#just sleeps as Phantom because his body decided to betray him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kentuckyfriedsatan · 19 days

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Thinking about putting my fanfics on tumblr one after another, even though I’m not really active here…

So let’s give this a try, but you can also just visit me on AO3, I’m KentuckyFriedSatan there too.

Devouring Desires

Summary:

Phantom struggles with dysphoria and desire. Mountain helps with a blow job.

(It’s less actual smut happening as one could suspect. But it’s definitely there! It’s a lot of conversation about it though, because it’s Phantoms first time.)

trans masc Phantom, dick and cock used for him, tw for slight gender dysphoria

Read it under the cut!

It’s the middle of the night and the abbey is asleep. Well not the whole abbey…

In the ghouls quarters there is blue light from a phone screen coming out under Phantoms door in the otherwise pitch black corridor. Phantom has been on earth for a few months now and finally caught up to most of the human stuff there is to know, including his own body. After his summoning, he had to discover that he had been given a vessel which was assigned female at birth, even though he felt like his body would have a different kind of anatomy. In the beginning he told no one, thinking it’s probably normal to feel a disconnect between himself and his body…in the pit he didn’t even have a physical form so that would make sense. But he found himself more miserable with each passing day and an immense jealousy for the guys.

What was the turning point was a deep conversation with Dewdrop after Phantom joked (he made it look like a joke at least) about how all of the girls probably feel jealous of the guys anatomies. He found out what it means to be transgender then and changed his pronouns and presentation.

Everything was starting to get better, like he could be happy with his body someday. But on the days many siblings of sin misgender him, his clothes don’t fit right and his voice sounds like acid to his ears, he begins to loose hope that he will ever achieve his goal.

It was one of these days today and what made this situation even worse was that his body betrays him. Phantom is horny. Horny after seeing a heavy make out session between Aether and Dewdrop. He doesn’t want to do anything about his arousal, but the need is so strong. He rarely plays with himself and never with others, not wanting to acknowledge this part of himself. Phantom reluctantly decides to give in to his arousal or he knows he wouldn’t sleep the whole night and feel even more shitty in the morning. To make it as fast as possible, he decides on watching some gay porn on his phone. Phantom heard some siblings talking about it and how great it is so it’s worth a shot right? He doesn’t bother searching for anything specific and just clicks on the first best thing.

After a bit of teasing, one man in the video lowers himself and takes off the underwear of his parter whose hard cock springs free. Without wasting any time he takes the cock into his mouth, bobbing his head in a fast and brutal paste while fondling his balls. Phantom who is laying in the same position as the receiver in the video begins to feel a bit of wetness between his thighs and he hates it, but he focuses his whole attention back on the video. The blow job continues and Phantom starts to grind his legs together to get a bit of friction. Sparks of pleasure fill him, but it’s not nearly enough to make him come. He knows that touching himself would do the trick, but then he can’t keep pretending he is the one receiving a blow job. His imagination is good, but not that good.

He huffs out a breath with frustration of his predicament, on one hand he wants to keep pretending and on the other he desperately needs to get off and stop thinking about it. He gets angry at himself, then he gets angry at the video and then angry at Satan to play such a cruel joke on him. On thing leads to another and he punches the wall before registering what he is doing and what time it is. Its to late, he hears noise in the room next to him. It’s Mountains room, of course he would wake him up. Mountain is the main protector, since he is the strongest and his room is next to the entrance. He also sleeps very shallowly and has extremely sharp senses.

Suddenly Phantoms phone pings with a new message.

‘For satans sake Bat, I can smell your frustration and arousal from here. If you want me to help, come to my room.’

Phantom stares at the text. Nobody has ever asked him so blatantly, and he didn’t expect it from Mountain who is usually the most reserved ghoul in the pack, not like Swiss and Dew who are very open about who they sleep with. He doesn’t know what to do now. Phantom is crazily attracted to Mountain and he feels really safe with him. They cuddle and kiss a lot and he knows that he can trust Mountain 100%.

So his lust clouded mind decides to give this a shot. If this would be Phantoms first, it should be with Mountain.

He pulls away his blanket and pats over to Mountains door. He doesn’t even get to knock before the earth ghoul throws open the door and pulls him into his room. It’s not completely dark, a little salt lamp and fairy lights give a nice and warm glow to the room.

They instantly turn to kissing and Phantom is so desperate that he begins to grind against Mountains forming bulge. Mountain pulls away softly and stares into Phantoms deep purple eyes.

“Wait, we should talk first real quick Bat.”

Phantom nods in agreement and they sit in the bed.

“Can you tell me why you were so angry?” Mountain asks.

“I was feeling dysphoric, and I’m so horny but don’t know how to do anything about it without me getting even more dysphoria.” He begins to explain, “and then I remembered that there is a thing called porn and I gave it a try, and I saw someone giving a blow job. I wanted to pretend that I could have that, you know. But then I remembered that I will never have it and that I will never be normal and have sex the way I wan to.”

“Thank you for telling me Phantom, and if you still want to, I have an idea we could try. It worked really well for Dew and I love doing it. But first I need to know that you really want to be intimate with me. I would never forgive myself if I took your first away from you, if you don’t really want me. I’m sure there are better ghouls…” He has never seen the giant ghoul this self conscious. But that’s a conversation he will have with him the next day.

“Fuck Mount, I definitely want you! I think about you all the time and I really want to do this with you.”

Mountain lets out a small breath of relief.

“Okay, that’s good, I really want you too. I was going crazy about you for too long now.”

Phantom can’t believe that somebody could want him, but he pushes the thought away for now, just happy that Mountain feels the same for him.

“Mount? How are we going to do this? I don’t know anything, you have to help me.”

“Of course Bat. Firstly, do you have any words you would want me to use for your anatomy.”

Mountain sees Phantom struggle with the answer.

“It’s okay if you don’t know, don’t worry about it.” The thing is, Phantom does know what he wants, but he feels too guilty to tell Mountain. He feels silly for wanting somebody to calls his clit a cock. How could he expect his partner to pretend he has one. He goes red and tries to hide his face in his hands, but they are pried away with Mountains strong fingers. “Hey it’s okay, you don’t have to be embarrassed. There are no wrong answers here. You don’t have to tell me and I can keep my words vague, but please don’t hold back because you are worried about what I will think.”

After battling with himself for a bit Phantom mumbles out: “I…I want…canyoupleaseusemaleterms?”

Thankfully Mountain understands and simply nods and smiles proudly. “Of course Bat, I will. Tell me right away if I say something that hurts you though. What are your limits today?”

“I want to keep my binder on and I want nothing inside. I’m sorry.” He feels like a failure.

“Don’t be sorry, I hadn’t planned on that anyway. There are many other ways to feel good.” Mountain calms Phantom and cradles his face in his giant hand. After kissing for a bit, Phantoms arousal is back full force and he whimpers into the deep and dirty kiss. Mountain breaks away from the kiss to pull his shirt off. Phantom is mesmerised with the broad and muscular chest and explores with his hands.

“Can I take your shirt off too, Bat?”

Phantom only nods but lifts his arms. When the tshirt is gone and he is sitting on the bed in only his sleep boxers, he expects disappointment , but instead the earth ghoul palms himself through his boxers. “Fuck! You are so handsome Phantom.”

Handsome! It’s feels so good to be called handsome instead of pretty.

Mountain can feel Phantom getting desperate, so he moves to the floor, now kneeling in front of the quint. He moves his rough hands over Phantoms thighs and kneads a bit. “You can stop me anytime you don’t like what I’m doing. Would you be okay with removing your boxers?”

Phantom nods hesitantly, hating got to be naked. He has a feeling as to where this is going. “You don’t have to do this for me Mount, I know it can’t be arousing for you.”

“I want to Phantom, I love doing this…especially if I can do it for you. And what about this,” he points at his fat bulge with a little wet spot, ”screams not aroused to you? You are so hot and I want to make you feel good. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” Phantom answers.

“Good. Then please remove your boxers, but close your eyes.”

He does as instructed and sits naked on the edge of the bed, eyes closed tightly.

Ever so slowly Mountain begins to pry open this legs to expose his dick to the cold air. He moves between his legs and Phantom shivers a bit, but Mountain places little kisses on the inside of his thighs and that sends heat through his body. After a bit more exploring kisses and touches Mountain purrs:

“I will suck your cock now Phantom okay? Keep your eyes closed until I tap your thigh.” Phantom is practically vibrating with anticipation as he feels Mountains hot breath. Gentle lips encase his heat and Phantom gasps. When he feels the tap, he slowly opens his eyes and looks down. He sees Mountain kneeling between his legs and he begins to bob his head like he would with a regular blow job. It’s all for visual, but it knocks the breath out of him. It’s like Mountain is really sucking him off. The earth ghoul hollows out his cheeks and gives a particular strong suck.

“Oh fuck, Mount! It’s so good!” He moans and grabs hold of Mountains hair.

Without moving his mouth away from him, Mountain taps against his own head, and Phantom knows what he means. He tunes in on the earth ghouls thoughts with his powers until he can hear them.

‘You’re doing so good Phantom, you’re so hot I love swallowing your cock.’ He emphasises his thoughts with a lick to the underside of his dick and Phantoms back arches with the sensation. He tries to not force Mountains head, but he can’t help but fist his hair even tighter.

‘Gide my head! Make me choke on you.’

That’s all Phantom needed to fully let loose and begins to move Mountains head, while thrusting his hips forward. Mountain hums and moans against Phantom and let him do whatever he wants.

He can feels his pleasure begin to approach a cliff and he whimpers with the intensity of it. Never before had it felt so good and the visual game they are playing works wonders for his dysphoria.

“Oh oh Mount! Ah fuck, I’m so close!” He nearly shouts with the intensity of it all. The moans can’t be held back anymore.

‘Do you want to come down my throat? Make me swallow it all?’

Phantom nearly has a heart attack from Mountains thoughts, because yes he desperately needs to fill Mountain up, to make a mess of the ghoul on his knees.

“Yes! Yes! I want to! You take me so well, so deep, I want you to swallow every drop!” Phantom is now fully into the fantasy and he has never felt so alive.

‘Then come for me Phantom! You are such a good boy. Do it!’

And Phantom does. He arches his back and presses his thighs around Mountains head, trapping him and keeping him as close as possible. He stumbles over the edge, his dick pulsating as he sees white. Phantom shudders as the earth ghoul keeps working him through it into overstimulation. He closes his eyes and pulls Mountain off, who immediately helps him back into his boxers before he opens his eyes again, to keep the illusion. The earth ghoul straddles Phantoms hips and kisses him with abandon.

“Thank you Phantom for trusting me. This was so hot. You are so hot.”

Phantom tastes himself when he licks back into Mountains mouth. He expected it to trigger his dysphoria, but the opposite is the case.

“I feel incredible Mount, I didn’t think it was possible for me to enjoy this.”

Mountain beams at him with joy and he is still hard and leaking in his boxers.

“Now let me take care of you.” Phantom says seductively.

#ghost band #the ghost band #nameless ghouls #ghost ghouls #fanfic #transmasc #phantom ghoul #mountain ghoul #smut #Phantom/Mountain

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imagine-darksiders · 3 years

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A gentle touch.

[Strife/Reader]

Summary: Set three years after humanity is resurrected. Strife shows up unannounced in your bedroom in the middle of the night, which would have been rude enough without him getting blood all over your cream-coloured carpet.

Tags: Blood, injury, PTSD, knife, protective Strife, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, sharing a bed ;), bandages and cleaning wounds, how not to administer first aid.

-----

You have the apocalypse to thank for turning you into such a light-sleeper.

Even though the nights of sleeping with one eye open are far behind you and Earth is back on the road to a long and arduous recovery, you'll still jolt awake if your unconscious mind hears something scuttle beneath the floorboards of your freshly-restored home, and God forbid a tree branch should happen to scratch at the bedroom window...

Waking up with the feeling that your heart is three beats from bursting right out of your chest is exhausting, to say the least. And it isn't just you who suffers from the onset of hyper-vigilance.

It was a decidedly cruel consequence that the resurrected humans were able to recall their lives before the end of the world. Crueller still, they woke up to remember exactly how and where they eventually kicked the bucket, and of course, nobody knew that a significant chunk of time had passed at all since the end of the world and its rebirth.

They thought they were still in danger.

In one moment, all they knew was immense and excruciating pain, and then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, they woke up again, screaming and writhing in the echoes of phantom pain that had occurred almost a century ago.

Three years down the line since ‘The Great Waking,’ and there isn’t a human alive who could claim that they’ve slept through an uninterrupted night.

------

The alarm clock on your bedside table has just ticked over to read '2:36am' when your eyes suddenly snap open and you fling yourself upright in bed, your spine ramrod straight and your ears ringing with a sharp, tinny note.

It isn’t a nightmare that wakes you. At least, not this time.

Worse.

It’s a sound.

An out-of-the-ordinary sound that isn't in keeping with the normal ambiance of your bedroom.

But where...?

....It's coming from your window.

Tired eyes swivel to the curtains whilst your hand immediately flies out to blindly fumble with the drawer of your bedside table. Once your fingers find the cold, metal handle, you rip it open and plunge your hand inside, rummaging around until you feel the reassuring grip of your most precious possession.

Your trusty bread knife. Serrated edge, nine inch blade, perfect for cutting slices of toast in the morning and for tearing through the toughened hide of a hungry demon.

Peace between the Universe’s species had been declared once humanity was fully introduced to the connected realms, a decision that suited a vast majority of Creation. Hell, however, had offered up a fair amount of opposition to the notion before eventually conceding and agreeing – albeit begrudgingly – to honour the peace treaty alongside angels, makers, undead and the rest.

Even demon-kind knew not to incur the wrath of humanity's strongest and most ferocious protectors, the Horsemen.

But... there are always exceptions to the rule. Some demons just... hadn't gotten the memo.

It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had tried to make an assassination attempt on humanity’s envoy.

Heart in your throat, you grasp the knife securely in your dominant hand and peer through the darkness towards the window.

Only a sliver of moonlight peeps through a tiny gap in the curtains. In another blink, the light suddenly disappears, and you know better than to assume that the moon has simply ducked behind a cloud.

Something is standing at your window, blocking out the light.

You think you might actually be sick when you hear the sound again, claws scraping on wood – a sound you know all too well – well enough to send your head spinning into a panic.

Swallowing back the nausea in your throat, you brace yourself, instincts flicking between running for the door and knowing never to turn your back on a demon.

Sadly, the decision is swiftly taken out of your hands. Through the darkness and the deafening roar of blood rushing through your ears, you can make out the distinct sound of your window sliding slowly open.

The knife is a comforting weight in your hand. But it’s less than useless if you don’t calm down and try to remember the lessons that Death has taught you. If the eldest Horseman were here, he’d probably have berated you seven ways to Sunday by now for freezing up and missing an opportunity to better prepare yourself for an attack.

A dark silhouette pushes the fluttering fabric of your curtains aside and pulls itself halfway into your bedroom.

Whatever it is, it’s big.

Breath catching in your throat, you clasp a handful of your duvet and get ready to fling it at the intruder as a distraction, hoping that it’ll be enough to buy you a precious few seconds to gain the upper hand. You've learned that humans are inherently weaker than demons, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned from Death, it’s that strength isn’t necessarily the deciding factor in any battle. You still have your wits. You only hope the demon has less.

Two luminous, golden eyes turn in your direction and you press yourself backwards into the headboard.

Several seconds drag by in perfect silence.

Then...

“Hey.”

And just like, that tension leaves your body like a balloon deflating of air and you heave the loudest sigh you can muster, dropping the bread knife into your lap.

“Damn it, Strife! You about gave me a heart attack!”

With a 'whump,' you flop back against your pillows and take a second to breathe whilst one of the Four Horsemen drags himself the rest of the way through your bedroom window.

Strife.

It's only Strife...

Whilst certainly a dangerous being in his own right, you know you have nothing to fear from the Horseman who had all but appointed himself as your friend three, long years ago, all in an attempt to irritate his brother, Death, of course.

At least, at first.

Death was the one who pulled you from the dying Earth and preserved your life-force as you journeyed together on a quest to resurrect humanity, but after he made the jump to introduce you to his 'little' siblings, it had been Strife who'd taken a particular shine to you, and it had everything to do with a compatible, if terrible sense of humour.

That first meeting sparked what was sure to be an interesting friendship between the pair of you.

-----

“So, my brother went and got himself a human, huh?” Strife had teased, pointedly ignoring the withering look he received from Death to add, “Gotta say, I'm impressed, Kid. Didn't think anyone would have the inclination to willingly travel with my brother. But then, I guess...” He trailed off and you could almost see the smirk growing under his mask. “Deathperate times and all that, huh?”

At once, his siblings all groaned out varying noises of disapproval. Fury, the loudest, cocked her hip and shot Strife a frosty glower. “You are singlehandedly ruining our reputation, brother."

“She's right, you know,” you spoke up, trying not to flinch when all eyes snapped onto you once more, “That pun was pretty deadful.”

The brief, startled second of silence was soon blasted apart when Strife threw his head back and barked out a triumphant laugh, while Death slowly turned to look at you, utterly betrayed.

“Ha!” Strife's eyes positively gleamed with mischief, “You're right, human. Guess I should'a considered the reapercussions of a joke like that, huh?”

“I ought to have known introducing you two would be a mistake,” the eldest Horseman grumbled, earning a sympathetic look from War.

“Sorry, Death,” you said with a perfectly straight face, “You want us to get out of your scythe so you don’t have to look at us anymore?”

Strife had howled.

Death, however, merely heaved a long-suffering sigh. Fury's eyes all but rolled into the back of her skull and War just stood there, struggling to keep his lips from twitching at their corners.

And you had looked around at all of them, a little proud and blissfully unaware of what you'd just unwittingly signed yourself up for.

You'd had Strife's attention from that day on.

-----

Shaking off the fond memory, you tiredly will your mind back to the matter at hand.

You reach across your bed and drop the knife back into the drawer before leaning down and skirting your fingers over the wall in search of a switch. The next moment, there's a 'click!' and the room is illuminated by clustered fairy lights that you've draped around your ceiling, forcing you to squint blearily against the intrusion of light as Strife hauls his leg into your room.

“Honestly. How many times have I told you to use the door?”

“S'locked,” he grunts.

You're in the midst of rubbing your eyes to try and stimulate a little life back into your bones, so you miss the way he stumbles a few steps away from the wall and presses a gauntleted hand to his abdomen.

“Yeah, it’s locked because it's-” You take a quick glance at the clock next to you. “-Two thirty in the morning! Strife, I’m supposed to be up at six to meet Ulthane! What do you need so badly that you'd-... Hey.. Are.. are you okay?”

At last taking a long, hard look, it suddenly occurs to you that the Horseman is... not entirely himself.

He's hunched over, his shoulders pulled in around his neck and his chest rising and falling in long, languid motions. The tattered cowl he wears around his neck hangs loose around his collarbones and it faces the very real threat of slipping off to the floor. At last, your eyes drop to the hand that's clamped over the left side of his abdomen and you blurt out a startled gasp.

In the paltry, pink glow of your fairy lights, you spot an unmistakably crimson liquid dribbling between his fingers, starkly contrasted against the steel-grey colour of his armour.

The next few seconds pass in a blur as you frantically begin kicking off your duvet and scramble out of bed, flying across the room to the Horseman's side.

“Strife! What'd you do!?”

“Oh, that's real sweet,” the Nephilim chuckles wryly whilst he collapses back against the wall and slides down it with a strained grunt, “Why're you – ung... assuming it's something I did?”

Without missing a beat, you snap, “This would hardly be the first time you got hurt because you're a wise-cracking jokester with a big mouth! Now tell me who you pissed off?!”

You drop onto your knees next to him and reach out, fingers hovering tentatively above his stomach. With your focus directed away from his helm, Strife doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes dart from left to right before they settle back on the top of your head.

“Ah, it was... just some demon, caught me slackin', that's all,” he shrugs, letting you carefully grasp his wrist and lift it away from his torso.

At once, fresh blood gushes from a deep gouge cut into in the dark, leather under-skin he wears beneath his cuirass and you yelp, slapping a hand over your mouth in abject horror.

The sound draws Strife's gaze to you and once he spots the shocked despair on your face, he gives himself a mental kick.

He hadn't meant to... He... doesn't like it when you’re scared because of him.

"Hey, no, no – I'm okay!” he rushes to reassure you, “Don't worry about this. I've had worse!”

“That's not the point, Strife!” you argue, dropping his wrist and carding your hands through your hair, “You're hurt now! And I don't – there's so much blood, and you-” Cutting yourself off, you squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply through your nose, willing your pulse to ease so that you can rationally address this situation.

Another lesson Death had taught you - stay calm in a crisis. Panic kills.

Releasing a long, hard breath, you peel your eyes open again and nod, jaw set. “Okay. All right. I need to.. I need water. A-and I need to see the wound.”

The interrogation can come after you've dealt with... this.

“There's a bowl and flannel in my bathroom,” you announce, getting to your unsteady feet and gesturing towards Strife's cuirass, “Think you can get that off so I can have a look?”

Huffing out a breath of laughter, the Horseman winks at you suggestively and drawls, “An' here I was doin' things the hard way to get your attention. You know, you didn't have to wait till I got myself gutted before you asked me to take my armour off in your chambers.”

A wise-cracking flirt with a big mouth.

As exasperating as he is though, you don't mind it in the slightest.

This is your usual rapport, after all. A friendly back and forth interlaced with the occasional, flirtatious comment. At first, Strife had only initiated it because it drove an over-protective Death up the wall. The eldest Horseman had almost threatened to 'remove Strife's libido' until you'd up and flirted right back, distressing the old reaper even further.

It's funny. It's innocent. But right now, it's reassuring, if only somewhat, that Strife is behaving just like his shameless, old self.

Besides, you can give back as much as you get.

“Well, I had to wait for a good enough excuse,” you retort, “Couldn't come on too strong and risk scaring you off, now could I?”

In response, Strife just chuckles fondly and watches you turn and speed away to your ensuite, oblivious to the warm, soft glow radiating from his eyes.

In less than a minute, you're briskly striding back into the room, a dripping flannel in one hand and a bowl in the other, and he suddenly remembers that you'd asked him to remove his cuirass.

Mission failed.

But you don't even bat an eyelid to find it still in place, assuming that the Horseman can't get at the catches on the sides in his current state.

In one, smooth motion, you drop down beside him once more and set the cloth and bowl nearby. “Here, let me help..”

The Horseman's pulse sputters when your tiny fingers reach around his torso and fumble with the buckles and straps that keep his armour securely in place. It doesn't pass his notice that your hands are trembling.

“Hey,” he calls, catching your eye for a moment before you go right back to fiddling with the cuirass, “This is nothin’, you know that, right?”

You only press your lips together and hum, clearly skeptical.

You're working fast and in almost no time at all, the straps have been released and you carefully take the Nephilim's broad shoulder, giving it a tug, guiding him to lean away from the walls so that you can start to peel the bulky armour off.

“Nng, hang on,” he mutters.

Reluctantly, you sit back to let him tug his chest piece loose before he simply drops it onto the carpet next to his legs with a dull 'clang.'

Exposed to the soft glow of your lights, your eyes are instantly drawn to the gaping wound that stretches in a horizontal line across the left side of his abdomen. It seems that something really has tried - and nearly succeeded - to gut him. Several inches long and goodness knows how deep, even against the iron-grey colour of his skin, the gash is alarmingly obvious and the blood far, far too noticeable for your liking. It still comes as something of a shock to learn that the Horsemen, barring Death, can actually bleed.

