#ive mostly learned how to deal with it but sometimes i still fall into those patterns again alskfdjh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills.

You’re his only solace.

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often.

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns.

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks.

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves.

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings.

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing.

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent.

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight.

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex. It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows.

It’s grim in its predictability.

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone.

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.”

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.)

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen.

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them—

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand.

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was.

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future.

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.)

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted.

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze.

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings.

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming.

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.”

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest.

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face.

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?”

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t.

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa.

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least.

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind.

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively.

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap.

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?”

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do.

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you.

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible.

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words.

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy—

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none.

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments.

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could.

“Do you see now?”

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch.

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky.

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning—

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.”

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side.

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness.

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.”

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do.

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan.

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see.

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection.

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep. The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue.

It bothers him—

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror.

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while.

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can.

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant.

All the same, the trim feels good.

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back—

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!”

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!”

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him.

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.)

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity.

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning.

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much. The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering.

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with.

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach.

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it.

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree.

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was.

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh.

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.”

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet.

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress.

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely.

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone.

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes.

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile.

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up—

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart.

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later.

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard.

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead.

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too—

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement.

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try.

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered.

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks.

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.)

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business.

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat.

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders.

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—”

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough.

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands.

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night.

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?)

But you’re not in the common room.

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath.

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten.

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard.

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him.

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more.

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone—

...

Keigo leaves the next morning.

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn.

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse.

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died.

All disgusting reminders.

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had.

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he.

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time.

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave.

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes.

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter.

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it.

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears—

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some.

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought.

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?”

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe.

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self.

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #hawks fanfic #hawks imagines #my hero academia #mha x reader #anyways tag wall #enjoy loves #smorch

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dyketubbo · 3 years

Note

when you get a chance, thoughts on seer of space tubbo?

(i am also open to maid of space tubbo, and many others, but i am currently seer leaning)

*wakes up* oh boy time to classpect! under the readmore because seers are interesting enough that i ended up going on a tangent

of course no argument about the aspect because hes 100% a space player, ive discussed heir before i believe, so seer analysis it is, because i havent thought about it before (seers slip my mind sometimes, i love them, my brain is just the equivalent of a ground with a bunch of banana peels and cant handle having more than 4 coherent thoughts at a time).

like said with knights, he doesnt exactly try to tell anyone what he wants to come off as, sure he wants to be intimidating enough that people leave him alone, but, well. he does fit the intimidating thing, its less a facade and more a warning, he doesnt want to hurt anyone, but he will should he deem it necessary (thankfully, tubbos kind enough that he deems it unecessary in most cases). hes a bit too likely to follow through, and its bred from feeling unsafe, rather than feeling insecure. c!tubbo knows he can do things, the cc is more likely to downplay what he does than the character is (not that c!tubbo doesnt, but he does still believe in his abilities, he just doesnt think hes important enough to emphasize his impact. difference between going "oh no it was all __" and going "oh no it wasnt just me" when theres something hes done most of the work on)

so, he almost fits knight, at least in abilities, after all knights are capable and they know theyre capable, and hes very good at the exploitation aspect, pushing limitations and using them for their benefits. i could see him as maybe a knight thats actually gotten past the insecurity and facades already, if we're to consider his spy history as him being pre-actualization. being a space player doesnt really change how solid knight arcs are, so the combination of knight and space doesnt make knight much more fitting for tubbo

similarly, he does fit a few aspects of being a seer (having similar struggles, talking a shitton sometimes, sitting back and observing the world around him when he finds it beneficial to do so, generally very smart especially within their group), but not so much others (seers are often overbearingly smug in a way tubbos a bit too humble for, learning through education rather than experience, having a habit of getting too focused on their goal, and theyre overall passive, being too active is actually how they get themselves into shit, while tubbo gets hurt when hes too passive). seers of space focus more on the present than the future or past, which almost fits tubbo.. if it werent for the fact that he doesnt focus on the future or past out of repression cknsks. not that he would much anyways, but the intentional focus on the present is out of stubborness and trauma rather an actual trait of staying in the present. notably, theres quite a few times where tubbo does think about the past and future, especially when he was younger, and he does try to work towards his ideal future, he just doesnt talk about it much.

funnily enough, because of where seer falls through, he ends up being closer to the mage struggle of, well, getting their asses kicked when theyre too passive because things work out best when theyre involving themselves. mages also have that posturing thing as well, though its connected to intelligence (desperately trying to come off as smarter because they believe theyre still too dumb and naïve, even though theyre actually doing fine), so again, not exactly tubbos kind of posturing. plus, hes pissy, but not pissy enough for a mage, as theyre more likely to get caught up in how fed up they are with everything, while tubbo gets caught up in how much he still cares no matter how much he seems like he doesnt. the space aspect adds that theres.. a shitton of shit happening to and around him, which does fit, at least, and mages of space usually suffer because of their passions, knowledge, and experience, as well as they're rather hands on. again, fits, but, well.

seers and mages are a bit too focused on knowledge for the kind of person tubbo is. hes smart for sure, has a lot of knowledge, and even when hes not a spy he does want to know things and looks for that knowledge, but while he fits the goals and positives of seers (and mages), he doesnt exactly fit their flaws or what happens when theyre unhealthy. not that he needs to show signs of being unhealthy, but even healthy players still show an ability to be the unhealthy versions of their classes. he doesnt get his ass kicked for being too active and tunnel visioned like seers do (and it can sometimes come from ego trips, which tubbos very unlikely to have, even if he fits the "my solution is the most correct here, so we have to follow it" part of it all) like seers, he doesnt have any moments of just refusing to learn and complaining about how everything sucks rather than doing anything about it (nor is he likely too) like mages. he does vaguely fit where the unhealthiness of a knight can come in, propping up a shield to a ridiculous extent and lashing out when their insecurites are picked at, but that feels a bit too reckless to be tubbo (though it does fit tommy).

overall, i can kind of see seer for a slightly different version of tubbo, but it feels too passive for tubbo, if that makes sense. he is passive at least, in terms of classes anyways (note- despite how some classpectors define it, passive doesnt really mean you serve others, its not an insult, it just means you weave your aspect through others, rather than yourself. its the difference between a prince destroying x/destroying through x and a bard allowing destruction of x/inviting destruction through x. still listen to passive classes, thats what seers fall into after all, and seers are very important). its just that tubbo usually gets hurt by being too passive rather than getting hurt by being too active (not that it couldnt happen, which is why i say it could still fit under other circumstances).

speaking of passive v active, if i had to pick a passive class i feel fits tubbo the most, probably heir. active wise, id say maid does actually fit rather well. i feel like ive talked about maid tubbo before but i might be remembering a different analysis so just in case ill generally say i feel he fits the arc of going from a "doormat" to taking their life for themselves. theyre stubborn, stressed out from listening to others, like banter, occassionally silly and can start arguing in circles due to the stubborness (think that one patrick id scene, but smarter). maids are also heavy repressers, they fear being seen as weak, and are unwilling to ask for help. they rely on their environment and hate it.

and, painfully enough, some classpectors state that when pushed into being unhealthy, maids explode. maids are already intimidating on their own, being powerful and smart enough to know what to do with that power, and when they get stressed out enough, they, well, explode. they hurt everyone in one big event (think aradias actions in make her pay). its not necessarily a reckless lashing out at everyone like knights, but a giant burnout that happens to effect everyone. tubbos not at a point where it seems likely for this to happen, but i wouldnt be too surprised if something like it did happen were things to get too be too much. he is the mf with nukes after all. healthy maids are independent, with maids of space specifically, well, making space for themselves and others (sound like a certain snow commune anyone), attempting to start new lives. an independent maid, allowed to be their own person without anyone stepping on them, is a healthy maid. unfortunate for tubbo that his life fucking sucks too hard for him to really get to this point KEKW

heirs fit a similar "followed others then became more independent" arc, mostly unaware that theyre being lead around but, if whats happening aligns with their own ideals, dont really care much that theyre being a follower when they are aware of such. heirs have an instinct to stick to comfort, rather than an instinct to be independent like maids. heirs still need to find their independence and autonomy, but need to do so because they can change things, theyre also very powerful when they play correctly. however, going against what they may feel is best and is more comfortable for them can be actively painful, early heirs often would rather be comfortable and happy even if things arent going well than take the difficult route, know that theyll suffer, and temporarily risk comfort and happiness in an attempt to reach an end they dont know will be there for sure. they can deal with suffering, but choosing to stay constantly aware of this suffering hurts and they struggle with dealing with the fact that they need to be aware to stop the suffering.

heirs change by picking up on subtle details naturally, subconsciously effecting those around them, making either themself or others interact with their aspect differently (or actively not think with their own aspect, in a positive way). heirs, when self aware, want to help. thats an important detail, and its why heirs are often protagonists, they dont have the ambition to do things that only benefit themselves when they realize theyre in a position of power. at their core, heirs usually want to make things better, but learning to move on and better themselves can hurt, and it takes a lot for heirs to to let it be apart of the process.

unhealthy heirs fade. they get so stressed out by getting hurt that they shrink back into themselves, they stick with what makes them comfortable and refuse to acknowledge that they and others are hurting, wrapped up in their more selfish instincts and becoming hard and stressful to deal with. "i want everything to be okay" becomes "i dont want to deal with the idea that nothings okay right now", soon getting to "im okay and you cant tell me otherwise, fuck you if you want to take this away from me, you cant stop me but i will stop you". of course, that last one can be useful if a heir were to use it to change things for the better, but the tunnel vision on "i want to be comfortable even if im making others uncomfortable" is, well. shitty. unhealthy heirs wont actively try to hurt anyone unless pushed, but they can they can still manage to through a lack of acknowledging that they have to help. and well, that sounds somewhat like tubbo, the hurting through a lack of helping, at the very least its present in things like him not visiting tommy during exile (partially because it was safer to just not challenge dream, partially out of guilt and belief that tommy hated him)

heirs of space specifically are about flitting from project to project, learning about what interests them, impatient when others dont share their excitement, and learning when to adapt and move on from things. generally, if i had to put a scale on it, id say tubbos most likely to be a heir, then a maid, then a seer. it all depends on what aspects of him you wanna focus on, really. seer tubbo is really interesting though! i think seers are more smug than he is though, not that he doesnt have his moments, but his tendency to believe hes right isnt all too prominent compared to other traits of his, and its less from a smug "i know whats right" and more just a firm "this isnt right, i have a better idea". he wants to do whats right, but if he feels like he doesnt know whats right, hes willing to rely on others, it just.. takes him a bit of pushing to admit such

#i took like 5 hours on this hope you appreciate it max /lh #i enjoy classpecting though and i enjoy tubbo even more so its alright #dsmp #tubbo #dsmp classpects #hs #angel answers #long post #(iirc about 14 or 16 paragraphs maybe?#*)

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scottymcgeesterwrites · 3 years

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Final Fantasy V Review

Year: 1992

Original Platform: Super Nintendo

Also available on: PlayStation One (Final Fantasy Anthology), Game Boy Advance, Steam (updated graphics)

Version I Played: Game Boy Advance

Synopsis:

Bartz is a drifter, riding across the world with his chocobo – Boko. One day, the wind seems to fall. Lenna’s father, the king of Tycoon, goes off to make sure the Wind Crystal is all right, but doesn’t return. Meanwhile, a meteorite falls. Lenna and Bartz check it out separately, where they find each other and a man named Galuf with amnesia. Together they figure out that the world is falling apart – the crystals that drive wind, fire, earth and water are dying out. They stumble upon a pirate hideout led by Faris, and together they seek to restore the world and uncover the mysterious forces behind the destruction of the crystals.

Background:

Once again, this Final Fantasy game was originally unreleased outside of Japan. Unlike II and III, the developers thought that the game was a different tone than the others and the vast job system would be too complicated for Western audiences. The West didn’t experience Final Fantasy V until 1999 with Playstation One’s Final Fantasy Anthology; a compilation of both V and VI. One notable change from the Japanese version is the name Bartz. The original name for Bartz in the Japanese release was translated as Butz, but because Americans are immature and laugh at such a name, they changed it in the localization to Bartz.

Gameplay:

Holy capitalism, Batman – so many jobs!

Not only that, but each job has abilities that you can mix and match! Every time you level up a job, you earn a new ability for that job. You can switch those abilities across jobs.

The possibilities are seemingly endless!

The gameplay is the most fun I had with customization in a while in any video game RPG. The best part is that the Job System is so rewarding by the time you reach the third act of the game. It gives you such a variety that it allows you to approach battles from many different angles. There’s no one way to be a badass and deal destructive damage.

It’s so much fun that once a year, Final Fantasy V gamers join in “Final Fantasy Five Four Job Fiesta”. It’s a challenge where you are randomly assigned four jobs in the game and have to finish the game ONLY with those four jobs. I’ve joined in the challenge myself and it’s a great way to come together with Final Fantasy players.

I had fun unlocking the legendary weapons and hunting down the most powerful summons - this time naturally without looking anything up. I find it interesting to say that I had legit fun hunting down all the extras. Sometimes in other Final Fantasy games I get weary over hunting for some extra, higher powered spells and summons. I sometimes even wonder if I should bother going after them. The vast Job System in Final Fantasy V keeps you occupied for the entire game and more. I finished the game and there are still some jobs that I haven't even touched. Luckily, the Game Boy Advance version adds some extra dungeons after you complete the game.

Graphics:

The sprites in this game look a bit rough around the edges. They also come off as too small in my opinion. The same is said of the Game Boy Advance version. Regardless, it now looks like an actual SNES game. Unlike Final Fantasy IV, it has more color, structure, and doesn’t look faded.

Something irked me though about the sounds. I never have anything bad to say about the sound effects, but for some reason, in this game, the battle sound effects were meek. Even when someone had a sword, the attack sounded puny.

The PlayStation One version has an FMV sequence that look awkward and ugly as fuck, just like the FMV sequence for the PlayStation One version of Final Fantasy IV. As much as I love Yoshitaka Amano, trying to transplant his style into 3D is not a good idea.

Story:

The story transcends that of Final Fantasy IV. Where Final Fantasy IV can feel weak or simple at times, Final Fantasy V delivers a strong, emotionally charged storyline.

It starts simple. Once again, the world is in danger because the crystals are in danger – but this time because humans are misusing their power and breaking them. So this is a rare Final Fantasy game without any evil empires or rebellions.

Out of all the Final Fantasy games, I had heard the least about what happens in V. Heck – I knew more about II before going into it, mostly because of what people said about the Star Wars parallels. It’s been a long time since I went into a Final Fantasy game completely blind. I kept it that way and was very pleasantly surprised.

I can see what the developers meant by a “change in tone.” Final Fantasy V is probably the funniest of them all. It’s not campy – just humorous. Galuf loves to share puns. Bartz can be a klutz. The characters bicker a lot during their journey. One part actually made me genuinely laugh out loud when you are in a certain underground place searching for clues:

Despite the lighter tone, each character has a pretty sensitive, delicate backstory. I cared for Bartz’s personal history with his parents. I worried about whether Lenna’s father would die or not. I wondered what Galuf forgot and who Faris really was. There are dashes of tropes here but none of them stand out too much. You have to remember that tropes themselves are not inherently bad – what matters is how you utilize them. There’s no hokey romantic subplot thrown in either, which is extremely rare in a JRPG.

It was so rewarding to go into it blind because there was even a shocking death. I thought maybe they would be all right in the end through some Disney cop out.

No. That person is dead. Dead as a door nail. Never coming back. I also enjoyed the bit where they tried to revive said dead person with spells and phoenix downs. They finally imply that there can be a point where someone can go beyond and it’s too late to bring them back.

The henchman Gilgamesh is very memorable and lovable, probably the most memorable character of the entire game. He serves as great comic relief while not being at all annoying. I kept hoping he would show up.

My only real complaint, if I’m ever forced to say anything bad, is that Boko wasn’t really an asset in the story, at least not as much as I assumed he would be.

The story is unfortunately very overlooked. I can understand that maybe at the time American and other Western gamers may have found the third act strange – especially after learning about the villain Exdeath’s true nature. Compared to the other Final Fantasy backstories, it’s a little out there, and something tells me it relates to Japanese mythology. But today? You’d be sorry to miss out on it.

Music:

Final Fantasy V’s main theme is somewhat reminiscent of Final Fantasy IV’s main theme. They have this melodic soaring feel with a continuous beat. “The Four Warriors of Dawn” in Final Fantasy V is reminiscent of “Red Wings” in IV. Meanwhile, the biggest and most interesting display is “Battle with Gilgamesh”. (sometimes titled “Clash/Battle on the Big Bridge”). The piece opens up with some intense drumming. While the later orchestrations and adaptations of “Battle with Gilgamesh” are pretty good, nothing seems to capture the tempo and umph of the original.

“Dear Friends” is probably the most endearing tune in the soundtrack. It’s played at the end and gives a really bittersweet feel. The Distant Worlds concert version is extremely bittersweet. It has a sweet, gentle guitar, and it reminds me of how Uematsu said one of his inspirations was Simon and Garfunkel. “Dear Friends” definitely has that folk tune.

Exdeath’s theme song gives a heavy rock vibe. That heavy rock vibe was last heard in the opening segment of the final boss fight in Final Fantasy IV. The rest of the score has a lot of drumming incorporated, partially due to the fact that pirates are involved in most of the plot. Ultimately, this Final Fantasy score broke out all of Uematsu’s classic and hard rock inspirations – and it’s fucking awesome.

Notable Theme:

“Battle with Gilgamesh”

I have replayed this song over a thousand times by now.

youtube

Verdict:

Definite must-play. It’s the most underrated Final Fantasy game. The Kob System can be overwhelming, especially if you have never played a Final Fantasy game before. I wouldn’t suggest playing this for beginners – more after you get your hands wet.

Direct Sequel?

Yes. And No.

While not a video game, Final Fantasy V did receive an anime sequel titled Final Fantasy: Legend of the Crystals. It’s technically the first sequel to a Final Fantasy game. The anime is set 200 years in the future, with the heroes of the original game having become legend. Critical reception of the miniseries was mixed.

#final fantasy #final fantasy v #square enix #super nintendo #nintendo #underrated video games #video games #onvideogames #fantasy #rpg #jrpg #rpg game #video game rpg #chocobo #four job fiesta #final fantasy five four job fiesta

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things-we-used-tc-share · 4 years

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The Slow Acceptance of Janus Sanders

(And the inevitable plight of falling in love with Patton)

Warnings: Spoilers for the last video sort of.

Ship: Moceit

Plot: When you love someone you start picking up their habits a little. And as it turns out, Janus is actually very good at caring about the others.

Word Count: 3323

I: How to Make Pancakes And Friends.

The morning is quiet, the hum of nature outside vast and undisturbed bar the wind and squirrels. The sunlight streams in, the cool air drifting through an open window, and illuminating a man with a cup of tea in his hands as he stares out at the world that had been created for them. He sips the tea, swirling the warm liquid around his mouth before swallowing it, apparently deep in thought.

“Good morning Patton,” He jumps at the sound, looking over to the newcomer, whose arms were crossed over his chest, an amused expression on his face as Patton calms down from the fright he just received. “Terribly sorry,” He doesn’t sound sorry, mostly he’s smiling, Patton doesn’t take offense and gives him a warm smile in return.

“Well Janus, you could’ve given me a warning before sneaking up on me like that!” He slides off the windowsill with a shake of his head, his tone reminiscent of a father berating their child, but in a way that only makes Janus feel somewhat accepted by Patton. The patronisation he could do without but whatever helps the moral side cope is also good enough for him. His name sounds strange coming from any of the other sides’ mouths, yesterday evening Logan had said his name to his face and Janus almost forgot how to breathe.

It’s a learning curve.

“I did warn you, I said good morning,” He isn’t lying, and Patton laughs lightly, shaking his head as he wanders into the kitchen. “Are you making breakfast?” He follows the other like a lost puppy, the moral facet does not mind and opens cupboard doors. “We don’t…need to eat?”

“Need and want are not the same thing,” He hands Janus a frying pan and grins. “Here I’ll show you how to make them,” And he does. Or at least he tries, it takes the deceitful side several attempts of burned pancakes before he finally gets the hang of it. He almost forgets his mysterious façade as he flips a perfect pancake and cheers lightly, Patton grins at him.

