#ive jacked off three times today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shakespeareanwannabe · 4 months

Text

As You Wish, Chapter 2

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister, reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, verbal arguing, swearing, medical misinformation (I did my best y'all), pregnancy

Sharp Memorial Hospital, 12 Years Ago

“Buttercup!”

She gasped as the curtain to her room was drawn back quickly, revealing a stressed-out looking lieutenant and a sheepish looking older brother.

“Jake! I’m okay, I swear…”

“You passed out!” Jake exclaimed, rounding the hospital bed to stand by her side. “And they called Bob?”

She sighed, her fingers tapping anxiously at the tape securing the IV to her arm. “I’ve been here for, like, four months, babe. And it all happened kinda quickly, so I haven’t exactly had a chance to change my emergency contact yet.”

Jake reached out to grip her hand and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Do me a favour and at least add me to that list? I almost had a fucking heart attack when I landed, and Bob told me that you were in the damn hospital.”

Bob pushed his glasses up his nose as she turned her attention to him. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he muttered. “Are you okay, Buttercup?”

She grinned at the begrudging use of the nickname. Ever since Jake had bestowed it upon her that night, it was like her real name ceased to exist. Everyone called her Buttercup, despite Bob’s best efforts.

“I’m fine, you two worrywarts,” she rolled her eyes fondly as Bob scoffed and Jake squeezed her hand more firmly. “I got a little lightheaded at the bar and turned a little too quickly on my barstool. I was only out for like a second, but Penny wouldn’t let it go. Something about Mav being overprotective of his squad or something. She’s somewhere out there—” she motioned vaguely out the curtained doorway. “—filling out paperwork.”

“What were you doing at the bar?” Jake seated himself on the edge of her bed, green eyes turning stern. “You promised me that you were going to take it easy today, remember? I didn’t drag your ass to the doctor yesterday because you said you were “almost over this stupid flu”, and I only agreed because you promised you’d do jack shit today.”

Buttercup pouted at him, crossing her arms as best she could with one arm hosting the IV and Jake not releasing her hand. “I got bored,” she mumbled. “Plus, I thought the quick walk in the sun and fresh air would do me good!”

Jake groaned. “You’ll be the death of me, I swear to god. Next time, at least call someone to go with you.”

“Sure, Jake. I’m sure the Navy will understand you needing to take your girlfriend on a walk,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

“Clearly,” Jake shot back, gesturing around the curtained-off room.

“Alright, easy, you two,” Bob sighed, stepping further into the room. “Seresin, you can’t expect her to wait around for us to do stuff. What do you expect her to do when we get deployed?” Jake’s face fell for a split second before smoothing out into that unflappable mask he had mastered long ago. “And kiddo? Bagman might not show it ever, but he is a human being, which means he can be scared, and I’m pretty sure the news that you landed yourself here scared a decade off him. So, go easy on him, will you?”

She looked at her brother for a moment before sighing, nodding slightly, and turning back to Jake. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be more careful.”

He squeezed it back, lifting their linked hands to press a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m sorry too. I’m not tryin’ to be controlling, I just…I don’t wanna see you hurt.”

Bob huffed and took a step back. “I’m going to go find Penny and see if she needs help with that paperwork.”

“Thanks Bobby,” she smiled softly at him. He winked playfully at her before turning his back and strolling out of the room, tugging the curtain closed behind him.

“What has the doctor said?” Jake brushed his hand over her cheek, tugging her attention back to him. “Any more dizzy spells? Do you need anything?”

“Easy, tiger, one question at a time. The doctor said I was pretty dehydrated from all the vomiting I’ve done over the past couple of days, and that was what probably caused the blackout. But he had a nurse draw some blood and they’re testing to see if it could be anything else.” She rubbed his arm reassuringly. “I’m a little dizzy still, but the fluids are helping. And I’m still pretty nauseated but they don’t want to give me anything until they get the test results back.” Jake nodded, his jaw ticking just once as his eyes raked over her face. “I’m okay, Jake. I promise.”

Buttercup kept up the soft pressure of her hand running up and down his arm until the mask he wore slipped and he sighed deeply. “I’m sorry I was a dick. I just want you to feel better.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry I got snippy.”

“No, you shouldn’t have to apologize. You’re the one in the hospital bed.” His thumb gently rubbed back and forth along the back of her hand. “God, I hate fighting with you though.”

A slow grin tugged at the edges of her lips. “Me too. Especially when I’m stuck in this bed and we can’t make up properly.”

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he leaned in closer. “Don’t tempt me.”

Peals of laughter tumbled from her lips as she angled her head to brush her nose against his. “I don’t suppose a kiss would tide you over, Lieutenant Insatiable?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, darlin’. We’d have to try it out.”

Jake’s lips chased hers as he leaned over her, pushing her back against the flimsy mattress with the force of his kiss. Her tongue traced the seam of his mouth, and she felt a bolt of electricity spark through her body when his mouth stretched into a smile against hers. He linked their fingers together as she deepened the kiss, his free hand coming around to cradle the back of her neck.

“Alright, Miss Floyd, why don’t we go over those test results?”

Jake pulled away as a doctor clad in purple scrubs hustled into the room, her hands rubbing together as the scent of sanitizer wafted over them.

“Hey, doctor. Sorry, we didn’t meet earlier. Lieutenant Jake Seresin,” Jake greeted, his mask sliding back into place as he stretched one arm out to shake her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lieutenant. And it’s nice to meet you as well, Miss Floyd. I’m Dr. Friedman and I’ll be taking over your case,” the woman greeted, shaking his hand before turning to fiddle with some equipment. “I hope you don’t mind; we just have a few more tests to run.”

“N-no, that’s fine…” Buttercup shrugged uneasily. “Did something happen to Dr. Scott? I thought he was the one handling my case today?”

“Dr. Scott is just fine. He got called into an all hands on deck situation and, since I was already working with a regular patient of mine down here in the ED, he passed your case off to me since it falls under my specialty. Do you mind lifting your gown for me, dear?”

As the doctor turned, Jake’s keen green eyes darted between three different things. One, the ultrasound wand in the doctor’s hand. Two, the medieval looking metal device she had placed next to his girlfriend on her bed. And three, the neat white stitching on the breast of her scrubs that read Dr. Laurie Friedman, Doctor of Obstetrics and Gynecology.

“Dr. Friedman?” Jake felt his heart sputter, then race in his chest as he squeezed Buttercup’s hand. “You’re a…I mean, your specialty…” He looked down at Buttercup, but she was staring at the white stitching as well.

“Yes, Lieutenant. As I’m sure Dr. Scott told you, Miss Floyd’s blood and urine tests came back positive for hcG, so he called for an OB consult. Since I was already here, I figured I would pop in and run the tests for him while he’s dealing with the overflow of patients we just received. This will be a little cold, dear,” the doctor soothed, draping a paper towel over Buttercup’s underwear before squeezing the gel onto her stomach. “Now, if the blood and urine tests aren’t lying to us, we should…” She moved the wand around, either obtuse to or completely ignoring the look on her patient’s (and the lieutenant’s) face. “There!”

She turned the screen to face the young couple. “Your blood test confirmed the pregnancy, but the high levels of hcG in your blood gave Dr. Scott pause. There’s baby number one…” she pointed to a tiny speck on the screen. “And there…is baby number two.”

The first week of living in the isolation cabin (affectionately known as ‘The Brig’) was absolute misery. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the water in the lake was cool and clear, and Abby and Charlie could appreciate none of it, stuck as they were doing clean up chores in the kitchen. Amelia had been assigned to supervision duty, which was mostly making sure the girls did less arguing and more cleaning.

The nights were even worse, with the girls either ignoring each other or screaming the cabin down with insults and taunts. Amelia had also spent that first week sleeping on the small stoop of the cabin in a hammock, or, at least, trying to sleep between arguments.

The only reprieve the girls got was when they headed down to the dining hall and got to sit with their friends. Breakfast, lunch and dinner found Charlie loudly complaining to her friend, Ryann, about how unfair the whole situation was, while Abby sat with Max, and Isabelle clear across the dining hall, her friends doing their best to remind her to stay strong, that she was only barred from group activities for another week, that they would try to sneak her back into their cabin in a few weeks when Penny and Amelia had cooled off a bit. Amelia spent mealtimes hiding in her mother’s office, downing headache medication, and trying to talk her mother out of whatever plan she had concocted.

The second week found the girls at an uneasy truce. Chores duty was quiet, but all the work got done. Evenings were dead silent, the girls opting to ignore each other instead of arguing.

Both girls were excited to go back to group activities on Monday, only to open the cabin door that morning to find dark clouds covering the sun, booming thunder in the distance, and rain falling in ice cold sheets.

“I suppose group activities will be cancelled today,” Abby muttered as she turned to grab her raincoat.

“You think Penny and Amelia will let us join our cabins for rainy day activities?” Charlie grumbled as she surveyed the mucky landscape. “Hell, I’d be okay doing outdoor activities in this! I thought this was supposed to show us what our family members go through in the military? I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t cancel a war because of a little rain.”

Abby giggled in spite of herself. “If they did that, there would never have been any wars in England. It’s always raining there.”

“Eww. That must suck.”

“It really does.”

The two girls locked eyes for a moment before quickly looking away.

“She’s still stuck up! You don’t want to be friends with her!” Charlie thought to herself, pulling on her own raincoat.

“She’s rude and uncouth. Anyone worth being friends with would never say such horrible things. Or try to get into a physical fight with you!” Abby breathed as she held the door open for a drenched Amelia.

“Sorry girls, but you’re not going down to the dining hall today. It’s all flooded, so all campers will be eating in their cabins,” Amelia explained quickly, handing them bottles of juice and a tray of fruit and sandwiches. “I’ve gotta get back to keep an eye on everyone. Please, please promise me you’ll get along today? I’ll be back later with lunch and dinner, and I really don’t want to have to clean up any bloodshed.”

“We promise…”

“Thank you!”

The door swung shut behind her as Amelia took off up the path back to the main camp.

“I’m, uh…I’m gonna have my breakfast over here while I read,” Charlie murmured, awkwardly making eye contact before shuffling away to her bed on one side of the room.

Abby nodded, taking her own breakfast over to her bed and staring out the window before pulling out her scrap book.

Amelia popped back in a few hours later, carrying more sandwiches for lunch, surprise colouring her features at the lack of arguing and tension between the campers.

“You two are handling this better than some of the other kids,” she commented, placing the tray down. “I’ll be back around six with dinner, okay?”

Without stopping to hear their response, she turned and dashed back out the door, just as a gust of wind blew the door wide open, sending everything that wasn’t pinned down in the room flying.

“Crap!” Charlie slammed her book shut quickly as the pages started to rustle. Abby squealed as the pictures in the collage she was working on were strewn about wildly, dancing in the wind.

“Help me with the door!” Charlie cried, bolting over to the creaking wooden door and trying to heave it shut. Her fingernails scrabbled against the wood as she tried to get a good grip on the handle as the door strained against her grip, pulling her this way and that.

“Hold on, I’ve got you!” Abby seized the door handle and they leaned all their weight against the door, sighing in relief as they finally heard the faint click as it shut.

“Th-thanks…” Charlie panted, her arms trembling slightly.

“No…no problem,” Abby sagged against the wall. “You looked like you almost had it though. You’re pretty strong.”

Charlie shrugged. “I work on my dad’s ranch. Obviously, I can’t do a lot of the dangerous jobs, but even the easy stuff takes a lot of strength.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Abby offered, sinking to the floor against the wall. “Does your mum help on the ranch too?”

Charlie looked away as she sank to the floor across from her, feeling the anger rise and then fall inside of her, her body too tired to let it take hold. “No…she doesn’t. I…I don’t know who my mom is. It’s just me, my dad, and my uncles,” she admitted quietly.

“Oh…I…I’m sorry,” Abby felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “I didn’t know. But…it’s okay! My mum always says that every family looks different, and it doesn’t affect how much they love each other.”

“Easy for her to say,” Charlie muttered, looping her arms around her legs, and resting her head against her knees.

Abby bit back an angry retort. She was so tired of fighting, mentally exhausted from the constant sparring with her new roommate. Maybe her mum had been right and fighting back wasn’t the way to go.

“She started saying that to me when I was five years old or so. At least, that’s when I think I started asking about my dad. I…I don’t know who he is either.”

Charlie lifted her head, looking at the girl in front of her. “You don’t?”

Abby shook her head. “For as long as I can remember, it’s been me, my mom, my aunt, and my uncle. But not, like, married aunt and uncle. He’s my mom’s brother, and my aunt is his best friend.”

“Oh…” Charlie looked down, biting her lip. “I guess that means my comment about mommy and daddy buying you riding lessons really sucked, huh?”

“It did. But I shouldn’t have called you a cornfed hick, either.” Abby flushed. “I don’t know why I said that. My mom and uncle are from Kansas, so it’s not like they’re from anywhere fancy.”

“Kansas? Then why do you sound so…Downton Abbey?”

Abby giggled. “My mum moved to London when I was just a baby. She says it was just for a job, but I think she wanted to get away from my dad too. Every time I ask about him, she gets really anxious and sad, my Uncle Bob gets really angry, and my Aunt Natasha has to distract everyone. Eventually, I just stopped asking. But she did promise to talk about him when I get home, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed for answers.”

“My dad does the same thing!” Charlie gasped, moving closer. “I ask about my mom and he gets this really sad look in his eyes, then goes into his office for a few hours! Uncle Roo will eventually go drag him out but then we just pretend I never asked. Uncle Javy acts like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t want to hurt my dad, so he just tells me that all my questions will be answered when I get older.”

“I hate that!” Abby shot onto her knees. “I’m almost 12! How much older do they expect me to get?”

“Right?” Charlie copied her kneeling stance. “I swear, if I don’t get answers on October 11th, I’m going to scream!”

Abby fell back on her heels, almost as though the door had been wrenched open again and she’d been blown back by a gust of wind. “Y-your birthday is October 11th?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“So is mine!”

Charlie blinked at her. Then she blinked again. Then, a third time. “I…am going to go back to reading my book.”

Abby’s shoulders rose with the force of her sigh. “Charlie, why do you keep avoiding this? We look completely alike, we have the same birthday, you have a dad, and I have a mom! Do you know what that all adds up to?”

“One hell of a coincidence,” Charlie replied huffily, picking up her book and leafing through the pages to find where she left off.

“Charlie, come on! You can’t actually believe that!”

Abby waited for a response, but all she got was Charlie raising her book to eye level in order to block her from view.

“Charlie? Please, you know there’s more to it than that!”

Charlie rolled over to face the other direction and Abby felt the anger bolt through her at ten thousand volts.

“Stop. Ignoring. Me!” she stomped around to the other side of Charlie’s bed and wrenched the book away from her.

“Hey! Give me that!” Charlie jumped out of bed as Abby ran over to her side of the cabin.

“No! Not until we figure this out!”

“Figure what out?” Charlie groaned. “We don’t look that much alike, single parent households aren’t that rare, and there are like a billion people on this planet, so obviously some are going to share a birthday!”

“Oh, come on! It’s way more than that!”

Charlie stomped over towards her and shook her head, her blond braid whipping around her face. “No. It’s not. Now give me back my book or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll what?” Abby hopped onto her bed and held the book high in the air.

“I’ll…” Charlie lunged and grabbed Abby’s scrapbook from where it had fallen on the floor. “I’ll hold this hostage until you give it back!”

“No!” Abby gasped. “Please, no! That’s important to me!”

Charlie shrugged. “And my book is important to me. I need something to read, so I guess I’ll just have to make do with this.”

Charlie retreated back onto her side of the cabin and flipped the book open to the first page.

“Fine! Here, take it!” Abby yelled, jumping off the bed and racing over to hand her the book. “Just please, give it back!”

Charlie’s hand shook as she pushed her novel off the scrapbook and onto the bed, her fingers tracing the outline of the figures that were smiling from the picture that decorated the first page.

“Charlie?” Abby asked, half desperate to get her scrapbook back and half confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you have a picture of my uncles in your scrapbook?” she whispered.

“What? That’s a picture of my mum, Auntie Nat, and Uncle Bob,” Abby explained, pointing to each person in turn.

“Not them…” Charlie spoke softly, as though even one decibel too loud would shatter her. “Them.” Charlie pointed at two of the figures on the fringe of the photo. One, a moustachioed man in a pair of aviators, and the other a tall black man with a bright smile and an “I Love Las Vegas” baseball cap covering his cropped black hair. “That’s my Uncle Rooster and my Uncle Javy.”

“What?”