Wordlessly, you pick up the flannel and wring it out into the bowl of water, wondering if he'll mind that you didn't wait for the tap to get warm before you soaked it. It shouldn't surprise you that the Horseman doesn't protest or even flinch when you gently press the wet cloth to the bloodied skin around his wound, nowhere near the gash itself, not until you've cleared away some of the mess around it and determined its real depth.

You don't notice that his eyelids flutter closed once you press the cloth to his skin, nor do you see when their golden light fluctuates in contentment as the fingertips of your other hand press gently to his stomach, the pressure barely enough for him to feel, but enough to keep you steady whilst you daub at his drying blood.

It takes a formidable effort to suppress the shudder that nearly races up his spine. This is the first time he's felt your skin against his without a single piece of armour standing between you.

Creator, you're so soft! Just like he always imagined you would be.

“Jeezus, Strife,” you whistle, abruptly snatching his focus away from the soothing strokes of your silky fingers,“You've made a real mess of yourself. Why on Earth didn't you just go straight to Death? I thought he was the best healer in your family.”

The warm skin underneath your fingertips jumps as the Horseman puffs out a quick laugh, gazing dopily at your temple whilst you wipe at the edges of his wound with small, careful touches.

“He is,” Strife readily agrees, “But the moody bastard wouldn't be nearly as gentle with me as you are.”

You blow an unimpressed huff from your nose and glance up at him in time to catch his lazy wink. “I can always press harder if you like?”

“Nah.” The Horseman settles himself more heavily against the wall, knocking his skull back against it and mumbling, “Just keep touchin' me all gentle like that. S'nice...”

Quite abruptly, the chatty Nephilim goes silent and the glow from his eyes that had illuminated your face only moments ago suddenly disappears.

“Strife?”

He doesn't respond.

“Hey, Cowboy! Don't you fall asleep on me, you hear?”

There's a long stretch of silence, then, “Won't,” he mumbles, cracking one eyelid open to peer down at you.

Harrumphing, you promptly turn back to the gash in his stomach and wipe the last of the dried blood off his skin, still far from clean, but at the very least, better than it had been.

“Right,” you declare, pulling away to stand up and drawing a decidedly petulant whine from the Horseman on your bedroom floor. “I'm gonna go get the first aid kit from downstairs.”

There’s a shift in his expression and something that hinges on alarm suddenly whistles through his blood.

“I won’t be long,” you promise, "Be right – Hey, woah! What're you doing!?”

Darting forwards, you hastily place your hands on each of Strife's broad shoulders, trying to push him back down as he grabs the window sill behind him and begins hauling himself up to his feet.

“What's it look like ‘m doing?” he answers gruffly, slouching forwards as if the weight of his own head is too much to keep aloft, “Comin’ with you”

Sputtering out a few, incredulous noises, you try to make him see sense. “I’ll bring the first aid kit to you! You need to rest! It's bad enough that you already climbed in through my second storey window!”

But Strife, stubborn as a mule and much, much stronger than you, isn't deterred by your protests. Grunting, he curls one arm over his stomach and takes a step forwards, ducking beneath your light fixture and standing to his full, imposing height.

Even with three years of companionship behind you, you’re still frequently taken aback at how effortlessly the Horseman can make you feel small and fragile when you stand close to him.

Knowing full well that you’ll never be able to force him down again, you allow your hands to slip from his shoulders and fall against your sides like lead weights. You aren’t sure why he’s suddenly so hellbent on following you, downstairs, of all places, but you don’t dwell on it, especially given that you’re far more preoccupied with the fresh blood that has already begun trickling out of his wound to replace the stains you’ve painstakingly cleaned away.

Puffing out your cheeks, you raise a hand and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Strife, please sit down?” You aren’t so proud that you won’t resort to begging, tired as you are and exasperated with his obstinate behaviour. “I’m worried about you...”

All at once, the Horseman stiffens. ‘Oh, now she’s fighting dirty,’ he muses to himself.

Gradually, you lift your eyes to meet his and try your very best to glare up at him, pinning him down with all the stern authority you can muster. For several, slow heartbeats, the Nephilim peers right back at you and you’re almost certain that you’ll lose this battle of wills, which is why it comes as such a shock when his fiery gaze falters, wavering slightly before it promptly drops to the floor near your feet.

It's... rare for Strife to be looked at by someone who isn't ashamed to show that they worry about him.

But the way you're looking at him now? Hell, the way you've been looking at him since he clambered through your bedroom window? You're practically broadcasting your concern.

Strife just... isn't used to seeing that. So he glances down instead, finding the fibres of your carpet particularly exhilarating tonight. Slowly, begrudgingly, he sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, heavy enough that the frame creaks and groans under the weight of a fully grown Nephilim and he has to hold back a contented sigh at the softness beneath his legs.

From the corner of an eye, he can see that your jaw is hanging ajar and remains so until you give yourself a little shake and throw him a satisfied nod. “Thank you,” you huff before turning on your heel and striding purposefully from the room.

Strife listens raptly to your footsteps disappearing down the staircase, unaware that his hands have curled into tight fists around your duvet.

'It's fine,' he assuages the insistent voice at the back of his head, 'She's fine.'

He took care of the threat. That demon asshole isn't coming after his friend.

You’re only downstairs. He can already hear you pushing open the door to your little kitchen whilst the rest of his senses remain trained on the sounds and smells of the night.

It isn't as though something bad might happen just because his eyes aren't fixed upon you...

Frankly, he thinks he’s being more than generous to allow a full, Earth minute to pass as he taps his heel impatiently against the side of your bed.

Didn’t you say you’d be right back?

...

“Fuck it...”

-------

Perhaps, in hindsight, keeping your first aid kit on the top of the fridge hadn’t been one of your brightest ideas, given that you need a chair to reach it. Then again, securing immediate access to bandages and plasters hadn’t exactly been on the forefront of your mind when you were rebuilding your old home from the ruins it had been left in.

With a grunt, you drop your rickety kitchen chair next to the fridge and clamber up onto the seat. “I have got to find a better place for you,” you grumble at an apathetic first aid kit that sits gathering dust near the wall. Stretching your arm out, you manage to snag it by the handle and drag it towards you-

“The hell're you doing!?”

The violent jolt that shoots through you like lightening nearly sends you toppling off the chair. You let out a yelp, just barely catching yourself on the fridge with your free hand before you whip about to see none other than Strife silhouetted in the kitchen doorway.

“Wh- the hell are you doing!?” you retort, knitting your brows into a frown and clutching the first aid kit against your heaving chest, “Why aren’t you upstairs?”

The Horseman’s glowing eyes are fixed unsettlingly on the chair beneath your feet and rather than answer the question, he ducks under the doorframe and thunders towards you in a few, short strides, leaving you with no time to protest before he suddenly sweeps you up off the chair and into his arms, caging you against a solid chest.

At once, you begin to struggle. “Strife! Your wound! Put me down, you'll hurt yourself!”

But the Nephilim is hardly paying attention. His glare lingers on the flimsy, wooden chair legs for a moment before he flicks his gaze towards the large window above your sink, noting with no small degree of distaste that it isn't even shut.

It’s like you’re inviting danger in.

If you had any idea of the fate he and his siblings are currently trying to protect you from, you might just try a little harder to take better care of yourself.

“Hey!” you continue to protest against his hold but manage to refrain from jostling about too much, mindful of his injury. “For god's sake! What's gotten into you?!”

He offers little more than a noncommittal grunt in response and begins trailing back towards the staircase, casting brief glances at the french doors leading out onto your patio.

'Structural weakness,' he registers, 'Perfect point of entry for anything smaller than a Trauma...'

Shaking his head, he turns sideways to fit you through the kitchen door and takes the stairs up to your room.

After a second, he lowers his eyes to meet yours and finds himself meeting a highly unimpressed scowl. “What?” he asks, the very picture of innocence.

Raising your brows, you snap, “Don't you 'what' me! The hell is all this about? I told you to stay put!”

“You were takin' too long,” he shrugs.

“Too long!?” Indignant, you flick your wrist and rap the first aid kit against his collar bone, “I was gone a minute, max! If you were so worried about me taking too long to fix you up, then why are you moving around and making your injury worse!?”

The light of Strife's golden gaze dims and he turns his head away, staring up towards the top of the stairs and your bedroom door beyond. “S'not me m' worried about,” he mumbles.

It's such an about-face from his usual demeanour that you can do little but blink dumbly up at him and fall still against his chest, your mouth hanging agape.

In silence, the Horseman ducks through the door into your room and sidles over to the bed where, hesitantly, he lowers you down until you're sitting safely on the edge.

In the next moment however, just as Strife drops heavily onto the bed next to you, you slip away and settle on the floor instead, placing the first aid kit beside his boots and fumbling with the latches.

Despite blowing out a rough grumble of disapproval that sounds entirely too much like War for his liking, he lets you go.

Chewing on your lip, you stare at the contents for a moment before snatching up a pack of antiseptic wipes, tearing one out and bringing it up to his stomach.

“You want to tell me why you just exacerbated your injury to rescue me from my kitchen chair?” you ask him, adding as an afterthought, “This might sting a bit..”

When he doesn't reply, you glance up and quirk a brow at the underside of his chin, only to catch him peering back at you from behind heavy-lidded eyes. Then, with a weary sigh, he sags forwards and raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking sheepish, of all things.

Unable to dispel your frown, you blindly begin brushing the wipe underneath his bleeding wound.

He doesn't even wince.

Strife tips his helm towards the bedroom window and slumps further backwards into your mattress, seeming so entirely out of place amidst the colourful duvet cover and frilly cushions.

“Okay,” he mutters, “I uh, I got a confession to make.”

Interest piqued, you make an acknowledging sound at the back of your throat and return your attention to his abdomen.

“Death didn't want us to tell you about this,” he continues quietly whilst you toss the now ruined wipe over your shoulder and pull out a fresh one, “And, to be honest, neither did I. We didn't want you to have to worry, y'know?”

You don't know. And you nearly ask him what you should be worrying about, but you soon let your mouth fall shut and settle for humming curiously instead, trusting that he'll tell you soon enough anyway.

There's a long pause, during which you find the courage to bring your fingers close to the edges of his wound and immediately have to withhold a gag when the motion sends another spout of blood oozing from the cut and dribbling down your wrist.

After a moment, Strife huffs and forges ahead, “Course, War and Fury did want to tell you-”

He's stalling, you realise belatedly.

“-War thinks you have every right to know. And Fury said there's nothin' for you to worry about anyway, cause we've got your back.”

“Fury said that?” you ask distractedly, dropping the wipe and rummaging around for a gauze pad. In response, Strife exhales, a tiny, hidden smile creeping onto his lips. “Fury says a lot of stuff about you that you don't know about.”

Gently, you unroll the gauze and press it against his wound. “Wow, you sure that's your sister? Sounds like she might've been body snatched.”

“Ha!” The Horseman suddenly throws his head back. “Well, if she has been replaced, I sure as shit ain't going lookin' for the original. This Fury is... she's...”

He pauses, tipping his head in thought before eventually settling on, “She's learning.”

You blow out a long, impressed whistle and he nods his agreement, adding, “Yeah, s'weird for all of us too.”

The room lapses into silence once again as you stretch the gauze across Strife's abdomen and mutter, “Hold this,” before your hands are retreating and the Horseman's slide down to keep the bandage in place.

Reaching into the box once more, you take some bandages and begin to unfurl them gingerly over the top of the gauze. “Not hurting you, am I?”

You miss the soft expression he aims at the top of your head. “Never.”

You're more than aware that he probably won't tell you you've hurt him even if you were to stick your fingers in the wound twist them.

“Sooo~....?” you prompt.

Peering down at you, Strife cocks his head to one side and echoes, “Soooo?”

“What did Fury and War think I should know?”

“Oh. Right...” His reluctance is as painfully obvious as a slap to the face but you're slightly more focused on plunging your hand back into the first aid kit and rooting around for a roll of adhesive tape.

He observes you for a moment, growing more and more certain that despite your curiosity, you aren’t actually paying a great deal of attention to his words. Quite abruptly, he asks, “You listening?”

Emitting little more than a vague hum, you finally snag the tape and run your fingernail along the smooth surface, searching for the ever-elusive end.

“You sure?” Strife grunts skeptically, “Kid, this is kind of important.”

Without missing a beat, you nod your chin towards his injury and reply, “Yeah, well, you're kind of important too, buddy.”

Oh.

Oh, that's...

Strife wracks his brain, trying to pluck an appropriate response from amidst his tumbling thoughts. Part of him wants to scoff – of course he's important! He's Strife! The best, damn marksman who ever walked the realms of existence.

But then, there's another part of him that lurks deep behind the walls of hubris and brass he's been building meticulously for centuries, and it gives a little leap at the sound of your words, delighted beyond measure.

Averting his gaze, Strife lets out a chuckle. “You're getting soft.”

“Ah, I've always been soft.”

His heart thrums. “Wasn't talkin' about you, kid.”

You shoot him a smirk as you stick a piece of tape over the bandages covering his injury. “Well, if you're talking about yourself, then you're wrong again. You aren't getting soft. You've always been soft.”

The Horseman mutters something incoherent, but it's his distinct lack of an articulate response that speaks volumes to your ears.

The slight pressure of your fingers as they prod at the tape with tentative care leaves him mourning the centuries he's gone without knowing such a gentle touch. Rolling his eyes down to you, his smile droops and he sighs, sagging forwards to rest his elbows on his knees just as you attempt to place another strip of tape.

“Strife!” you complain, leaning back, “I need to put more tape on!”

He merely blinks at you languidly and says, “Later. I want you concentratin' on me right now.”

“I've been concentrating on you all night,” you huff, though you eventually concede and sit back on your haunches, peering up at the Horseman expectantly.

Studying your face for another moment, he breathes a long sigh and gestures to his stomach. "I told you a demon did this..."

“Uh huh...”

Solemnly, Strife continues, “So more specifically, it was a Shadow Caster. Been on her trail for a couple of weeks now. Finally caught up with her on some farmlands west of the city...”

“Okay?” you nod, digesting the information, “And why were you on her trail?”

He hesitates, flicking his eyes between you and the window a few times before he quietly admits, “She was comin’ after one of my friends...”

“Who?”

The look he throws you is so pointed, you suddenly feel like a fool for missing the obvious.

“Ah.” Understanding, you slowly nod your head.

“Yup.”

“But, she's dead now, right?” You gesture to his wound. “You came straight here after killing her.”

Strife's eyes darken further and each time they try to land on your face, they seem to slide right off again and drop to the carpet. “Uh, yeah. She's dead.”

You heave a sigh. “She wasn't the only one who's after me.”

“... No..”

“I see.” Inhaling long and slow through your nose, you tip your head back and slap your hands on your thighs, rubbing at them anxiously as you gaze around the room. “So, do we know how many there are?”

The Horseman eyes you for several, silent seconds. Eventually though, he speaks up. “Got wind of a small group of about four of 'em. Demons mostly, one undead. You and I've got a mutual... uh, friend, who's been keeping his ears to the ground, and he reckons they’re aiming to provoke another war between Hell and Earth by killin' the human envoy.”

“Wow. Talk about sore losers,” you scoff humourlessly, “So, who is this mutual friend?”

Some of the tension bleeds out of Strife's posture once he notices that you haven't immediately flown into a panic. “C'mon kid,” he snorts, “You know I can't expose my source. He doesn't want you know that he cares about you. Thinks you might start askin' for discounts if you thought he was getting' soft.”

“Discounts, huh?” Your lips quirk up at their edges and Strife smacks a palm over his mask in mock distress.

“Ah, hell, I gave it away, didn't I?”

“I bet his name rhymes with Shmulgrim, doesn't it?” you laugh.

Chuckling, Strife leans back on his hands again and replies, “Hey, you came to that conclusion on your own. Technically, I never told you who my source was.”

With the atmosphere in your bedroom gradually becoming lighter and lighter, you follow the Horseman's lead and relax backwards onto your hands, stealing a surreptitious glance at the bandages adhered to his torso.

It's no longer as surprising as it used to be that Vulgrim is invested in the well-being of his 'valuable asset.' The Horsemen are perhaps his best clients, hence the vested interest in keeping himself in their good graces by looking out for their human ward.

Shaking your head with a knowing smirk, you push yourself up onto your feet and glance down at yourself, brushing off your pyjama shorts, only to grimace when your hands do nothing but smear Strife's blood all over the fabric.

“Sorry... for the mess.”

You raise your head at the sound of the Horseman's voice and find him glowering down at the stains he's dripped onto your carpet, his eyes hooded and glum.

Heaving a sigh that you hope conveys both exasperation and affection, you reach out and place your comparatively tiny hand on his shoulder to give the pauldron a reassuring squeeze, drawing his gaze back up to your face. “I don't care about the mess, Strife” you tell him matter-of-factly, “The carpet's just here to stop my feet getting cold in the morning. You're my best friend.”

Ever so slowly, his luminous eyes grow wide with wonder and he lets his jaw drop open to speak, but before he manages to utter a soft, 'what?' you give his shoulder a friendly jostle and add, “So long as you're okay, pal, that's the main thing. Now...”

Trailing off, you move back around the bed and let your fingers slide off the Horseman's arm, stepping up to the bedside table containing your pyjamas, oblivious to how swiftly and easily you've just swept the rug out from underneath Strife's feet. He twists himself around on your mattress to watch you, his eyes as wide as than dinner plates.

Did you mean to say... best?

He – well, he always knew that you considered him a friend! Hell, he'd even go so far as to say the two of you are close friends.

But best?

Best implies that there's nobody – nobody – that you hold in higher regard than him...

'How did I miss that!?' his psyche all but screams at him, 'When the Hell did I get so important!?”

You aren't even looking at him, too busy rummaging through your drawers, as if you have no idea that you've just pulled his heart right out of his chest and now you have it cradled in the palms of your hands.

You could crush the life out of him with hardly a word.

“So, you never did say!” you call out to him as you duck into your ensuite bathroom and flick the light on, hiding yourself from view whilst you change, “How does the master of marksmanship get tagged by a Shadowcaster in the first place? You’re not usually the type to get up close and personal. That’s more War’s thing, right?”

All at once, the threats that demon witch had made against you ring like klaxons in Strife’s head and he has to make a conscious effort to ignore his instinct to leap off the bed and barge into the bathroom just to be sure you’re safe. He hears the shuffling of fabric against skin as you pull off the bloodied shorts and begin to pull on the new ones.

Grinding his teeth, he spits out, “She just.. got me mad, is all. Made me wanna have the satisfaction of wringing her neck with my bare hands instead of filling her with bullets.”

“Wait, seriously?” Your silhouette suddenly appears in the bathroom doorway and and strife glances up, briefly enraptured by the halo of light glowing at your back. A fellow human might have likened you to an angel. Strife, however, knows that none of the feathery bastards could hold a candle to you.

Garbed in clean shorts that smell distinctly of you, and not copper, you step out into your bedroom. “How’d a demon manage to make you mad? You’re like, the champ of not getting mad. It’s like your superpower.”

“Yeah, well..” he mutters, turning his helm away, “This time, she went too far.”

You’re quiet as you flop down onto the bed next to him, your eyes flicking between his downturned head to the fists that are clenched like vices at his sides, metal claws gripping fistfuls of your duvet so tightly, you’re worried he might end up poking holes in the cover.

Whatever had been said to him must have been bad if he’s this riled up.

Biting your lip, you let out a pensive hum and lean backwards, your fingers brushing over a soft lump near the headboard. At once, your eyes grow wide and your lips stretch into a sly grin as your hand closes over something fluffy and familiar.

Strife is still busy stewing when he’s suddenly brought out of his thoughts by a face that’s shoved promptly into his line of sight. He blinks, drawing his head away to properly see what you’re holding up in front of him.

He can’t contain a chuckle once he realises that it’s none other than your old, toy horse, dangling in front of him with its little, black ears flopping forwards to cover a pair of button eyes.

Allowing a smile to grace the edge of his mouth, the Horseman wordlessly relaxes his grasp on your duvet in favour of reaching out to gently take the soft toy out of your hands, lowering it down into his lap.

“I thought David Hasselhoof might make you feel better,” you tell him, bumping your shoulder against his companionably.

The Nephilim simply smiles, stroking his palm over the horse’s fuzzy mane.

“Hey, Strife?”

“Mmm?”

You fiddle with your fingernail for a moment, dropping your eyes to the bed and taking a breath before you ask, “What did the demon say that made you so angry?”

It isn’t as though you want to pry. But having your friend turn up at your house in the dead of night with his stomach torn open warrants a couple of questions, in your honest opinion.

The Horseman’s brows knit together underneath his helm and he shifts slightly, twisting away from you further until you can’t even see the lights of his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost dare to say that he looks shy. An impossibility, frankly.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle, a far cry from the normal, strident tone you’re used to hearing. “She, uh, she might’ve made a couple of threats about you.. Bad ones.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but for some time, he doesn’t utter another word, prompting you to ask, “And?”

You very nearly reel backwards into your headboard when Strife whips around to face you. “And?!” he echoes, incredulous, “The Hell d’you mean ‘and?’ Isn’t that enough of a reason?!”

Taken aback, you lift your hands in a placating gesture and stammer, “Woah! I - I just meant... Well, it’s not like I haven’t been threatened before? Just seems like a weird thing for you to get so angry about.”

Without warning, the enormous Nephilim lurches to his feet, the cuddly horse left to tumble, forgotten out of his lap. “Did you not hear me?” he snaps, “She. Threatened. You!”

“A-and that... made you mad?”

“Did - Of course it did!” he all but howls, his voice cracking as it raises in pitch, “She made me listen to all the god damn, sick things she wanted to do to you when she found you! She said - she said, I’d never see you again!” Roughly, he drags his clawed fingertips through his spiky, black hair and exclaims, “Next thing I know, I’m droppin’ Redemption and Mercy, I’ve got her heart in my fist and I’m... I’m...”

He trails off, knocked out of stride by his own admission. You remain silent, pressed up against your head board with the blankets clutched to your chest.

When he notices you staring up at him, small and wary amongst the sheets, the frustration saps from him like water circling the drain. “So... so yeah,” he huffs, his shoulders slumping and a great wave of shame crashing over him, “I got a little mad! I got a little pissed off. Cause I didn’t like hearin’ someone say they were gonna hurt my friend.”

And with that, he just... deflates, not unlike a punctured tyre. All the hot air inside him is dispelled with every heave of his mighty chest whilst he peers down at you, feeling the weight of your stare upon him.

Guilt leaves a sour taste in his mouth, rancid and acidic.

You look so..

...scared.

Sometimes Strife forgets that to you, he’s an unassailable figure from biblical legend, a bringer of the end days and an ancient gunman with a body count higher than there are grains of sand on the earth. Of course you’re going to be scared of him when he’s raising his voice at you and towering over you like this. And all because he’d had the life scared out of him in the first place.

“I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to -” The words die on his lips and he sighs, defeatedly casting his eye over towards your bedroom window. He doesn’t want to leave you, not without knowing that his siblings have dealt with the remaining threats to your life. But... “I’ll just.. I’ll go.”

Turning his back on you, the Horseman bends to retrieve his discarded cuirass and takes a step towards the window, but a voice, thin as the cobwebs in the corner of your room, stops him in his tracks.

“Strife.”

