of robins, and one single glimpse of a deer that had chosen to brave the sweltering June heatwave instead of resting in the shade like all the other animals, the forest seemed almost eerily lifeless.

Just as Ford had reasoned, it was a very good place to flee to if you didn’t want to be found, with uneven terrain and close-packed groves that provided no shortage of places to hide — even for a being that lacked the power to rewrite reality. Stanley, or whatever remained of him, was nowhere to be seen.

They passed a solitary birch tree flanked by pines on all sides, and Dipper finally broke the somber silence that had consumed the past few moments.

“Can… can he leave the barrier around Gravity Falls?”

Ford understood his hesitant choice of words — because of course Stan had proven himself just as capable of leaving as any other human, but with Bill having evidently awoken somehow, the answer was no longer so clear-cut.

“My guess is that he can, although his reality-warping powers should stop working once outside… but I’m not sure about that, not sure at all. I hope —”

Not looking where he was going, Ford nearly tripped over a rock, and something caught his eye as he staggered forwards. They weren’t far from the Shack at all, but he was sure he’d never noticed it before…

A dozen feet away from him stood a swingset, battered and rusted — except no, not quite a swingset after all, it dawned on him as he approached. At first he’d only glimpsed it in the corner of his peripheral vision, and filled in the blanks based off what he’d come to know, and recognize, and expect — but he hadn’t quite been right, this time.

It was not a swingset, but just one lonely swing, empty yet swaying back and forth ever so slightly. There were no broken chains hanging next to it, nor any empty space on the bar above to indicate another seat had ever been suspended at its side — just one swing without a partner, swaying mournfully in an invisible wind as if lamenting what had never been.

Face it, Sixer — you never had a twin.

“No,” Ford whispered. “No.”

He was helplessly lightweight, like the ground beneath his feet — no, like his entire world was collapsing around him and plummeting into a chasm from which there could be no return.

“He — he was real! He had to have been real! He was more than just — than just one of Bill’s tricks!”

He grabbed the swing by the chains and shook them, grimacing at the high-pitched creaks as their rust crumbled and dusted the ground in red-orange.

You never had a twin. You never had a twin. You never had a twin. You never —

“LIAR! Stanley was real, and my brother, and — and he’s — he’s still —”

The tears were running all down his face now, but they weren’t because of the sunlight anymore. (They might have never been.)

If Stan wasn’t real, then what even am I? Who am I without a twin? What does anything matter if —

“Why?!” he howled, not to any swing or any demon but to the universe itself, to whatever forces set in motion the events of giving him a brother, a twin, a hero, a friend, and then undoing all of that in just one damned summer day. “Why won’t you let him be real?”

Two parallel weak links snapped in unison, and Ford crumpled to the ground alongside the swing — still clutching the rusted, useless lifeline. The ache in his knees as they struck the earth was dull and distant, drowned out by a flood of grief-stricken sobs and desperate pleas —

Stanley, or Bill, or whoever you are, please… please show me you’re still here…

Behind the kids and Soos, something lit up. Back turned and eyes closed, Ford couldn’t see it happen, but he felt it nonetheless — felt it in the quickening of his heartbeat, the shakiness of his breaths, the sharp pains in his palms as he gripped the chains like he was trying to strangle the life out of them — and he slowly stood up to face it, unsure if he should be feeling hope or fear.

He saw sunbeams spill down in a perfect equilateral triangle at the boundary between the clearing and the forest, bleaching all the trees white like birches and scorching the leaves until they were left an ashen gray. Floating in the triangle’s center, legs hanging limp and toes hovering inches above the silvery grass, was Stan.

The first thing Ford looked to was his eyes — still as brown and sorrowful as ever — and it was only when he heard a gasp from Mabel that he directed his gaze down.

A fist-shaped hole punched straight through Stan’s chest, edges of the cavity burning blue as cracks spread out all across his torso. They crept slowly and steadily further like slow-motion lightning bolts, snaking up his neck and down his arms, branching out and criss-crossing each other until it looked like a stiff breeze could break Stan apart, could easily shatter him into a thousand fragments that would be lost forever to the wind in a matter of seconds.

“I’m sorry, Ford… fuck, I’m so sorry… but this is just the way it is.” Stan’s voice was even more hoarse than usual, and so soft that Ford might have strained to hear it had the forest not been so silent. “The way it has to be —”

“No, it isn’t!”

Soos barged forwards, coming to a halt only at the edge of the illuminated triangle. “You can’t go, Mr. Pines! There’s nothing you could have done in a previous life to change that you’re our family now, and that we still love you no matter what, and —”

He let out a sob. “And that I don’t know what I’d do with myself if we lost you…”

Stan slowly raised a hand to his chest as Soos spoke, pulling away quickly the second his fingers grazed the edge of the wound — but were Ford’s eyes playing tricks on him, or had the cracks stopped growing?

“Oh, Soos…” Stan whispered. “You don’t really believe that…”

“No, he’s right!” Dipper agreed. “Ever since you’ve been Stan, you’ve done nothing but save us from Bill — you didn’t just stop Weirdmageddon, but you taught me how to fight in the mindscape, too! We wouldn’t have stood a chance back then without you, and nothing that you’ve only just remembered today is gonna erase all those times you protected us!”

“You don’t understand,” Stan told him. “I was never Stan. I —”

His voice cut out as he stared down at his arms, where the cracks were slowly retreating — slowly healing — as the blue fire around the hole in his chest died down to a gentle glow.

“You’re so different from Bill, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel added. “You have to realize that! Last summer, Bill asked me who would ever sacrifice everything just for their sibling, like he didn’t understand who would, but — but you would, Stan! You have, and that’s something Bill would never do!”

She sniffed. “And that’s — that’s how I know it’s always been my Grunkle in there, and never any demonic equilateral jerk!”

Stan shook his head. “Mabel, I — I’m so sorry, I… I want to believe it, I really do, but that — that’s just not true. You fell for a trick I didn’t even realize I was playing on you, ‘cause I —”

He took a shaky breath, and the spiderweb of cracks across his chest pulsated in blue. “A long time ago, I told your great uncle to lie until he couldn’t remember what was a lie and what wasn’t — and that’s exactly what I did. I pretended to be Stanley until I really believed I was him, and you all believed I was some kind of hero, but — but I’m not. I’m just —”

“But that’s not all you told me, remember?” Ford interrupted.

Despite everything, and surprising even himself, he suddenly couldn’t help but smile.

“You also said to lie until what you wanted to be true became true. To lie until you weren’t lying anymore.”

Stan’s eyes widened, and Ford choked out a low, sad laugh.

“And in any other story, that would be just about the worst moral imaginable, but… but you, Stan? You succeeded at it. You may not have always been Stanley Pines, but you sure as hell aren’t Bill Cipher anymore — and I can’t think of who else you could’ve possibly become.”

“No, Ford, it — it doesn’t work like that…”

“Why can’t it?” Ford asked. “I’m not aware of any precedent — are you?”

His voice was hoarse and uneven from all the sobbing and shouting of just a few minutes ago, but he couldn’t stop the words from spilling forth, coming to him faster than he could speak. He didn’t know how he’d missed it before, because it had always been so obvious, so clearly encoded into Stan’s greatest strengths and what Bill himself had flat-out told him thirty-odd years ago.

“If we were to try and define Stanley Pines, we would have to establish ‘a love of his family’ as a core trait, wouldn’t we?” Ford went on. “Surely no entity could lack that love and dedication and still be called Stanley…”

He paced as he spoke, before pausing to make eye contact with Stan. “But you’re not lying about loving us, are you?”

Stan bit his lip, and shook his head.

“I didn’t think so. This whole day, you’ve been so worried about inadvertently hurting us, so desperate to keep us safe, and happy too — but you wouldn’t care about that in the slightest, if you were Bill and nothing more. And there are other things that make you you, of course — but I don’t think you’re lying about any of those, either. You’re not lying about about toffee peanuts being your favorite food, or about how you’ve always dreamed of writing comic books, or about how there’s almost nothing in the universe that you love more than going fishing with your family. You never lied about wanting to sail around the world on the adventure of a lifetime with me, or about missing me when I was stuck on the other side of the portal…”

Ford brushed a sleeve to his face, wiping away tears, and then extended open arms in Stan’s direction.

“And if those things didn’t make you Stanley — if they didn’t make you an uncle and a father and a brother and a hero to us — then what would? You’re not lying about who you are anymore — and you haven’t been for a long time, I think. You only lied until what you wanted to be true became true — and what you want is a family, isn’t it? Because you’ve really, truly found one.”

Tongues of blue flame stretched out from the edges of the hole in Stan’s chest, twisting together and solidifying into flesh and bone, closing up the wound as Ford let out a breath of relief for what felt like the first time all day.

“And gods know, you’ve earned it,” he whispered.

Stan sank to the ground, stumbling backwards the second his feet landed on the earth. Familiar chains materialized behind him, and he lowered himself into the swing they suspended, crossing his legs at the ankles and then burying his head in his hands.

“Thank you, Ford,” he murmured. “Thank — thank you, everyone. But…”

Ford sat down in the adjacent seat of the swingset, rocking back and forth slightly and remaining just within arm’s reach of Stan. “What’s wrong?”

“…I still don’t think I can stay.”

Ford’s stomach leapt into his throat.

“Why not?!” Mabel gasped.

Stan pulled his hands away from his eyes and looked around, between Dipper and Mabel and then to Soos before finally shifting in his swing to face Ford, frown small but visibly trembling.

“I want to stay, I really do, Ford. And I think — I think you’re right that I am Stan, right now, but… I don’t know how long that’ll last.”

Ford shook his head. “I don’t understand…”

“I’m probably just gonna turn back into Bill eventually,” Stan told him softly, carrying on in a voice hardly above a whisper even as the others interjected. “The memories, they’re still coming back, and it’s like — it’s like falling into the Bottomless Pit, Ford. I was Bill for so much longer than I’ve been Stan. It’s all coming back piece by piece, all those memories of the monstrous things I’ve done — one fiery fucking explosion in my head at a time, and I don’t think it’s gonna stop any time soon. And I’m afraid that sooner or later, Stanley is gonna — I’m gonna suffocate in all this smoke, and someone else is gonna take over again.”