Charlie handed the book back before scrambling to her backpack, digging inside to pull out a folder. “This is my favourite picture of my dad and my uncles. My dad doesn’t know I have it though. I found it when I was fooling around with Uncle Javy, and he gave it to me. He made me promise never to tell my dad that I even knew it existed. I…I think it’s from my dad’s wedding to my mom. Uncle Javy made it seem that way, anyway.”

Charlie opened the folder and pulled out her photo. “That’s my dad, and see? There’s Uncle Roo and Uncle Javy.”

Abby’s shaky finger traced over two other figures who had their arms around each other on the other side of ‘Uncle Roo’. “That’s my Uncle Bob and my Aunt Natasha. Auntie Nat gave me my photo a few years ago when I asked about her about Dagger Squad. But she told me not to tell my mom or my uncle about it. She said that they would be upset.”

“There were taken on the same day,” Charlie murmured, her eyes raking over the photo. “See? The lights in the background, the clothes, the people? They’re all the same.”

“You know what this means, right?” Abby whispered, her finger now tracing over Charlie’s photo, her focus solely on the man in the middle, the man that Charlie had called Dad.

“Abby, it can’t…I don’t…” Charlie swallowed painfully.

“Charlie…I think your dad…was married to my mum.”

A door slamming behind them sent a jolt down both their spines and they spun on the bed to face the intruder.

Amelia set the tray of food down and wiped the water off her face with a sigh. “It’s about time you two figured it out.”

Tags List: @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @waltermis @buckysteveloki-me @allepaula @yuckosworld @seresinsbrat @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @kim-stark @cierra715 @high-speed-r @helpmepleasethanks @starsrfun @tomanyfandomstrash @averyhotchner @the-blueatlas @princessliz86 @dashes-dizzydisaster @a-girl-who-loves-disney @boiolay @djs8891 @torimcc @tgmreader @kmc1989 @landpiranha-blog @sydthekid1518 @lynnevanss @hello7442 @mackenzieblair @minejungwoo @starset21 @ssa-sadboi @tgmavericklover @dempy @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @lovemarvelousfics, @starkleila, @magical-spit, @whatislovevavy, @simplyreading96, @vivalas-vega, @itsdesiree86, @inky-sun, @books-are-escapes

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #parent trap au #jake seresin x you #glen powell #as you wish fic #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman fic #hangman x reader

166 notes · View notes

bluejaysandblackbats · 3 months

Text

Catch and Release

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: AU where Jason doesn't die in the explosion and he and Tim end up attending the same high school months later.

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Sebastian Ives, Jack Drake, Janet Drake

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tag: Jason Todd Lives, Jason Todd-centric, POV Jason Todd, POV First Person, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Jason Todd is Not Robin (Anymore), Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred Pennyworth Knows, Stalker Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unlikely Friends, Injury Recovery, Emotional Baggage, Rage, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating

Chapter Three: Timeout

The on-campus suspension wasn't that bad. It beat riding in the car with Dick. I finally managed to stop crying before we got to the school, so I had enough time to hold the icepack in my lunch to my eyes to look normal again. Mr. Ames sent me straight to the counselor's office anyway. The counselor was new, or I didn't recognize him. I sat down and looked around until he tapped on the desk with his pen. "Hey, Jason, I'm Mr. Finney... Can we talk about yesterday?" he asked. "Short-term memory's shot, but I'll give it a try on one condition," I replied. Mr. Finney nodded. "Can you open that window? I'm feeling shut in." I wasn't joking. I hid it well, but I'd developed claustrophobia from the accident. "Of course," Mr. Finney replied as he opened the window for me. "Would you like the door cracked?" I shook my head. "You were saying?" I asked. "Can we talk about the fight yesterday?" Mr. Finney repeated. I nodded. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. "I should've had better control over my feelings," I mumbled. "Jason, what were you feeling at the time?" Mr. Finney asked. The last thing I wanted to talk about was how I felt. "I was just sick of feeling weak," I answered. It wasn't a lie. I didn't have any reason to lie. That was the last substantial thing I contributed to the conversation. He wasn't bad at his job, not by far. I think he knew I'd be shut off. I'd give him nothing but breadcrumbs. "How long have you been claustrophobic?" Mr. Finney asked.

"I started having symptoms in April," I answered, "It's January now. Nine months."

"Because of the accident?" Mr. Finney questioned. I nodded. I shut my eyes as I recalled what it felt like to be trapped between my mother's body and the debris from the explosion. "Jason?" "I'm done talking. I don't-. I'm sorry," I stammered. Once I had the thought in my head, it took a while to push it back down. I squeezed my hands together to stop them from shaking. "Can I go now?" "Sure, Jason... You can go," Mr. Finney replied, and I walked to the designated campus suspension room. I'd never been back there before. I worked on homework while I was there until the lunch bell rang. Alfred made me two chicken wraps for lunch and a cup of pudding. After lunch, Bruce came to talk to Mr. Ames in person. They had a long conversation that resulted in Bruce taking me home early. "What's wrong?" I asked. Bruce shook his head. "Nothing. I want to know what happened between you and Dick this morning," Bruce whispered. I looked out the window. "You can't pick me up early from school to make me apologize," I replied. "What happened?" Bruce asked once more. I didn't want to talk about it. Maybe I should've. It might've helped. "Fine, but that's not why I picked you up early. I almost forgot we had to reschedule your Wednesday for today." "So, nothing on Wednesday?" I asked.

"Ophthalmologist on Wednesday morning and the optometrist right after, but you'll be there for the second half of school," Bruce replied.

"Are my glasses ready?" I asked. "They should be," Bruce answered. Even after my orbital bone fracture healed, I couldn't see well out of my right eye. "But they also want to see if Monday affected your sight." I grew silent. I knew Bruce wanted me to talk about what happened, but I didn't feel like talking about that. "Is Dick gone?" I asked. "No, he's gonna be here until the end of the week," Bruce replied, "Business..." I rolled my eyes. Business. "Don't be like that," Bruce chastised me.

"Be like what? I'm just peachy," I muttered. I knew Bruce was short with me, and I wanted to push him. I just needed him to snap back. "I have a role to play, Jason," Bruce explained. "You have a lot of roles. Hero, philanthropist, businessman, bachelor... Oh, and an involved father. Guess we both forgot that one, huh, Bruce?" I chuckled. Bruce pulled over on the side of the road and pointed his finger in my face before catching himself. "Hope you enjoyed that. That was your last cheap shot, Jason. I'm serious. You're on thin ice," Bruce warned. I grinned. "I've got tons more, though," I joked. "Enough!" Bruce yelled. I grew silent. "Jason, you've been more insufferable now than you've been in months. I'm sick of it. You have until we get to the doctor's to get it together. I get it. I do," Bruce berated me. He'd finally gotten tired of me pushing him. I didn't expect that to be the last straw, though. I shut my mouth and let him drive me to my appointment. I didn't know what to say to him anyway. I got what I wanted, and it was a hollow victory. I didn't have to see my Wednesday doctor, but Bruce made me go to a pulmonologist twice a month after my lung collapsed again during a bout of pneumonia in October. It was painful. The nurse checked me in and asked me a few questions before sending the doctor in. I sat on the hospital bed, staring at her as she checked my breathing for herself. "You got in a fight. Did you experience any shortness of breath?" she asked. The pulmonologist was no-nonsense, and she quickly got to the point. "Nuh-uh," I replied as she let me pull my shirt down. "What about school? Do you have P.E.?" she asked. I shook my head. "Any concerns or changes?" "Nope," I replied. She nodded. "Okay, what's wrong? Not a single joke?" she questioned. "I've told one too many today," I replied, "And today kind of sucked..." She nodded and sent me out to Bruce. Bruce embraced me as soon as I walked out the door. I would've pushed him away any other day, but I needed it then. I hugged back, and he pulled away. "I love you. I don't say it enough," Bruce whispered.

I walked ahead of him so he couldn't see me crying. He wouldn't start the car when we got to the parking lot. "I'm sorry," I mumbled. "You wanna grab a bite to eat before we go home?" Bruce asked. I nodded. I almost felt like myself again, but it didn't last. There was an explosion down the street, and Bruce left me to sort things out. He parked me outside the restaurant, and I ordered food and sat in the car. All the anger and bitterness I had toward him came flooding back. I ate my food in the car and waited until Alfred came to pick me up. "Master Jason-." "It's fine, Alfred... Can we go home now?" I asked. I don't know. Maybe there was no use in trying.

25 notes · View notes

molagboop · 1 month

Text

Life on ZDR, Volume IV: Death and Spirituality

Welcome back to another episode of "What's In My Head(canon)?". Today, I'm talking about dead people and the Chozo who take care of them.

Inheritance isn't the only significance the Ancestors possess, oh no. They play a greater role in the tribe's spiritual beliefs.

Dead people. Who takes care of them?

Corpses. They need to be disposed of! If you're a Mawkin and you've got a body you need handled, chances are, you'll call for the Order of the Cairn.

A coroner from the Order of the Cairn carrying a tell-tale gourd lamp.

These shrouded carrion-seekers are an offshoot of the priesthood dedicated to caring for the deceased. Some parents tell their children that the souls of bad Chozo fuel the light of their lanterns, but it's really just butterfly oil.

Quiet types are usually drawn to the job. They dress dramatically, but they're mostly harmless. Mostly. They wield cudgels, which they occasionally use to swat away hungry scavengers while collecting corpses in remote locations.

Defiling corpses and graves is strictly taboo. In this vein, consuming the flesh of the honored dead without their express consent is an unspeakable crime: only two individuals have ever been punished for it in the tribe's history. One of the offenders was the lich-lord* Shasskal, who believed that he could take on the power of deceased Warlords through ritual consumption of their flesh. Records of this period are poorly managed, but a surviving manuscript holds that Shasskal "compounded these foul blasphemies and bid [the Honored Dead] to his command". His manuscripts were gathered and sealed away with his remains.

Traditional "necromancers" already don't play the rules, but Warrior-Magicians? That's just downright unfair. Necromancers should be scrawny and clever, not skull-crushingly jacked!

*This moniker is derived from a portmanteau of the phrases "zissva malaga kaskri haibar" and "Ninu man cumane oskoro ve elar": roughly "Accursed devourer [of] consecrated flesh" and "[he] who commands [that which] sees no rest" respectively. It's an easy English alternative, in the very least.

And who should keep these records but the Eyes of the Shroud, who are dutifully charged with watching over the Accursed: Mawkin who died in disgrace. If a Mawkin dishonors their tribe, standard procedure is to execute them, cremate the body, then use three quarters of the ashes to fire a ceramic vessel to hold the last of the corpse dust (however, there have been cases where individuals were scorned in this way posthumously). This practice is very much a holdover from the old days, but it is taken very seriously.

Who you are and what you accomplished in life not only affects how you're remembered, but how your remains are interred.

The Ancestors and the Priesthood

Priests are very decorated individuals. The Mawkin value their ancestors, so the individuals who tend to their needs must be honored accordingly.

The Mawkin believe their ancestors persist after death. Not necessarily in an "oo spooky ghost" kind of way, but they're still around. Not that they can't stick around in a spooky ghost kind of way, because they absolutely can; Samus learned this the hard way on Tallon IV. Sometimes, they guide their descendants in minor ways: maybe a leaf in the wind that a grandson may notice, one he happens to be moving the same direction as and leads him towards a benign experience that sets off a chain of events and changes the course of his life for the better. Other times, they send portents of events yet to come and subtly suggest how to circumvent them, no big deal. Sometimes, the message is as simple as "hey, you left the lights on"... though they usually don't pipe up for things that trivial.

The latter of these two brands of message is usually delivered to the priesthood, who spend much of their time inhaling substances that are believed to make them more susceptible to the whims of the departed. They train their entire lives to interpret messages sent by the dead, most of which they "hear" in passing, rather than simply being approached by a dead person for the sole purpose of sending a message (though it can happen). The Ancestors almost never speak directly to people; they suggest what they want through gesture and signs sent in dreams.

No one can agree whether the priests are actually "walking the spiritual plane" or not, but Bird Magic exists (which the Mawkin actively weaponize; their greatest leaders wield huge arm-mounted Bird Magic-powered guns for crying out loud), so the Mawkin don't really question it. It's been done forever, and much of what the priests say is helpful... or at least they haven't yet been egregiously wrong. There have been theses written on what might be happening during this "communion", stacks and stacks of papers documenting the effects of holy compounds on the brain during inhalation, and miles of theories posited by thousands of scholars throughout the course of history. But all conclusions are riddled with conjecture.

Most of what these priests are smoking is burned as incense, usually in a little decorative bowl or lidded pot. The older priests have diffusers which they rig to absolutely saturate the air during rituals. If you're eight years-old, and you're going through the spiritual portion of your first maturity rites, you're bound to sit in a room with an old guy wearing more layers than you've ever seen on a person in your life, breathing in the densest, most cloying air ever to pass through your lungs. Like, "how much of this is even oxygen at this point" thick.

The Mawkin have identified numerous chemical compounds that their priests find useful, and know of ways to synthesize them in a pinch. There are three compounds associated with communication beyond the physical realm:

Mathor Root

This hardy little root opens a priest's mind to the will of the Ancestors. Most days, a priest might burn some mathor and go about their day, perhaps go for a stroll and see whatever signs are sent their way. Vapors from burning mathor are pretty spicy, and the dry, smoky consistency can be difficult for the unacquainted to get past. The root contains hallucinogenic compounds that make colors seem brighter, heighten one's attentiveness to subtle noises, and bolster wakefulness, among other side effects.

A priest who is administering a youth's maturity rites will inhale a bunch of this stuff before the rite actually happens because the substance burned while the kid is in the room induces a state similar to REM sleep, and the waking compounds in mathor dampen the soporific qualities of the dreaming vapor. The priest wants to experience the plane-shattering effects of both substances so they can monitor the fledgling's journey without inserting themself into the narrative.

If the priest needs to intervene, they can, but they're not disrupting the kid by remaining awake. The priest gets to walk around the room feeling subtle vibrations in the air, tasting the colors, and narrating the scene to no one in particular.

That last part is especially useful because the spirits don't usually talk, and when they do, it's especially inaudible to those who aren't "attuned to the spirits", (read: they don't smoke enough of this stuff to know how to perceive the words), so if someone on the other side of the veil has a particularly pertinent message for the kid, the priest's voice in the waking world can help deliver these words to their not-quite-asleep little ears.

Ralis Oil

Speaking of which: ralis oil. The whole fungus can be used here, but the cap of this mushroom contains the highest concentration of the good stuff, especially in younger stalks. When you burn ralis, you'll begin to feel drowsy and descend into a state comparable to lucid dreaming. The hallucinogens will make everything wonkier than your standard dream, and you may encounter the silent spirits of long-dead relatives, but otherwise, it's just as surreal as an ordinary dream.

During a ralis trip, one can be rather easily awakened, as they're not experiencing deep sleep. It is of utmost importance that one under the influence of ralis vapor is not awakened in the middle of their dream unless by a trained priest. Either they ride it out for the duration of their unconsciousness, or you get someone who knows what they're doing to slowly ease them into the waking world. People have died from interruptions; it's not a pretty death.

Ralis is most often diffused during rituals such as the aforementioned rites of maturity, but priests will inhale the fumes if they feel there's something that's trying to be conveyed to them, but can't be effectively communicated through other means. The worst offenders in this regard are the spirits of Warlords long past.

That's right: ralis is most often used to listen to complaints from the Mawkin's dead leaders. But the Greatest of the Mawkin's Ancestors won't just speak to anybody. Sure, they appear in Joe Schmoe's non-drug-induced dreams every now and then, but when they really need to talk, they want to see the high priests or their apprentices: the old hens and rooks who are going blind, losing sensation in their limbs, and are having difficulties ambulating unassisted (All problems that seem to disappear when they fill the room with smoke. These compounds are stiff).

These dream-meetings are immensely sacred events and occur in utter isolation. Not a peep from the outside world is to reach the dreamer's ears, not a single light is to be left on, save for whatever flame is still burning near the source of the fumes or however many candles are required by the circumstance.

Usually, if the Warlord is to hear a message from his predecessors, it's delivered by whichever priest facilitated communication between the Old Ones and the tribe. They'll arrange to see Raven Beak and arrive in full regalia to tell him every last detail of their communication with the old Warlords: what did they see, what did they hear, who was there, were any words spoken, what could they deduce from the encounter, any symbolism, etc.