The Horseman doesn’t move. he just stares at the darkness through your curtains.

Minutes pass without another word said between you. He remains stubbornly silent, hardly daring to breathe let alone respond to his name, until eventually, he hears a soft huff and rustling behind him.

Footsteps pad across the room and your scent grows stronger as you draw near, wafting over him like an intoxicating aroma before your hand places itself into his palm and he instinctively curls his fingers around it, shuddering at the feel of your soft skin pressed like silk against his roughened hide.

Your tiny, fragile hand... Creator, he really is just a beast standing next to you, isn’t he? The last time he felt this monstrous was..

No. Strife abruptly slams the shutters of his mind down around any thoughts of the Animus. Now is not the time to let dredge up old memories.

Luckily, your voice breaks through the haze and keeps him grounded. “Come on, big guy. Stay here, please?"

“You want me to stay?” he chokes out a laugh, “Even after I scared you?”

“Scared me? What?” It’s your turn to sound confused. “You didn’t scare me Strife, you shocked me. I’ve never seen you this serious before.”

The Horseman half turns to face you, giving you a glimpse of his warm, golden eyes. “And, I’ve never had a best friend before.” he admits slowly, hearing a soft intake of breath behind him.

“Wait?... I’m your best friend?”

With your hand still in his, Strife steps around slowly to face you, shooting you a quizzical glance. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I don’t exactly have a plethora of friends to choose from, so the competition isn’t that fie- Oof!”

He’s violently interrupted by a soft, squishy body colliding with his.

You fling your arms around the stunned Horseman’s waist and bury your face into his chest, momentarily forgetting about his injury. Strife, meanwhile, has to employ every molecule of willpower he owns to refrain from flinching, fearing that you’ll let go if he does. He can’t ignore how high his heart just jumped at the feeling of you pressed against him, nor the way his soul soars after realising that you still trust him enough to get this close.

It’s something that both he and his siblings are all having to get used to, these impromptu hugs.

Fury had almost flipped you over her shoulder and onto the ground the first time you came at her with your arms open wide, assuming you were going in for an attack.

War had pulled the most remarkable face, a mixture of alarm and wary delight that caused Strife to keel over in hysterics when you threw your arms around his broad stomach.

Death... Well, Strife hadn’t been around to witness your first hug with his oldest brother, but he imagines it must have been like hugging a block of cold stone.

And Strife? Well, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the first hug you gave him. It was so tight and comfortable, and for all of a moment, the only things that existed were the two of you. Inside the binding circle of your arms, his troubles couldn’t touch him, the anguish of his sins took a backseat and he became convinced that he could live happily and peacefully until the end of time trapped in your silent embrace.

The sentiment hasn’t dulled with frequency either. Every hug he receives is as powerful and intoxicating as the last.

This one is no different.

Strife's large, thickset arms carefully raise to your delicate back and shoulders, where he simply folds himself around you, pushing the nose of his helm into your soft, messy hair and drawing in a long, deep breath, earning your snort of amusement.

“You a big fan of coconut, then?”

“Is that what that smell is?” he mumbles, feeling the world settle around him as his eyes slip shut, “S'different from last time...”

“...Setting aside the fact that you remember what my hair smelled like last time we hugged.. I ran out of apple shampoo.”

“Mmm.” He trails off, humming into your hair, a sound that rumbles straight through you and leaves the top of your head tingling.

It takes your brain another few seconds to recall the injury on his torso.

“Oh, shit,” you hiss, leaning back and instantly finding your progress blocked by the Horseman's sturdy forearms. “I'm sorry, I didn't think -”

“- Eh, s'fine,” he cuts you off.

“It's not! I forgot, you need to be resting it!”

Strife grumbles his displeasure when you suddenly become very wriggly. “Strife, let go. You should be resting, not standing.”

Cracking one eye open, he roves his gaze over towards your bed. “Resting, huh? …. Not a bad idea.”

Without warning, he stoops down, and for the second time tonight, you find yourself suddenly swept up off your feet, bleating out a garbled squawk of alarm. “Stop picking me up! You'll start bleeding again!”

Smirking to himself, the Horseman takes two, loping steps towards your bed and lowers you down amongst the folds of the duvet, taking great pleasure in crawling over the top of you to get to the other side, armour and all. It isn't the first time he's rested in your bed, usually following a long night of playing your video games and catching up on all the human things he's been missing out on, and it likely won't be the last.

The bed springs creak despondently as he lifts his corner of the duvet and flops heavily onto his side next to you, grinning at the unimpressed glare you're shooting him.

“I like your bed,” he announces, burrowing himself deeper beneath the duvet, “You got a lot of pillows. And-”

His hand rustles beneath the covers for a moment before he winks... and slowly draws out David Hasselhoof, wiggling him back and forth in front of your eyes. “There's room for a threesome.”

“Oh my god. Goodnight, Strife!” Your lips quiver until you give in and crack a genuine smile, grabbing a pillow and whapping it softly down onto his helm. You get no resistance from the Horseman at all in retaliation. He merely lays there with his head hidden, black tufts of hair sticking out from behind your pillow as his shoulders bounce around a throaty chuckle.

Leaving him where he is, you roll over, turn off the fairy lights and plunge your bedroom into cozy, unassailable darkness.

A thick silence falls over the two of you, and the back of your neck begins to prickle, sensing without a shadow of a doubt that the Horseman's eyes are open and watching you. Sure enough, you peel your eyelids apart and find that your far wall is faintly illuminated by the golden light that emanates from his gaze.

Rolling your eyes, you resign yourself to a long night of fighting for your covers and kicking a wriggling Horseman back over onto his own side of the bed. And yet... if it's him, if it's Strife, it most likely won’t bother you in the slightest.

The alarm clock on your bedside table steadily ticks over to the three o'clock mark and you finally feel sleep crawl up behind your eyes. Just as you think you might nod off, however, the bed shakes ever so slightly, and behind you, there's the sound of shuffling sheets. It stops just as suddenly as it starts and you snort, chalking it up to a certain, restless Horseman trying to get used to the human-sized bed.

Several more minutes pass.

The shuffling starts up again, then it stops.

The same thing happens again a few more minutes later and your eyes snap open when something cool and solid nudges gently into the back of your head and you hear a quiet sniff before the whole bed shudders as the enormous Horseman laying upon it releases a monstrously low rumble of contentment.

-----

Strife leaves his helm right behind you all night, not that you'd know until the morning however, when you jerk awake to your bedroom door suddenly slamming open and Death thundering inside. He takes one look at his brother laying at your back and promptly begins a lecture that you're fairly certain will be the favoured topic of neighbourhood gossip for some time to come.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #Strife #reader #fluff #sharing a bed!#monster boyfriend #interspecies relationships #blood #injury #whump

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

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A Distant Dream IV // Luke Patterson

Summary: In 1994 seventeen year old Luke Patterson had once again tried to ask out the girl that held his heart. With the belief he would see the younger Mercer girl the next morning he decides to wait to confess his feelings. Only to have soft music bewitched the reader into an antique wardrobe with lots of history

Warnings: Swearing, grief, mourning a relationship, sadness, angst, war/death, mention of strict parents, and fluff

Words: 3.1

A/N: This is a disclaimer: just because the reader and Luke start to get along better and have a date does NOT mean she isn’t grieving her relationship. Whether the love faded or not with Peter that is still a large part of who she was/is or don’t expect her and Luke to fall into a relationship immediately.

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The phantoms had disbanded for the night, leaving Julie alone in her room surrounded by books and Flynn. You’d snuck down to the basement as you had since you arrived in 2020 from a different world. The wardrobe that quite literally changed your life was in the back corner, unassuming for the young girl.

Your e/c eyes pinned to the antique wooden furniture that had traveled from England to America as if fate had guided it. No matter how long time went by you’d never been able to touch the wardrobe, let alone touch remotely close. A part of you feared finding if you could return to Narnia or not.

It was something you kept private from the new people helping you to assimilate back into a life on Earth. The boys often refused to leave you for very long after the traumatic disappearance, even when you urged for space. It had almost been as tricky as negotiating peace with a land boiling with civil unrest.

Alex had taken to holding your hand as you slept for peace in both him and you; he’d noticed the state of sleep you endured. It was fitful and often filled with memories in the form of nightmares. The one from last night reared its head once more.

An intake of breath as you pulled your fingers closed to your cheek. Eyes on the movement before you released the bow. The arrow sailed true into the unsuspecting enemy with a faint whistle as it travelled.

The body dropped, one of many of the battles you had attended since defeating the White Witch. A life was still a life, and taking one was incredibly difficult. You saw it in the eyes of Peter, heard it in Susan’s strained voice, saw it in the way Edmund carried himself, but the most heartbreaking was the feeling of Lucy’s tense shoulders in certain moments.

Edmund and Lucy had been children when the White Witch had reigned and fought. Lucy had been only nine years old when her foot first touched Narnian snow. At that tender age, she’d watched the evil of the world up close. Edmund not that incredibly older. The youngest Pevensie had watched her brother take his last breath. Felt the trauma of Edmund’s gasping as the cordial bled one life-giving drop of liquid.

“I’d like to say it gets better, but it truly doesn’t, Your Majesty.” General Oreius’ announced from his station beside you. It was a lull in the tension building as people got ready for the enemies on the horizon.

Oreius’ addressed you but kept his gaze on the approaching army from an enemy land; the General was gifted in multitasking. He’d stopped to give you a little peace in only the way he knew how to.

“Thank you, Oreius.” You informed the General as he took off into the land ahead, leaving you to hold off the enemy with arrows. The short lapse is a game-changer for you as you run into battle.

Last night’s dream had been a reprieve from the dreams of Peter staring sadly at you curled around Luke. It hadn’t happened, of course, but that didn’t dim the bonfire of emotions you felt for the hazel-eyed guitarist.

You couldn’t quite figure out if you loved Peter the way a wife should love their husband. It wasn’t solely Peter that made you come to the wardrobe frequently. It had to do with the family that became yours when your parents had been shitty.

“Hey.” Julie spoke, stepping up to your side. The first person to have found you in the basement where you had an entirely different life.

“Hi.” You murmured, breaking your stare to meet the lovely teenager who had taken your brother and friends into her home. Even if it hadn’t been a smooth start, the band had grown infinitely closer.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” Julie softly questioned with soft brown eyes taking in the action you’d known for years. Your fingers brushed a strand of her gorgeous coil hair behind her ear with a gentleness you’d done so with Susan and Lucy.

Julie watched as your eyes saddened, “I don’t know. Mere seconds before I stumbled out of the wardrobe into your home, I was an adult. I had been in my early ’30s reigning beside my husband, and then I was the same sixteen-year-old girl breaking the chains of the Mercer name.”

“You feel guilty you left Alex, Luke and Reggie without answers, but you feel like you’re betraying your new family?” Julie questioned, shifting on her sneakers to stare at the emotional mask you’d developed in Narnia.

“Something like that.” You simply replied, casting one more look at the wardrobe in your haste to leave the basement.

Julie waited until you had left before she opened the wardrobe with a loud creak. Her hands brushed material hanging before her hand met a solid surface. Her face dropped at the physical evidence that Narnia couldn’t be reached from this wardrobe again.

Julie adored you, but she wanted to know how true happiness looked on your pretty features. Even if she had to give up you just so you could be happy, it was worth it, so when you left the basement each visit, she’d check the wardrobe.

It always failed. Not a speck of snow or a call of your royal title. Had Julie not seen you tumble out of the wardrobe, she’d have never believed the story.

“One day.” Julie murmured to the silent wardrobe.

Your foot barely passed the threshold of your attic space when your ’90s friends dropped unceremoniously on the floor. Each wearing a big grin that matched the fake one you plastered on.

“Where’d you go this time?”

“Top of the Hollywood sign.” Reggie piped up, skipping over to distribute a cheesy tourist keychain of the sign. Had it been someone else than Reggie, you would have joked about it, but you never could with the sweet puppy like teenager.

“Thank you.” You told the boy who had taken to grabbing little souvenirs for you. You couldn’t remember when he’d sat beside you, but he’d softly informed you how much he’d missed you.

In the year following your disappearance, Reggie had built up a collection of trinkets he thought you’d love; he was the one with the most optimism. Even if he believed you’d met an end, that little spark of hope never died. He wouldn’t be Reggie Peters if the hope wasn’t there.

“I wish I knew if my parents kept that box.” Reggie sighed, referring to the trinkets he had collected the year you’d gone missing. You merely squeezed his shoulder in response before catching gazes with Luke.

“Flynn still here?” Alex questioned, pushing himself to sit on the box bench underneath the window. He’d proudly chosen the wear one of the t-shirts Flynn had personalized for the band.

You shrugged, “Dunno. Julie found me.”

Reggie and Luke were oblivious, but Alex knew to the core of his soul where you tended to spend alone time. Alex would see how you’d return with that ache in your eyes more prominent, and your lips quirked down just enough for him to tell. He saw the guilt when you looked at Luke, the way you thumbed your ring.

“Do you want to hang out? Maybe to use Julie’s computer to search for our childhood friends? See if Sarah got valedictorian?” Alex asked, swinging his feet, trying to pull you from your thought which he was successful with.

“Sure.”

Reggie and Luke watched as you and Alex left the attic for some one on one time together, leaving the two.

“I wonder where they’re going?” Reggie questioned, staring after the closed door. His hands pushed into the back pockets of his jeans.

Luke shrugged, “You wanna write a song?”

“Sure! We could-”

“Not country,” Luke told the bassist, who pouted but followed as his best friend poofed to the garage.

The two Mercer siblings wandered the streets of Los Angeles, each in their own thoughts but comforted by the odd brush of their arms. For Alex, it felt like the old days when you both snuck out of the house just for some air. To just to leave the tense expectations shoved on their shoulders by their perfectionist parents.

“If I’d never disappeared and you didn’t die, where do you think we’d be?” You mused, thinking of all the what-ifs. Would you have gotten together with Luke? Would Sunset Curve had gone on to do sold-out shows.

“I don’t really know, to be honest. I think if we’d gone on to be successful that Reggie would have a ranch somewhere. He might have even released an EP of country songs. I think you and Luke would be together.” Alex thought with a bittersweet smile.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Where do you think you would be?” You questioned the older Mercer, who simply shrugged, “I like to think you would have been happy. Whether that was with someone, who was worthy of you or just by being yourself. Maybe you would have started a charity or been an advocate for the LGBTQ+ community.”

Your e/c eyes caught the smile growing on your older brother’s mouth, bringing a lightness to your body.

“I don’t think it matters. We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be. If we had survived, I would have never seen you again.” Alex confessed, “I think we were always meant to meet Julie.”

You went to open your mouth when your eyes found one of the last places you wanted to be. Somehow you and Alex had walked into the area where the country club was sitting just as it was back in the ’90s. From a distance, you could see the unmistakable form of Sarah, the girl in your grade who had always unwillingly competed academically with you. Sarah was just another girl with heavy expectations from her own wealthy parents.

“Is that Sarah?” Alex softly chuckled as the girl, now a woman, holding the hand of her husband with genuine happiness, “She looks happy.”

“She deserves it. The rivalry all our parents had was insane, so I’m happy one of us got the least complicated life.” You informed Alex bumping your hip against his leg as you talked with the pink-loving male.

England, 1940s

Four youth occupied one of the many rooms in the manor that didn’t hold a candle to Cair Paravel grand size and beauty. Not that the four confused siblings spent time taking a gander in the room. Each focused on how they’d lived well into their thirties before regressing back to the ages they were when they stepped into the wardrobe. There were minor changes.

Edmund wasn’t acting like a knob, Susan inserting herself as dominant, and Lucy was quieter than usual. Peter, however, had a boiling rage he could barely contain within himself.

“Do you think Aslan did this?” Susan questioned her siblings. A single tear rolling down her face at the grief she felt.

Each Pevensie was in the beginning stages of grief. They had to grieve the life they had lost in a magical place. A place where the war didn’t ravage like it did to their home country. For the suitors, she’d only just started to seriously look into.

Not a single shred of evidence tied themselves to Narnia.

“Who else?” Peter scoffed, bringing a gasp from Lucy’s mouth. They had all proudly reigned with Aslan in mind. Not a word is spoken against the great lion who’d died for Edmund and came back to life.

“Pet-”

“This is your fault.” Peter told his younger brother with a grimace on his face, “We had everything we ever needed in Narnia. Why did you need to catch that stupid stag?”

Edmund’s eyebrows furrowed, “You make it sound like our lives were perfect. Newsflash, King Peter, but it was far from that. You barely focused on your marriage, let alone Y/N.”

“Edmund.” Susan admonished, glancing between her brothers as if watching a tennis match. The only sister paying attention as Lucy stared out the window at the overcast day.

“It’s true! His marriage was a sham, and he lied to the entire kingdom!” Edmund shouted with a heated glare, “You acted like you were the most important person in Narnia, like the only reason the place worked was because of your hand solely.”

“Shut up,” Peter growled, stepping right up to his little; Edmund had lost a lot of inches, brother with a sneer. Their hair mussed from rubbing against the furs.

“Just because you’re older and you had High in front of your title doesn’t lessen our power too.”

“STOP IT.” Lucy screamed, stomping her foot, “Who cares about that. How about we focus on where Y/N went? She was right with us in there, and then out of nowhere, she’s gone.”

“I know.” Peter’s shoulder dropped in defeat as it settled further into his mind. Not only had he lost the years he’d lived, but he’d also lost you somewhere along the line.

While you’d fallen out of love, or maybe you’d never even been in love with Peter; he’d faithfully kept feelings for you. Part of him had always known your heart was taken by another, but he cherished the times you had together.

“And she’s not in another place right now. She’s somewhere in the far future.” Edmund added with his arms crossed over each other, “She never elaborated on when, where or what the future looks like. How can we find someone that doesn’t exist yet?”

“We hope our future selves can find her.” Susan finished sending a look at each of her siblings, “In the meantime, let’s live our lives for her, so we have tons of stories for her to listen to.”

Molina Household, America 2020

Luke Patterson shook in his black vans, his best pair he owned, holding simple flowers Julie had gotten. Money from busking down at the pier for some cash the boys could have for anything they wanted. They always left money with a note when they got items.

The flowers’ stems were definitely in a battle to survive the grip from the scared teenage ghost. He’d started the day with a tickle in the back of his mind to ask you out. Just a simple date with no strings attached to see where it could go. He couldn’t chicken out when he’d already knocked, and the door was opening.

“Oh! Luke.” You gasped, blinking at the sudden appearance of the phantom. Luke’s eyes melted at the oversized flannel layered over a cropped dark blue sweater.

Your style pre-Narnia and during Narnia had coalesced over the few months you’d found yourself on Earth. Your love of cropped tops returned with a modest twist, the modesty unshakable.

“I know it’s been hard adjusting from Narnia, but I was wondering if you would go on a date with him?” He blurted, dancing on the balls of his vans with an expression of pure nerves.

Your mind flew twenty miles an hour thinking through the implications of accepting a date with this teenager. A dead teenager at that. Sure he was only a year older, but fate had a sick sense of humour.

“I don-”

“I know in your other world you have a husband. I get that, but there’s something undeniable between us. It’s been there since the ’90s, and we always just pushed it away. I learned over the twenty-six years that life is too short.” Luke pleaded, slowly pushing the pretty bouquet into your arms, “Just one date to see if this is worth pursuing.”

You should have said no, but you couldn’t, “One date.”

Luke mentally pumped his fist in the air in celebration as if he was starring in a John Hughes movie. As if reading his mind, you teasingly thrust your hand in the air, the very same hand coming into Luke’s grip.

“There isn’t a lot that we can do, but Willie knows a guy unaffiliated with Caleb. Well, he knows him through a few guys, but he hooked me up. In this lovely basket, we have a menagerie of food that I can eat.” Luke spoke proudly with that same twinkle he always had with you by his side.

Your lips parted in pure elation. Luke Patterson was taking you out on one of the things that had been on your bucket list. A picnic date, something you and Alex each desired to enjoy.

Luke led you down a few streets to a park notorious for cute dates. Julie stood over a cliche checkered blanket. In her hand was an old iPhone or iPod hooked up to a Bluetooth speaker, a playlist curated of your favourite songs ready to go.

“You remember how to use this?” Julie questioned the teen ghost with one raised eyebrow. Luke nodded in his mission to unpack the food in a form that was as romantic as possible.

Julie nodded before casting a quiet goodbye to the two ’90s teens.

“How’d you know?” You questioned Luke as he poured a glass of the beverage he’d chosen. His ever-changing eyes flicked up to yours with an endearing expression.

Your eyes scanned his messy hair. He had taken the time to meticulously styled for his date with you. He’d chosen that gorgeous purple corduroy long sleeve shirt that turned his hair to melted milk chocolate. He hadn’t done a 180 on his style; he’d never tell you he’d styled his hair off his forehead into what Alex had dubbed the Prince Charming hair.

“1994 in the studio for Alex’s fifteenth birthday. Bobby snuck some alcohol he’d collected from his uncle’s BBQ and his father’s stash. We got drunk for the first time and played truth or dare.” Luke recalled with a smile.

He remembered how much of lightweights they were and the way his heart fluttered when Alex answered Reggie’s question. He explained how his ideal date was a picnic in a park with either a guy he was seeing or his celebrity crush. He’d mentioned it was something he shared with you, and then all Luke could think about was taking you on a picnic.

“Dealing with Alex’s hungover ass was a nightmare.” You grunted, swiping one of the pieces of watermelon from a container.

“I can only imagine.” Luke chuckled, slowly shifting closer to you with a sandwich in his left hand. His right arm slowly slinked over your shoulders to rest, the movement halting as your shoulders tensed momentarily.

“Were you really gonna confess that night I disappeared?” You asked the guitarist currently focused on the delicious sandwich. It reminded him of his mother packing his lunch every day, even in his high school years despite telling his mom he could do it himself.

“I was. I chickened out.” Luke admitted and had he been alive, his ears could have flushed along with his cheeks. The bashful ghost struggled to meet your gaze, “I had-have this massive crush on you. I’ve had it since you called me your knight in shining armour-”

“When I sliced my knee open, and you carried me home.”

“I’ve never told anyone, but you’re kinda the reason why I started wearing no sleeves. The guys and us were watching a film, and you mentioned something about the actor’s arms.” Luke snickered with a smile that faded at your sheepish grin, “Oh my god, you knew.”

“Bobby let it slip, ‘I watched him cut the sleeves of his shirts, stitch the raw edges of the fabric, prick his fingers a ton, and he nearly broke my foot’”

“Yeah I almost dropped a weight on him.” Luke snorted, shuffling to lay his head to rest on top of yours. He’d quickly learnt in his mission to gain muscle for your attention that he liked the exercise. He continued to get in shape and grow some muscle, but he still wore sleeveless shirts for you.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Luke beamed at your words, “Nah, you’re the beautiful one.”

The rest of the date was everything you had ever wished for. Luke went above and beyond your expectations, even as a ghost. He’d packed a sweater to help you into when the night appeared, and the cold came. He held your hand on the way home and walked you straight to your attic door.

Luke didn’t push for a kiss either. He simply raised your clasped hand to press a lingering kiss on the back of your hand.

“Sweet dreams.” Luke murmured before he walked down the stairs. The euphoria ensuring he forget his ability to poof.

He wore the same lovesick expression into the studio where two ghosts waited for all the details. Alex and Reggie each buzzing in anticipation for their guitarist best friend.

In your room, you analyzed your feelings closely.