He sucked in a deep breath, as if just to reassure himself that he still could. Dipper and Mabel had arms around each other’s shoulders and were both staring at the ground, as Soos covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, hat removed and pressed against his chest.

“What you’re seeing right now — me still wanting to protect you, me still being a half-decent person, almost — this isn’t me remembering everything. This isn’t me fighting to hold onto myself, to hold onto how much I love you all, against a billion eons of anger and selfishness and near-omnipotence. This is just the start.”

“Oh, Stan… I didn’t realize…”

“It might not happen for a long time — it might not even be in your lifetimes, for all I know — but it could be tomorrow, too! It might be gradual and I might be able to tell when it’s coming and warn you before, but one of these days I’m really worried Bill is gonna…”

His knuckles were white as he gripped the chains, like they were the only thing stopping his humanity from being ripped away from him.

“I want to keep being your brother, Ford, but… I don’t know if I can keep hanging on forever. And if I can’t, if — if Bill comes back… you’re all gonna want me gone before that, if you know what I mean.”

The forest went silent aside from the slow, rhythmic creaks of Stan gently rocking on his swing, feet not leaving the ground as he half-heartedly pushed himself back and forth. Ford held his glasses in his hands — smudged and dampened by tears, and now collecting dust particles as he ran his feet over the sandy patch of earth beneath his seat — though he couldn’t remember taking them off in the first place.

“I want to believe that you can make it through this,” he began slowly. “You’ve made it through so much hardship already; you’re a fighter, and you’re so devoted to family and love. I believe in you, Stanley, and I believe that you have the strength to stay you…”

He noticed Stan frowning and staring at his feet.

“But even if I’m right… it’s one of those things that’s difficult to stop worrying about, isn’t it? I — I know what those things are like, those things that’ll haunt you for as long as you live — no matter how illogically, no matter how much evidence you amass to try and convince yourself it isn’t a concern. Being absolutely certain that you’ll never become Bill again — it’s proving a negative, and that’s notoriously difficult.”

Stan nodded slowly. Tiny particles of rust crumbled off the chains where his hands gripped them, forming splotches of red on the sandy ground below.

“Some would even say impossible,” Ford went on. “And with regards to our perspective, at least, I would agree — none of us can definitively tell that Bill is gone for good.”

“Wait,” Dipper cut in. “Are you saying there’s someone who would know?”

Stan’s swing abruptly stopped creaking as he froze in place.

Ford nodded. “Stan, I was hoping to research a summoning ritual on my own, but… well, I got distracted, so I don’t think I can do this without your help. Do you… have you remembered any way of getting in contact with the Axolotl?”

Stan muttered something to himself that Ford couldn’t make out, and felt like he maybe wasn’t meant to hear anyways.

“You don’t — you don’t have to go trawling through Bill’s memories for the answer, if you don’t want to —”

“No, I think I can get a line open,” Stan whispered. “But… but if the Axolotl says there’s even a chance I might turn into Bill again, I need you to promise you’ll… let me go. And really promise this time, Ford, not like whatever kinda ‘promise’ you made when I asked you to shoot me… even though I’m kinda glad that you didn’t, and we had this talk.”

“Stanley…”

“Look, let’s just — forget about your own safety for a second, I know you’re good at that. Can’t you at least accept that I’d rather die as myself, instead of as — as the demon who hurt everyone I care about?”

Ford looked at the kids and Soos, watching with something inbetween horror and grief, and then back to Stan, eyes terrified and pleading.

“I promise,” he told Stan, “but only because I trust you, no matter how little you trust yourself.”

Stan gave a single nod, eyes averted and lips pressed tightly together, and a small sphere of light pink fog materialized in front of him, swirling slowly as it began to expand. Cloudlike tendrils reached out from it, meandering and twitching like the detached tails of an unseen creature, before approaching all five observers and gently brushing against their foreheads…

For one paradoxical moment, infinitesimally short yet eternally long, Ford was in a hundred places at once, reliving a hundred days of his life all at once — but most quickly faded into background noise as one memory grew more vivid than all the others, one warm summer afternoon spent with sand in his shoes, sunburn all across his back, and splinters in his hands from climbing aboard a shipwrecked sailboat with Stanley.

He smiled to Stan, who smiled back at him, and Ford just knew that Stan was flashing back throughout his life in the same way, and that this was the clearest of all his memories, too.

Then they both opened their eyes, and found themselves adrift in the time and space between time and space.

***

(Thanks for reading, reblogs/feedback are welcomed as always! Only two more chapters to go, and after all this time it’s getting to the point where each of these last few updates is bittersweet for me.)

#gravity falls #same coin theory #stanley pines #bill cipher #stanford pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #soos ramirez #fic: some sunny day #rosalia writes fic

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nam-nam-joon · 5 years

Text

comfortable

Pairing: taehyung x reader

Genre: fluff

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings: cuddling, otherwise none~

Summary: you initially go over to polish the balcony of your neighbour, who then invites you to stay for lunch - and a nap afterwards

The sun had climbed high enough in the sky to fully shine its light on the tiny balcony you currently occupied, surrounded by pots, flowers both dead and barely alive. Accompanied by a small shovel and a sack of soil you’d spent the last hours trying to save what could be saved concerning the plants that had sat the winter long in the pots hanging on your neighbour’s handrail; receiving nothing but a thin sheet of snow and the unrelenting pecks of birds.

The stack of newspapers under your shins served as a pillow against the cold floor, and you took a moment to shuffle around to sit back on it more comfortably.

Taehyung had put cheap bamboo wrapping around the metal bars running around the edges of the little outside space and it provided a great shield against the, admittedly, still freezing breeze. It was nearing April now and the wind had yet to change from biting cheeks to caressing the little flowers peeking their heads out from the ground. You, however, were currently comfortably warm bathed in the bright light.

Several bones popped as you stretched your back out.

Dirt collected under your fingernails and in the creases of your hands.

You didn’t really bother wiping them clean, not just yet. There was still a weak little bush of lavender needing assistance; but before you could reach for were it currently lay between the repotted catnip and fuchsia, the glass door in your back opened.

The smell of something delicious wafted outside together with a gush of heated air.

Taeyhung’s head peeked out and down on you, a grin stealing on his features as he observed you lazily blinking up at him.

“Remind me again which of us is the cat?” He asked, amused. You chuckled and stretched your legs.

“It’s really nice out here. Warm, sunny… very pleasant. Also, fresh air. You should try it sometime, does wonders for your body.”

He wrinkled his nose in fake disgust before his face momentarily vanished back inside.

Moments later it popped out again, together with the rest of him.

In his hands were two glasses of juice, one of which he graciously extended toward you.

You accepted with a word of thanks and took a sip.

“You’re almost done?” He noted after a moment of quiet; intelligent eyes running over the mess you made on his tiles. You nodded.

“Yup. Sorted out everything that was beyond saving and put it in that basket over there, everything else is in these pots here. Only gotta put your lavender back now. When it gets warmer you can go out and shop for replacements for your… whatever that stuff with the long little branches and loads of dead little leafs was.”

He leaned back against the closed door and nodded, gaze still taking in the shrubbery while his tail softly swished back and forth behind him.

It flicked abruptly, just before he opened his mouth.

“Do you want to stay for lunch? I made noodles and soup, and there’s some leftover from the take-away BBQ I had yesterday evening. More than enough for two.”

You finished your juice and leaned forward to place the empty glass on the railing to the side. Taehyung’s eyes followed your movement and his left arm, with its hand stuck into his pants’ pocket, twitched.

He ignored the amused raise of your eyebrow and his ears turned backwards.

“Is that a thank-you for saving your greenery?”

His hand, half on the way to the glass, changed course and came up to rub his neck as his eyes finally met your gaze again.

“If you want to? Although you’re probably doing only yourself a favour here; I can’t say I care that much about them…”

“Evidently.” You tsked, soothing the harsh comment with an easy smile. “Nah, my pleasure. And yes, I’d love to grab a bite. Got some work done?”

He seemed to pause briefly before finally picking up your empty glass. “I- Yeah. It’s still way too many files to look through and write emails, but- It’s less now.”

“Some nice people with the applications?”

His strong eyebrows creased the skin between them.

“A few. Most of them don’t immediately fall out, but it’s the other documents you have to really look out for if you want to weed out those who don’t, y’know, really want to help.”

You nodded in understanding and turned back to the helpless lavender still lying on the floor.

Taehyung lingered a while longer but then returned back inside with a swish of his tail, leaving you to his pots once more.

He kept quiet during your lunch, after you’d scrubbed your hands clean and brushed a few stray leafs out of your hair.

“Everything alright?” You asked, after both of you had picked up your spoons and started eating a few mouthfuls.

He chewed on a piece of vegetable and stared into the foggy liquid for a while. When he lifted his head and his tawny eyes found yours you noticed how worn out he looked.

The shaded rings around his eyes and the slightly matted hair hadn’t been noticeable in the bright sunlight.

“Tae?”

“-Yes.” He hurried to answer, hiding a yawn behind his palm. “Yeah, I’m just- just tired.”

He shot you a quick, unconvincing upturn of his lip’s corners before picking his bowl up again and continue eating.

“Maybe you should take the afternoon off. Have some rest.”

As soon as the words had left your lips you saw the shift in his face, the hardening of the muscles around his jaw.

“I can’t. We have so many young ones in the shelter at the moment - we can’t afford- I can’t afford to keep them waiting for too long. They need good families, as soon as possible.”

“Okay.” Your voice was deliberately soft after his outburst. He sighed and avoided looking you, and so you reached out with your right to cover his left hand gently.

His fingers twitched but he didn’t pull away.

The tension in his shoulders eased somewhat, up until the point that his ears rose from where they had flattened to his scalp as his gaze slowly rose to yours.

“If I can help in any way - please let me know. Okay? I’m always here, just across the hall.”

A tired, but this time genuine, smile, stole on his face as he tilted his head and gave you a long look.

“I know. Thank you. You’re an awesome neighbour.”

You grinned.

“I sure hope so. Otherwise it’d be a shame if some of your new pots would magically find themselves on the terrace three stories down, hmm?”

One of his eyebrows quirked up.

“Are you insinuating you’d - you’d push them over the edge?” His eyes narrowed. “Not funny.”

The boxy smile contradicted the serious tone of his voice greatly and you laughed.

