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daycourtofficial · 2 months

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Come back, be here

Azriel x reader

Summary: It’s the anniversary of your mating bond ceremony and despite his reassurances, Azriel is nowhere to be seen.

Author’s note: this is the end of my 1k celebration and ironically the first fic I finished for this week. I hope you guys enjoyed reading these fics as much as I enjoyed writing them

Word count: 2k

(1k celebration masterlist 🍾)

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Every second you sat in your kitchen felt like an eternity, the fabric of the dress you’re wearing growing heavier with each tick of the clock.

You had bought the clock for your mate for your mating anniversary years ago. A rare antique that you knew he would love - thousands of years old, and you got it for an absurdly low price due to the condition it was in.

You spent months with a restoration expert, cleaning the clock, repairing pieces as you dismantled it. It was a labor of love, one you thought Azriel was deserving of.

The months spent restoring it were nothing compared to the time you’ve been sitting here.

Now you sit, practically taunted by its song. Tonight was supposed to be about the two of you. Objectively five years in a mateship isn’t a long time, a blip in the lives of fae, and yet the both of you were looking forward to the evening.

Despite his intimidating demeanor, Azriel was meticulous about celebrating your anniversaries, oftentimes mentioning an event you didn’t realize he knew the date of. You imagined he had an internal index of the days you two spent together.

“I waited five hundred years to meet you,” he had told you when he wanted to take you out to celebrate the anniversary of your first date, “I want to remember everything we do together. I want to celebrate us every day that I can.”

His words were incredibly sweet, but sitting in the cold kitchen, the tempting aromas of the meal you made long gone, you wonder just how much of it was words.

He waited 500 years for you, and you waited several hours before packing up the dinner you had made for him, tears running down your face as you packaged it all up.

Perhaps his overeager celebration of anniversaries led to the intensity of the sting you feel deep in your chest.

The clock chimes twelve times - he’s four hours late and your anniversary is officially over. You have no indication from the bond what he’s doing, it’s golden hum having gone silent hours ago.

You blow out the candles littering the house, taking off the ridiculous party hat you were wearing and throwing it on the ground.

It feels silly, the brightly colored hat with a pompon on top. It’s bright demeanor heavily contrasting the loneliness you feel inside. You sigh, looking around the downstairs of your home, deciding to leave the rose petals you had scattered so perhaps he’ll feel at least a little guilty when he came home.

Whenever that would be.

Trudging up the stairs, each step growing heavier, you wonder what could have kept him away. Rhys certainly wouldn’t have asked him to go away - Azriel had mentioned earlier in the week he’d be unavailable for a few days to celebrate.

Besides, Rhys knew how anal Azriel was about your anniversaries, and Feyre would chew him out if he forced Azriel to do anything on a day as important as your mating ceremony anniversary.

He had left this morning, promising you he’d be home at 8 because he had some tasks to do. You knew he was going to help one of your neighbors with a fallen tree, something that had to be done as soon as possible.

You move silently, going through your nightly ritual, an early end to the night you didn’t see coming. You pull back the covers on your bed, slipping into its cold grasp, ready to cry yourself to sleep, when you hear the door open downstairs.

You can hear Azriel moving through the house, a swiftness to his step as you hear him climbing the stairs quickly, taking them two at a time.

You make your way to your shared bedroom door, that you had locked upon entering, and lean against it, unsure if you’re ready for his excuses.

He tries the handle, then begins knocking.

“Baby, baby please be awake.” He pauses for a moment, listening. “I’m so sorry, baby please I know you’re awake I can hear you breathing.”

One of his shadows snakes underneath your door, checking you over to see how you are. It lingers on your cheeks, tear tracks still fresh. The shadow doesn’t return to it’s master, instead opting to stay with you, providing you company.

“Please, baby, I lost track of time. I was working on a surprise for you and I fell asleep. Baby I’m-“

You push off the door and turn to crack open the door, taking in the sight of your mate. Despite your annoyance, the bond made it practically impossible to want to avoid him. Every piece of you begged to be near him, to open the door further letting him in.

“You were working on a surprise?” Your voice cracks from all the crying, and he doesn’t mention how his heart cracks in response.

He nods gently, his hair sticking up everywhere from his hands having ran through it, and likely also from the flight home.

You’re still upset, but the frost you feel starts thawing. You can make him grovel a bit, and you’re about to open the door more, when the smell hits you.

Elain.

He showed up late to your date for your mating anniversary with some lame excuse about falling asleep because he had spent the day with Elain.

Elain, who was mated to Lucien, but made her affections for your mate abundantly clear before your mateship. As far as you had known, Azriel had shut down her affections when the bond snapped for you both, but now you’re reconsidering everything that you know.

Had they been sneaking around? Is this the first time? Does Lucien know?

The questions swirl in your mind, and Azriel puts his foot in the door begore you can slam it on him, your emotions swirling inside of his chest.

“Baby-“

“You spent the day with Elain?” You spat, “you were late because of Elain? You reek of her, Az!”

You push against the door, trying to shut him out, but he doesn’t budge, he won’t pull his foot out of the way, no matter how much it hurts.

“Baby, no let me explain-“

You laugh, “what’s there to explain? You are covered in her scent.”

The tears start pouring again, and the shadow starts wiping them up, more of them coming through the door to console you.

He starts panicking. Things with Elain have been great the past few years - her distance from Azriel allowing any lingering feelings of lust or awkwardness to dissipate, allowing the two of them to have a cordial friendship. Despite this, he was aware of how insecure you were around her.

You could never grasp why he’d want to be with you when he could have been with her.

Panic laces his tone as he tells you, “baby, no, I went to Elain’s to bake you a cake! We’ve been working all week on a recipe for you!”

You stop pushing so hard against the door, your movements stilling. An invitation for him to continue talking, but to stay where he was and not try to come in further.

“We spent the day baking you a cake. I laid down on her couch, and you know how damning that thing is. Lucien was there all day. I fell asleep waiting for the cake to cool so I could frost it. They must have left because-“

He pauses, his words rushing from his mouth, afraid you’d shut him out before they made their way to you. “I-they had me promise not to tell anyone, but Elain’s pregnant and they left for an appointment with Madja. They got back not too long ago, waking me up. I came straight here, forgetting the cake and your gifts.”

You lift your eyes to look at him for the first time and you know he’s telling you the truth.

“Gifts? Plural?”

A laugh breaks out from him, your obvious attempt to diffuse the situation. He pushes his hair back with a hand, and you finally take in how messy it was. He clearly had rushed over here, if it’s wind-blown look was anything to go off of. “I got you these incredible books that I spent ages tracking down. I was in Day earlier this week to pick them up.”

You perk up at that, “but you hate going to Day alone because Helion begs you to-“

“Then I had to stop by the jeweler’s.”

You perk up at that, your love of jewelry rivaling Amren’s.

“The jeweler’s?”

He smiles faintly, hoping he’s slowly convincing you to let him in.

“I had Winston take part of one of my siphons to make you a necklace.”

You still at that.

“Your- your siphon?”

He smiles softly, “yeah, I’ve been talking with him for years on how to best remove a piece to make you a matching necklace.”

You narrow your eyes, “years?”

“Yes, my love. We’ve gone through probably dozens of unused syphons to figure out the best method, he finally figured it out a few months ago.”

His hand taps his chest, where one of his siphons usually sits.

“I had a bit chiseled off of the one that stays on my chest.”

Your resolve crumbles, seinging open the door and launching yourself into his arms. He holds you tightly, and the two of you just stand there, enjoying the embrace.

The clock chines downstairs, but this time it’s tune is one of love, not dread.

You smelled him again, and as prominent as Elain’s scent was, you also picked up strong hints of Lucien and a soft, delicate scent.

“So nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened. And nothing ever will happen.”

Your eyes are lined with tears, pulling back from him, you place your hands on his face, bringing his face level with yours.

“If anything did happen, or ever happens, I’ll skin you alive.”

“My love, I think if I were to ever do anything to break your heart, Nesta would put my heart on a platter.”

You giggle, and he hums out, “actually I’m not sure who’d get to me first - Cassian or Nesta.”

Your soft giggles soothe the erratic beating of Azriel’s heart, “Gwyn and Emerie might take a chunk out too.”

He pushes the strands of hair away from your face, guiding the two of you further into the toom so he can shut the door.

“Let’s assume that if I did anything to hurt you, there would be a long line of fae coming to hunt me down.”

He kisses you, quickly pecking your lips several times as he guided you backwards until your knees hit your bed.

“However I did leave my mate all alone on our anniversary.”

He crawls on top of you, kissing your neck as you close your eyes at the contact, “and I am very good at groveling.”

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar writing #azriel x y/n #azriel angst

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obsessivevoidkitten · 7 months

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Getting Thrashed

Female Alpha Yandere x Male Omega Reader (CW: Noncon/dubcon, heat cycles, scent kink, pheromones, non-traditional a/b/o dynamics, NO mpreg, enslaved reader, conquered society, general yandere behavior, teasing, biting, claiming, space pirates) Word Count: 3.4k (WOW, sorry that took so long. I started off writing fast because I loved the idea then lost motivation halfway through. Hope you guys enjoy the second female yandere fic I have written and the first one I have written with smut. Also first fic I have written where the reader penetrates the yandere.)

Your day on the space colony of Nithyal started out like any other. You diligently did your assigned work of farming a wide array of essential foods for the colony.

It was pretty vigorous manual labor, but you didn't mind. You rather enjoyed the scent of fresh soil and ripe fruits.

And you were fairly compensated. Everyone was in Nithyal. After all, the colony was on the planet Solstan. And it wasn't called a paradise world for nothing. The weather was agreeable, there were few dangerous animals, and everyone lived harmoniously. No homelessness, no corruption, no hunger, no violence. You were very grateful to live in such a place.

Especially since you were an omega.

Many generations ago, human fertility was greatly diminishing. In a bid to save the species, there were numerous fertility experiments.

One of the most extreme experiments that altered human DNA and psychology the most resulted in two new variants of humans: Alphas and Omegas.

They were both given extreme fertility, but what good is being fertile if you just end up with a barren partner?

So they were both given heightened olfactory senses, with omegas being given genes to produce pheromones that alphas were attracted to and vice versa.

They were also capable of quickly forming intense bonds with their romantic/sexual interests.

But the biggest difference from unaltered humans was that alphas entered ruts and omegas had heats. These periods of ultra high libido were to make sure they were compelled to procreate.

The gene editing was not without unintended consequences.

Alphas tended to be larger, stronger, and more aggressive than normal people, and omegas had a tendency to be smaller and a bit more submissive.

Alphas also tended to be possessive and jealous, even going so far as almost always needing to mark their mate with a permanent bite.

These behavioral concerns lead to the discontinuation of the program. Specifically, concerns about omegas maintaining their agency when faced with such forceful alphas that could easily sniff them out.

Human fertility was restored through more refined gene editing later, with suppressants being developed for the humans already altered and their descendants so they could mask themselves.

Heats and ruts were only partly suppressed, though and it wasn't too hard for someone to discover who was an omega when their life was put on hold in a predictable pattern once every few months.

It wasn't ideal, since most people hated such altered humans.

But Nithyal was different. Everyone just cared about each other and didn't bother with any judgement.

There was no better place in the galaxy.

That was... until the dark day that a pirate fleet came from the deepest reaches of known space to upend everything.

They were called The Eternal Eclipse. And they certainly eclipsed any joy you found in Nithyal.

Your people tried to mount a defense, fighting bravely with the few ships and ground to air weapons that were available, but given their numbers there was no chance of victory.

Your colony was pretty isolated from the rest of civilization so once conquered there was little chance of liberation.

They quickly killed or at least maimed anyone who tried to fight back or organize a rebellion.

The colonists had become little more than slaves.

Many continued the hard labors they had before, with more demand to support the new ruling population, others were forced into personal servitude for the higher up pirates, and a decent chunk of the population became personal fuck toys.

At first, when the pirates had gathered up all of the colonists to assign them their fates, you were mercifully going to continue the work that you had already been doing.

But unfortunately you somehow caught the eye of Thrash and for some reason she had taken a liking to you. So instead of cultivating plants, you were forced to be by her side all day as a simple servant. This probably wouldn’t have been too bad if the violent leader didn’t happen to be, against all odds, an alpha.

You had never met one before but you could tell right away. Her scent, her attitude, the fact that she was larger and stronger than most adult men. She had hair like fire and an energy and attitude to match.

At first you were worried that she had pegged you for an omega, but she gave no indication that she knew. You were in constant fear that your omega nature would be discovered. It wasn't unheard of for omegas to be brutally raped, sold to far off black markets, or even just outright killed. Surely if she had known you wouldn’t just be a personal slave.

It seemed that your suppressants were enough to completely hide yourself from her, and you had a huge supply of them. Though you knew for a fact that once your heat started, your pheromones would poke through. And you’d also be rather horny. Maybe you could feign illness and cover yourself in perfume?

That was probably your best bet. Though you hoped no one would notice that you got ill like clockwork. Luckily you still had plenty of time until your next heat.

Working for Thrash wasn’t too physically demanding, you just had to clean up after her, prepare meals, and do little odd tasks like deliver a note or something to one of her subordinates. You actually got a lot of down time between tasks… though you always had to stay nearby in case Thrash needed something.