The guilt wasn’t as suffocating as you’d anticipated after going on a date that wasn’t with Peter. Just the guy that had been a reason your marriage with Peter wasn’t how it should have been. You also knew in your heart that Peter would want you to be happy and move on. In fact, in the last two years of your marriage, things had changed to just being two best friends married.

Your eyes met the window of your attic bedroom with a small smile. Your right hand slowly sliding the symbol of love from your finger. For the first time in a very long time, your wedding and engagement band left your hand.

“I’ll always love you, Peter Pevensie.” You murmured from your place in front of your dresser. The two rings slid into the old jewellery box where they would stay.

The only signs of your previous relationship status are just memories and a pale line on your ring finger.

Time to move on. Time to accept that Narnia was in the past and not in your future. Time to accept that Luke Patterson always had and always would hold your heart in his hands.

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silkylious · 4 years

Text

Safe (Kaminari Denki x Reader)

Warnings: slight angst/insecurities, comfort, fluff Pairing: kaminari denki x reader Prompt: #58 “You make me feel safe”

A/N: idk why but i hc that kaminari is actually very insecure but jokes around and shit as a coping mechanism. can you sense the self projection here. hope you enjoy this, it was very fun to write!

You sprung forward, eyes wide awake with alarm. Your mind struggled to catch up with your body; phantom sensations still lingering on your skin, static scenes of vibrant blue flames scorched into your brain as your heavy breaths died down into a slightly more regulated rhythm. This was the fifth time this week. It’s been two full months since the training camp, two full months since you’ve moved into the dorms and you still weren’t over it yet. The nightmares just wouldn’t stop.

You plopped back down on the mattress, exasperated and thoroughly annoyed at having your precious slumber cut short. Again. Honestly, for such a prestigious school, U.A. has probably the worst counseling team you’ve ever seen– or haven’t seen, because despite several of your classmates showing painfully obvious signs of trauma, the school staff has barely stepped in. You huffed at the administration’s incompetence, turning on your side to glare at nothing in particular. A ping interrupted your train of thought, drawing your attention to the device laying on your nightstand. You snatched your phone, unlocking it and immediately squinting at the brightness before checking the time. Three in the morning. Who the hell would text you at ass o’clock in the morning? You knew who.

Pika pika⚡: [image] [image] [image]

some maymays for when you wake up 😌😌

You: they’re called memes ffs

Pika pika⚡: you’re awake??👀

You: no.

The message was left on seen, though the interface of the messaging up was replaced by that of an incoming call. You rolled your eyes, though a slight smile stretched your tired features at the picture of you and Kaminari grinning at the camera. You accepted the call.

“Why are you up?” His voice came through mildly distorted but still as loud as ever, too loud for three in the fucking morning.

“Can’t sleep,” Your answer was slightly muffled by a yawn, betraying just how exhausted you were. The silence that proceeded was deafening, neither of you uttering a word, but you could faintly hear his even breathing. It was oddly calming. You sigh, lids blinking to fight off your drowsiness.

“…You’re still having nightmares?” Words tinged with worry, his voice was much quieter now, gentler. If anything, Kaminari was a great friend. He’d proven that to you time and time again. He was the only one that could tell when you were drowning in hushed misery, seeing through your well-constructed front like it was second nature to him. For someone so astoundingly moronic, he was extremely socially intelligent, and even observant when he wanted to be. And for the umptieth time, he’s showing you just how easily he could pick up on the small traces of discomfort in your voice, the silent plea left unspoken from your lips.

“Yeah…” The reply didn’t come out as resolute as you’d wished it would have been. But it couldn’t be helped. No matter how hard you willed yourself to level your tone in hopes of fending off his concerns, you knew it would all crumble at some point. Go figure your strong façade would fall apart in front of him. It’s always been him. For some reason unknown to you (yet), confiding in him just felt right, secure.

More silence ensued.

Denki was a natural at detecting people’s emotions, but that’s as far as his expertise would go. Sure, he knew how to encourage others, pushing them past their insecurities was as easy as breathing to him. With bright, golden hues and an obnoxiously dorky grin, all he had to do was utter a few optimistic words and that would get the job done. But comfort? Vulnerability? That was so far beyond the shallow waters he’d grown accustomed to. Sentimentalities weren’t his thing, he simply didn’t posses the wisdom and eloquence needed to deal with such situations. His immediate reaction would be to crack a joke, fruitless attempts at lightening the mood but he knew there was a time and place for jests, and this wasn’t one of them. Awkwardness and half-hearted jabs were his immediate reaction… because that’s how he dealt with his own problems too.

“Hey… can I come over? We can play animal crossing or something,” You sure as shit wouldn’t be able to sleep, not in this state. You needed a distraction. A friend.

“What if we get caught?”

“Would you even care if we got caught?”

A light chuckle. “No,”

“Exactly. I’ll be there in a bit.”

The line went dead, he stared at the blank screen of his phone before flopping onto his back. Why you’d be so open with him of all people when he saw just how uneasy around his other classmates, he didn’t know. The list of people he thought were more deserving of your trust was almost unending, and he wasn’t even close to the top of it. One thought brought forward another, each one getting progressively more deprecative, and the sloppily sewn patch over his self-doubt started to tear, ripped off its poorly embedded stitches. He was confident in himself, until he joined class 1-A that is. He just felt… there compared to his peers. His body was nothing to laugh at, but his build was still considerably lean compared to the people he was around. The fact that such a talented, hardworking person had taken interest in him was frankly baffling. He wasn’t as flashy as Todoroki, or as powerful as Bakugo, or as brainy as Midoriya. He was just him. Lackluster, average him. It only added insult to injury when he’d witnessed how they looked at you. They pined for you, and he couldn’t blame them. He craved you too. But god, the nagging thought that you were wasting your time hanging around someone like him, that he was stealing you away from people who were (in his opinion) glaringly more worthy of cherishing you than him, it just wouldn’t go away. You had so many stronger, smarter, better options out there that he couldn’t help but be reminded of how lacking– inadequate he was compared to seemingly everyone else. And yet you chose to get close to him. In a superhuman class full to the brim with prodigies and workaholics, you picked him. It didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.

He was fished into reality and away from his sea of self-doubt when he heard three consecutive knocks on his door. Just how long had he laid there, wallowing?

The door creaked open and you were greeted with the glorious sight of Kaminari in a Pikachu onesie, a ruffled (adorable) tuft of electric, blonde hair peeking out from under the hood. You snorted.

“Nice pj’s,”

Denki blinked, looking down only to realize that he hadn’t changed out of his onesie because of his overthinking session. An embarrassed chuckle escaped him as he scratched at the side of his cheek, a lopsided smile and a cherry tint creeping up his complexion.

“What can I say, I always have to be on brand.”

You loved that about him. He seemed so laid-back, uncaring, willing to roll with whatever punches were thrown at him, playing off jocular comments and rude insults alike with practiced ease. Giggling past him, you situated on his bed, ready to forget about your nightmares and just have fun with your friend. And if Denki was a genius at anything, it was having fun.

Hours flew by at the pace of minutes, it was now six in the morning, the sun had begun to show its yellow glow and you’d spent the entirety of dawn kicking Kaminari’s butt at Mario kart, sharing laughs and fleeting touches. He liked this, you liked this. Despite knowing that he wasn’t by any means the best suitor for you, he couldn’t halt the need to monopolize you. How could he, when your very presence (unbeknownst to you) shoved his insecurities unceremoniously into the backseat in favor of enjoying the moment with you? He hadn’t a clue how you did it, but you always managed to shoo away his doubts just by being there, and he selfishly couldn’t (and wouldn’t) let go of that. You immersed him in riveting ventures of the now, miles and acres away from his overbearing thoughts. All without even trying, without even knowing it.

It was the weekend (thank fuck) and sleeping in sounded like heaven on earth right now. If it weren’t for your nightmares. The fear of recounting those horrid memories in horrific detail again barred your eyes from sleep, regardless of how spent you were. Apparently, Denki’s spidey-friendship senses kicked in again, because he immediately noticed the apprehension on your face, the stiffness in your movements as you were preparing to leave. He knew exactly what was up with you, and he couldn’t let you leave like that, it would eat him up for days. He grabbed your wrist as you turned for the door.

“Do you wanna stay?”

Maybe it was your exhausted mind finally turning into mush, or maybe it was the softness in his voice, the docile concern in his eyes that made you agree on staying. Your compliance surprised you both, honestly. You were both very aware that you wouldn’t have accepted the offer had it been anyone else. But in retrospect it seemed rational. After all, throughout the whole night, not once did you think back to the horrors that would visit you in your sleep, not once did you feel the crippling anxiety clawing at the frayed edges of your psyche. Instead you felt secure, sound. Safe. And you came to an epiphany. Maybe it wasn’t the idea of sleep that scared you, maybe it was the impending loneliness, isolation and uncertainty that you’d often experience without him.

“Yes,”

You laid there, facing each other, a considerable distance between you. No words exchanged, yet you could tell there was a lot on his mind. He decided to voice it all in one question. He knew you were smart enough to catch the underlying self-doubt in his vaguely worded inquiry. Whether you pointed it out or not was entirely up to you, however.

“Why did you say yes to me?”

The articulation caught you off guard, you’d never seen him so… unsure before. Your mind raced with the different possible implications behind his wording, though you decided to quell them all with one single sentence. You smiled, soft and lazy, moving closer to seek out some of his warmth.

“You make me feel safe, Denki.”

And he really did. Even though you came to the revelation mere minutes ago, you accepted it swimmingly, it felt right to do so. It startled you how ready you were to embrace the newfound feelings, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kaminari was stunned, to say the least. He hadn’t expected that response from you and he honestly still couldn’t rationalize it completely either. But for now, the budding feeling in his heart trumped over his ever-present uncertainty, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #denki x reader #denki kaminari x reader #kaminari denki #denki kaminari imagine #bnha kaminari #self indulgent writing yayayya #god the projection is heavyy in this one

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

I’ve read some of your posts and I love the detail and effort you put in them 😌. May I request prompt 40 for Uvo from hxh?

I appreciate it. Always give my all whilst writing stuff. It’s my first time writing for Uvogin.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, self harm

Prompt 40: “What I am doing? I’m punishing myself. Why? Because I upset you earlier.”

He hadn’t come to look after you for quite some time now. You guessed the tantrum you had thrown after he had tried to come near you had taught him to leave you alone. You had cried, sobbed and screamed at him to stay away, to at least give you some space to breathe after he had already taken you. And he did. He had looked incredibly hurt whilst you had yelled at him, but in the end he had silently left the room. And you were thankful for this. Thankful for knowing that not all you had thought to know about him wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t pretended to be a huge softie for you. That made you feel to some degree comforted, but it didn’t change the fact that he had hidden such a big secret from you. You knew that he had done it to protect you and to not make you feel scared of him. But that had only made the truth hit you so much harder when you had found out. He was a spider. A part of the infamous Phantom Troupe. He was a criminal who robbed, killed and did whatever he wanted to. And in all honesty, you wished you had never found out. Wished you had just chosen to stay in the house that night. Wished that you had taken a different route to the shop you had headed to that night. Wished you hadn’t seen what you had seen that night. But you had. Had seen who he really was, had seen what he was capable off, had seen that everything you had ever thought about him had been lie. Oh, how you wished you could turn back time and go back to your sweet illusion of lies you had once had of him. Because the truth hurt. It hurt so much, making you feel like someone was puncturing a blade over and over again in your chest.

And the worst part about this all? You couldn’t even hate him like you should. You had tried to hate him, tried to be angry at him. But you just weren’t able to hate him. He had made himself a too important spot in your heart. And every time you had tried to remove him, to rip him out of there you had felt like losing a huge part of yourself. How fatal attachments could be. For the most part you were just sad, disappointed, upset and felt betrayed. It was so silent in the room, yet so loud in your head. You wanted it to stop. The silence was too loud for you, too much to handle. You burried your head tightly in the pillow, feeling the damp fabric of it, a reminder of how many tears you had spilled for him in such a short time. A reminder of how much he meant for you. Was he feeling the same as you were right now? Had he ever felt bad for lying to you? Or had he done that with many others before? Leading them to believe that he loved them? Would he be capable of doing that? Your head told you yes because the Phantom Troupe was capable of everything. But your stupid heart, controlled by your overwhelmed feelings told you the opposite. He had been sincere with his every action and words, had proved to you that he really loved you. And you found yourself being scared at the thought that this all could have been an act. If it really should be then you were sure you would probably never be able to trust someone again.

How long had you now layed in this bed, bathing inside your tears and misery? Was there a clock? Did you want to find out how much of an impact this all had on you? No, you didn’t. Not knowing was a blessing, now more than ever. But you also knew that you needed to get out of the room. You needed to go somewhere where you would be able to entertain yourself a bit. Somewhere where you could get your mind off. And all of this whilst not walking into him. The last thing you needed was a new layer of heartbreak over your only few days old one. You felt like you would burst once again out in tears if you would see him. It was fascinating how much tears a human could spill. Your eyes still burned and itched from your last crying session. You didn’t want to know how you must have looked right now. But back to your plan, getting your mind a bit off. As soon as you stood on your two legs the first thing you did was stumbling back. Your legs felt like jelly. You guessed that this happened when you didn’t eat enough. But in comparison to your pain of finding out the truth your aching tummy felt numb. And yet you didn’t feel hungry at all, not thinking in your current state you could handle too much food at once in your stomach. You didn’t think it would stay in there for too long anyways. You had more important things to do than giving the growing hole inside your belly or much thoughts right now.

You slowly opened your door and peeked through the small slit. You didn’t see him. Where was he? What was he doing? You couldn’t help, but feel a bit curious. But you couldn’t satisfy your curiosity for the sake of your own well-being. A short trip to the bathroom would do for now. You slowly made your way towards it, careful to not make too much noise whilst heading to the bathroom. And as soon as you reached it you quickly closed the door and locked it, leaning against the wood and staring at the white ceiling. Good, you had reached it. What now? You hadn’t thought that far. You had only wanted to get out of this suffocating room. The bathroom with it’s white walls looked so blank. How you wished your mind could be just as blank as it. Your mind and your senses tried so desperately to find something to distract you that you noticed even the smallest and most insignificant things. The faint flickering of the lamp every few seconds, the smell of soap that was hanging in the air and even the silent sound of water in the walls. Distant, but still there. And you had never noticed how calming those small things could be, how much peace they could give a person. Why was that? Was it because these were things that didn’t change? Things that stayed the same? You didn’t know and didn’t care, only caring for the fact that they helped you calming down a bit. You were in a state of much more awareness than usually, feeling your own heartbeat drumming like a jackhammer against your chest and your breaths filling your lungs to the brim with air and then emptying it all out.

After a few minutes of just emptying your mind a bit out you decided to wash your face, wanting to wash all the traces of tears and snot away. The cold water against your skin felt oddly refreshing and helped washing a bit from the heaviness and tiredness out of your eyes, alleviating the burning itching. You let a small content sigh out. Such an easy thing, a daily trip to the bathroom, had helped you so surprisingly much. When you looked up you couldn’t help it, glancing shortly at the mirror right in front of you. You weren’t really surprised by how you looked like. Just as horrible as you had expected. Your eyes were red and swollen and you even saw light red trails on your cheeks due to all the tears you had cried. Your hair was disheveled and you had dark bags under your eyes. Just as horrible as you had expected. You stared for a moment or two just at your reflection before turning around and leaving the room, feeling a bit better now. Still not fine, you doubted you would ever be. But much more calmer. It was already very dark. And you decided that you would now do the only thing that always helped you forgetting everything for a while. Sleeping. But just as you passed the stairs that led downstairs you suddenly perked up, head slowly turning towards the stairs. What was that? You were sure you had just heard something. Was Uvo downstairs? You focused all your energy on your sense of hearing, trying to detect that noise once again.

There it was! You heard it once again. Sounded it like came from the kitchen. You tried to identify what exactly it was, finding your body stepping down the first few stairs to hear it better. But it was still too faint, forcing you to take a few more steps. And more and more and more until you found yourself at the end of the stairs. The door to the kitchen was in your field of view, the light shining under it’s gap telling you clearly that Uvogin was in there. You shouldn’t be here. You should lay in your bed and try to forget all about him. And yet...And yet you slowly tiptoed closer, feeling to your huge dislike worry bubbling up inside of you. You shouldn’t be interested or even worried about him. So why? You stared with mixed emotions in your eyes at the door, pressing your lips together. What if he would sense you? No. What if he had already sensed you? You stood there, waiting for something to happen. But nothing happened. If he had sensed you then he had decided to ignore you. So you slowly leaned in closer, pressing your ear against the door in a more or less pathetic attempt to try to find out what was going on behind this door. You heard the muffled sounds much more clearer now, but still not audible enough to detect what it was. You felt slightly frustrated, squinting your eyes together to focus better.

And that’s when you finally had an idea about what it was. Your eyes widened and you stepped quickly away from the door, unsure about how to feel about this. Was he...crying? You found your heart clenching at the thought of it. Uvo was always such a cheerful and positive man. But you were sure that you had heard him sobbing behind this door. But why? Because of you? Had your act earlier this day hurt him really that much? Had you been too harsh, went overboard? In your opinion you had reacted like every human would have when finding out that their boyfriend was a criminal. Who wouldn’t lose it then? But perhaps you could have tried to make the effort to listen to him. Perhaps you could have stopped yelling and screaming at him. Why were you still so carrying for him? After all he had done? After all the life’s he had taken? Why? You knew why. Because he had always been there for you too. Whenever you had been stressed out, had been upset about something he had been your shoulder to cry on. He had listened to you, had comforted you and had always brought you gifts to cheer you up. It didn’t feel right to let him be sad now. Not after all he had done. You didn’t do it because you loved him. No, you did it because it would be only fair to comfort him for once too. That’s at least what you tried to tell him. In reality you started to feel hella guilty for acting like such a brat. He could have killed you or broken your bones if he had wanted too. But instead he had just brought you in here, not forcing or pushing you to anything.

You took one final breath before knocking lightly on the door. The noises behind the wood stopped abruptly. You waited for a few seconds, wanting to know if he wanted you to see him in such a state or not. Nothing came and you took it as a sign that he didn’t have anything against you coming in. So you slowly cracked the door open, peeking inside the room. It was hard to overlook him, his tall build was an eye catcher. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall with his head hanging low. It was a very strong contrast. This position just screamed weak. He looked so vulnerable right now. That definitely increased your worry. You stood there unsure about what to do for a short moment before you slowly stepped closer to him, gazing over his hunched over form. “Uvo?” Your voice sounded very hushed and gentle. You just couldn’t help, but speak more softly to him. He had always done it when you had been crying. He didn’t react. He seemed to try to make himself even smaller which was hard given his height. Oh god. You felt guilt crushing you, telling you that it was your fault that he was like this. You stopped when you were a few feet away from him, your thoughts stumbling over each other. You really wanted to help him, do something. But a small part still held you back, screaming at you that this was a criminal who could crush you at any moment. And that’s when you suddenly noticed something. His one arm...

“W-what are you doing? Y-your arm...It’s broken. So why...?” You just stared shocked at him. It was hard to see due to him being hunched over. But you were sure that he was pressing with his other hand against his broken arm which was twisted in a abnormal way. But if his arm was really broken then why hurting it even more? “What I am doing?” His voice sounded strained, the pain audible in his voice. “I’m punishing myself.” You paled when hearing this. He was punishing himself? “W-why would you do that?” Your voice was shaking, terrified with what you were seeing and hearing. He let out a half-hearted and half-pained chuckle out, sounding almost amused. As if thinking that it would be obvious to why he was doing this. “Why?” And that’s when he finally looked up, looking you straight in your eyes. Sweatdrops were visible on his face and he had forced a smile onto his face, trying to mask the pain he was in, but failed miserably. “Because I upset you earlier.” Your mind froze at this, staring with non believing and wide eyes at him. Was he serious?! He-he just broke his arm for the reason because he had upset you earlier?! No,no,NO! This wasn’t what you had wanted! You didn’t want him to suffer like this! At least not because of you. You hated it when people suffered because of you. You preferred suffering yourself than letting others be in pain because of you.

“Stop this.” Your voice was trembling, yet firm. “I-I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You tried your hardest to not cry, forcing the tears collecting in your eyes back. You needed to stay strong. For him. Just like he had always stayed strong for you. Uvogin looked slightly confused up before laughing a bit. “Why do you care? Didn’t you yell at me before that you hated me and wanted me to disappear? Judging from your words I thought you wouldn’t care...” Bitterness and heartbreak was audible in his voice and visible in his eyes, making you feel downright like trash. You hadn’t meant those words. Not a single one of them. But it had just been too much to take for you. Some really small part told you that this was your chance to run, to hurt him, do something. But you didn’t. Because you knew he wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t run after you if you would storm out of this house. He wouldn’t defend himself if you would attack him. He would just...do nothing. You knew him. Uvogin had always looked strong for you, had always come over as your strong protector. But now he displayed weakness. Right in front of your eyes. Why would he do that? To show you that he wasn’t some kind of wild animal that just killed for fun? To show you that he wouldn’t hurt you?

Silence fell over the both of you, he just sitting there and avoiding eye contact whilst you were staring at his form, deeply in thoughts. “I...don’t hate you. You know that, right?” It came out without you thinking really much, just blurting it straight out. That gave you a visible reaction from him. He flinched and darted his eyes at yours, giving you a look of slight confusion, but also hope. And that hope made you feel ticklish on the inside. You knew that you hadn’t lied. You didn’t hate him. You could never. That didn’t mean you could forgive him that easily either. But if the both of you were suffering that much because of this then you two should also start working on it together. Hurting alone was stupid. You stepped to him until you stood right in front of him, grabbing his not broken arm and gently tugging on his hands. “Come on. Stand up. I-I’ll do first aid on your arm.” If there had been ever a doubt in your mind about what you were currently doing was wrong it was blown away to dust the moment you saw the gratitude and relief crossing Uvo’s face, grabbing your,in comparison to his, small hand and stood up, flashing you a smile. A sincere one, filled with warmth and love, making you yourself feel suddenly very warm. You returned his smile gently. And suddenly you felt very confident that the both of you would find a way to make this up.

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere uvogin

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devildom-tyrant · 4 years

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Could make the nightmare scenario with Diavolo too?

You wake up with a start, gasping, your hands automatically coming up to touch your throat. It was always the same nightmare, even though you’d long since forgiven the perpetrator.

Dying wasn’t something so easily forgotten, you supposed.

Your throat burned with the phantom pain from the memory, and you groped for the water bottle you usually kept on your bedside table -- only to come up with nothing. Perturbed, you sleepily propped yourself up, giving your eyes time to adjust to the darkness.

You weren’t in your room. Right. You’d stayed the night at the Demon King’s castle at the behest of the demon prince himself. After dinner conversation had gone on for so long that he suggested you take one of the many guest rooms, and you had been tired enough that you agreed.

Unfortunately, there was no way that you were going back to sleep now. The room was comfortable, but it wasn’t your room; you felt oddly out of place here alone. It had been easier to sleep in these rooms when one of the brothers was sharing it with you, to give you some sense of normalcy -- which was odd to admit, considering your status as an exchange student. Perhaps if you got some fresh air, you could calm down and get out of your own head.

Despite it being 4AM, you open the guest room and step into the corridor. The castle is massive, with plenty of twists and turns that could easily cause you to get lost. Even with all the exploring you did with the brothers, you know you’ve only seen a fraction of the rooms, and with your anxiety screaming at you, you dare not let your curiosity get the better of you. Instead, you follow a path you know by heart, out into the night air by the sparkling lake and gazebo.