Without him needing to ask, you picked up the dishtowel and began to dry the bowls that he placed dripping wet on the little rack.

The small smile he send in thanks warmed your insides.

Now and then you could hear a faint tune from the radio in the next room, playing calm pop music. Even the street below his kitchen window was almost devoid of cars passing by; only the occasional couple or warmly wrapped individual sauntering past.

You felt his presence on your right as he joined you standing next to the window, looking down.

The warmth on his face as he took in yours made you smile.

He opened his mouth, caught sight of something on the upper right part of your hair, and paused.

There was a quick glance of his pointy canines as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it before seeming to overcome the struggle taking place inside.

“Do you- Would you mind, uh- You wanna stay for a nap?”

The shyness was new, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t somewhat endearing.

Work must have really worn him down.

"Sure. The couch?"

Visibly relieved by your positive reaction, the cat hybrid’s tail flicked as he turned towards the living room.

“I would take the bed, usually, but with the sun… we could place the cushions on the floor and? With, with a blanket?”

You inclined your head with a small smile. “Works for me.”

The cushions turned out to be a lot smaller for two people than expected, but after you’d given Taehyung your Okay that you didn’t mind body contact he wrapped his limbs around you, pulled himself almost completely on top of you.

After a bit of shuffling he finally rested his head next to yours, one of his arms lying across your upper chest, one leg hooked around yours.

“Want me to pet your hair?”

The quiet "Yes" almost escaped your ears.

You felt the small shiver running through him at your words and suppressed a smile. Your neighbour of the past year was more like a cat than he liked to admit, sometimes.

It took you a moment to find out where he liked your fingers rubbing soothing circles into his hair the most, lightly scratching the base of his ears, and carding through the locks at the nape of his neck, to getting him to fully relax.

The thin tail snaking around your upper thigh was the first sign you did something right, before Taehyung drifted off far enough to no longer care if he purred or not.

Day to day you hardly ever saw him embracing the animal side of him, whether it be curling his lips over his teeth but refraining to hiss when a car drove through a puddle near him and splattered him with muddy water, nor purring in comfortable situations. Or at all.

Now, you held your breath, fingers pressing down on the spot above where his ears would have been, had they been human.

The sound was minimal at first, started as a soft rumble deep down in his chest. Under your administrations it rose to a steady vibration that travelled through his body into yours, the spot where his chin met your shoulder almost tingling.

He sighed and adjusted his position, hand tightening on your side, pulling you further into him. The leg on top of yours stretched minimally before settling back into its place, his hips rolling forward once without any determination behind it.

The steady rise and fall of his purring, together with the warmth of his body and the blanket on top of you lulled you in.

The sunbeams streaming through the windows bathed your little pile into an island of light, the walls and rest of the room slinking back in shadow.

You risked a glance sideways.

Taehyung was so beautiful.

His lashes fanned over his cheekbones, his lips slightly parted for breathing.

He must have forgone shaving this morning; you could see the thick stubbles of his whiskers dotting the skin next to his nostrils as well as the thinner ones of his would-be human scruff peppering his upper lip and over his chin.

Something tugged softly on your heart.

Your hand dropped from his hair to his cheek, caressing the soft skin there.

He licked over his lips and tucked his head in, rubbing his cheek against your touch in his sleep.

“Get some rest, Tae-Tae. You deserve it.”

You whispered, foreheads only parted by an inch.

“As long as you don’t go anywhere.”

His voice was thick, words slurred by sleep, and you doubted he was fully awake.

Nonetheless did it surprise you; the absence of his purring making the room sound weirdly quiet all of a sudden.

“I won’t.” And you picked up carding his hair again, Taehyung slipping back into a deeper slumber. When his purring resumed you felt heavy, deciding to give into sleep as well.

You blinked your eyes open an indefinite amount of time later.

The world was warm and you felt pleasantly heavy.

Upon attempting to move you found Taeyhung had now completely made himself comfortable on top of you. His face rested in the crook of your neck, breath hot and a bit wet against your skin, while his left hand held onto the pillow under your head next to your face.

“Taehyung.”

You placed a hand on his side, feeling the resistance of his last rib and then the firm softness of his waist below.

He grumbled in response.

“Shouldn’t we get up?”

He groaned, pressing down on you and adjusting into a more comfortable position, as if that would be answer enough.

“Hey.”

You gently rocked him from side to side, all the movement you could muster at this point.

“Do you have any idea how distracting you look, sitting out there, taking care of my stuff and potting my plants?”

His voice was raspy and deep, muffled by both your pullover covering your shoulder and the blanket.

“No.” You answered truthfully, fingernails running over his scalp once more.

He groaned in satisfaction.

Then he lifted his head, as if remembering your position, your person.

The purr building in the back of his throat died down.

He blinked.

“And your pets are criminally good.” He narrowed his eyes. “Have you been practicing on a hybrid I don’t know about?”

You grinned at the suspicious look on his face.

“I swear, I’ve been true and faithful. You are my one and only.”

His ears turned back and the apples of his cheeks slightly deepened in colour.

You laughed out loud, as best as you could with his considerable weight on your chest.

“Okay Kitkat, off now. I really need to use the bathroom. Don’t you have work to do, too?”

With a begrudging sigh he gave you free, sheepishly blinking at you with half his face buried in your pillow.

The end of a grin was visible on his lips.

“‘Kitkat’?” He repeated, voice caught somewhere between an amused snort and touched.

You knelt next to the pile, studying his face before he rolled on his back, taking the blanket with him and pulling it over his face until all that was visible were his eyes.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I… I do. I do.”

“Then yes. Kitkat.”

As you left the room you could hear Taeyhung mumbling the nickname to himself.

leave a comment or like if you enjoyed reading this ^-^

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blazehedgehog · 6 years

Text

Here’s something I started back during the “What did you think of Sonic Mania Adventures?” ask. I’d thought about including it in the post, but decided against it for whatever reason. In short, I decided to try re-writing the opening of Sonic Adventure as if it was an episode of Mania Adventures -- e.g., without any dialog, just to see how you’d tell a story like that without anyone opening their mouths. I continued to poke at it a little here and there, but I think my curiosity for this creative writing exercise has run dry. Enjoy what is essentially fanfiction, but written like a movie script. It’s behind the cut.

INT. EGGMAN'S LABORATORY A large, circular room with a single spotlight illuminating an empty table. BLINKING COMPUTER LIGHTS line the back walls. Suddenly, mechanical doors part with a futuristic hiss.

Through the doors steps a portly man wearing a PITH HELMET and SAND-DRAB CLOTHES. The room is dark, so we cannot get a good look at his face, save for a gleaming pair of ROUND, BLUE GLASSES and the outline of a BUSHY MUSTACHE. He struggles, but places a RUCKSACK on the table with some effort. Three STONE TABLETS can be seen peeking out of the top of the sack, now laid on its side.

The man adjusts his lamp to give the room a little more light and then takes his hat off to wipe sweat from his brow. We finally see his face: it's DOCTOR EGGMAN. As he wipes his brow with a rag, he gives a sigh of exhaustion. He reaches off screen and pulls a cup of water off an unseen table, drinking it through a straw.

He slides the first STONE TABLET out of the rucksack, though we can only see the Doctor's face as he looks it over. He's deep in thought. Setting it on the table, he pulls the next one out, looking it over with an increasingly furrowed brow. He sets the second one on top the first, before pulling the final tablet out of his bag.

Both brows raise as he pulls a large surprised SLURP from his drink cup.

We finally see what's in his hands: a crude carving of several Echidna warriors in a line bowing before a gigantic diamond-shaped jewel. The jewel is larger than any of the warriors. Standing on top of the jewel appears to be their king, a bearded Echidna warrior with bushy eyebrows and a staff. He has his arms outstretched, with a sunbeam pattern behind him. Rising up next to him is a shadow in the shape of a gigantic snake, several times the king's size. The Doctor’s fingers trace across the etched artwork of the warrior king.

We see a sinister grin creep across Eggman's face.

He makes a dash over to a COMPUTER CONSOLE and quickly types something in.

A close-up on the screen reveals the text:

LOCATION CONFIRMED ANGEL ISLAND INTERCEPT TRAJECTORY

CROSS FADE TO...

EXT. ANGEL ISLAND, MASTER EMERALD ALTAR, NIGHT From a distance, it is obvious that ANGEL ISLAND is a floating island, freely flying miles above the ocean below. Errant clouds pass beneath the airborne landmass.

Weathered ruins sit in the stillness of night. One gets the impression this used to be a place of significance, maybe some kind of amphitheater, but there's almost nothing left. Hundreds, if not thousands of years of being exposed to the elements have nearly erased the structures that used to reside on the edge of Angel Island's thick jungle.

At the base of a set of stairs sits KNUCKLES THE ECHIDNA. Head drooped, his eyes are closed, and like everything else on this island, he is still, apparently sleeping.

Up a few crumbling steps behind him sits the MASTER EMERALD, a massive green jewel that faintly glows in the darkness. It floats ever so slightly above what used to be an altar, gently revolving.

A gust of wind suddenly carries a leaf from the jungle that hits Knuckles in the face, causing him to flinch. Eyes still closed, he frowns and reaches up and to brush it off. Just then, we can hear a vibration of energy. A green glow builds behind Knuckles. His eyes snap open in shock.

Knuckles stands up and turns around to see the MASTER EMERALD, now several feet in the air, practically burning with a pulsating green energy. The pulses quickly shorten as the vibrating sound increases in tempo until these pulses give way to a blinding FLASH, followed by the sound of something shattering. Knuckles shields his eyes.

As the light fades, we see there are at least a dozen SHARDS of the shattered MASTER EMERALD spinning weightlessly in the air. An orb of shadow collects in their center, outlined by a green glow. In an instant, it grows in to the silhouette of CHAOS, THE GOD OF DESTRUCTION, in his base form of CHAOS ZERO. The force of the transformation blows the emerald shards away. To where, we do not see.

Knuckles, identifying an attacker, charges Chaos in anger. He reels back for a punch, but before his fist connects, Chaos effortlessly bats him away with a back-hand slap. Knuckles hits the ground and tumbles at least ten feet, landing face down in the grass at the base of the altar.