The overworked farmers would have surely enjoyed such a relatively cushy work detail, but it was absolute hell for you. It was like walking on eggshells, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Thrash hadn’t treated you poorly, never hit you. But you had no idea how an omega would be treated.

It was especially scary when she decided to tease you, just because she enjoyed watching you squirm.

When she licked your neck in the cafeteria in front of all her dining pirate crew she cackled at how your face turned red and you got as still as a statue as your brain shut down. You were terrified that she could smell or even taste the omega on your skin.

Thrash didn’t really know why but something in her made her love flustering you. She just couldn’t help it. She had always enjoyed making men uncomfortable or putting them in their place, but you were a bit different. It wasn’t like it was with her male pirate colleagues, where she strove to be the best and made them obey her. No, this was different, seeing your face turn red made her hungry for more.

One night she dismissed you with a smack on the ass and let you go to bed while she stayed up drinking with her best buddies. You felt humiliated and rushed off to your room, which was one that was in the house she had claimed for herself in case she needed you for something she wanted you close by. You were really like a live-in maid.

You tidied up a few things before washing up and going to bed, still embarrassed about having your butt touched in public. Despite that you managed to go to sleep pretty quickly.

Though a few hours later a very drunk Thrash comes stumbling in drunk. You wake up with a jolt and nearly jump out of your bed as a strong arm wraps around your waste and firmly pulls you close.

“Mmm where ya goin cutie? Ya need to stay close to yer alpha!”

She lightly grinded into you for a moment, her crotch against your ass before stopping and nuzzling into your neck.

“Thr-Thrash… uh… I think you accident-”

She shushed you by licking your neck and nibbling a bit. You went still as stone. If she broke the skin the special enzymes in her alpha saliva would cause you to have a permanent mark. Fortunately that didn’t happen, instead remaining content with sloppy kisses, sucking, and gentle nibbling.

You couldn’t help but let out a series of little whimpering moans at the sensation. You also became aware of just how nice she smelled. So dominant. Kinda… safe…

She chuckled at your noises.

“Haha, you’re practically a tiny defenseless omega!”

That made you shake the thoughts and distractions from your mind. This woman was not safe. She stole your home and turned you into a glorified slave. If she knew what you were she’d sell you to the highest bidder!

Luckily after that comment she had passed out in a drunken stupor.

You managed to extricate yourself from her grasp before scrambling to get to the restroom. You had to double check to make sure that the bites that Thrash had so kindly applied to your neck had not broken the skin, luckily they hadn’t.

But you still looked absolutely horrible. Your neck was covered in little hickeys, your hair was a mess, and you were so shaky from the rude awakening that you could barely stand.

Something about looking so debauched made your cock hard. Maybe it was because you had her alpha stink all over you or maybe it was something to do with the bites all over your neck. Maybe it was just because you weren’t used to the attention.

It didn’t matter why the result was the same, you had to do something about this almost painful arousal. And the scent that clung to you.

As you got in the shower you gave your cock the attention it was demanding, thinking filthy and shameful thoughts about Thrash. You tried to pleasure yourself to other thoughts but your mind kept drifting back to the oppressor of your people and the way she smelled as she bit and drooled all over your neck.

You couldn’t spill until you imagined her leaving a permanent claiming bite on your neck.

After your shower you felt dirtier than you had before you got in. You reminded yourself that you hated Thrash and that she and her crew had done to upend the lives of you and your people. It wasn’t your fault she made you aroused. What omega wouldn’t have been after that?

After you got dressed and left the bathroom you wrapped your spare blanket around you and slept in the chair in the corner of the room, you would have rather not been in the same room as the drunk alpha, but you had nowhere else you could go.

When Thrash woke up she found you sleeping soundly in the room and it took her a moment to realize she wasn’t in her room. She must have kicked you out of your bed. She did feel kinda bad about it, but she figured you would live. She was the one with the massive headache.

She went back to her quarters, leaving you to sleep a bit longer.

When you woke up you found her, thankfully gone, you wrapped a scarf around yourself to hide your neck, the weather was cool lately so no one should give a second thought to you wearing one. Then you left to start your day of servitude as you did everyday.

Unfortunately for you, you had to accompany her as she went on one of the landed ships to see what the problem was with it since she had originally been a mechanic and engineer. It was very hot in the engine room.

“How are you wearing that scarf? It’s so hot in here.” The heat wasn’t the only problem you were dealing with, she was sweating and only wearing a tank top, allowing her musk to practically smother you.

It didn’t really take all that long for you to get more than a bit dizzy and flustered. And once you were, it took even less time for Thrash to notice, she often kept an overprotective eye on you, though you had rarely noticed.

She came stomping over and looked down at you.

“I told you it was too hot for that! You’re gonna get sick dumbass! Take it off and let’s go outside for some fresh air.”

You fidgeted under her gaze and mumbled that you were okay.

When you didn’t take it off immediately she growled, jerked you over to her, and yanked it off of you.

She stared wide-eyed at your neck, not remembering having put the marks there herself the night before. And she was fucking livid.

“When the fuck did you hook up with someone, you fucking slut!? You belong to ME and I didn’t give you any permission for that shit!”

The enraged alpha slapped you hard across the cheek, making you yelp and stumble to the ground. You were sobbing and could scarcely manage to croak any words out.

“I-i d-d-didn’t l-let anyone d-do-”

Had one of her men defiled you against your will? Defiled HER slave?

“Tell me who did it!! I’ll cut their dick off and shove it up their own ass!”

Her eyes were like a cats, narrow slits. Your naturally submissive instincts told you to put your head down and obey anything the near feral alpha might demand of you.

“Y-you were dr-dr-drunk and b-bit me last night…”

Tears were leaking down your face. If you had not been on suppressants your scent would surely be one of fear mixed with pheromones to calm down this beast.

That’s right, she had woken up with a bad hangover in your room...

Thrash stared at you, at this tiny crying man in front of her, crying and terrified. She felt awful, and she didn’t often feel bad about her actions. She was a pirate, but for some reason she just didn’t like seeing you suffer at all. Certainly not because of her.

“Fuck… I’m… sorry…” She managed to say as she knelt down and rubbed your back.

“I really have no memory of last night...”

The large powerful woman picked you up easily, with your head nuzzled into her neck, crying into her.

“C’mon crybaby, let’s get you cooled off, I’ll deal with this engine later~”

She carried you carefully back to your room in the housing building, collecting odd looks as she did, which she quickly got rid of with a glare each time.

Thrash placed you into your bed and felt your head with the back of her hand. Despite not having the scarf, having been exposed to the cool outside air on the way over here, and now being in an air conditioned room you were hotter than ever.

Your mind was getting foggier and when she left to go get a cool rag and some medicine from the bathroom you finally realized why you were so hot. You were entering heat. The neck stimulation and all of Thrash’s dominant behavior over you must have somehow triggered an early one.

You had to leave before she came back and smelled it. It would only be a matter of moments before the smell broke through your suppressants.

Something in your brain was telling you to just stay there and let your alpha come back and take care of you, but the other much more grounded in reality part of your brain was telling you you had to hide in a utility closet somewhere and deal with the consequences of your absenteeism later. Better than being sold off or raped by every pirate who wants to try out an omega.

Right then you really wished suppressants just completely eliminated heats completely instead of just diluting them a bit.

Right after you had that thought Thrash entered the room and saw you standing by the door, you saw her hand had a bottle of pills. Though her search in your medicine cabinet yielded no fever reducers she found something else hidden away under your sink. Your suppressants.

And then your scent hit her. It was dulled by your medication, but she was an alpha unused to omega pheromones in any capacity.

She growled low and her pupils were like slits as her stare bored into you angrily.

“You’re MY property! And you’re keeping secrets from ME!?”

Before you could stumble out the door she charged at you, picked you up and slammed you down on the bed a bit harder than she had intended. You looked away, unable to meet her domineering and angry gaze. Your only response was to instinctively whimper in submission to placate her rage.

Thrash sniffed you, inhaling your scent from your underarm to your neck. You leaned your head over to give her easier access and show that you submitted to her will. You were terrified and she could certainly smell it.

Some of her drool dripped onto your neck as she hovered above it, licking you tentatively to calm you down. She was going to bite you and make you into her personal fuck toy and mate, she was mad that you had hidden your nature from her, but she would never hurt you.

Thrash sucked and nibbled at the gland in your neck, with you gracing her ears with a new whimpering gasp or moan each time she touched the sensitive spot.

Your terror evaporated quickly, replaced by heat fueled desire. And if you were honest with yourself maybe not all of the yearning was born from your heat.

The lust filled alpha couldn’t help but inhale your scent over and over, it was literally a drug for her. She had already wanted to fuck you into oblivion even before she got a whiff of you in heat, but now there was no stopping herself. Already she couldn’t wait to drink in your smell during your next heat when your suppressants were out of your system.

She made a mental note to flush them after this.

The pirate rubbed your crotch, palming at your erection, getting you even more aroused before she bit your neck. Hard. Her fangs pumping into you something that would make you smell claimed to any other alphas and leaving a large permanent hickey on that portion of your neck.

You moaned out loud in painful pleasure, arching your back and thrusting your clothed arousal into her hand.

Thrash licked your bleeding wound and then turned her attention to your cock and her own pleasure.

You could only stare and writhe in need as she pulled away from you and took off her clothes.

“Gimme a second, I just need to get our clothes off!”

It was the first time you had seen her breasts. You were in awe of this figure above you. So strong and assertive. So beautiful. A perfect partner.

To her you were the beautiful one. So sweet and pretty and perfect put in your place below her.

She practically ripped your clothing off and buried herself back in your neck as she brought herself down on you, enveloping your entire length in the warmth of her cunt. Her hands pushed down your shoulders as she rode you.

Your pleasured moans mixed with her grunts and growls as she fucked you until you saw stars. Your first orgasm was really quick, and was not nearly enough for either of you. Another perk of heats, insatiable libido.

With each of her downward movements you thrust upwards, desperate to get as deep as possible, the scent of her aroused pheromones combined with your heat making you absolutely unable to care about anything else.

You didn’t care that she had conquered your people or that she controlled them. In this state it only made her stronger in your eyes. A more suitable mate. You wanted to fill her up with so many babies.

The sex lasted hours, until the both of you were too sore to keep moving. It finally ended with you clinging to her and using her tits as a pillow with her arm wrapped around your protectively.

When the fog of pheromones and heat left your brain you were horrified by what had happened. But if you weren’t owned by her before, the new mark on your neck meant you certainly were now, and she would never let you go.

#Female Yandere x Male Reader #Male Reader #yandere omegaverse #Yandere a/b/o #Yandere scenarios #Alpha Female x Omega Male Reader #Omega Male Reader #yandere girlfriend #My OCs #My OC Thrash

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yumeka-sxf · 26 days

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I try to stay away from negative topics, but after hearing talk on social media yesterday and seeing this post from @such-a-downer, I just had to give my two cents about the complaints regarding yesterday's chapter being "another short mission" and that Endo is somehow being "lazy" or whatever.

I honestly don't understand this mentality of criticizing manga-ka, or any artists really, because they aren't delivering by whatever standards you personally think are appropriate. To me, it just seems like entitlement because Endo has no obligation to cater to any specific fan's wants. This is his story to tell the way he wants, and his characters to develop at the pace he deems fit. This isn't a business contract where we're paying him to deliver content we want every two weeks without fail. If I'm consuming the fruits of someone's creative labor for free, I certainly feel no right to complain if sometimes their content isn't what I wanted or expected. I'm fine with that because 1) I know it's what they (the creator) wanted/needed at the time, and 2) even if a particular chapter wasn't my cup of tea, I know other fellow fans out there somewhere are enjoying the heck out of it, and that's cool!

We also have to remember that SxF is basically a one-man show. If Endo is busy or sick or whatever, it's not like he can have someone fill in for him to write and draw the series. That's what a hiatus is for, that's what making a short chapter instead of a longer one is for...that's how artists should be treated so they don't get burned out and stressed. Plus, art shouldn't be rushed. Any artist knows that there are times when you have trouble coming up with ideas and maybe need a little extra time to develop a more complex section of the story. To immediately jump to conclusions that he's lazy or doesn't know what he's doing is ridiculous. Maybe he didn't feel good for a few days, maybe he's been busy with other SxF events, maybe he just needed more time to get a particular future arc developed, or maybe he just has basic IRL obligations to take care of like we all do...you don't know what's going on in his life, so don't make assumptions.

Another thing to keep in mind is that it's literally impossible to please every fan. One of the comments I read for example, someone was ready to drop the series because we haven't seen much of Yor in "a while." All I could think of was "didn't she just have a pretty big role only four chapters ago when they went to the ski resort?" Plus she was the star of chapter 91, which was less than ten chapters ago. So according to this person's standards, four chapters without seeing a particular character is "too long"? What if it was only three chapters, would that be acceptable? It's not right to push our own personal standards of a series' pacing as the "correct" way: some people want to see more of character X while someone else wants to see more of subplot Y, so should both complain that the manga-ka isn't doing right whenever they focus on something else? I'm not saying you shouldn't make criticisms of a manga-ka's work, but the criticisms should come from within the narrative itself, not superficial things like chapters focusing on subplots/characters you don't want to see or not having enough "plot-advancing" content when it's not a plot-focused series.

