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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years ago

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Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 14)

Her eyes had been so wide with wonder and amazement. Nothing compared to the galaxy’s glimmering spray reflected upon the open ocean. With no city lights to dim them and no bustling tourist noise to break the quiet--no rushing cars with loud basses nor honking horns and loud chatter--Azula felt like she was in space.

The water was so crystalline, so pure. The water met the sky on the horizon giving her the illusion that she was floating in a sea of stars, drifting through the cosmos in a rocketship rather than the ocean in a small sailboat.

“Dad look!” She exclaimed.

“At what?” He asked.

She didn’t know. She just started pointing everywhere, at everything. “Just look daddy!”

Her mother chuckled as she brushed the hair out of a snoring Zuko’s face. Ozai’s lips quirked into an amused half smile.

“Can we go to space, daddy?”

“Why would you want to go to space when you have stars right here?” He gestures to the shimmering world around her.

That was the first time she’d seen phosphorescent fish and plankton. She leaned over the boat’s railing. Ozai quickly came to hold her steady as she dipped her curious fingers into the water.

“Don’t do that, dear. There are sharks in the water.” Ursa cautioned.

But she didn’t see any sharks so she continued trying to catch one of the fish. She only managed to come up with a handful of plankton. She waited until Ursa was asleep to paint a bioluminescent mural upon her brother’s face.

That was her first experience with a boat and an open ocean. That was her first adventure.

.oOo.

Ozai comes home on his birthday, that is probably a gift enough for him but Azula bough him a gift anyhow and pestered Zuko and Katara help her make a cake.

“He doesn’t deserve one.” Zuko had grumbled the whole time.

Azula is inclined to agree, but she has it on the table for him no less. Perhaps he won’t be so angry with her if she does something to make his birthday special.

She sits herself on the couch and waits for the man to come home. Jet plops himself down next to her and drapes his arm over her shoulder. A half an hour goes by and she spends it by leaning her head into his chest and trying to convince herself that it is okay. That she is allowed to love Jet. That she is allowed to have love. That, should she find Sokka, he would understand. She lets Jet rub circles on her back.

“I’m sure he isn’t angry with you, he’s just going through stuff.” Jet assures.

She lets him think that, that is the source of her unease. It is easier to explain. “I hope that you’re right.” She mumbles. He squeezes her a little tighter.

“How can he stay mad when you made him a whole cake?”

.oOo.

To be frank, Zuko never liked Jet. He never hated the boy, but there was something about him… Maybe it is that he is one of those pretty boys. That is probably it. Zuko never liked the type. Jet is nice enough but he thinks that he is such hot shit. Really the boy is no different than anyone else their age. He has a car. So what? He’s a smooth talker. Great for him. He’s got a good sense of fashion and can do sports. That’s fantastic. Zuko thinks that a person should have more substance than charming looks, material things, and a handful of talents.

He looks to his sister. She’s a pretty girl, she has to be if so many of the boys and a handful of girls flock to her. She’s got talents upon talents and as far as everyone knows, she still has riches. But that’s just the thing, she has more than that; she’s fun to be around, bold and adventurous. Annoying as hell, rather judgmental, and with a pretty solid mean streak. But she means well and she’s mostly a kind girl. At the very least she is able to keep certain comments to herself.

Jet is just a pretty face. He isn’t like Sokka. Sokka who was a complete and unapologetic dork. Sokka who was hilarious, fun, and always had something exaggerated tall tale to tell. He’s spontaneous and rather disorganized. He is energetic. He was all of those things, Zuko reminds himself.

Sokka is nearly her opposite of Azula in everything save for intellect. For as idiotic as he acted sometimes, the boy had brains. This is probably what had drawn Azula to him. Jet is so similar to her, right down to lost parents. That is why Sokka fit her so much better.

He observes the pair cozied up on the couch and his heart seizes. He never thought himself the type to play the protective brother but seeing Jet with his arms around his sister is...something doesn’t sit right. And maybe it is only because he is used to seeing her with Sokka. Maybe it is just that he isn’t used to it. Jet hasn’t done anything bad to her. In fact, he has been supportive. Supportive and much sweeter that Zuko anticipated. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that the boy isn’t right for his sister. He doesn’t say it, partly because he knows Azula. He knows that she is a creature of spite and will stick her tongue right down Jet’s in front of him if he does. She has been waiting for a chance to pay him back for the one time, in middle school, that he had made out with Mai while she was trying to do homework.

But mostly he doesn’t say anything because it is probably good for Azula to begin to move on. Having her cling to Sokka so furiously that she’d be willing to waste her college fun on some fruitless rescue mission...it isn’t healthy. He looks back at the sofa, at Azula who has turned to face Jet and slip her arms around him. This is healthy. This is one step closer to moving on.

“She’ll be fine.” Katara says. “I know that you don’t like him much but he’s not bad.”