Chaos touches down on the platform at the top of the altar, looming down the steps at the fallen Knuckles. Furious, Knuckles picks himself up off the ground and rushes Chaos again, winding up to deliver the exact same punch a second time, but now with his other arm. Surprisingly, his fists lands the punch, causing Chaos to explode in all directions in a huge splash of water.

The look of fury on Knuckles' face slowly fades in to one of absolute confusion. He is soaking wet. Water drips from his dreadlocks. He is standing in a puddle, fist still outstretched, hanging in the air. Chaos is nowhere to be seen.

Knuckles scans the area with his eyes, only to just now notice what's become of the MASTER EMERALD. Its diamond-like shape has been reduced to nothing more than a stump of shattered glass laying on the ground, its glow quickly fading. Knuckles rushes over just as the light flickers out, and the whole of Angel Island begins to shake, throwing Knuckles off balance.

EXT. THE CLIFFSIDE SHORES OF THE MYSTIC RUINS, BORDERING THE OCEAN, NIGHT The landmass known as Angel Island plummets towards the ground. As it nears the MYSTIC RUINS, its descent begins to slow, the island perfectly slotting in along the cliffs like a long lost puzzle piece. It locks into place with a great crash, violent but not destructive, loose rocks falling off the side of the island and landing on the ground below. Dust and debris is everywhere as the island settles, as if it belonged here once, long long ago.

Knuckles stands up once again, looking out over a cliff that used to offer a view of the night sky and a distant ocean below, now showing a forest on the edge of a metropolis on the horizon.

TITLE CARD: "SONIC ADVENTURE"

FADE TO BLACK

EXT. STATION SQUARE CENTRAL STATION, A CLOUDY DAY SONIC THE HEDGEHOG bounds up the sides of skyscrapers, running so fast he seems to defy gravity. He comes to a stop on the roof of the STATION SQUARE CENTRAL STATION, the city's main train station. He looks out over the plaza. People and cars hustle and bustle, but amidst the crowds, Sonic spots an orb of ORANGE LIGHT. It catches his attention.

It flutters through a crowd, only for Sonic to suddenly lose sight of it around a corner. Curiosity piqued, Sonic drops to street level and pursues.

EXT. STATION SQUARE SHOPPING DISTRICT, A CLOUDY DAY Around the corner are rows of tiny corner markets, including a BURGER SHOP. Though not as busy as it was around CENTRAL STATION, there are still people and cars down this block. As more clouds push up in the sky, the little bit of sunshine begins to fade from view. At first, Sonic can't seem to find the mysterious orange light he saw earlier, but in the growing shade, he sees it flit behind one of the large stone walls surrounding STATION SQUARE CITY HALL.

EXT. STATION SQUARE CITY HALL, OVERCAST As Sonic approaches the doors, the cloudy day turns in to a RAINY DAY. Dark clouds swirl overhead, blotting out the sunlight, with the distant rumble of thunder. The stone walls provide something of a dead end, so unless the light happened to go inside City Hall, there's nowhere for it to go.

As Sonic approaches the doors, we can see that the streets of Station Square behind him are empty. All of the cars and people have vanished. It is suddenly eerily silent.

Sonic pulls on the door handles. They appear to be locked, not budging an inch. His eyes trace the building.

A sudden flash and a CRACK of thunder breaks the silence. Instinctively, Sonic turns to face the opposite direction. Hanging in the air is the orb of orange light, just floating. Then, suddenly, forming out of the ground, we see the same shape that attacked Knuckles on Angel Island -- it's Chaos Zero. He's bigger than he was when he faced Knuckles. His silhouette undulates like liquid. The Orb of light, caught between the two, drifts towards Sonic, who now realizes he is cornered by these entities. He takes a defensive posture.

Sonic prepares to fight, when suddenly, a distant rumble fills the air. It almost sounds like a deep creaking. WATER blows the tops off sewer grates. More water bursts out of shop windows, spilling out onto the street. It's pouring out of everything, everywhere. Even the very street itself cracks, liquid seeping up through the ground. Soon, the doors for Station Square City Hall burst open, releasing a flood of water. Sonic, with nowhere to run, is quickly washed out to sea as Station Square fills up with water.

Struggling, but unable to swim, Sonic falls like a rock towards the bottom of an endless ocean, noticing the orb of light just above the surface of the water. Its light fades from view as he sinks into the blackness. Sonic's eyes close as he succumbs to the depths, the last of his air bubbles floating away.

EXT. STATION SQUARE, EMERALD COAST HOTEL Sonic the Hedgehog snaps awake in his lounge chair. It is a bright, sunny, clear day. A waiter serves women near the opposite side of the pool with drinks. The skies are blue, and just beyond the hotel's swimming pool area, the faint sound of waves crashing can be heard from the nearby beach. Sonic is a little shaken, but quickly realizes it was just a dream.

Just then, we can hear the distant sound of an AIRPLANE ENGINE. Instead of the motor keeping its intended rhythm, it’s sputtering and struggling to stay running. As Sonic turns to look at where the sound is coming from, we can see the pilot: MILES “TAILS” PROWER, Sonic’s friend and sidekick. He’s fighting the controls of his biplane, which seems to have been patched together with scraps from a junkyard.

Suddenly there is an EXPLOSION and both Tails and his Biplane disappear in a cloud of black smoke emitted from the engine’s exhaust. Sonic loses sight of Tails as the plane lurches towards the ground behind the hotel, out of view. There is a loud CRASH.

Visibly concerned for his friend, Sonic springs off his lounge chair and blasts off at high speed along EMERALD COAST’S BEACH to check on him.

#should have posted on september 9th #sonic adventure #sonic the hedgehog #sega #sonic team #fanfiction #script #sonic mania adventures

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bat-besties · 6 years

Text

On Impossibility - 9

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

A popular!Logan and loser!Roman high school AU based on @2pointomg’s idea with eventual Prinxiety.

impossible

ɪmˈpɒsɪb(ə)l

adjective

· not able to occur, exist, or be done.

Eg. It is impossible to fund both the sports and drama programmes with the school’s limited budget.

· very difficult to deal with.

Eg. The situation which Logan Sanders, Student Body President, is in after he convinced the school board to cut the unsuccessful drama programmes is impossible.

· (of a person) very unreasonable.

Eg. Roman Prince.

To Roman, nothing is impossible. Not following his older brother Patton to acting college, not being a loser taking on the school’s popular Student Body President and definitely not writing and performing an epic school play with no money and six cast and crew members.

Edited by @alpacasarethegreenestanimal, who has an amazing fanfiction on AO3! If you like superheroes, sarcasm and Virgil angst then you’ll love this

@barclays-sides

@romanasanders

@cashmeredragon

@entitydark

@jughead-is-canonically-aroace

@immacrazyfangirl

@narniasfinestavengingsociopath

@toolazytothinkofcreativename

@featuredfander

@what-a-catch-joe

@mightaswellenthuseaboutbooks

@whatamessofwords

@zoalis

@hexdream18243

It was a typical Tuesday lunchtime with everyone backstage. Talyn was gluing some sequins onto Valerie’s crown. Valerie was practicing her evil chant with Terrence. Terrence was stretching next to Dahlia. Dahlia was waiting for her wicker basket to be fixed by Virgil. Virgil was doing that while bantering with Roman. Roman was putting 40% of his effort into chatting with Virgil and 60% into being casual and not talking about feelings.

Kyle was on the balcony alone, alien in his black cloak and heavy makeup. He was in the middle of his ending monologue, repeating each sentence until it was perfect and then running over the entire thing. He kept stopping and starting with different emphasises each time.

‘And so I say…No, no, no…. And so, I say.’ He kicked the balcony. ‘Argh! Stupid line!’

There was a clang as a piece of pipe fell off the balcony. Roman stood up to yell in Kyle’s general direction, ‘Hey, Virgil built that!’

Another clang rang out and Roman huffed and jogged onto the stage. As he rounded the corner he was greeted by the sight of Kyle holding onto a swaying balcony white-knuckled, staring wide-eyed and making no noise at all. A huge, flickering shadow was thrown up behind him as if even now the stage wanted to amplify the impact of any action taking place on it. Kyle was slowly shifting his weight back to the centre of the balcony, but the tower tipped in that direction with him. Roman ran forward ‘Kyle! Kyle! Just hold-’

There was a screech as the top slid off, followed by a deafening crash as Roman instinctively ducked down and hid his head. He opened his eyes slowly. The others ran in, then froze. Where Kyle and the balcony had been was a pile of metal and a body thrown across the stage, its cloak making a dark pool. A sunbeam suddenly shifted, glinting off the extra supports in the mound of pipes and tangled vines. Six hearts raced each other. Roman couldn’t comprehend what had happened. He felt like if he didn’t move then maybe everything would zoom back into place like footage played backward, supports clicking into place and his friend standing on top of the balcony again.

Suddenly, Kyle gave a groan.

Everyone ran forward, and Terrence turned Kyle over. Roman began to shake. ‘OK, OK. Alright, uh… Kyle how are you feeling?’

Kyle sat up slowly. Clutching his head, he tried to stand before falling with a shout.

‘OK, OK, OK.’ Roman you can do this. ‘Valerie, call 911. Terrence, check for any bleeding and don’t let him pass out. Talyn, help Terrence. Dahlia calm down Virgil, I think he’s having a panic attack. I’ll go get a teacher.’

He sprinted up the gangway, breath already tight as he burst through the auditorium doors. He ricocheted off lockers and elbowed his way past ambling students, shouting incomprehensibly. The colours were too bright, the sounds too loud, but despite his desperation he was not impervious to the cutting stares or laughs at the wheeling of his arms as he ran up the stairs. He skidded around a corner and threw himself at the door of the nurse’s office, pounding on it. ‘Help! Help!’

The door was yanked open. ‘You’ll get detention if-’

Mr Macready softened on seeing Roman’s wide eyes. ‘What happened?’

‘It was Kyle and he broke his leg and banged his head and it was the balcony and he didn’t move and…’

Mr Macready placed a hand on Roman’s arm. ‘Roman, breathe. Did you call 911?’

‘Yeah.’ Roman nodded quickly.

‘Has he woken up?’

‘Yes.’

Mr Macready patted his arm twice, as if comforting a spooked horse. ‘OK, let’s go.’