People who have read SxF up to this point should know the general flow of the chapters: mostly slice-of-life episodic, with more plot-heavy, intense arcs once in a while, like the cruise arc and bus arc. It's an ensemble series that spends most of its chapters focused on at least one of the Forgers, but occasionally other characters here and there. That's how the series has been for years and will likely continue to be. So if you keep complaining because you only like the dramatic story arcs and not the "nothing happens" episodic chapters, then maybe the series just isn't for you. It's totally fine if that's the case, but don't act like Endo is doing something wrong because he's not providing the particular thing you want in his story.

To summarize, Endo has no obligation to cater to particular fans' standards, just as we have no obligation to keep reading his work if we don't like it. But being a fan to me means respecting the creator's pace and vision even if it's not always what I personally want. I can find something to enjoy in every chapter because I'm a fan of SxF, not a fan of one particular aspect of it. But I also will not complain every time my tastes aren't being catered to and will simply occupy myself with other things while I wait. What's the big hurry, after all? I'm in no rush for SxF to wrap up its plot and I'm glad Endo isn't rushing either.

And that's all I'm gonna say about this topic, lol. On a happier note, I'm going to finally see Code White on Thursday! 😁 More to come later~

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers #sxf spoilers

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salembutnotthecat · 6 months

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first emeto fic, kind of nervous!

tw for emeto, sickness, fever,nausea

Please, please, please...

She didn't know what she was expecting.

In an ironic turn of events, through everything she had endured specifically over the last four years, trying to mess with a keyring that had at least seven keys, as well as a car key and a little keychain figure that Willow got her for her birthday, with only one hand seemed to be the one thing that would take her out.

Her other hand was pressed tightly against her mouth as her stomach churned. She gagged, shuddered, and did everything she could to not throw up right there.

The cold wind whipped through Vanessa's disheveled hair, causing a shiver to run down her spine. She cursed under her breath, feeling the weight of the keyring in her clammy hand. The metallic jangle seemed to mock her as she desperately fumbled with the keys, each one refusing to slide smoothly into the lock.

A more intense wave of nausea surged through her, and Vanessa clenched her jaw, determined not to let the contents of her uneasy stomach escape prematurely. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, a combination of feverish chills and the physical exertion of trying to unlock the door.

Her vision blurred for a moment, and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The keyring slipped from her trembling fingers, clattering against the pavement.

Vanessa panicked. Panicked.

Willow's car was in the driveway still. Maybe that was a good sign.

Vanessa slammed her freed hand on the door, begging her body to hold on until the door opened.

It was seven in the morning. Mrs. Cortez would be bringing eight year old Mia out to wait for the bus in five minutes. Ten at best. Vanessa didn't want to vomit in front of the poor girl, or her mother. That would certainly give off a bad impression.

"Jesus Chri-" Willow started, yawning as she opened the door.

Vanessa shoved her roommate to the side, bolting for the bathroom.

The taste of bile lingered in Vanessa's mouth as she rushed past Willow, who stumbled backward in surprise. The bathroom door swung open, and Vanessa barely had time to close it before the violent upheaval began.

She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, hard, the impact letting everything go with just barely enough time to lift the toilet seat.

"Vanessa," Willow was knocking at the door, "What's going on?"

Waves of nausea continued to grip Vanessa, each one more intense than the last. She clung to the cool porcelain, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Her stomach rebelled, seemingly determined to expel every last trace of discomfort.

"Oh, god, that sounds violent," Willow said. Vanessa felt the door hit her foot as Willow let herself in her bathroom.

Willow pulled the hair that had fallen out of Vanessa's ponytail away from her roommates face with one hand.

Vanessa heaved, hard. She could feel whatever was in her stomach come halfway up her throat, before going back down and making her heave twice as hard.

"Okay, okay," Willow said, "Here, stand a little."

Willow pulled her roommate to her feet.

"Brace against the back of the toilet, hands here," Willow guided Vanessa to lean into the tank, pressing her hands to the lid, "The gravity should help your stomach-" Sure enough, Vanessa heaved, a torrent of vomit barely staying contained in the porcelain bowl. And another, and another.

A fourth one, and a shaking Vanessa collapsed back to her knees, forcing out the last of what would come up. For now, at least.

"Good, good," Willow said, clicking her tongue and rubbing Vanessa's back as the security guard gasped for breath.

"Are you on your gastro rotation?" Vanessa asked, spitting into the toilet before grabbing some toilet paper to wipe her mouth before flushing the disgusting mess in the toilet.

Vanessa closed the toilet lid, sitting on top, sighing and running her hand back over her face and ultimately brushing her hair back.

"It was two weeks ago, I'm on labor and delivery now," Willow said, "But, i'm almost done. Then I graduate."

"What are you going to do?" Vanessa asked.

Small talk. Right now, Vanessa needed the small talk.

"Well, I like labor and delivery," Willow said, grabbing a washcloth and running it under cold water, pressing it on Vanessa's forehead, "But I think I'll stay in the emergency room for now. Can I get you anything?"

Vanessa managed to shake her head weakly, unable to form words.

"I have a shift today," Willow said, "Would you care to just sleep on the couch until I get back? I might be a nursing student, but I do not want to come home and do emergency work on you because you decided to leave your room which I know you would."

"Honestly," Vanessa said, "I probably would've needed you to drag me up there, even if I hadn't thrown up."

"Are your pajamas still on your floor?" Willow asked.

"Probably," Vanessa said, "I could just sleep in-"

"Yeah, no," Willow said, "I'm putting your uniform in a disinfectant load. And I'll probably spray the disinfectant you bought all over your room."

"Fine," Vanessa said, "While you do that, I'm going to the kitchen to get some water, rinse out my mouth."

"Grab the designated bucket," Willow said, "It's-"

"Under the sink," Vanessa said, "And a very violent lime green which is a little on the nose for a bucket set aside specifically to throw up in."

"That's why I got it," Willow said, stepping out of the bathroom.

There's a noise, distant at first, that pulls Vanessa out of sleep.

Vanessa moaned, pushing soaking wet blonde locks off her cheek, leaving her hand on her face. She could feel the fever and she was soaked. Definitely sweating.

The living room was bathed in a strange orange glow, the tv was off, and the house was quiet.

Then the noise. Her phone. It was on the side table.

Vanessa grabbed it, barely making out the caller ID.

Delaney Richards. Missed call from Elijah.

"Shit..." Vanessa mumbled, clearing her throat before answering. Except clearing her throat made her stomach turn over. She swallowed.

“Hello?” Vanessa asked, hoping she didn’t sound too bad. It would just be a few moments…

“Can you work tonight?” Delaney asked, “I know you aren’t supposed to but Vivien could use you. Elijah and I have to fly out a day early to our next premier. We could send her to your place too so you don’t have to make the drive.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, send her,” Vanessa said, half out of it, “As long as you don’t mind my roommate. But I can have her sign something. She’s a nursing student at St. James’s downtown… so she probably won’t see much of Vivien anyway.”

“No need to sign something,” Delaney said, “We’ll pay double rate since it’s so last minute.”

The other line disconnected before Vanessa could deny it. She sighed, lying back down. She would get up in a few minutes and try to get ready… just… a few minutes.

There’s knocking at the door suddenly. Vanessa moaned.

She would have yelled for Willow to use her key, but after this morning, she couldn’t really be mad at her.

Vanessa stood, walking to the door. But the sudden shift in position and movement made Vanessa feel worse.

Vanessa gagged halfway to the door. A careful hand covering her mouth. Vanessa paused, taking a deep breath.

She got to the door. Gagging again. This one triggered a second, and a third.

Vanessa unlocked the door, hitting it as a signal that it was in fact unlocked, before dashing to the bathroom again.

The door opened as Vanessa got there. She heaved, hard. She felt something chunky and slimy clinging to her hand.

She stumbled in front of the toilet, heaving.

“Oh, god,” someone yelped. The door clicked shut.

Heels clicked the floor, a fast walk toward the bathroom.

A smell of cherry blossom perfume hit Vanessa, making the security guard throw up even harder.

“Oh, Ness,” someone said, manicured nails lightly scratching Vanessa’s back, “Get it up… get it up.”

Vanessa nodded, heaving all the harder as her stomach tried to empty itself. A hand lightly rubbed Vanessa’s turmoil-ridden stomach, making Vanessa’s stomach purge a torrent of vomit, and then another, and another. Each round thick and abundant, making Vanessa gasp between waves.

Another. Another. And then, spit. Three rounds of gagging up spit. Dry heaving for… well, Vanessa wasn’t sure.

Vanessa stumbled back against the wall, sliding down to the floor and wrapping her arms tightly around her abdomen.

“Oh my god Ness…” Vivien said, tucking her hair to one side and kneeling in front of Vanessa, “What… what happened?”

“I.. don’t feel go… feel..” Vanessa heaved, leaning forward and spitting into the toilet.

Vivien pulled Vanessa’s hair back.

Vanessa shook her head, brushing Vivien’s hand away.

“I’ve been sick since I got home,” Vanessa mumbled, “Why are you here..?”

“Mom and dad… sorry, your bosses,” Vivien said, “They need to leave today instead of tomorrow. Delaney called and said you said it was fine if I came here so you didnt have to drive…”

“Oh right,” Vanessa said, “I’m sorry…”

“You’ve seen me vomit so many times,” Vivien shrugged, “This is fine. Tell you what… how about I help you to bed and we can watch that movie I wanted to show you?”

“Yeah…” Vanessa said, “But… I think… I think I’ll need the bucket…”

“Clearly,” Vivien said, helping Vanessa stand, “Come on…”

#emetophilia #emeto tw #emeto #emeto fic #vomiting #vomit tw #emeto cw #vomit cw #first fic pls be nice #or constructive criticism

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auphelia · 2 months

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Memento Mori - Chapter 1

*Super nice banner once I make it*

One tragedy never arrives alone Two crows never a bore Three meetings never a coincidence Doubt takes root when one decision comes at a price no one could hope to pay. And when praying and pleading with the divine does nothing to dull the ache, it's only natural that curious eyes will look to other means. When an opportunity at redemption presents itself in the shape of a Harbinger, you're all too willing to cast aside reservations and take him up on his word. Dottore laughs in the face of adversity, yet all he can manage with his newest research assistant is a burning rage gnawing away as everything is derailed. Info/tags: Il Dottore x fem reader, research assistant!reader, nuisances to lovers, eventual angst, eventual smut, eventual ending, fem reader with backstory and personality, possibly not very likeable MC, mostly canon compliant, former amurta student reader, slow burn, tags subject to change as I write MDNI - I mean it

The evenings in Sumeru had always been breathtaking, the serenity as the sun settled provided a constant in the busy city. Golden light streamed through the canopy, bathing everything in a warmth that lingered throughout the serene nights. The bustling sounds from the bazaar barely reached your ears as you leaned against the side of one of the little pavilions scattered outside The Akademiya. Your fingers were deftly working to pick apart the flower in your hand, ripping petals out and letting them fall to the ground.

Suspended.

"As if that old fool even has the authority to issue such an order," your voice came out louder than intended, the few students still scattered around the gardens no doubt glancing in your direction. You slumped forward for a moment, focusing on breathing through it as you hoped no one would approach.

It wasn't like you'd hurt anyone or broken any rules. The Akademiya technically had nothing stating someone couldn't use themselves as a subject. Getting the clearance to conduct human studies was a long and tedious process, especially with how busy the sages seemed lately. All of that valuable time could be much better spent on research into cures and remedies for other ailments.

It had certainly been a bit of a careless decision to inject yourself with something you knew was harmful. Your fingers squashed the center of the flower, it's petals strewn about the ground. But honestly, you'd had it under control. You couldn't help but grin to yourself as you toss the naked stem aside.

The antidote you'd made had worked flawlessly, ridding your body of the toxin within mere minutes. It didn't contain any pricey ingredients, and creating it wasn't as labor intensive as you'd feared, overall it was the most satisfying result you'd managed to produce after obtaining your degree. White light danced across the inside of your eyelids as your palms pressed firmly against your closed eyes.

Progress would always sit at the outskirts of acceptability, the moral consensus always shifting to accommodate what turned out to be useful. At least this held true to some degree, some boundaries were not to be crossed, not even in the name of advancement. The six cardinal sins flashed through your mind, the words beaten into your consciousness in every class you'd followed.

You shifted slightly, leaning back to lay on the soft grass. The stained glass mosaics in the top of the pavilion created a swirling display of colors, the sight almost too much as your eyes closed. Was the act of making medicine not conflicting with one of the sins if taken in it's purest form? Bringing life to that which would've otherwise perished, surely it could be argued that anything could be conflicting with the Sages' views if they willed it enough.

The thought made bile rise in your throat, maybe if things had been different, the rules a little more loose… A sigh escaped your lips, it was most likely a system established by Greater Lord Rukkhadevata when she was still around. And questioning the God of Wisdom seemed like a foolish endeavor. Especially when your mind felt all but clear.

There wasn't any real reason for you to stay, lingering behind was only bringing about thoughts of new experiments to plan, mind already working tirelessly to figure out the next medical problem to throw yourself at. The groan you let out as you got on your feet was downright pitiful, hands massaging your lower back. Doubt bubbled right beneath the surface, your next move from here completely up in the air.