It was quite an interesting experience, when Roman and Logan drag themselves downstairs and find Janus giggling into his hands as Patton tries to scrape pancake off the ceiling between fits of laughter.

II: Janus is Not Patton, Roman is Not Remus.

A couple of weeks later, Roman grumbles as he walks in through the front door. He’d made this place, well, a part of him had, and so had Remus. They’d kept reshaping and building the mindscape throughout the years.

Which is why it’s more amusing that he always seems to end up with the most bruises and cuts, because you would think that by now he knew where all the danger was, in a place of his own creation.

“Where’s Patton?” He asks as he stands in the living room, bruises on his face and cuts on his arms. They will heal, but he’s not Logan and he knows very little about the human body in terms of healing (He really should learn so he can heal himself faster). Janus, who is sat cross-legged on the sofa, looks up from the crossword puzzle that he’s staring at so very intensely.

“I think he’s gone outside for something,” He gives a small smile. “What’s the matter?” The tension between them hadn’t quite dissipated from their little argument, so he feels in some small way like he’s treading rough currents or walking a tightrope “May I…be of assistance?” Janus is not Logan either, but he has spent years putting Remus’ bones back into place and tending to nasty scars. “Those aren’t so bad, all you really need is some antiseptic and plasters,” Suddenly, he’s not waiting for Roman’s response as he hurries one half of the creative sides to sit down and grabbing the first aid kit. Roman doesn’t argue, just lets Janus clean up the blood. The elder is distinctly reminded of every time he’s had to patch Remus up; whilst Roman just thinks Janus is much like Patton, for a moment, he swears the care in the other’s eyes, the concentration on fixing something up…if it weren’t for the scales he could’ve been him.

III: Take a Moonlight Drive Until You Smile (Or Sleep).

The deceitful side, now that he’s making a habit out of eating food for the sake of it, finds he enjoys midnight snacks. Most of the time he’s alone, although sometimes he finds himself berating the most prominent night owls: Logan and Virgil, about knowing when to sleep instead of doing their jobs. They don’t require sleep in the same sense actual human beings would, but they do still get tired as anyone else would, both emotionally and physically.

This night however, it isn’t Logan or Virgil who he runs into, but curled up on the windowsill, staring out into the night is Patton.

“Patton?” Janus asks, eyebrows furrowed, the moral side is wearing a onesie with cat ears and he looks both very tired and adorable. “What…has you up at this late hour?” He doesn’t hide the surprise in his tone, moving closer to the other, almost ready to tell him to go to bed; Logan and Virgil might cope with atrocious sleep schedules, but Patton requires balance and rhythm. He needs repetition to feel secure, and is not adjusted to change in any way, shape or form.

“I couldn’t sleep, my head is…too loud,” Patton doesn’t meet Janus’ eyes, but in the low light of the moon and the corner lamp, the lying side can tell in seconds that he’d been crying. He understands that feeling too, and sighs, holding out his hand.

“Come,” He instructs, the moral side looks surprised, but doesn’t kick up a fight, taking the other’s hand. “I’ll take your mind off it,” He grabs a coat off the rack and hands it to the other man; Patton gives a confused smile and does as he’s told, being led out the front door. The outside world surrounding their mansion of a home is mostly fields and the like, trees and forests, and hills, all the things that make Roman and Remus feel a little more like themselves. It isn’t a scenery that will be argued, as it is almost picturesque.

Janus opens the garage door, rolling up the shutter to reveal a car, something Patton had known they owned but had never had the urge to be in, until now. He gets in the passenger seat and does not speak. Janus turns on the car, and the radio, and then he drives. Patton doesn’t know how long they drove for, he fell asleep somewhere along the line, and woke up halfway up the stairs as he was carried to his bed.

He sleeps then, until the next morning.

Patton doesn’t mention it to Janus, but he does say thank you quietly, before starting on breakfast. The two say nothing more on the matter, even though they consider it separately in silence.

IV: Janus is Not Patton, Part 2.

“Patton’s not feeling well,” Roman informs the deceitful side one evening “Can you make dinner?” Logan looks up from the book in his hands, as though just a little disappointed. Much like Janus, he had initially thought it to be pointless to eat when they don’t need to functionally eat, however Patton’s meals became just as much of a guilty pleasure as cups of coffee, or sleep, and just because you don’t need something in a literal sense, doesn’t mean it does not have benefits.

So, he too, is a little disappointed that he’s not having Patton’s Sunday dinner tonight.

“Of course, I’ll just become your secondary maid because you don’t know how to turn an oven on,” Janus replies, but his tone is teasing and when he cracks the slightest smile, Roman relaxes. “I do wonder if you look after yourself at all, Roman,” He moves, his fingertips drumming against the counter as he looks around the kitchen “Sunday dinner then?”

“Usually that is what one eats on a Sunday,” Logan mutters, voice quiet, but almost verging on humorous. Roman laughs, and the elder nods in agreement almost sarcastically, his one human eyebrow raising, before he sets about making dinner. It feels strange, cooking for them all, not quite as strange as knowing that Patton had taught him how to cook before Roman and Logan. He knows that Logan, at least, is probably a fairly good cook, but their roles extend beyond just their functions.

Which means Patton had, to some extent, accidentally made him second in command

(It hadn’t been an accident at all).

After everyone else had eaten, the deceitful side knocks at Patton’s door with a bowl of soup and a piece of chocolate cake. The other smiles at him, accepts the food with a hoarse voice and thanks him for looking after the others. “I know it’s hard sometimes,” Patton mutters “Roman especially sometimes needs more care than you would expect, but I suppose you got the harder end of the deal,”

Deceit shrugs, his smile tired “Remus is not hard to deal with once you know how to deal with him, the same way Virgil or Roman or even Logan are not hard to deal with once you understand how they work, actually I think I have a harder time understanding Logan,” It’s a joke, which sounds strange coming from his mouth, both to himself and too Patton.

“Thank you,” Patton says.

“You’re welcome,” he doesn’t know what he’s being thanked for, but he also doesn’t really care.

V: Everybody has a Hobby. Even The Bad Guys.

Logan has a habit of drinking in the evening, it’s not a problem and it doesn’t affect him in the slightest as he can quite literally control whether or not he gets drunk. Plus, he’s a very slow drinker. He sits on the couch, book in his lap and his feet up with a glass of whiskey and elderflower on the coffee table. Across from him, on the other couch, is Patton, undertaking a crochet scarf with silent mutterings of how hard such a task actually is. Logan glances up every now and then with some semblance of fondness.

A glass of wine is placed in front of Patton, and the other mutters a thanks without looking up, trying to untangle knots that shouldn’t be there, before gloved hands are placed over his “May I?” The moral side looks up, a light blush over his freckled cheeks before he hands the half-made scarf to Janus, who sits beside him. “You just have to keep your hands a little steadier,” The other explains, unknotting the tangled threads with ease, he examines it to see where Patton has gone wrong, before he starts to explain. Patton stares at him, half listening, but mostly enthralled in the way the other speaks, the look on his face, the flush to his cheeks as he shares something he likes with another person, perhaps truly for the first time in his life.

Logan glances over the top of his book, watching as Janus meets Patton’s eyes and stutters, before he rolls his own eyes. Feelings, he thinks to himself, an internal laugh sounding silently in his own mind. He’s getting used to such things surrounding him, but mostly he is happy for there to be stability, a sense of peace that comes with the two halves of morality working together.

Still, he averts his eyes back to his book, feeling somewhat like he’s intruding on something he can’t quite understand.

VI: Snow Day

A low squeal fills the air as the two halves of creativity dash outside into an unusual weather pattern. Snow, in August. Janus supposes Roman or Remus must have wishes really hard, which is generally how these things happen in the mindscape. Logan tuts, narrowly avoiding getting coffee spilled all over him as Remus runs past him to get outside. Patton snorts as he grabs his gloves and hat and coat, pausing to look back at Janus, who is halfway through making his own coffee.

At the gaze fixated on him, he sighs, and places the mug down, drifting past the moral side to get his coat. Patton beams happily, handing the snake-skinned side a warmer hat than the bowler he usually wears, grinning as the other’s hair sticks up in every direction in the transition from one to another.

The air is cold outside, and Remus is hurling snowballs at Roman, for a moment they really do seem like brothers, dodging around each other in the snow. Patton and Janus remember simpler days, when the two were really halves of a person, before Roman learned what an ego was, and Remus learned how to bring death. This is the one time they only really have each other, because Virgil and Logan are not making habits out of snowball fights, and Janus and Patton are more on the ‘stand and watch’ front personally. It’s the one time that they both seem normal and human.

Janus, grinning with mischief, rolls up a snowball out of the soft snow. “Don’t even think about it,” Patton squeaks, minutes before he’s wiping the snow off his face. Usually they’re prone to spectating, making sure the brothers don’t kill each other for a few seconds at a time. But soon they’re both hurling snowballs at each other, tripping up over the muddy white to see who ends up shivering the most.

Patton trips over his own feet, slipping on an icy patch, he grabs hold of Janus with every intention to shove him down first. But the deceitful side simply loses balance and finds his face buried in Patton’s chest, breathing heavily and giggling as the snow seeps through their clothes. Janus isn’t sure he’d ever been so close to another person, as he leans up and sees Patton’s flushed cheeks, the cold stinging his eyes but his body so very warm. He knows the smile on his own face must be softer than intended, because when the moral side opens his eyes, the smile slips a little as though he’s surprised.

Janus moves quickly then, pushing himself up and away from Patton, holding out a hand to help the other to his feet.

For the rest of that day he just replays that moment in his head, the look on the other’s face, eyes widening and lips holding a ghost of a smile, like he’d been struck by something he’d never thought of.

VII: Hot Day

It is so hot today, and nobody knows why, it’s not even this hot in the actual real world, but it’s sweltering in the mindscape. Roman was wearing shorts, Virgil had given up on his hoodie and Logan’s tie is dangling around his neck, the first four buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, a look that is apparently attracting Remus’ attention as he pesters the logical side with flirts that are unlikely to get returned.

Patton’s hair is curling a little as he tries to make lunch. Janus chuckles a little at the flustered expression, red cheeks and an inability to handle the warmth. He makes his way over and offers to take some of the workload, as Patton leans against the counter, tilting his head back with his eyes closed, clearly boiling in his thick polo shirt. The snakeskin side finishes off lunch, his black shirtsleeves rolled up as he places the plates down, watching the other sides move lethargically to get something to eat.

“Thanks,” Patton mutters.

“Of course,” Janus replies, biting into a cheese and tomato toastie, offering the other half to the other man as they lean against the kitchen counter, listening to the twins fight whilst Logan tries to read.

He does the dishes, whilst Patton leans his head on the counter, muttering that he has a headache. Janus does not think as he pauses scrubbing plates to grab some paracetamol out of the cupboard. He doesn’t wait for a thank you, he barely even realises he did it; he doesn’t know when he started acting as in tune with Patton’s feelings, and neither does the moral facet, who takes the paracetamol without even thinking. When that rhythm had started, bouncing around each other’s needs, neither of them can pinpoint, but it has Virgil and Roman raising their eyebrows and looking between each other.

“They’re basically married,” Roman uttered, with a snort that doesn’t hide his worried expression.

“Well, that’s their business,” Virgil replies, looking slightly uncomfortable with the idea of prying. He trusts Patton to make good decisions, and that’s all he wants to know about this situation, so he makes himself scarce in his own room. Nobody mentions it again, consciously making a decision that it simply isn’t their job to pry, even Remus, who is the king of making people uncomfortable, doesn’t mention the closeness between the two of them. Not particularly because he cares, but mainly because pissing off Janus, the only person who has managed somewhat to be kind to him, is not high on his to-do list.

VIII: Take a Hug Until You Smile (Or Sleep)

At 3am one morning, Janus stirs awake to a gentle knock at his door. He rubs his eyes, switching on the lamplight and wincing at the brightness of the room, before making his way to the cracked yellow door, turning the handle so that it opens. “Sorry,” Patton mutters, stood on the other side and looking far too small and far too cold. “I couldn’t sleep”.

“Come on in Patton,” The way he says his name sounds calm, the calmest that Patton has felt all evening as he twists and turns in his bed. His skin aches, and he reaches out to rest his hand on the exposed scales of Deceit’s left arm. They’re cool under his touch, and thankfully the younger of the two understands as he brings the moral side into his arms. He isn’t sure why the other didn’t go to Virgil or Roman for the matter, but he doesn’t interrogate him on the matter.

In truth, Patton doesn’t really know either, he’d just found himself here, longing more than anything to be in his newest friend’s arms. He rests his head on Janus’ chest, listening to the slow thud of his heart. And then he does know, he wonders how he never knew really, as that quiet heartbeat forces him to close his eyes, as the rhythmic warmth bundles up his senses and he knows.

The two end up lying down together, Patton tucked up under blankets and Janus’ arms, they don’t acknowledge the feeling that surrounds them both, not yet, the realisation is still settling in. But content, and knowing the truth for the first time, Patton falls asleep to the sound of blood pumping like a metronome, wondering how he’d ever slept any other way in his life.

IX: How To Make Pancakes And Lovers.

At 6AM two days later, Janus is trying to make pancakes when Patton comes downstairs. The younger says “Good morning,” but only gets the pan taken gently away from him. He tries to ask what’s wrong, if anything at all, but Patton smiles at him and all that worry ceases, leaving him staring at the other. At his wide eyes, at his smile, at the knowledge they both dance around.

Coherently, with no regret or fault, Janus thinks ‘I love you,’ and then he says it. Patton’s grin widens, and his hands find the other man’s. He repeats those words like an echo, brighter than he’d ever said them, before he’s claiming Janus’ lips in his own. Their hands grasp at each other with a fierce intensity, pressing forward but not forcefully, not in a rushed or hurried way. The younger’s gloved hands cup Patton’s face, holding him like he is holding something so precious, so dainty, like the petals of a flower.

Not for the first time, Logan and Roman get a bit of a surprise when they come downstairs to find the two trying to cook pancakes, but this time between giggles and kisses (And a lot of burned pancaked that got forgotten).

Ko-Fi

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#ts spoilers #ts fic #mociet #janus sanders #patton sanders #moxceit

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perfeggso · 3 years

Text

Noir (yutae)

Week IV pt. 2

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 6k

In the days that followed, Taeyong declared that he was giving himself three short-term goals. “Oh yeah?” Yuta asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “What would those be?” Taeyong elaborated: Goal number one was for Taeyong to get his friends, new and newer, to help him be a better gangster. So, Yuta arranged for Sicheng and Yukhei to take Taeyong to the training room for workouts and, once he’d confirmed Taeyong was comfortable with it, to have Ten give him more “lessons.” Yuta had sat in on their first session, watching in pained silence as Ten used one of his long metal pins to tether Taeyong to the ground through his shoe and then attacked him. Yuta then enlisted Dejun, Yangyang, and Kunhang to teach Taeyong (and Mark and Jungwoo for good measure – they needed some review) how to follow people effectively and avoid being followed. According to Taeyong’s recounting, it had been exactly like Yuta’s own training, each of the Inagawa members taking turns slinking around the backstreets of Kabuki-chō and getting critiqued by the Triads afterwards. Yuta let Taeyong hang around when he discussed strategy and finances with Doyoung, Taeil, Johnny, and Jaehyun. Taeyong didn’t really understand any of it, nor did he need to, but Yuta figured it was good for him to feel like he was getting the whole picture.

Taeyong’s second goal, he said with almost too much confidence, was to get Yuta to fuck him as much as possible without it becoming a distraction, and it’d been going well for both of them. Taeyong had slept over at Yuta’s place three out of the last four nights and Yuta started taking a kind of dirty pride in the way his regiment grew used to seeing Taeyong in his clothing. They’d started experimenting explicitly with dom/sub dynamics and their own kinks, one of Yuta’s favorite moments coming when Taeyong accompanied him home after a long day. He’d fixed himself a drink and sat, legs spread over his couch and arms elongated over its back, the drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Since that night, Yuta had to stop himself intermittently from getting half-hard at the memory of Taeyong trying to get off grinding on his thigh, Yuta more or less ignoring him as his clothes soaked through with his sweat and he cried in frustration into Yuta’s shoulder for him to just do something – touch him, degrade him, anything. Yuta even impressed himself with the willpower he’d used to keep Taeyong strung out like that. So yeah, Taeyong’s second goal was going just fine, Yuta would say.

Goal number three was the most complicated: It was for Taeyong to make up his mind about what he’d do after the Mitsubishi deal (hopefully) went through. As promised, Yuta tried to remain removed from Taeyong’s decision making process, even if Taeyong would sometimes come to him with questions. Would they be able to keep seeing each other? Whether Taeyong stayed or left, they could still be together, Yuta had answered, although part of him worried that if Taeyong left he’d find someone he liked better the minute they no longer shared a lifestyle. But that wouldn’t be the case if Taeyong left after officially joining, right? Taeyong had clarified. If he changed his mind too late? That’s right, if you leave too late, you leave everything for good. It’s okay, Yuta had told him, don’t force yourself into a decision until the deal’s been worked out.

Yuta’s goal, on the other hand, was simply to stay sane and focused, and enjoy everything while it lasted. Specifically, he wanted to enjoy cooking takoyaki, Osaka’s specialty food, for Taeyong one night after a rare day off, and he wanted Taeyong to enjoy eating it. He wandered around Taeyong’s kitchen, alternating between muttering to himself and asking Taeyong why the hell it was so hard to find anything in there. Yuta paused before his metal mixing bowl, trying to remember what the next ingredient for the batter was supposed to be.

“You sure you don’t want help, babe?” Taeyong asked, and Yuta looked over to where he was sitting on the little table he kept in the kitchen, swinging his legs over the edge and giving Yuta moon eyes. He almost laughed. Taeyong had been nervous to have Yuta over, endlessly denigrating his apartment to the point that Yuta would have thought he was being invited over to a literal shack if he hadn’t already seen the building once, so Yuta made a point of fawning over the small space the second he arrived.

“No, darling,” replied Yuta to Taeyong’s question. “I told you, this is my treat.”

Taeyong shrugged as a new Blondie song started to play from his record player in the living room. “Suit yourself.” Yuta stretched his shoulders, finally remembering that the egg was supposed to come next. He’d learned how to cook from his mom, but that meant that sometimes his recipes were more like distant memories from ten to fifteen years ago. Yuta hummed along to the music, turning to search for the egg carton in the fridge.

“So, can we go over this one more time so I don’t screw it up?” Taeyong asked. Yuta was losing track of the number of times Taeyong had already been briefed on their plans for Minatozaki Sana, but if he needed to hear it again to feel secure, Yuta supposed he’d play along.

“Sure,” Yuta confirmed, cracking one egg into the half-finished batter. “But there’s really not that much you have to do, Taeyong. I just told you the whole plan so you won’t be caught off guard by anything.”

Taeyong practically buzzed against the table below him. “Right, so basically I’m going to stand by her door while you and Doyoung convince her to flip on Yamaguchi. There’s a window in the entryway, so I’ll have an easy view out if anyone comes, but I need to be sure not to be seen from the other end.”

“Exactly,” said Yuta, whisking. The yellow yolk was swirling into the sticky mixture like streaks in hair. “I don’t anticipate it taking too long, but I can’t make any promises. If she resists, you just stay at your post and we’ll deal with her, unless she makes it all the way to her front door or something.”

Taeyong nodded, his legs knocking against the table’s. “What’s ‘not too long?’” he asked.

Yuta thought for a moment. “Twenty minutes to an hour.”

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Yuta finished mixing his batter and tapped the butt of the bowl against the counter several times, looking quizzically at Taeyong. “Is that all clear? Can we talk about something not work-related now?”

Taeyong smiled. “Yeah we can,” he agreed, and Yuta let out a sigh of a laugh. “Like what? Is gang talk stressing you out?”

Yuta sniffed the batter. It smelled like it had enough dashi in it, so he figured it was fine. Now where did Taeyong keep his soy sauce? He rattled through Taeyong’s drawers as he answered.

“Honestly, a little bit. This is the most responsibility I’ve ever been given, and I want it to go well.”