But if it's not a priest they want, it's the High Lord himself. When the Lord Commander is called to commune with the Ancestors, they are locked in a vault with its own isolated ventilation system behind an 8-inch thick metal door. The accommodations are luxurious, and nobody is allowed in or out until the sacred words have been received. Raven Beak could count the amount of times he's had to lock himself in a dark room with nothing but his thoughts, his smallclothes, and a diffuser for company on four hands. Most of the time, the Ancestors delivered important information. Other times, they're... less than helpful. But that's a tale for another time.

#headcanons #Mawkin #circa 2022 #chozo #if the warrior-magician in the second image looks like they're missing an arm that's because they are #straight up just lost one #leave it to me to take two years to post a headcanon #date of conception: March 24 2022

10 notes · View notes

twilightknight17 · 2 months

Text

Today on P3R, we’re technically covering three play sessions, because I didn’t have time to make a post before Katsucon. But a lot of that was Tartarus, so it’s not actually too much. ^_^

(Katsu pictures are coming at some point.)

Anyway, we’re off to Tartarus to train some and play with the new special attacks we got last time we were here! And get a little higher while we’re at it, so, let’s g--

Oh god oh fuck not you

It’s not the boss version, so it’s fine, but I didn’t think things showed up as enemies until after they were bosses???

The other reason we were in Tartarus was to get black quartz to trade to the guy in Escapade for a discount on fashion glasses. (Is there somewhere that will buy my gemstones? The police station won’t, and I get why, but like… I just have these.)

She looks very nice in those, actually.

Back at school, we’re still having a time. Odagiri of the student council has moved on to accusing the vice president over this one cigarette. And is not being diplomatic about it.

I’m gonna mess up his social link just because I keep not agreeing with him on these things. X’’’D

I’ve also met Keisuke Hiraga of the art club, who is a very good artist, but his dad is a doctor, so he’s also… Very Fussy. XDDDD

I can now hang out with my friends in the dorm, and I still think it’s weird that it calls them social links when I can’t start any of the girls’ links yet, and I can’t actually link with Junpei and Akihiko. I had tea with Mitsuru, though, and watched DVDs with Yukari, read manga with Junpei, and cooked with Akihiko. It’s nice! And some of them do give me stat boosts and items, so that’s cool.

I’m smooth now~

...well, shit. Here we go.

Minato’s theurgy skills are apparently the fusion spells, which you’re allowed to use even when you don’t have the actual personas with you, which is nice. The two I have so far are Orpheus and Apsaras’ Cadenza, and the Jack Bros doing a standup routine, which is cute.

I also got my first introduction to the Reaper. None of these floors really seem large enough to worry about it, so I think this appearance was scripted. Easy enough to get away from, though.

Nice.

Wait, what??? Can it do that??????

Once we found the missing girl, we escorted her back to the entrance, and I kept going til I found the next barrier floor. We’re done for now, so it’s time to go work on some more requests. Liz has a good one here. :D

I love that all the Velvet attendants have a soft spot for Jack Frost.

We also get our first intro to Koromaru!

Apparently he walks himself each day, since his owner at the shrine passed away. He stops for pets, but then carries on with his routine all on his own. He’s such a good dog. T_T

Ikutsuki drags us away from fussing over Koromaru to have a proper SEES meeting. He’s concluded that the Full Moon Shadows we’ve seen so far follow the Arcana from I to IV, and that there should theoretically be eight more, spanning from the Magician to Strength. And if we destroy them all, it will get rid of Tartarus and the Dark Hour, and we will have saved Iwatodai from Apathy Syndrome!

...they are us. There’s not much more we can say, Ikutsuki.

Yeah, let’s go to the mall after that seriousness. We can check out a new social link!

...oh yeah because this won’t go wrong.

School is still kicking my ass because this school is insane. But Junpei gets it, at least.

I can’t spend time with Fuuka unless my courage is badass-level, because apparently her food is just that scary. She wants me to be a badass, Mitsuru wants me to be a genius… Is Yukari gonna want a casanova or something? X’D

And even though Mitsuru wants me to be a genius, she called the police because she thought Junpei’s messy room meant someone had broken in.

And, as my last act before leaving for Katsu, these guys have made their first appearance, executing people in the Dark Hour based on requests on a revenge website. I don’t know how they wake people up from the coffins, but Tattoo Man over here is blasting people with a real gun, so that’s gonna be a problem~

[KATSU INTERMISSION]

I return from my convention, happy and optimistic, and school is immediately still full of bullshit. XD

You know, Keisuke, if you dad doesn’t want you to be an artist, and wants you to take over the hospital, why does he have fancy paintbrushes?

Anyway, Keisuke is about to win an art contest and gain the opportunity to study art abroad. And his dad is actually encouraging him to study abroad, so now he doesn’t know if he wants to do it because he doesn’t want to do what his dad wants. It’s kind of ridiculous, but the Fortune Arcana is all about choices, so… I guess.

We’re also off to fashion club to hang out with Bebe, who is actually surprisingly lovely despite being French. I appreciate his utter weeaboo enthusiasm. But… his aunt passed away unexpectedly, and he doesn’t know if his uncle will support letting him continue to study abroad. So not only is he upset that his aunt is gone, he also might have to leave the country he loves.

Neither were you, dude! It’s okay!

This is not quite NieR Automata levels of “everything is bad”, but things are pretty bad. I mean… people are just leaving the Lost laying on the sidewalks. :/

The Lost are the ones with Apathy Syndrome, but everyone else seems pretty apathetic, too.

I took Elizabeth to Iwatodai Station, and we had a lovely time.

The takoyaki lady can see her, which, don’t worry, ma’am. Just showing my weird cousin around. She won’t tell me what’s in the takoyaki instead of octopus, though, because apparently the knowledge would be detrimental. Which… okay, Liz. Thanks. That’s not worrisome at all.

When last I saw Maiko, she was planning to ask her parents why they were getting a divorce, in the hopes of being able to fix it. Which, not a great plan, but I couldn’t actually stop her. She wants to talk now, though, so we’ll see how that wen--

WHERE IS HE

Maybe we can throw them into Tartarus. Fucking hell. Maiko wants to run away from home so that her parents are forced to work together to find her, and I am NOT allowed to beg Mitsuru to let her stay at the dorm. This sucks so much. She wants me to keep her plan a secret, but good lord. This is going to go so badly.

I go home to stew on my thoughts and play computer games for babies to up my courage.

However that works. X’D

Lastly, I’ve reached my first choice that could potentially reverse a social link, I think?

We commit scandalous hand-holding, and it’s nice. Chihiro clearly has a crush on me, but I don’t know who I want to date, yet. OBVIOUSLY, I have my preference, but since my preference isn’t available, I dunno. Fuuka is nice. Mitsuru is… great, but also SO far out of my league. XDDD

Pharos came back for my one-week full moon reminder, so I guess that’s up next. They keep implying it’s gonna be the Lovers shadow, since couples are passing out and someone mentioned Shirakawa Boulevard, but I thought Hierophant was next.

Ah, well.

#Li plays P3Re #how are the French kid and the elementary schooler my favorite ''official'' social links

7 notes · View notes

cricketnationrise · 6 months

Text

Weekend WIP Around

so. i'm bad at responding to tag games at the best of times. and then i worked 11 days straight and lost all sense of time and space. but! ive had several days off now, my head is screwed on relatively straight again, so here we go. thanks to: @cha-melodius @three-drink-amy @inexplicablymine @affectionatelyrs @dumbpeachjuice @welcometololaland @celaestis1 @indomitable-love @14carrotghoul @rmd-writes @doggernaut @sherryvalli @kiwiana-writes @leaves-of-laurelin and @read-and-write- for the MANY tags over the last two weeks! have some words! 💜🦗

I'm using @welcometololaland's 20 question game for writers and artists (thanks Lola, this is so fun!)

1. WIP List: (from my "Active WIPs" folder otherwise we'd be here 5eva) Game Changer (Noise Boys) Tortall AU [FTH] rwrb assassination attempt AU [FTH] jon/alanna Tortall canon-divergence [FTH] an incomplete list series going platinum sequel jack's off-season wishlist series rwrb kiss-cam omgcp say yes to the dress au

2. Which of your WIPs is currently the longest? Game Changer AU ~2.4k

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up the longest? eventually an incomplete list series since it has the most parts planned, but the going platinum sequel has more than a little potential to explode on me

4. Which WIP is your favourite to write/the most enjoyable to write? Why? I am SUPER enjoying writing the Game Changer AU right now, it's really fun coming up with all the prompts!

5. Which WIP do you find the most intimidating to write? Why? jon/alanna canon-divergence. hands down. it's not a pairing i usually seek out, and i want to write them believably, especially since it's for charity

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why? see above.

7. Which of your WIPs will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why? probably everything on this list will get a beta pass, actually. kiss cam will depend on how long i end up making it/if it actually gets a whole plot XD

8. Have any of your WIPs been struck by the curse of writer's block? jon/alanna has less of a writer's block and more of a starting block, but i'm hopeful that once i figure out the plot the writing will come fairly easily. kiss-cam au I paused on purpose because i was writing The Mummy AU and Going Platinum at the same time and a third wip was driving me crazy.

9. Which WIP has your favourite OC? Tell us about them? none of them have OC's at this time

10. Which WIP is the sexiest? Going Platinum sequel 🤝 Jack's Off-Season Wishlist

11. Which WIP is the angstiest? rwrb assassination attempt AU, for obvious reasons

12. Which WIP has the best characterisation (in your humble opinion)? well, i hope all of them!

13. Which WIP has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)? ditto from above

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on? as of today, Game Changer Tortall AU

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for? Why? Going Platinum sequel. I cut a lot of ideas from the original fic because they didn't make sense with the hiding identities I had going on, so now that they're together, I'm really excited to figure out how alex's job (and henry's support of it) lets their relationship evolve and grow

16. Do you dream about any of your WIPs? not about any of these, but while I was writing the Mummy AU I watched the movie so frequently that I would regularly dream about that one.

17. Do any of your WIPs have particular complexities that your other fics don't? Going Platinum sequel - choreography complications since they still aren't showing their faces on the streams Game Changer Tortall AU - working within the framework of the show itself, possibly coding the whole thing to look like a script

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humour? Game Changer AU for sure.

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process? not right now!

20. Tell us one thing we don't know about one or more of your WIPs. say yes to the dress au - Bitty as Randy, but it's a Nurseydex endgame fic AND a bonus snippet from the Game Changer Tortall fic to make up for all the 6/7 sentences/wip weds i've missed :D

“Tonight’s guests: coming in fresh from a shower: it’s Merric Hollyrose! Looking around for somewhere to tie his horse: Owen Jesslaw! Tallest, oldest, last – and certainly not happy about it – it’s Neal Queenscove! And your host, me! I’ve been here the whole time.” “Welcome to Gamechanger, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Kel Mindelan, and I’m joined today by these three lovely contestants. Now, you all understand how the game works?” Merric shakes his head. “Nope.” “Haven’t the foggiest,” says Owen cheerful as always in the face of the unknown. “You haven’t explained a dratted thing.” Neal pouts and Kel feels the last wisps of nerves melt away in response. Kel knows how to do this – getting Neal to hit peak dramatically grumpy levels is as natural as breathing. She throws Neal a cheeky grin before turning back to the camera. “That’s right! Our players have no idea what game it is that they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing, the only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning, so without further ado – let’s begin.”

Consider this an open tag to play along!

#cricket writes #cricket lives #cricket participates in a tag game both on time and extremely late #hi friends #wip 20 questions #rwrb #tortall #omgcp

16 notes · View notes

delicatebluebirdruins · 1 year

Text

resident evil 7 mia and ethan

can I go on a weird tangent? for a sec? I got reminded today that at some point playing through RE7 and leaving Zoe behind my mind just went blep. In the first hunger games book we hear about a hunting trip that Katniss and Gale went on where they watched two people run for their life one was murdered and the other was captured and there was a line where Katniss and the girl who was captured lock eyes and Katniss says "you never forget the face of the person who was your last hope" after thinking of that I went off on a different thought about Peeta getting hjacked in the last book and programmed to kill Katniss.... and Katniss just not being able to deal with it and everything aka Katniss wasn't qualified to deal with Peeta's hijacking which is a huge minefield.

Much like Ethan with Mia yes Ethan was a ass to Mia but she did chop his hand off with a chainsaw and there is a element of he knew something was rotten with her job (they both say so like Mia at the start of the fucking game "i did lie to you I shouldn't have" and Ethan on the boat after fighting Mia, fighting Mia again; molded; Jack three times and Marge twice and poor deputy anderson was a thing and the clancy chronicles), as Mia's spouse Ethan was suspected of having something to do with her disapearence by the police (something I don't see get brought up often) for who knows how long (depending on the cops it could have been a short amount of time or they could have been so certain they tried to get a false confession when my mental health is shit I watch true crime and one of the videos I watched by Eleanor Neale two parter I think can't remember it but it was one of the many cases she has covered where all cops are bastards) probably from when they realise a ship full of people went missing to their brains catching up and realising how one person miles away can cause a huge ship full of people to disappear

also I love how Ethan says "try" to Mia after she say's she can't and then Evie destroys the boat and draw Mia into the Annabelle and to the tape where she remembers everything clearly. I say clearly because as Mia says she only remembers a little and its a hard difference between reality and halluicantion because Evie made her hallucinate a door not being there

Mia: "Ethan, thank you."

Ethan: "Who the hell else was I going to choose?"

Mia: "Ethan!"

Ethan: Mia, I know you've been through a lot. But we need to talk. You had something to do with all of this, didn't you? Look, I just wanna know the truth."

Mia: "Ethan, I honestly don't remember."

Ethan: "Try!"

"Is that the boat? How the fuck did that get here?"

"You're OK. What the hell was that?"

"What the fuck? What is that? What is that?"

basically how can a traumatised person help another traumatised character when it was bascially a cause and effect, Mia caused Ethans trauma it was the last thing she wanted don't get me wrong but it still happened much like Chris trying to protect Claire by not telling her even a little bit about what happened in the Spencer Mansion. But him not telling her lead her to go too RC.(its also why I think a RE5 remake is so needed because Chris is traumatised as fuck and it doesn't show through much like OG 4 didn't show Leons shit mental health) its basically their traumas going against each other like pinballs (thanks ladyknightthebrave video about Haunting of Hill House for putting that line in my head).

and Mia calling Eveline a little bitch was her both resigning herself to her fate whilst also trying to provoke Evie as she saw it happen with Alan he was infected yes and possibly dying but Evie killed him (also with Alan is when Mia got infected- cutscene death of a friend) and it worked Evie doesn't show up again until Ethan is in the salt mines and when we see Mia again she is hooked up to a IV in the helicopter

#mia winters #resident evil #resident evil 7 #resident evil village #ethan winters #mithan #they deserve to be happy #and to heal #i might add to this #definently about ethan calling evie a little bitch #i just need to think on it #either way #ellie rambles

18 notes · View notes

whump-town · 2 years

Text

Truth

I've been working on and off on this for like months but for some reason today I actually finished it. So here is post-route 66 stuff with Derek, jack, and hotch (jess too!!) 5k words

No pairings, Derek is just babysitting

It’s purely instinctual, all intuition not profiling as she might accuse it to be. He hasn’t asked her any carefully guided questions or watched for behavioral patterns – he just knows. He knows because he knows her as well as she knows him and she doesn’t need profiling to know him. Besides, profiling around a morphine brain is dangerous, laborious work. It clouds his mind with fears and assumptions. Everything looks like anger and disappointment, he learned a long time ago to hold his tongue in hospitals. He can’t really understand how people aren’t mad at him, at the blood that seeps through gauze or tight hot stitches holding his thin skin together. Logically, he knows they’re not mad at him but he meets their eyes and that logic fades into an immediate panic, into gut-rotting fear. And he can only sit with that rot for so long before his sad eyes drag up from where he’s staring passively at the overwashed blanket across his hips to whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Jessica withholds the sigh that attempts to slip so gracefully right between her lips. She’s exhausted even though she hasn’t really done a thing all day. She’s been here, curled up in his visitor’s chair, watching nurses come and go. His face is flush, his breathing agitated from laying here coming in and out of morphine dreams.

She squeezes his hand, “you’re alright, Aaron. You didn’t do anything wrong.” They’ve had this conversation already, three times. He’s being weaned off post-op drugs but they wash over him in tides that leave him either in the pits of dissociation or looking at her with this sad look. “I’m tired,” she bargains in place of a more complicated conversation. “And I know you are, just rest.”