It wasn't exactly a matter of lacking options, it had been almost a full year since you'd taken more than two days off. Shops passed by in a blur, chatter and all the tantalizing scent blending together to provide a dull background to the thoughts amassing in your head. They were pressing uncomfortably behind your eyes, throbbing with every step you took, only becoming more evident as you reached the outskirts of the city.

The door creaked on it's hinges as you pushed it open, crossing the threshold into the modest apartment. The corridor was always dark these days, the door to the adjoining room on your right remaining closed out of sheer reluctance to touch it. Your fingertips grazed the wall as you pushed straight ahead to the living room, convincing yourself as so many times before that nothing good would come from lingering.

The couch was soft, phantom warmth still lingering in the pillows and blankets that had been carelessly thrown around. Eyelids already heavy from exhaustion, you chanced a look at the opposite wall, goosebumps already spreading before the image was fully formed. Same as always, two picture frames. Two diplomas.

You removed your glasses, willing the lines to blur before you turned away, as if that would somehow erase the knowledge. A heavy sigh left your lips, tears stinging the corner of your eyes before you could bury your head into the plush fabric below. Keeping them on the wall was stupid, but your mother had insisted. Teeth sunk into the pillow as the memory of hanging them flooded your mind.

There was a soft thud as a pillow collided with the wall, your body shaking in time with the wooden frames. The scream you'd let out was still ringing in your ears, foreign and ugly.

"I can't look mum and dad in the eyes like this," every word felt like glass, throat constricting a little further with each syllable that passed.

"But there's no reason to stay as long as they won't let me into the lab," the words stung more than expected when they passed your own lips. The reality beginning to settle.

Your profe- employer, had forced you to take at least a week away, insisting that it would be beneficial for everyone. You could only scoff at the thought, as if he wasn't partially responsible for this in the first place, always urging his students towards perfection. He was a fool if he thought a mindset like that would just vanish once the degree was obtained.

Not bothering to eat or move from the couch, thoughts about possible solutions began to form. There were too many variables with this, even without taking social obligations into consideration. Turning to lay face down helped a bit, blissful darkness enveloping your senses. Feeling unable to justify to friends and colleagues that a week as a shut-in would be good meant you'd have to leave. Being unable to tell family about this meant you had nowhere proper to go. It'd have to be either somewhere secluded or foreign, and risking a trip to somewhere new seemed silly with only one week available.

As sleep began to settle, thoughts of locating old hiking gear, packing food, and something to make camp took your mind back to the time you'd spent as a student. Field trips were always the highlight of the year, a small hope blossoming that this might still be the case. Memories of vast caverns filled with glowing fungi merged brought to mind a hulking colossus made from moss and vines, it's leather boots adorned with yellow crystals as it trudged on. Everything soon turned to nothingness as sleep claimed you, the Archon's gift granting peaceful darkness as the fantasy was forgotten alongside the rest of your dreams.

#Memento Mori series #il dottore x reader #il dottore genshin #il dottore #zandik x reader #genshin impact

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super-earths-liberations · 26 days

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Super Earth vs. Star Wars (Pt. 1)

Alright, it begins.

And it begins in the middle of the Clone Wars. The Republic and CIS forces are evenly matched at this point and trading blows. Both sides are utilizing their preferred strategies to break the stalemate: mass droid deployment versus versatile clone counterattack.

But both sides have to pause for a moment when they detect an unknown power surge to the galactic south. Neither side has any clue what it could mean, but it bears investigation. After all, the enemy might have developed a new weapon or warship over there.

So the Republic sends a single ship led by some random, no-name jedi alongside their compliment of clone troopers to an unsettled planet in nowhere space. Only its a little more settled than the records indicate. There are research and observation stations littered across the planet's surface.

So this jedi is comparing and contrasting the scanner's results to the records' discrepancies. But they can only do this for so long before another ship enters the system, and worse yet, it's a separatist ship. It takes only five minutes before that ship scrambles strike craft. No choice, then; time to engage.

Both ships trade shots, and clone fighters engage in intense dog fights with a swarm of relentless droids. It's an even fight until the jedi leads a risky boarding action onto the enemy vessel, sabotaging the guns pounding into their ship. Without the means to deal equal damage to the Republic ship, the CIS ship is whittled down to scrap metal. The droid strike craft are swiftly swatted by the remaining fighters aided by point defense guns.

Now taking a minute catch their breath, the jedi takes stock of their options. The engines are shot, and their shields are down, but their communications array is still intact. Thank goodness for that, at least.

So they send back a request for aid, but continue the investigation in the meantime. It appears the settlers on this planet are simple farmers and laborers, with a few uniformed scientists and guards wondering around. Deeming it safe enough, the jedi leads a small team to make contact with these people.

Initial contact goes well, but it's odd. The humans are agreeable enough. They smile and offer peaceful greetings. Still, the stilted way they talk about "freedom" and "liberty" rubs them the wrong way. The longer the talks continue, the more certain they are that this "Super Earth" isn't as friendly as they claim. But hey, it's not their problem. They learn that the power surges the Republic detected were likely Super Earth's ships making jumps into the system.

So they're about to wrap it up into a neat little report. The power surges were just the result of a new, neutral power expanding in the system. It certainly isn't the separatists building planet-crackers or something.

And then it goes horribly wrong when another ship enters the system. Well, a fleet. Of droids. Turns out the CIS are sore losers, and they'll do anything to get some payback. Even better, there's a jedi cut off from support, so getting rid of them will be worth the effort.

The jedi's ship is dead in space, and there's no way it can mount effective resistance with only half the remaining pilots from the previous fight. And with ten ships packed with droids ready to kill them all, there's not much choice: they have to abandon the ship.

Escape pods and transports are swiftly loaded with all the personnel and supplies they can carry. They make planet side and fortify the best they can. With their ship in orbit on autopilot and sending a looping distress call back to the Republic, they bought just enough time to get all their troopers down almost unmolested. Now it's just a matter of holding out until reinforcements can arrive.

It does not go well. The clone troopers are outnumbered fifty to one, and lack the armored fighting vehicles that their adversaries have. The zone of control shrinks by the hour as these machines press ceaselessly forward. The only positives they have are the presence of the jedi leading them and the support of the hapless Super Earth citizens that were unfortunately in the crossfire.

On that first point, having a jedi leading the occasional counter-assault on the droids slows their advance a little. Numerous tanks and super battle droid columns get taken out before they can seriously threaten the defenders, but there are always more where they came from.

On the other hand, their Super Earth allies are surprisingly effective against the standard battle droids. The clone troopers were initially skeptical of their lower-tech weapons, only capable of firing solid munitions, but their bullets could tear right through them. In fact, their guns were more effective than the clones' blasters.

Since blasters are so much more prevalent than solid slug weapons, most armors are made with deflecting thermal energy in mind. The chassis of the battle droids is no exception, as they were built to withstand a small amount of blaster fire before breaking. This leaves them slightly vulnerable to kinetic weapons, like the Liberator or the Break-Action Shotgun.

But it's all for naught, as the numbers advantage is simply too great to over come. Before long, grenades become scarce. Ammunition runs low. Fatigue sets in. Time is running out, and the defenders are quickly losing hope as more improvised positions get overrun by relentless droids.

During one lull in the fighting, a radio crackles to life with a message from orbit. Super Earth's Ministry of Defense announces the arrival of a liberation fleet to their system; Helldivers are on the way.

The clone troopers stand bemused as they watch the citizens perk up with renewed vigor. One of them even whoops and hollers as he runs straight out of the defenses to spread the word to others. Were the Helldivers really that special to them?

Time would tell, but it didn't seem like they had it. The troopers still manning the barricades were pushing past their limits, using looted droid blasters just to keep the fight going. A dozen troopers stood behind overturned vending machines and hastily erected sandbags in a grisly shootout with over a hundred battle droids. Their swift, accurate shots took out tens of droids, but more kept coming. What incoming fire lacked in accuracy was made up in volume. The air around them shined an angry red as they fought harder than their training ever accounted for.

Yet another wave was depleted, but they couldn't rest now. They took this opportunity to loot more ammo from the fallen droids and rearm themselves. Repositioning and regrouping, they set back up and waited for the next wave.

But the wave didn't come for a while longer than before. They were surprised that it took roughly half an hour for them to come back, and this wave was noticeably smaller than the last. The ensuing fight wasn't easy, but it was the easiest fight of the day. Better yet, once this wave was broken, there wasn't another one. The droids just stopped attacking. What was going on?

The confederates were the first ones to find out. They were confidant in this battle's success. The leaders in charge of the fleet had already kicked back and awaited news of their imminent success. They were so relaxed that they didn't even see the need to direct the army themselves.

So imagine their shock when the sensors came to life with over one hundred ships suddenly in the system. They were not ready for this kind of confrontation.

See, the separatists weren't warriors and generals by trade; they were bankers and merchants. They have no idea how to lead a battle beyond swarming their enemies with overwhelming numbers. So now that the roles were reversed, they were paralyzed with indecision.

This lack of immediate action would cost them, as volleys of cannon fire pounded into their shields. The fighters they scrambled to meet the new fleet could hardly last long enough to reach effective weapons range, as point defense and Atlas Cannon shots took them out with frightening ease.

With their shields down and strike craft depleted, the fleet admirals had to make a quick decision on what to do. If they made planetfall like the jedi's fleet, they could establish some ground defenses and hold out for a lot longer than in space. Hell, they might even succeed at killing the jedi and holding back the new arrivals long enough for the CIS to send reinforcements. But such a recue operation was unlikely, as the battle would likely be considered too costly. This could cut them off from escape and surely lead to their deaths.

On the other hand, they could simply retreat to hyperspace and live to fight another day. This was the safest option, but it would also mean abandoning the massive droid army on the planet. The billions of credits spent building that army would be lost, and so would any credibility they had within the Confederacy.

They chose to flee. They might be embarrassed, but at least they were still alive. Some of these men would return to the Confederacy to continue fighting, but others would take what they had left and flee the war altogether. Their expensive droid army was not as invincible as they thought, and this was simply too harrowing a wake-up call.

The droids on the ground, meanwhile, are busy at work. Those at the front are fighting ferociously, but the ones in the back are setting up mobile bases of operations to keep up with the shrinking battlefield. Little mind is paid to anti-air or stationary defenses. The whole army is slowly crawling forward in pace with their grinding victory.

Spotters see a number of fiery contrails landing a small distance from the formation. They received no word from the fleet above, so there's no intel about what just fell from orbit. The only hint they have is the unidentified ship hanging above their crash site. The decision is made to send a patrol to investigate.

Minutes pass, but the patrol doesn't report back in. The droids would have simply ignored the incident were it not for a frenzied report that an orbital cannon destroyed a mobile command center. Shortly afterwards, a platoon of unidentified human soldiers attacked from the rear, and set up a firing line among the wreckage.

Well, this just became a problem. Droid commanders redirect considerable forces from the front to reinforce the rear. An infantry division reinforced with super battle droids is sent to take care of these guerillas.

The droids surround the group, then begin the advance. This strategy is typically the most useful for them. Blasters have a low rate of fire and lack any kind of penetration, so the first row of droids act like a walking shield for the droids behind them. Combine this with the numbers advantage, and an attack in this style makes an effective hammer blow against most stationary defenses.

The enemies they're fighting here is not using blasters, they have machine guns. The increased rate of fire means the defenders can sweep the droids more effectively, and the penetrating shots can often catch more droids per shot.

So when the droids began their brazen march across an open field, the massed gunfire that met them wiped out huge swaths of their formation. That alone didn't deter them, but a concealed mortar emplacement bombarded them as well. Each impact wiped out a dozen droids and left difficult to traverse craters that only slowed their advance.

The super battle droids fared no better, as magnetically charged shots and powerful sniper rifles picked them off before they could even factor in.

Other soldiers threw designators into the crowd. The nearby droids watched it land with horror, fearing a grenade detonation, but sagged with relief when it only shined a red light into the sky. Relief that was short lived as a trio of aircraft screamed by and dropped scatter bombs wiping them out.

The unexpected decimation they were facing notwithstanding, they still had the numbers advantage, and it got them within engagement range. The droids finally returned fire, to significantly lesser effect. The reloading gunners among the humans could drop back into cover while lighter armed squad mates continued firing off with automatic rifles. This lull in firepower gave the droids the opportunity they needed to close in and take out the gunners.

The ensuing melee brought chaos onto the humans. Each one fought desperately to keep them out, shooting in wild arcs of automatic weapons fire. The railgun operators focused their fire on the remaining supers that breached their defenses. But no matter how deadly they were at the start, the numbers soon began to crush them. A super droid got a lucky shot on the railgun, exploding the rifle in the hands of the unfortunate soldier. A group of droids gunned down a rifleman. Casualties were mounting.

The droids were emboldened by their imminent success. The opening minutes of the battle really had them worried, but in the end, numbers ground through them like it always does.

But their celebration would have to end sooner than they'd like, for airborne transports flew down from orbit with autocannon fire scattering them from the humans' vicinity. The back ranks focused their fire on these vehicles, but the blasters lacked the power needed to break their armor. The humans rallied and pushed back the nearby droids, racing into the landing planes with haste.

In the end, the droids could only pelt the retreating vehicles with ineffectual small arms fire, watching as most of the human fighters fled to fight another day.

This was only technically a victory. The humans were forced to retreat, but at the cost of hundreds of droids, many being supers. The only positive was that they could now refocus their efforts on the clones.