The ripples of the water bring a sense of calm over you, and you feel the tension draining from your shoulders. The tightness around your neck is still there, still making your breaths more shallow than you’d like, but you attempt to force your memories to happier times. It was out here, after all, that Belphie made his amends by making a pact with you. It was here that you took his hand

-- the hand that had been around your throat, pinning you to a wall, his face twisted with cruel laughter

--and forgave his misplaced cruelty. He’s a demon. If you remember that, and that they used to want to eat you and take your soul -- and that some would still kill you given the chance, despite your good standing with the Student Council -- then his behavior wasn’t strange. Most of the brothers tried to kill you at one point or another, too. There just didn’t happen to be anyone around to save you that time.

... This isn’t helping.

Think of something happier. Think of that silly Mammon

-- screaming your name, gingerly cradling you against his chest, tears splattered against his trademark sunglasses.

Clasping your hands against your ears, you suddenly bend over, your eyes screwed shut as you struggle to get a breath in.

Why is breathing so hard right now? You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re...

Something’s suddenly draped over your shoulders, big enough that it engulfs your frame. You sharply glance up, eyes wide and glassy, as Diavolo kneels next to you, his hand on your shoulder. You can feel his lingering body heat in the red coat, warding off the chill from the night air. His brow is pinched with concern, golden eyes piercing right through you.

His voice is a baritone rumble as he says your name, gentle, yet commanding your attention. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“N-nothing’s wrong!” you immediately blurt, cursing the fact that your voice betrayed you by breaking. Your smile is watery, almost manic. You can’t very well tell the demon prince that you’ve been having nightmares. “I just came out here to -- to get some fresh air.”

Your breathing is still uneven, which only causes Diavolo to appear even more concerned. He grasps your wrist in one hand, his long fingers curling around. “Your pulse is awfully quick, even for a human.” It only gets faster as he points that out -- and also, have you ever been this close to him before? Not since the dance at his ball, you think, and even then, you were awfully flustered to be in his arms. His brow becomes less furrowed, his expression shifting to something more gentle.

“I want you to know that you can talk to me. If there’s something wrong, or something bothering you, and in it’s in my power to correct it, I will. I want you to be comfortable in the Devildom.”

Demonic charm might not work on you, but you’re definitely not immune to regular charm. The impending anxiety attack has receded, but you still hesitate, trying to choose your words. He knows what happened, doesn’t he? He had been standing there in the foyer, aided by Barbatos’ insight. He chose not to punish Belphie in this timeline, but if you bring it up again... would he change his mind?

Ultimately, you decide to be vague, despite how childish the admission sounds. “I... I had a nightmare, and I was just trying to shake it.”

“A nightmare?” He’s surprised, but you know he’s not going to tease you, even though your cheeks are burning. His fingers are still on your wrist, but his hold has shifted to something gentle, his other hand still resting on your shoulder. “I see. There isn’t much I can do about that -- unless it’s over something you’ve experienced here?”

Your muscles tense, and you notice his gaze sharpen, even as you shake your head. “No, it’s... uh, I can’t remember it,” you lie, “but the feeling just kinda... was still there, if that makes sense.”

He nods, humming in the back of his throat. “In that case, I could have Barbatos make you some tea to help you sleep.”

“No, please -- I don’t want to trouble him.” If he woke up at 4AM because you had a nightmare, you would feel awful.

“I had a feeling you would say that,” Diavolo replies, smiling. “Okay, another idea... let’s talk until you forget the feeling and grow tired again.”

“Aren’t you tired?” you shoot back. “Why are you out here at this time, anyway?”

“I heard you walking down the halls. I’m a light sleeper.” He shrugs, before beginning to stand and tugging you up by the wrist. “Come, join me in the gazebo. I want to hear more stories from the human world. And I bet I have a few more of Lucifer that you haven’t heard yet.” He winks, and you feel your pulse quicken all over again.

At the gazebo, you sit beside Diavolo, the demon prince’s arm behind your shoulders, and his coat wrapped around you. Despite how powerful he is, you feel at peace like this, especially when he belly-laughs over your stories regarding the time that Lucifer was in Levi’s dating-sim-turned survival-horror. You’re smiling just as broadly as he is, and throughout the conversation, you find your eyes becoming heavier and heavier... until you accidentally fall asleep with your head lolled against his shoulder. The last thing you remember is that baritone rumble, murmuring something along with your name, and the feeling of fingers lightly touching your hair...

When you wake up the next time, you’re in your own room in the House of Lamentation, with Mammon pounding down your door, shouting that it’s time to eat.

#obey me imagine #obey me drabble #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #chapter 16 spoilers #omspoilers #spoilers #obey me spoilers #nightmares #Anonymous

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whoslaurapalmer · 3 years

Text

so i never do this but i put a lot of thought into really specific details about the structure and scene layout of (the three-part folding mirror) and i really really really want to talk about it so here are some of my notes and some general commentary

-the crux of the fic, at least the way i had envisioned it, is what vfd does to family, how it becomes biological family vs the family created by vfd

-what vfd did to specific families: -physically separated the calibans -morally separated the denouements and the snickets -somehow brought the anwhistles closer together

-in terms of ramona and olaf, ramona was there to stress the distinction of biological family vs. vfd family but also how they’re so inextricably intertwined with each other, and olaf, this is harder to tell bc he doesn’t have a point of view here, but olaf is scoping out potential candidates for his personal group of firestarters – his own sort of “family” (ramona bc she’s a duchess, ernest because he has a similar line of thought, josephine because her husband is working with the mushrooms, the white-faced women because, well they wind up in his troupe and I have very vague headcanons about how that happens)

-related; the reason frank asks olivia about miranda at the end is because, at that point in the fic, frank feels so terrible about what he said to ernest that he’s trying to reassure himself that his family is still okay because (dewey’s right) at least they’re together, compared to the calibans, who haven’t seen each other in years. it was one of the first ideas I had when I was jotting ideas down in april and it stuck with me the whole way through. I really wanted it in there. I went back and forth before I got to this plot, though, on whether or not frank or ernest would be the one asking it. but I think it fits frank. -(ahahahahahaha the kicker being that miranda really was at the party the whole time and olivia didn’t recognize her) -anyway

-the parallels in the fic were: -the denouements start the fic together, and end the fic alone (by being honest about how they feel about each other) -the snickets start the fic relatively separated, and end the fic together (by being dishonest about what happened during the party) -the denouements start the fic by playing their game, and the snickets end the fic with theirs -frank is mistaken for ernest, ernest is mistaken for frank -frank pretends to be ernest on accident, ernest pretends to be frank on purpose -dewey has never slammed a door in his life; towards the end of the fic he slams the tray -i….think that’s all of them. I think

-character-wise, jacques and frank both see themselves as the people holding their families together; when in fact for the denouements, it’s dewey, which I think is clear in this, and for the snickets it’s lemony, which is less clear here? but definitely something I agree with -dewey and kit see themselves as the most ‘normal’, and they both have relatively solitary positions of acquiring information -ernest and lemony clearly both vibe on a ‘question vfd’ wavelength -i was also interested in kit and ernest, as siblings who feel stifled by an older/perceived older sibling, and dewey and lemony, who are sometimes unnecessarily protected by their siblings because they are the youngest/perceived youngest -this doesn’t show up in the fic bc olaf’s parents are still alive, but I thought ramona and olaf were also interesting foils re: reacting to their parent’s deaths

-some narration notes: -frank never refers to ernest and dewey as his brothers, except in the scene where he argues with ernest. because frank doesn’t necessarily see the split of biological family vs vfd family but has definitely swayed more to vfd family -ernest and dewey always refer to each other as brothers. -similarly, frank refers to the members of vfd as associates, most everyone else refers to them as friends. -ernest refers to vfd as strictly VFD because he’s distanced himself from it, while everyone else calls it ‘the organization’ -frank doesn’t swear even in his narration when he’s thinking them and not saying them because it’s, still his narration. he still wouldn’t quite completely say the words. (oh, he’s like gansey, like that. the raven cycle is still on my brain. i had so many scene sketches where ernest and frank were way too callous to each other bc they kept coming out like ronan and declan.) -kit’s line at the beginning is “someone in this very room has betrayed us” which is jacques’s line from the building committee meeting in unauto. the clock saying wrong afterwards is because the someone who really betrayed them (lemony) isn’t in the room.

-the costumes, which i did decide very arbitrarily: monty: clearly a snake. olaf: sigh. wolf ramona and olivia: oh, there was actually a slight distinction that just no one notices because none of them have looked at an insect (and also because describing clothes properly but succinctly is the hardest thing. i've written fic for a long time!!!!! i did my time in block paragraph clothing description hell!!! it haunts me!!!!!!!!!!), but ramona was the butterfly and olivia was actually a dragonfly. their masks are roses because, well 1) I thought that would be cool 2) butterflies and dragonflies land on flowers…. jacques: the boxwood, but a lion otherwise. josephine: ocean widdershins: the octopus with the pirate hat jacquelyn: the gold star suit (because gustav said she should do it for a play on. star. like. actress star.) miranda: uranus’s moon named miranda. it was very vague and I put that in the fic before I decided to have her in the little scene with esme. and then i thought i would put her in that scene too. gustav: phantom of the opera. haruki: tree frog hector: tree (not because of haruki’s costume but because i literally could not think of a damn thing for hector to be) lemony: uhhhhhh I had vague ideas he was. a cloud or something. like a stormcloud???? couldn’t pan out though. I like him in grey anyway. kit: I really just wanted her in red. with a big cape. and i spent so much time mentally deciding if i wanted her to have glasses or not in the archives that i forgot to mention her mask. everyone has one i swear to god white faced women: did anyone recognize that was them? :) it’s not mentioned in any way at all but in my head they were all dressed identically as flappers

esme actually doesn’t have one, because I, forgot, to give her one. I’m taking suggestions.

-references to lyeekha’s fics: -“that which is essential is invisible to the eye” is what frank says to jacques at the end of edge, and also the title of their snicket/denouement series -it initially wasn’t in there, because I was worried it wasn’t, like, in the right tone, re: what happens in edge vs how I was interpreting jacques and frank? but i liked it a lot. so i put it back in. -“frank quit smoking, but you didn’t” is a reference to frank smoking at the end of rigged -guess the guest and the clock alcove are from the end of fragments, with dewey and ernest watching hotel guests. this is my favorite thing in the whole world and something i actually keep forgetting is not canon because it is SUCH the perfect beethoven parallel -kit’s tattoo, which I was specifically imagining as the giant bombinating beast tattoo from ink on her back, which is definitely not around her neck but that was the only spot of skin she was showing so it was available and my thought was, it was kind of a low-cut in the back dress, and she was wearing the cape to cover up the giant tattoo on her back because beatrice was not there to cover it up with makeup (also bea picked out the dress.) (bea: if I can’t be there you have to make a statement) (kit: I have to what) -lemony being a “powerful, mythical figure” to the sugar bowl gen was actually something I wrote a long time ago, back in 2013, and I put it in the fic because I thought it fit, and then happened to reread double edged VERY late into the rewriting, literally THE DAY after I wrote that line in, and i saw a similar line of thought, and I was like “*cooper voice* sometimes you just get lucky ~ ” -jacques being in a lion costume, from the masquerade outfit sketches

additionally – -yes I am still cackling about ‘angel of my apple’ -angel of my apple -ANGEL OF MY APPLE -writing olaf is constantly like, he can say the funniest fucking things. and then turn around and say the absolute cruelest shit and the balance can be difficult. -but, angel of my a p p l e

-i can’t believe that out of all the people here, frank and jacques are the ones having the most semi-successful romantic relationship. well, ramona and olivia, too, but frank and jacques actually kiss so good for them -i know it was very vague and it’s because writing romance is physically embarrassing, but yes that last line was supposed to be them kissing, i’m so sorry

-undercover underwater was a last-minute addition because I didn’t want to take the time to try and google something real and good because I didn’t have the time. my guilty pleasure is super shitty hallmark murder mystery movies (I like good murder mysteries as well, thank you.) and my mom’s been reading terrible murder mysteries during lunch (where I was sitting across from her, also eating lunch, but also hiding behind my laptop and writing the fic) so I just came up with undercover underwater on the spot, but my mom came up with the tagline. it was originally ‘sleeps with the fishes’ (especially because i love the godfather movies which also, clearly has a very big stress on family vs The Family) but I thought ‘diving for the truth’ was funnier. -my mom and my brother (who has no interest in shitty murder mysteries, but loves to verbally smack them down with me re: their predictable tropes) and I decided that the plotline was something like, single woman scuba dives and keeps running into stuff (you know, hidden treasure, dead bodies, the like); her love interest drives the boat; her overbearing family member is an aunt; this is definitely like, book four in the series. there’s probably twelve books or something. (she goes on vacation on like book six and still finds a dead body, come on it practically writes itself.) (she probably owns a little fish tank......it’s a small sunny beach town.........etc etc.........) (it’s so easy to do this.) -oh, fixer upper is the worst hallmark murder mystery series, murder she baked is the best. in my opinion.

-dewey and lemony were supposed to have an actual conversation at the hors d’oeuvres table but every time I tried to put lemony in earlier he just wouldn’t work. it didn’t feel right. so he got saved for the reveal. -but i’m still delighted by the idea of lemony literally doing the shot of gazpacho. -dewey uses a spoon because he doesn’t have the composure or the guts to do a shot of cold soup -lemony was also supposed to have a scene with kit and one with jacques, i’m pretty sure, to lead up to the gazpacho conversation and the commiserating re: siblings. but again, didn’t work out. so then dewey had to fare alone in the scene. -oh!! the line about how lemony hides, in the least likely places, was actually something that was in my initial write of lemony’s scrapped pov of my ellington fic. jacques being responsible for sending olivia to the hinterlands was from a scrapped jacques fic. -steal from your unused fic.

-because I had to take scenes with lemony out, I had some, gaps in the night that I had to fill in (especially because this is a party more people are there than the snickets and the denouements), so that was how esme, the herpetology squad, and olaf and josephine came to be. (also olaf needed to show up again somewhere else otherwise he kind of, disappeared awkwardly, I thought?) -also because initially there was going to be a scene of bea and bertrand, elsewhere, but I wanted to keep the fic contained to the hotel, because one of the ideas I wasn’t able to put into the fic all that much was the sense of the hotel being its own world -oh, bea and bertrand don’t know that lemony used them as cover. the assignment they were working on instead of being at the party? planning the opera. the scene would’ve come right after ramona and olaf’s conversation. -the herpetology squad not only serves to highlight that people can’t tell the denouements apart (part of the foreshadowing that ernest would pretend to be frank), but was also me roasting myself because writing like a million different characters I had never written like this before had me very concerned about if their characterization was consistent, specifically for kit. (specifically, her with dewey.) also defining a character down to one base trait can be helpful when writing and creating characters, but for people no it’s not ideal. -haruki’s estimation of the denouement’s traits were not how i was mentally keeping track of them, because i definitely do do the ‘one base trait’ sometimes, but i had a lot more going on when i was thinking of them -but yes dewey is kind. in the way that bertrand is kind, but bertrand’s like, way more smooth about it.

-lemony does not have his own pov because, for me personally, I can’t fathom writing him in any other way besides first person, and it just would not do to have one scene out of the whole fic not in third person. unless he was secretly narrating each scene, which, he clearly was not. i would’ve had to do it in a whole different style.

-i love that dewey and kit are like ‘ahaha we’re the normal ones though’ and their normal conversation is them literally going ‘hey these creepy fish are AWESOME THOUGH’ -i looked at so many fish. for hours. -ALL BECAUSE I came up with the phrase ‘oceanic intrigue’ as a fun phrase and decided I had to commit my soul to it and never look back. -oh, the fairy shrimp are really very cute though. and i think the cookiecutter shark is, fucked up but a neat little guy.

-i’m eternally going to be laughing about this too kit: where the fuck is frank frank: /three floors down, making out with jacques

-oh!! 40-49 is unassigned in the dewey decimal system (which I googled. many, many times.), and was previously biographies. there’s another section for biographies now, but because biography was the closest I could come to like, some sort of, identity category, I thought it was more fitting if it was the section that used to be biography but was now as blank as frank felt.

-dewey is the one responsible for the clock sounding like it does. he just thinks ‘wrong’ is a fun word. that, and frank recognizing jacques by sound, were from my earlier scene sketches for this when i thought this fic was going to be much, much shorter.

#lulu talks about the sad lemon man

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pink-flame · 3 years

Text

Not Working - For Lilly 💜

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LILLY!

For @chickwiththepurpleguitar

So, this is set in the world of WFW about a year after Julie left but it's not canon (yes I have my own canon 😂) within the WFW universe. In the world of my actual fic Luke and Bobby are just chaotic best friends/brothers who show their platonic love through fighting constantly. However, Lilly wanted Bobby pining after Luke in this universe and I love her so I have created this un-official splinter universe for her hc to live in. It does incorporate some of my actual ideas for the end of Sunset Curve in that original timeline though, just minus the pining. 😂 I hope you like it, my friend! 🥰(Also, I only went 100 words over our agreed upon word limit. Aren't you proud???)

It wasn’t working.

That was Bobby’s main thought as they packed up all their gear at the end of one of the final shows of their first tour. It was at least 2am, possibly later and they were all dragging as they forced their bodies through the second nature routine of getting everything safely into Beatrice. They had been all up and down the West Coast for the past few months, playing to decent sized crowds and getting a good response. The problem was this tour was supposed to be the thing that pushed them to the next level of success and that...that clearly wasn’t working.

Radio stations were completely uninterested in booking them to promote their performances.

Multiple venues had pulled out of hosting them at the last minute despite tickets already being sold, leaving them scrambling to find alternatives or canceling stops outright.

Even the company that printed their cheap t-shirts had politely declined their request to re-up their order.

It was like Sunset Curve had gone from being a band on the verge to a band on the verge of being unable to book a gig. None of this was that surprising given the fact that they had gone against Dec from Red Rose Records, an executive famous for holding grudges and exerting every bit of his influence to make things difficult for his targets. Part of Bobby had wanted to believe that Queenie would be able to intervene on their behalf, that she would finally stand up to her dad and find a way to make things easier for all of them. Part of him had wanted to believe she still cared enough about him to try.

Maybe she had and maybe she hadn’t and at the end of the day he couldn’t blame her either way. It had been a terrible situation all around...Luke’s attitude and Queenie’s dad insisting on that unfair contract and Bobby himself being completely incapable of putting everything out in the open when he was so scared of losing either Queenie or Luke. And that was to say nothing of Julie...all the absolute insanity that had been going on with Julie even though none of them knew it. It was because of her that he knew things could have gone much worse, could have ended with his friends dead and him as a hollow rockstar who betrayed the people he loved the most.

So even though he had loved Queenie (was probably still in love with her) and things with the band were quickly going downhill, he couldn’t bring himself to be entirely as depressed about those facts as he would have expected. He had his friends, they had each other, and they still had music. That wasn’t something anyone could take from them. It wasn’t perfect but it was enough. For him it was enough.

But he was also a realist and the reality was that things with the band weren’t working.

By the time they made it back to the questionable motel where they were staying for the night they were all dragging even more. Alex and Reggie disappeared into one of the rooms right away, barely pausing to wave goodnight to Bobby and Luke before they were shutting the door in their faces and presumably collapsing directly into bed. At the start of the tour they had all four shared a room in an effort to make their almost nonexistent tour budget stretch a little further but Alex had promptly declared Luke’s talking (and sometimes singing) in his sleep to be a crime against humanity and that to avoid him ending up with a murder charge they were going to need seperate rooms. Reggie had immediately started listing off various games he and Bobby could play to decide who got stuck sharing with Luke but Bobby had shut them all up by volunteering. That had earned him an odd look from Alex but Luke had clapped him on the back and made a speech about how it was nice to have someone on his side and the warm feeling that bloomed in Bobby’s chest was enough to help him forget opening his mouth meant he wouldn’t be sleeping much for the rest of the tour.

If he was being honest though he hadn’t exactly slept well for the better part of 2 years now. Even before Julie had arrived and all the madness that followed, Bobby had spent most nights laying awake for hours unable to fully ignore the fact that Luke was out in Wonderland curled up uncomfortably on that damn couch he still hadn’t figured out folded out. Bobby had spent a lot of time thinking about that and why exactly he could neither bring himself to go out and unfold the dumb bed himself and make sure Luke was ok or just fall asleep and ignore his friend’s relative comfort. So instead he had drifted off most nights tossing and turning, worrying about the boy who was so close and yet a world away.

So it really wasn’t that big of an adjustment for Bobby to be lying awake in various seedy motel rooms, trying no to think about how thoroughly the sheets had been cleaned and listening for the even breaths that would indicate his friend was getting some rest. He was often awakened again before long when Luke started talking in his sleep, snippets of nonsense bleeding into half-finished song lyrics fading into Julie’s name.

Bobby pretended to be asleep. He pretended not to hear.

He was a coward in some ways, always had been.

He didn’t have Alex’s wise advice or Reggie’s unexpected insights or Luke’s inspiring speeches. He didn’t have Queenie’s blunt truth telling. He didn’t even have Julie’s ability to make everything better simply by making sure you knew she was with you.

He just had good intentions and a tendency to avoid his problems, a useless combination.

But even he couldn’t ignore the way on this particular night Luke’s breathing never did even out. Instead, after barely twenty minutes of both of them lying still in their uncomfortable beds, Bobby listened as Luke slipped out of bed, pulled on his sneakers and slipped outside. He instantly sat up in the darkness and debated his next move. The typical Bobby move would be to lay back down and pretend he hadn’t noticed. That’s probably what Luke expected him to do. It might have even been what he wanted Bobby to do.

But Bobby was so sick of turning away and pretending he didn’t see what was happening around him. Pretending he didn’t see the blow up between Queenie and Luke coming, pretending he didn’t see that Julie was hiding something, pretending the writing wasn’t on the wall when it came to the future of Sunset Curve. Pretending he didn’t see how Luke still missed Julie like a phantom limb, an empty space that nonetheless managed to be an aching wound. Pretending Queenie didn’t represent the same to him. Pretending that despite the fact that he had loved Queenie (probably still did) he also thought...maybe...the other ache he felt came from loving something else...someone else...so much closer yet just as out of reach.

That wasn’t something he could ever say out loud. It just wasn’t. He was a realist and the reality was that Luke had loved Julie, still did and always would in a way that Bobby couldn’t fully understand even though he had witnessed it up close. He was never going to be the brave one, the one who told the truth just for the sake of doing it, just for an impossible chance.

So he couldn’t say out loud his inconvenient truth that maybe he had fallen in love with his best friend, just a little bit. He couldn’t.

But he could force his sock clad feet down onto the disgusting motel carpet. He could put his shoes on and slip outside and make sure his best friend was ok.

He could do that.

So he did.

At first as he blinked into the semi-darkness of the parking lot, a few flickering bulbs the only available source of light, he didn’t spot Luke at all. He felt a brief sense of rising panic flicker through him until the sound of shifting metal had his eyes darting over to the spot where Beatrice was parked. He squinted and could just make out Luke’s silhouette, hauling himself up onto the roof of Bobby’s van.

Bobby’s concern quickly melted into annoyance as he stomped over, coming to a stop next to his van and hissing up at the boy on top.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” Bobby demanded. “You’re going to put so many dents in the roof!”