When Yuta looked back to Taeyong, soy sauce triumphantly in hand, Taeyong’s face had contorted to show his own worry.

“Wait, you’re really anxious about it?” he asked. “I was sorta joking.”

Yuta set the bottle down on Taeyong’s green plastic countertop, making his way to the table.

Taeyong pouted as Yuta’s palms pressed over his soft cheeks. “I’m a little anxious,” Yuta admitted, a warm feeling flashing through his chest at the sight of Taeyong’s face all squished up, “but I gave you your job description and worrying about my anxiety is not included. Got it?”

Taeyong smiled sheepishly. “Got it.”

Yuta let go of Taeyong’s face and returned to his cooking project. “Just wanted some time together where I didn’t have to worry about work.” He dumped some of the soy sauce into his batter and started to stir again. He registered a little giggle coming from Taeyong.

“Anything I can do to help destress you?” he asked slyly. Yuta mixed harder.

“Yonggie, now is not the time…”

Taeyong just shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Yuta tried to ignore the not-so-subtle look Taeyong was giving him, opting to divert the conversation to ask where Taeyong’s takoyaki griddle was. Taeyong hopped off the table, mouthing the words to “Heart of Glass.”

“I’ll get it,” he offered, crouching next to the low cabinet where he kept his pots and pans and extracting the desired item.

“Thanks.”

Taeyong leaned against his counter and watched Yuta rub oil over and then pour the batter into the six half-spheres in the cast iron griddle. Yuta inserted the octopus bits, tenkasu , beni shoga , and sauce into the center of each raw takoyaki, conscious of every movement under Taeyong’s sticky gaze but trying to relax by listening to Taeyong’s whispery singing. Once sufficiently prepped, Yuta brought the griddle over to the table and turned it on, sitting to watch the food cook. Taeyong sat across from him, laying his head against the wooden tabletop and blinking as heat started to sizzle from the takoyaki.

Yuta sighed, thinking. Taeyong made him think a lot about a lot of things. Some of it was serious like, was their relationship sustainable? Was he blinded by his infatuation and risking too much for someone he’d know for barely more than a month? Was Taeyong going to end up hurt? Because if he did, it would be squarely Yuta’s fault. Mostly though, the thoughts Taeyong prompted in Yuta’s head were less dire but just as invasive. Yuta felt a rush at how gorgeous Taeyong looked like that, sleepily gazing and allowing himself to receive the care of someone else’s cooking. On second thought …

“Hey, so I know I just said now is not the time,” Yuta began, rolling his sleeves up as he registered the room warming and noticing Taeyong’s eyes on his arms, “but there might be something that would help me destress. But uh, you might think it’s a little early, I’m not sure.”

Taeyong sat up, smiling. “Oh?”

“I think it would be fun to spend a night at a love hotel,” Yuta admitted, and a splotch of oil jumped out of the griddle as if to punish him for being pushy. “ Ita !”

Taeyong just grinned. “Yuta,” he began, crossing his arms over the table, “why is that such a big deal?”

Yuta sighed, feeling like he was about to get laughed at. “Because, I don’t want to take you to just any love hotel,” he explained. He figured he’d gotten himself this far, he might as well finish digging his own grave. “I want to take you to the Alpha Inn.” To his surprise, Taeyong didn’t laugh, nor did he look confused; his grin only stretched wider, giving him crow’s feet around his eyes. Yuta wondered if he needed to clarify what he’d said. “It’s –”

“I know what the Alpha Inn is,” Taeyong blurted.

Yuta felt his face go small, the sizzling of the takoyaki turning to static in his ears. “Oh, then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” Taeyong explained, “I was waiting for you to tell me why you were being weird about it.”

“Oh,” Yuta repeated, and Taeyong pressed on.

“So why were you? I mean, we’ve already kind of established that we both like that kind of thing, right?”

Yuta was beginning to feel like a first-class idiot. “Yeah,” he tried to backtrack, “but I think it’s a bit different from anything we’ve discussed. There are whips and stuff on the walls there and…”

Yuta hadn’t managed to finish his sentence before Taeyong was laughing in his face.

“Yuta,” he said, “have you been there before?”

“Yeah, I have,” Yuta explained, growing indignant, “but you’re different too.” Taeyong’s eyes rounded in curiosity. “You are! I haven’t had many relationships so when I’ve gone there it’s been, like, with hookups who are there for a specific purpose.”

Taeyong wiggled his eyebrows. “And what if I told you I’d been there with hookups before too?”

Yuta let out a breath of relief, settling into a more self-assured comportment. He honestly should have figured. Taeyong seemed to notice the change in Yuta’s body language, because he wiggled back into his chair, away from the table, and softened his face from the challenging aspect it had taken on before. Yuta smiled in satisfaction. “Then, I wouldn’t worry about anything but us enjoying ourselves,” he answered.

Taeyong smiled to himself as he looked at his hands in his lap. “So, letting you take me to a BDSM-themed love hotel: that’s what I could do to help you destress before next week. Glad I got that out of you.”

“But there are some things we need to discuss first,” Yuta said, figuring the takoyaki looked adequately brown and standing to find a couple plates and pairs of chopsticks.

Taeyong nodded. “Of course.”

Yuta returned, having found what he was looking for with surprising ease.

“First of which being that we have to change up the title, ‘kay?” He sat and turned the griddle off, using his metal chopsticks to pull out two takoyaki balls. “No more Shategashira during sex. I can’t be getting hard every time anyone talks to me at work.”

Yuta slid a plate of food over to Taeyong. “That’s fair. What should I call you, then?”

Yuta blew on his dinner. “Sir? Does that work?”

Taeyong smiled. “Yes, sir .” And Yuta smiled back.

“Perfect,” he remarked, hand reaching out to Taeyong’s hair on instinct. “You’re perfect.”

Taeyong nuzzled into Yuta’s touch, whining when Yuta pulled away. Yuta was happy to have taken back control of the situation, but he also figured he needed to change the topic of conversation if he was going to be able to focus on his food. Thankfully, Taeyong did it for him, picking up a ball of takoyaki and holding it near his face, expression contemplative.

“Smells good,” he said. He blew on it until it had stopped steaming, then nibbled experimentally after a quick "itadakimasu." Yuta still held off, all too familiar with the treacherousness of eating takoyaki.

“How is it?” he asked as Taeyong broke through to the molten center. He paused.

“Yuta?” Taeyong began, holding the takoyaki to show off the liquidy center. He started laughing and Yuta found himself hurled back into embarrassment. “I don’t think it’s cooked all the way…”

“Shit, sorry!” Yuta spluttered. “Here, give it back!”

Taeyong guffawed, letting some of the hot but nearly raw batter fall from his mouth to his cupped hand. “What?”

“Just give it here!”

“Okay…” Taeyong handed over the mangled ball and watched Yuta return it to its iron slot, switching the griddle back on and trying to look competent.

“Guess this will have to do,” he said, placing his own serving back to cook more as well. Yuta smiled to himself, propping the side of his head against his fist and his elbow on the table. Taeyong smiled back and said in a small voice,

“I thought you knew what you were doing, Osaka boy. I’m a good cook, you could have just let me help.”

Yuta shrugged. “Maybe I oversold myself. This’ll work though.”

Taeyong made a pained face (“I’m so hungry though”) and Yuta rolled his eyes.

He became suddenly hyper-aware of the silence framing their conversation, so he got up to switch out the finished album while the food got done cooking.

“What do you want me to play?”

“Kate Bush!” Taeyong yelled in response. “’The Dreaming’ should be sitting right next to the record player.”

Yuta replaced “Parallel Lines” with Taeyong’s suggestion, dropped the pin, and returned to the kitchen as “Sat In Your Lap” began to play. He also realized he forgot the mayo and the bonito for their dinner, and puttered around the kitchen again to find them, feeling like even more of a dumbass than he had for undercooking the food. The takoyaki came out much better the second time around, and once it had cooled off, it was gone in a fraction of the time Yuta had spent making it.

“Okay, I guess you do know what you’re doing,” Taeyong admitted, his mouth contorting around a particularly large bite.

After eating, Taeyong insisted on doing the dishes. Yuta took on Taeyong’s former position watching from the table, thinking to himself how lovely he looked in an apron, focused on getting everything spick and span. Fuck, it was so domestic, and Yuta hadn’t had anything like it in so long. Yuta was so shaken up about it he felt like the takoyaki in his stomach was trying to bust out through his belly button.

Taeyong glanced at his admirer as he scratched the suds from his hands into the sink. “Stop looking at me like that,” he said.

For a mobster, Yuta had kind of a bad poker face when he wasn’t focused enough on it. “Like what?”

“Like you want to…I don’t know, make me a housewife.”

Yuta rested his face in his hands. “What if I do?”

Taeyong chuckled. “First of all, that’s quite literally impossible. Second of all, it makes me feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

Taeyong dried the metal mixing bowl as he spoke. “Not sure how to explain it,” he said. “Kind of itchy. Like I want to hide?”

Yuta tried to calm down so he could stop the fascination from practically dripping over his face. “Sorry.”

Taeyong put the bowl away. “S’okay. I’m also flattered. Thanks for cooking, by the way – even if I gave you shit about it.”

“Of course. It was kind of fun.”

Taeyong finished drying off and putting everything away, took off his apron, and suggested they retire to the living room couch to listen to their music.

Yuta sat down and let Taeyong situate himself so that he was lying down, head in Yuta’s lap. Yuta played with Taeyong’s hair.

“Yuta?”

“Mm?”

Taeyong’s face had an air of stress about it, not like there was anything truly wrong, but more like he had a thought he needed to sort out.

“How did you figure out you liked guys?”

Yuta took a moment to process. That was not what he expected Taeyong to ask.

“Oh, um, I don’t know, how did you figure it out?”

Taeyong scowled. “I mean eventually it just sort of became obvious,” he said.

“Exactly,” Yuta confirmed. “So, that’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”

Taeyong shook his head, skull rocking against Yuta’s thighs.

“Guess not,” he allowed, “How old were you though? When you realized?”

Yuta pulled a strand of Taeyong’s dark hair until it stood on end. “I don’t know, late teens probably, when I really sorted it out?” Yuta chuckled, calling upon some well-repressed memories. “I had tried fooling around with girls at that point, and it wasn’t bad, actually. I was very sure I was straight. I liked the girls I was with – had a real fondness for most of them, but it was never very deep. Momo and I even hooked up once.” Yuta laughed wryly as he watched a look of shock and, maybe jealousy? flicker over Taeyong’s face. “Don’t worry,” he reassured. “It was alright for me, but she made it very clear that it was never to happen again.”

Taeyong hummed thoughtfully. Yuta wanted to grill him back, but it looked like he had another question brewing, so he stayed quiet. “So, who was the first guy?”

Yuta breathed a laugh. “Well, he was actually my boss when I was a Kumi-in…”

Taeyong’s eyes lit up. “Like us?”

“Kind of. He was older though,” Yuta clarified. He smiled, both in recollection and in amusement as he registered the dissonance between Kate Bush’s wailing singing and their quiet conversation. “I remember thinking to myself, oh, now I know what this whole thing is supposed to feel like.” By “thing” he meant to express the nebulous concept of attraction, love, relationships, lust; all those intangibles which tug at the heartstrings. He hoped Taeyong would understand despite his lack of eloquence. “He was the one who convinced me to go to the Alpha Inn the first time, but, uh, I was the one taking the orders back then.”

“What happened to him?” asked Taeyong, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands.

“He decided this life wasn’t for him, so he left. And, you know, if you do that you get excommunicated, banished – whatever you want to call it – so I haven’t heard from him since.”

Taeyong looked like he wanted to say something, then didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead.

The apology made a pang of guilt run through Yuta. Here he was telling the sob story of his first love in front of poor Taeyong. If he got uncomfortable hearing about Momo, why would he want to know this? “Don’t be sorry. I have you now,” Yuta said with a smile, and he meant it deeply.

Taeyong sat up and sighed, eyes clouded over. “I just feel like this would be a lot easier if I wasn’t…you know…me.”

Yuta felt like he had cold water rushing over his skin. What was Taeyong getting at? “No, I don’t know,” he challenged.

Taeyong refused to make eye contact and Yuta thought he saw the other man’s skin tone draining a bit grey. “I keep thinking about Johnny and Mina,” Taeyong tried to explain. “They seem so normal. Like, they know what each of them is there for. I don’t know how to explain it. I just feel like if I were a woman it’d be easier and make more sense. I wouldn’t be weirdly wrapped up in your work and having to make all these dire decisions and putting you in danger. We could just see each other like average people.”

Yuta didn’t know if he wanted to cry or laugh. He settled instead for gripping Taeyong’s chin with his fingers and forcing their eyes to meet. “Taeyong,” he said softly, “I think you’re missing the point.”

Taeyong’s eyes looked glassy. “Which is?”

“Which is that if you were a woman A) we probably wouldn’t have met in the first place, and B) I wouldn’t be as interested in you.” Yuta searched Taeyong’s face, awaiting a response.

“You mean that?” he asked, finally.

Yuta let go of Taeyong’s face. “I do. Why would I be lying?”

Taeyong smiled slightly. “I dunno. Sometimes you lie for fun.”

“God, Taeyong, not about stuff like this.”

“Alright,” Taeyong said, letting his smile extend and settling his back more squarely into the couch cushions. “Sorry for being so insecure.”

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand. “You and me both, baby.”

“Houdini” started to play and Taeyong closed his eyes, mentioning absently that it was his favorite song on the album. When it was over, he spoke again.

“Mina warned me at the party,” he said, and Yuta was put on immediate alert by the threatening vagueness of the statement. “Back at Johnny’s bar, we started talking. She said I should leave as soon as possible and not get sucked in.”

Yuta stiffened, training his eyes on the stains in Taeyong’s rug and making a mental note to bring this up to Johnny. “Well,” he began, “that’s her opinion. It’s up to you to make up your own mind.”

“I know.”

Yuta laughed breathily, catching Taeyong’s drift. “So, she told you that and then you immediately turned around and landed in my lap; let me pull you in deeper. Was that a sort of decision?”

Taeyong nodded, squeezing Yuta’s hand. “Maybe. I just wanted it at the time. I wanted a real reason to stay.”

Yuta tutted. “I told you not to make me the clincher for such an important choice.”

“Yeah, but that was after,” Taeyong asserted. “I think I’d already decided early on, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Yuta?”

“Taeyong.”

He looked Yuta right in the eyes. “I’m going to stay. I invited you over tonight to tell you that I’m sure I want to join the Inagawa-kai. I just didn’t know how to bring it up until right now.”

Yuta could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, like he was a candle wick being sparked; like he was about to go on a mission. He was exhilarated at the idea that he’d fully gained Taeyong’s trust and admiration, that they would continue on as they had been; but at the same time, the possibility that Taeyong could get hurt or decide too late that he’d gone down the wrong path made Yuta’s blood run cold.

“You’re sure?”

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah, I am.” He looked at Yuta and smiled sideways. “When do I get initiated?”

Yuta didn’t know how to respond to Taeyong’s sudden burst of self-assuredness. “Well – uh – the Oyabun won’t let you until our current project is secured –”

Taeyong pouted.

“But!” Yuta had an idea. “But, but, but, if you want, we can do something fun right now that might help.” Yuta stood, about to head off to the kitchen until he remembered he didn’t know where anything was.

“What is it?”

Yuta placed a finger in front of his mouth. “It’s a secret,” he whispered. “But I need you to help me find some things.”

In a matter of minutes, they were back in the living room, couched in silence with the music having run out and kneeling at either side of Taeyong’s coffee table. Between them, Yuta had set two empty masu cups, a bottle of amazake (since Taeyong didn’t have normal sake), and the knife that Yuta always carried around with him: medium-size and gunmetal grey with teeth like the one in the Rambo movie that had come out a year before. Taeyong had stared at it almost in horror when Yuta took it out.

“Okay,” Taeyong said, eyes roaming over their spread. “Now will you please explain this to me?”

“Sure,” Yuta agreed, grinning at his own creativity. “So, you said you wanted to be initiated,” he began, “but you can’t technically do that for a bit, so I’m going to give you a little run-through; a rehearsal of sorts that can prepare you for the real thing while also making you feel more official right now.”

Taeyong nodded, looking sold. “Okay. What’s the knife for?”

“For when I sacrifice you to Amaterasu,” he deadpanned, and for a moment, Taeyong actually gaped.

“No, I kid,” Yuta said, cracking himself up. “We’ll get to what the knife’s for in a second.”

Taeyong let out a confused breath, making Yuta laugh even harder. Once he had contained himself, he went on.

“So, this will be the setup when you’re initiated. Ideally there’d be witnesses, but you know.” He shrugged. “Okay, and you should know that I am standing in for the Oyabun .”

“You’re Goro?” Taeyong clarified.

Yuta nodded, pressing a hand to his chest. “Yes, I’m Goro, who I don’t think you’ve met yet, by the way.” Taeyong shook his head in confirmation. “Soon enough, then. You’re you, and what we’re going to do first is you’re going to hold out your cup to me and I’ll fill it halfway with sake.”

Taeyong followed directions, prostrating himself ever so slightly as he offered Yuta his cup and watched him pour the cloudy liquid inside. Then, Yuta did the same with his own cup, passing the halfway point and filling it to the brim, images of his own initiation six years earlier flashing across his vision. He’d been a baby in an ill-fitting black suit and Goro had looked more imposing to him than usual – like Mt. Fuji on a clear day. He picked up the knife, remembering the sharp taste of Goro’s blood in a particularly strong batch of sake.

“Now we switch cups,” he instructed, and Taeyong obliged, eyes trained on Yuta’s knife. They went wide when Yuta positioned his hand over Taeyong’s sake and cradled the blade so that it was invisible in his palm, although the implied pressure and discomfort made Taeyong’s face contort. Yuta sliced shallowly into his palm, careful to adhere to the lines of his old scar as much as possible. Taeyong’s gaze followed as a ruby droplet fell and dispersed into the alcoholic liquid.

“We could just get a raspberry or something if you have one and crush it into the other cup,” Yuta teased, “if you don’t want to do this.” He grinned when Taeyong shook his head quickly.

“No, I can do it, Shategashira .”

“Good.” Yuta wiped the blood from the knife onto a paper towel and handed the blade to Taeyong, who took it hesitantly. “Just do the pad of your thumb for now,” Yuta suggested. Taeyong hissed a bit as he cut into the flesh there and pressed down to force out a rivulet of blood. Yuta realized he’d made a slight oversight when he registered that each of them now had one bloodied hand. In the real ritual, this fact would have been ignored, but Yuta was already testing Taeyong and he didn’t want to also stain his nice bamboo cups.

“Gimme a sec,” he said, finding his leather jacket in the entryway and rooting around in it one-handed for another thing he always kept with him: bandage tape. He called Taeyong into the kitchen and they took turns washing up and covering their self-inflicted wounds. Yuta registered neutrally the kind of hazy and quiet state Taeyong was in. Finally, they returned to the coffee table for the next leg of the ritual, starting off by switching their drinks back so Yuta had a full cup with Taeyong’s blood and Taeyong had a half cup with Yuta’s.

“What now?” Taeyong asked.

“Now,” Yuta answered, “you take the seihai-gishiki ; the oath of allegiance to me, Hirai Goro.” They both laughed at that. “Repeat after me okay?”

“Okay.”

Yuta flexed his hand, still adjusting to the feeling of raw openness under the pink-tinged bandages. "I vow never to reveal the secrets of the organization.”

“I vow to never reveal the secrets of the organization.”

“I will never violate the wife or children of another member.”

Taeyong balked. “Wait, that’s kind of messed up,” he said, mouth poised to laugh. “Why is that there?”

“Aish,” said Yuta in mock disappointment, “good thing I’m running you through this – Goro would never accept this interrupting. Actually, the first ever yakuza clan in the 1700’s had a real problem with cheating and child molestation, so their boss had to make up this rule to stop it from turning into one giant super-illegal orgy,” he said matter-of-factly. Taeyong’s eyes went wide.

“Really??”

Yuta frowned. “No!! You need to stop being so gullible with everything I tell you.”

Taeyong bowed his head several times while laughing nervously. “Ah, okay, okay, Shategashira . Gomen , gomen . Got it.”