He’s starting to get restless – makes an agitated sound in the back of his throat. He shifts his head around and looks from one half of the room to the other. He does this every few minutes as if searching the dark corners for some invasive but elusive threat. “You should –” his throat is still raw from intubation and he swallows painfully. He clears his throat unsuccessfully, “you should go home.”

Jessica hates the quiet sickness that holds him down, the weakness that comes from being torn open and sustaining only on what can be given to his body through IV. She looks away from him, his eyes have already started drifting as he fights a new wave of exhaustion. His hand is so cold on her own. Its size is large but thin, the skin discolored into a chilled purple and agitated to roughness. The IV sits in his right hand, a clear bandage holding it’s place firmly.

“I’ll go home when you go home.”

It takes three days. He’s in and out of consciousness, coming to on shuddering breaths. He’s tense and miserable in the hospital but nothing can be done. It’s the hospital, Jessica knows, but she can’t take him home alone. She needs someone stronger to help him upright. She could do it on her own, he will stand and fight his way upright, but she needs someone who he’ll let help him. Who is stronger than he is – and while she can best him in stubbornness, she’s not physically strong enough to manhandle him.

Derek steps into the room just after Jess could have really used his help. It’s not his fault, he’s strangely punctual if Aaron’s complaints hold up (but she does suspect he simply choses things to be annoyed with whether they are factual or just dramatized versions of the truth to fit his need).

Jess rolls her eyes as he greets her, her face hidden by her hair as she crouches by the bed and shoves the laces of Aaron’s sneakers down into his shoe. Fucking bastard walking in here after she’s done all the hard stuff, looking like a million dollars with his fashy white smile and muscles. Stupid hot men.

“I’m being discharged,” Hotch informs Derek, curt and to the point. An air of finality about him. Even as he sits here in grey sweat pants he’s owned for twenty years too many and feet dangling over the edge of the bed, the ease in which he slips into SSA Hotchner is transformative. He doesn’t need the clothes to be the agent, it’s this look. This pinched, inquisition that reeks of the impression of time constraint. Like even as he’s looking at you, paying attention to you, you are aware he’s not got all day. Say what you need and be on your way.

Derek smiles, easy and charming. “I know that.”

His eyes flick to Jessica, it’s a quick movement but that’s all Hotch needs. He’s being conspired against. Ganged up on. So much for respect. For fairness. Unjust, cruel. They’re so mean.

“Oh stop pouting,” Jessica reaches out and swats his shoulder, hardly a graze. He’s not. “Scoot to the edge of the bed so Derek can get you in this wheelchair and we can get the hell out of here.”

He’s not pouting.

_____________

Jack finds it slightly mesmerizing.

Sitting in the hallway, leaning into the shadow, Jack watches the small congregation gather tighter around his father. They’re like swarming bees – humming with a dangerous life force, a quick way to get hurt. He hugs his knees a little closer to his chest, tilts just a little so he can see them better but remains where they cannot see him. It must be a genetic thing, a Hotchner thing, to be able to hide away like this. If Hotch could turn it on he certainly would but his defenses are down, drowning in medications and the giant painfully yellow FALL RISK bracelet hugging his wrist. Jack can see it now as Hotch puts up a weak fight, feet dragging as he attempts and fails a sturdier step in the direction of his bedroom. He doesn’t want to sleep on the couch, he’s tired of being watched and being unguarded. He wants his room with his blankets and his black-out curtains. He’s vetoed easily.

Jack watches curiously. His father is so typically casual and in control, seeing him like this is peculiar.

Hotch whines, he certainly grumbles and pouts, as Derek moves his hands from suggestively guiding to moving. Hotch is exhausted, too tired, and too weak to fight Derek’s stronger arms pushing his hips to pivot. “Morgan,” he grumbles, attempting to outrank the other man, but he has such little say in this. His hand tightens on Derek, legs protesting so much movement and body now at a point that it’s calling quits. He needs to sit now or find a better residence napping on the floor. And with that realization, his eyes fill with tears. He just wants to sleep in his bed.

“Sorry,” Derek offers lamely, thinking the tears are from pain. He’s not wrong but he’s just not right either. “We’re almost there.”

Jack has seen his father cry. His aunts and uncles have a strange impression of his father, one he doesn’t really know how to identify. The sight of Hotch’s tears makes Derek uncomfortable and Jack wonders why. His father cries all the time. Chopping onions. Watching Pixar movies. Looking at Jack’s baby pictures. He’s kind of a crybaby. Jack feels bad when his father cries but he’s not made uncomfortable by the sight of his father crying. Derek is clearly uncomfortable. Willing to do anything to make the sudden downpour stop.

Derek guides him down on the couch, arms holding Hotch upright while Derek makes quick work of moving pillows where they’ll hold his sore body more tenderly. “You okay?” he asks, easing Hotch’s stiff shoulders down. He moves Hotch’s legs slowly, lifting them from the floor and pausing when Hotch cries out. His lips are pressed thin and tight but the sound burst out of him, above what he can control. The movement in his hips agitated the electric burn going on inside his head.

Jack flinches at the sound. His eyes widen, suddenly unable to tear his eyes away. This is the aspect of his father’s life he’s been so carefully shielded from. He knows his father has pains. There are summer days they spend in the A/C, his father sleeping for hours at a time and getting up only to make Jack food. He knows that’s pain. The stiffness in the way he walks. The arm he holds to his chest. He’s seen his father’s face covered in black and blue bruises. Watched him guard broken ribs. Nurse dislocated shoulders. But he’s been saved from the pain. Jack knows very little of his father’s pain and fears.

Derek turns, thinking he’ll find an instant reprieve from big, sad eyes, and finds Jack. “Hey, kid.” He stops a moment and pulls the couch’s throw blanket around Hotch’s shoulders. Thrown for a moment by Hotch’s closed eyes, the tears on his eyelashes, and his slow even breathing. He’s already asleep. Or at least trying to fake his way there.

Fuck.

Derek awkwardly smiles. He’s great with kids, he’s fucking fantastic with his nephews, but he wasn’t expecting mini-Hotch to be gloomily glaring from the shadows. “I think Garcia made your dad some chocolate pudding. You want some?”

Jack is all blonde hair and blue eyes, he looks like Haley, but he’s a Hotchner through and through. He shakes his head, resting his chin on his drawn-up knees, presses his grimacing lips into his knees. Haley had taken him to speech therapy when he was two. He could speak but he did so ill-frequently. It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak, he just hadn’t felt the need to. Even now, Jack says very little. Even when he’s happy.

“Are you sure?” Derek tries anyway. “There’s a can of whipped cream, I’ll let you eat it right out of the can and JJ brought strawberries. We could–”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh,” Derek frowns. Derek has had years of practice in this area – in fighting stubborn asses. Usually just with the bigger, meaner Hotchner but the mini version can’t be harder. “Is there a snack you’d like instead?” Jack shakes his head. “Anything, kid. You could have ice cream for dinner.”

Jack shrugs one little shoulder and looks away. “I’m not hungry,” he mumbles, “my stomach hurts.”

Oh. Derek nods, “my stomach has been hurting a lot too.” Big Hotchner would never be this easy to work with. “You know,” Derek offers, smiling, “I have the perfect remedy for that.”

Derek had a lot of stomach aches as a child. It’s really not the same reasoning but it’s the same idea. While Derek’s mother could not pinpoint a reason for her son’s anguish, Derek can identify Jack’s. He knows that pain. That uncertainty.

“Hot chocolate?” Jack asks, tone and facial expression matching his father’s. He’s unimpressed.

This scrutiny Derek knows how to deal with. He smirks at Jack, shaking his head. Poor kid is going to be just like his dad. “Yeah,” Derek smiles, “you don’t like hot chocolate?”

Of course, Jack likes hot chocolate. He wants hot chocolate but he doesn’t understand how it’s going to help him at all. He does like this undivided attention, the way Derek’s letting him sit up on the counter and talking to him like an adult. He likes the promise of hot chocolate. He’s just adamant and scared – everything is so scary lately. Jack watches Derek pull down two mugs and frowns.

“What?” Derek asks.

Jack shrugs and looks away.

Derek’s familiar with that look too. “Jack.”

Jack sighs, “well…” He looks down at his hands, anywhere but Derek. “What if–” he looks over at the couch. At his father. All he can see are his black socks hanging over the side of the couch, but he’s there. Like he always is.

“We can make him a mug,” Derek offers. He goes for another mug, even though he’s fairly certain Hotch won’t touch it. He hasn’t eaten anything in a while, not since he woke up in the hospital. “Your dad likes hot chocolate, I’m sure he’d like that a lot.” Derek hasn’t actually seen him drink any but who doesn’t like hot chocolate? Besides, if Jack makes it for him, Hotch will attempt something.

Jack nods and watches Derek go about searching cabinets for what he needs. Jack knows exactly where everything Derek needs is at but he offers no help. Derek’s stooped low, squatting to look underneath cabinets for the pot he would prefer to use to warm up the milk but he can't find any. Where does Hotch hide them?

“Is he gonna die?”

Derek smacks his head on the cabinet, the question throws him so much. He’s here for the drop-off. Jess had asked him to hang around for another ten minutes, watch Jack and Hotch so she could jump in the shower and wash the hospital off of her. She’d promised both would not be any trouble. Jack is withdrawn and sullen, Hotch not much different.

“No,” Derek answers automatically.

But his conviction is misplaced, Jack knows no is not the right answer. His brows turn down, his trust momentarily lost in Derek as he looks down at his lap. No isn’t the right answer and he knows it. Parents die. People just die. His father has no more control over that than Derek does. Hotch never promises to come home but he does promise to do his best. That’s all he can do. He can’t throw around that promise so boldly, not when Jack has already lost a parent. Not when he is already so aware that nothing is guaranteed.

Derek forgets that, sometimes. Jack is a child but Hotch doesn’t treat him like a little fool. “Not today,” Derek amends. “The doctors looked him over really well. You know your Aunt Jess wouldn’t let him out of there if she wasn’t sure he was taken care of.”

Jack scowls down at his pants for a few more seconds before nodding. That’s true. Jess is a little crazy, protective, but crazy. “Why did he get hurt?” Jack looks up and Derek’s surprised to find his eyes are clear, no tears dancing around the corners. He’s sad but inquisitive, really wants to know.

Derek isn’t sure how much Jack knows. Hotch has mentioned nightmares and therapy, Jack remembers something. He knows that the length between him and being an orphan were tight and near, hovering very dangerously right over his head.

“The bad man that hurt your mom–”

“George,” Jack offers, casual and matter-of-fact.

This kid fucking terrifies Derek. “Ye-Yeah,” Derek aggrees hesitantly. He hates George. Humanizing someone he’s hardly got the courage to breathe the name of. “He hurt your dad, a long time ago.” Jack nods, he knows this. A stabbing. He knows it factually but not very much else than that. Hasn’t acquired a deep enough sense of the world to understand just what it is that has happened. He just knows it was bad. Not to talk about it. But he’s not supposed to mention it to his dad, so Derek seems like a good person to ask.

“But that was a long time ago,” Jack says. Nearing five years ago, he can’t even remember those memories that well.

“It was,” Derek agrees. “But –” How does he explain internal bleeding to a nine-year-old? He understands how this happened. He’d been there in the hospital when Hotch woke up after Foyet. He’d walked Hotch into this apartment, home from the hospital, similar to how he did today. It made sense to him but how does he translate that? How does he take something so brutal and make it sensible? Digestible.

“They don’t know why it happened,” Derek says, which is true. There was no recent injury or signs of sickness. Nothing that Jess or any of them had witnessed but could they really trust Hotch to be forthright about something like this? “Sometimes… Uhm, one day you’ll understand better but for right now, it’s just that sometimes when we get hurt those old hurts just keep hurting. That’s what happened with Hotch– with your dad.”

Jack takes that well, he believes it. His father rarely shies from his never ending questions. He’d sat in the front seat once, not yet twelve and Hotch wasn’t eager for the reminder, because he was curious as to what exactly was happening for Hotch to be able to drive. It began as a simple show and tell, then Jack in the front, watching Hotch intently as Hotch slowly eased down the road. Then he was in Hotch’s lap, steering them back around, easing them into the driveway. But somethings he really wasn’t old enough for.

Hotch never shares details of work. At first, he dismissed it simply, factually. He couldn’t disclose information about still active cases but Jack knew that wasn’t entirely true. Aaron couldn’t but he did. He told Jessica. It takes outside factors, sleep deprivation, head trauma, something out of his control to get the secrets to come spilling out. Jack could hear them after he went to bed. Only the light of the lamp guiding them through the conversation, Hotch’s voice low and interupted by the sounds of gasps, as he worked himself up. So overwhelmed it all just came tumbling down. Turned him into a fit, a mess.

Jack understood this required of him a level of education he didn’t have and, more complex than that, required a level of vulnerability and emotional distress from his father he simply wasn’t old enough to bare.

So, maybe Derek was right. He understood older bodies hurt, his father’s did. Jack could not understand lingering wounds because he had nothing to linger, his father scars and pains older than him.

Derek’s just releaved he’s stopped asking questions.

“Here,” he hands Jack his mug, the first one from the bunch. Derek’s piled whipped cream on top, a big swirl that Jack attacks with a wide grin. The first time he’s smiled in days. “It’s my mom’s secret recipe,” Derek reveals. He looks over hsi shoulder, scanning around him before he leans in dramatically. “You can’t tell anyone,” he warns Jack, “but it’s cinnamon. Just a dash.”

He’s certain all mother’s do this and realizes a few moments too late maybe mother’s shouldn’t be brought into conversation. But Jack giggles, whipped cream on the tip of his nose as he leans in close and tells Derek gleefully and interrupted by more giggles, “mommy’s secret recipe for cookies is cinnamon but daddy never puts the right much.”

Jack is laughing hard, uncontrollable. He thinks it’s hilarious and the sight of him makes Derke join in the laughter. Wondering what sort of awful messes Hotch must make in here if he’s unable to add cinammon to a simple batch of cookies.

Derek puts him back down on the ground and Jack slides his mug back onto of the counter. “I can take it to daddy,” Jack offers, already pulling the mug towards it him. “I won’t wake him up.” He’s not waiting for Derek’s permission.

He’s careful. He’s a coffee master. Every morning Hotch lets him make his coffee. Jack does everything from fill the water to measuring out the creamer and suger. Every morning he makes the trip from the kitchen back to his father’s room. A coffee mug balanced carefully in his steady hands. Not a drop on the carpet and Hotch always makes an impressed face at the first sip. Congratualing Jack for another successful pot with a high-five or hug.

And the carpet remains hot coffee free.

It’s not coffee free. Jack might have mastered walking with a full cup of coffee but Hotch hasn’t.

Jack sits the mug down gently, soft to make the clink of the ceramic on the the hardwood a dull sound. But Aaron’s eyes are already open.

“What’d you bring me?” Hotch asks. He’s just whispering this time, purposefully. Jack only visited him in the hospital once. Then his voice couldn’t raise above a rasp, he could barely speak. Jess didn’t offer to take him again and Jack never asked. Instead, he’s spent the last few days with Dave. He goes there on some weekends, spends a Saturday or Friday night cozied up to the living room fireplace and listening to Dave’s records. He loves it and he loved it this time but it wasn’t the same.

Jack had heard Dave talking to Emily over the phone, pacing his office like he does when Jack is supposed to leave alone him so he can get some writing done. Ripped, is what he hears first. Dave’s voice has changed, he’s angry but his voice is sad. He’s defeated, so consumed by what’s happened. From hip-to-hip. Gutted the poor kid. Jack doesn’t understand who he’s talking about at first. Kid throws him off. He can’t imagine how his father could be young to Dave.

But then Dave laughs and he agrees with whatever Emily’s said. “A big kid, then,” Dave amends, shaking his head. “He’ll always be a kid to me. Like Reid. Known ‘em since they were in diapers.” Jack doesn’t think that’s true but he can never be certain. Dave explains what’s happening to Emily, how they’re dealing with everything. They always keep her updated. Jack does too. She calls at least once a week and he tells her about everything – Hotch’s latest mishap (poor baking skills, poor plumbing skills, etc.), the school drama of who is dating who, and how his grades are.

But Dave assures her everything is fine. And Jack wishes he’d lie as he promises her she doesn’t need to come home. Hotch is fine, sleeping it off in the hospital. Jack is staying with him, at Dave’s, until Hotch and Jess are ready for him at home again.

Emily leaves the conversation a little relieved and Jack leaves with that description.

Ripped, hip-to hip. That’s what Dave said and it’s what Hotch felt. It feels as though his protection has been ripped down, as if his shirt suddenly came open and his chest is exposed. His stomach aches furiously and his body begs for cover, to find somewhere safe and wait for his attacked feeling to abate.