Luke just scoffed, leaning over to peer down at Bobby with an annoyingly not at all repentant smile.

“Come on, Bobby,” He fired back. “Beatrice is 90% dents at this point. It’s part of her charm.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong there.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re up there,” Bobby grumbled.

Some of the cockiness drained out of Luke’s voice when he spoke again.

“Couldn’t sleep. Sometimes...sometimes looking at the stars helps.”

Bobby didn’t have to ask what exactly looking at the stars helped. He knew. And it wasn’t falling asleep.

It was missing Julie.

So Bobby didn’t fire back any of the relevant and bitingly hilarious retorts on the tip of his tongue. He simply sighed deeply before gripping the hood and hauling himself up to join his friend. If Luke was surprised by his decision he didn’t say anything, only reached his hand down to help pull Bobby up the rest of the way until they were both settled on the roof. Luke laid back and rested one of his arms behind his head as a pillow and Bobby mirrored him on the other side, their shoulders just brushing.

He had to admit, the view of the sky was a lot better than it had any right to be given where they were. Apparently they were just far enough outside of the city that the stars had a chance against the glow of civilization. The tiny pinpricks of light stretched out as far as he could see, their patterns and forms probably lost on Luke but he doubted his friend had come up here for a lesson on constellations and myths so Bobby kept his mouth shut.

Or at least he did for about 30 seconds before he glanced over at Luke and immediately regretted that decision. It was too hard to ignore all of the things he had been working so hard lately to ignore when they were this close.

He cleared his throat and brought his focus back to the reason he had followed Luke out in the first place.

“Any better?” He asked simply, rolling his head back to its original position so he could stare at the much safer vision of the stars again.

Bobby felt Luke shrug, his shoulder jostling against Bobby’s briefly.

“A little,” He said, sucking in a deep breath and then releasing it. “I just figure these are probably the same stars Julie’s looking at, you know?”

“Except for the ones obscured by 25 years of additional light pollution,” Bobby agreed.

“Wow, thanks, buddy,” Luke said dejectedly.

Bobby sighed and tried again.

“You know none of the stars we’re seeing are actually as they appear now, right? They’re so far away that even though that light is traveling to us extremely quickly it can still take years to get here.”

“I didn’t come up here for Bobby’s science time,” Luke mumbled.

“I’m saying that looking at the stars is like looking into the past,” Bobby insisted. “Julie’s probably not only looking up at the same stars, some of the one’s she’s seeing are how they appeared right here, right now. Isn’t that kind of cool?”

There was a brief pause giving Bobby just enough time to wonder if he had blown it again before Luke answered.

“Yeah,” Luke grumbled begrudgingly. “That is cool.”

Bobby couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction at that. Science could be comforting at times even if literature was his first love. The point was it had worked and he and Luke were back on solid ground again, or at least back on the creaking and protesting roof of his poor van.

“Have you heard from Queenie?” Luke asked, startling Bobby from his thoughts.

Bobby stiffened and shook his head before realizing it was too dark for Luke to see that gesture.

“Nah,” He answered, keeping his voice forcibly casual.

“Sorry,” Luke said simply.

“I’m sorry it’s still so hard,” Bobby returned. “Without Julie.”

“It’s fine,” Luke replied quickly. “Well, not fine, it’s hard everyday. You know that, but...I’m ok. I really am. You don’t have to worry.”

“But I obviously do,” Bobby snapped before realizing his mistake. “I mean all of us do.”

If Luke noticed his slip he didn’t comment on it.

“I’m always going to miss her,” He said softly. “But I believe she’s happy with her family and I have you guys and music and I’m happy too. Mostly. Usually.”

Bobby tried and failed not to let that traitorous warmth grow in his chest again at the thought of being one of the things that made Luke happy.

It wasn’t working.

So he turned his attention to the other thing that wasn’t working, the other conversation they needed to have, in an effort to distract himself.

“The tour’s almost over,” He started carefully. “Time to make some decisions.”

Luke let out another one of those deep breaths, Bobby instinctively scooting just half an inch closer until he could reassure himself with the feeling of Luke’s next inhale.

“I know,” Luke acknowledged, his voice sounding tired but not pained.

“Dec’s never going to let this band make it big,” Bobby continued gently. “And we’re almost out of money. Again.”

“I know that too,” Luke said softly. “I just wanted to finish out the tour before I made myself accept it. Even with all the struggling it has been pretty rad, hasn’t it?”

Bobby thought back to the hours and hours of driving in a smelly van and the gross motels and the cancellations and the crappy pay and the absolutely crushing exhaustion. He also thought back to the time spent with his best friends, and the small crowds singing their words back to them, and their dream, or at least some small portion of it that they had scraped and bled to come true.

He thought of Luke’s elated grin when they were playing their first song every night.

“Yeah,” He agreed with a soft smile that he knew Luke wouldn’t be able to see. “It’s been pretty rad.”

“We could keep trying…” Luke offered half-heartedly. “If we keep pushing long enough maybe something in this industry will give.”

“Or we’ll end up washed up and hating each other,” Bobby countered.

“That’s another possibility,” Luke sighed yet again. “But this is all we’ve got, Bobby.”

“Reggie’s been applying to film schools,” Bobby said, cringing at the groaning metal noise that came with Luke’s surprised reaction as he rolled toward his friend.

“He has? Why didn’t he tell me?” Luke asked.

“Nobody wants to let you down,” Bobby explained gently, turning his head to meet Luke’s confused gaze. “We love music, we do. We wanted this, so badly, you know that. But...it’s not like it is for you. It’s not...everything.”

“He could have told me,” Luke grumbled. “I would have been happy for him. I am happy for him.”

“Hey, you can tell him that tomorrow,” Bobby reassured him. “I figure we’re due for one last band meeting.”

“This sucks,” Luke huffed out, turning his head back up to the stars. “Like I don’t have any regrets cause we gave it our best shot, and I want all of you to be happy even if that’s not in the band. But on top of...well, everything else...it still sucks.”

“Yeah,” Bobby agreed simply. “It really sucks.”

“What are you going to do?” Luke asked.

“I don’t know,” Bobby offered honestly. “Maybe go to college? Study literature or psychology.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to be a shrink like your parents,” Luke teased.

“Hey, I think we’ve all proven that there are a lot of kids out there who could use someone to talk to about their messed up family dynamics,” Bobby said.

“Too bad they might get stuck talking to you,” Luke joked, bumping his shoulder with Bobby’s and sending an incredibly annoying shock of happiness through him.

“Shut up,” Bobby mumbled, not meaning it. Not at all.

There were a few seconds of silence before Luke spoke up again.

“I really am happy for all of you to do whatever you want,” He said firmly. “Seriously. But I can’t give up on music.”

“I know,” Bobby said softly. “It won’t be easy.”

“Hey,” Luke replied. “I figure impossible is relative in my life at this point.”

Bobby couldn’t resist a short bark of laughter at that.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

They were silent again for a few long moments before Bobby found just enough courage to give voice to one last fear.

“Hey, Luke? We’re still going to be friends right?”

Luke’s answer came quickly.

“Of course, man. You’re my best friend. Band or no band.”

Bobby nodded, not caring this time that Luke couldn’t see him. When he answered he could hear the held back tears in his voice and he was pretty sure Luke could too.

“Band or no band.”

Luke reached out blindly and latched his hand around Bobby’s, just for a second, but the contact was enough to leave Bobby’s fingers tingling long after his friend had retracted his.

He tried to pretend that it was just the result of some kind of electric shock but…it wasn’t working.

Still.

He couldn’t bring himself to be sad about managing to fall in love with yet another person who couldn’t give him everything he wanted.

Julie had taught them a lot of things but one of the big ones was that something didn’t have to end the way you hoped it would for it to be beautiful, and meaningful and worth it. Love didn’t have to be forever or even returned in the same way to be beautiful, and meaningful and worth it.

Bobby had loved both Queenie and Luke (he probably still did) and he didn’t regret either.

Queenie would always be someone he wished the best for from afar and Luke?

Luke would always be his best friend.

Band or no band.

And that would keep working

He would make sure of it.

#my fics #we found wonderland vibes #lobby #lukebobby #not canon #but some delicious pining for my friend #because what is friendship if not creating ultra specific splinter universes to cater to each other's tastes #HAPPY BIRTHDAY LILLY

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antman-56 · 4 years

Text

I Know

“Ah Joker.”

“I know.”

Right now both Mona and Akira were being followed by a very nosy Makoto Niijima.

Right now she was behind them reading this weeks manga release.

They had noticed her following them after the Madarame incident. He will admit he didn’t notice her until Mona said he felt uneasy. It wasn’t until they were near Untouchable that Akira felt the same feeling and quickly turned around to see a familiar face duck behind the corner of the alley.

This has been going on for a week now. and he figured out her pattern. She would wait until he left his last class and follow him until 8 pm.

Sometimes longer when he’s with Iwai or when he was in the clinic whenever he was with Takemi-san.

“She’s doing a very bad job at being hidden.”

“I know.”

Akira found the game they played enjoyable. She tried so hard to try and find proof that he had some info on the Phantom Thieves, not knowing he was the leader.

“What should we do then. She’s being annoying.”

“Lets just waste her time.”

“So, same plan like last time or something new?.”

“Well Takemi-san is still looking through the data and Ann and Ryuji are on a date. (Mona grew a small, sinister, dark aura on being reminded, AGAIN) And Yusuke is being Yusuke.”

“So, how do we kill time.”

“Wanna see if Iwai needs help?”

“Isn’t that the opposite of what we want?”

“Were just being a part timer in a respectable business and being upstanding citizens on top of it.”

“Your picking up some of his habits.”

***A little later, Outside Untouchable***

Makoto just saw Akira walk into the Air Soft Store. He has visited the store quite frequently, was he a worker? A regular? Or was their something more to it? He would spend hours in there and come out later then she could actually afford to watch.

Her sister had given her a harsh lecture when she came home at 1 in the morning.

She heard of the shady stuff that went on in there, mostly stuff with the Yakuza, but right now she couldn’t help but worry a little bit for Akira.

He may be a suspect in her investigation but he was still a student. Maybe he was innocent in all of this and was dragged into it? Maybe she could help him?

That was why she was ready this time.

Right at her side would be her tool in finding the first step to the Phantom Thieves.

***Inside***

Akira was up by the register and Iwai was in the back.

Iwai knew of the problem and gladly helped Akira out. He would let him stay in the shop and fix the guns he bought as long as he helped around when their were customers or the occasional police harassment. In all honesty, he felt like he had another son.

Right now, Akira was cleaning Ryuji’s Fury shotgun, his face showed annoyance on how misused this thing looked. He was so caught up in fixing it that he didn’t notice the door being opened.

DING

Akira dropped his attention from the weapon and looked up.

If only he could take a picture.

In came Makoto, wearing a blue bandanna over her hair, sunglasses, a biker jacket with a red shirt and black biker jeans.

She looked like a the thug from the western cartoons.

Makoto looked at Akira with shock, worry, and fear.

Here in front of her was Akira with a shotgun in his hands.

Akira noticing what she was looking at put the shotgun under the counter.

“It’s a fake”, He said hoping it would put her at ease.

It really didn’t.

“So, how can I help you miss?” He said with his customer smile.

Makoto shook her head and meet his smiling face with her shaky stoic face.

“I’m looking for a gun for my little brother.”

She was prepared. She had a story to help her questioning and kinda hoped he wouldn’t really pry into it said story.

Akira could already see right through her. He decided to play along, just to see the panicking look on her face if she was caught off guard.

“Well what guns is he interested in? Automatics, semi, explosives, syfy, something with a kick or easy to handle?”

He couldn’t help but smile a bit more when she struggled to pick what gun her fake brother wanted.

“Automatic.”

“Well then your in luck because we just received an advanced shipment of the AR-X.”

Akira then proceeded to walk over to were the rifle was displayed, took it out. and walked back up to her.

“This baby looks as realistic as the gun it’s based on and is one of the few things that would make any gun enthusiasts in Japan jump with excitement.”

Akira showed the weapon with pride and began to explain in detail why you would want to buy it.

***Outside***

After staying longer than she should have, Makoto left. After asking questions like; what kind of customers entered the store, how often do people buy guns and if she could talk to the owner for his recommendations or to place a custom order. She realized she was hitting dead ends.

She was a bit disappointed on how things played out and kinda embarrassed that she was forced to buy a fake revolver with the rest of her allowance.

She hoped her sister would not search her once she got home.

***Inside***

After she left and a few minutes went by Akira began to laugh.

The look on her face was priceless when she tried to improvise on the spot.

And she bought a gun at the end of it.

He definetly had to tell Mona about this.

In the back Iwai gave a quiet chuckle.

The kid was a natural.

***Two Days Later***

.”When will she give up.” Mona complained.

“Well she did try to spy on Ryuji’s and Ann’s date yesterday and they said they would owe me one if I could take her this time.”

“How about we tell her that Ryuji’s said she was annoying and then after she could kicks his-”

“Mona what did Ann say.”

“If he hurts her then I can kick his ass.”

“Before that.”

“Be nice.”

They began to discuss their plan as Makoto hid behind a fashion magazine this time.

She was at the other end of the train car to Yongen-Jaya.

She was speculating were he was heading off to. It was either the laundry mat or to go to that clinic. And with a little research it has a reputation of being able to heal almost everything.

She could see him on his phone and smiling. Maybe a message about another change of heart or nothing at all.

She had to know!!

As he exited the passenger car, she quickly followed.

He was going to the clinic.

When he entered she waited by the entrance and waited until she knew he would be in the exam room.

***Inside***

“You do know testing experimental tonics isn’t really helpful to me? Right?”

“I know but I want to waste her time.”

Tae looked at her guinea pig curiously.

“Why would you like to waste her time? It’s not like your doing anything ill- more illegal?”

Akira was stumped. But quickly came up with an answer.

“Well I like a good laugh when see tries to be sneaky.”

“If I didn’t know any better it would sound like you like being followed.”

“You caught me, that’s my kink.”

“Whatever. Just don’t... don’t play too long with her, okay.”

Akira hummed a response as he’s laid on the Patient’s bed in the room, his arms behind his head, eyes closed and a smile on his face. His only wish was to see her face behind the glass window on the door..

Tae looked at the door and saw a silhouette. She reached for another tonic.

“Here, try this one now.”

Akira reached for it and downed the whole thing.

It tasted sweet, like the color pink.

He suddenly felt his body lighten up.

“Subject lasted longer than expected. This is should be a nice prescription for people with insomnia.”

Akira was in bliss. His body felt relaxed and his head felt light.

The last thing he could see was Tae smiling.

On the other side of the door. Makoto was trying to brace herself from barging in demanding to know what she had done to him or from calling the police.

Tae obviously knowing she was being spied on went to check his vitals for the girls sake.

“Looks like the drug can actually help him. Kid has been having trouble sleeping.” She made something up on the spot and made sure to say it loud enough so the girl wouldn’t draw the wrong conclusions.

“Now to see how long it lasts.”

Makoto left the clinic and decided to just wait outside.

Tae saw the silhouette move away.

“(sigh) Teenagers.”

***Much Later***

She was about to go home when he walked out of the clinic and was now walking to Leblanc. It looked like he had a skip in his step and he looked happy.

She saw him enter the cafe and then quickly leave with two thermoses.

He was on the move and he didn’t have his bag. She made sure to follow procedure.

After awhile they were now in a park. He was sitting on a table, just looking at the sky. He would drink out of his thermos every now and again.

Was he waiting for someone? A meeting? A report? Why was he here?

It wasn’t until she saw Takamaki-san enter her view. She had an umbrella in one hand and a flashlight in the other, and was dressed prettier than she was with Ryuji. Was she- NO!! Their was no way!!

She put the umbrella over them and turned on the flashlight, so Makoto could only see their shadows.

“You know this is messed up. Right.” Ann said it more as a statement than a question.

“Ryuji is across the lake with binoculars watching the both of us. And our friend.”

“Still it seems kinda wrong.”

“We aren’t kissing or anything. And this is to make her think she’s wasting her time. I mean do you like it when she spied on your guyes date.”

“True. She did sit in the booth right next to us.”

“So, lets think she’s seeing two friends hang out. With a suggestion to make her mind explode.”

/”I CAN HEAR YOU!!!”

Akira and Ann flinched at the sudden screaming in their ear.

“Ryuji you agreed to this and nothing will happen. You think I would betray my best friend.”

“ I know but- wait I’M your best friend!!”

“You were my first friend since I got here of course your my best friend.”

Ann could do nothing but laugh at the moment her guys were having. The way the shadows looked it made Makoto wonder what were they doing. Are they dating secretly? What is making her giggle? And why dose she feel the need to scream and pull her hair out?

/“Holyt Shit!!Guys I think the last train leaves in a few minutes can we rap this up!!”

“How about we finish the show for her.”

“Lets hope for the best.”

Both Ann and Akira put their faces side by side of each other to make the illusion of them kissing to their known stalker.

Makoto just stayed in he position and covered her mouth to yell at them. She began to shake from rage but was barely controlling herself for the sake of the students who have entrusted her and the school council to help them .

After they were done they got up and began to walk towards the train station. They made sure to go by Makoto’s position.

“Thank you again for helping me with practicing for the audition for that movie Akira.”

“Anytime. I just hope Ryuji doesn't find out. That felt so wrong.”

“Well I am staring in movies from here on out. And if he has a problem with it then I guess he doesn’t have to walk the red carpet with me.”

They both continued their conversation until they reached the station and said their farewells.

Makoto let out a sigh of relief when Takamaki-san said it was for a movie role and that it wasn’t a love scandal.

“Wait why did I do that.” She wondered.

She began to wonder why the thought of Akira with someone else made her react that way.

Either way it was late and she needed to get home otherwise her sister would have her head. Again.

***Leblanc Attic***

“Joker where have you been!!” Mona screamed.

“Just having my fun for tonight.” Akira said happily. Like a kid who just played his favorite video game.

“Well get some sleep. Last thing we need is you falling asleep in class.”

Akira complied and went to his bed. Plotting how to waste her time on her free day.

***Niijima Residence***

Makoto just got home and was thankful that today was one of the late shifts her sister has been having.

Here she was alone and coming out of the roller coaster that was today.

The moment after school he went to a shady doctor to test out a sleeping tonic and then he helps Takamki-san by practicing for a role for a movie? Not to mention she almost blew her cover when they kissed. Which she was still trying to figure out why she cared if he was dating someone.

But It was nothing like yesterday when she saw him holding a gun at the Air Soft Store, granted it was fake, but what would the police have done if they went in and saw THAT!!

She took a deep breath. Tomorrow was another day for her to see if he keeps it up.

He is the only lead she has about the Phantom Thieves and once she has proof of how he and his friends are connected to them, or if they’re not, then she would decide to tell the authorities.

But right now her bed is calling for her. And she needed it.

The last thing that came to her mind before sleep overtook her was when Akira smiled at her in the park.

She didn’t question if he knew she was their or if he knew she was following him all along.

She just didn’t care at the moment.

But apart of her hoped.

She was starting to like the game they were playing.

#persona 5 #persona 5 akira #makoto niijima #morgana #mona #persona au #ann takamaki #ryuji sakamoto #tae takemi #light fluff #akira x makoto #wholesome #makoto x joker

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ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

Text

Eidolon 8 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr

8. Double Teamed

It had been an incredibly trying day, and Winston was more than glad to be home. Chaos greeted him as he walked into work and had remained until it the end of the day. His ears were still ringing from a rather vicious call from a mother claiming that the school was somehow brainwashing her child. Although it was quite possible that one of the teachers had said something questionable in class, he highly doubted that aliens were in any way involved. To make matters worse, he was forced to go to a meeting afterwards with one of Vlad's representatives, which ended up being far more problematic.

The representative as well as the state mediator (who had been sent to babysit them) explicitly told him that a date had been set for a hearing, and if the judge found that the accusations were valid, than Danny's case would go to court. It sounds simple enough, but Winston had no idea where Vlad had managed to get his so called evidence. Maltreatment of a child? That was preposterous! He had done the best that he could to take care of the boy, and although he was nowhere near perfect, he felt that Danny was growing up just fine. How Vlad managed to convince the state that there was a problem was beyond him.

What was even more surprising was learning that the date for the hearing was so soon, just after Danny's birthday. Due to how busy the U.S. court system could be, it could take months to years for a hearing to occur, let alone an actual case. Yet, he was going to have to deal with one in just a couple weeks. It was, for lack of a better word, uncanny. It was possible that there just happened to be an opening that particular day, but it was more likely that Vlad had somehow used him money to move up the date.

There was just something not right about the entire mess, and the more Winston thought about it the more he became convinced there was something else to the motives of the eccentric billionaire. When the representative called his boss during the meeting and mentioned when the date was, the man seemingly lost it. Although Winston could not make out any of the words, it was very clear that something about the date was in no ways appealing. It was also odd that Vlad had managed to convince the state of a possible problem with Danny's current situation. With there being no previous reports, complaints, or evidence it seemed utterly ridiculous that the state would have taken such a claim seriously, especially without having sent their own investigator out.

He also had a sinking suspicion that Vlad was somehow involved with Plasmius, but there was no way to prove it. The strange co-appearance of the two had strengthened previous misgivings that had been brought up by the letters the Fentons had sent him prior to their disappearance. But Vlad was too intelligent to have any dealings with a creature like Plasmius. They could be in contact through a second party, but that would be stretching it as well. There was also the fact that Vlad had alluded to having knowledge about what was currently plaguing Danny. If that was true, how would he have gotten that knowledge?

A throbbing pain interrupted his thoughts. The migraine he had been trying to ignore throughout the day was no longer manageable through willpower alone. As he searched the kitchen cabinets for some medicine that could take the bite out of the pain, he tried to push the previous thoughts from his mind. It was true that Vlad's motives did not seem to add up, but it was probably nothing more than the man's unusual nature. Paranoia and anger can be some of the best motivators of the imagination.

It was probably in his best interest to lie down once he managed to take the medicine, but he figured that he should at least try to get some idea of how he was going to break the news to Danny first. The boy had finally gotten out of the funk he had been in after being informed about what had happened to his parents with the help the apparent help of his friends. It had been their idea to have a sleepover tonight, since tomorrow was the start of the weekend, to help keep him in good spirits. Winston had been very glad that they had been worried enough to try and get through to him. Everything he had tried with the boy had failed miserably, and had been considering taking him to a psychiatrist if his closed off mood continued.

As he thought about it, he figured that it would probably be best to explain the situation fully once Danny returned home. He had tried to keep most of the details hidden as to not worry the boy, but with the severity of the current situation, the time for secrets was over. Danny was going to need to know exactly what to expect.

He sighed as he rubbed his forehead. His migraine was getting worse. After checking to make sure that all of the legal papers he was going to need within the next few days were organized, he decided to turn in for the night.

….

Getting to sleep was harder than Winston thought he would. His migraine prevented any position from being comfortable. After about twenty minutes, he had finally managed to start to doze when a strange noise caught his attention. Sitting bolt upright, he strained his ears for any further noise. The house seemed quite enough and his throbbing headache was a compelling enough reason to go back to sleep.

As he lay back down, a severe chill crept over his body. Knowing that the situation was quickly becoming dangerous, he slowly reached down to retrieve the gun that was hidden under the mattress.

"Do you really think that toy will be effective against me?"