Yuta smiled. Taeyong was so damn cute it made his muscles hurt. “It’s okay,” he said. “In all seriousness, I have no idea why that rule is there, but it’s a reasonable expectation, anyway. Shall we move on?”

Taeyong nodded.

“Okay,” Yuta restarted, “I vow to have no personal involvement with narcotics.”

“I vow to have no personal involvement with narcotics,” Taeyong repeated.

“I will not withhold money from the gang.”

“I will not fail in my obedience to superiors.”

Taeyong blinked forcefully and gulped before echoing, “I will not fail in my obedience to superiors.”

“Last one, okay? I will not appeal to the police or other legal authorities.”

“I will not appeal to the police or other legal authorities. Now what?”

Yuta picked up his cup with both hands. “Now we drink.”

Taeyong followed his lead. “Kanpai.”

“Kanpai.”

The taste of Taeyong’s blood was less harsh mixed in with this sweet type of sake, mellowed and drowned out until it was nothing more than a heady undertone, like the scent of skin.

They put down their cups once they had finished and stared at each other silently for a beat. Then Taeyong broke into a grin. “Did I pass?” he asked.

Yuta guffawed. “Pass? This isn’t an exam.” He cleared his throat and put on his Hirai Goro voice: gravelly and low and embellished by rolled r’s. “But uh, yes, well done, Kumi-in. Welcome to the Inagawa-kai.”

***

After the elaborate rehearsal, they had a bit of cleaning up to do. Taeyong rinsed their masu cups in the sink as Yuta disinfected his knife and reinforced his bandages.

“The last vow reminded me,” said Taeyong, shutting the water off and setting the cups on the drying rack, “it only occurred to me after Johnny and Mina’s lesson the other day, but what if it’s not another gang that gets ahold of me? What if it’s the police? Wouldn’t they also interrogate me?”

Yuta burst out in laughter and Taeyong looked perplexed, leaning his lower back against the kitchen counter.

“Oh, sorry for laughing at you,” Yuta said, collecting himself. “You’d have no way of knowing this.” He walked over to join Taeyong. “You don’t have to worry about the police,” he explained even if Taeyong looked dubious. “I mean, if we like, killed someone in a public alleyway, sure.” Taeyong’s eyes flickered in recollection. Yuta continued. “But if you’re just going about your business, they won’t dare take you in. Most of them like us anyway – like that we instill a little fear and discipline into public life, that we rake in local tax revenue and do charity work, etc. I mean they’re just as much thugs as we are, too, and I guarantee you in every ten cops you’d find at least three former wannabe gangsters. Anyway, sometimes we get busted by national law enforcement, but you rarely need to worry about the local police; they only get involved if you kill someone, as I mentioned; if public opinion is especially bad; or if someone comes to them directly with proof of wrongdoing.”

Taeyong nodded heavily, taking in this new information with a mixture of horror and relief.

“I know. It can be a bit odd at first,” Yuta offered. “I imagine as a former street kid you’re not used to that kind of free reign.”

Taeyong shook his head. “Yeah, m’not,” he confirmed. “I used to get the cops called on me for standing wrong.”

Yuta hummed a chuckle. He didn’t doubt it. His face hovered closer to Taeyong’s, drinking him in, and he paused over the scar next to Taeyong’s eye. He still had never asked about it, so he did.

“Oh, this?” Taeyong said, pointing to the pitted skin. He demurred a bit, embarrassed, and Yuta suddenly felt bad for asking. “It’s not very interesting. I used to have atopic dermatitis and I picked at my skin a bit too much when I got a flare up there.”

“I see,” Yuta said. “Sounds irritating.”

“It was,” confirmed Taeyong. “Did you have a theory about how I got it?”

“I didn’t but Doyoung did,” said Yuta. “He figured you’d gotten it in a fight or something like that. I didn’t really know.”

Yuta thought he saw a shiver buzz up Taeyong’s body. “Do you guys talk about me often when I’m not there?”

Yuta laughed. “Only at the beginning,” He admitted, settling his elbows back on the countertop. “You were kind of mysterious to us.”

Taeyong looked shocked. “Me? Mysterious? Alright…”

“Well you showed up out of nowhere,” Yuta asserted. “In fact, I got asked on separate occasions by Jungwoo and Jaehyun how I was sure you weren’t a spy.”

Taeyong spluttered. “A spy? That’s too wild.”

Yuta only shrugged. If he was being honest, Taeyong was still a little mysterious to him. He still wanted to turn Taeyong’s earlier questions about sexual awakenings and such back on him, but that could wait. Taeyong pushed away from the counter and shifted so he was facing Yuta, his hands on Yuta’s shoulders.

“Want to dance?” he asked coyly. “Just like after Johnny’s party?”

Yuta slipped his arms around Taeyong’s waist. “How could I say no to that?” he teased, and they plodded like that back into the living room. Yuta let Taeyong go momentarily to put on “Three Imaginary Boys” by The Cure, scooping him back up the second the music began. Taeyong laid his head on Yuta’s shoulder and murmured into the base of his neck.

“I can’t wait to help you destress, sir.”

Yuta petted Taeyong’s soft hair with his bandaged hand and hummed. “You’re too perfect,” he said, and he meant it deeply.

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creative-cha0s · 4 years

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Jess’ Masterlist of Prodigal Son (Mostly Brightwell) Inspo with Songs & Lyrics

HI tend to think of almost everything in connection to songs and lyrics and recently Ive got a bunch of lyrics rolling around in my head that are perfect for inspiration for Prodigal Son fics, fan art, gif sets, ect - but mostly fics (and mosty Brightwell).

Ill do my best to categorize by relationship/ character and possibly plot - and hopefully to keep this updated.

Like my music? want to listen to it too? All of these songs are in my playlist that I leave on repeat: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3pvktqRQXSUivcXpOWZGCX

Brightwell

Piece of Your Heart - Mayday Parade

This song is perfect for the both of them no matter who it’s coming from, but I always see the 1st verse (1st bullet) coming from Dani

Give me your misery All of it give it to me I can hold onto it for you It's not a problem I just want your energy A piece of that fractured mountain I'll take whatever comes with it as long as it's yours

All I know is that I want it more than yesterday If I was waiting, I was waiting for just one little spark You are the brightest I've seen You are the best side of me And just for when we're apart I've got a piece of your heart

But I want the whole damn thing

Where You Are - Mayday Parade

The song as a whole is not fitting, its about someone dying. But there are a few lines that can be used.

You to me, are encased in nothing But beauty and gracious love You'll always be my one good reason To keep on moving 'til I'm in your arms

My favorite place is wherever you are

Sleeping In - All Time Low

This song is PERFECT for well establish Brightwell - fluffy, lazy days, just ignoring the world and staying in together. Just go listen to the whole song.

Never wanna leave this bed Tell me that you got nowhere to be Can we stay all day? (All day) Lay low in our lazy luxury Sex in a rosé daze (daze) All day, it's a real good thing

Just like that There you go, making it hard to stay on track Got shit to do, you got work But we fall right back Into bed, like it's all just a game And we can't help that, no we can't help that

Favorite Place - All Time Low

Another one that’s perfect for Brightwell, mostly coming from Bright (bolded parts), this song is currently always stuck in my head. Go listen to it!

So can we close the space between us now It's the distance we don't need (hey) Yeah, you're everything I love about The things I hate in me (hey) So come on, come on, come over now and Fix me with your grace 'Cause I'm not too far and you're my favorite place

And I know you don't belong (know you don't belong) Know you don't belong to anyone No you can't be tamed love Maybe I was wrong (maybe I was wrong) Maybe I was wrong for this But you feel like the perfect escape now

Kids Again - Artist Vs Poet

Can be any phase of Brightwell I think - mostly focusing on the verses, ignoring the ‘just like we were kids’ reference in the chorus, because they didn’t grow up together. Another one to go listen to the whole song.

I know a girl who likes to drink her coffee black Cause sugar, no, she don't got time for that Leaves her desires at the welcome mat when she walks in

Yeah, I know a boy who likes to keep his burner on He's always running with no one to keep warm It's like he's flirting with the smoke alarm, his fire's fading

But still we laugh, we cry, we fall, we get high

And when I, I'm feeling small you get me through it all

I know a girl who's never tried to settle down She wears her loneliness like a crown But when she smiles all the kings will bow down, down, down

And I know a boy who's broken every vow he's made Who's spoken every capped phrase But he can listen like a rainy day and drown it out

Clumsy - All Time Low

Perfect for when Bright acts like Bright, especially in reference to him backing away from Dani and ending up with Eve. And anything else he does that breaks Danis trust and makes her say things like ‘you promised to do better’ and ‘you told me i was the one you liked talking to’ LISTEN TO THIS ONE ITS SO GOOD

I was bound to make a mess of things Mixin' fireworks and gasoline Never meant to make you fall with me

I let you down I've been clumsy with your heart again I guess you figured me out Now here's a taste of my own medicine

And for all this pain, that I can't explain There's a black flag wavin' tonight You know I let you down (let you down) I've been clumsy with your heart again

Satellite - Mayday Parade

Cant really explain how this fits other than angsty Bright who thinks hes going to mess up everything (I swear everything I touch it breaks). Most of the lines could easily come from either of them to the other. Gets at the emotion of following each other and doing life together (will you follow?)

What if I told you, everything we built will slowly fade away? And if I hold you, I swear everything I touch it breaks But it you close your eyes and take my hand We could learn from our mistakes

If you jump, I'll follow If you jump, I'll follow

What if I told you, everything that's gold is sure to fade If I hold you, what if I hold you 'til we're old and grey? But if you close your eyes and take my hand We could learn from our mistakes

If you jump, I'll follow If I jump, will you follow?

Never Let Me Go - We Came As Romans

See below under Malcolm & Gil - really good for canon friendship/ partnership with Dani & Bright

Hush Hush - The Band CAMINO

This one is absolutely perfect for building tension between the two of them either for pre-brightwell or established Brightwell – Especially if they’re hiding it from the rest of the team. It’s perfect for something hot yet playful, or just completely angsty. It’s… well, you’ll see. Give it a listen!

I caught your eye across the room No one can feel the tension between me and you There's no need to mention all the things I wanna do You wanna do 'em too We both know we'd be over if they knew Yeah, we both know we'd be over if they knew

Hush, hush Don't give it away We'll both be better off if no one knows Hush, hush Got nothin' to say Just keep it to yourself 'til we get home Don't touch they're looking your way If anybody asks, we left alone Hush, hush Don't give it away Hush, hush Don't give it away

Honest - The Band CAMINO

This one right here – the ENTIRE song is 100% for those storylines that has the two of them attempting ‘no strings attached’ and casual without all the emotions that we KNOW are there. Perfect for leading into a change from casual to serious :) Here’s just a portion

Are we something to each other Or are we just blowing smoke? Are we caught between the covers Or is there something more going on in between us, or not? Is it just on the surface, or what?

We should be honest 'Cause sometimes I can't tell Do we really want this Or are we lying to ourselves? Is it the burning hearts alone in the dark That make the midnight call? Now we're caught between the real thing And nothing at all So we should be honest

Do you feel it when you kiss me? 'Cause I know you do somehow I don't know when we go where we got But we're both here somehow And I thought it was nothing until now

What I Want - The Band CAMINO

Some feels for break up/ fight Brightwell and perfect for Dani’s POV when he moves onto Eve shortly after saying he’d try to do better at them and that she’s the one he likes talking to.

You told me to love, but I won't It doesn't seem right, no and I'll never get what I want if I can't on my own I took a chance on a feeling But here I am feeling alone

If Im James Dean, Then You’re Audrey Hepburn - Sleeping With Sirens

For when Malcolm is serious about them and really needs Dani to stay – most important line in this is ‘Cant promise that things wont be broken’ For serious, and fluff:)

They say that love is forever Your forever is all that I need Please stay as long as you need Can't promise that things won't be broken But I swear that I will never leave Please stay forever with me

The way that we are It's the reason I stay As long as you're here with me I know we'll be okay The way that we are Is the reason I stay As long as you're here with me I know I'll be okay

Another Nightmare - Sleeping With Sirens

It’s not hard for Bright to be a MESS - whether you're sticking with canon storylines or adding your own, he probably thinks he's an absolute nightmare to everyone around him, especially Dani.

Nobody's perfect, there's no excuse I've been such a fucking nightmare to you But I promise if you let me in (let me in, let me in) I will never ever hurt you again

Malcolm & Martin (as portrayed on the show - not going near that NOTP)

Monsters - All Time Low (Explicit language)

This song perfectly - 99% - describes the relationship between Malcolm and Martin (aside from the ‘in the sheets’ reference STAY THE FRICK AWAY NOTP). What I like the most about this matching their relationship is the fact that it acknowledges that Malcolm keep letting himself go back to Martin and let him hurt him (although I know a good deal of that is Martins manipulation controlling Malcolm). Go listen to the whole thing - its new music and its beautiful.

Another day, 'nother headache in this hangover hotel Gettin' used to the rhythm, yeah, I know this beat too well Tunnel visions got me feeling, like you're the only one I see But I know what's missing, where I'm swimmin' In my lonely luxury

Why am I a sucker for all your lies? Strung out like laundry on every line Why do I come back to you, like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?

I'm addicted to the way you hurt, the way you contradict me I swear everything look worse at night, I think I'm overthinking I don't care who I might hurt along the way, I'm fuckin' sinking Into every word, I don't care if you lyin' when I'm drinking So, tell me pretty lies, look me in my face Tell me that you love me, even if it's fake

A Trophy Father’s Trophy Son - Sleeping With Sirens

The actual context of the song doesn’t fit to this situation, since Martin was taken away rather than leaving his family on his own but the emotion behind the words as if they were coming from Malcolm is exactly the same: losing a father. Perfect for young Malcolm as well as current day.

Father, father, tell me where have you been? Its been hell not having you here I've been missing you so bad And you don't seem to care When I go to sleep at night, you're not there When I go to sleep at night, do you care?

I need to know, I need to know Why are you walking away? Was it something I did? Did I make a mistake cause I'm trying to deal with the pain I don't understand this, is this how it ends? I will try to understand

Blood Lines - Sleeping with Sirens

Doesn’t need any more explanation than the statement Martin made that haunts him ‘We are the same’

No matter what I do, you will never ever be like me And I will never be like you (like you)

Malcolm

Who Will Pray? - We Came As Romans

Not in a religious context at all. Definitely a song on the more glum/ angsty side to describe Malcolm and how he feels about himself in relation to everyone around him.

We share our days Together now the sun is gone am I Another left here on my own alone And I'm slowly sinking

Scared to say What I'm feeling is the truth I need to face reality I choose to use to trick myself again into thinking

Short of breath and pulse erratic The weight of my chest, I'm slightly panicked

If I start to fade, gone without a trace Who will pray for me tomorrow? If I fall too far, disappear in the dark Who will pray for me tomorrow?

Blood Lines - Sleeping With Sirens

Just some lyrics I found that accurately describe Malcolm – ‘Why do I try to save everyone I meet?’ evidenced by his talking down of their killer in every episode, and his ‘someone breaks us’ in the pilot as he tried to talk that killer down.

Why do I try to save everyone I meet? Is it because they are just like me? (Just like me) Same tracks, wrong side of the street Not typical in the way that we speak When you always expect to lose You don't give a fuck what they think of you It's written in our DNA Are we just born this way?

Malcolm & Gil (AS THEYRE PORTRAYED ON THE SHOW, PEOPLE, still not going near that NOTP)

Never Let Me Go - We Came As Romans

This one actually fits any caring relationship with Bright, especially with Gil, and his canon friendship/ partnership with Dani.

The POV in the chorus changes halfway through, as an answer to the person saying ‘dont let me go’ so I see that as being them telling Malcolm they wont let him go.

My body shivers at the thought of getting up My heart is starting to accept that I am giving up No strength left Is it over yet? Am I thinking with my heart or with my head? Through distance, you remind me that

Don't let me, don't let me, don't let me go

So hold me close and never let me, never let me go At my lowest of lows, when I need you the most So let's reverse, could you look for me, could you look for me first? I will hold you close, I will never let you go I will never let you go I will never let you go

My hands welcome yours as you begin to see me My heart is starting to accept your rescue completely This new life that you placed in my heart I hope that I will make it through to you And in my steps you will follow behind, Oh Don't let me go!

Malcolm & JT (Once again - as they’re portrayed on the show)

Agree to Disagree - Sleeping With Sirens

Doesn't entirely fit them where they are at now, but it’s perfect for how JT viewed him pretty early on

You think you're better than me? You don't like what you see? I think it's best we agree to disagree I'm doing fine by myself I never asked for your help I think it's best we agree to disagree

Songs that I’m getting paring/ character vibes from but I have no explanation why:

For a While - The Band CAMINO (Brightwell)

See Through - The Band CAMINO (Brightwell)

#songfic #prodigal son #prodigal son fic inspiration #song lyrics #brightwell #brightwell inspo #updated list #all time low #Artist Vs Poet #Mayday Parade #We Came As Romans #The Band CAMINO #Sleeping With Sirens

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fallen029 · 4 years

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I’ve been trying to get a part of OpB out a month, but this month I got swamped and just didn’t have time. I’m hoping I get it finished by this weekend, but it might not happen, so for the ones of you who follow me over here, I thought I’d post the first half (or quarter, really), for you to read over. This part involves a lot coming together all at once, so it’s just been a bit of a hassle to piece together.

I don’t usually post OpB shit over here and I’m not going to start, but if you see this and wanna follow the rest of it, it’s over on Fanfic and Archive. You don’t have to be all caught up or even read any of the rest of the Remember Me shit to understand it. It stands on it’s own, loosely in the Fairy Tail realm, focusing on the slave trade in Bosco. Nearly full OC, and kinda just me indulging my own shit a bit. It’s not for everyone, but I rather like it.

Operation Bosco: A Call to Arms, IV

it was always strange.

The feeling of it.

Waking up.

Since Haven had been revived following the mishap on the gauntlet, it was always a bit of a jolt, first thing, as her eyes peeked open and she was greeted to a new day. There were some difficulties in adjusting, right at the start, to the feeling. Her chest would get heavy and the breaths she drew in always seemed to burn, just a bit, as the scarring over her stomach itched.

For as bad as the nights were though, the mornings made it worth it.

She’d never really taken a break. Before. Had always been on, constantly. From the day her parents let her start snagging the fliers off the job board, she’d either spent her days completing them or training to be able to do so. Days were meant for toiling and nights were meant for getting fucked up in her father’s guildhall. Her mind was focused on very few things and everything felt simple. Easy. Broken down.

Get stronger and reward yourself along the way.

But when she was revived, things were different. She couldn’t take jobs right off the bat, she was too weak to train in the first few weeks, and her father no longer held a guildhall for her to act out in, with not too veiled hopes of gathering his attention.

Everything was different.

Locke had to go back out, on jobs, and even once she was up to training, she had no one but her boyfriend’s father or Ajax to do it with. Navi was gone, Locke now had friends, real friends that he wanted to spend time with, if he wasn’t out, and it was jarring.

All of it.

Her family was there, but she was trying to ease back into those relationships and they were dealing with their own trauma, what with her coming back to life and her father disappearing in the middle of the night.

She’d spend days, both with or without Locke, at a bit of a loss as to how to get back to where she was. Or, honestly, how to be sure she’d never return to it. There was a call for the long stretches of solitude and peaceful atmosphere she was rewarded with, but at the same time, it felt far more like a punishment.

She was a woman of action. Strong action. Constantly falling in and out of dangerous scenarios in order to prove her worth. Those few months of either taking no jobs or taking one and needing a be recovery period was hard on her.

Very hard.

“I never want to be like this again,” she told Locke, more than once, and he only snickered, smiling even, in the beginning when he was still just amazed to see her alive and breathing, with him once more. “Don’t nothing. Sitting around. Waiting.”

“It’ll be different in Bosco,” he assured her and it was still a dream to them then, not fully realized or understood, what it would mean.

What any of it would mean.

She spent months getting stronger and him proving himself to the guild master, just to find their power and prowess useless. He’d spent the majority of their time away on guard duty, back on base or across the border, while her true powers had been suppressed and her new, fancy one she was so pleased to wield had only come into play once.

And for what?