The hot chocolate is a great start. He can’t actually drink. His clear diet restriction might have been lifted and his doctor hopeful with his ability to keep down an Ensure. Hot chocolate, and all it’s milk, would be far too much on his stomach. But it’s warmth is confusing to his brain. It’s comfort immiedte despite how heavily his anxiety fixated on terror, on finding the threat he was certian was hiding just behind the curtains or maybe in the bathroom. To hurt him.

Or maybe to hurt Jack.

Hotch balances the mug to his thigh, uses one hand to keep it there. Jack moves closer, before Hotch can move his other hand out to reach for him. Hotch closes his eyes, exhausted but now relieved to feel Jack’s little hand trying to hold his back. Jack comes closer until Hotch can wrap his entire arm around Jack’s hips. He crouches down, kneels on the floor, and lays his head on Hotch’s chest.

“You can lay on the couch with me.”

Jack shakes his head, he knows that’s not true. Hip-to-hip. Jack had traced his own stomach in the mirror. Dave had huge, giant mirrors and fancy showers. And by the end of his, Jack stood and looked in that mirror. He put his finger on one hip and drew down below under his belly button across the soft flesh to his other hip. Traced, as he imagined his finger a scalpel slicing through the skin, exactly where he thought they cut his father open.

That’s a long way and his body is so small.

Jess pulls Jack away after a while. He’s been sitting so still he can’t feel his legs and the entire side of his face is warm from laying on Hotch’s chest. But Hotch is knocked out. Jess takes his mug and holds his arm up so Jack can slip out and he barely moves. His eyes open for just a moment but close quickly, Hotch exhaling softly as he falls back asleep.

“He needed that,” Jessica tells Jack softly, smiling at him. She kisses the top of his head and guides him away from the living room. No more disturbing the sleeping man now the unofficial rule of the house. Jack is familiar with the protocol.

Jack sits down at the table and Jessica sits across from him. Derek waves from the door and they wave back, all the goodbye they’re willing to chance with Hotch sleeping. But once the door shuts Jack knows he can ask his questions. This is what they do. Hotch or Jessica always makes sure he understands what’s happening but as he’s gotten older they do less telling and he does more asking.

“How soon will he be okay?”

Jessica hums, considering her answer. “Give or take,” she says, shrugging, “he’ll be back to work in four days. For us, I think we just gotta be extra careful with him for this week and then he’ll get there.”

“Can I help?” He’s allowed to help in small ways. Never sees any of the bad stuff but he’s quick with the water refills and keeping a bountiful snack supply.

“Of course. But his stomach is sore, so he can’t eat normal foods right now.”

Jack nods, that might be a challenge. “I can make him oatmeal?”

“Yes but no sugars or cinnamon.” Jack just puts too much of both in, she’s doing Aaron a favor. He’s already going to struggle to eat, no reason it needs to be overly sweetened as well. “And he can juice but not orange juice.”

“Okay.”

“Any more questions?”

“No.” Jack thinks he understands. He has more questions, what ifs that filled his mind but none that he should speak. He’s often wondered who his father would chose, if he had been the option. Jack had seen on TV that mad men will hold guns to people’s head, make them chose. One person lives and the other dies but if you don’t pick then both die. And while that question comes and goes, it’s stuck on his mind. Who would his father chose, him or Haley?

Jack could never make reason of it, never actually decide. Hotch had said once that love is just different for people. He’d tried to explain it. Why he loved Dave, why he loved Emily, why he loved Jess, or Jack. But it was all different. Which Jack understood with some explanation. Love didn’t feel the same with his father as it did with Jess. He didn’t love one more or less but it was simply different. Felt different. Acted different.

And Hotch had said that Jack was a whole different love for him. Unconditional is the word he used but Jack wasn’t so sure about that. Surely there’d be something. He’d had to think hard. Not drugs – Sean does all kinds of those and Hotch still sends him birthday cards with money and evites him on the holidays. Jack couldn’t dare ask about murder – he didn’t know what the answer would be but it’d be difficult, he’d upset Hotch. But as he failed to come up with a proper example, Hotch had just shook his head and ended the conversion. Nothing, he repeated, I’ll always love you.

The thought keeps him up all night. It upsets him to consider either. The idea of his father having to chose makes him cry, ugly and silly over something he’s made up entirely. He knows Hotch holds guilt for not being able to save Haley. He apologizes every holiday, brithday, and every small event that Jack only has Hotch and not his mother.

But the reality is that Jack doesn’t remember Haley. Little glimpses. Good and bad. The bad he’d never speak of. No need to remind his father of their divorce, the messy stuff. But he’s always had Hotch. Jack wouldn’t prefer Haley to his father. If he had to chose, if it were Jack that had to decide, he knows which parent he would save.

And he hates that.

He doesn’t knock as he slides into his father’s bedroom. The door is already open, the bathroom light left on purposefully. Jack tries to slip up into the bed but Hotch is already awake.

“You’ve been crying,” Hotch whispers, reaching a cold hand out from under his blankets and to brush the remnants of a tear away. “Are you okay?”

Jack nods, pulling the heavy comforter around him, and sinking down into the bed under the warmth settles over him. His father’s bed is just better. Softer, warmer. “I’m okay,” he says, turned over on his side, watching Hotch. “Why were you crying?”

Hotch smiles. He’d lied for years to Jack about it but as he gets older that’s not really an options. Jack knows why his father is up pacing the halls at two in the morning. Why he’s up “sick” in the bathroom. “Bad dreams,” Hotch answers, honestly. Bad dreams sounds better than nightmares. “Why are you up?”

Jack shrugs, “can’t sleep.”

“Mmm.”

Jack thought being here would fix it but now he’s just laying here thinking about it. He can’t imagine, doesn’t want to, what it’d be like to not have his father. Jack tells him everything. Hotch taught him to ride a bike and how to read. It’s Hotch’s inability to do math that keeps Jack from excelling at math but he’s a straight A student in English. What would happen without Hotch? No National Geographic movies on Saturday nights, after Hotch has already announced twice they’ll got to bed in five minutes. Opting instead to sleep uncomfortably on the couch so they don’t have to go to bed.

Hotch always says how much Jack would love Haley, he tells Jess too. Jack believes him, he does love his mother. But Hotch always forgets that he’s there too. He’s still in the equation.

Hotch puts his hand on Jack’s chest, rubbing up and down like he used to when Jack was a baby.

“Get some sleep, buddy.”

Jack is asleep before Hotch’s arm starts to hurt.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jack hotchner #jessica brooks #david rossi #emily prentiss

34 notes · View notes

dogsilliam · 7 months

Text

Day 9: Past

This challenge is making me realize i barely have characters, just pretty designs LOL.

Was only able to do some sketches today of what these two might look like/do in the future.

I wrote two pages about their future. And its pretty confusing, their story line isn't pinned down yet. So I imagine their stories ending in two different ways. Either dramatic death by police "Everybody dies" ending. Or the good ending, they live in a cabin in the woods together for the rest of their days.

I'll talk about the change in their looks first. Jeremiah finds confidence in his vampire identity, he shaves his snake tendrils, he's not afraid to show off his vampire ears. He gains a little bit of weight, grows an inch or two. I really like his jet black eyes, but I'm not too sure about the vampire lore in this universe, so his eyes could also be a fun color like purple or some. He's gotta have a face scar from their adventures i just don't know where, hehe. As for jack, I'm still unsure whether he's a natural blonde, or if he dyes his hair blonde so he doesn't look like his father. Either he dyes his hair black, or he lets his natural brown hair grow out. He also has a little stubble, because again he's less afraid of looking like his father. Another thing I'm unsure about in his design is his lip ring, hes supposed to be this macho guy so I don't think he could justify the lip ring. He also has a lot of punk influence though, so maybe thats how he justifies it? Its not gay because its cool and edgy punk. But maybe he gets one at the end of the story. IDK!!! see what i mean when I saw i barely have ocs LMAO nothing is figured out with these two and Ive had them for like 2 and half years now.

I explored the cabin option, bc i love my gay boys and want them happy. They live in this nice isolated cabin, since Jeremiah is the son of the vampire ruler they are living on the border of human land and vampire territory. Jeremiah probably gets delivers of blood from his father, and his father is the one who gave them the cabin. They've adopted three cats, more so jack adopted three cats. I drew up the cats designs, they would have 2 black cats, and one calico. They have batty, who is deaf but has huge ears. Hubert who is older and really beat up. He is missing an eye and an ear. Hubert's like the ring leader of the kitty trio. And then lily who is missing a leg. Jack is reconciling his past by taking care of these messed up creatures. He feels reflected in them, they are broken but he loves and takes care of them. Hubert is his favorite, he has a really rumbling purr.

I imagine their relationship is much better then the early years, falling into a dynamic thats good for the both of them. No more fighting and trying to kill each other, just a symbiotic relationship of Jeremiah drinking jacks blood and jack eating Jeremiah's arms occasionally LOL. Thats what I'm really struggling with, how do u give a happy ending to a delusional psycho cannibal. Jeremiah is very motherly to jack near the end, holds him a lot, kissed his fore head. They've almost switched power dynamics, jack no longer being the lead in the relationship.

I think jack has started to make peace with his homosexuality, he would never say it aloud, but his internal voices have reached an understanding. And by starting the process of dealing with that internalized hatred, he's opened the flood gates to processing all the traumas he been through. I think it would be SO funny if he saw a zoom therapist from their cabin, to understand his childhood trauma. He never tells the therapist about the murders, he still a vigilante about being caught by authorities. Jack spends a lot of time in the woods building those strange forest sculptures. He just spends hours everyday, in pure silence collecting sticks and assembling these huge sculptures. He's stopped popping pills and drinking, but still smokes pretty heavily. He's depressed because he's realizing what he's done to the peoples he's killed. I feel like he wouldn't feel bad about all of them, he still believes he had a right to kill the old men. He doesn't feel bad for the hooker, but the random kid, and the gay men he murdered. His father hurt him and his family so bad, and he's realizing that he wasn't taking power back from the universe he was just doing the exact same thing his father was. Jeremiah keeps him as stable as he can, but he breaks down a couple times, probably tries to commit. Probably tries to turn himself in. But Jeremiah doesn't let him. The story of the cannibal killer stays in news for a long time after. The police are still looking for the culprit. Jack tries not to watch the news, but he does. When he sees the family members talking about how much they want to find the bodies of their loved ones,, he cant handle it. He donates so much money to gofundmes for these familys. I feel like this is such a downer end to their story tho, so its still being work shopped. Like these two boys go on this epic coming of age story, and it ends with major depression hello. I think they could also both just stay delusional and murderous together, and like hunt down the occasional hiker. But IDK.

They still be kissin n shit, they are probably super comfortable with each other since they've spent so much time together. I think it would also be interesting if jack becomes sort of a famous sculpture, and in his old age reveals that he was the cannibal killer. He gets taken into custody, but they don't have any evidence to prove that he he truly is and he gets let go. A homosexual famous sculpture claims he was the cannibal killer from 30 years ago. Jeremiah doesn't age obviously becauses he a vampire. I don't really care about their story after this, I dont want to think about them growing old together and jack eventually dying. That is just sad and uninteresting!

6 notes · View notes

yanderelovlies · 1 year

Note

*Jack finds ashers diary and decides to take a look*

"Dear diary today captain giggles JACK gave me a joke book"

*FLASH BACK*

Asher standing in front of a mirror holding a joke book:why did the chicken cross the road?......the chicken wanted to get to the other side of the road!.....HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA...

....

Asher:....whats a chicken..?

*Jack flips to the next page*

"I also decided to snoop around rainbow loser RILEYS wagon....thingy...i found....stuff.."

*FLASHBACK*

*Asher is basically tearing the wagon apart*

Asher:WHERE IS IT!? WHERE IS IT?!

*he paused when he found a rainbow crop top and a black skirt with some rainbow print....it soon cuts to him wearing them and admiring himself in mirror*

Asher:heheheheheheh who's that daring devilish dog? You are! You are! Heh heh

*he growls at his reflection*

Rainbow Riley:hey! That looks good on you!

*Asher turns red and whips around*

Asher:I-WHAT-HOW-HOW DID THESE GET HERE!?

*he rips the clothes off like actually tears them revealing Crescent moon print purple boxers underneath*

*Jack flips to the next page*

"the girl one wanted to show me reading"

Cloudy belle sue:hey....since you're our friend now...i thought I'd let you read my favorite book...id think you'd like it!

*Asher just glares unamused*

Cloudy belle sue:you seem you like fantasy! And i can tell you this one is fantastic! It's about this boy and his dad is actually a god so he gets sent this summer camp and-

*Asher just covers her mouth*

Asher:OK OK! ILL READ YOUR STUPID BOOK!

*he snatched the book out of her hands as he starts reading it as sue smiles and walks off*

THREE DAYS LATER

Cloudy belle sue:hey! I thought I'd check up on you-OH MY GOSH!

*his room is covered in cork boards with red string as Asher as thick bags under his eyes*

Asher:I'VE READ YOUR BOOK 46 TIMES! AND IVE ANALYZED EVERY PAGE AND I CAN SAY WITH CERTAINTY PERRY JASON AND ANNABELLE CAST ARE MATHEMATICALLY PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER!!

Cloudy belle sue:...you know there are other books right?

Asher:....there are...?

"Eh the book was only ok"

Juniper💖🌕💙

*whispers* is there any more pages??

#vivi talks #juniper anon

4 notes · View notes

akindofdog · 1 year

Text

i jacked off like three times last night and ive been so cumbrained all day today wehhh

#im still so sensitive 🥺#barks

3 notes · View notes

howdidigethereimlost · 1 month

Text

I had a dream last night where it was like this musical and the plot was really there, the cat slime was a bit uncalled for though.

[inhales]

Ok so it was like an unnamed female actress and Will Smith in it and it started like a horror movie where she was a detective going through an abandoned mansion, it was also in really good shape and not like vintage, it was a modern mansion and has weird stuff and like weird taste and while going around some badly constructed handrails in the middle kinda to the side of a hallway and there's this talking cat it slime and it's like "hehe, he's gonna find you", "who tf are you talking about", "ME" then ghost will Smith shows up scares the hell outta her and then musical starts where shes like I gotta get out of here and hes like get this bitch iutta my house and it slowly becomes a romcom and the talking cat reveals this scheme of cat marketing thats been going on where they were melting the cats or something and then the cat was evil and they had this scene where the girl waa somehow flying and will Smith was cause he was a ghost and it was actually a pretty good song, until i got involved.

I was this odd third wheel side character but it was such an insane story I was watching, I stuck around just to be the comic relief and I told them it was the cat and they went off to live happily ever after and then I remembered I had a tournament like hunger games style then it went even more off the rails.

So I frickin remembered this then I was going to this trials thingy and I was paired with this other guy who looked kinda pathetic and stuff, it was kinda sad that he really resembled me, so we were actually teammates like you both make it out alive kind teammates, there are also these recurring two guys I will get to in a minute (they never leave me alone, every dream I have.) So this guy looks kinda like me, he's a bit less pale and all though and his eyes are green. The arena is like this huge cylinder but huge as in tall, it was not that wide, like you run for around thirty seconds and that's it so there were these disclike terrain stuff bits that you were on, higher was of course better. But this guy had a bow, he had good aim too, I got a sword. I'm not great with a sword but I'm good enough to maybe almost do some damage. So this bell rings and it's like people are jumping through the air, landing on other ones, we can see the blood, and we sit there and wait for a minute. There were eighteen others at first, by the time they made it to us, there were three. Two were badly injured circling each other at the bottom and the other one was standing in front of us with and axe, so of course I've got the melee weapon so it was customary for me to stand to face this guy, it wasn't a guy though it was this fantasy looking crazy barbarian woman like butch as hell. So she's got this axe and Ive got a sword and I'm not THAT strong so I'm having trouble holding it cause it's like a standard sword and stuff and she like "so we gonna fight?", then out of nowhere my teammate fires at her, so we lived of course, we were like halfway up, she fell off and definitely died abd all so we rejoiced like yay we get to live. So then these two guys from before come back like YOU FORGOT US AGAIN REMEMBERERRR. Or at least one was, so I'ma describe them both, ok so the one freaking out was named I think Oliver and he was like Brazilian and like five foot four I think, he wore mostly green and he had blue eyes and this tatoo on his collar of this one flower i think it was poisonous and he wanted to be cool so bad, he was a daredevil vut he wasnt the one who came up with things, that was Jackson, but i typically called him jack, i think he was mostly European? I couldn't really tell cause I'm bad at speculating races and he had albinism and he usually wore red and pink and today though he had one of Oliver's jackets which was green and he was comforting Oliver cause Oliver was being a drama king. And he-

[passes out due to lack of oxygen]

#dreams #dream #shitpost

1 note · View note

killthis · 3 months

Text

tmi but ive tried jacking off for three days including today and every time ive tried i havent been able to finish because i feel nothing. this job is fucking breaking me im hypersexual but unable to get pleasure im so fucking sick of all this idk if im ever gonna be able to feel anything again

0 notes

dr3amofagame · 3 years

Text

uhhhh ,, , hi ??

i feel bad bc i havent been here in. LITERALLY forever lmao - hope you guys r all doing good!! ive been working on some stuff but it’s been pretty slow going, and school is also A Thing, so i definitely havent been writing as much as i’d like.

as an apology, have this? really self-indulgent feel-good syndicate + c!dream centric oneshot bc i felt like writing this so u know. why not.

tws: implied torture, abuse, self-harm, disordered eating, starvation mentions, prison arc themes - overall everything’s just blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions, not too much angst here for once! c!sam and c!quackity critical, sorry guys but we r still in the prison arc and they still r on their “fuck human rights” arcs.