He had rolled out of bed as soon as the voice had begun to speak. A moment later, he was standing with his gun trained on the specter. "Plasmius…." he hissed, "what do you want?"

The ghost smiled as it placed its hands behind its back. "Normally, I would say the boy, but he's currently not here at the moment, is he?"

"If you already knew that, why did you come?" Winston asked while trying to determine a possible escape route. Of course the ghost had placed itself between him and the door.

"It's simple, really," it told him with a flourish. "The current chain of events is moving a bit too slowly for my liking, so I'm speeding it up a bit by removing you from the equation."

Winston cocked the weapon in his hands as he readied himself for any sign of attack. "Sorry to burst your bubble," he told it as he slowly started to move towards the door, "but if I'm gone, Danny will just be sent to Vlad Masters. And believe me when I tell you that the man has the money to get what's needed to keep you away."

An amused laugh answered him. Winton eyed the specter carefully as he asked, "What's so funny?"

"Because that's exactly what I want to happen," it replied as it suddenly fired a plasma ray at him.

He barely managed to dodge, and by the time he had caught himself, another blast was coming his way. The strange cool but burning energy sent him flying backwards into the wall when it hit. After sliding down the wall, he glanced up at his attacker. "I don't understand," he told it as he winced. The attack had done some damage to his ribs.

It laughed again as it approached him. "With as intelligent as you are surely you've noticed that there's some sort of connection between myself and Masters. Only, it's far more complicated than you think it is." As it spoke, a strange black ring of energy came into existence around its waist before it split. Both halves of the ring traveling along both halves of its body as it melded its appearance into that of Vlad Masters. "Ta da. It's a handy little trick, don't you think?"

Winston had seen a great deal during the course of his life, especially after having served in the military, but not even that had prepared him for such a shocking event. "Wh-what are you?" he stuttered.

"Me?" the billionaire asked with faked surprise. "I'm the same as young Daniel is… or I should say will be once his birthday comes around."

It suddenly became apparent to Winston why Vlad had been so angry during the phone call earlier. The hearing would fall after Danny's birthday… after he became… He didn't even want to think about it.

"Did you know that Jack and Maddie had gone into the field of paranormal studies in order to find a cure for their son's 'aliment' years before he was even conceived?" Vlad gave him a disgusted look as he… it began to pace. "They knew what a child of theirs could end up being, but they failed to see the truth of the matter… The boy would be given gifts that no human could ever dream of understanding. So, I did the boy a favor and got rid of them. But, unbeknownst to me at the time, they had thrown a wrench into my plans, you!" It glared at him as the black rings formed again and returned it to its proper appearance. "But after tonight, that's not going to matter anymore."

"And I say that it's not going to be as easy as you think, you crazed-up fruit loop!" he shouted as he raised his gun, stared into those crimson eyes, and fired.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Guys, after everything that's happened, do you really think it's a good idea for us to be out, in the park, alone, at night?" Tucker asked as he followed behind him and Sam. His voice betrayed just how frightened he was.

Sam just rolled her eyes as she continued to walk. "Wasn't it you who said that the ghost couldn't leave its haunt?"

"Well, yeah… but…"

"But what? Come on and live a little!"

Danny smiled as he watched his two friends argue. Although he too was a little wary about being alone, he figured that nothing too bad could happen to them. Ignoring the ghost that appeared on Wednesday, Amity Park was usually a very safe place to live, even at night.

It was Sam who managed to once again convince them to come out at night. Though, this time, he wasn't exactly sure if it was to talk privately or just to get away from her parents. She had decided to have a sleepover at her house because she thought that they were out of town, but something had prevented them from going. He couldn't forget the look of horror she wore when they entered her impressively large house to find them waiting for her. In a way, it was apparent why she didn't like them too much; they were dressed very brightly and had an unusually sunny disposition making them the complete opposite of their daughter. After having dragged himself and Tucker into her room, she apologized, much to his surprise.

"So Danny," Sam said suddenly, catching his attention, "have you heard anything new about what's going on with your case?"

"No, not really… Winston had mentioned on the phone earlier that he was supposed to be going to a meeting for it today. I guess I'll find out tomorrow if anything happened," he replied with a shrug while trying to keep his voice neutral. Winston had kept saying that everything was fine, but a worried expression seemed to be appearing on his face more and more after getting off of the phone with anyone who had anything to do with the case.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Tucker asked, his voice betraying a strange mixture of hope and concern.

Danny shrugged and continued walking. Although it concerned him, without having a lot of information, he couldn't get too worked up about it. "So, pushing that aside, what's going on in the realm of the normal?" Little did he know how much trouble he would get into by Sam from just using the word 'normal'.

….

After a few hours of walking around the park and having Tucker continue to complain, the three of them decided to return to Sam's house. Although he couldn't be certain, he was fairly sure that it was after midnight. There was just something about the silence combined with the lack of cars or other people that suggested it.

There was something about the night that was concerning him. Perhaps it was the paranoia of everything else that had happened weighing down on him, but the shadows seemed to be darker and more defined than usual. The feeling of being watched was also present, though this time, he was unable to see any movement.

A cold chill ran through his body. Thinking it was just the wind, he hugged himself hoping to gain a little more warmth as they walked. "Dude, are you okay?" Tucker asked, surprising him.

"Yeah," he replied as he tried not to let his teeth chatter. "I'm just a little cold." His friends looked like they were about to shrug it off until he and they noticed that his breath was slowly becoming visible. He stared at the misty vapor as it formed for a moment before disappearing. Had it really gotten that cold?

After sharing a look, both Sam and Tucker grabbed his arms and began marching, for a better lack of a word, towards the entrance of the park. "Guys, stop! What's wrong with you?" he demanded as he yanked his arms out of their grip.

"Um, Danny, I don't know if you've noticed, but every time something weird happens to you, something weirder happens," Sam told him.

"And after hearing about what happened last time, I really don't want to be around when it does," Tucker continued.

He just stared at them. "What do you mean weird? It's just cold out here!"

"That's the thing. It's not the temperature that's cold, it's actually you," Sam tried to explain. "I don't know what it is, but you're skin's like ice, and I'm fairly certain that you weren't like that earlier."

Danny frowned as he looked at his hands. How was that even possible?

"Anyways," Sam told him with an uncertain tone as she gave him a slight push, "let's get you back to my house so that we can get you a blanket. No matter what other weird stuff is going on with you, it is probably not a good idea for you to continue to be that cold."

He grudgingly agreed and allowed himself to follow his friends. An uncomfortable silence fell between them as they walked, which really began to grate on his nerves. Okay, so he was cold. That was a problem how? Not all that strange. Falling through solid objects, on the other hand? That was a completely different matter.

As they approached the street a high pitched whine disturbed the night. He had just enough time after noticing the initial flash of light to make some sort of noise and tackle both of his friends to the ground. The sharp vibrations that followed verified his initial fears.

"What was that for?" Sam demanded as she pushed him off of her.

"You're welcome," he replied sarcastically as he stood up and glanced around. Something told him that was just the opening for something much larger.

"Um, guys…" A hand was tugging on his pant leg. Glancing down, he saw Tucker pointing at something. The boy's face was as white as a sheet, which was rather impressive for how dark his natural skin color was. Danny allowed himself to take a look and gasped. Where the three of them had been standing only moments before, the ground was warped and destroyed. Whatever that light had been, it was certainly strong and dangerous. He did not want to think about what could have happened if they hadn't moved.

The feeling of being grabbed startled him, but he quickly learned it was just Tucker using him as leverage to help stand back up. "What… what was that?" His voice was little more than a frightened squeak.

Danny did not replay immediately. Inwardly cursing that there weren't more lights in the park, he tried to find any sign of where the source could have been. There was absolutely nothing! No shadow, no further noise; just an eerie silence that was only broken by the sound of breathing. "I-I'm not sure…" he told his friends hesitantly as he turned back towards them. "But, we need to get out of here… Wait… what was that?"

A strange noise had broken through the silence and was quickly becoming louder. It was difficult to place what it could be, but it definitely had a metallic sound to it. But there was an unusual sort of hitching within the sound, which almost made it seem like it was laughing.

"Come on!" Sam's sharp tone brought him back to reality as she again tried pulling on him and Tucker. "I really don't think that we want to be around when that thing shows itself." She had just managed to get them moving again when another blast hit nearby sending them back to the ground.

He must have hit the ground pretty hard because the next thing he knew, Tucker was trying to shake him awake. "I'm okay…" Danny told his friend as he tried to push himself up. As he did, he could feel something wet beginning to run down his face. Great, he was bleeding, but he was going to have to push that aside, escaping was far more important.

After a few more heart pounding moments, the three of them had managed to get to the outskirts of the park. Taking a hesitant breather, they scanned the area hoping that they were free of whatever had just attacked them.

Thankful for the temporary break, Danny took the chance to wipe the blood off his face and out of his eye. If he was going to have to run again, he really did not want any other distractions. Grimacing at the sight of his blood covered hand, he realized that he was going to get the cut taken care of as soon as possible. He was also going to have to figure out what else had managed to get on his face. Although it was faint, there was an odd looking green color that had gotten mixed into it.

"Danny! Behind you!"

The fear in Sam's voice was nothing like he had ever heard before. Startled, he turned to see what was wrong and found himself face to face with the barrel of a gun.

"I have you now, ghost child."

#Eidolon #danny phantom #danny phantom au #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #dp #dp au #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #vlad plasmius #fantasy #supernatural #paranormal #alternate universe

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rosesareviolentlyread · 4 years

Text

Prelude: These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

First post on whump and of course I decide to take my truly darkest plot and use it. I’m not sure where this is on the dark scale for this community, but I mean I guess beware? CW: Self-harm, possibly implied suicide attempt, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, box boy setting, pet whump setting, modern slavery, domestic abuse, parental abuse, self-whump, caretaker as whumper

Thanks to @ashintheairlikesnow for both inspiring me and also letting me use Karen Renford, who may make an appearance in another piece with Ward about his particular taste in pets. “Amen, amen. But come what sorrow can,

It cannot countervail the exchange of joy

That one short minute gives me in her sight.

Do thou but close our hands with holy words,

Then love-devouring death do what he dare;

It is enough I may but -”

DING-DING-DING-DONG….DONG-DING-DING-DONG

The nine-chimed tune interrupts the man’s gravely reading of Shakespeare, causing him to blink, squinting in the fading light of the fireplace at the old grandfather clock that has moved on to loud BONGS to state the late hour.

Pulling off his glasses, the old man rubs at an eye “Oh my, is it already ten? Well, it’s best off to bed for both of us. We can pick up tomorrow”

In the opposite plush leather armchair, a blonde girl blinks herself awake. Only a round, soft face is visible beneath a warm-knit blanket that cocoons her against the chair like a fly in a spider’s web.

“But Mr. Richard we were ju-u-u-st getting to the good part” Though she pouts her lip, tilting her head slightly with wide eyes to get her way, a yawn betrays her own exhaustion.

“We can continue tomorrow, Juliet. I know you’ve memorized it already anyways. Now why don’t you run along to bed, pet? I’ve had Anita put on the heavy down comforter, we don’t want you catching another cold. I’ll be up in a minute” The man’s blue eyes drift fondly to the girl, snuggled close by the fire.

Outside the window, soft snowfall signaled the coming of winter for his mountain home. He’d originally intended for them to seek warmer weather, perhaps in the villa in Italy. It was better for Juliet’s health, but seeing the girl enjoy winter was something they’d been unable to do for a while. With luck, she’d stay healthy enough they could enjoy it for a little longer.

“Yes, Mr. Richard. Goodnight” With a tired smile, she wraps the overly large blanket around herself like a cloak, looking all the part a child playing dress-up. Warm lips press to the top of his white-haired head, small arms gently embracing him as well as they could from behind the large chair. With practiced ease, he rubs a warm circle on the back of one slender hand, eliciting a slight purr from the girl. And then she was gone, drifting through the house in her makeshift white cloak like a ghost.

Richard Ward sat for a minute enjoying the fire. He was a lucky man. To have such a wonderful pet, who, while frail, enjoyed every moment of his presence. Who was devoted to every caring touch. The hours of reading to her in fevered delirium, to wheeling her in the garden when her legs refused to work, to petting her head softly when pain made sleep impossible.

Richard Ward had learned to cherish the bad and the good in life. In business he’d learned to find opportunity in every situation. Unfortunately, it took the death of his own son for him to take that moment into his personal life. But now, with Juliet, he cherished the times in health as well as sickness.

Now, he lived for every moment, every pain and pleasure, intertwined. With the fortune he’d amassed he could do right by his Juliet, by the world. He’d take care of Juliet forever, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow as the Bard said.

But first, he had to wait for tomorrow, and Richard Ward didn’t think five more minutes by the fire could hurt its pace.

So he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of fire, happiness, and family, content with his life.

And woke no more.

----

In the middle of the night, some phantom pain bolts Juliet upright, covered in her own sweat. The blood of her heart pounds hot in her ears. Nightmares of fear and pain were common in her life, but so was their instant remedy: Mr. Richard.

So wrapped in the same blanket as earlier, she pads down the hall, letting the warm glow of lights made to look like flickering candles illuminate her way.

“M-mr. Richard?” Her eyes feel wet with automatic tears, lip and voice trembling with an unpracticed, inherent ease. Enough to show fear, but not enough to look ugly. She knew she looked ugly when she cried.

The old oak door to his room creaks open, revealing the same soft flickering light by an empty four-poster bed. With a sigh, fear almost forgotten, she heads for the grand stairs, back to the drawing room. Her silly old man had probably fallen asleep in his chair again. But that was alright.

Maybe if she was good, if she made up a convincing nightmare, he’d keep reading to her until she fell asleep. Would rub the sore spots she could never tell if were real or imagined any more. The mere thought brought a smile to her face, a quick pace to her light steps.

But when she entered the room, she found no warmth. The fire had died out into crumbling embers, letting a chill in through the chimney. Yet even its breeze that threatened to freeze her bones didn’t seem to be able to move the suffocating stillness. She felt it creep into her veins, wrong, as she fearfully walked over to Mr. Richard, sat still in the chair facing the only dying light.

But her eyes softened to see his sleeping face, book open in his lap with eyeglasses set in the spine. The moonlight highlighted his pale, wrinkled face, but it was one she loved. One that took care of her, no matter how much trouble she was.

Gently she placed a kiss to his forehead to wake him, already imagining his warm touch on her aching limbs-

Only to be met with the same ice in her veins. With the same stillness that threatened to stop her chest.

“M-Mr. Richard?” She wobbled out, voice honest, not practiced. Truly imperfect, instead of perfectedly so.

But his body didn’t move.

So she touched his shoulder. And then grabbed it. And then shook it.

But his body didn’t move.

Juliet felt her breath come in small gasps, like when she was sick. But she wasn’t sick, was she? Was this a bad dream? No. Because Mr. Richard woke her from bad dreams but now he wouldn’t wake up.

No, she just couldn’t wake him, because everything was fine. When everything was fine, Mr. Richard was sad, a kind of slow sad where the world felt too perfectly wrong, too boring. So she just had to make it wrong to make everything perfect again.

So Juliet did what she’d been trained to do. She reached for the book, for the crisp page, and quickly slid her finger along it until sharp pain and blood dripped warmly from the edge.

A whimper from her throat, and she held the wrist as more and more blood, impossibly warm from how cold she felt ran almost black in the barely light down her wrist.

“Mr. Richard, I cut myself, c-can you kiss it better?” Honey voiced, thick, almost saccharine but something felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, her voice couldn’t be right.

But his body didn’t move.

So she pressed the bloodied finger to his lips, even as touching them threatened a shiver through her body.

“See Mr. Richard? It hurts”

But his body didn’t move.

With a whimper, she tried to think. Why wasn’t it working? He always came when she was hurt.

But sometimes, if it wasn’t enough, he didn’t come.

Quickly, Juliet crossed to the small table for Mr. Richard’s drinks, grabbing the small knife he used to make the pretty orange twists she liked in hers.

Back in front of it, in front of the still closed eyelids, she slid the knife along her palm, flinching with practice at too familiar pain. Making the high, pained sound, that one she never knew if was real or not anymore.

His body didn’t move.

Juliet felt tears, real tears prick at her eyes. Why wasn’t it good enough? Why wouldn’t he help her?

She did everything right so he’d help her, so she’d get the caring touches. Like they’d taught her at the Facility. When she was sick in winter, she’d walk outside at night without clothes to stay sick.

She’d rub dirt in wounds. She’d trip down stairs, she’d slam her hand in doors, she’d burn herself on the oven.

And when Mr. Richard was bored with what she could try, he often helped her. Because sometimes he’d give her medicine and she’d wake up and couldn’t move her legs for days. Sometimes she’d feel sick to her stomach from a drink he’d give her, until she puked for hours.

That’s it. He just wanted her to try harder. To be a good girl and go back to doing it all herself. She had to earn his caring touch. And Juliet could do that.

Determined, she climbed the two-story staircase in the entrance hall, heart thumping. This would work, and Mr. Richard would wake up, and he’d take care of her. He’d hand feed her soup again, and gently brush her hair. He’d read her Shakespeare until she fell asleep, and bring treats from his business partners who wished her a speedy recovery. Everything would be fine.

So why was she crying?

With tears in her eyes, Juliet climbed the barrister, staring down at the black marble floor far below, almost swallowed in darkness. The blanket fell to the floor, a pile like pale bones in a pit.

She pushed off, and her world exploded into painful darkness as the scream was ripped from her throat.

‘Anita’ wasn’t sure how much of this she could take. Richard Ward was on the board of WRU, and she was so, so, so close to figuring out where the sick old man kept some of the emails, the dealings, the proof of WRU’s real workings. With his tech empire, they suspected Ward helped them target potential ‘candidates’. Helped them recruit and hire handlers with the appropriate mentality off the dark web. It was enough potential dirt for them to make real progress in the Pet-Lib movement. If only she could figure out where he kept it.

And it’d been an easy enough job. A boring one, honestly, as she cleaned the house under the flimsy false identity of an illegal immigrant the man had barely bothered to check. She even got enough money to live on and give a fat check to the safe houses from it, damn rich bastard.

But she was ready to tell them, tell Tara, she couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t watch this fucker and his pet, whatever he’d made the poor girl into.

At first, she’d thought it was true, that he’d just gotten some pet with a lot of health issues.

But then she’d seen the girl purposefully trip, break fingers, grab a burning hot plate straight from the oven. Seen her do those things without wincing and then let the tears fall so perfectly. Fall into his touch, the touch and care that made the old man beam.

She’d even found the goddamn name for it. Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. Pleasure at taking care of someone so much that you cause them pain, make them to get sick, just to make them better yourself.

Richard Ward ordered a pet that would hurt itself for his touch, for his care. They’d turned a girl into some sick pain robot, and Mia didn’t even want to think how. She could barely watch now, wondering how he manufactured the illness and pain Juliet took with thankful smile, for the chance that he’d be kind.

Figures there’d be someone somehow as fucked up as Karen Renford in WRU.

So yeah, Mia was ready to quit being ‘Anita’, because even if she knew what she was doing could help kids from not becoming like Juliet, she wasn’t sure how much she could take watching.

It was with this thought that Mia started and ended each day, determined to quit the day after tomorrow if she couldn’t find the files.

Unlocking the door, Mia felt the similar tug of dread, ran through the same conversation Tara had taught her to help her get through when these undercover missions were hard. When she couldn’t just grab a pet and run like she wanted.

But something felt...off. ‘Anita’ was always first to arrive, to open the obscene curtains, to transform the vintage fashioned home from night to day. She was used to the entrance being cold, the fires being out. Weird guy also had a fetish for the life of antiquity, but Anita had gotten used to it. But today, the coldness seemed to seep into her bones.

Probably should’ve just brought another sweater she thought as she walked through the service entrance, opening curtains as she went.

Kitchen, dining room, tea room, sitting room. It was actually pretty satisfying to watch the light suddenly dance in, dim streaks through trees in the early morning.

Or at least it was until she saw it fall on the body of Richard Ward, causing her to jump back, nearly knocking over probably worth more than she’d make in her entire life.

“Oh, Mr. Ward! I didn’t see you there.” Her heart threatened to flutter out of her chest, so much so that she’d almost forgotten her ‘accent’. She hoped he wouldn’t notice.

But there was no response.

Cautiously, Mia walked over, touching the old man’s shoulder to gently wake him.

It was stiff, cold. Dead.

The fucker was dead. Pale as a ghost except for the tiny smear of dried blood on his face.

The same dried, dark brown blood that was dripped over his body, onto the book, onto the carpet, on the table holding the bar cart’s knife coated in the same. Dried blood.

Quietly, Mia picked up the knife, the only weapon in reach. Nothing else was out of place, and as much as she wished it was, the blood didn’t seem to be Ward’s.

She tiptoed out of the room, following the dripped and dried bloody path into the entrance way. By the ridiculously ostentatious staircase, under the overhang, was a small...lump. Squinting her eyes in the dim entrance way, Mia could make out what looked like an slender arm, a head of blonde-

f u c k, fuck fuckFuckFUCK

The hardest thing about this job had been keeping her potty mouth to herself and playing the part of some Downton Abbey-esque servant in keeping with the man’s antiquated tastes. But upon seeing the small body, twisted at odd angles beneath the second floor overhang, her gut told her this job deserved every version of fuck imaginable.

Scrambling over to the small girl Mia knelt down, hands shaking as she felt around the throat for a pulse that wasn’t the one banging in her ears. It took a minute of pressing, of forcing herself to breathe dammit before she found it, weak, but definitely there.

Gently, so gently so as to not jostle her neck or head, Mia stroked a hand over Juliet’s brow, the way she’d seen Ward do countless times when the girl was sick. Mia tried to stop trembling, to stop thinking about how maybe if she’d told Tara about Ward, about his taste in pets, they would’ve focused on rescuing Juliet instead.

If Mia hadn’t been determined to hide the real Ward so they could have their cake and eat it too.

“C’mon baby girl, wake up for me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, fuck, please wake up” The words fell, soft and pleading from her lips.

Hazy blue-grey eyes blinked up at her, slow, glassy with pain. The body attempted to shift, only to whimper with pain, real pain. Not the fake whimper Mia had learned, but something deep and animalistic in her throat that reminded Mia more of a street dog than a person.

“There you are. It’s ok, you’re ok” She tried to keep her voice calm, gentle. To not let her hand shake as she thanked whatever god there was in this fucked up world that the girl hadn’t lost too much blood, hadn’t completely cracked her head open, even if her legs looked like snapped twigs.

After a few moments of mumbled words met by calm shushing noises from Mia, Juliet finally strangled out “‘Nita, why din’t Mr. Richard wake up?”

Mia paused, upon hearing the slurred, pained words. This wasn’t an accident. Juliet had done this to wake him up. Because the man had a second-sense for any pain in his vicinity. Even if he was a demon, not even the call of his previous pet’s pain was enough to bring his sadistic ass back from hell. Thank God.

A whimper, and Mia was immediately pulled back from her thoughts, petting the girl’s head. Because it didn’t matter where that sick fuck was. He was dead, Mia hadn’t found out where he kept his things, and she had only a few hours before other servants got here. Only a few hours to do something right on this mission.

“Shh, it’s ok. I’m gonna get you help ok? You’re gonna be ok”

Reaching into her uniform, Mia groped for the burner phone constantly pressed against her chest. At least bras were useful for hiding things, as much as she hated them. She breathed through her nose, steadying her breath and hoping questions could wait as she pressed the number.