So she could find herself folding clothes in a sweatshop, hoping to win the approval of women that saw her as little more than a kid. A fucking, stupid kid whose current placement in life did more to depress them than, perhaps, their current surroundings. Reminded them of their first time. Times. In new places, adjusting to the new regulation and lack of freedom they were presented.

There was a resignation, back in Ewings, but it wasn’t buried nearly as deeply as it was the majority of the women she was currently housed with. The majority of them were too old, had been under too long, and she was made known of this the second she tried to broach the topic with any of them.

It was a headbanging kind of realization, the ones she had every single day and night, as she tried to assimilate herself with these women. She lacked the nerves or fears she had, on Ewing’s manor, but they were instead replaced with frustrating jitters of wanting to do something, to start something, but not quite being able.

She didn’t connect well with other people. She never had. But it was now a major part of the job and, though she wished that both Locke and Shae were able to carry the heavy load in this, she knew that her position in the hoped revolution was very important.

One of the things that she’d learned recently from the short months she’d spent back home actually came during that down time she hated. And from Marin, her lame younger sister, of all fucking people. Marin possessed the potential for all the power in the world, but balked in her formative years, and instead had to build other skills.

She wasn’t great at it either, after all. Connecting to other people. And maybe that was Haven’s fault, at least somewhat, but whatever it was, Marin found ways to overcome it. Where Haven thought to prove herself physically and violently, Marin managed her natural awkward disposition in another way.

With her natural abilities repressed, she found herself accessing social skills in other ways. She learned things about people, rather easily. She served them beers and fed them filling food until they felt comfortable enough to express things to her. Whether this was intentional or not, it allowed her to easily transverse any other personal relationships she was forced to have with others. They felt naturally inclined to consider her something. Not exactly a friend and maybe not a confidant, but at least someone that, even when sober and starving, they could count on to be there for them.

The best part of this arrangement was that Marin hardly had to offer anything difficult up to others; she merely had to provide the expected level of care. This wasn’t exactly an imparted benefit on Haven through word of mouth, but rather observation. She watched her mostly quiet and reserved sister in the guildhall many times following her resurrection, and it was a very alternate experience from how Marin was once treated around the place.

By doing her work, she found an avenue that otherwise wouldn’t be easily presented to her.

Haven wanted to be like that. With her job. To do her job and make friends along the way. It used to be that way, anyways, when she was just a regular mage, running around helping others. She fell in and out of relationships in her time away from Fairy Tail, nothing serious, but her prowess had always spoken when she was unable. Helped her fall in with the people she needed in the moment who required her powers just as heavily.

But now she didn’t need them. Didn’t have them. Couldn’t use them. It felt better, honestly, than it had back at Ewings place, now able to at least use her transformation magic, but it still ached a bit, as it always would, whenever she couldn’t draw electricity through her veins at will.

It was depressing.

Just how things had felt, when last year’s long, hot summer had faded into the darkness of a new season. But now she was trapped in the dull shadows of a hotbox sweatshop, equally as shut-in and alone, but just for different reasons.

Sulking wasn’t productive though. Nor was her natural inclinations towards anger and brash attitudes. Shae and Locke were both out of their element and struggling to find ground, but she was given the easiest job of all; she couldn’t fuck it up.

She just had to gain the trust of a bunch of old women.

Marin did it with the older men in the bar, plying them full of beer and liquor and listening to their problems. Finally, for once drawing true inspiration from her sister, Haven found that getting frustrated with her position wasn’t going to get her anyways; she just had to do her job and keep her head down.

So she tried it.

Haven had always been kind of afraid of it. Silence. Left to her own devices. To think. After her ventures into the afterlife’s eternity, she found mostly that she’d never not be afraid of the concept. Silence was just too much for her to handle.

But without even Shae now, it was what her days were mostly filled with. And as she focused, tried hard to get the folding and sorting all down, box breaking and box opening, but fuck.

Fuck.

It was just hard.

But she seemed to be endearing herself more, this way. Or at least she thought. There was a woman, anyways, of the few that were on folding and packing duty, that seemed to not look on her as harshly as she once had.

She was a...hearty woman, Haven thought. Homely, maybe, was the word. She kept her messy brown hair clipped back and out of her face for the most part, but sometimes a strand would fall from its containment and she was mutter curses just loud enough for the typical blonde to catch. A dark, rough patch laid over the older woman’s eye and she cursed about it at times too, wiggling a finger beneath the fabric to deal with an itch.

She went by Bea, the woman did, and she was a glimpse into the world Haven was merely visiting.

It started just like that. Not so harsh looks and, eventually, her grumbling at Haven to take a seat, beside her and two of the other women, during lunch break, down in the grass.

There wasn’t much to talk about. They probably didn’t really have much in common, removed from their current position, but they were trapped, all of them, with the magical marker denoting them as less than, and if they only had one thing to speak on, then it made sense that they eventually would.

“You wanna ask about it,” Bea remarked one day in that gruff she had. They’d had a few conversations by this point, short and to the point. Grumbles over the food, the work, maybe on a too cool summer evening, about the pond water. But this time, as they sat together in the warm grass, sun bearing down on them as they scarfed down their lunch, it seemed different. The tone. The intention. “All the new people do.”

Haven knew what she was talking about, of course, but even for as socially inept as she typically was, even she knew that she was heading down the entirely wrong path. Quickly shaking her head, she had to swallowed the hardened sliver of bread and warm meat of some sort that they’d been served before saying, “N-No, I haven’t. I-”

“Things were different,” Bea told her simply and this, at least, hadn’t been the first time she’d heard such at hing. “Around here. Before.”

Haven paused, not wishing to ward off the potential for further conversations, but also being reverent of letting this once slip through her grasps.

“Before?” she asked softly.

“Before,” the older woman went on, “the current master. The young one. The son.” She almost sneered, maybe, shaking her head as she insisted, “He’s not nearly the...man his father was.”

“Did he...did he take your-”

“Plucked it right out.” She made a popping noise with her mouth that made a woman sitting nearby visibly appear revolted. Bea only reached up, almost absently, to sneak a finger beneath the flap, scratching with a sigh. “Punishments were stiffer. The work harder. What we were dealin’… But I was so young then. Your age, maybe younger. Things were just...different.”

“That’s fucked,” Haven remarked, but Bea only shrugged.

“I’ve seen yours.” Then she made that face again, that sneer, the finger slipping back out from beneath the patch so that she could gently tap the pad against the course fabric. “Well, as well as I can see somethin’-”

“What do you mean?”

“Your scars. On your stomach.” Bea raised an eyebrow. “Told ya mine.”

Which meant she wanted Haven to tell hers. It was probably the entire reason she’d brought up the conversation in the first place.

It was with a bit of a sigh that Haven thought about it. All of it. She had a lot of scars, of course, and wore them well, but the most important…

The fact it was even visible was her own fault, honestly. Her transformation wasn’t that draining, but she needed it to be perfectly even, refilled and never taking away too much. Leaving her scars where they were, hidden beneath her clothing, was an easy concession. And the visible ones only added to her credibility. But they all stripped together, each night, and even though the moonlight didn’t illuminate much, all light only revealed the most inconvenient. Or at least it always had for Haven.

“I got cut open,” she admitted, softly, and though it wasn’t the full truth, as she looked away and reflected, she told just enough of it that her pain was not only convincing, but real. “Died. A-Almost, I mean. I almost died. Someone was able to use magic to save me.”

“All that miracle,” Bea sighed with a click of her tongue and a shake of her head, “only to land you here.”

“Only,” Haven agreed, “to land me here.”

Things only seemed to look up from there. It was difficult, of course, to be too optimistic for the future when you were dealing in such a dank reality, but Haven did feel good about herself. Bea seemed to like her well enough, maybe, and though the other women all seemed to be distant, it was nice to have something of an in.

She felt comfortable in it, at least somewhat, and was very ready to shove it in the often doubting Locke’s face one day when she disappeared off into the shed, equally anticipating her boyfriend as she was the soda pop he’d bring.

Which was why, as he slipped in empty handed, she had a bit of a glare.

“Nothing?” she questioned. “I literally have nothing to look forward to and you still manage to disappoint-”

“Haven.” He rushed the short distance to stand before her, his goofy gaze rather harsh that day. Clouded. Concerned. Reaching out, he grasped her cheeks in his hands, forcing her to stare up at him, linking their gaze. “Something’s happened. Or is happening. I don’t-”

“Is it Shae?” She shoved him off, tossing up an arm and, originally intending it to crackle with the heat of electricity, she instead found herself merely flexing. “We’ll fuck ‘em up, Locke. We’ll-”

“No, Have, it’s…” He only frowned at her. “It’s you.”

Deflating some, Haven returned the gaze though hers was accompanied by a raised brow as she questioned, “What do you mean?”

He wasn’t quite sure, honestly.

The concern came from Shae herself.

Locke had the benefit (misfortune?) of being one of the guards sent up to the penthouse, not for their irregular defiling of select hostages, but rather to rouse Monty from where he was shirking on his duties. It had been with a bit of a huff that Wick chose him, finding the young man eating with some of the other guards in the dining room, and as he and Locke bounded up the stairs, his only offered explanation was, “You talk sense to him, Hux. He likes you.”

But he didn’t like Wick.

No one liked Wick.

He was a cold man, older than the other guards and from the old breed, Anderson had sneered to Locke once behind the man’s back. He kept to himself and mostly seemed to find his time spent trying to get Monty to do anything other than drink and hide in his arcade or penthouse.

It was a difficult task.

But recently, the Master had taken quite the liking to Hux and, while that was annoying to some of the other guards, Wick saw this as a new, unexplored advantage. Guys listened to their friends, after all, and if the new guard could, at the very least, supply an easy way to control the Master, then, well, his presence was worth it.

Up in the penthouse though, as Wick moved through the living area, unconcerned mostly with the women that hung around, and instead headed to bang on Monty’s bedroom door, Locke uneasily glanced around at the women seemed equally as uneasy to see him. He almost raised his hand to wave at their very pointed avoided glanced, but he didn’t have a chance as someone came rushing over to him.

Shae had spent the past few days sitting by the door, mostly. She avoided Monty when she could, but felt it very important that she get to Locke, as soon as possible. Being locked away in the penthouse, this felt completely impossible as the man, she knew, would avoid the place like a plague. Still, there really wasn’t anything to do, at all, other than slowly go insane in the place and though she knew she was meant to be gaining trusts of the women around her, she found herself far more worried over something else.

She’d gotten up. Right before he came in. To find what had been left for them to eat in the kitchen. There was more, here, than down in the sweatshop, but most of the women, especially those who’d been there long, seemed to survive mostly on their pills and alcohol.

But Locke came in, while she was doing that, and at first, the sight of Wick stalking through the apartment wasn’t a welcome one to the woman and she hung back. But as he was barking for Monty, Shae saw the man she was actually looking for and, not knowing exactly when she’d be given another opportunity, she ran right for him.

It was awkward, the next few motions, as she hesitated and Locke tensed, at the feeling of someone approaching him in such a manner, but then there was the awkwardness of all the women staring and one of them had to say something, but it had to be here, because she was the one who had something to say, and while he was too shocked for much more than his silence, Shae knew she need to get the information to him as subtly as possible and, well, given their implied relations by that point, she figured it wasn’t too out of the realms what she did next.

Somehow, it was even more awkward.

Locke pulled back, when he realized what he was doing and it was like pressing her lips against nothing, mostly his chin, honestly, as she leaned up, but not enough to account for how hard he was trying to evade.

Pulling away herself, just slightly, she whispered, “Haven’s in trouble.”

Locke blinked with a questioning, “What?”

“Take this.” And her hands had been wrapped around his neck, but one of her balled up fists opened then and a folded slip of paper tickled the back of his neck as it tumbled down beneath the collar of his tucked in shirt and came to rest around his hip line, right where his too tight cut off passage. Shae’s eyes were wild as she insisted to the man, “You have to do something.”

It was on instinct, almost, the way he nodded at her solemn tone, but again, the seconds in this encounter were stifled by another immediately following it.

Wick had been coming out of the bedroom then, chewing out an inebriated Monty while he was at it, but this stopped suddenly when he saw what was taking place. Shae still had an arm wrapped around Locke’s neck and he was still too dazed to do much about it. The sight, for some reason, caused Wick to shout at them, but his gaze was quickly somewhere else.

“Enough,” he’d growled, the older man had, and all the women, who hadn’t really relaxed the entire time, seemed even more uneased by the action. With a deep growl, he was stalking right back across the room then to grab Shae roughly by the arm and toss her to the side. “You will not-”

“Hey!” Locke bucked right up as Shae, fighting against all instinct she knew, forced herself to only fall away and not bite back at the man.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” And Wick turned to Locke once more, raising his hand and striking him, sharply right above his left ear. Having been raised on such things, if anything the feeling made the hardy mage almost nostalgic. If only the hit wasn’t so weak with no true iron behind it. As Locke blinked away the feeling, his direct superior only glared darkly into his red eyes. With a shake of his head, Wick insisted, “You will never do that again. Do you understand? You are on duty. And in front of her?”

“In front of who?” Locke griped as he resisted the urge to rub at his ear. “What are you talking about?”

But Wick just huffed then, turning on his heel and walking over to where some of the women were coward, wincing as he came close, but there was only one that he seemed interested in. Locke had seen her before and, though she hadn’t stood out to him before, he recognized her as one of the women that worked in the kitchen. Not marked. Hired help. She was the youngest one of them, a teenager, and Locke had mostly steered clear of the kitchen help, not quite sure how they fit into liberation.

He grabbed her though, Wick did, hissing something about how she shouldn’t be up here, right now, and she was wide eyed, the teenager was, nodding her head and being drug from the penthouse while everyone else stood stock still and eerily silent.

As the teen and Wick disappeared out the door, a beat would come to pass before Monty, the only one capable of breaking the tension laughed, drunkenly, shaking his head as he continued on then.

“C’mon, Hux,” he slurred as he came to weakly slug the man in the shoulder. Grinning, his glassy eyes found Locke’s as he remarked, “Gotta finish work, huh?”

“Yeah,” Locke agreed with a nod and, though he did glance at Shae, he turned to follow after the Master.

Monty stumbled down the stairs with Locke’s help and, with some more assistance, the mage managed to shove the guy into his office where, following, he was certain to close the door behind them.

“Wick’s just freaked,” Monty explained, going to fall into his chair. “That I don’t, uh, seem presentable to my uncle.”

“Your uncle?”

“Alwood.” He sniffled though, at the man’s name, Monty did. Raking a hand across his face, he groaned some as he said, “Man look’s out for me.”

But he couldn’t even think about that sort of thing, in that moment, Locke couldn’t. Instead, he only paced a bit, around the small office, while Monty continued to rub at his face trying to wake himself up.

“Can I ask you something?” Locke finally asked and Monty waved his hand a bit.

“Sit down and do it,” he grumbled a bit. “Giving me a headache.”

Hesitating, Locke glanced at the door before going to sink into one of the plush chairs that set before the desk. Softly, he asked, “Who was that? That girl?”

“I dunno,” Monty replied as he rubbed a palm roughly into one eye, the stinking eventually causing him to gasp and drop his hand. Then, dryly, he replied, “You’re the one fuckin’ her.”

“What? No, I meant… The one that Wick drug out of there,” he explained. “The young one. Who-”

“That’s Wick’s fuckin’ daughter.”

“He’s what?”

Monty snorted then, sneering some as he sat back in his chair and focused on the ceiling for a moment. “I’s a kid when it all happened. It was under my dad that it all happened. That fucker. Left me all this shit to deal with. And fuck Wick too. Asshole. Thinks he so good. So great. Knocked the woman up. Down in The Factory. Judges me. He does the same fucking thing. Did. Whatever.”

Locke shifted, a question on his tongue, but doing so caused the slip of paper down the back of his shirt to scratch against his back and, suddenly, he couldn't give a shit about Wick.

“Hey, man, are you going to be alright?” Jumping up, Locke forgot for a moment that he actually, sort of, had a job to do and straightened at the remembrance. As he looked over Monty, he added, “If I take off?”

Monty ran a hand for once through his hair, causing it to become even more disheveled. Shaking his head, he said, “Gotta, uh, sober up. Before Alwood comes around.”

Locke found it unlikely that this would be accomplished, but he had his own problems to worry about. Not only did he imagine Wick would be on his ass, should he run into the man again, but he needed to get that slip of paper and read it over as soon as possible.

His room was empty, thankfully, when he arrived at it. On occasion, the other guys would be lingering around to talk or try and goad him into going into town with him. They all got their checks every two weeks and, now with a sizable accumulation of cicles, the offer seemed like it should have been more enticing to him than he was displaying to the others.

But he didn’t want to leave the property. Not with Haven around. If he told her about it, she’d goad him into going out with the other guards, get to know them better, study them, learn something useful to the cause, but fuck that. He wasn’t leaving her alone on the property.

It was hard enough knowing she was so close and yet barred off from him the majority of the time.

His chest was pounding, as it had since what had popped off upstairs, but alone now, closed off in his tiny bedroom, his heart felt like it was trying to rip from his chest. Ripping off his shirt, he probably looked a foo as he spun around in a tight circle, trying to find where the slip of paper had fluttered off to, freed now.

It wasn’t much. As he found the white slip sticking out against his dark hardwood floor, his fingers trembled some and he was both disappointed and terrified by just how short in length Shae’s note was.

She had to be straight to the point, of course, and there wasn’t much there for him to glance over, but still, he found himself collapsing onto the edge of his bed as his eyes traced over the short writing.

Alwood’s taking Haven back with him. Stop her from going. I’ve heard bad things about him. She’s not safe.

The note didn’t tell him much. And though he tried to get what he could out of the guys he had patrol with the next morning, because of the former, he didn’t have much to offer Haven that day, as he stared with heavy concern at what, truly, was a strange woman, but exuded all the warmth (or lack there of) that his girlfriend did.

He’d spent the majority of his life trying to protect her. And others. It was in his nature, since he was a boy. He liked for all the people he cared about to be as safe as possible. This was a difficult task, growing up as a mage, but he always saw after his friends. Haven especially.

His whole point in coming to this place was for that exact reason. He dreamed of more, he wanted more, but deep down, it was the only thing that really mattered.

“Alwood is going to try and take you,” he told her simply. “But I’m not going to let him.”

Haven stood there for a moment, after his words, losing her tension and fear for Shae and, at least somewhat, gaining some for herself.

“Alwood,” she repeated his name softly then, frowning, “knows Ewing.”

“What?”

“I told you. That’s where I know him from.” Turning from the man, she could only blink in the darkness, her desire for static, not to draw, but to expel, pooling in the pit of her stomach. “What if Ewing told him about me? And he came here to get me?”

“Haven, I don’t think-”

“He knew me, Locke.” She shook her head some. “From the last time. When I was there. The first time. He knew exactly who I was. He’s connected and shit and is after me now, I bet, and-”

“If you need me to get you out of here-”

“What?”

Locke looked quite serious when she glanced over her shoulder at him. Softly, he said, “I’ll sneak you out. Whatever. That’s why I came. If you or Shae run into trouble-”

“I’m not in trouble.”

“What do you mean? You think some rich fucking sicko is out to get you.”

“Are you kidding? Fuck him. He’s after me? Ewing’s after me?” She turned quickly then, bouncing on her feet, seemingly amped. “Fuck him. He doesn’t know what he’s messing with.”

“Haven-”

“I’ll kill him. I’ll kill them all.”

“You’re not-”

“I’ll fucking kill them, Locke.” She threw up a fist again, still with no electricity behind him, but as the blow connected to Locke’s chest, he had to suck in a breath. Twisting her fist, she pressed harder into him, but didn’t stumble forwards, instead only hanging her head, arm taut and rigid as she breathed heavily down at their feet. Bravado deflated, she only whispered, “I’ll fucking kill him, Locke.”

“You won’t have to.” He balled his own fist, but it was only to crash it down on the top of her head, sighing some as he took in her new look. When she raised her eyes, they were dark and not her own, but the heaving of her chest alternated perfectly with his own as he tugged her to him. “I fucking will.”

Haven rested there for a moment, indulging maybe, if just for a moment. Shoving him off after a beat, she only whispered, “You can’t kill shit. Fucking worthless.”