Dream leaves.

It’s a surprise - or maybe it isn’t one, Niki isn’t quite sure. She’d never grown to quite trust the man, she knows, and she can’t really tell if the bitter twist of emotion that swells up her chest when Phil comes to her city with the news is betrayal or resignation - what can she say. She’s gotten more than her fair share of broken promises. They don’t exactly faze her anymore.

None of them seem all that surprised, save Techno, who entirely fails to hide the worry that flickers over his face when he calls the Syndicate meeting to officially inform them of what’s going on. She shares quick, careful glances with the other members when his back is turned - despite how many times he’s been burned, Techno still seems so adamant at holding onto every thread, trusting all too easily those who would use and leave him behind without a second glance. He can handle himself, she knows. Still, that’s not going to stop her from slapping Dream upside the head for being yet another worthless person to betray her friend’s forgiving nature.

Nothing much changes in the next few weeks. Niki has to admit, it’s strange without Dream around - he’d not been an ally, much less a friend before dipping completely, but he had been some sort of constant - and Niki is self aware enough to know that she misses him, a little, the same sort of way you might miss an old routine once it’s gone, if only for the familiarity. She still visits Techno and Phil with various baked goods, knowing that Phil would have his hands full just keeping Techno from running himself ragged - makes sure to check on Ranboo, whose nerves have inevitably returned with Dream’s disappearance. To be honest, she doesn’t worry as much as he does - ally or not, she’s spent enough time with the Dream that had left prison to expect that he won’t exactly be able to get himself very far should he come for the four of them, and doesn’t particularly care about he might pull with the rest of the server - if things get bad, she’s sure Phil and Techno will have it handled. She asks Phil, once, what happened, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know, mate,” he heaves a chest to the side, pulling out a stack of stone blocks that Niki gladly holds for him. “One day we woke up and he was just- gone. Everything. Was like he wasn’t ever there at all.”

Niki hums. “Why’d you think he’d do something like that?”

“If I could understand half of why Dream does what he does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” He smiles at her from behind a crate. “Shall we bring these things upstairs and start on dinner?”

Niki laughs, knowing that the conversation about Dream is over. “Of course, Phil.”

Dinner is a welcome distraction; all of them have gotten better at cooking in recent months, between her baking and the veritable library of recipes Phil knows that she’s never even heard of, but Phil is still the only one she really trusts to hold his own behind the stove - Ranboo is still a little too nervous around water, and fire, and much of everything, and though Techno can be a perfectly capable cook, he’s been distracted as of late. She has a strong feeling that left to his own devices, he’d just grab a stack of steak and disappear for another few weeks, searching the server for information.

Honestly, she’s a little thrown off by his behavior - he’d not done anything like this with Tommy, if she remembers right, and had hardly seemed affected by Wilbur’s betrayal on the Sixteenth at all (then again, she was a little too lost in her own head to notice if he was.) She tosses her head over to ask Phil, who’s leaning over a few carrots he’s slicing to throw into the stew he’s making, and the man pauses, frowns.

“From what I know,” he starts, words slow, careful, “they’d spent three months in there together, and the conditions weren’t exactly- stellar. According to what Techno said, I’d assumed they had come to some sort of understanding.” He goes back to the carrots, expression dipping into shadow and out of sight. “Guess I was wrong.”

Niki hums. She can see it, sort of - spending months together with someone, no matter how insufferable, probably would end with some degree of attachment - she thinks back to plotting through sleepless nights with Jack, anger and grief leaving them simmering, crabs in the same pot of boiling water, remembers looking into his dead-eyed gaze and seeing her own stare back - and feels a brief pang of guilt. Besides, Techno is Techno. She’d never met someone so willing to forgive, understand, reach out despite everything that’s happened - for Dream to take advantage of that feels almost too obvious. Of course he would - what were they all thinking?

“He’s Dream,” she says as if that explains everything, flipping open the oven door and feeling a wave of heat blast her face. Phil hums lowly, understanding. “I hope Techno will be alright.”

“He’s tough,” Phil cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “And he has us on his side. He’ll get through.”

Niki opens her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the front door slamming open. Outside their quaint little cottage, the wind howls - it sounds like the beginning of a blizzard out there, flurries painting the world in a thick blanket of white. In the door, Techno strides into the entrance with loud, decisive movements, shutting the door loud enough to make the walls shake. Inadvertently, Niki finds her eyes drawn to the small pile of snow that he’s tracked into the house - Techno’s usually so careful to kick it all off on the porch, never liked it much when there was a pile of melting ice and snow dampening the floorboards and soaking into his shoes. He huffs harshly, stripping off a snow-dusted scarf from his face - a long, multicolored abomination that had been the product of her attempting to teach Ranboo how to knit. Phil has reached his side, hands splayed over his upper arms, eyes soft in the corners from concern.

“Techno, mate-” his tone is chiding but his movements gentle as he brushes snow off of Techno’s signature cloak, “you’ve gotten snow everywhere. What were you doing, dueling a blizzard?”

Techno shakes his head, not meeting Phil’s banter as usual, fur sticking up from the snow melted into it. His voice is gruff and holds little humor - unconsciously, Niki feels her shoulders tense.

“Phil, call a Syndicate meeting.”

---

Phil, per usual, is unrelenting, so it’s not until a quick dinner and some hurried messages to their final member later that the Syndicate is gathered in their meeting room, Techno pacing the length of the room as they wait in their respective seats. He looks less frazzled than he did when he first entered the house, in part due to Phil’s sitting him down to eat and picking through his fur to smooth it out of its windblown spikes and tangles - Techno had grumbled at him to stop preening him, but looked a lot more relaxed by the time they were all finished with their food. Still, his ear flicks periodically, twitching toward ssome sound that Niki can’t hear, movements tighter and jerkier than she is used to. He’d always been a little flightier after the prison, but not quite like this - everything here feels like that but dialed up to eleven. Inexplicably, it reminds her of Dream.

“Techno?” Phil gestures towards his seat, prompting, and he settles into it with an obliging huff.

“Y’know, Phil, the code names are kinda pointless if we never use ‘em,” he says, words carrying no real heat - he looks back at the rest of them, lips thinning into a line. “Anyway. I called this meeting because I found a couple leads on Dream.”

“O-oh,” Ranboo stutters, tail lashing behind him.

“You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, mate,” Phil reminds him gently, a sentiment that Niki affirms with a determined nod.

“There’ve been some reports- rumors, really,” Techno says, calling their attention again, and they all turn towards him, “of increased activity around the prison again. The Warden spending more time on its grounds, movement seen around the walls and around the portal- so I decided to go check it out for myself.”

Niki frowns, and watches as Phil does the same beside her - Techno had seemed to avoid the prison if he could help it, save for when he went on the initial mission to break Dream out. It was no secret to them that he didn’t exactly like the place.

“We could’ve helped if you asked,” Phil reminds him, and Techno shakes his head.

“I know, Phil. It’s just- that place is bad news. I’d rather keep you guys away from there if I can-” his hand goes to his head with a poorly hidden wince. “Sorry, Chat’s a little- worked up, at the minute.”

“Sorry, we’ll stop interrupting you,” Niki says, cutting off Phil before he says anything else. “So you went to the prison?”

Techno takes a second to gather his thoughts, mumbling quietly in the way that usually means he’s telling off Chat. “Right- I decided to stake out the portal. The rumors were right- Sam has been hanging around there, entered and left the prison four times yesterday. And today-” he hesitates, expression visibly darkening. “This morning, about an hour after the Warden arrived, Quackity came to the prison and went through the portal. He left the grounds about six hours later.”

“Quackity?” Niki frowns, eyes flicking over to how Phil has stilled in his seat. “What is Quackity doing at the prison?”

Phil ignores her question, reaching towards Techno, something indiscernible in his gaze. “Mate…”

“He smelled of blood when he left,” Techno says, words sharp, and Niki feels her heart skip a beat. “Warden left about half an hour after, and I came back here.”

Ranboo clears his throat, sounding tentative. “Okay,” he drums his hand on the table when they turn towards him, eyebrows drawn, “but what, exactly, does this have to do with, uh, Dream?”

Techno and Phil trade glances, one of their bouts of unspoken conversation that Niki’s grown extremely used to. They seem strangely hesitant, she notes internally, Phil looking towards Techno with a question written clearly in the planes of his face. Techno sighs, a long puff of air through his lips as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the table.

“You know how Dream was- injured,” he starts slowly, looking back up at them. Niki shifts uncomfortably - of course she noticed, it was impossible not to - if not the bandages that peeked under his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants, then how skinny he’d been, all skin and bones curled up uncomfortably in a pile at the corner of Techno’s couch. She’d not know the extent, by any means, and had always assumed that they’d been self-inflicted - she’d been in a bad enough place on her own before to know how your head can make you want to hurt, sometimes, how eating food can feel like choking on sawdust and the world could feel so much smaller when focused into delicate pricks of pain. Phil’s eyes are trained on Techno - on his face, then on the pinkish raised skin of a still-healing scar along his forearm, and she feels understanding settle like a rock in her gut.

“The Warden had apparently been lettin’ Quackity into the cell to torture Dream for the revive book,” Techno trails off, eyes narrowed and seemingly fixed on a random point of the opposite wall. “By the time I go there, it’d been goin’ on for months.”

“But wait,” Ranboo’s tail moves even more erratically behind him, “You mean you think he’s back- there? How?”

“He has to be back in the prison,” Techno points out. “I can’t imagine anyone besides him that the two of them are goin’ to just start torturin’- Sam had been iffy about the whole thing when Quackity started in on me. It has to be Dream in there again.”

“But how did he get in there, then?” Ranboo asks, visibly confused. “Last time it took the entire server to lock him up!”

“There were no signs of a struggle,” Niki points out, matter of fact. “I believe you, Techno, but I don’t really know how they managed to drag him back so easily. I can’t imagine he was jumping at the chance to go back in there.”

Techno shakes his head with an uneasy sigh.

“I have a feelin’ of what might’ve happened,” he says quietly. “And I really hope that I’m wrong and he’s less of an idiot than I think he is.”

---

They set out to investigate - and maybe attack - the next day, Techno and Phil taking on the bulk of preparations as Ranboo stays behind. He’d been understandably uneasy about the whole mission, so they’d left him back by the Syndicate room to set off their pearls in case anything went wrong. (“By the end of the day,” Techno had said, giving Phil a look with the corner of his lip quirked upwards, “don’t be like Phil here and think I meant the end of the month, alright?”) They’d all be supplied with armor and weapons, thanks to Phil, but she’d been handed the bulk of their potions, arranged neatly in her inventory by type in case they’d be needed. She lingers in the back of the room as Phil and Techno chat amiably over the sound of making last minute repairs on their armor, listens to Techno’s ceaseless reminders for Phil to be careful, watches as they make sure that their stasis chambers are properly prepared should they need them.

(She watches as Phil nudges Techno’s shoulder when he lingers behind a certain chair, empty as long as she’s been part of the Syndicate, the fountain behind it bubbling quietly without a pearl inside. Techno sighs, expression strange.

“Should’ve set him up with one,” he says, quiet, and Phil pats him on the back.

“You couldn’t have known, mate. We wanted to wait a little before telling him about the Syndicate, remember?”

Techno hums, noncommittal. “Still.”)

They Nether travel to the site of Techno’s lookout, which ends up being a little shambling thing with dirt walls dug into a small hill looking towards the prison portal, having hardly enough space to fit the three of them. Phil looks at it with no small amount of apprehension, and Techno shrugs lightly, wearing an expression that makes Phil turn to him with a look that makes Niki break into giggles. Techno crosses his arms- “in my defense-” and Phil looks up at the dirt ceiling with a long-suffering sigh.

“You couldn’t have made this a little roomier, mate?” Phil asks, voice dry as kindling, and Techno raises his hands by his head.

“Hey hey, it’s discreet, it gets the job done, it’s perfectly structurally sound-” the sound of the leftmost wall crumbling, along with the cloud of dust that puffs from it and fills their tiny space, undermines the tail end of his statement and leaves him sputtering, Niki falling into another fit of quiet giggles. Underneath it all, Phil sighs again, raising his wings behind him.

“...these are going to take so long to clean out.”

To his credit, Techno looks sheepish. “Sorry, Phil.”

They sober up quickly; Techno turns around to the opposite side of the hill, where he’s hidden some peepholes inside the dirt - Niki settles herself by one, leaning forwards to put her eye to it and catch a glimpse of the prison looming over the water. It’s been repaired since the breakout, she notes, the gaping hole in the roof completely gone and replaced with obsidian, as intimidating and undamaged as it had been before, if not more so. Phil makes a considering sound from behind her.

“Same plan as last time?” He asks, and Techno shakes his head.

“They’ve probably reinforced it, and Dream’s blueprints won’t include anything new the Warden’s added. I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved Dream to a different location completely. We don’t want to draw too much attention, either, we were cutting it pretty close during the breakout.” He narrows his eyes. “I was thinking we’d try something a little stealthier, this time. “

He gestures at Niki, who blinks back at him with wide eyes.

“You got a couple of invis potions for us?”

She distributes the potions among them all, one regular and two splash potions of invisibility each, and Techno points towards the prison once she’s done.

“The most important thing is to get through the portal,” he says with a grim expression. “Worst comes to worst, once we’re inside we can always blast our way through - but gettin’ through that portal is our first priority.”

Phil narrows his eyes at him. “The portal is locked, though. We’ll need to follow someone else inside- and I’m pretty sure Sam uses pearls, so he’s out.”

Techno nods. “Which is why I’m bankin’ on the prison gettin’ another visitor today. We’ll just have to wait.”

Niki swallows. “Do you mean-”

“Quackity?” Techno turns away, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m not totally sure, but he’s not exactly the type to just give up on his goals. He’s pretty predictable- an empire needs an emperor, always needs something new to rule- you know the type,” he says, tipping his head towards Phil. “He’ll be mad at Dream for disappearin’ on him and won’t miss the opportunity to prove he has the upper hand again. I’m not sure that he’s going to come today-”

“-but you wouldn’t really be surprised, either,” Phil finishes for him, eyes steely with cold determination. “I trust your judgement, mate. Just stay safe- from what I’ve heard, Quackity has been...erratic.”

“When is he not,” Techno huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, Phil. Just be careful, both of you. Don’t get too close. And if things get messy- which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid, by the way- then don’t do anything too risky. Our priority is gettin’ in and out alive.”

“We can handle ourselves, Techno,” Niki reminds him with a small smile. “And Ranboo is there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Alright, then. Here’s the plan.”

---

It takes quite a long time for Quackity to arrive, long minutes that Niki spends fidgeting in the corner of the room, brushing her hands over seams of the netherite plates that Phil had shoved into her hands, back at the Syndicate room. The set is inexplicably light - not weightless, by any means, as it is still netherite, but not nearly as bulky as any set of netherite armor she’s owned or seen in the past. The runes are precise, lines thin and exact, written with graceful strokes of lapis.

“Phil’s the best metalworker I’ve ever met,” Techno tells her with a small grin, catching her in the middle of tracing what she can make out as an Unbreaking rune along the metal strapped to her forearm. “But then again, he’s had the time to practice.”

“Are you calling me old again?” Phil huffs, and Techno flashes a smile her direction before looking at Phil with a slight grin.

“Well, Chat is,” he says, lips twitching when Phil glares back.