But the commanders who ordered the attack got word from the other command posts; other such attacks were launched across their army. Reports of orbital lasers and explosive barrages decimating huge swaths of their forces sunk any hope they had of an easy victory. Whoever these new arrivals were, they were well prepared for their tanks and heavy infantry. The droid army effectively had no counter for them.

Helldivers were hard at work picking apart the droid army. Once they did enough damage to begin evacuation of their essential personnel, rescue operations were launched to the fortified bunkers where the scientists were pinned. One platoon lands a kilometer from the frontline and punches through the droid besiegers with utmost haste. Once there, they make contact with the trapped Super Earth colonists and an unknown paramilitary force wearing plastic armor.

Well the Helldivers aren't going to scoff at a little extra help, so they call in extraction shuttles and dig in with the defenders. Machine guns and deployed turrets point out, ready to tear apart any droids unfortunate enough to stand at the front of their formation.

And they come in numbers. The clones note that the numbers are far smaller than before, so something must have happened elsewhere. That was good news, because the ensuing fight was downright tolerable compared to the entire rest of the day. Heck, the Helldivers were kicking so much ass that they could take a small break from fighting. They still kept an eye out, though. They were still soldiers of the Republic, after all.

It was during this fight that the jedi and their retinue of commandos returned from a preemptive strike at droid armor. They won a hard fought battle against a suspiciously depleted tank battalion and they were returning for a short rest before their next operation, only to find an active siege that was already handled by new arrivals.

Shuttles landed safely behind their wall of guns, and swiftly departed with the colonists, leaving only the Helldivers and the clones to stand together in a bunker soon bereft of enemies on the attack. Radio calls are made and intel is collected.

The Helldivers, on orders from the Ministry officials in orbit, offer to take the jedi on the next shuttle to the Super Destroyers above. It is here that the jedi makes the first of two choices that saves their life: they explain they need to stay with their army and continue fighting. The Helldivers just nod and leave them behind. There are still plenty of operations needing their attention elsewhere.

While the jedi and their clones consolidate to other defenses, the Super Earth fleet detects another ship entering the fray. Comms light up with a message from a Republic rescue party requesting clearance to perform their mission. The Fleet ponders this for a bit, eventually deciding to allow it, seeing as they have plenty to do planet side as it is.

It doesn't take long for the jedi and clone troopers to evacuate the planet. Soon after their departure, a larger fleet of Super Earth transports and battleships arrive to mop up the remaining droids on the surface. Now that the general infantry are here to carry on the fight, Helldivers can relax and let the battle below conclude with inevitable Super Earth victory.

That leaves the Republic cruiser and the Super Earth fleet staring at each other in space. They're not quite sure what to do with each other, but the Ministry of Truth officer in charge elects to go aboard the Republic cruiser as a diplomat. Why not? They have so many more ships out there that he's in no danger.

So the jedi says a kindly hello, only to be met with a sharp demand for the Republic to surrender to Super Earth. Well, he uses words like "liberate" and "end your tyrannical rule" in a long winded diatribe that firmly places the Republic in an unwarranted villain role.

Imagine the shock this jedi would feel at that. They busted their ass and sacrificed hundreds of clone troopers to protect their citizens. How many close brushes with death did they have just to receive not one word of gratitude?

That dumbass officer should count himself lucky that the jedi temple practices stoicism, or he'd learn firsthand how hard it is to breathe when someone uses his lungs as a telekinetic stress ball. As it stands, the jedi tersely orders the prick to leave the ship. Once he's on the shuttle out, they tepidly order a return to Republic space. They leave at once.

This would be the second decision they made that saved their life, because the Ministry officer was moments away from ordering the fleet to capture them. They escaped just in time to avoid a disastrous naval battle.

Super Earth, meanwhile, watches on with mild disappointment. They wanted to capture the jedi for interrogation, but that opportunity was lost.

But they weren't too mad. After all, they discovered a massive new galaxy filled with exploitable resources and a preexisting populace just waiting to be "utilized". Battle data from the day's events showed that neither side was beyond the armed forces' ability to fight, and both sides were in active conflict with the other.

Their enemies were already divided. All that's left is to conquer.

#helldivers #helldivers 2 #star wars #clone wars #narrative

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bluest-planet · 10 months

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Miguel O'Hara Analysis from a First Gen Latine Perspective; Crab in a Bucket.

Alright, I'm gonna start this by saying this: I am definitely not the most articulated person when it comes to explaining my thoughts. Most of this is just putting my heart on the page by relating what I saw in Miguel's behavior and just one outlook out of many layered analyses.

Anyways, here's my analysis of Miguel O'Hara and how his internalized racism and generational trauma/jealousy stands out to me, especially as a first gen mixed Latine.

Let's lay some groundwork for my perspective first! Hey, you can call me Moonie or Blue. I use it/they pronouns, proud to be queer! I'm a highschool dropout, and both of my parents were immigrants from rural and abusive families. Mexican and Salvadoran/Salvi to be clear. Have lived in poverty my entire life, and been whitewashed and forced to assimilate to keep up appearances for a good chunk of life.

I've heard bits and pieces about Miguel's comic origin, but haven't read them myself so apologies if I get some things wrong. I have seen Spiderverse 5 times so I feel like that's good enough. Anyways here's a story anecdote;

I went to Mexico not that long ago, to learn a trade from some family. Real blue collar, labor intensive, factory work. I was there for a while, and really got to marinate in what it's like to live in a country where you're not the minority anymore. I'm not targeted, I wasn't (entirely) racialized anymore. I was able to explore my family's culture more. Not that I've ever been entirely separated from it. But growing up in a white school where knowing Spanish forces you to go to English classes even though I had proved myself multiple times does something to you.

You assimilate, you're taken away from your culture. Anyone like you. It's lonely. And when you do find someone else like you, even if it's not the same country, but just latine, it's usually a fun experience to share our lives. Like a little secret between us no one else has. But as you grow and see more people, you realize how separate you are from the rest. I can't exactly relate to the latine-american experience (tm) like others do. I don't call myself Mexican or Salvi American, I don't like to. I didn't grow up that way. Ive always preferred to use the first generation. Or child of immigrants.

Miguel O'Hara is a mixed Mexican/Irish man. And from what I've seen; not all that attached to his Mexican identity either. It's made more prevalent in the movie however. He doesn't have a strong accent, he has the high cheekbones and eyes I'd recognize on a cousin. But the strong jawline and sunken face of a mixed man who's certainly not taking care of himself.

He reminds me of my cousins. Or my uncles.

He displayed a familiar rage to my own; lashing out and stressed. But it's got some sinister machismo underlaid in it. When he yells at Miles, all I see is my dad yelling at me, or myself yelling at my dad. Bc anger is the only way we knew how to communicate and express ourselves living under so much scrutiny all the damn time.

Bc yes; the spiderverse is amazingly diverse, and anyone can be the mask. But Miguel obviously doesn't really see it that way. There are exceptions. It's always come off to me how most of the maskless spiders we see have black and brown faces. And while I'm sure it's not all white. The amount of Peter Parkers. I'm sure they are the large majority. Or at least it feels like that.

Maybe he sees the spiders that aren't peters as straddling a thin line. A tenuous canonicity in a sea of Parkers. They don't break canon, but they're outliers. It just reminds me of the few black kids or brown kids I'd see in my white school. Maybe one or two in my own classes. And none of us reached out to each other often. We were left alone.

And left to be scrutinized by our white peers and teachers and school staff.

They might not say anything; but you feel that weight. That gaze on you at all times. I was lucky for being light skinned and ambiguous in my appearance. Some confused me for the few East Asian kids even. A more 'model' minority and free from more gazes able to 'pass'. Miguel is darker, but he's conventionally attractive, tall with straight hair and a sharp jawline instead of short, chubby cheeks, round face and curly hair.

I get praised for being light skinned and largely unblemished, for being skinnier than my siblings and having a more traditionally feminine fashion and hobbies. But my anger, temper, and lack of 'respect' downgrades me. My lack of education? More so.

My uncles would say;

"Well! Since you won't finish school, you might as well get a job wherever you can and support your family!"

"Yes, I'm trying my best, but I don't want to work for pennies and bad hours. A lot of places don't want to compensate me."

"How ungrateful! When we were your age, back in our day none of us were blessed to be in your position! You live in America, where you ungratefully gave up such great education and life! We were lucky to even go to elementary school! Your grandfather had us working in the fields, or fishing instead. And when we could work? We took what we could! It didn't matter if the company treated us right, paid us good, or gave us good hours, we did what we had to for the family! Your generation knows nothing of hard work!"

"But how can you have pride in that? How can you not understand how exploitative that was? Letting them work you like mules and destroy your bodies? Why did you not fight? Why would you want to suffer like that?"

"We know we were not treated right. But we have the guts to do work no one else wants to do! We're men! It's our duty to take pride in providing for the family. We break our bodies for our children and love– your parents did not do the same for you to copy our hardships. But if you won't take that opportunity given to you– then you'll face the consequences and learn your place. The companies will never treat us better; you should've been better sso you wouldn't have to face the same as us."

"So you agree? They won't change and they'll keep exploiting you or anyone else who doesn't exceed great expectations? That these companies are taking advantage of people as desperate as you to get away with it and shrugging off any attempts to unionize and make things better? They're enslaving our people. And you're just going to go along with it? Because that suffering makes you feel prideful, meaningful? Do you really just accept this shitty undeserving position in your life? All because you feel like you deserve it for the outcome of your life you had no control over?"

That is to say. My relatives could not understand why I do not fit their perception of America. Even in Mexico, where although they are poor and the majority; they idolize the US. They boast about working illegally in the US under exploitive companies to bring the mighty American dollar home. They scoff at the notion of unions, government aid and compensation bc they think those that live in the US and work in blue collar jobs are undeserving of the scraps we get for being undereducated or face institutional racism at every corner. Even in their position it reeks of classism. For them the US is a temporary shitty job to work in order to make themselves richer bc the dollar is worth more than the peso. They can't empathize with their struggling relatives across the border bc hey! The US, is amazing. Nevermind it's the exact reason why their own country and many others face the hardships that they do.

They don't realize the internalized racism in their pride. Feeling as if their lack of education and standing makes them only deserving of the worst jobs. That it's the only thing they can do right and are worth for. That anyone who doesn't succeed even after getting a better chance only deserves the same pain in order to uplift someone else's worth and has a chance. You become a lost cause; your only worth is a cog in the system and uphold the status quo. Never to question it, never to try to reach above your station after you missed your chance.

Like crabs in a bucket, they want to drag you down with them. Out of jealousy and misdirected anger. And for not meeting expectations. And for your own good, to learn your place.

Older relatives, and even immigrant parents often become extremely jealous of their children. For getting better lives they tried so hard to secure for them and for having the things they never had; or for not going through their own hardships. So they try to live vicariously through their children. Giving them great expectations to live up to bc they don't know how to compartmentalize all the racist trauma it took for them to get there and the real faceless enemy that put them through it. But their children have faces, their children are theirs– not people but property says America, and Catholic/Christian culture.

Immigrant parents love to pull the card of how indebted their children are to them, guilt trip them with their own pasts and current struggles. God forbid if you try to fight back and question the one authority and control they have over you.

Not all parents of course; But Miguel reflects this too me.

He may be more coded as being whitewashed and excluded from his culture. But he tries to fit in a curated collection he doesn't fit with. He puts up appearances as a strict, competent leader, but since he has an unremovable aspect to him that separates him from the rest- he wasn't bitten, he was mutated with a spider- which everyone makes clear to you.

Everyone makes it clear that you're not white, even when white culture is all you know having been so sanitized, defanged and removed from your own. That you wont ever fit in and must grovel for the rest of your life to make up for it. Even if it's all you've ever known.

Miguel is a spider, but he wasn't bitten so he's not a 'true' spider he tells himself. He's othered as well with what I interpret as unintentional microaggressions.

"He's like a ninja vampire but a good guy."

"you're just gonna have to shut up and trust me, I'm a good guy!" "You don't look like a good guy."

"You're like the only spiderman who isn't funny!"

"Dude are you sure you're even spiderman?"

"You're like a feisty Latina!"

"Wait, you were born here?"

"You don't look Latina!"

"Are you sure you're even Mexican if you can't speak it?"

He uses English more often, and Spanish as a quick add in. English is obviously preferred due to the fact his accent isn't all that strong and uses short repeated words or phrases.

He's violent when he first meets Miles. Throwing a trash can at him, rejecting his food, and admonishing him for something that wasn't necessarily his fault. But he does 'cool down'.

Him throwing the can reminds me of machismo, and how violent Latino men can get. It's a bad stereotype but for the movie- this struck me more as a critique of it. Enforcing some weird dominance and need to be aggressive to follow that weird expectation and allowances but also– it feels in line with who he is.

I have had more than a few rough patches being physically violent to express my anger when I couldn't win something or felt too small and had to lash out to make myself feel heard. Hitting someone, slamming doors, breaking things, yelling, and destroying things. I moved past that stage as I grew older and wasn't a child anymore. But hell. I've don't things I'm not proud of yet can't help because all my life you're told to be the model brown person. To never express rage and seem like the monster everyone is waiting for you to show. To it lies festering until you can use it behind closed doors. Latina girls aren't allowed to be visibly angry like that- and while it's expected from Latino boys, and feared when Latino men express it. Most of the time, we're not allowed to spread anger at all. Otherwise it does make us unreasonable, angry monsters.