“If you had killed Ewing back at his place,” Locke retorted with a frown, “then we wouldn’t even be having to deal with this shit.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’re,” he replied, “in trouble. You get that, right? This isn’t a joke. You can’t go back with Alwood. And if he’s intent on taking you, then it’s probably best if we start figuring a way to get you out-”

“No way.”

“Haven-”

“Give me time,” she insisted. “We can’t fuck this up. Shae upstairs, I’m down here, you’re a guard… This is too perfect to not be the plan. How it’s meant to be.”

“I’m not going to let you-”

“I’m not going with him. I won’t.”

“Then-”

“I don’t fucking know, okay?” Shaking her head, she asked instead, “How do you even know they’re taking me? Have you spoken to him? Alwood? Or did your little friend the master-”

“Shae told me.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “She, uh, passed me a note.”

“How does she know?”

“Haven, I don’t fucking know.” It was his turn to be annoyed. “How do you not know? If she does? I thought you told me you were making friends.”

“Friend. I’m making a friend.”

“Haven-”

“I’ll ask her about it.” Haven seemed to snap out of her funk, if only for a moment, as she snapped her fingers together. “I’ll ask her to tell me everything she can about Alwood and if she knows why he’d even want me, what for and all that, right? She’ll tell me. We talked, you know? Seriously talked. About-”

“You’re not going,” Locke told her simply. “With Alwood. If I have to drag you out of here kicking and screaming-”

“Calm down. Idiot.” Haven held her head higher. “I didn’t want to go with him either. I’m not going to. Especially not if he’s tangled with Ewing. That’s not why we came. We came to get access to tunnels or some shit, right? So I’m going to fucking get us that.” Then she conceded a bit, “We’re going to fucking get those. I’m going to talk to Bea and you’re going to actually be fucking useful and we’ll figure out how to avoid Alwood all together. When does he leave?”

“I don’t know. I-”

“Useless.” She shoved him this time, but it was playfully, maybe, and Locke pushed her back, maybe too hard, but he was kind of tired of being smacked that day. Still, when she sighed, he gave one back, only nodding his head when she ordered, “Find out. Okay?”

It felt weird, when she turned her head up to press her lips to his, and Locke laughed some into the kiss, which got him shoved again, but he only shook his head.

“Doesn’t feel right,” he told her. “Here. With...this you.”

She snorted, shoving passed him then, “if you could make yourself taller-”

“I’m going to find out when he’s leaving,” he insisted. “And if we haven’t figured a way to make sure he’s not taking you with him-”

“You worry too much, Locke.” And she clipped his name the way that he liked. Poised to head right out of the shed, she only reminded, “Do what I told you and everything will be alright.”

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orcinusorca1617 · 4 years

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Vulnerability and Soft Hair smallenoughtofit

After two years with the Resistance, Kylo Ren still lacks any real security or relationships outside of his tenuous whatever-this-is with Rey. And Rey still wonders what his hair feels like.

the remedy is the experience (i won't worry my life away) TheJGatsby

Rey gets sick, and she isn't very good at letting people look after her.

Proper Sleep tearoomsaloon

Much to her frustration, Rey can no longer properly sleep unless she's snuggled between Ben's glorious pecs

ad infinitum hyperphonic

for the prompt: Rey and Kylo telling Leia, Rey is pregnant. Leia had no clue.

any way you want it thegoodlannister

rey helps ben begin to work through the process of making decisions - even really simple ones - for himself. rehabilitation is a slow process in the aftermath of the mess snoke has spent three decades making of ben's mind.

It Will Come Back ReyloTrashCompactor

“Honey, don’t feed it. It will come back”

A Series of Firsts Tandy

Ben (or is it Ren?) and Rey sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love and then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage.

A story told in firsts.

Dark Prism whythokylo (OpalElephant)

Rey awakens again, except this time it's to a life she can't recall with a man she only knows as her enemy. My attempt at a long form, dark AU. (Formerly titled Aphelion)

A Few Small Repairs TourmalineGreen

Rey buried her face in her blankets. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t going to allow herself to feel anything. Rain was just water, and so were tears. It would all dry, in time. The storm would pass, and then she’d keep going. That’s how it always had been, and that’s how it was going to be.

She would be alright, after this. She would find a way, find something…

what ails you thegoodlannister

or: three times ben solo was sick and one time kylo ren was. unabashed reylo and even more unabashed hurt/comfort.

100 Ways to Say I Love You AquaWolfGirl

Taken from a list on Tumblr of 100 Ways To Say I Love You, 100 little oneshots leading up to Valentine's Day.

I'm always in this twilight (in the shadow of your heart) disasterisms

Coded on a secondhand datapad in a run-down motel room in Mos Eisley, deleted and never sent: Everything about us was a whirlwind.

Written on a scrap of durasheet in a Tion Cluster outpost, the words fading after a while into air and ghosts: You shouldn't have forgiven me for any of it.

Scraped into the bark of an oak tree on the Argazdan homeworld: You won't believe the dreams I have about you.

the one with the lust writing-reylo

She has bigger things to worry about than that.

The most pressing of which is reclining in her bed, shirtless.

“Can you move?” She asks, unwinding her scarf and shrugging off her huge jacket.

Milking It thewayofthetrashcompactor

“Rey.”

The voice was deep and familiar, rough with exhaustion, and echoed across the gap closed by the Force.

She ignored it, hunched over on the edge of the cot she'd been sleeping on. She wanted nothing more than to lean back and curl up into an unconscious ball again, but another voice, this one much closer, called her name again.

morning in the burned house disasterisms

Leia's not really surprised at all, to be honest, but, for the sake of his pride, she should probably pretend to be.

find a thread to pull, and we can watch it unravel again_please

The war is over, Snoke dead at Rey and Kylo's hands. The two of them find themselves feeling a bit out of place as the Resistance celebrates and decide that the answer is a bit of good old fashioned Corellian whiskey. Enjoyed responsibly, of course. And in private.

Because You're There disasterisms

Three years ago, Rey had not yet climbed Everest.

Presenting the first half of my fic/art trade with the lovely lilithsaur, based on her trash triplets x 2 universe. The gist is that there are three Solo boys— Kylo, Ben, and Matt (the character from Adam Driver's SNL skit)— and three Kenobi girls— Kira (dark Rey), Rey, and Daisy (undercover Rey).

Sword of the Jedi (series) diasterisms

“What do you think?” Luke asks his nephew. “She has potential.”

“She bit me, Master,” is Ben’s stiff response. “Any opinion I give would be biased.”

Or: Everyone is connected, even if, sometimes, it's just by the skin of our teeth. Even in the midst of darkness, still, luminous beings are we.

Reign OptimisticBeth

Alternate Ending to "The Last Jedi." Rey accepts Kylo Ren’s offer in return for the lives of the retreating ships.

Political maneuvering is not Rey's forte. She must adjust to life as the First Order's first lady, making friends and enemies along the way and indulging in sweet awkward romance with her Ben.

Burgeoning Hope crossingwinter

#ShesPregnantAndHesDumbAndHasntLeftHisJobYet

miles from where you are mooncactus

After an argument over Star Wars fandom with a "gatekeeping, entitled monster" with the cryptic username of KyloRen, Rey finds herself stuck in a series of unavoidable video calls.

Prisoner orphan_account

Rey has been running all her life. She had known since she was a small girl that she was born with the powers that had been cursed and labeled evil by the galaxy. Running had worked for so long, that she was almost surprised when the bounty hunter Kylo Ren had caught her trail. But they might have more in common than they both originally thought.

Hand of Fate sweetestcondition

Rey is offered a choice at the end of Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi. This time, she takes the hand of Kylo Ren, grasping at the chance to transform the First Order from the inside. She hopes to create a Resistance from within, starting with the heart of Ben Solo. | feat. KoR, Kezzik

keep me in your clouded mind hi_raeth

Flu season has claimed its latest victim: Rey’s roommate, Ben Solo. But it’s fine. She’ll get him dressed, bring him to the hospital, and everything will be okay. Things are totally under control.

Except for the part where Ben has completely lost his verbal filter and keeps babbling about his feelings for her.

Exile Ernzo

The war is over and the First Order has fallen. Ben has returned home to face his consequences.

A story of Rey and Ben finding peace in the aftermath of war as Ben accepts his punishment.

made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter disasterisms

The First Order does not exist, what is dead stays dead, and they grow up together at Luke's Jedi Academy.

Or: The one where everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

(Then again, it's Ben and Rey, so maybe things hurt a little.)

A little ginger, a little honey Areah51

Rey is sick, and Ben shows up where he's not wanted, but in the end, we all need someone to take care of us when we're ill.

my wildest wind (come blow into my room) meritmut

“Would it have been so terrible?” he asks. “Staying?”

Could we have had this? she thinks, like she always does.

Non-consecutive ForceTime vignettes in the days, weeks and months after Crait.

Play to Win Enterprisingly

Ben Solo – aka KyloRen – is a professional gamer, playing the first-person-shooter StarKiller for the internationally ranked eSports team, The First Order. He’s made a name for himself as a ruthless competitor with a ferocious temper and top-notch skills that can’t be beat. That is, until a mystery player named ReyOfLight begins thoroughly trouncing him whenever they cross paths.

Unwell AquaWolfGirl

Jakku was cold, but nothing compared to Hoth. While staying at the old Rebel base, Rey catches a cold, and someone is a huge worry wart over the woman who denied his offer.

The One Where He Decides writing_reylo

He’s on the bridge and he’s alone.

The First Order are no more.

It only took him a year, carefully manipulating every weak mind he came across, emotionally manipulating the ones he couldn’t.

Embers sciosophia

All the myriad things he’d been—someone who made her laugh; the warmth on the other side of the bed; her best friend—those things, Rey had buried.

Rey left Ben two years, three months, and sixteen days ago. But who's counting?

Interstellar Transmissions LovelyThings, ricca_riot

Rey’s interrogation at the hands of Kylo Ren triggered an awakening in the Force, as well as an unwelcome bond that links them across the galaxy and grows stronger every day.

What Stays and What Fades Away astra_inclinant

Her feelings for Kylo Ren are quiet, not acknowledged, but deeply felt. She cannot make peace with them and send them from her mind.

Or, everyone is emotionally stunted and no one has healthy coping skills.

Our Heaven is Just Waiting FrostedFox

It's his turn to fall wounded before her, and her turn to decide where to go from there.

If only she could convince him to stay alive.

make it look just the way i planned TheJGatsby

Ben buys the painting on a brokenhearted impulse, and somehow it ends up being exactly the right choice.

(Based on the song Paint Me a Birmingham)

#reylo #rebelcaptain #star wars #sw tfa #sw tlj #kylo x rey #ben solo #cassian x jyn #rogue one

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theglowstickchronicles · 4 years

Text

Guys, I was HELLA behind on FMLS90- but I'm still in it! Just caught up :) while I was waiting for the grocery store to open. Now I am off with my reusable bags to get my food for the week before coming home and continuing chores. I want to get as much done as possible before FOOTBALL starts!!! We're playing Kansas City at 4:25 today (@fatmaninalittlesuit I'm sure you'll be watching this game as well!) and I am SO NERVOUS. We have been... trash, lately. Last week's game was atrocious. I wish I had planned better and tried to go to the game, even though it would probably be crazy expensive and super cold, because my football buddies are in California on a mini vacation (their 3rd this season compared to my 0) and I only have local cable at home.

Anyway, here it is:

• 11/18 - How does holiday food play a role in your fitness journey? Do you have any positive or negative traditions that impact your journey? Share one of both.

Well, this was probably supposed to be about Thanksgiving feasts but here we are on December 8th! Honestly, we don’t really have any “traditions” beyond getting together and sharing a meal. In hindsight this Thanksgiving was probably my best, calorie-wise, because my brother-in-law’s sister did most of the cooking and did a lot of sides with bacon incorporated into them and, since I’m vegetarian, I did not partake. I had some DELICIOUS food, don’t get me wrong, and she made a to-die-for caprese salad… but most of the apps had bacon and several of the sides. I ended up having cheese and crackers, french onion tartlets (SOOO GOOD), chips & dip, mashed potatoes, and a plethora of vegetable sides. It also helped that I had to work overnight Thursday into Friday so I couldn’t have any wine 

• 11/19 - How does holiday stress play a role in your fitness journey? Do you have any especially stressful situations that make your physical or mental journey tough? How do / will you handle them?

Holidays don’t really stress me out, if we’re being honest. As of Dec. 6 I just need to pick up some alcohol and then some giftcards for my cousin’s kids, and I’m done Christmas shopping. I start my shopping November 1 every year. I don’t mind seeing my family -they’re dramatic, just like everyone else, but compared to my job? A few hours of family drama time is nothing. I do tend to hoard a bottle of wine to myself for the holidays but I’m not sober during non-holiday times, either, so that doesn’t really come into play.

• 11/20 - What role do family and friends play in your holidays? Are these mostly positive or negative? What do you want to change about this?

Mostly positives! I hosted my second annual Friendsgiving this year and it was fantastic. The one downside was I had been up for 44 hours but I think it went well. Honestly the only “downside” to friends/family during holidays is having to be in such close quarters with people because as much as I love them, someone inevitably has germs.

• 11/21 - Do you notice and physical / mental changes around this time of year? Do you have any strategies to deal with them?

I am always a sleepy bitch, but more so during the winter months due to the lack of sun. This M-F, not getting home till 5-6 every night, office has no window life is bullshit. We always jokes that nightshift never sees the sun but dude, until you’ve gone 5 days without sunlight, don’t even @ me. I am extra careful about taking my vitamins during this time of the year because I really do notice a difference in energy and mood without them (I have some vitamin deficiencies NOT related to my diet thank you).

• 11/22 - How do work / school commitments / events this time of year differ for you? Can this be used to your advantage in your fitness journey or are there steps you can take to minimize the challenges?

In the fall we have annual mandatory education at work which can be stressful but other than that, work does not change. This year was a little different because I picked up a second job and had orientation and have been working a lot to save up money for my many endeavors over the next 2 years (sister’s bridal shower / bachelorette /wedding, best friend’s bridal shower / bachelorette / wedding, everyone is turning 30 and wants to go all out -me included- wanting to go on more vacations, wanting to do a 29th birthday somethingl… the list is endless…. Lol)

• 11/23 - Do you have any plans to travel this year? If so, describe the challenges that creates and how you will handle them. If not, what can you do at home to set yourself up for success?

One semi-definite plan is my sister’s bachelorette in 2020! I don’t know when or where we’re going, but we’re going- which reminds me, I need to get my passport in case it ends up being Canada! I also would like to do a small trip for my 29th birthday. Originally I wanted to take a week off (I am close to vacation time caps at work) but we are OF COURSE having a new system go-live 6 days after my birthday and I’m like, top 5 most important people for the go-live. So we shall see. Perhaps a 3-day weekend for president’s day somewhere close?

• 11/24 - Share one tip with the community on how to stay healthy during the holidays.

I feel like any time I have to share a tip with the community I share the same one, but there it is: PREPARATION. For instance I have not meal prepped in 3 weeks and IT SHOWS. I’ve been feeling sluggish and gross, not working out like I should be, and not sleeping as well…. PREPARATION IS KEY!!!

• 11/25 - What are your general thoughts on gratitude and the role it plays in your mental health and happiness?

Being in healthcare puts a new perspective on gratitude. I’m answering this hella late so it’s not actually 11/25 and is several weeks post-Thanksgiving, but… yesterday I watched a daughter unexpectedly lose her mother in the worst possible way. She walked into the room and almost immediately told us to stop doing CPR. I am grateful for my family being here and healthy, I am grateful for my fellow healthcare providers, and I am grateful that this strong woman who was having the worst day of her life wanted one thing for her mother in the last moments of her life: peace.

• 11/26 - What are some past experiences I am grateful for? How did they shape my life for the better?

I am grateful for growing up the way I did. I can’t say I wouldn’t change things but being raised by who I was shaped me into who I am. I’m grateful I wasn’t just handed things and was forced to work for them. I was probably not super appreciative at age 16 when I had to pay for my own car, but as an adult I am SO happy that I learned the lesson of working hard.

• 11/27 - Who do I appreciate? Tell us about them and why you are grateful they are in your life.

Right now I am appreciating the nurse who took report from me last night! We’ll probably never meet again but thank you for listening to my rants, not judging my last-minute leaky IV (don’t worry, the patient had another one that worked fine), and for getting me out of there so quickly!

• 11/28 - It’s Thanksgiving Day in the U.S. Tell us what specifically you are Thankful for today.

On Thanksgiving I was grateful for friends, family, and awesome coworkers.

• 11/29 - What are some people / things I may be taking for granted? How can I better express my gratitude for these people / things in the future?

I sometimes take my dad especially for granted. I depend on him for things around the house that I don’t have the skills or knowledge to do, such as fix the deck or the running toilet or even hang things without punching a hole in the wall. In the future I want to express that I’d rather him teach me these things instead of just coming to do them.

• 11/30 - What are some future opportunities I have that I am grateful for?

Everyone’s wedding, and the Year of Turning 30 Extravaganza.

• 12/1 - Share one tip with the community on how to live life with at attitude of gratitude.

No one is grateful 100% of the time. I try to make it a point every day to think of what I have… friends, family, pets, house, car, food in my fridge, etc…. and remember that not everyone has those.

• 12/2 - Where are you on your personal mental health journey? What strengths and opportunities do you have?

The changing of the seasons, setting the clocks back, and the SNOW on December 1st took its toll. I am usually not a Christmas-decorations-the-day-after-Thanksgiving type of person, but this year that’s the day that worked for my family getting our trees (me, my dad, and my sister/brother in law all go together and my Dad drops the trees off with his pickup) so I decorated that weekend and began listening to Christmas music (Pentatonix, ayyyyy). It really HAS been a pick-me-up!!!

• 12/3 - What are some past experiences with mental heath work? What has worked well for you and what has not worked as well.

Personally? None. Professionally? Just what I give as a nurse.

• 12/4 - How is your mental health compared to a year ago? Are you remaining steady, improving or regressions? What do you need to do about it?

Well, this time last year I had been at my job for one day and had no idea what I was doing. Now I’ve been here for a year and know what I’m doing… 50% of the time? So my mental health has gotten better since I no longer feel like a fish out of water. It helps that I got a per diem at the bedside and have those opportunities to do direct patient care.

• 12/5 - How aware are you of your mental health? Are your your moods steady or do they ebb and flow? Are you aware when things are changing and do you have any experience / tips for heading off tough times?

Very aware of my mental health; you have to be, to survive in healthcare without getting serious burnout. I would say my moods ebb and flow, which isn’t abnormal. Tough times can be headed off by doing self care, and I don’t mean in the bath-bomb-face-mask type of way: do your laundry (and fold it straight out the dryer), wash the dishes, clean the house, meal prep… and maybe get a manicure.

• 12/6 - Have you noticed any patterns / cycles to your own mental health? Do the seasons, or specific holidays or other variables impact you in specific ways?

Not especially. Late fall / early winter tends to be hard due to the lack of sun, but I also have a vitamin D deficiency that for obvious reasons gets worse in the winter, and low vit D causes depressive symptoms.

• 12/7 - How are mental health and physical health connected? What are some of your experiences that show this in your life?

Well. In my personal and somewhat-work-related experience, being in poor physical health often has a negative impact on mental health. HOWEVER BEING IN POOR PHYSICAL HEALTH DOES NOT MEAN BEING OVERWEIGHT. Plenty of patients have normal BMIs and are in poor health, and plenty have BMIs that label them obese and are in good health. And being in good physical health does not mean you have good mental health. I guess what I want to say is that while they can influence one another, they are not directly correlated?

• 12/8 - Share one tip with the community about developing or maintaining your mental health.

Don’t let things pile up. And I mean that literally and figuratively. Clean your house and prep your food and for the love of God empty the trash from your car (no? just me?). But also… don’t dwell on things you cannot change, and don’t stew on things you can. Just do it. It will be worth the time, energy, and anxiety.

#fmls90 #fmls90 catch up

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lizzodorito · 4 years

Text

quick vent

because i legit have no where else to put this sort of feeling and just.. writing it in a book or a doc just... isnt as cathartic. Hope this just fades into the void, please dont bother reading it.