Making his way through a crowded hallway was much easier when Roman was behind a barrel-chested nurse not worried about pushing over students who didn’t get out of his way. He saw everything in snapshots: Mr Macready checking Kyle’s head, Virgil tapping out rhythms in a corner, the yellow ambulance doors swinging open. The rest of the day was a blur until he collapsed into bed at home.

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

Backstage the next day and everything was shaken up. Kyle was out of school as he had suffered a concussion, but miraculously no permanent damage had been done to his head. However, his leg had indeed been broken. Roman stood up to address his friends, who were slumped over boxes and blocking. He had spent the previous night googling head injuries and broken legs and reading the stage directions on speakerphone to Patton. ‘Alright, so now we have to figure out what to do. Kyle will be fine, but I don’t know if he’ll be able to perform with crutches. Ombretto’s pretty dynamic in his movements.’

Tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, Virgil stood up, his eyeshadow covering actual eyebags. ‘It was my fault the balcony collapsed. Malcom – the janitor dude – said it was rickety, and I tried to stabilise it, but I failed and-’

There was a muted chorus of disagreement from the group.

‘And basically, it’s my fault so I’ll help you. I’ll play Ombretto.’

Roman’s mouth fell open.

‘I mean, probably I’ll completely suck, I mean I’ll definitely suck-’

‘Virgil,’ Roman cut in, ‘I would love to have you play the part. But only if you want to, not if you’re doing it is as some form of punishment. Besides, do you know the lines at all?’

‘I don’t want to do it, if I’m honest.’ Virgil let go of his sleeve and looked up, ‘But I want to help you guys. I want this thing to, you know, work. I want you guys to get to act, and for people to see Talyn’s costumes and – also I want them to see my set. I do know the gist of what he’s saying in each line, I’ll need to learn them properly, though. I know the meeting scene since you did that half-a-billion times when we were in the English classroom.’

Valerie sat up. ‘Well, let’s just have you run through that with Roman, and if it really doesn’t work we can ask Raphael back.’

Roman smiled. ‘Alright, we’ll go from when I enter.’

‘Could I…could I have the cloak?’

‘Uh…sure. Whatever works for you!’ Roman threw the cloak in Virgil’s general direction. Since he didn’t aim that well and Virgil didn’t have great athletic abilities either it fell quite a bit short.

Virgil draped the cloak around his shoulders and climbed onto some blocks. Roman went behind a curtain to reappear as Rosso. He shaded his eyes to look up the ‘tower’ and bellowed. ‘Lo! Could that be a minion of the evil queen?’

Virgil swept his fringe over his face and bit his lip. He made his voice gravelly, ‘A voice? Who would dare disturb me in my tower?’

Roman had to…take a moment after that. The pause caused Virgil to put his head in his hands. ‘Argh, that was stupid. Could Terrence be him?’

‘Hey!’ Terrence interjected, ‘I am Bob. Bob is me. Virgil, just…try less teen-y love interest.’

‘But he is a teen-y love interest.’ Roman said from the side of his mouth.

‘Try to play it more low-key.’ advised Valerie

Virgil exhaled. ‘I’ll go from after Roman’s line.’

‘Hello? Do you work for the Evil Queen?’ proclaimed Roman.

Virgil found the next line a bit easier. He hunched forward and looked away from Roman. ‘Who are you to ask?’

Roman stood directly under Virgil and looked up at him. ‘Nobody. A friend.’

Oh, this bit Virgil could do. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his chin at Roman. ‘Nobody? Or a friend?’

Roman grinned and shook his head. ‘Depends.’

‘On what?’ Virgil leaned forward.

‘What are you doing in a tower in the middle of this forest?’

Alright, he could do this. ‘I am not human as you are. I am cursed - with magic. Only when I am here is the world safe from me. In return for my seclusion, I aid the Evil Queen. The dark is the only place I belong.’ He sounded genuinely bitter, and at the last line he improvised a little. ‘So, light one, what brings you to a place like this?’

Roman grinned recklessly and waved his sword for emphasis. ‘Adventure! I am Rosso, and I fear nothing!’

Virgil drew back a bit, ‘I’m sorry, Rosso.’

‘Why is that, enchanter?’

Ombretto’s fear won over his curiosity and he acted in accordance with the wishes of the Evil Queen rather than with his humanity. Rosso drew back in fear as the vines began to move like snakes and wrap around his arms. ‘I’m sorry, Rosso.’ repeated Ombretto, ‘because you are a fool. And because I must do this.’

‘You must do nothing! Your destiny is your own!’ Rosso cried out, hacking at the thorns. ‘Please, don’t do this to yourself.’

Ombretto laughed bitterly. ‘My destiny is negligible. It’s my life I’m worried about.’

Terrence jumped into the scene, and Ombretto started at the sound as the faery searched unsuccessfully for the source of the conversation he’d overheard. Quickly, the enchanter wove an invisibility charm to protect the knight, not questioning why he did so at the time.

Then the scene changed to one with the Evil Queen, but in reality the spell was broken by applause.

‘Virgil – you’re amazing!’ cried Roman.

‘So…does he get the part?’ asked Terrence. The others looked at Roman expectantly.

Should Virgil get the part? With Virgil as Ombretto the play would be perfect. Without any practice he was almost as good as Kyle was, he kind of knew the lines, he had great chemistry with Roman, he fit the character (Roman decided deliberating why Virgil fit the character he’d written so well was for later). It would be perfect. Roman could perform the play with the hot emo love interest played by his actual hot emo love interest and show everyone that he was deserving of that romance. Perhaps he could reintroduce the stage kiss? No, it was clear their first kiss would be private, which Roman would still like. Roman was an acting powerhouse and Virgil inhabited Ombretto as comfortably as his patchwork hoodie. Together they would be unstoppable.

Then there was Kyle. Kyle who had practiced every single day for that role. Kyle who had been running through his lines to fit Roman’s idea of perfection when he fell. Kyle who had been with Roman in every production since the kindergarten nativity (Sheep #2 and Cow #4). The likely event would be that Kyle would be able to perform his part. He just wouldn’t be able to walk so well.

Roman believed in his status as an artist. He told his story to himself over and over again: the bullies would beg for his autograph one day, he would talk in interviews about how he had to perform a play with no funding (from the school) and the tale about how he fell for Virgil was a love story for all time. Roman believed in drama and it certainly was dramatic to at the last minute choose passion over experience and sweep Virgil into twin stardom with himself.

Kyle was the safer choice.

If Roman took a chance on Virgil it could make the play.

No. Roman was not going to risk this play. He was going to make the sensible decision and be a good friend. If the tower would have to be a low platform or crutches were an anachronism, then so be it. Besides, the forest was imaginary. It was not possible for the play to be perfect, but he knew that Kyle would make it amazing.

He ‘Alright, here’s my decision, and it’s final. Virgil, that was amazing. But Kyle has to play Ombretto. I want Virgil to be the understudy. So, learn those lines inside-and-out.’

Virgil nodded, disappointment and embarrassment tinging his relief as he took off the cloak.

‘Roman?’ grinned Valerie, ‘are you going to say it?’

‘Yeah, go on, say it!’ cried Terrence.

Virgil face-palmed, sighing loudly. ‘Dear god, please don’t say it.’

Roman put a foot on a crate and threw out a hand. ‘The show…MUST GO ON!’

#logan sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #virgil sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #I've already ended one with 'the show must go on'#but I don't care #look me in the goddamn eyes and tell me that Roman wouldn't say it

15 notes · View notes

sof-ingtired · 2 years

Text

I posted 6,370 times in 2021

272 posts created (4%)

6098 posts reblogged (96%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 22.4 posts.

I added 1,312 tags in 2021

#remus rambles - 968 posts

#sanders sides - 78 posts

#remus rants - 40 posts

#ts janus - 37 posts

#janus sanders - 35 posts

#ts remus - 35 posts

#ts roman - 32 posts

#remus writes - 30 posts

#remus sanders - 30 posts

#roman sanders - 27 posts

My Top Posts in 2021

,,,,, Achilles Come Down but it's Roman or Remus' pleading with the other to come down and the one telling one of them to jump is u!patton,,,,,

im totally okay

46 notes • Posted 2021-03-15 09:06:53 GMT

It's done! Took like,,,,,3-4 hours to do but it's done and I'm happy with it!

49 notes • Posted 2021-07-19 14:25:09 GMT

I might have spent a few hours on this and don’t hate it. I wrote their names kinda???? how I’d picture them writing them but Roman’s is a bit messy to be Roman.

Anyway this is my headcanons for everyone’s eyes and skin tones. Virgil has spider eyes but his regular eyes are based off the puppet colours , Janus has a snake eye and the only one with an eye that matches Thomas, Roman has blue-ringed octopus pupils with green eyes and same Remus but red eyes, Logan has human eyes but dark blue and finally Patton has bullfrog pupils with light blue eyes.

Yes they all have minour eyebags except Remus. Also I’m including two versions, one with their colours and one without.

I’ll be honest this is the first fully rendered piece since Janus’ birthday piece (which I genuinely dislike so fucking much, why is his face so skinny???)

anyway this is gonna be like the only time I tag @thatsthat24 because I really like this drawing.

50 notes • Posted 2021-02-22 20:07:40 GMT

I redrew a piece from February cause it was straight up not good lol, quite happy with how this one came out!!

60 notes • Posted 2021-11-13 02:42:56 GMT

Touched-Starved Janus Pt. 1

It’s been almost two weeks since I mentioned I started writing this, and I said Monday I’d post this this week, well....the week...hasn’t ended it’s only 00:15 on Sunday. This is being broken into multiple parts, idk how many yet, because my doc is at 3.2k words and is 6 pages long. So! Enjoy Part One of the Touch-Starved Janus fic!

Taglist!( Please let me know if you want to be added for future parts or if you wish to be removed): @daroamine, @janus-sanders-pain, @imma-potatoo, @whatishappeningrightnow

Summery: Janus is more snake than previously perceived and reacts violently at the sight of the others hugging, only for it to be revealed Janus hasn’t been hugged in years, so long my that he's even forgotten what hugs are,,,, just how touch-starved is he?