You're not allowed to be angry or frustrated. Which only makes it worse.

I'm not excusing his actions. But his rage reminds me of my father or a relative, or even my own lashing out on a younger family member because it's so normalized to do it only to family and the young- the only excusable people to express it at without repercussions.

But then he cools down, he gets quieter, when Peter B walks in. And reminds himself of his audience and a fellow adult.

He then tried to be more rational and explains to Miles what he believes he did wrong. Tries to even relate his own trauma to convince and prep him to not put up a fight when he inevitably tells him the truth of what's to come.

"you can't ask me to just let my dad die!"

"I'm not asking."

It's a familiar emotion. When an adult, a father, a mother, an aunt, an uncle, or even a sibling tells you that something is going to happen whether you like it or not. Enforcing that will onto you for 'your own good.' Or because it's what 'has to happen."

Miguel is jealous of Miles. He got bit, he's more traditional in origin than Miguel, but he won't follow the expectations and 'bright future' he's been set up for. For 'wasting' his chance. A chance Miguel would die for. One similar to his own. As an anomaly that replaced/continued the mantle of spiderman after their original perished.

Because why would Miguel only mess with Miles now, instead of when he had a chance? If he had all this time and knew about him, why wouldn't he just cut the problem from the root earlier? Why would he let Miles live and work so hard just to restrain him for the canon even of his dad dying to pass? Why would he let Miles be this 'Original' Anomaly and run free?

Bc he knows on some level, he's spiderman too. More than he is. Miles still fulfills his position as spiderman in his verse. There's no need for Miguel to kill him or do anything other than make sure the canon still happens in that verse and then never let him escape his own world again. Nor does he likely really want to hurt/kill Miles. Honestly, it seems if Miguel had it his way from the start; Miles would have been left completely alone and isolated from ever knowing about the Spider Society at large and let him be Spiderman of his world. If he didn't know about the society he wouldn't know about the canon even and try to circumvent it and everything would have been smooth.

Bc what happens if Miguel won and kept Miles at HQ? His dad died and he's sent back to being Spiderman forever excluded from HQ? He never tries to get rid of him. And it's obvious; he never did anything to help the 42! Miles' universe beforehand either. Content to just let it be before Miles gets there. It doesn't seem like he has any plans to actually do anything about a verse missing a spiderman so long as it's not destabilizing.

He's mad that now there has to be a spiderman that took the place of one that didn't need to die; but that world still needed a spiderman Miles fulfilled. Now there's one without a spiderman too, but he can't take the spiderman from one world to the other– not when, although it's in shambles, it is still intact. He doesn't need to intervene. He just need to uphold the status quo and never question it.

He's jealous that Miles got to be a more traditional spiderman, but none of the hardship because he feels like Miles didn't do anything to deserve becoming spiderman in the first place. But if he's going to be one, then he better fit his exact mold to make it up to him. To prove he has worth in the cog. Accept the shitty hand he's been dealt and take pride in the awful like he has bc that's the only way to make him feel like he has any worth too anymore.

Miguel tried to rise above his station, he aimed for that better life. And what did it get him? Nothing. Everything was taken away from him. It was just proof by the universe telling him he did not deserve a better life than the shitty one he was dealt. He's just like my uncles, traumatized from working hard for pennies, and thinks he's deserving of it, because he wasn't educated/a traditional spiderman. And that anyone else who doesn't take the better opportunities needs to be taken down with him in shared suffering.

He sees Miles: another mixed kid, optimistic and worthy, confusingly rejecting every opportunity in the face of a little short term pain. Giving it all up bc of one small hiccup. He thinks Miles is ungrateful and greedy, wanting it all; after all he's seen what happens when you try to have it all.

In a twisted way. He thinks having his father die is the lesser evil, the smaller pain. A singular familial death is a small piece to pay for an entire stable universe and the glory spiderman brings. That by showing this reasoning to Miles, not giving him a choice and just enforcing it like he knows better than an ignorant child will save him the pain and effort. He's teaching Miles his internalized racism and trauma. Passing it down to him like it's a survival lesson. Telling him to swallow it like a bitter pill that will make him feel better. He treats Miles like getting bit was a moral failure and that he has to make up for it.

But like me to my Uncles. And Miles to Miguel, he tells him it isn't right. That thinking is wrong. This system isn't my fault. It's a bad system that needs to change so this never happens again. You don't have to suffer to succeed and survive. You don't have to accept scraps when you can reach for the full meal. You have to try for something better, no matter how hard, and fight to make things better.

Don't let sleeping dogs lie. Miguel can wallow for all Miles cares, but he isn't going to let himself lose that same fire for doing what's right and aiming for a life that he wants for himself and his friends that they actually deserve.

Elders let the status quo remain, they often feel like nothing will change, but we can't accept that otherwise nothing will actually get better, never going out of that system that beat them down. Constantly expecting the younger generation to bend to their will and experiences. Miles and Hobie make it a point to show that no, they can put up a fight and they should and shame everyone else for just accepting that false narrative blindly.

There's so much more I could get into but this is long. Like how he contradicts himself to better suit his argument and what not. I have so much to say but this was all what I've been rotating since watching the movie a ton of times. None of this even low-key touched on my issues on how he's viewed and portrayed by fans but- I hope this outlook kinda helps to humanize him? Like. Of course I know he's being unreasonable and violent/aggressive towards a kid. But at the same time, I feel like most people just see him as this angry violent person who is just on some self righteous power trip asshole instead of a complex character and TO ME- a reflection on latine elders and yet also what it's like to grow up whitewashed/undervalued and trying to bestow that trauma to a younger Latino boy as a bad way of teaching a life lesson, to assimilate him. It comes from a bad place of… not love, but just. Wanting to prepare someone for hardship and yet not questioning why he have to deal with that hardship in the first place.

Anyways good night! It's 3:30 am dear God excuse any mistakes I needed this out of my system.

#atsv #atsv analysis #spiderverse analysis #miguel o'hara #miles morales #atsv miguel #blue speaks #blue's analysis #do not clown on my post so help me god i will turn off rb and replies of someone acts stupid #anyways personal hc but Miguel is also aroace and theres nothing u can do about it taking him to the movies cousin time #he was not my initial fave or anything but theres so many uh. bsd takes or just. idk i felt like i had to say my piece on this man from my #own personal experiences #long post #that vibe u get when the family considers you a failureeeee and shares their unwarented advice/opinions #and think they know whats best for youuuuu

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delimeful · 1 year

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helpless (6)

warnings: arguing, anger, mild misunderstandings

The journey was over.

His impromptu employers had reached their goal, a new stretch of forest that was close enough to a town that the humans could make the trip within a day to trade and barter, but far enough that they weren’t likely to have a repeat of what Patton referred to as the “Beary Bad Beartraps” situation.

His work here was done, his job complete, and his payment fulfilled.

And yet, Roman found himself idling around their new campsite long after Logan had pressed a sack heavy with coin into his hands.

“I mean,” he blustered upon receiving the third curious glance from Virgil, who was carefully stringing their more perishable goods up in a tree, “is my job truly done if I haven’t ascertained the danger of the destination? It would be disastrous if something happened before you even properly settled in!”

“Oh, that’s alright, I think your job is done!” Patton chimed in, clearing all the twigs and rocks from the ground where they would soon lay their bedrolls. “You should go now, so you don’t have to travel in the dark!”

Roman’s posture wilted slightly. “I mean, you all clearly have so much to do, I could at least help—,”

“Excellent,” said Logan, who clearly wanted to be sketching Virgil’s web patterns instead, “you can come take over in assembling the raincatcher, then.”

Brightening up immediately, Roman practically bounded over, too glad at an excuse to stay to bother complaining about the manual labor. Logan vanished and reappeared at Virgil’s side with his notebook in short order.

(Across the clearing, Patton’s shoulders went tight and bunched up for a moment before forcibly smoothing out.)

That set the tone for the rest of the week, each morning beginning with Roman stalling his departure for some vaguely-stated reason or another, and Logan easily assigning a portion of the day’s tasks to him. He was a surprisingly deft hand at delegation, Roman noted, for a scholar.

He was also under the false impression that Roman himself had a similar nature, for some strange reason.

Sure, Roman had taken to occasionally following Virgil around in a manner very similar to Logan, and yeah, he maybe spent some of that time pestering the drider for details on whichever monster from his travels jumped to mind, but that didn’t mean he was a nerd.

“It’s certainly refreshing to meet a fellow enthusiast,” Logan said in passing at dinner one evening.

“What?” Roman blurted, startled. “I— I mean, enthusiastic about… defeating them, maybe.”

Between them, Patton stoked the fire perhaps more intensely than strictly required.

Logan leveled an unimpressed look over the lenses of his glasses, rotating one of the skewers over the flames. “I see. The artwork you created based on Virgil’s description of basilisks was purely for destructive purposes, then?”

“You saw that?!” Roman squawked, his face growing hot.

“They were remarkably pictured, for someone who's never seen them. You would make a far superior bestiary illustrator than most I’ve witnessed,” Logan replied, unperturbed.

Roman ran a hand through his hair, and tried to change the subject. “You’ve got to be fair to them, most humans don’t go looking for basilisks, what with the unfortunate side effects.”

There was a concerning silence from Logan, who now seemed more intent on observing his in-progress kabob than ever.

“Logan,” Virgil said, his relaxed lounge turning into the weary tension he always got when one of the others said or did something unwise. “Tell me you didn’t try to track down a species that can kill you with a glance for the express purpose of looking at it?”

Logan cleared his throat. “I prefer not to tell falsehoods to my companions,” he managed, the faintest traces of embarrassment visible.

“Logan,” Virgil repeated, with a sort of agonized exhaustion.

“Oh, come on, Living Bitemare,” Roman interjected, trying to steer the conversation to lighter waters, “he clearly made it out alright, didn’t he?”

The drider dragged his hands over his face, muttering something about that not being the point, but he did seem somewhat appeased by the fact that Logan was right in front of him, safe and sound.

“Don’t call him that,” a voice interjected.

Roman looked up at Patton with surprise.

“Beg your pardon?” he asked, bewildered.

“Stop calling Virgil names,” Patton said, louder this time. He was still sitting, but his hands were clenched at his sides.

He sounded truly upset, and Roman realized that he’d never heard such a tone from the man before.

“Names?” he echoed dumbly for a moment. “Oh— The nicknames! I’m not— I only mean them as a manner of affectionate teasing! They’re not actually mean-spirited.”

There was a beat of silence in which Patton’s expression only darkened, and then—

“They’re not?” Virgil asked quietly, his voice barely more than a low whisper.

Roman wasn’t sure what his face did, but the expression must have been fairly visible, because Virgil’s shoulders lowered slightly.

“Of course not!” he finally managed to find his words, barely resisting the urge to jump to his feet. “They’re simply witticisms, wordplay, whatever I can think of in the moment. It’s a habit of mine, I promise you they aren’t maliciously meant.”

Virgil relaxed further, and after a moment, a small smile appeared on his face.

Roman grinned back, relieved and entirely unbothered by the fangs he could see poking out at the edges of the expression.

“I’m going to sleep,” Patton said, his expression carefully neutral. He rose and walked over to the bedrolls without another word.

There was a long pause, the three left behind exchanging worried glances before the conversation started back up again, more subdued than before.

“Regardless, I was wearing goggles with mirrored lenses, so the risk of looking directly into a basilisk’s gaze was relatively low.”

“And were these goggles tested before you used them in a situation where you would absolutely die if they didn’t work?”

“Well. That is to say…,”

Roman let the conversation roll over him, still staring after Patton.

Something was wrong, and he suspected it started with his own person.

—

The next morning, a quick word to Logan got Roman assigned to help Patton with the laundry, though it earned him a raised eyebrow of skepticism.

“Don’t worry about it,” Roman told him confidently, despite the fact that he had no real idea if this would help. “I’m certain I can get to the bottom of whatever is perturbing our dear Patton!”

The words didn’t seem to reassure Logan as much as he would have liked, but he agreed to the change in duties regardless.

The way Patton’s smile tightened into something almost painful-looking when Roman approached to carry one of the clothes baskets wasn’t promising, but it did prove that Roman was on the right track.

His small talk went almost entirely unreplied to all the way down the hill, and so Roman eventually let them sink into an awkward silence, trying to think of a way to broach the topic of Patton’s mood without offending.

In the end, Patton himself initiated it.

“Are you going to be leaving soon?” he asked with a pale imitation of his usual cheer. “I’m sure that an adventurer such as yourself must have much more exciting things to pursue than laundry.”

Yikes. Roman hadn’t heard the word adventurer spat with such distaste since he’d left home.

“I’m not certain,” he replied honestly. “I— I suppose I could come up with any number of excuses, but truly, I enjoy spending time here.”

“Do you?” Patton’s hands clenched tighter around the bundle of clothes he was swirling in the soapy water of the washbucket.

Roman glanced between the work and Patton’s face apprehensively, a bad feeling beginning to blossom in his gut. He wrung a pair of socks out halfheartedly before continuing.

“Yes, I do. I know I didn’t make the best first impression—,” Patton yanked a pair of overalls from the bucket, the water splattering them both, “—but I’m very fond of spending time here, with you all. I’ll likely feel the stirring of adventure again eventually, but until then, I want… well, I would like to stay here.”