Hey. screw proper grammar and spelling I just need to get thihis out.

my name is liz and hoenstly fuck this website because last time i actively used it for something other than mandolorian memes or sims mods/cc my ex boyfriend was fucking stalking me on it and catfishing me and comfort me by sending me those ask lists and i... i dunno if im over that. Fuck you Sven.

not the point, just wha t I have to think about every single damned time I find myself here no matter what.

I am so lonely. I dont have many friends at all and the ones I do are out to use me or not Get Into It with me, thouhg fair because im a shit load of a lot to deal with i guess. other friends i have are pretty backstabbing and they refuse to properly grow up and LIVE and THINK FOR OTHERS AND ALSO THINK FOR THEMSELVES WITHOUT IT HAVING TO BE DEFINED BY HOW PROUDLY TERRIBLE THEIR MENTAL HEALTH IS FUCK

And then i get shit for it

love being used guys hell yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah no i dont i hate it so much literally when was the last time anyone loved me right outside of my family and even so its not like my parents treat me well. mother you may have improved drastically, but similar to my self esteem, its still very much BELOW PAR and i hate having to witness both.

I am so lonely.

I go so long without saying any word sometimes, its a wonder i stil breath, although sometimes when i was young id forget to.

why is it that i get more depressed when i come back to the family home

does anyone else understand being family oriented to a family that really for the majority doesn’t treat you the same?

The voice in my head wont stop. it wont stop telling me all the ways i have potentially fucked my budding friendships with my new friends isha and matt

how am i a person who shares so little yet so much

BUT MY LORD THANK YOU these are people who... who are considerate and are processing what i am saying and are thinking of me

but how fucked up am i

and will that push them away

im often distasteful but all the same complex and layered and so useful and so interesting

and that’s why often enough it seems people dont put in the effort, or frankly, dont give a shit about me once i requrie effort, though their “care” for me beofre then was only for their own benefit.

im exhausted

One of my best internet friends was raped and i was the one who revealed that to her and she just didnt realize it yet and i havent been able to fall asleep without thinking about it

i have needed to cry for over a week now and i haVent gotten to still i am so sad i am SO SAD

I am so charming yet cannot help being alone no matter how enjoyable i am for others to have around

Matt

He makes me question if im asexual

But I am only a human

porbably deifntieyl still asexual

but too much all the same

Im just lonely and touch starved probably (more than usual to be clear) and want to be hugged and loved and he’s so smart and we talk for hoours and comfortably, for me, occupy eachothers’ space we talk for

hours.

this is becoming poetry.

I feel like i am beginning to sound like a hobo johnson broken record

stop being poetic fuck off liz

he;s so

I havent been hopeful like this in people for a long time

we went to a museum to support isha (she had to do a project that invovled socializing so ya know the inrovert crew (though i dont know fi matt considers himself one)) and we just were togeter (in rather close proximinity) just speaking in accents, partly hoping to excite the strangers crowding everywhere about “foriegners” being here at the exhibit... but i think it was mostly just for us. for our fun

because voices is what we like to do

i love voice acitng

he committed to it, i fell out of it more times than he did and he gets more specific with accents than i do

he likes what i do

he loves the characters and my many talents

he loves my writing

he wants me to join his dnd campaign over the summer with his friends

is it for me?

does he want... me

or just my character maggie that everyone loves

he wants me to join the campign he’s in npw with his friends, as he’s a player character and not a dm as he would be over the summer

he doesn’t quite get how lonely i am

i worry i made him and isha uncomfortable last night... i joked about actually being loved properly

he immediately looked at me strange, me not realizing the joke was taken as truth

“Liz, is there something you need to talk about?”

“Oh! Oh, well, um...” hi i come from an abusive family and you both dont realize how much it meant to me that you wanted me to come and are consitently telling me and thanking me for coming because... you’re telling me im good company and its been so long since i have had real friends or gone out with friends and ACTUALLY FULLY AND COMPLTELY HAD A GOOD TIME OH MY GOSH YOU DONT EVEN KNOW I AM SO SHY ABOUT ALL OF THIS BECAUSE HOLY FUCK I CANT EVEN ASK HOW I BECAME SUCH A BASKET CASE BECAUSE I ALREADY KNOW I ALRWADY KNOW I ALREADY KOW I ALRADY KNOW AND I HAVENT’ GOTTEN TO REALLY TELL ANYONE IN SO LONG WITHOUT THEM LEAVING ME

its been so long since ive been understood by a peer

(hi my name is liz and i am weepign right now)

“No, not yet at least.”

*isha laughs and it joined by matt soon. I’m smiling comfortably. I genuinely have a soft, contented hope i might get to tell them at least some of it one day.*

“not yet at least! sorry matt you have to be at least a level 4 friend to learn the tragic backstory”

thank you isha for lightening the mood

thank you for making the joke so many people who gave less than a fuck about me got offeneded at and confused when i made it so often years ago.

my comment was laughed off, we continued to watch the critical role espidoe i had missed

soon it was just matt and i. isha was to bed.

just him and i, and i, like id been all night (concious but making the decision to pipe down and trust the people around me), was all curled up, very relaxed and off my posture, sinking into the couch. MAtt was always upright ish. sometimes hed sink a bit or rest his hips on their side curl a little rest his head, but not as intesely as i did

sometimes he’d scoot closer to me, sometimes hed scoot away. sometimes hed move his legs so our knees would touch. i dont mind (not because i was finding it romantic, im not twelve, i just am understadning of the small situation we are in and its a knee for crying out loud) i wonder if i was taking up too much space with the way i’d sit comfortaly. I wonder if he thought so.

i would be lying if i said i didnt imagine us actually having contact with eachother. cuddling platonically.. on multiple occassions.

I have an imagination that thinks of everything and so many scenarios all at once and all the time after all

i was comfortable with the idea but

it would be a bigger lie to say i wasnt absolutely and perfectly content wiht the way it did go.

i dont thiink i will ever know if he was comofrtable on that couch or more so if it was me he was comfortable or uncomfrtoable with.

I will respect him to tell me.

he;s good at eyecontact and its comfrotable enoguh where i dont have to look away (it’s been a problem i never used to have recently)

I’d peek up at him when he’d talk to me

i felt young again

when the stream was over he got up to leave.

i dont know if we daudled. dawdled? yep thats the word

i dont know if we did

we made small talk

shitty jokes that he declared wouldn’t be the last thing we said to eachother that evening

i agreed.

the last words that night were goodnights.

me with my raspy evening voice from a day full of talking and him with a look over the shoulder from the hall as the door closed behind him

he was obviosuly very slap happy sleepy as he was talking about the light not being too bright in the hall (to his happiness)

it was a nice night

when was the last time i went to bed so happy? thanking God over and over and praying for my friend i mention way earlier

i didnt even have to drown my insomnia with a youtube video

i just went to sleep

2 am

i hope the weather continues

- jaques cruzio, pink panther

now im just in bed

at the family home

not my dorm

fighting my depression (its been three hours, i was getting exhausted by 9:30 due to it) as i rest

i was curled in a ball, slumped and face planted, arms slumped when i decided i need to talk to someone, or say something mroe than what i vented to my little sister (small bits about how lonely i feel and how i worry ive fucked things up) hours ago

and here we are

12:14 am

just some broken twenty something asexual with a mind that’s usually over sixty talking about the amazing people i met two weeks ago while in the background i think about the girl i used to be the boss of (online moderator work) and how she’s essentially in love with her idea of me and how i make her feel... and not just for me.

i am mysterious and cool and smart and hot and talented and useful to her.

I want to be complex and dedicated and helpful and pretty and so skilled and hardworking and wanted for me.

i want to be considered and deserving and im hoping that isha, matt and my other two roommates can help start to fill that hole in my life

because, God, so far they have so much potential for it in my eyes

(so far)

thanks for listening, void.

actually feeling quite a bit better. the misery is still lingering, i wonder if i should cry more. But, i can breathe easier and my eyes dont feel dead. I just am tired and am prepared to enjoy things again.

proabbly will watch claire from BA make jelly beans.

or the Noel Miller guy isha told me about.

I dont know if it’s appropriate if i downloaded matt’s contact into my phone from when isha put us both in a groupchat together and i hope its not weird and i hope maybe he did the same, but by God i dont think i’ll be texting him first.

i like in person better.

with anyone.

always have

i have so much more on my mind

#me

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p-st · 5 years

Text

my "unkillable" quirk oc's hero name (villain? just for fun civillian name?) would absolutely be "Casualty"

a lil joke based on their casual view on death and well. death

dunno if theyd be a hero, villain, or civillian! theyre all pretty fun to explore. a vigilante would also be cool but i dont think theyd be a super morally upstanding one. definitely theyd kill a villain to restrain them bc "theyre totally fine! yeah, they're definitely dead, officer, but theyll walk it off in a few hours so it's no big!"

okay actually..thatd be a fun universe 🤔

hold on lemme just. type out loud here

Casualty: The Undying Hero! (or is it the other way around? idk how hero titles work) their wounds heal faster than most and if they “rejuvenate” you (crowdsourced name), one quick nap later you'll be good as new! (bc they also heal faster when out though not as fast as them) they will only "rejuvenate" people who have given their full consent or there is no other option (heros they work with sign contracts that give the okay and for what circumstances)(civillians give spoken consent and can request a full contract at their agency if theyre frequent fliers)

casualty decides case by case what the best course of action would be because, unfortunately, they do come across several suicidal heros and civillians alike that just want to know what its like to die. they have several connections with mental health professionals!

like eraserhead, casualty's quirk doesnt give way to much combat ability (pretty good for defense tho is still hesitant to kill someone. villain or not. some ppl can get addicted to the feeling) they compensate during fights with support tools! this isnt something ive thought about so idk what kind of fighting style theyd gear themselves towards but i think id like something pretty versatile.

also kinda looking for the secret to their death since yeah their own body can kill them but they dont really get sick and, while not immortal, they'll likely outlive everyone of their generation

Casualty: The Killer Villain! (do villains even have titles like this lol?) just THINK of the way torture would go! they can drive right up that edge and when they push a little harder and you come out the otherside unscathed you still arent safe bc youre under their whim! not a big bad with huge showy villainous actions but arguably much worse than those who make headlines.

more of an information broker! theyre the one u go to if u wanna make someone break. also takes "assassination" jobs (the PERFECT person to help you fake your death. deals identities like cards) not much in the way of morals and will give you a quick death fix but mostly to get you off their back (thinks ppl who wanna die are pretty disgusting and they revel entirely in their longlasting life. slow and steady, babey) has people contracted to kill others for them.

definitely looking for someone able to kill them. it's a big daring exciting joke to them! fellow villains will make attempts and theyll critique their effort later. also they make a very good partner for ppl trying to test out how much a new move would hurt (other villains come to these spars and time how long casualty stays down. theres a leader board for the longest time down bc it means their move was incredibly violent)

Casualty: A Name as Feared as it is Revered! (okay this one is just for fun) being able to kill but it not sticking is PERFECT for them in their mind. in this universe they couldnt think of another path being better for them (because of their black and white view of “heros save” and “villains kill” and that their quirk fits neither. not really)

theyve got a hit on them from everyone and it makes their days exciting! they compliment the more creative attempts and will drop by the place of person who killed them and leave a sticky note with a full review lol. as mentioned above, kills as a way to restrain! it's to the point where it's so common that whenever it's mentioned that they were involved w a crime a special crew comes to take care of it (you gotta be trained to compartmentalize seeing so many dead ppl that wake up kicking. it does smthn to ya)

theyll target everyone alike! heros, villains, civillians! it doesn't matter youre all ripe for the pickin! theyve got ins with a wide range of ppl and if they cant deal with them personally theyll follow what they see as the best course of action. some people deserve to be publically demolished by a hero, some deserve the horror of a villain, and some deserve the cold hand of civillian law. theyve got a little (major) god complex and believe they have the right to be the judge jury and executioner (in spirit lol) obviously this mindset isnt well received by the public (coughstainchough) but unfortunately they make good judgement calls and they usually dont get the final say in what happens to someone anyway (unless they kill the person and that person learns their lesson or whatever)

does however have a personal vendetta of reforming systems and being very against the pissing contest that are hero rankings. this occasionally makes their judgement calls biased.

the most consistent things would be:

connections. lots of them and the types of connections depend on what path theyre on. theyre good at talking

outside support in the form of weapons or people to "finish the job"

general belief that their choice is more than likely the right choice

loose morals. comes with the territory of a death based quirk

controversial in any universe (except maybe a bonus one where they claim their quirk is not being able to die and not also not being able to kill? that universe would be steeped in self hate and either a bitter death or a life dedicated to putting a mental health support system in place for people with "villainous" quirks)(actually their quirk would still be controversial bc thats the point lol)

permanent casual view on death. doesnt see the big deal

very hm. unconnected to living? sure theyre just excited to be here! but they have the most solid grasp on the inevitability of death while also not super getting that when someone dies they get to stay dead? theres also the tiniest bit of envy there

probably either never got the death talk or got it very late. no one knows how many kids were at risk while being friends with them while young bc they wouldnt put the effort into saving them from life threatening situations (bc casualty always got back up, why wouldnt anyone else)

(bonus story for above would be that once while they were a kid a friend fell off a tree and hit the ground in front of them and they just walked away to keep playing then they came back later and the friend was still there so they went to either their own parent or the kid's parents and told them "[name] is taking a long time to get back up, i wanna play again." queue the sad ending here im aiming for)

upbeat sometimes in a near manic way. genuinely happy really often and finds joy in the smallest things like a slug in the grass or a wildflower coming out of the sidewalk (life in all kinds of places in all kinds of ways!)(theyre big fans of mushrooms. in death theres life or life gives way to life or whatever. idk it's fake deep. i just think mushrooms are cool and wanna project)

anyway this is like. long as shit lol! is anyone even reading this? i love you if you are. i might try to take this character and bend it to fit some of my own worlds bc wow i think theyre cool BUT if any bnha fans ARE reading this please feel free to include them in fics or stuff if you want! link me if you do id literally fall in love (u can name them what u want, dress them how you want, give them whatever pronouns you want, etc.)(dont claim them ofc but using them is fine!)

(and if you want me to idk... flesh out a character for you? 😳 lol id be very open to that! i love worldbuilding!! you dont have to.. aha... unless..?😳😳)

#bnha posting #death ment #child death ment #<<(it's the nine bullet point if you wanna skip)#this is. so self indulgent of me

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osmw1 · 5 years

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Dimension Wave Chapter 24 — Preparing for Action

We took it rather easy afterwards. Obviously, we still had to make sure we were ready for the raid in three days.

First, I rendezvoused with Shouko and the others and shared with them everything I had learned so far. From Alto, I learned where the location for the raid will be. From Romina, everyone got a new set of weapons. Romina also introduced to us someone who’s an armorsmith and we all got new armor too. Maybe because our mats were from the ocean, we received a lot of blue-colored armor. The mats from birds made our armor nice and fluffy too. Then, we investigated the special map. We’ve learned everything that we can from others, but now it’s time for us to see it with our own eyes. So, the four of us set off to do some scouting.

The location was somewhere between the First and the Second. There used to be a huge wall blocking this area off, but now there’s a path that cut through it. The Dimension Wave must’ve had something to do with it. Looking at the map from a distance, we could see the fissure clearly. But right now, there wasn’t a single monster here, making it easy for us to learn the layout of the area. It was mostly flat albeit with a few hills scattered about. There were three paths with two mountains in between each of them. They all seemed to converge towards the tear in the sky. My guess is that during the raid, the monsters would come from the three paths. It wouldn’t be surprising if players had to push down each path as well.

There are other reasons to have a special map for the raid as well. Firstly, there’s a special chat for the particular instance. Normally, you can only talk to people within screaming distance, aside from the chat function. But in here, party leaders can communicate with other leaders. That’s probably why people in both the First and the Second are trying to find people to form parties of 10.

In any case, there are a lot of people waiting to join in on the raid. An incredible number of weapons, armors, and items are being traded every day in the two cities. Alto and Romina seem to be caught up in the frenzy too. I can’t thank them enough for giving me the time and telling me all that they know.

Even though we don’t know exactly how many people are planning to join, I can almost assure that it’ll be chaotic. Some of the frontliners were talking about tactics and strategies, but I doubt they’d work very well with the sheer number of people in the fray. The map itself is pretty wide open though. That’s all we could glean from the current situation.

I also included my sisters in on my gutting weapon secret but sold the information to Alto and Romina. With that, day two is over.

“It’s the third day today, but there ain’t much going on, eh?”

After we got ourselves all ready for the fight, we came to the map. There was a blanket of snow on the ground, contrasting the red skies up above. The black fissure in the sky didn’t change at all though. Today marks one month since the game has begun, but there was nothing to show of it yet…

“… maybe there’s something somewhere else.” “Mayhaps there is more than what meets the eyes.” “That is certainly possible, but surely, there would be others who have noticed by now.” “I mean, Dimension Wave is literally the name of the game. It can’t possibly be a single-player story quest…”

We kept a careful eye at the fissure for hours, but we began to slowly relax. I’m not about to force everybody to be alert at all times, but we really didn’t know whether anything would happen or not. It’s not just us either. There were 12, 13 other parties around us doing the same. There were some people asleep, so maybe they’ve been here for quite a while. Roz mentioned that they’ll have someone on guard at all times too. Some people are really serious about this game.

“Lemme check our stats again.” “Okay, sure.”

I’ve opened everybody’s statuses and equipment screens countless times today. Doesn’t hurt to check my own status, skills, and items again.

Name/ Kizuna†Exceed Race/ Spirit Energy/ 92,360 Mana/ 7,800 Serin/ 46,780

Skills/ Energy Production X, Mana Production VII, Fishing Mastery IV, Gutting Mastery IV, Cleaver III, Speed Gutting III, Naval Combat IV, Transmutation I

I gained quite a lot of Energy in the past week thanks to everyone’s help. The monsters at sea were pretty strong, so it was good farming. It was rough without Naval Combat, but it got a lot better with it. Even Shouko said she felt a lot more confident fighting on a boat. I’m glad she got used to it, but hopefully it won’t affect our land-based battles. There’s a surprising number of tricky bits to naval combat though. Well, not that it matters right now since Dimension Wave is over land.

Oh, and right now, I have the least Energy out of the three Spirits in our party while Yamikage has the most. Her Drain is getting more powerful and efficient so I’m not going to complain, but she uses nothing but Drain. It’s no surprise she has the most Energy out of us. With Shouko being a former frontliner, she knows how to make the most of her Energy. Honestly, it seems like I’m gaining the least out of everyone. Well, even if I had a lot, I’m still using gutting weapons, so I wouldn’t deal too much damage anyway.

Since everybody got new weapons, I’ll be using my Cetus Longsword exclusively. Maybe because it’s a custom item, it’s still extremely powerful. All the other gutting weapons are like knives and such, so my longsword is the largest of the class. It should be good for a raid like Dimension Wave.

“It’s probably gonna start sometime today, so go get anything you guys are missing. “… I’ve gone already.” “Aye, and I thrice!” “Unbelievable, Yamikage.”

We’re still the same as we were. Shouko is always so well-prepared, she hasn’t left once. It’s impressive how organized she is. Maybe I have too much in my inventory though…

“Just to double-check with you guys, but with such a large raid, we’ll probably lose each other in the crowd. If that happens, just fend for yourself, alright?” “Aye, aye.”

Still nothing so far though. There’s a lot of people waiting for it to start though. Nobody knows exactly how difficult it’ll be, but with this many people, surely, we’ll clear it. Having triple-checked everything, I shifted my gaze towards the fissure again. Yep. Same old. I couldn’t help but let out a yawn.

“Kizuna, don’t let your guard down.” “But nothing’s happening.” “That may be true, but something might happen at any time.” “You really don’t change, do ya? Oh, that reminds me…”

I might have encountered by her former party the other day. Their team comp and equipment were definitely good, but something about them rubbed me the wrong way. In my mind, Shouko was definitely in the right and those self-righteous bastards were in the wrong. I don’t get how they ever hit it off in the first place. They seemed like they would be annoying from the start.

“Is something the matter?” “No, I was just thinking about you and your former party, Shouko.” “Oh, them…” “Judging by what you had to say, they don’t seem like decent people.” “Well, they were not so disagreeable in the beginning.” “That right?”