Pairings: Platonic Dukeceit (Parental Remus) , Referenced Past Platonic Anxceitmus

Warnings: overstimulation, swearing, Remus yells at the others at one point, swearing, bold and italicized text, referenced unsympathetic unnamed dark sides and Idk what else please tell me if I need additional tags

Additional Notes: So there is,,,,a lot of headcanons by me in this? Like I headcanon Janus as being the youngest side and being like....really young, just barely 21 young. Also there is a lot of parental and protective Remus. This is also probably really OOC but I don’t mind much tbh?

Janus was in the living room, lounging in the early morning sunbeam that was hitting the couch and reading a book. Virgil was on the opposite side of the couch, scrolling through his phone. The two had fallen into this rhythm of this a month ago when Janus and Remus’ rooms had been moved over to the ‘light’ side as they had been accepted fully by Thomas. It had taken a heavy conversation between all of them and a lot of apologies but they were slowly going back to being a real family like they had been before the mindscape split.

Patton walked into the room and smiled at the two sides on the couch, he was so happy everyone has been getting along, especially Remus and Janus with the others. Sometimes he still felt a bit guilty having sent away the previous ‘dark’ sides, but he knew that it wasn’t good to hold onto that guilt when they’ve stated their forgiveness.

He continued his way to the kitchen to begin making breakfast for all the sides. That was also something that the others had taken time to get used to, proper meals made by the father-like side. When Patton had learned the state of the other’s kitchen he had been horrified, it was no wonder Janus and Remus were so thin. He was working on getting them to a healthier size, they were getting there but were still too thin.

Patton smiled as he headed back to the living room after almost an hour to let the two on the couch know that breakfast was ready. He made them all pancakes, blueberry for Logan and himself, chocolate chip for the twins and plain for Virgil and Janus, he knew what his kiddos liked after all. “Heya kiddos! Breakfast is ready!” Patton said as he reached the couch.

“Thanks Pat, “ Virgil said as he stood up off the couch and stretched. He held out his hand to Janus, “C’mon Jan let’s get some breakfast.”

Janus hums and looks up at Virgil, “Ah yes, food.” He takes Virgil’s hand and lets himself get pulled into a standing position, then quickly releases his hand.

With a shout upstairs from Patton it was a few seconds until the other three sides made their way downstairs. Roman and Remus were groggily arguing about something arbitrary, meanwhile Logan looks like he’s been awake for at least an hour.

Janus and Virgil had already taken their seats at the table when the others began sitting down, Logan on the left of Virgil on one side of the table, with Virgil in the middle, and Janus on the other side of the table in the furthest left seat, Remus seated to his right with an open spot for Roman next to him.

And then it happens. It was so innocent to them, all Patton had did was give Roman a nice snug hug. They honestly hadn’t known the snake side would react the way he did. They didn’t expect him to jump in his seat and stare wide-eyed at Patton hugging Roman and begin to tremble. And they certainly hadn’t expected his shaky voice and frantic rambling.

“W-why are you constricting him like that!? Are you fighting? Why are you fighting? He didn’t do anything wha-” Janus rambled frantically, looking like he was a second from prying Patton off Roman, eyes wide and breathing picking up.

“Constricting him- Fighting? Janus, he is merely giving Roman a hug. Why are you acting like you don’t know what that is?” Logan asked the trembling and panicking side.

“Janny, Jan hey,” Remus gently scooched the chair with Janus in it away from the table and turned it to face him fully. “Do you remember hugs? Remember how I’d hug you when you were really little?”

Janus shook his head no, blond curls bouncing. As he shook his head no Remus hummed in thought. Janus opened his mouth to speak again but Remus held a hand up to shush him.

“That’s what I thought baby blep, “ Remus sighed before he explained what a hug is. “Well ,a hug is just affection. You wrap your arms around them and give just a little squeeze. It’s not constricting and it’s not fighting.” Remus opened his arms in invitation. “It’s like how we used to cuddle but standing up or sitting, do you wanna try?”

Janus looked hesitant as he calmed down. “Will it hurt?” He watched Remus warily.

Remus gave the younger side a sad look, “No noodle it won’t hurt. It feels nice, and if you don’t like it just tell me and I’ll let go, okay?”

Janus hesitantly moved forwards and let Remus gently pull him into a hug. He tensed at the initial feeling of Remus’ arms around him, holding him, but calmed when he didn’t feel the grip tighten to constrict him. Warm, that's all Janus thought as he melted into Remus’ hold, it was like how they used to cuddle.

Remus sighed and gave the others a glare over Janus’ head. “Want to explain why you’ve never hugged him? I know why I hadn’t, I know why Virgil might not have, but why haven’t you?” He turned his glare to Patton, some ‘father-figure’ he was.

The others stood awkwardly looking guilty, even Virgil looked guilty, but Remus didn’t mind Virgil not explaining hugs to Janus. He knew he never had time as a dark side and any sign of weakness was dangerous so affection just wasn’t given in the open, hell it was rarely given behind closed doors. He had other reasons to be upset with Virgil.

“Affection is not something I generally give.” Logan said after clearing his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I never initiated a hug on the assumption he was like Virgil and did not care for them.”

Remus hummed at the answer and then turned to his twin. “Well Ro? Why haven’t you given Janus a hug? In the month our rooms have been here why have you never given him a hug?” He held a steady, unnerving stare into Roman’s green eyes. However his stare was interrupted when Janus let out a small whine after a few minutes and he averted his eyes to the smallest side.

“What is it baby blep?” Remus asked softly, honestly shocking the others with how soft he was with Janus.

“Burnsss” Janus let out a small hiss and squirmed in Remus’ arms.

“Mkay, here I'll let go now okay?” Remus reassured as he let go of the smaller side. “That was overstimulation. You’re a bit touch-starved aren’t you?” Remus internally snorted at the words ‘touched-starved’.

Janus continued to just stare for a few moments before speaking up, “What isn't that?”

Logan perked up at the chance to explain something and gave a small hint of a smile when Remus motioned for him to tell Janus. “Touch starvation refers to the desire for physical contact that people may experience after receiving little to no physical interaction with others for a period of time. Some people may compare it to the desire for food during hunger.” Logan trailed off at the end.

A look of horror came across the faces of everyone but Remus and Janus. Had they really not gave Janus any physical contact other than the occasional brushing of hands, hands that were always gloved?

“But...what doesn’t overstimulation have to do with being touch-ssstarved?” Janus hissed quietly.

“Well little snake, when you’re touch-starved too much touch at once can cause overstimulation and can feel like you’re burning. We haven’t cuddled in…. a while...so, you’re touch-starved.” Remus calmly explained. He grimaced when various intrusive thoughts about burning flesh flashed through his mind.

“...ᵒʰ” Janus whispered. He fidgeted in his seat, growing increasingly uncomfortable with everyone looking at him and paying attention to him. “....ᵖᵃᵖᵃ ᶜᵃⁿ ᴵ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒ ᵗᵒ ᵐʸ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ⁿᵒʷ…” Janus whispered again to Remus, avoiding looking at the others.

Remus blinked back tears at being called Papa for the first time in years. He smiled at the small side in front of him and nodded. “Yea baby blep you can go to your room. Today has been a bit much, huh?” He said as he stood up, stepping away so Janus could leave to his room. He watched with unshed tears as Janus scrambled away.

Once Janus had left and everyone heard Janus’ door click shut they all turned to Remus with questions. “Did he call you Papa?”, “How long has he been touched-starved?”, “How can we help him?” Roman, Logan and Patton all spoke at once.

“One question at a time.” Remus stated, giving them all a cold stare when he turned back to them. “Ro, you first.” Remus gestured at Roman to talk.

“Why did he call you Papa?” Roman asked, genuinely very confused.

“ I raised him. He formed when I was 7, Virgil was 10.” Remus shrugged. He was surprised they didn’t figure that out. Virgil wasn’t exactly the most parental side but he guessed he wouldn’t be seen as one either.

“Wait what?!” All of them but Virgil shouted.

“Remus are you sure he’s that young? Deceit and denial are formed much younger than that,” Logan questioned.

Remus looked Logan directly in his eyes, making the glasses clad side fidget. “Are you stupid?”

Logan sputtered and Roman looked angry and ready to intervene when Logan spoke up, “Of course not! His primary function is Deceit and that would make him around my age! Ergo, just a year younger than you and Roman as one creativity!”

Remus raised a single brow, “Really? You genuinely believe that deception is Janus’ prime function? Have you ever listened to him? Do you remember him forming back then, before the split?”

“Of course I have! I-...oh” Logan stopped, a perplexed look crossing his face before and understanding look.

“Oh what?! His primary function is Deceit is it not?! That’s why he’s called Deceit!” Roman threw his hands up as he spoke.

“Deceit is just...part of him Princey, a big part but....his primary function is societal self-preservation. Like Patton said in Jan’s first episode. ‘Deceit is an inner couch that acts with the one intention of self-preservation’ his primary may...seem like deceit but it’s not” Virgil said reluctently.

“Well put Virgey!” Remus grinned unnaturally wide and then as soon as the grin appeared it dropped. “Janus formed when Thomas started to have the desire for things to be fair and when Thomas started forming his sense of self on his ability to perform. He formed when Thomas was ten years old.” Remus stated.

The others looked guilty. “So...he...he really does want the best for Thomas?” Patton questioned.

Remus groaned and threw his hands in the air. “Of course he fucking does! That’s all any of us want for Thomas! What? You thought that because he often speaks in lies and encourages certain lying he wants to ruin Thomas? He wants Thomas to throw everything down the drain? That he wants Thomas to lose his friends?! Are you fucking stupid!? You and Roman had a whole fucking 50 minute video on the topic WITH HIM! He literally said he’s looking out for Thomas’ mental wellbeing!! The whole wedding debacle in the courtroom was trying to get Thomas to be HONEST with himself!” Remus growled as he stomped around the table to Patton.

“You all view things in black and white, well Padre , that’s not how life WORKS! That’s not how ANYTHING works! Nothing is in black and white! It’s shades of grey daddy-o!” Remus spat at Patton, a boney finger jabbing him in the center of his chest as he stared down at the ‘father-figure’.

“Like I fucking said in my song ‘good and bad is all made up nonsense’.” Remus huffed as he pulled away and crossed his arms. “Now if you excuse me I need to help a certain snake get used to touch again and not be overstimulated when I cuddle him to death.”