“So, you’ll only leave to go hunt down and destroy monsters,” Patton said, a surprisingly brusque response to his heartfelt request. He was still washing the same pair of overalls. “I’m sure Logan will appreciate the extra pair of hands around here.”

Roman was beginning to sense a theme, here.

“I mean, yes, but…,” He turned to face Patton directly, a frown settling onto his face despite himself. “Look, to be fair to me, most of the monsters I run into want to kill me very much, all the time.”

“Maybe that’s because you tromp into their houses and try to attack them?” Patton bit out, scrubbing a pair of overalls with enough force that Roman was kind of worried about the buttons.

“Not true! Bounties are for when monsters are stealing all the goats or abducting travelers or, in one very weird case, sneaking into houses and tying like seven people’s hair together.” Short hair had become a necessity in that particular town. “That’s the definition of them leaving their houses to go do crimes!”

“Virgil didn’t do any of that!” Any trace of grime on those overalls had been well and truly obliterated by now. “He doesn’t hurt people.”

Roman persisted despite feeling like maybe he was going to be the next victim of that wooden washboard. “I know that now! I’m not going to attack Virgil again, I believe you guys! He’s a nice spiderguy, I’m convinced! We hang out! Why are you so hung up on this?”

Patton kept his head down for a long moment, dunking the spotless overalls underwater to get rid of leftover suds for a moment before wadding the garment up in his hands with sharp, furious motions.

Then, he snapped his head up and threw the ball of sodden cloth directly at him, the makeshift missile impacting against the front of his shirt with a wet splat.

It barely stung, but Roman jerked back in pure startlement so hard he nearly fell over. “Hey!”

“He’s my best friend, and you hurt him.” Patton was glaring now, his eyes shiny and red-rimmed. “He didn’t do anything wrong, and you made him feel like a monster, and you never even apologized!”

“I—,” Roman started automatically, and then abruptly shut his mouth. He’d— Things were fine between him and Virgil! They’d come to an understanding, they’d built trust! Sure, he’d been a jerk at first, but…

A flicker of memory; his hand on the hilt of his sword, his thumb tapping the guard the way he always did when nervous. Looking up to meet Virgil’s eyes and finding a face full of bitter resignation. Full of hurt?

Monsters didn’t usually care about what Roman thought of them.

But Virgil had proven to be the exception to the rule enough times, hadn’t he?

“— what everyone always does, you’re just like them, you only see what you want to see, it’s not right,” Patton was still going, though at some point he’d brought his clenched fists up to his eyes to try and rub the building tears away.

Roman stepped forward, reaching out to grab his hands and pull them down, meeting his eyes with all the sincerity he could muster.

“I understand,” he said solemnly. “I didn’t think of it like that. I’m sorry.”

Patton sniffed, trying to draw his eyebrows into a firmer frown with little success. “I’m not the one—,”

“I’m going to apologize to Virgil, don’t worry,” Roman told him. “But it seems like my behavior hurt you, too.”

Going by the way Patton’s face crumpled, he’d hit the nail right on the head. He pulled the shorter man into a hug, ignoring the dampness of the face against his shoulder.

The shirt was basically one big wet spot at this point, anyhow.

“I forgive you,” Patton said a few minutes later, his voice still slightly clogged up. The arms around him tightened a little bit. “‘M sorry for being mean to you instead of talking about it.”

“We got there eventually!” Roman announced in his grandest voice, making Patton chuckle. “… Do you think I should apologize to Logan?”

Patton snorted. “I think Logan already got his own version of penance from you. He’s been giving you all of his chores since day one.”

“Wait, what?”

#sanders sides fic #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #my writing #writing #fantasy au #spider mention tw #helpless #putting the guys in the conflict resolution machine #aghh. my head hurts

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kabillieu · 5 months

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I am not great at baking because I don’t do it regularly. It’s wild how cooking skills don’t really transfer to baking. But I get a wild hair to try new things sometimes. My big kid really loves cherry flavored things, so I decided to make him a Black Forest cake for his birthday. And then I was sick on his birthday, so I made it today. This was a really labor intensive cake. Everyone thought it was ok. I will almost certainly never make it again, but for a one-off it was fine. And I subbed yogurt for eggs so my baby could have some (though he didn’t want any because he feels pretty sick today) and that worked well, so at least I know how make an eggless cake now.

I don’t know, this wasn’t a failure or a success really. But it was nice to try something new.

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goron-king-darunia · 2 years

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Eggtober 27 Soy Grilled Quail Eggs Clip Studio Paint, Gouache Brush, Gouache Blender, 12 colors, 1 hour. So apparently there are several ways to eat quail eggs in Japan. The raw yolk is a topping for some sushi, which I’ve drawn before, but apparently, you can just straight up stick them on a skewer, roast them, and then just eat those little toasty girls, shell and all. There’s also a slightly more labor intensive version of this that might be a little more palatable to a western audience for whom eating an egg shell is unthinkable (AKA, my picky ass.) You soft boil the little things, carefully pop them out of their shells, marinate them in some soy and other seasonings, skewer them, and toast them on a grill! I liked the look and idea of these MUCH better, so I drew these, even though the ones in the shell would be a bit more identifiable. My sleep schedule has gotten weird again, so I got this one done late, but hey, I’ll probably pop out another one for today before bed, so that should be fine. And if I don’t get to it, Eggtober is chill. No shame in posting a bit late. My only goal was 31 edible eggies to share with the world around the end of October. @quezify certainly won’t blame me for doing these as the whim strikes. Best and chilliest vibes. As ever, the biggest thanks to quezify for beautiful eggs to look at and a chill little art adventure. We’re nearly there and it’s been a blast the whole time. Honestly, even with my one bad day, October’s been the best month of the year for me. It’s hard to let things bother you when you manage to brush teeth and draw an egg every day. Even on days where I don’t do much else productive, I can at the very least say I’ve done self-care and made a good chunk of you all happy every day with an egg or two. Just having something to look at that you made with your own hands is good for the soul. Might even get some prints of these for myself just to have something nice to hang on my walls. I used to hang all my drawings I made when I was a kid on my walls and I haven’t had anything up since we painted. About time to change that, no? 😊

#Eggtober 2022 #Eggtober 27 #my art #quail eggs #roasted quail eggs #soy roasted quail eggs #I've had more productive days this month than usual too #it gets so much easier to write or draw after I've done an egg

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your-local-grubdog · 1 year

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Together in the Storm Chapter 4: Our Corner of The Cloud

Story Summary: Olimar is back home once again, ready to rest and recuperate from everything that had happened. Yet the universe keeps throwing unwanted surprises his way, making rest difficult. He just wants to make his (now rather large) family believe that he’ll be okay. Because he is, for he has to be.

Chapter Summary: Olimar spends some time with his son

Read on Ao3 here!

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As it turned out, getting help wouldn't be so simple.

Rose and Olimar researched the best they could during the few days he was in the hospital. And for the next several days after that, after Olimar got to return home and rest somewhere where he felt more at ease. It shouldn't have been so hard to try. But as it turns out, Hocotate Freight didn't exactly cover therapy in their care plan. And paying it out of pocket was…

They had to stop looking, at least for now, as the process was stressing out Olimar a bit too much. He was now turning his office computer off, planning to not use it at all for a few days. He had to stay away from searching fruitlessly for aid, and he probably could do with less screen time.

"I'm going to go start on dinner, okay hun?" Rose rubbed her husband's shoulders in an effort to calm him as she spoke.

"... A-Alright. I think I'll go lay down."

"Alright." She kissed his forehead. "I'll come get you then."

Olimar nodded, leaning into the gentle touches. He sighed as she walked away, putting himself in a proper posture again. As he tidied up his desk (which it didn't really need, it just made Olimar feel better) he saw the black box again. With a heavy heart, he gently touched it. He had been able to get the files off of the flash drive onto his computer just fine, but an entire ship's AI was a completely different beast. He had no idea how Alph got it on there, and no idea on where to even start with restoring it. It honestly made him anxious, eating him up inside. Was it aware it was in a hard drive, or was it like being asleep? Or more like being in a coma? He knew it didn't have real emotions, but the idea of it being aware and trapped made him feel so guilty.

Maybe he should just ask Alph for some help…

He soon stood up, desperate to stop thinking about the ship and the therapy and money and anything else that caused stress, though he couldn't exactly just do that. He was always, at least, thinking about the golden monster. The bracelet he hid away in his room, taunting him. The injuries he sustained that still pained him. He didn't know what the golden lifeform did to him, exactly. He knew he spent most of his time on the Drake sleeping, same for the hospital. But good Gods did walking hurt now. Well, there was always a mild bit of pain. The kind he assumed to be typical for a man his age with a job as labor intensive as his. But now it was so much more, and he always stayed close to a wall or heavy piece of furniture to lean on for support. Though, he avoided the family shrines. They were barely used, but he wasn't going to risk ruining them. He didn't think he'd fall, he wasn't unstable (at least, he didn't feel like it, but he also wasn't entirely sure what that would feel like), but he was still scared.

He felt almost relieved to reach the stairs. Getting up them was damn near tortuous, but he was thankful to have a railing sturdy enough to put his full weight against without consequence. When he reached the top, though, he couldn't help but wonder if it would've been better to just nap in his recliner downstairs instead. Everything hurt now. Oh well, at least he had plenty of time to rest between now and dinner. As he approached his bedroom, however, his ears flicked. He could hear music from down the hall, certainly from his son's CRTelecaster. He really should take a nap but… oh, he couldn't help himself. Was it too much to ask for some time with his kid? He slowly made his way over to his son's room and gently knocked on the door.

The music immediately stopped. "Oh, uh, come in."

With that permission, Olimar slowly opened the door and smiled at his son. Nova was sitting on the floor, CRTelecaster in front of him. The boy had made the instrument himself over the past year or so, something which Olimar would never stop being proud of. Olimar helped a little, of course, having supplied the electronics that were reused into the instrument and doing a little bit of wiring. Most of it was Nova's work, though. "Mind if I sit with you for a bit? Haven't gotten to hear you play much since you've finished working on that."

Nova paused for a moment. "Sure, you can listen."

"Thanks kiddo." He made his way over to a futon pressed against the left wall, which was currently set up as a couch. It usually was a couch, the only reason Nova had it instead of normal seats was for when Pluto visited. He leaned into it, letting out a slight groan. The futon was far from the most comfortable seat in the house, but it was so much better than standing any longer. Or struggling to sit on the floor... He couldn't help but worry about how winter will go. He'll just have to be better by then, so he can sit with his family around the kotatsu and not in a chair away from them. Hopefully Nova doesn't mind me staying here a while, I really do not wanna get up again… "How's it been going with the CRTelecaster, hm?"

"Alright. Haven't memorized any songs but I can easily read the sheets for them."

"Could you play one?"

Nova nodded. He tapped just a few things on his phone before finding the sheet music for whatever song he had chosen. Soon, the strange electronic noises truly unique to the instrument filled the room. Olimar couldn't help but smile a bit as he hummed to the song. He knew this one, not too well, but it played on the radio often. If Nova was nearby, he'd ask for the song to be turned up. The boy didn't sing the lyrics to it - probably not yet confident in his ability to sing and play at the same time yet - but that was fine.

Olimar could remember when Nova had first asked for some old electronics to make it. Such instruments were very common on Hocotate, had been sense Olimar's great-grandparents were around. It was around that time that interstellar shipment became the most common job on Hocotate, and with it came plenty of opportunities for pilots like Olimar to buy some unused "junk" other planets no longer wanted. Such so-called junk was perfect for making all sorts of things, even musical instruments like the CRTelecaster. Most people made their instruments themselves, and Olimar had wanted to make one himself when he was a kid, but there was no way his father would have let him. Buying one, while possible and not too expensive, was also certainly out of the question.

He was more than happy to let his own son have it, then, and to help him build it. Seeking out more items for it became such a pleasant habit that it was hard to break. At least his son had spare parts now, should something break or he wished to start another project.

Soon the song was over, Nova taking the time to silence the machine. As he did Olimar couldn't help but smile and clap, even more so when his son's response was an unamused glare. "It was really good, though. You've gotten much better."

"T-thanks. It's - it's an easy song to play-"

"Aw, no need to dampen your achievement here. Progress is progress, and it sounds good."

Nova shuffled around awkwardly, though he was smiling a bit. "There's - one song I can sing and play at once. If you'd care to hear… I'd, uh, also like for you to sing with me."

Olimar couldn't help but smirk a bit. "I thought that you hated it when I sing. That you think I'm bad at it."

"Because you are." Nova groaned, his pure bluntness and annoyance getting a hearty laugh out of his father. "I still… want you to, though."

Olimar's chuckles finally faded away. "Aww, of course buddy. If I know it, that is."

"You do. You taught me. It's Our Corner of the Cloud."

Oh, that old work song. Captain Destiny had taught him that one, when he was still but a young mechanic on her crew. Olimar found himself growing heavy as he leaned into the futon more. "Aw, of course buddy. I take it you want to just sing the responses?" It made sense, it'd certainly make it easier for the boy to sing and play at the same time if he had only four lines to worry about.

Nova nodded.

"Ah, alright. I've never sang with instrumentals, just with voices alone, so start the beat and I'll figure out where to start singing as well."