“Tara? Yeah, I need an evac for me and a pet at Ward’s yesterday.”

Because this was Mia’s fault, because she waited for tomorrow’s petty pace to paint her a yesterday lighted fool.

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huadie · 3 years

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anchor liveblog post.

the curse of prophecy: all of my high tier kins channel tmg.

" somebody’s gonna get hurt / i hope it’s not me / but i suspect it’s going to have to be.

---

episodes 1-3: the general doesn't deserve the sympathy he gets. i'm not excusing a woman who killed happy girls on their wedding days, but i do think he owed her that closure. sending his son just pits the burden onto someone who wasn't involved. he should look his failures and mistakes in the eyes. if you can't count on a god to do that, who can you expect it of? it's disgusting. / i feel so tired and sorry for the girl who died saving a man who hated her and hurt her friend. i don't think kind people should be on the hook for ignorance and spite so willingly. her life for his was an unfair trade. / He's Cute. and wildly unexpectedly gentle considering the whole "demon" thing. / b tells me i'll have kin ptsd about the face disorder, but right now it's just heartbreaking. nobody deserves to live with that kind of fear. nobody deserves to live with that kind of pain. / b also implies someone in heaven is doing it to them for fun and i just want to say right now that i'm going to pull his dick off thru his mouth. that's a tier of evil that should have your blood start boiling inside you in an attempt to disinfect it. that was a child. that was just a scared little boy. not a prop or a toy or a plot device. a child. / i like the baby generals. they are so nineteen but it's nice to see it. i know anime leans on comedy skits a lot, but they can carry it off. they're charming. / heaven looks a bit shit. all of that meditation and betterment and it just makes you a spineless politician with the power to airbend? christ on a bike.

---

episode 4-5: initial reactions. watching him swing between fuck-me eyes and genuine emotional distress at no signal i can see is a lot. he's a good painter. i think i get the gist of where he's coming from but it feels insane to me. the twitch duels were cute. he clearly cares a lot more than he enjoys devilry so it's insane to me that he's that strong. general jr destroys me. imagine being so pompous and negligent you'd give your child your name. has he ever been allowed to be his own person? meow meow etc. the face disease is horrific. he was just a kid. he was so scared and in pain. i like the temple. i like that it's raggedy and messy. maybe it should be over-repaired, so people in need can take from it? it's definitely not very reverant, but. gods should serve their people. quotes all of small gods here etc. they should want to serve their people. they should be happy to see their temples valued below human life. it would be nice to live in a ghibli film forever, and read books and cook warm food and paint.

episodes ???. thoughts said out loud. gods own their people. thousands, one, here and now you are alive. gods are owned by their people. it's a cage. it's the most beautiful cage possible. to feed starving people from your hands. the bread and the fishes cut out of you. to give and give and give, to be asked for things you have never had and give them next. each prayer should strip you to the bone. can you imagine? to be so trusted, so cared for, so beloved, so followed, to have so much given to you freely and happily. a live lived to save others is the only beautiful thing. the only beautiful thing! a god should be owned by each of their believers individually. selfishly and shallowly and demandingly. like a child needs you. the power to put a fish back in the water is a blessing so heavy thinking about being created for it should make you wail. to be - for people, for the birds and the trees and the fish too, but for the people. it should break your heart. you should never let it become monotone. sunlight into wine.

on love: i trust b. i trust b. to love him here like this and love him in this skin and then find him again in a book and on a screen and fall in love with him there too, to watch myself fall in love with him too. nobody has ever earned what he freely gives. i want to give it back. oxygen to dioxide, i want to find all the places he stands and pour it back into him. i want to show him how beautiful he is. to love someone like that is a miracle and i want to pull it apart. i want to make him familiar with me and bored of me, i want him to wake up each morning taking me for granted, i want him to be so safe and secure in his place in my heart that it stops being a gift. that it wears down and falls apart. the velveteen rabbit. i want to hold him in my hands like a bubble that hasn't popped and i want to use him like the doorway to a world where even if i had to hurt and be hurt and fall and learn to grow, i can come home at the end of it. my growth can mean something, my stronger back can bear more weight, my lessons can be shared. i want it to mean something. i want to have faith in myself again. in the resurrected kingdom of his arms i can find it - build it. i can come home. it can have turned to gold while i did not see it. it can have worth, i can have worth, i can bend and not break. i can have a claim on things without losing them, without it cursing them. just him. i'm not greedy, i'm not selfish, so please - just him.

episode 6: there's something that hurts about letting other people see what you'll tolerate. what you'll do. the places in your life where you have pathetic history and where you are attempting to be someone who only existed today grinding against one another. i know he knows. i know it isn't a stolen moment, a chance to decide how i exist to someone before they decide it for me. i sleep beneath that painting and whenever i wake up in the night i feel him pretend that he is asleep. i know. i know. but it could have - it could have been. it could have been a lie that i got to play with. a tiny self indulgence. aren't you tired of stars? aren't you tired of being the tree that cannot bend in a storm? of holding yourself down? everyone else does it so easily. everyone else lets go. everyone else knows how. if i can't learn then i want to pretend. i want to be unwanted, and - and meet people. by chance, just chance, and like them and have them like me. no promises i made before i learned i couldn't keep them. just... something smaller. i talked about multiverse theory. how it isn't in the coin flip, but the atoms of the coin. how in one dot you can know everything. every grain of sand in a desert. i cannot survive existing with people thinking of me. not well and not poorly. i want to disappear into it. maybe nobody else is obligated to finish the work. maybe their contributions are a blessing. but i can't... learn how to let it go. it's all i have left in me that i recognize, somedays, as it gathers dust and makes me sick to breathe around. what am i if i am not that? i want to know. i'm scared to know. i will never be allowed to find out.

on being loved: god. it is too much. i don't hate it. it doesn't disgust me. but i feel like a plate being washed in every inch of the sea before i am allowed to see dry land again. i feel like i won't survive it if i look at it because it is a mosque decorated in mirrors, because it is mathematically perfect, because it holds the tiny miracles of angles and existence and light on par with the miracles of human heart and existence, because to make at all is to change the world for the first time, because i do not want to see what it reflects. i do not want to see it. i would be better if it lied to itself, if it was delusional and selfish and obsessed with smoke tricks. if it saw silk and paint and stopped looking. i don't want to know what i look like with my hair down, with my face clean, with my feet dirty, with my hands raw - i don't want to see what it sees to know that it loves there too. i don't want to follow it. i don't know how to make it stop. how could i - how could anyone be held accountable for this? to this? to prayers and plans and a kindness that changes the world in every grain of sand it has and again the next second, how could anything be worth this? and if it could - it couldn't be me. not a collection of stupid wishes and failures and betrayals-by-failure. not me with my hair down. silk could be worth this.

on being loved now that it isn't the middle of the night, and my body isn't betraying us both, and i can remember that there are an infinite number of steps between 0 and 1: but really, it's just ink. just paper. if it's - if he. if it's everything. if it's everything. then it can be one thing. it can be this thing. it can be the blindness. it can be me with my own hands over my own eyes like a shutterbox pretending i don't know how to see myself and admit that the pea beneath my mattress only hurts me - that it's small, to him, that it isn't sharp, that it's a phantom limb i can't stop being tormented by and only ever that. can that be enough to start? can i let it? it's atoms again. grains of sand. if he can love this, he can love everything. if i can see this, the rest falls away. there are more universes where we are kissing than every atom from the start to the end of time. that's how it works. i'm going in circles. you don't mind, do you? i'm writing this for you. you're the only person reading this. i don't know why i'm being impersonal about you when i'm being possessive about me. it won't protect me. it won't make it less terrifying to think of, and it won't make it less painful for you to read. i know you're already mad at yourself for being too much. for making me think that it's too much. you're kind to me like that, even when things are my fault. but if we can sit here together, and i can know that you know i can't imagine being loved, and that that - that moment, that dot, me unable to count to the place where numbers end - is something you love too. if i can just see this one moment, and not doubt it or question it or be afraid of it. it can be enough. because you know how hard i'm working to get to even this first step. you know how hard i'm working. you know how scared i am. you know it isn't you. you'll wait for me, with me, and you won't hate me for it. you promised.

on being forgiven: i don't know how to do it for myself. i don't know how to blame people for what they do to me unless it's the most extreme circumstance. i forgive too much that shouldn't be and hold ignorance and spite against others long past when it's fair. i handwave any scar someone gave me while they were suffering and never let go of what they do to others. i don't know what makes it different when it's me. i guess i know how to forgive myself for being scared and lost and for making bad decisions under the influence of... whatever... but not lazy cruelty. not letting something bad happen because i felt like it. all i do now is watch. all i do is let things slide past me again and again and again and do nothing to help and it can't matter that my heart breaks about it when theirs don't if none of us get up, and i remind myself that small steps do more than a single leap that uses me up but it's so hard to believe that here and now in the world where i could die if i tried again and harder still to comprehend in a world where 800 years of lives were made and suffered through and lost and i did nothing that matters to help. maybe all of the horrible backstory parts you're so scared of me seeing will be ones where i could do something, where i could climb up and let everyone take a raw bite out of me and go without starving for just one day, and then this won't cut me up inside like i swallowed a hedgehog. some days i am the hedgehog. trapped inside me, unable to stop being something that cuts to have there, unable to get away. i don't know how you can forgive me. i don't even know if you know what i need forgiving for. if i apologize for saving your life - for coming back to you again and again and again and being so selfish and. i don't know. for being me, while you try to love me, instead of being the person i can't forgive myself for not being, who deserves to be loved by you like this. but you'll forgive me. how do you do it? how do you stand it? i'm jealous of you. of how easy your heart warms up. of how kind you are.

kosmi 1-6 rewatch: i dislike pei su less now that i can see him as a person with a horrific job and less as a vehicle for the lies i know pei ming told about every woman he ever used and threw away. "i burned the scroll and won the war on my own" yeah right. gotta get that out first before i start collecting my thoughts. um.

one: the ascention, the earthquakes, (all that fuss for a scrap god. you told me the order it went in, when i asked, and i still think it's funny in a way that validates what i've been saying for something only the most in-need ask for help with to rattle the bells from warlord's palaces. they aren't ignorable. more than - more than anything else, anything before, i can be proud of this. i can be proud of myself for this.) i hate the way people look at you like you're infected with something because they can't play pretend that their inaction isn't malice any more. the bets and jokes and sneers. what have you done, lately? what help have you given? what good are you? and then there's me: starting as ever in unfixable debt, anchoring desperately to simple kindnesses, too tired to do more than smile. it's not worth it. it's never worth it. (being loved and losing it is worse than never knowing. being able to love yourself and losing it is worse than that.) the way that heaven sits unfixable and unchanging and incompetent. i'm proud of them for making something of their futures. i am. i don't begrudge them anything. i trust their character and i trust them to try to do the right thing for the people. i'm glad they didn't fight hua cheng. the kids are sweet. they're little carbon copies of their generals. it's sweet. it's kind. i like how... okay, they're mean and short tempered and fight like cats in a bag, but it's just the way you are at that age. it's not personal. it's easier to stand. i know there's gender coding tm in the novel, but i hate man-in-a-dress gags that point out that the man looks bad in a dress. i thought it was fine.

one point five: ok. i'll talk about it. the butterflies on the dress, the gentle music, the way our colours matched, the way your hand felt in mine. the sound of rain. i didn't know people could be so gentle. i didn't know they knew how. i think it was better for my health, before, when i assumed the best i ever saw was the best people were capable of. worse for me, though, to believe that. i'd forgotten what it was like to see myself in someone else's eyes as welcome.

zero point five: flashback sequence goes here. of course i remember what it was like to be loved, and work towards a clear goal that helped people. of course i remember what it was like to have a home that loved me back. he looked so scared as he fell. he looked terrified. i don't... i'm not good. at hating people. when i know everyone is driven to where they arrive in some degree or other. but that - whatever the reason they think they had, it isn't enough. it couldn't ever be enough. i hate seeing the human face disease. i hate how scared they are. how obviously in pain they are. i know they can't have survived. but i wish they could. i would give anything if they could. i would give anything up for it. have i talked about responsibility enough that this isn't a surprise yet? nobody should be that scared. nobody should suffer who hasn't chosen it to protect others. nobody should have to choose it, either, but if heaven has already failed you -

two: i hate that bald man. i hate watching that poor freckled girl throw herself on him again and again to save him just because he's human, while he takes every turn to re-learn hate and jealousy and hurt others. when he talks to his friends he almost humanizes himself, and i hope the time he spends as a crab fixes the rest. i truly do. but god i hate to see it. i hate being unable to do anything, because she chose it, because she knows him more than me, because her heart is kind enough to reach out to him even as it betrays and abandons the people in-need who can only go to her for help. you have to triage need. a life lived with the intent to harm others cannot come before a life lived with the intent to help, or to simply survive. anyway. the concern i get shown whenever i talk about the butterfly ghost is so charming.

three: i hate pei ming. his story is shallow and self-praising, his jilted lover competent and proud before he cured her of that with a kiss. i don't believe she broke her legs. i don't believe he passed over the chance to shortcut his way into glory. am i supposed to believe women just act like that? they just break their own knees for attention? she destroyed herself for him and he can't even pretend to care. not even at the end. not even to lie, and let her move on. so, what? thirteen girls die terrified and alone on the happiest day of their lives (- and we know it was happy for them, we know they went smiling up the path, we know they were excited) because he didn't have the stamnia to apologise to one person he hurt? i hate him. i hate his name, i hate his family, i hate his legacy of butchers, i hate his cowardice in sending pei su to grind out his cover story and then hide his mistakes where he doesn't have to look. i hate him. / i feel. so bad for that boy. he was so scared. do you know how scared you have to be to take scissors to yourself? i do. i have, literally, in the last year, actually. and that was... one cut. to avoid the risk of infection. sleeping on a wound that screams at you? he was a child. he was just a child. i let him down. there's no excuse. he needed reassurance. he needed protecting. i let him down.

four: i like that shrine. i like making it, owning it, doing something meaningful. i think a shrine for scrap should be made of more materials than it needs. i think it should be a place to sleep, always, and a place to eat, and you should be able to strip the roof if you need to. i don't care about what is proper, or respectful. respect the god of scavenger birds by surviving at any cost. by using what is useful. by taking what is free. i can build it again. if i know - if i can believe one good thing about myself, it's that i can build it again. as many times as it takes. i won't wear out. i won't give up. i can build it again. and how lucky, this time, to have help. there are so many things i can't do, even now. i need to learn. i never even thought about it until i saw that door. too long alone in my own head. too many years spent without it feeling worth the effort when a band-aid would hold.

four point five: again, ok, fine. i'll talk about it. you're beautiful. your eyes are like starlight, your smile is the warmest thing i've ever seen, your hands should be buried in an instrument, your painting is beautiful, your laugh is endearing - what do you want from me, here? of course i was looking. it's different to look now with your hand in mine than it was, then, to look just to look. to count threads just to count. to run my fingers through your hair and across your palm just to touch something. of course i knew. who wouldn't know you? who couldn't tell? but then, what was i going to do? know it? say it? ask things? better to be stupid, and naive, and find out what knife is waiting for me when it happens. i'm tired of speeding through the sweet moments to get to the next blade. i'm tired of being pushed from place to place. i'm tired of being alone. wasn't it fun? didn't we have fun? didn't you like talking together and cooking together and waking up in the morning in an empty shrine with the promise of another day to fill it? do i have to scream and shout and be suspicious and accuse you of - what! of holding my hand? of helping me? of being the exact same as everyone in heaven still deigning to look at me and thinking of me only as a tool to an end in a plan that will hurt people who did nothing wrong but pray? what can the harvest hope for if not the care of the reaper man? if it's - it always hurts. it always hurts. if it's going to hurt. why shouldn't it be kind first? why shouldn't i play stupid and keep you close and be usable without a heart left in me to break? why shouldn't i enjoy it for what it is, if it's all a lie? better me than someone who would be hurt by it. you're smart, and easy to talk to, and you're helping. you can't unbuild that door. unsweep the entryway. you can't undo the physical evidence of when you were kind. that's enough. that's all i can ever ask of people.

four point now: yes i know you wouldn't, now, i know you now, i don't need to gamble. i know you'd build a thousand doors. i know there's no trick. i know that it's safe. i know that i could have accused you and screamed and bit you and nothing would have made a difference and you still would have been kind. i know. i promise i know. i just... have to say where it was before. i have to tell you how important that kindness was, and how much i was willing to be kind to my own self to keep it near me. you understand what i mean, right? the tiny unforgivable act of making a mistake that could only hurt me? i know, i know. cocky to assume it would just be me hurt. but - if i was right to hope for nothing, i would make sure of that. i would make sure of it. i would do what i needed to to make sure only i was hurt for my selfishness.

five: i hate that we built a shrine and the next day something like that waltzed in. now we have to clean again. (i said in the stream, how funny it was to run that only survivor scam, how quickly it falls apart if you've ever seen real suffering, if you know what a survival rate is.) the rest i don't remember. i like working as a team. i like how much the kids hate you. they can tell too. i don't know what they see. but they worry about me. why do they worry so much? do their generals have something invested in me? are they just trying to do what they can now, and my caring for them isn't a one-way road? do you look that sketchy?

six: talking about the plot? in a sandstorm? no. you should keep my hat on. you look so sweet and cute and shy in it. i love the way you crumple when you aren't at the wheel, when an interaction happens without your instigation. maybe i'm not the only one bad at taking kindness. maybe i should offer it to you more often. you smell nice. like hot clay and silk. it's subtle. is that a ghost king thing, or is it just you? i like it. i can't imagine what i smell like. i hope... lillies and cotton. something soft. i'll ask you one day. i'm not surprised you were the most solid thing in a storm. i won't be surprised if you keep being that. i should have let you catch me. i should have dragged you with me. are you immune to it? could you stop it? would you pretend to be as useless and helpless as i am? i want to keep putting you in situations in disguise just to see what you do. it's fun! it probably shouldn't be, and i'm sure i'm setting myself up for a public shriving the more it becomes obvious who you are and how much i depend on you, but. i don't care. if i suffer for it, so what? what difference will that make? what could one more condemnation possibly do?

six point five: i like seeing sqx. i still read that as squeeks. i like seeing squeeks. i like sharing this with teddy. i like knowing that the way we are together can translate to here. i like how kind he is to me, and how funny, and sweet. i want to see him be happy. i want to see him be happy even though i know enough to infer it won't last. i know you love me with the power of a thousand angry wasp queens but it's nice to just sit next to him and joke with him and pretend for a little bit that i got to do this all the time. that i spent all my years drinking honey and rosewater and laughing with him, that things were as kind and easy as they're allowed to be. it's cute when i say he has a moral code and he gets offended. it's cute when i say he's a bitch and he gets offended. i like the way it makes all three of us laugh. i like seeing a place in my heaven where you could be. i don't want you to give up what you built. you built it because you had to. but when i'm sitting with my head on his shoulder, it's a window to that place where heaven exists to help people, where none of us ever had to learn what misery really was.

what power obliges from you: action. movement, always. there is no down time, no sleep, no rest, no running. if you seek people out to rule them - and that is what ascention is, seeking to rule, to tie your survival to your treatment of them - then you cannot do it with force and with ignorance and with the desire to coast. like. i'm not stupid. i know men do. for centuries and centuries with no repercussions, until the king on the rope for his people is as far related to the man who razed their lands as i am, (but inheriting evil is a choice too). i know how easy it is to punish and hurt and demand. how easy it is to hold people for ransom. but that isn't... that isn't power. that isn't kinghood or godhood or divine right. it's worthless. it's the other end of a sword. it kills you both to use. there's no light left in the world, no wonder, no chance to be saved by others so long as you are the thing that keeps you both drowning. you should wake up in the middle of the night for them without being asked. you should bleed for them without being asked. you should be ready to die for them without them ever knowing. even at their worst. at their most entitled, afraid, undignified, ignorant - if they are those things, the blame falls on you. if you are voted in democratically or born to the monarchy and not hanged in the streets it is the same either way: the people have chosen, they are asking you for something, and if you live in their gold and silk and sing their songs instead of smashing your own head in with a rock then you have agreed to the terms. why would anyone be unwilling to do that? afraid to do that? if you can do even a little bit more than someone else they are owed half of the excess. you cannot live in the world alone. you must not live in the world alone. ask the people above you to bleed for you and the people below you for nothing. there is no hierarchy beyond "i can help you" and "please help me" and there is no meaning beyond it either. every day it is hard to remember this but you have to, both parts, without losing either. why wouldn't anyone want this? what else is there to strive for but to better help others, to be someone with an abundance to share, to be used like that for the survival of everyone. isn't that happiness? to be as connected to everyone around you as a river is? to give water and fruit and blessings and promises and safety and shelter? you can seek power without understanding that it is only deeper service, but you will never do anything worthwhile with it. the gold will rot with your corpse. we find immortality in one another, and the celebration of giving more.

???: i saw a video of someone opening their back gate onto a meadow of the same single flower. it was beautiful. that's what it feels like when i catch you looking at me. we could grow flowers, couldn't we? we could plan a garden? i don't want to see myself fall and fail twice at least, or fight a war, without something kind at the end. i want you to tell me there's a way to still be like this - repairing doors, eating small meals, sleeping in warm air - after all of that is done. i want to build something selfish and self-sufficient together. i know we already are. in the things we talk about the jokes we make at my own expense whenever further plot implies at me. and in how excited i was to find out that the word for butterfly was this one. but i want to make things with our hands again.

episode 7: well. i'm glad it was me.

episode 7 (a day later): i'm still glad it was me. i'm proud of the kids for how brave they are, proud of that general for saving lives every time - and god, it was so funny sitting there in a circle of contempt for him, touching a gravestone people had hand cut and hauled up the mountain and carefully ingraved with their thanks, thinking about how loved and how much gratitude he must have died surrounded by. thank you for making them treat it with respect. thank you. he did his best. i'm almost jealous of it. imagine how nice it would be to help people, and have them see that you helped them, and be happy about it, and think kindly of you. i'm glad that you understood how important his actions were. i feel less alone when you're beside me on matters like that. anyway - i'm glad it was me. you're so bad at letting people care for you. i can tell you've been alone with only yourself to depend on for a long time. but your heart is so soft, you know? you don't even know it. you deserve to be protected. to be with people who want to protect you. it doesn't matter if you could have caught it in time, or survived a bite if you didn't - you should be able to think of yourself as precious to others. to me. i don't want to see you hurt. i don't ever want to take your hard-won strengths for granted. on the last day of earth, i want to move between you and danger as quickly and without apology as i did then. you're so easy to care for. do you know? and i'll be okay. i know you blame yourself for it because you said, because you're never gentle with yourself the way you are with me. but if you hadn't been there, i'm sure i would have stepped between someone else and that bite. i'm sure i would have forgotten again to grab the stinger i was just warning everyone about. you know what would change? if you hadn't been there, if you'd been a bit faster with your own defense, "if" "if" "if" - ? i wouldn't know there was a cure. i wouldn't know where to look for it, or be able to depend on someone helping me find it. that's the difference you made by being there. that's the only influence you had on me that day. you keep giving me the chance to survive my own mistakes. thank you. i can't promise we won't end up here again. i can't promise i won't keep trying to protect you. all i can do is hope that you know i don't mean it as a slight on your capabilities (it isn't! i just care about you. even the strongest man alive should be loved by people who want to shield him from danger) and that you don't get tired of me being so reckless.

#anchor.

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