Virgil went to open his mouth but quickly snapped it shut when Remus threw him a glare.

“You ,Virgil, are the last person to visit him right now.” Remus snapped as he sank out and into Janus’ room, leaving the room cold and unsettled.

82 notes • Posted 2021-04-25 05:16:15 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #oh...#wowo

0 notes

insomniac-arrest · 6 years

Text

Preview of my Next Story

I was struggling with some of my other stories, so I made this one as more of a palate cleanser

The Walmart Predicament

Jesse’s life is a bit of a mess, Jesse has insomnia, Jesse gets bored, Jesse is certain the centaur at the Shell gas station is going to light him on fire one day.

Ty is a Walmart greeter who is always there at 1am and kind of looks like a K-pop star that should be on the front of knock-off Twilight novels.

Vampires were all supposed to be killed off around 1901 with the Vampire hunters doing their damn job, but Jesse has a very shaky theory that one just happened to make it. And works at Walmart.

Based on that one tumblr post, urban fantasy where vampires are the fantasy part.

Preview:

Part 1: You Can’t Live with your ex-Girlfriend in a One Bedroom apartment

Jesse was looking at a Pokemon figurine, a very blue, very smooth pokemon figurine. According to the confusingly labeled rack this thing was either supposed to be 14.99 or 4.99. One was a little more reasonable than the other.

On one hand, the little plastic toy of a mudkip was probably going to be made of a much better plastic if it was actually $14.99. On the other hand, all he had in his pocket was a crumpled ten dollar bill and his debit card with Schrodinger's amount of money on it.

He refused to check so it was like bank account was empty and full at the same time, ooh, science. He told himself it was science and he wasn’t waffling on buying a toy from the kid's aisle.

Jesse had no idea how long he had been standing in aisle nine, it could have anywhere between 5 minutes and fifteen minutes. But he blinked and it felt a lot more like an hour.

He leisurely looks down at his blank watch and then back up toward the end of the aisle. He wondered the Home Decor section earlier looking for someone to ask but then reverted to the ‘wait and ambush’ method in aisle 9 instead.

He waited.

Walmart had been nominated for the number one customer service store in the US for five years in a row. Jesse had no idea why.

He waited for at least twenty minutes hoping an employee would pop up and tell him if his pokemon figurine was 4.99 or 14.99. But it looked like he had been left to the wolves.

Alone in the world to try and navigate Walmart at 4 in the morning. Or five in the morning. His watch was also broken and Jesse liked to keep his phone battery at a simmering 4%.

It gave his brother anxiety to look at but Jesse liked an excuse on why he didn’t answer texts. He had enough to think about already without 22 questions from his coworkers on what kind of hot sauce he preferred (Cholula).

Jesse looked back to the mysteriously priced toy and then back to the end of the aisle. Walmart had won the number one customer service award for the United States for five years in a row.

Ricky said it was because everyone had very low expectations for the place so whenever an employee so much as smiled at them they just thought ‘banger, best place in the states.’ Jesse took that as a life motto: keep expectations low and blow ‘em away with minimal effort.

He was working on the minimal effort part after coming off a nine-day bend of only 3-4 hours of sleep a night. Per night.

He had been in the aisle for anywhere between thirty minutes and an hour thirteen minutes, he glances down at his blank watch again. Finally, he puts the toy down and goes shuffling back toward the front of the store.

If he said he remembered why he drove over here in the first place, he’d be lying.

He’s contemplating the fact that one of his socks is gray while the other is dark purple when he hears a sharp voice off to his left. “Good morning, ma’am. Let me know if you need anything.” Jesse’s head swivels around like a partially-broken merry-go-round, moving at half speed. He recognized that voice, like a silver chime in the wind against a very blurry morning mist, Jesse blinks.

He stays perfectly still for a moment, a young man in a blue vest and styled dyed blonde hair stands by the door. His hands were neatly held behind his back and his shoes were a shiny black material that reflected the light.

Jesse’s mouth opens slowly, his eyes go wide, he knew this greeter. Ty, blonde, shiny-black shoes Ty.

Jesse freezes in place and fixates on a single glowing sunbeam that peaks just through the door. It was happening. His eyes dart to the greeter, and then back to the sunbeam.

It had to be somewhere around five o’clock in the morning now, his eyes go back to the sunbeam, and then once more toward the greeter.

Ty, the young man with dyed blonde tips and a pleased smile on his face steps delicately out of the way of a sunbeam as it snakes up toward his shoe. He takes several steps away from it.

Jesse’s mouth was completely open now, he takes out his phone to take a picture but then he remembers his battery is dead.

He looks back up, Jesse is pretty sure the door-greeter at the Walmart is a vampire.

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

Jesse sat slumped on the couch with his neck craned at just the right angle for it be almost comfortable. The couch itself slumped underneath him like it wished to be a lumpy mattress in its next life and the floor stayed perfectly still. Which was a good thing.

He couldn’t say the same thing about his vision, but the blurry smudge people in the corner of the room were probably friendly. The TV was on but he couldn’t repeat the plot of it if he wanted to, a girl around the age of 17 sat in front of it munching on croutons out of the bag.

Jesse was lucky he heard his phone ring as he was reaching into his pocket, his instincts let him just press the little green button before checking the caller ID.

“‘Ello.” He says as the smudge people in the corner of the room begin to dance emphatically.

“Jesse?” He hears a high-pitched voice call out, “this is the third time I’ve called.” Jesse shrugged as if the other person could see him, “the TV was loud.” He just hears a heavy sigh on the other side, “It’s Tom.”

Jesse lowers himself down in the chair, ”I know hey.”

”I’ve called because-” “I renewed the lease, yeah.” The voice sounded tired, “That’s what I thought.” “For like, just another month.” “Jesse,” his brother says on the other side of the line in a slow voice, “you can’t live in a one bedroom apartment with your ex-girlfriend.” Jesse just hums, “perhaps?”

The girl near the TV turns around, “What’s he saying?” Jesse blinks up slowly, “he doesn’t want me to live with Yumi anymore.” “Tell him to push off,” she crunched a crouton between her teeth, “she’s the only one that vacuums.” Jesse frowns, “hey, I do the laundry. We are both contributing.” “Will you do my laundry?” His niece bats her long lasses and Jesse makes a face.

“No.” “Then your argument is invalid, next.” “Jeez,” the voice on the other side of the line says, “this is what I’m talking about. You can’t live in a one bedroom apartment with your ex-girlfriend and still do her laundry.” “We’re friends. And she doesn’t like touching detergent.” “It’s weird! And,” Tommy, his brother, continues, “weren’t you getting more hours at the Shake Shack anyway? You know. To find a new place.” “What’s he saying now?” Chaudhry asks as she turns around in place.

Jesse holds the phone away from his ear, “he thinks I should get a new place or Yumi needs to leave.” Chaudhry rolls her eyes, “he’s gay now Tom,” she says in a loud voice, “not mean. You should learn something from it.” “More hours!” Tommy continues, “at the Shake Shack!”

Jesse tilts his head back, “they’re actually cutting them. But I figure, hey less time there, ya know?” He hears a loud groan, “I can’t pay everyone’s phone bill forever.” “Thanks for that Tom-Tom by the way,” Chaudhry had crawled over and was sitting by his knee.

“Please,” it was almost begging, “at least tell me you’ve gotten some sleep this week. Or gone to the group.” Jesse opens his mouth, he closes his mouth again. “Do you think Walmart hires vampires?” He heard a small muffled cry, “can someone put Yumi on the phone actually? I can consider switching to being her brother.” “She’s buying more paper plates since she hates doing the dishes,” Chaudhry props her chin up as she speaks. “And touching dish soap.”

“Well, nevermind them.” Tommy sighs. “Right, sleep. Yes? No?” Jesse frowns, “I tried.” He studies the smudges in the corner of his eye, “but the vampire thing was kinda bugging me, you know? He’s really pale, well-dressed, asian, like a K-pop star or something since his hair is all, you know. Buttery.” “Buttery?” “Yellow.” Chaudhry contributes.

“Yes, yellow,” he says with a jab of his finger, “that one. And he’s only there at night.” “He just works nights then Jesse, actually, okay, yes, yes, I’m coming over, stay right there.” “Wait,” Jesse says it too late, “you don’t need to-” Click.

And that was the end of that.

Chaudhry takes out another crouton and munches it between her teeth, “I would like to hear about the vampire.” “He’s a door greeter,” Jesse says slowly as he blinks, “and he couldn’t tell me how much this Pokemon figurine was.” His brother was still coming over to the apartment.

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

Jesse had one older brother and one older sister, his sister was ten years older than him and already had two kids which put her in a league of her own. A superman if you will, but Tommy, Tommy was only one year older than him.

And that meant something.

He also didn’t want him to live in a tiny apartment with his girlfriend that broke up with him two months ago, but some things can’t be helped. Like sleeping, that was hard to help.

Or do, or stop thinking about sometimes. Sleep, sleep, sleep, that’s all that came across his mind, like a seashore he could never reach but kept paddling towards. It was an uphill battle.

Jesse was having one of those nights, Chaudhry had gone home to her moms after Tommy began chewing Jesse out and now he once again, staring up at his ceiling. Tracing imaginary lines in it with his eyes and taking deep even breaths.

He wished he could invite Yumi back onto the bed, having someone else there usually helped. But the bed had never really been big enough for the both of them, and even she drew the line somewhere.

Her distant snores helped, but Jesse felt his consciousness start to tighten around him like a boa constrictor. Did he remember to lock the front door? Did he need a new lock?

What kind of idiot didn’t check their doors now, or have a spare lock.

Jesse sat bolt upright in bed, he blinks. He needed to go to Walmart.

#preview #writing #urban fantasy #I write m/m now and then to mix things up #coming soon to my tumblr near you!

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the-green-haired-fellow · 7 years

Text

Jerome X reader Oh no

I held the pregnancy shakily in my hand alone in the abandoned apartment building we were pushed into by the most recent cop invasion. Leaving us stuck in the very very very very very bad part of Gotham. It was positive. I hadn’t had my period in almost three months now which sounds ridiculous but I dismissed it as the side effects of not eating, there was never any food here. I shivered looking out the nonexistent windows letting in sharp hot sunbeams. He was going to kill me he hated children with a sickening passion. He couldn’t even handle the baby that was crying when he took me (In disguise) to the ice cream parlor for my birthday. He stuck a gun to the mothers head saying with a peachy smile. “I wonder what baby brain ice cream would taste like hmm?” The mother began to scream and we had to run out of there before the cops showed up.