Nova nodded and began to play his CRTelecaster. Olimar bobbed his head to the beat as he tried to get a feel for it. The instrumental stayed simple, a further aid to Nova in learning. Besides, work songs were never really supposed to need or generally have instruments playing along them. Workers were meant to be able to still work while they sang. For pilots and mechanics like himself, it was a way to pass the time, get closer to the crew, and keep morale high. After a few loops of the simple beat, Olimar finally found where and how to start. In a deep voice that he struggled to keep even, he began to sing,

"We've traveled far across the Cloud, Seen every corner of this Galaxy, We'll bring back the supplies we need, To serve our folks back home, A job so hard, it makes us proud."

… Though Olimar couldn't exactly call himself proud of his job. Proud of how far he's come, from janitor to mechanic to captain, sure. But not really of the job itself. At the very least, Nova seemed to be having fun, soon joining in for the response.

"No matter where we may go, Nothing will compare to our Hocotate Our dear home of ice and snow, I swear, we'll be back there someday."

Olimar's ears wiggled a bit. Since when did his son get so good at singing? Nova had always been better than him, but now the kid sounded amazing. Ah, just another thing to be actually proud of.

"Yesterday, a shipment to Koppai Of plastics, metals, and wires For them to make computers so fancy Which we can build into our own ships Stabilizers and navigators letting them fly.

"But no matter where we may go, Nothing will compare to our Hocotate Our dear home of ice and snow, I swear, we'll be back there someday.

"Today, a shipment to Zelace Of gems, silver, and gold For them to make jewelry so pretty Perhaps we'll pick some up for our love And bring a smile to her face!

"As no matter where we may go, Nothing will compare to our Hocotate Our dear home of ice and snow, I swear, we'll be back there someday.

"Tomorrow, a shipment to Baher, Of paints, clay, and marble For them to make art so fine Their cities covered in murals and statues A gorgeous site like no other.

"Yet no matter where we may go, Nothing will compare to our Hocotate Our dear home of ice and snow, I swear, we'll be back there someday.

"Yes no matter where we may go, Nothing will compare to our Hocotate Our dear home of ice and snow, I swear, we'll be back there someday."

When the song was done, Nova looked over to his father with a smile on his face. "Thanks dad, it really does help."

"Ah, no need to thank me. It was fun." A slight stretching of the truth, as Olimar's chest now felt awfully tight from anxiety now, but he did truly enjoy any time spent with his family.

Nova smiled a bit before setting up the CRTelecaster to be put away. As he did that, he asked, "So… when will you be sent on another delivery run?"

That made Olimar pause. He… really wasn't sure. Nor was he sure when he'd return to work period, since he had tasks at the office he did when not piloting a ship. Sacho seemed empathetic to his plight when he first returned. But even though he certainly needed more rest, the boss's empathy grew strained as Olimar took more time to recover. So he probably would be returning to work sooner rather than later. With a sigh he just shook his head. "S-Sorry kiddo, I don't know. Depends on when my body decides to stop hurting." Or when the boss decides he's done waiting for me… "But I think it won't be too long now."

Nova nodded, silent as he put his instrument away. "So what's PNF-404 like?"

"Hm? Oh, same as before." Olimar chuckled awkwardly. "A beautiful, wild planet. Can be a little scary, but with Pikmin I'll be okay. We found tw-"

"But you still got hurt."

That made Olimar flinch a bit. "Ah, well, I… this was a bit different."

Nova just huffed. "I see."

"... We found two new kinds of Pikmin! Rock and winged."

"I know." Nova was now looking through his shelf of games for something. "You've told us that already."

"We also found-"

"And you told us about the crabs." Nova cut him off in a flat tone. "And the new bulborb. And the swarming shear grubs. And seemingly everything you'll actually tell us."

That response made Olimar flinch again. Did he make Nova mad somehow? He… couldn't exactly tell his thirteen year old son about the golden monster. So what else was he supposed to say?

His son eventually sighed when Olimar failed to respond to him. "I'm going to play some games before dinner now."

"Oh - yeah, of course. Have fun kiddo. S-See you at dinner then?"

"Yeah, sure."

Well he sure managed to ruin everything. There wasn't really much he could do about it now though. With a sigh he began to stand up from the futon, only to yelp as a harsh spike of pain shot up from his lower back. He fell back onto the futon, groaning.

"P-Papa?!" Nova was quick to stand up and hury over to him. "W-What happened-?"

"I'm alright, I'm alright." He groaned, though he hardly sounded convincing. "Just, sudden back pain. I think I'll need a few more moments…"

Nova frowned but nodded as he gently sat down next to his father. "H-How did - this happen?"

Olimar shrugged. He honestly didn't know what the monster did to him, given he was knocked out for most of his time there. "Ah, n-not sure buddy. But I'll get my rest in, don't worry. That's all that matters."

Nova huffed, ears leaning back. "You sure you'll get enough time off before you have to work again?"

"I - er…" Olimar's ears leaned back.

When he once again failed to respond, his son let out an agitated groan. "Your boss is a di - jerk. He's a jerk."

"Hey, watch your language now." Olimar teased, poking Nova's nose. Normally he'd get on him a little more for nearly cursing like that, but he couldn't exactly disagree with the boy on the matter.

"Sorry, Papa." Nova mumbled. After a few moments, he hugged his father and said "S-Stay as long as you need."

"Ah, no, I don't wanna intrude-"

"Rest."

The sudden command silenced Olimar as he watched his son pull away and boot up his game console. Well then. He didn't want to worry his son more, though, nor did he really want to risk another pain spike. So he let himself relax a bit as he watched the boy play some adventure game he had. He could feel himself dozing off, which admittedly made him feel a little guilty, but he was just so tired. Nova must have noticed, because suddenly Olimar woke with a jolt as his son explained "I'll wake you when it's dinner time."

"Huh? Oh, t-thanks…"

The last thing Olimar wanted to do was worry anyone, let alone his children. But as he slowly fell asleep he couldn't help but wonder how in the Gods' names he was supposed to do that.

#pikmin #fanfiction #pikmin fanfiction #captain olimar #startouched au #pikmin star touched #borb draws #borb writes #olimar's son

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catsnuggler · 6 months

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vent

There's a part of me that fantasizes about living way back when roads were just dirt paths, and other things were similarly simple. There are many reasons why living back then would be bad, sure, but those would be things I could do that, sure, would be labor-intensive, but I'd know I'd be doing something good, without having to spend loads of time and money to get certified, everybody would have ample work on that job, and, well, I'd have a job. I'm technically the only one of my parents' children that has a degree; technically, I have an AA, though my older sister all but officially has one; but it means diddly-squat.

It's mainly fear from living in a dysfunctional household, though, that has held me back, but I need to change that now. I got a decent start on addressing that fear today, at least, in the form of tidying my room up a bit. It's not much tidier, but I threw away some useless junk, put some things in their proper places, and emptied some boxes. It's a start... even if my brother was gone while I cleaned.

See, my fear is a deep-seated fear of getting in the way. I'm always literally in my dad's way, and I don't want to get in his way any more than I already do by getting a job right before he does, then finding out that our commute needs are at odds; his job would be more important to maintain than my own, but while 5 years of not having a job after quitting my first job after a few months will certainly look bad, that paired with getting a new job that would also last a short time would be a black ball on my resume.

As for the fear regarding my brother, he's in terrible mental health, and I fear that doing anything somewhat too loud, or too quick, too sudden, too unexpected, will set him off, when he's already... off his rocker, don't know a more diplomatic way of putting just where he's at. So, since he spends most of every day pacing just outside of my room, cleaning my room, at least to my fear-addled mind, is inconceivable, because I fear the sound of that task will set him off.

Anyway, while my brother was gone while I cleaned today, I was resolved to clean even if he had still been here. I can't take this existence of metaphorically putting my hands over my throat in a white-knuckled grip to choke myself just so my father and my brother will have air, as if we aren't still in a metaphorical car trunk and on limited oxygen, anyway. Choking myself won't get us out of the trunk. Suppressing my own life in the hope that, if I wait long enough, my family will solve their own problems, which I cannot solve, to a point sufficient that moving my own life forward does not in any way get in their way, is, much as I fear to admit, not the way.

I'm still afraid of getting in the way, though. I often feel my existence is an obstacle to others. My many experiences of being in my father's way do not help, they do not help, they do not fucking help. I've hidden before, I still try to avoid him when I have permission, for the sake of avoiding the possibility of being in his way. The less his way has anything to do with me, the better. I regret all the more, then, that I'm practically his errand boy. My brother's pacing and... I don't know how to politely describe his mannerisms, get in the way of my mental health. My dad is in the way of my mental health. Yet it's drilled into me that if I am in the way of others, it is unforgivable. This has sometimes led me to saying some crazy shit here before, when I've felt that not just I, but anyone resembling me, is in the way by our very existence, and that the world would be better off without us, possibly by forceful disappearance of us. Hopefully, by starting that last sentence the way I did, I've made clear that I do not now believe that, I've just had some terrible episodes at times which were rooted primarily in poor mental health, though secondarily at grief over tragic history and its enduring legacies.

I want my place, wherever it is, yet out of the way, yet not alone, yet... I don't know. I just don't know.

I do need to live, though. I do need to live.

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justatinybunwriting · 2 years

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On the Edge 1

Chapter one: Warmth

There was nothing that Jac wanted more than to slam everything within her reach against the wall. But the energy to do even this was nonexistent.

Clocking out of work could not come soon enough, for Jac was desperate to step as far away from the chocolate factory as fast as her legs could carry her. After kicking a pebble or six, and releasing a long withheld sigh, the young woman was finally able to relax somewhat after a series of long and listless days. She remained ever vigilant for some time afterward, as she quickly traveled by foot and train until she was absolutely certain that the company building was completely out of her range of sight.

She knew the risks going into a work environment like this- operating massive candy making machines alongside giants is labor intensive and always a hazardous business. But until relatively recently, Jac felt right at home at her workplace. She used to believe that she had won the golden ticket, as she loved to help create new confectioneries while getting to sample some giant sized chocolates every day as a bonus "treat."

Though the happier moments were all but a distant memory, despite these events occurring just months prior. Since then, Jac's job had become a hellish and inescapable milieu that she was forced to endure with each passing weekday. Any and every effort to lessen the load off of her shoulders had been met with deafened ears by her superiors, so she gradually stopped speaking out altogether. Despite the deepening shadow that plagued the weight of her problems, she felt she had no other choice than to push through it.

Jac had finally arrived part way to the front of the human district of the city, though she hesitated to step past the entry gate. In these past few days, exhaustion helped to prevent her from achieving anything productive, for she would collapse immediately upon arrival to her apartment. Sleep being her one escape from the reality that was, at this point in time, her every waking moment..

But with barely any positive interaction with another hominid-being in almost a week, the young woman very much wanted for this night to be different. Spending a few hours with at least one good friend would be a splendid opportunity to lift her dampened spirits. And she knew exactly who to call. Sure it ran the risk of getting herself nommed in the process, but it was certainly a better alternative than having to feel guilty about wasting what little precious time she had. She wanted to feel good at least once, dang it!

Jac pulled her phone out and pressed on the first contact that appeared on screen. Despite her repeated attempts however, Richard failed to pick up her call.

'Probably working late shift again...' Jac sighed.

Jac was disinterested in standing in wait for the Wile giant to show up in the wee hours of the morning, so she opted to let herself into his home anyway. She had the key fob installed in her phone after all, so it was only a matter of stepping inside whenever she very well pleased.

So with a hop aboard a monorail that passed through the bustling Beanstalk metropolis, Jac was brought stealthily enough to the neighborhood where Richard's house stood. With no effort whatsoever, she unlocked the door to the human sized entrance and walked in. She was already thinking ahead with plans to dive straight into the oversized chips that were left on the counter. Indeed, the young woman was feeling better just being in the comfort of a safe and familiar abode.

The house was dark as expected, but a simple clapping of the hands caused the lights to flicker to life. What she saw just seconds later caused her jaw to drop. Her utter shock enveloped every part of her body like a raging storm, and when she shot back to focus she had to cover her mouth so not to let out a yelp.

Sprawled on the hard linoleum floor was Richard, his head face down and still in his work uniform. Jac raced to get upclose to her giant friend and instantly dove into action by shuffling her way through the fabric that was blocking his neck. She pressed a hand against a vain, and once she felt the strong and steady rhythm of his beating heart ag allowed the smaller human a sigh of relief like one she has never had. A slight, nasally snore confirmed her suspicions.

Sensing that all was well from what she could gauge, Jac looked at the giant with pity. She sincerely hoped that he didn't collapse on the floor as soon as he stepped foot into the foyer. But then again it did not surprise her.

Jac tutted and shook her head. She barely had the ability to get the Wile to move without screaming into his ear, but that was out of the question. Even if she was less considerate, the human was too tired to budge, and the heat that radiated from the giant's body didn't help matters at all. It reminded Jac of just how sleep deprived she was, and her drowsiness had increased tenfold with each passing minute. Tried as she might, she couldn't keep her head up.

Sure enough, Jac was well on her way to slumber land, nestled against the crane of Richard's neck with the latter none the wiser. It wasn't the most comfortable position in the world, but Jac felt more at home here than she had in her own place for some time. And for that she was internally grateful.

#Promptober #oc: jac #oc: richard #sfw giant #jac in the beanstalk society #bun writes

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