“You can’t just blame Chat every time you insult me, you little shit,” Phil groans, and Techno only grins wider.

“Phil, my ad revenue,” he complains, a dramatic lilt to his voice that has Niki stifling a snort, and Phil’s glare only grows deadlier.

“You’ll have more than your ad revenue to worry about if you keep this up,” he mumbles, going back to keep watch at one of the peepholes and stilling as he does. “Shit- Techno, Quackity’s here.”

Techno straightens up, hindered slightly by the low ceiling of their room. “Alright- we all know the plan, right?”

Niki nods in the affirmative, pulling out a splash invis and letting it settle in her hand, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. She reaches into her inventory and lets her armor fade into it, takes a deep breath and watches as the two across from her do the same. She doesn’t wear armor often, but so close to the prison, feeling mining fatigue settling deep into her bones - she’s never missed the security it offers more. Techno keeps watch, waiting- drops his arm in a signal. Now.

Niki throws the potion at their feet, flinching back at the sound of shattering glass and feeling its effects seep into her skin. When she opens her eyes, she can’t see anything but the inside of the room that they’d holed themselves in and the faintest of wisps rising from where their feet must be, curling around the grass.

(Please let this work, she begs to no one in particular as they walk towards the prison. And if you can hear me- please keep us all safe.)

She hardly breathes as they follow Quackity across the path, holding someone’s hand in her own - Phil’s, by the feel of it - careful to muffle her footsteps in the grass and stand still whenever Quackity’s eyes come a little too close. Thankfully for them, he seems focused, hardly stopping or looking around at all as he walks towards the prison’s portal, movements stiff as he walks forward. He punches the button on the wall particularly harshly, and Sam’s voice comes crackling through a speaker a second later.

“I’m here for my visit,” Quackity says, punctuating the sentence with a snort of laughter that doesn’t sound particularly sincere. Niki hasn’t seen him in a long while, not after everything that happened in Pogtopia, and she feels a chill worm down her spine - this man looks nothing like the one that had laughed and danced and sung at her birthday party what feels like an eternity ago. What happened?

Sam sighs, the sound turning into a sharp burst of static through the speakers. “Hello Quackity,” he says, voice deep and tired. “Please step into the portal after I tell you to and then wait on the other side.”

“I know the drill, Sam,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Just because the bastard was gone for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how this damn place works.”

“Just going through protocol, Quackity,” Sam replies, and something about this response has Quackity exploding into a brief fit of laughter, the sound grating against Niki’s ears. She feels her grip tighten on Phil’s hand, air caught in her throat.

“Protocol- ha. Whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal.” Quackity smiles, cold and cruel, and Niki tries not to think about how she’d seen that same grin on Wilbur, eyes sparkling from the light of the lanterns hung from the bridges and walls of their ravine, remember how she’d looked into them and realized her old friend wasn’t there, anymore. Quackity disappears into the portal, and after a second, the hand around her own pulls her inside of it too.

On the other side, Quackity taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms and waiting- Sam’s voice comes through the speakers again, words clipped.

“Go through the portal,” he says, and Quackity does- once again, they wait for a second for his body to disappear, then go within it themselves, pressed close enough together within its frame for Niki to feel the warmth of a wing wrap around her shoulders for a quick second before they’re out of the hot, stifling air of the Nether and into a large, neatly made lobby of blackstone and quartz. They duck into a corner, watching as Quackity moves towards the front counter, the Warden waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks- tired. His movements are slow, footsteps loud against the floor, shoulders tense and back hunched. He walks around the counter, sword strapped to his belt, and Niki feels her breath hitch at the sight of dried blood still stuck to the blade in patches and splatters.

“He ready?” Quackity asks, holding his hands out - Niki catches a flash of metal as Sam drops something into them, watches as Quackity raises what ends up being a pair of shears, dangerous-looking and gleaming with enchants, to the light.

“Yes,” Sam says, side-eyeing Quackity with a small glare. “You know, it’s supposed to be your job to clean those things off when you’re done with them.”

“I told you, busy day back in Las Nevadas yesterday,” Quackity waves a hand- “I’ll do it, alright? Don’t get all pissy now. What happened to being partners?”

“You said we’d be done with this months ago, Quackity,” Sam sighs, and Niki feels a light tug on her arm as Quackity and Sam begin to walk towards the wall to the right of them, breathes in slow and deep as she follows Techno and Phil towards the others. The wall yawns open with the hiss of redstone firing and pistons pulling blocks upwards, opening into a dark hallway that feels like entering the maw of some sort of giant, insatiable beast. They step inside as one, and the door shuts behind them.

“We’ll be done soon enough,” Quackity says, and Niki feels hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Trust me.”

They stalk forwards through a labyrinth of blackstone, Niki brushing the palms of her hand against her clothes when it goes clammy from adrenaline. Halfway through, she pauses to tip back a second potion of invisibility, careful to keep her movements slow and steady as not to make a sound - the liquid is silvery, cool and light on her tongue, and she lets the effects wash over her with her breath caught in her lungs before moving forward. The tunnels are simpler than she’d expected, bearing little obstacles or checkpoints - Quackity makes a wry comment a second after (“Guard tunnels today, huh? Appreciate the hustle, pal-”) that confirms her suspicions. Despite the potion particles still whirling around their bodies and the sounds of their footsteps, too loud in her own ears, they manage to make it forwards without much trouble, entering a large room with a doorway filled completely with a curtain of lava.

“Set your spawn,” Sam says, still stoic, and Quackity rolls his eyes again before doing as told. Niki keeps looking back at the lava flowing past the wall, its heat filling the room and making her already slick palms even worse, and Sam moves to the side to flick a lever, eyes trained on the lava slowly bubbling in front of him.

“Give me your tools?” Quackity asks, and Sam sighs before doing so - Niki watches as he hands over a netherite axe, then potions, then a few raw potatoes that Quackity accepts and puts into his inventory. Sam raises an eyebrow once he’s done, hand tight around the handle of his trident.

“You bring your own sword, today?” He asks, seeming irritated, and Quackity shrugs.

“Sorry pal, I need to make a new one. Guess I’m borrowing yours again.”

Sam sighs again, louder, and hands over his sword as well, watching as Quackity swings it a few times experimentally. The blade skims a little too close to her on one swing and she can’t quite help the squeak that escapes her lips as she throws herself out of the way, feels her heart hammer in her ears as she backs up against the wall. Please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that-

“Quackity, wait.” Sam raises a hand, ear twitching as he looks over in her direction with narrowed eyes. “I think I heard something.”

Oh fuck.

“Well, guess show’s up then,” Techno drawls, and both of them whirl towards his voice, giving Niki enough time to pull her armor back on, scrambling to get her sword and shield in her hands as Phil does the same besides her. Pieces of armor appear where Techno is standing, then a bucket of milk- oh, why must her friends be so dramatic- and Techno’s standing there, smiling sharply, with Orphan Obliterator held loosely at his side. “Let’s get this done, then.”

As one, Techno and Phil blur into action - Techno moves forward to catch the prongs of Sam’s trident on his blade as Phil parries Quackity’s blows with his own sword- they move fluidly, easily covering each other’s backs as the room devolves into chaos. Niki remembers their guidance as she flits in and out of the fight, scoring quick hits to keep the Warden and Quackity off balance while remaining out of range from their weapons, and it’s not long before both of them have fallen with a spray of items and experience orbs scattered all over the floor.

Techno moves over to block off the exposed face of the bed with a block, looking over at the two of them with an uncharacteristically severe expression. “They’ll be back soon- we have to move fast. Niki, you have those fire res, right?”

She nods as she reaches into her inventory, finding the potion’s orange-pink glow and smashing it at their feet. They dive into the lava together, Niki scrambling to keep up, her arms struggling to move through the thick lava, loses sight of both until she flails into something directly in front of her and hands are pulling her up out of the lava.

“There you go, mate,” Phil smiles down at her as hauls herself to her feet, making a face at the feeling of the lava clinging to her clothes. “Yeah, swimming through lava isn’t exactly fun. You good?” She flashes him a thumbs up, and he laughs- “Niki, you’re still invisible.” She flushes pink- right.

A few sips of milk later, she gives him a proper thumbs up, and he laughs, loud and bright. She looks past him to where Techno’s crouched over something- someone, she realizes with a start, in the corner. Dream’s back in prison clothes, ragged and ill-fitting, and he’s curled up with his back towards the front of the cell, shaking enough to be obvious even from where she’s standing. Techno speaks lowly, voice barely more than a deep rumble in the air, almost inaudible.

“You there, Dream?”

She watches as Dream turns his head, looking up with wide, bleary eyes. His hair flops in front of his face, and something within her itches to brush it out of the way. “T-Techno?”

“Yeah nerd, who else?” Techno smiles, and Dream seems to blink awake, drawing himself up with a shuddery breath.

“Techno- it’s a trap- what are you doing here?” he hisses, and Techno gives him a look, deadpan.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a trap- come on, Dream, we’ve been over this by now, bro. You have to know that their traps aren’t goin’ to do anything to me by now,” Techno rolls his eyes, reaching forward to steady his hands on Dream’s shoulders when the other man sputters and struggles to breathe. “Easy, now. Geez, you wanted to prove me wrong about being homeless bad enough that you came back here? We could’ve just made you a house, you know. You didn’t have to go this far.”

“I- they were gonna kill you,” Dream breathes, face twisted up uncomfortably, and his eyes flick past Techno’s face to where Phil and Niki are standing at the opposite wall of the cell. “All of you- they said-”

“And that’s what I thought you’d say,” Techno groans. “Come on, you idiot, I thought you were smarter than this-”

“They were right there, Techno!” Dream fires back, eyes alight. “You- they were right there, what were you thinking, they could’ve-!”

“And my best friend is a necromancer, remember?” Techno shakes his head. “Come on, Dream- Sam and Quackity? You know we can handle them in a fight, especially when you can just revive us if anything goes wrong. You don’t have to do this whole self-sacrifice thing, bro- there’s only so many times I can break into the same prison, y’know.”

“You’re so stupid,” Dream huffs, but he leans in anyway, head just barely settling against Techno’s shoulder. “I- I can’t believe. You’re so dumb.”

“Hey, don’t be sayin’ that to the guy that’s breakin’ you out of prison,” Techno laughs, slinging Dream over his shoulder with an easy motion and laughing harder when it makes him yelp. “That’s just bein’ ungrateful. You’re making Chat sad, man, and when they’re sad they don’t subscribe-”

“I regret this entirely,” Dream says, voice muffled against Techno’s shirt, tone completely flat. “Put me down- you idiot- I’m staying here. You’re worse than Quackity.”

“Rude. Now you’ve really made Chat mad. I demand an apology-”

“Boys, boys.” Niki can’t help giggling, watching the way their gazes snap towards her, rolling her eyes as she moves forward with a few potions held loosely in her hand. “Dream, do you want a health pot?”

Dream seems to deliberate for a second, before nodding at her, expression slightly strained. “...sure.”

“You two can finish your argument after we’ve broken out of the biggest maximum security prison on the server,” Phil drawls from behind her, arms crossed at his chest. “Come on, now, before Sam gets back.”

“Isn’t this the only maximum security prison on the server?” Techno asks aloud, an amused expression on his face - one that only gets worse when Phil glares at him with one ice-blue eye.

“Shut-” he sighs, shaking his head. “You two are chaotic little shits, you know that?”

“Don’t compare me to him, Phil,” Techno complains, Dream mirroring his words with muffled protests of his own, and Phil breathes another drawn-out, long-suffering sigh as he rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“Niki, give us some fire res please?”

She finds the potion bottle between giggles, throwing it to the ground as she tries to choke down the laughter rapidly bubbling up her throat. “Of course, Phil.”

She looks back at Techno and Dream before jumping into the lava, the two of them once again lost in some sort of argument, Dream draped over Techno’s shoulder. He’s breathing easier now, she notes, and Techno looks looser too - a little less tense, leaning back with a perpetual quirk to the corner of his lip as they fire insults back and forth. This is familiar, she recognizes with a soft twist in her chest, the same way that Phil and Techno can finish each other’s sentences and look at each other with laughing eyes sharing the same memories of the past, the same way Ranboo watches Techno’s every step as he adjusts his stance and lifts his sword and Techno laughs and calls him a main character in turn, the same way she and Phil will settle together on the porch over cups of tea and sit at each other’s sides for hours. The rhythm between them is one well-established, the road well-worn - she imagines them, huddled in this dingy cell for months together, and breathes in slow and deep.

“Come on,” she smiles, making sure to keep it on her face when Dream meets her eyes with wide, startled ones of his own. Dream still isn’t an ally, and isn’t a friend.

But - she watches as he smiles back, something inexplicably warm in her chest - maybe, one day, he could be.

#tw torture #tw abuse #tw self harm #tw disordered eating #tw ed #tw sh #prison arc #pandora's vault #tw starvation #c!sam critical #c!quackity critical #my writing :D #> my writing

328 notes · View notes

tarosin · 3 years

Text

the great adventures of y/n tommy jack and tubbo

requested: yes/no

an: part 4 of the great adventures series

pairing: platonic y/n/tommy/jack/tubbo

warning: cursing

It was the afternoon before your new adventure with your friends. you had no idea what to expect, however everyone else knew even ranboo, and he wasn’t even joining you all. you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, especially after hearing some of tommys plans for future uploads. tubbo had been trying to drop hints about what was going to happen. You honestly couldn’t tell if he was excited or nervous, either way you could tell it was going to be a once in a lifetime opportunity and boy were you excited. the sound of knocking pulled you from your thoughts.

“hi y/n! sorry for the unexpected visit, i tried to call you but it wouldn’t go through.”

“oh god sorry, tubbo, my phones on charge upstairs, ive just finished babysitting my friends twitch chat.”

“that’s okay, tommy wanted me to see if you want to stay the night as i can take you with me now. he said something about it saving time tomorrow as jack won’t have to go as far and we can get there earlier, i honestly just think he’s slightly nervous and wants to spend time with someone.”

“i’ve not prepared a bag or anything as i was just planning on grabbing everything i needed in the morning, but i’m down to go with you. i’ll pack a bag real quick, make yourself feel at home. you can stay down here or come upstairs with me.”

tubbo followed you upstairs, and helped you pick which outfits would be the best to wear for the trip. around 10 minutes later you finished packing your bag and turned around to see a very pale tubbo, dropping your bag to the floor you pulled a chair up to your bed sitting opposite him.

“you feeling okay tubs?”

“just nerves, I'll be alright, are you ready to go?”

“ready if you are!”

the journey to tommys was relatively quick, you spent it talking about group plans for when ranboo comes to the uk.

tubbo: almost here!

tommy: yes! want to stream for a bit later, just something small could do laugh and the stream ends. i’ll go talk to my mum now!

•••

tubbo: please open the door

tommy: on it

the pair of you stood at the door waiting for tommy to unlock it

“TUBBO! Y/N I'M GLAD YOU COULD BOTH MAKE IT!”

not too long later, you and tubbo had put everything away and sat with tommy planning out a small stream.

“so i was talking with my parents and we can do an outside stream, and set fire to marshmallows!”

“as much as i love fire tommy i don’t think your parents will appreciate arson in the garden.”

“it’ll be fine now grab a jacket, we need to go walk to the shop.”

the three of you set off determined to get to the shop and back before it got dark, tommy and tubbo walked on either side of you as they want you to feel safe. thankfully the shop was only around the corner so you were all only out for about 20 minutes maximum, you probably could have made it back earlier but you stopped every time you saw a pretty rock.

“y/n come on we still need to stream!”

“did you tweet that you were streaming?”

“no he didn’t.”

“then come and look at this pretty rock!”

tommy and tubbo couldn’t help but laugh at how many rocks you managed to pick up.

•••

“guys i think i’d rather just spend time with you all rather than stream.”

“that’s fine, tommy!!”

the three of you sat around the fire updating one another about plans and opportunitie, coming. the conversation swiftly came to an end when tommy had set fire to a stick claiming it was to make the fire grow. you laughed as you heard his mum yelling at him to stop trying to set you and tubbo on fire.

“sorry about that everyone, but look the fire is big again.”

it got colder as the sun went down, so the three of you sat with a blanket draped over you all. his mum offered to take photos for you and you happily accepted, the pictures looked amazing and you posted it to instagram with the caption ‘i am cold and no one is telling me what’s happening tomorrow.’

it was around 11pm when the three of you agreed it was time to go back inside and sleep.

•••

you and tubbo stayed downstairs and tommy stayed in his room. the sound of tubbos alarm woke the pair of you up.