I walked around the floor we lived on along with his many Followers/ servants? I didn’t know what they were. The floor was covered in sleeping bags, bottles and soiled clothes. I bit my finger nail, smiling, thinking of all the times Jerome and I had gotten a little to into each other and Jerome would drag me into a separate room hissing at the other guys “If anyone looks they die” that had an old dusty mattress in the center of the floor. Images of our nights together sent my head into a whirl. The feeling the rush of his pale skin against mine, his rough breathing while he stared protectively into my eyes holding me tightly until we both... exploded. I shook the thoughts away reminding those were the nights that got me into the trouble I am now. I sat down on the beaten floor going through my options. I could tell him and based on his reaction either stay with him and raise the little brat or bail if he has a negative reaction to the news.. which could end up me being dead. I rubbed my little bump of a tummy gulping like the did in the cartoons. I would want my little to at least have a chance in the world. Should I just disappear?

I scrunched my eyebrows knowing he would find my regardless of how far I ran. Also it would be a bummer growing up without a father, at least that’s how my experience of being a bastard felt. Knowing my decision I headed to the opening in the wall that led to the stairs which would take me to the basement where Jerome was lurking. With the pregnancy test tight in my hand I made my way down the stairs. The stairs were cold and damp with bits of broken glass I dodged carefully not wanting to catch the diseases many of these men were carrying. Not Jerome of course he was clean. I blushed again thinking of him smiling his all american but still kind of creepy smile while he draped his arm around my shoulder watching his latest plan of chaos unfold. I hoped this didn’t affect little times like that.

The basement was completely silent when I came down the stairs. All the men had their hands up besides the ones with machine as well as shotguns in their hands Jerome was at the front of all of them with a unfamiliar looking cop in a choke hold, his pistol pressed up against her head. “Jerome let the officer down.” Jim said over the loud speaker. “Or what Jimbo? Are you going to open fire? Noo Hmm let’s see here...”Jerome pretended to think of all the options the cops didn’t have. “Oh that’s right. You’re sitting ducks! What can you do!?” He began laughing even though what he said wasn’t as brilliant as some of his other stuff. I laughed at how cute he was with his wild red hair, beaming green eyes. He was so charming when the police and him were at a stand-off. I twirled the pregnancy test in my hand until suddenly I was pulled away from the group by a strong pair of arms. I screamed at the top of my lungs feeling the familiar chest plate of the GPD’s swat team “Let go of me you pig!” I was taken into a dark room of some sort then when the light reconnected with my eyes I was on the cops side of the stand-off. “ Oh her? take her Jimbo I’m through with her” Jerome said weakly as if it was a poorly executed joke while he craned his head like he didn’t believe what he saw. “You bastard!” I cried at him beginning thrashing up against the police officers until I broke free of his grasp. My body hit the ground and I began to scramble getting up to my feet I tried to make my way to Jerome.

His face was horrified for a reason I couldn’t fathom until I felt myself hit the ground again feeling warm electricity pulse through my body. I tensed up a blood curdling scream until a police officer killed the charge and took out the metal prongs out of my back. A pair of gloved hands carried me back until I was stood up a cop on each side of me. Everything in my body felt shattered, I couldn’t speak of fight all I could do was lay there limply hearing the poisonious words Jerome said. Jerome’s face curled into a snarl as he took out his pocket knife “Drop the knife!” Harvey yelled. As if given permission Jerome slit the offiers throat then holding it to prevent her form bleeding out. All the police officers readied their weapons waiting, hoping for the que so they could blow my angel away. Jerome shook his finger at them smiling furiously at them. “Oh she’s not dead yet ladies and gentlemen.” He suddenly turned to the men behind him yelling. “Bring out the rest my good men!” Out of the darkness three of Jerome’s men brought out three more cops. Jim cussed glaring back at me seeing the pregnancy test still in my hand, he tapped Harvey’s shoulder most likely sharing the news. “Now boys like me!” Jerome said snapping Jim’s attention away. Jerome displayed how the slit the officers throat. The men did so. The officers choked moaning loudly. “Now hold it right by the jugular wouldn’t want these good whole hearted men to die... yet.” He laughed looking directly into my eyes. His face softened which Harvey noticed.

“Harvey don’t” Jim said in an attempt to stop him The big man waltzed over to me ripping both my arms out of the cops hands. “Hey Jerome!” He yelled dragging my a crossed the ground. “See this? You’re going to be a father” He yanked the pregnancy test and waved it through the air then took out his stun gun and jammed it into my stomach. I screamed “No please stop!”. Jerome froze in a vulnerable but was able to mask it when Harvey stopped him little show “My little friend here can stop that.” I dropped to the ground curling up in a ball. “congratulations Harv. Boys give this expecting father a clap.” They all did laughing at the situation not seeing Jerome’s hateful glare. Amoungst the applause Jerome began to stab the officer in the throat over and over again until she flopped down into a puddle of her own blood. “What are you going to name it Harv?”

Jerome casually walked over the the next officer relieving the thug of his duty stabbing the officer in the throat until he fell just as the female police officer did. Jim stepped forward next to Harvey a pained look on his face. “Harvey that’s enough” He growled “Two cops are dead because of you little skit.” Harvey nodded stepped back distraught. “Jerome” Jim addressed him kneeling down besides me gently touching my shoulder. I shook in pain like a pathetic rat dog under his touch. “Are you okay y/n? he asked. I nodded yes “You need to go to the hospital. The shock from the stun gun may have caused serious damage to the baby.” Jerome cleared him throat getting Jim’s attention. “Not on my watch Jimbo” he smiled “Here’s the deal, oh holy one. You give me...” he looked at me concerned but quickly hanged his face when he looked at Jim. “Her and I will give you your precious little boy here” Jerome grabbed the police officers cheeks getting blood on his hands. He wiped it on the dusty ground below waiting or Jim to answer. Jim’s eyes wandered around the clear blue sky for awhile until he turned walking back to the squad car to discuss his options leaving me a pile of pain on the ground. Jerome knowing the police officers attention was averted ushered me to crawl over to him, his face strained with stress. My vision was blurry as I looked him over trying to find the strength to get up in his features I didn’t find it there I found it in thinking of my little’s life it would be born in a hospital then quickly afterwards I would be taken back to Arkham while m little was bounced from home to home. Slowly I made my way unsteadily to my feet creeping towards Jerome. “Hey somebody stop her!” my body froze at Harvey’s voice. My eyes looked to Jerome who was not tin the same spot as before but in front of me pulling me back behind the bleeding police officer.”Jerome?” I said gazing up at his smiling face like it was the first time we had ever met. I thought of that moment as his voice echoed in the background “All right boys kill him and let’s scoot!”

We had met in Arkham when I was first admitted for murdering my alcoholic father. Barbara who had a cell right next to mine took it upon herself to give me a tour of the hospitals facilities, even though at the time we were only allowed to go to the rec. room. One the door was unlocked by the guard she skipped in smiling “Hello all this is my new best friend Y/N isn’t she cute?” She grabbed my hand and led me to the long white table at the back of the room, all eyes were on me at this point making me feel like a caged animal seated at the table she led me to was a fat man with frizzy hair, a skinny nervous looking fellow, a ravishing red head who peered at me never breaking his star and a man I would later know as “Greenwood” who grumbled in his seat. “Oh yes she is” he licked his lips at me. I scowled at him looking back at Barbara who was talking to the ginger. His green eyes were locked on me as she spoke. Interrupting her he spoke “What’s your friends name again?” Barbara looked offended but carried on “Her name is Y/N?’ Jerome smiled sticking out his hand. “I’m Jerome the only man here worth your time” He got up snaking to my side. “Why you here sugar lips?” Softly I touched my finger to my bottom lip wondering if I has something on my face, I didn’t. He smiled seeming to be excited by my actions. “I killed my dad.” I said softly He cradled his head in my right hand raising his eyebrows. “Just your dad?” I nodded “Why?” he said suddenly scooting up so close to me. My breathing quickened becoming nervous at his intensity. II think someone noticed this saying ‘Jerome cut it out’ but I was absorbed in his green eyes causing the grey dull room and all of it’s noise to fade away. “I-I he was a drunk’ I said feeling the release of saying the words that had caused me so much dismay. “And the town bicycle. He loved all women and their sexual assets.. Including me.. he was foul.” My heart quickened as my face blushed with anger. Jerome looked at me, his face softened. Leaning forward he kissed my forehead saying. “Stick with me and nothing bad will happen to you again.” My eyes looked in his eyes, they were wild with some unidentifiable emotion my body moved itself forward placing my lips on his. I could feel him breathe in deeply with.. shock? His heart quickening with every movement..

Now I’m pregnant with his child being carried through dark tunnels until we would reach the other side of the building were multiple stolen cars were parked to take us to the back-up hide-out. A mansion of one of the henchman’s grandparents he so thoughtfully slaughtered. Jerome was laughing hysterically in between words. My mind was foggy crossing between sleep and dream. I saw the sight as we entered through the doors feeling the hot city air hit my face. Jerome set me down on one of the cars looking into my face kissing me suddenly like we hadn’t seen each other in years. His hands dragged themselves through my hair feeling as much as he could before pulling away. “What a trip” he said sadly looking down at my stomach “ I just found out today” I said quickly hoping he wasn’t going to kill me. He nodded slowly looking out at the men that were loading up weapon and such into the vehicles. He cleared his throat “It’s okay” he said uncomfortably then lifted me setting me down in the passengers seat of the car I had been sitting on. He lingered hovering over me in the car kissing my lips. For a minute we sat like that barely moving until he pulled away shutting the door. “Let’s get this show on the road!” He yelled cheerfully to the other guys. I watched him as he said this looking taking in his handsome qualities but quickly away when he opened the driver door. He hopped in smiling widely at me his eyes lit with new life. “Let’s go baby” I smiled back.

Thanks for reading all more to come! Same Bat-Time Same Bat-Channel!

#jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska #gotham #jerome fanfiction #joker x reader #joker #joker fanfiction #joker fandom

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