Not that I was super surprised, but I didn’t really expect it. They seemed like just a bunch of punks.

“I believe they changed when they were labeled as frontliners.” “… no offense to you, but that happens all too often.” “None taken. I found that I had to remind them to be more careful with each passing day…” “And they found you nagging.” “Yes. In the end… well, I left their party because of that.”

And now, they must be feel like they’re on top of the world. I’ve gotta learn from their mistakes. Even when I get better in terms stats and money, I’ll be sure to be better as a person as well. If I somehow make someone feel like they have to quit… that would be awful.

“Then, in that case, if I ever stray from my path, tell me, okay?” “I believe that you have always done things for others so far. I wouldn’t worry, Kizuna.” “Hearing that makes me happy, but I’m human too and to human is to err.” “… I understand. From now on, I’ll be sure to correct you.”

And now, I regret it just a little. Maybe I had been a bit too eager there. But Shouko really is a saint… Hmm?

“… huh?”

Something happened ahead of us. The tear—or rather, the dimensional fissure shone with blinding light. Shouko was already alert and vigilant. It’s finally here. Looks like we were on the mark about it happening today.

“Wha—?!”

The party ahead of us shrieked. Immediately, a cloud of dust kicked up beside them. Following that, a bunch of undead skeletons by the name of Dimensional Skeleton animated in front of us.

“… that’s a whole lot of them.

That was all we could see—

Skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton, skeleton.

A skeleton spawned with each cloud of dust and after, other monsters spawned as well. This is definitely a raid battle.

“Kizuna, fall back! The three of us will defend you.” “Sure! Huh? Why?” “… you’re the leader. Call for reinforcements.” “Hey, since when was I the leader?!”

Oh? Yamikage… is already casting Drain. Drain is a medium-range spell, so it made sense. But does it work against the undead? Oh, well.

“Gotcha. I’ll keep you guys updated! Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone!” “Understood!” “‘kay.”

As the two of them responded, I fell back and selected the chat option from my menu.

contents: /prologue/ /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /ch011/ /ch012/ /ch013/ /ch014/ /ch015/ /ch016/ /ch017/ /ch018/ /ch019/ /ch020/ /ch021/ /ch022/ /ch023/ /ch024/ /next/

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steve0discusses · 5 years

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Yugioh S2 Ep 41: It’s Mai’s Turn to Get Electrocuted

Hey guys, welcome to the Christmas Break.

It’s TV watching season, so lets watch some TV and over-analyze a 20 yo kid’s show, you in?

Odion, after suffering from a lightning strike and getting impaled by many pieces of that fake millennium rod he was holding gets dropped off in the only room on this blimp that has sheets. He also had the added shock of witnessing his brother morph into a somewhat evil-er dude with saiyan hair, which I dunno, I’d want to take a nap too, that’s a lot to deal with.

(And thanks to some reader input, turns out this Marik isn’t so much a ghost situation so much. I mean, I guess it’s more of a Season Zero --this is your deep down scary personality taking over-- type thing but it’s not like I really finished Season Zero so...We’re just rolling with it.)

Glad we have an actual hospital wing--confused as to why Bakura isn’t here.

But I guess lightning strike is slightly worse than having a bleeding stab wound for 12 hours. I mean I’m no doctor, maybe it is? Anyway, Odion is hooked up to all sorts of computers and life support although there aren’t any cords attached to him anywhere on his body. Not even one piss-yellow IV bag.

Check out the size of that IBM. This is what a widescreen used to look like.

The rest of the Yuge Crew are here although I’m pretty sure that’s not how hospitals work. Pretty sure you have to be related to drop on in directly after being put in intensive care but like, they are on a blimp so I guess it’s different up there. But also, this guy has abducted them once already and just tried to kill Joey for the second time, and now they are like “We’re basically on BFF family terms with this Odion guy, lets visit that bedside.”

Although, mind you, his real family is Marik and Ishizu, both of which have never said aloud that Odion is their brother. This family is sort of bad at life, TBH.

Since we’re barrelling right into a Mai arc we have to confront one of her 2 big Mai character conflicts--which is either “this is why I don’t get married” or “OMG I am going to die forever alone.” Which is interesting, because last time we hung out with her, we did whatever we could to keep her independent, while in this episode Mai mourns that being independent is the ultimate curse. Girl wants whatever she doesn’t have, pretty much.

Ah, Miss independent, never thought I’d get that song stuck in my head again. Thanks, Mai. Except in this version, instead of falling in love, Mai just makes weird friendships with jail bait teenagers. Why can’t she make friends with like, Roland? He’s her age. Or maybe this nice doctor? But whatever, age is meaningless on this show.

(read more under the cut)

Anyway, Joey has decided to tell us all about that dream he had but leaves out the parts where he dropped everything he owns, and then knocked himself over a desk onto his face, and then in the same dream Kaiba kinda walked in from off screen, dunked on him, and then walked directly off screen again.

Mai is deeply touched.

And then, because she is Mai, gets extremely offended immediately afterward.

I can keep hoping it’ll be Duke Devlin but like...as much as I want him to do more on this show, I really think the only people who remember Duke Devlin at this point are all the animators who were like “HOW many people are in this shot?! Why did we make a season where every scene is a freakin crowd scene!?”

*I know the shading on her ass was supposed to be attractive but it looks like nasty sweat stains*

(Also what the hell computer-machinery is supposed to be behind them in this scene?)

This one time where Joey doth protest too much is the first time we have ever, ever on this show seen Joey act less than vague towards Mai. During the dream episode he blushed, but I thought that was because of Serenity being there for her brother in his dream. I didn’t at all think that was over Mai at the time.

But I guess this is happening now? I mean people kept saying “yes, Joey and Mai will be a thing” and I was like “they better start building up to that because like...nothing is happening.” but this show’s version of building up to that was by just not being vague one single time.

Which in this show is a big deal, I guess. Because shortly after this event, Tea remembers that her character description sheet says “Is bossy AF” with red underline and was like “OMG I totally forgot and it’s been like 20 episodes since I did anything, I gotta hurry” and she just lost her lid.

I’m regretting more and more that joke I made that TeaxKaiba was way more reasonable than TeaxYugi, because sometimes when Tea goes ham she may as well be wearing a long spiky coat with boots leggings. Tea had two very different personalities way before she ever got possessed by Bakura. Like, Tea is kind of a monster actually, but we rarely get to see it because she gets completely distracted and cries a lot when it just feels like...the other half of her, the half that bit a guy once--like she legit bit a guy on this show--that side of Tea would just never cry over cards. Or cry, period. She sure wasn’t crying when she bit that guy!

This is mostly because I think the writers didn’t know how to write a girl like Tea since she’s a mix of a Season Zero Tea and this more old fashioned-’feminine’ version I think they were trying to turn her into for this series. It’s weird. It’s weird that this group of friends have nothing to say about these very abrupt changes in her behavior. Then again, it took them a while to notice the abrupt changes in Yugi.

Anyway, Joey isn’t done getting harassed by everyone he knows yet.

We have Marik trapped in a blimp in the sky and the entire Kaiba security force, why are we dueling him anymore? I mean I know why, we are contractually obligated to show lots of card content in this show to sell cards, but at this point I feel like maybe they should drive the blimp over international waters and resort to maritime law. Give Kaiba a gun.

Actually don’t do that, it would be bad. Don’t give Kaiba a gun. Give it to Duke or something, he seems stable enough. He seems like he’d be able to shoot somebody but not everybody, if you know what I mean.

And because it’s the Mai arc, we gotta have Mai duel next. There’s only 3 people left to go against: Ishizu, Kaiba, and Marik. I think. There’s so many people on this show. Tea isn’t playing, right? I mean I really do feel like like I’ve forgotten someone--maybe Shadi? Miho? So many people are on this blimp.

Whatever, I’ll just roll with it, if I forgot someone I’m sure they’ll show up at some point.

Mai sure is that girlfriend.

Anyway, lets see what Marik’s up to. Ah, he really is visiting his older brother after all.

That’s right--Marik has to play twice. I mean obvi the first Marik was Odion, but still, it just feels like it’s Marik playing twice.

Also can we please talk about Marik’s cargo pants obsession for a little bit? This arch villain is in CARGO PANTS. Like, they have puffy pockets. He figured out that the hoodie was a bad look, but then he was like “I’ll just cover my tum-tum, and then put on my khaki cargo pants with a sensible belt.”

It just sort of insinuates that Marik only owns cultist robes and cargo pants. Just those two things. Imagine if every pant in your closet was cargo pants. Just imagine with me. You’d go mad, too. Imagine you packed for a trip, a nice vacay on a blimp, and then you opened your luggage and you were like “oops! all cargo pants!” you’d fly home.

Marik looks like he’s going to Casual Khaki’s Friday at the office from about the stomach down, and then stomach up up he’s ready to join piccolo and fuse brains or whatever the hell goes on in Dragonball Z.

And Yugi and his friends are late to Mai’s duel because they are teenagers and also of course they would. This whole season was introduced with Yugi being chronically late to stuff.

The bathroom joke in this episode is canon, PS. I skipped a Season Zero episode where Tristan went to the loo and so Yugi held his spot in line and it took like 30 minutes before Tristan finally got back. Tristan’s epic poops have apparently been Yugioh canon since the very beginning.

I’m learning so much about the lore.

Now that Marik no longer has to hide who he is, he has decided that he’ll just use the Shadow Realm willy-nilly now. Although Marik did this without playing any cards at all, it doesn’t seem to register to Seto Kaiba that this is not a hologram. Maybe Kaiba sneezed when Marik summoned it and just assumed he missed a card play or something.

So now, for our gimmick!

Every time we fight in the Shadow Realm it feels like the rules are a little bit different, and Marik decided to make this duel a memory fight.

The Shadow Realm seems to eat on your greatest insecurities, and for Mai it’s feeling all alone. Not sure how that works once the duel is over--her friends will still be there, so like...she can just get a heads up on the one day they went camping that one time and then boom, friendship rekindled, I think. But for now, this is very scary for everyone involved.

But I mean at least she isn’t a playing card, or being thrown into a graveyard by being played as a card, or being devoured by gloopy blobs, or rapidly dying because of the exposure to the shadow zone. As far as Shadow Realms go this one seems kind of tame.

But I guess we shall see if somehow losing Tea will effect her story in any way.

Depends on which Tea, in my opinion, but if we’re going for the normal boring one that only cries wellllllll I wouldn’t notice if she were gone, just saying. Now, if it’s the fun Tea that bites people and yanks their ears off their face, well being forced to lose my memories of her is what the writers do to me basically every episode of this show. Let Tea bite more people in the arm. Let that girl rage.

But all that will be for another recap where we can all watch Mai get Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-ed as if a memory wipe hasn’t happened at least once to every single person on this show with the exception of Mokuba. And Mokuba was a paper card for like I want to say about 10 episodes, so...

Anyways, if you just got here I do have these in chrono order from s1 ep1, here is a link.

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thepointofthestory · 5 years

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Pressure Release Valve

I’m starting this blog as a way to release some of the pressure I’m experiencing. A journal to help me process what’s going on and deal with it. I process verbally a lot, which is good, but I can’t afford a therapist right now so I’ve been leaning heavily on friends - and they’re amazing for listening to me, but, I just keep going over the same shit again and again and they have to be getting tired of me. I can’t vent on Facebook anymore - because that’s just so fraught. Anonymous venting onto Tumblr seems like it’s worth trying. So, here we go - first real post. This is some background about one of the topics that’s got me deeply wound.

My father is an elderly man. He is 71 years old with Type 2 Diabetes, Severely Reduced Kidney Function, and Moderate to Severe Sleep Apnea.

A Quick Medical Overview about 15 years ago my dad was in a long term relationship with a woman and was living in her home. During that period he was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes and, because he snores to wake the fucking devil, she made him do a sleep study and he was diagnosed with Moderate to Severe Sleep Apnea and given a CPAP machine. About 4 years ago my father’s kidney’s failed. He had a UTI and went in for a contrast dye test for some other issue, and, the combination of those things plus my dad’s unchecked Type 2 Diabeties (and very high blood sugar levels) made his kidney’s throw up their hands and go “Fuck it, we’re done!”

He spent THREE FULL WEEKS in the hospital. At first trying different treatments to see if they could “reboot” my dad’s Kidneys, then, after a day or two doing Dyalisis and getting his bloodwork stabalized. Three full weeks. And he nearly died.

He was released to Hospice/Rehab care where they assessed his abilities and capabilities. They recomended a walker. Set up on-going out-patient Dyalisis treatments. Literally helped him get back on his feet. The Rehab center was wonderful and recomended that he move to a facility with nursing staff. Not that he go into a “Home” or Hospice care, just... a place with medical staff on hand. Someone to help him manage his diet and medications. He refused. Because he’s a grown man, see.

THREE days later he called me at 2 am hysterical. Utterly freaking out. At the time I had a 5 month old baby and I was awake when he called because I was nursing my son. But also I lived an hour and a half away from him and could not understand what he was saying or what was going on. I was sleep deprived. I hung up on him. My sister ended up calling an ambulance to check on him, which was good, because his blood sugar had crashed out so low he was having a delustional episode.

He went back to the hospital. He got stabalized again and relased to go home within 48 hours, but, with the caveat that he take a Diabetes 2 education class. I agreed to go with him to the classes - which were at a location close to his house. So I drove an hour and a half to pick him up, sat through an hour of class, drove him home, made him fucking dinner and then drove an hour and a half back home with breasts that were, at that point, painfully full of milk - because there was no possible time to pump in that whole mess of activity.

The course was 5 classes long, after the 4th class we got into an argument about how he couldn’t just eat McDonalds all the time anymore. Because the class had focused on how fast food was an especially bad choice to make for Diabetics who have other health issues. The teacher had specifically pulled up the nutritional information for a BASIC McDonalds Hamburger and talked about all the reasons why it was bad for blood sugar, even though - yes, there was a high protein count, there were all these added sugars. Our argument began by me basically saying “Now that someone else has said it, will you please stop doing this?” The argument ended when he OPENED THE PASSENGER DOOR OF THE CAR WHILE IT WAS IN MOTION AND THREATENED TO THROW HIMSELF OUT.

I had to pull the car over, get out, shove him back into the car (as he wasn’t able to right himself) while he hit me in the shoulders and threw a tantrum like a toddler about how all the women in his life have ever done is screw him over. I didn’t go to the 5th class. I’m not sure if he did. And I didn’t talk to him or deal with him for months.

During those months my sisters (both younger) discovered that he was so deeply in debt that he was going have all his utilities shut off and to be evicted from his apartment if he was late on another payment. So, they took over his finances. Like, litterally took them over. My youngest sister (who we’ll call Teri) is his Trustee for his social security payments, and, all his money goes into an account that she has access too but that he does not. My middle sister (Who we’ll call Beth) now manages the day to day bill paying and distribution of the account, including putting money weekly onto a pre-paid debit card that my dad has access too for shopping and miscelaneous expenses.

About six or nine months passed and things had evened out a little. My father was coming out to see my son on a fairly regular basis. I was ignoring him to the best of my ability. Working. Raising my son. Ignoring. And then I got a call, while I was at work, from my father. He needed to go to the ER, he said. To schedule a surgery apointment. Huh? He had a wound on his big toe that wouldn’t heal. This happens with Type 2 Diabetics, so it wasn’t a surprise. I was already aware of the wound and that he was seeing doctors about it. He had assured me that he was taking care of the wound and he was having apointments reguarly to have it dressed and assessed, so, I hadn’t done any digging into it. Apparently his doctor had recomended surgery and told him that he should go to the ER in the morning and get scheduled for a surgery apointment... which doesn’t make any sense at all. That’s ... not how that works?

So, I took a break at work and called Kaiser. I spoke to someone who read me the visitation notes from the doctor. Basically, the doctor had come to the conclusion that the tissue was damaged enough that it needed to be abraded and recomended that my father be transported to the hospital and admitted and scheduled for surgery that night. My dad, who was STILL paying off the ambulance bills from his last two hospital stays refused to go. He said he’d drive himself in the morning. His doctor recomended against that and suggested that, if he didn’t want to be transported via ambulance he could get a family member to pick him up. He refused. The doctor made a note in the after visit information that this course of action could result in serious issues up to and including DEATH and that my father was refusing/leaving the office against medical advice.

So.... I got a friend who drives Uber to pick my dad up at his apartment and take him to the closest ER. I met them there. There is a whole story associated with this pick up and my friend had to get his car detailed afterwards. Whee.

When I got to the ER they had my dad laid out in a hospital gown and had done some initial blood testing and my dad was waiting in a curtianed area. His blood sugar was all out of whack. He had an infection in his toe that threatened to spread to his blood - and if you don’t know, blood poisoning is fucking deadly. They were running fluids and antibiotics via IV. The toe was necrotic. Unsaveable. They needed to remove it ASAP. It was a good thing I had gotten him in tonight, the doctor told me. If he had waited until morning he might have fallen asleep and never woken up.

They ended up removing his big toe from the first knuckle to the tip, and wrapping it up. He went back to Hospice/Rehab and spent another 3 weeks learning how to use a cane to help him walk. He was instructed to use the cane all the time, but especially while he was recovering from surgery. He never used it, still doesn’t.

Another six months pass. It’s December now his toe has never healed from surgery. Refusing to use the cane has put too much pressure on the toe and it won’t heal. Being diabetic makes it important that he keep it clean and dry, but, he continues to stand up to pee ... and misses the toilet regularly. So... he’s peeing on his open wound and not changing the bandage or cleaning the wound.

And, so, there’s a need for a second surgery. This time they take the whole toe. And it’s back to rehab. Again. Where he ends up pushing for release early - and ends up getting authorized to go home on Christmas Eve. This time he promises he’ll use his cane. He does not.

It’s been two years now without any catastropic injuries or events. He’s mostly stabalized but his kidney function is in the 24% range (which is a failing grade on any test I can think of) but means that he doesn’t require regular Dyalisis. His Diabetes is under control only with the help of medication, and his A1C is generally in the 6-7 range, which is boarderline and if it gets any worse will not be able to control it with the meds he’s on. He’ll have to do insulin injections - this is an ineveitablity. But he doesn’t test his blood sugar.

He continues to ignore the dietary recomendations for both his Diabetic and Renal conditions. He refuses to use his cane. My father comes out to my house on Tuesdays to spend time with my son. Mostly he naps in the chair in the living room and we feed him dinner, so at least he’s getting one good meal a week. But, recenly, over the last three months he’s been falling more. He shows up to my place with new visible scrapes and bruises every week. He always wears slacks and a button up shirt, sometimes with a sweater. So, the visible bruising is on his wrists, hands, and face. In addition to that he *falls down* in front of me once every two weeks or so. These falls are not little falls. He trips, looses his balance and just CRUMPLES into a heap on the floor. Usually face first. Often he doesn’t even have time to put his hands out to slow his fall.

Recently, I suggested we move his recliner so that it was out of the walk-way into his living room. I have noticed that he often bumps into it or starts to stumble when walking through the narrow walk-way to get into his living room, because it’s in the way. I suggested we move it to the other side of the coffee table, about 2 feet to the right. And then, before he could protest, I said that if that meant he was too close to the TV, that we could then swap where his desk and TV sit, which would clear his desk chair out from in front of the entrance to the kitchen - removing another hazard.

Keep in mind: I DO THIS FOR A LIVING. I am a personal organizer and I help reorganize and reorder people’s spaces for better work-life flow. I am not simply making random suggestions. I’ve thought about this for a while, and, it was a soft suggestion, not an order or an edict.

But he flipped the fuck out on me. He dug deep into the past to pull out some horrible bullshit he *did do me* as a kid and tried to weaponize it like it was shit I did to him. It was dramatastic and awful, and, in hindsight probably an indication that his blood sugar is way off. Because he was super irrational and kept saying he was shaking.

I just get to sucked into his fucking tantrums and bullshit, because of a life-long dynamic of screaming fights and hysteria on his part. I try. I really do. But I never recognize the possible low/high bloodsugar behavior until after the fact.

#bitching #venting #parents #diabetic #diabetes #kidney failure #renal #diet #cane #falling #falling hazard #tripping hazard #over reaction #over reacting #frustration #medical drama #death and dying

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