“turn that fucking thing off!”

“this is the fourth time it’s gone off and you’re still not up?”

“that’s because i’m tired.”

“please get ready jack will be here soon enough.”

realisation finally hit today was the day you were finally about to find out what this once in a lifetime opportunity was. tubbo advised you to wear sensible clothing and not wear the zodiac necklace you always wore, so you decided to wear the hoodie ranboo sent you a week ago and leggings.

“y/n you might wanna tie your hair up.”

“tubbo are you sure you’re feeling okay? you genuinely look ill."

“i’m fine.”

jack: right i’m outside so whenever you’re ready

lani: we’re making our own way later on as the hotel we stayed at is closer

y/n: will someone tell me what we’re doing

ranboo: no

y/n: you’re not even joining us how did you get in the gc

ranboo: magic

y/n: fuck off give me a clue

ranboo: i’ve said it since you dyed your hair neon f/c you’d be able to see from way up in the sky

y/n: what the actual hell is that supposed to mean

•••

soon enough you met up with everyone else and lani started recording.

“we’re skydiving, you ready tubbo?”

“WERE DOING WHAT? HOLY SHIT!”

you honestly couldn’t wait to do this. it was something you had wanted to do for a while, tubbo on the other hand clearly didn’t agree, which was evident through his whining.

you stood with tommy laughing as tubbo sat alone questioning why he agreed to this.

“look at him.”

“he’s is not happy.”

you sat next to jack and tubbo watching the video demonstrating what you will all be doing soon. you let out a nervous laugh, as although you were excited, you couldn’t help but be a bit nervous.

“you could fall into the engine and get chopped up.”

“tommy stop scaring tubbo!”

“what if the parachute doesn’t work?”

“free fall to your death.”

“y/n you’re not helping!”

you stood recording tubbo laying on the floor once again whining.

“tubbo there are so many people behind you!”

“i’m sure the parachute won’t fail tubbo, but if it does it was lovely knowing you!”

“uuuuuuugh!”

“i fully agree bo.”

soon enough you tommy and jack joined tubbo on the floor.

“look at the clouds.”

“we’re going to be in them soon.”

“hell yeah!”

“ughhhh!”

you tried not to laugh trying to calm tubbo down a bit before you all jumped out a plane, which worked until you left him alone with tommy whilst you spoke to jack for a while.

“to be fair that looks quite fun.”

“and dangerous!”

“STOP!”

“well sounds like tubbos thrilled to be here.”

the four of you sat on a bench talking about what’s going to happen, and laughing at tubbos nerves trying to make light of the situation.

“look it’ll be fun, tubbo, provided we don’t die there’s a chance we’ll be in more vlogs.. okay so ignore the black cloud of smoke!”

“that’s not a good omen.”

“shut up!”

you wrapped an arm around tubbo trying to make him feel comfortable and reassure him it’ll be fine, only to be interrupted by jack and tommy bickering about eating before jumping from the plane.

•••

the four of you went to the briefing, at this point you were struggling to contain your excitement, and couldn’t help but laugh out of pure joy.

“no, they are listening, they're just excited.”

after doing training for the jump, you stood with tommy whilst someone questioned him about how he got 9 million subs.

“I just went around being incredibly cool.. doing minecraft.”

you and jack burst out laughing whilst tommy went on to make jokes about how much money he was earning.

•••

it was now almost time to jump out a plane. it was around now nerves were kicking in, so you all went around messing about till you were told it’s time to make your way to get ready.

“let’s go gamers!”

•••

“are you a skydiver enjoyer?”

“i am.”

“well that’s always good... please, don’t let me die!”

“y/n are you scared?”

“no, my ranboo merch will protect me, but if i die can we blame tommy for coming up with this?”

“ranboos not going to believe that you’re wearing the jumper he sent you to jump out a plane.”

a few minutes later you over heard a worker say they’re nervous causing you to tilt your head and blink again, trying to process what was said.

“heh???”

it was now time for the four of you to put the equipment on, so you were ready to jump. jack started talking a lot more than usual at a quicker pace due to the fact he was getting nervous. tommy pointed it out and jack trying to argue he wasn’t made you laugh.

“y/n keeps making a lot of jokes about my parachute being shit.”

“sorry manifold should be fine...more than likely...hopefully. only time will tell really.”

“how you doing buddy?”

“i’m feeling okay. i feel my insides doing inside bits.”

“wonderful!”

you were now all waiting to go as a worker jokes about forgetting something.

“y/n you’re going with him!”

“okay, but why?”

“well you said your ranboo merch will protect you..”

someone went by going rather fast causing you to stare in awe.

“we don’t go that fast, do we?”

“no not unless something goes terribly wrong.”

you all stood there laughing.

“stoppppp!”

“y/n, i’m now thinking you should go with them instead!”

“are you trying to kill me off jack?”

•••

you all set off towards the plane, a mixture of excitement and nerves began kicking in.

“tubbos on a lead.”

“oh i’m really nervous jack.”

“look at y/n!”

lani began to record you, who was now way ahead of the others, so you stopped and waved at lani.

“BYE LANI! HOPEFULLY ILL SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE!”

the others caught up and everyone had their equipment checked again.

“oh dear.. should be fine.”

“i’m alright, don’t worry my ranboo merch will protect us!” you got on first and that when you realised they set you up, so you jumped last as you were more confident and tubbo was jumping first so he could get it out the way.

you all sat on the plane and waved at the camera.

“hi there!”

“hello!”

“hi!”

“please don’t let us die!”

“we’re really jumping out a plane with a dream stan.”

“this is the highest we’ve ever been.”

“gamers in a plane whatever will they do...hopefully not die!”

“Y/N!”

“sorry tubbo!”

you were currently at 2,000 feet and sat looking out the window waiting to reach 14,000 feet. jack turned to you and tommy, “i can’t believe you’re jumping out the plane in philza merch and y/ns jumping out in ranboo merch.”

“if i die at least ill look great doing it.”

12,000 feet later it was now tubbos turn to jump, he looked back at you all.

“YOU GOT THIS TUBBO!!”

you watched as tubbo went.

“GOOD LUCK TOMMY!”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN GOOD LUCK? Y/N?”

“BYEEEEE!”

you laughed as tommy went.

“see you later jack!”

you gave jack a high-five and watched as he went.

“holy shit they actually did it!”

“are you ready, y/n?”

“hell yeah, let’s do this!”

you laughed as you jumped, you couldn’t believe you actually got to jump out of a plane, you waved at camera.

lani met the others as they landed and began telling them about it.

“wait where’s y/n?”

“there they are!”

“Y/N!”

the others ran up to you as you landed.

“i’m glad you didn’t die!”

“thanks jack!”

•••

“would you all do it again?”

“yeah.”

“no.”

“maybe, i’m not sure.”

“i reckon so.”

not too long later, you were all given certificates to celebrate the fact you had jumped out a plane.

“yay it made nearly dying worth it!”

“you’re so dramatic!”

•••

you thought the day was over and that you were going home, little did you know that wasn’t the case.

“were not done for the day.”

“what?”

“heh?”

“you’re tilting your head again.”

“i know it’s because i’m confused!”

“anyway, what do you mean we’re not done?”

“you know george, he’s arrived!”

“gogy!”

“GOGY!”

“can i have a nap in the car please? i’m so exhausted."

taglist:

@l0ver0fj0y

#mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt writing #mcyt imagines #mcyt imagine #tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit x y/n #tommyinnit fluff #tommyinnit imagine #tommyinnit x reader #tubbo x you #tubbo x y/n #tubbo fluff #tubbo imagine #tubbo x reader #jack manifold x you #jack manifold x y/n #jack manifold fluff #jack manifold imagine

539 notes · View notes

cvtqr · 3 years

Text

hm, boring

parings; jean kirstein x reader x marco

content warning; relationship with sharing, hair pulling, face fucking, degradation, spanking, squirting, horse cock marco, + someone additional listening in

“jeannn~ ‘m tired. come cuddle with me pleaseee~”

“EREN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WE’RE ON THE SAME SQUAD!?”

there he goes, ignoring you. nothing new though. every single night jean would be on his god damn game with his friends. night time was the only time you two could spend together because of your jobs getting in the way. he doesn't even like eren yet he choose playing with him over paying attention to you? tch, what a joke.

that's when the idea popped in your head. you reached over to the nightstand, grabbed your phone, and opened your messages.

hey bodt! come over and hang with me n jean, haven't seen you in awhile :)

y/nnn!!! i was actually just doin some work at the cafe by your apartment! guess i’ve been overworking myself that i haven't had the time to come hangout with my best friends :(( but since it’s friday i guess ill drop by ≧◡≦

yeah it’s not good to overwork yourself! we’ve missed you, see you soon !

yup ;)

:)***** sorry y/n clicked the wrong button (・_・ヾ

its fine haha, see ya bodt!

you giggled to yourself. yeah, he was your and your boyfriends best friend, but he really was adorable. such a gentleman.

well that's when he isn't drilling into your tight little cunt while jean jacks off to the sight...

“who were you texting now that you’re all giggly?”

“just inviting someone over!”

“who.”

that came out not so much like a question

“marco! we haven't seen him in awhile.” you said while walking up behind jean in his chair.

he spun around in his chair and looked up at you, patting his lap. of course you weren't going to refusing sitting in his arms, so you snuggled into his lap.

“simp. hi y/n” you faintly heard from jean’s headset

“SHUT UP YEAGER YOU CANT EVEN GET A GIRLFRIEND”

you took his headset, since they were just in the lobby of a game, and put it over your head.

“hiiii eren.”

“give me that you little shit.”

you lightly slapped him on his cheek and got up to sit back on your bed, hearing him chuckle.

little did you know you were going to regret thet later

it wasn't long before you heard marco knock on the front door.

you ran out of the bedroom and unlocked the door for him, greeting him with a warm hug.

“ok so i kind of lied. i just wanted you to come over. but that's only because jeans ignoring me!”

before giving him a chance to respond you took his arm and dragged him to the bedroom.

“hey hey jean!”

“hey bodt - EREN STOP IT YOU FUCKING BASTARD.”

you rolled your eyes and plopped down onto your bed, marco following behind you. you knew that jean has an agreement to share you from time to time, so you cuddled up into his strong arms, resting your head on his broad chest.

he smiled and squeezed you tight. but when jean saw you two from the reflection, he was mad. he knew that he shouldn't have a reason to be mad though, he was the one rejecting giving you the much needed attention. he didn't know if it was because marco was the reason you were smiling right now, or the fact that his hand was roaming a little too far up your thigh.

but what jean didn't know was that marcos been... well, sexually frustrated. like he said before, he been burying himself way too deep into work. being a CEO was a lot of work, even for someone as bright as marco. he used to go at it a little too frequently, but now he never even has the chance to jack off.

so what was his real reason for coming here.

“eren are you there? eren? erennn”

not bothering to shut anything off he put his head set down on his desk and walked over to you and marco.

“you guys hungry?”

you slowly opened your eyes, looking over to jean.

you and marco both nodded your heads.

15 minutes later the three of you were gathered in the living room, you and jean sitting on either side of marco.

everyone was laughing while jean teased you as always. but when you went to go playfully smack his head? the cup of ice cold water in your hand tipped over and spilt all over marco’s jeans.

“ ‘m so sorry hold on!!”

you ran up and into the kitchen grabbing a hand towel. you came back to the couch, sitting back in your spot, taking the towel, dabbing it all over the stain on marco’s pants. you didn't know why he was blushing to an extent though.

“its, its fine y/n! its just water it’ll dry”

you removed the towel to reveal a huge bulge in his pants. so that's why he was so embarrassed.

“im sorry, im sorry! ive just been really frustrated lately and-”

“just help him, y/n.”

marco let out a relived sigh when you got onto your knees in front of him. you slowly brought your hand up to his zipper and pulled it down. he then helped you pull of his pants and boxers just for his erection to spring up and hit into his stomach.

he never failed to impress you, he was defiantly bigger than jean. long and girthy with a few veins running down the shaft, pre-cum dribbling out of the tip.

without saying a word, you took his cock into your hands slowly stroking him, using his pre-cum as lube.

“p-please y/n. i want it in your mouth.”

knowing how mean and dominate he can get while riled up, you obeyed, enjoying the shy side of him.

you swirled your tongue around his tip before bobbling your head down, taking as much as you can. marco’s hands found his way into your hair while throwing his head back. it was taking everything to not just buck his hips up and shove his cock down your pretty little throat.

“so you’re just gonna let her run that slutty mouth up and down n not just fuck her throat? hm, boring.”

at the moment you wish jean would've just bit his tongue while marco let out a deep, long chuckle.

he then tightened his grip around your hair and forced you down further onto him before thrusting up into your throat. he was way too big for you, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat earning a gag from you.

“what's wrong can't take it? i really thought you were a slut... getting onto your knees for your boyfriends best friend and letting him fuck that tiny throat of yours.”

his degrading words were enough for you to slip your hands down your shorts, slowing adding friction to your clit.

jean, now fully erect got up from his spot on the couch and squatted down next to you, pulling your hand away and out of your pants, a tight grip around your wrist.

“i don't think anyone told you to touch yourself, now did they?”

without warning, marco came in your mouth, his warm cum spilling down your throat. he then pulled you off his cock, a string of saliva mixed with cum still connecting you to him. marco looked down to jean and nodded.

jean stood up, bringing you up with him and walked over to the bedroom, marco following close behind and closing the door once you all got inside.

jean pushed you down onto the bed. the two men were now hovering over you, looking down onto you. you definitely lost any sort of control over this situation.

“hmm, i think you deserve a punishment baby. i mean for slapping me before.”

“that wasn't my fault tho-”

“shut up. no one said you could talk.” he spat out

jean then sat on the bed next to you. you knew exactly what he wanted. you crawled over and laid face first across his lap, ass perking up, while marco took a seat on jean’s gaming chair facing the both of you.

“you’ll only get ten today. i hear anything fall from that mouth besides you counting, i’m leaving to go spend the night at marcos”

you shook your head yes while a harsh slap landed right across your ass.

“o-one” you said while sniffling

marco on the other hand was started to palm himself through his boxers at the sight in front of him.

“te- ten!” you basically cried out at this point. you usually get more, but jean was harsh tonight.

meanwhile, no one in the room realized the discord chat going off on jean’s computer

surprised your still on... mikasa ratted me out about something so my mom called and chewed my ear out longer than expected.

helloooo?

jean?

“my sweet girl, you were so good for me. as a reward i’ll let you have marco’s cock. you’ll let him fuck you, right baby?”

eagerly you nodded while jean switched places with marco, now sitting on the chair.

“as always im going to prep you first, i wouldn't want to hurt you. that alright?”

without having to say anything you pulled your shorts down and disregarded them onto the floor.

marco then pushed you down onto your back while slipping down your panties. you looked up into his eyes while he shoved to fingers knuckles deep into your cunt, earning a sweet soft moan from your lips.

a few minutes after using his fingers to stretch you out, you left your climax building with a familiar feeling in your stomach.

“m-marco i’m gonna~”

about to cream all over his fingers, he pulled them out and flipped you onto your stomach.

“didn’t think i’d let you off the hook that easy hm?”

“marco pleaseee, i need too, please!!” you were basically sobbing over the fact that you wanted to get fucked

“no need to be a little cry baby y/n. he’ll let you cum when he wants to.” said jean from across the room, fucking his fist

“no, no its not that... it’s just that nothing feels better than your sweet cum running down my shaft.” right when he finished his sentace he shoved his cock right into your tight cunt, completely bottoming out and thrusting into you without giving you time to adjust.

“ ‘s too big marco please!”

“sorry, couldn’t help it baby.” the sight was so lewd. marco pounding into you from behind and shoving your head down into the mattress. jean behind you two fucking his first harder than ever. the room filled with wet slapping sounds and your loud moans, along with grunting from the two boys.

“ ah~ baby you’re squeezing me so, so well.” said marco while reaching his hand down, finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles around it.

“mm need to-”

marco sent a harsh slap onto your clit, sending your whole body jerking foward, squirting all over his cock.

marco let out another chuckle at your reaction. “wow, first time anyone’s ever squirted on my cock.”

he pulled out soon after and released all over your ass, crashing down on top of you, out of breath. jean was about to come over and help the both of you clean up until everyone heard a sort of high pitched moan. you and marco knew that didn’t sound like jean and both flipped over.

you all soon realized the headset on jeans desk, the green light indicating it was still on and running. you all then caught on to what was happening on the other side.

“wow jean... didn’t know little y/n was such a slut.”

525 notes · View notes