“Then why did you break up with him?”

Katara shrugs. “Promise that you won’t laugh?”

“I promise.”

“He said that he didn’t like turtles.”

“What kind of person doesn’t like turtles!?” Zuko says a little too loudly.

“Have you ever been attacked by a family of snappers?” Jet calls from the couch. “I can show you the scars.”

“That’s how you got those?” Azula asks, trailing her fingers over his right hand and arm.

“Yup.”

“Not all turtles are like that, Jet!” Zuko tries.

The boy chuckles, “I’m not taking any chances. You wanna go poke around in a snapping turtle nest, be my guest. I’ll be on the other side of the beach.”

Azula snickers and mutters something about protecting him from feral shelled beasts.

“That’s his tragic backstory.” Katara jokes. “Anyways, we just didn’t have much in common, I guess. Pretty cliche, right?”

“A little.” Zuko laughs.

“My point is, he’s a pretty good guy. He’s not much different than the other boys in our school.”

“That’s the problem I think. Sokka was...he was different. And Azula’s different.”

This time Katara laughs. “Yeah I don’t think I’ve met anyone like her before. I haven’t met anyone like you either. Your family is just weird.”

“We live in a lighthouse, what did you expect?” They both chuckle at this.

“That’s why we’re so smart.” Azula calls from the couch.

Zuko tilts his head in confusion.

“Because lighthouses are bright.” Azula explains. “We’re smart because we live in a lighthouse and lighthouses are bright and bright is another word for…”

“Is it rude to break up with someone over an awful joke?” Jet grumbles.

“If I could handle Sokka’s for as long as I did, you can handle mine.”

“Sokka would have loved that joke.” Zuko remarks.

“Sokka would have made that joke.” Katara replies.

The new silence between them is tense. Katara squeezes his hand. “Why do so many things have to remind me of him?”

“Because he’s your brother.” Zuko replies. Again he finds himself peering at Azula, now sitting and swatting Jet with a nearby stack of papers. She is probably the larges pain in the ass he has ever had to live with. But he couldn’t imagine how hollow it would feel to lose her. He thinks of the day that they’d found her, broken and gashed up after being thrown against rocks. He wonders if it had hurt, if she ever thinks about it. She never talks about it. He thinks of her climbing onto the arbor to untangle patio lights. He wouldn’t have been able to handle it if she’d fallen. “You never forget someone who you were that close to.” He hadn’t known Sokka nearly as well as Katara did and it still puts an unpleasant tingle in his belly when he comes across something that triggers the memory.

It is a hollow sort of longing that puts a flutter in his stomach a flutter that reaches his throat and has tears threatening to form. It is a somber yearning as he enters the room he’d last talked with Sokka in, as he visualizes Sokka as he’d last seen him. As he tries to latch onto that memory and make a physical manifestation of it. At the very least he tries to cling to it so that it doesn’t slip. It like being in a room with a phantom. Memories are ghosts.

“You can’t forget.” He repeats. “I don’t think that you want to either. I don’t. Azula doesn’t.”

He hears Katara swallow, but before they can get any further, Ozai opens the door. The man looks as hollow as Katara probably feels when thinking about Sokka. Mostly he is put together, clean shaven--for once--and with his hair neatly styled. But his clothing is wrinkled, his cheeks are sunken, and he has bags under his eyes.

“What’s this?” Ozai grumbles. “I told you that I was coming home from the hospital and you bring guests over?”

Zuko catches Azula visibly swallow and goes tense. Just like that he recalls that their father doesn’t know about Jet yet. Jet who tightens his grip protectively around Azula. And just like that, Zuko’s opinion of him changes rather drastically.

Azula pulls out of his grip.

“Tell them to go home.” Ozai says simply.

“Tell them to go home!?” Zuko gets to his feet. “We did this for--”

Azula holds up a hand. He can tell that her optimism is fading fast. “I thought that it would be a nice surprise to…” she gestures to the cake. “I can’t cook so I asked Katara to help.”

“And him?” Ozai nods to Jet.

She shifts uncomfortably.

Zuko’s stomach nearly gives when Jet opens his mouth. “I’m Jet, I’m on Azula’s surf team, remember?”

“I recall.” Ozai answers stiffly. “But that doesn’t tell me what you are doing here.”

Jets simply slips his arm around Azula’s waist and tugs her closer.

“I want them out, Azula.”

“But, I…”

“Out.” He commands more firmly.

Azula bunches her fists. Zuko knows what she is going to do before Ozai does. He praises her for her wit but, lord he wishes that she wouldn’t.

“Fine.”

.oOo.

The lighthouse door slams. It takes a moment for that Jet boy to react but he hastily follows her out.

Ozai sighs. It is long and drawn, he rubs a hand over his face, feeling thoroughly drained. He looks from the doorway to the birthday cake on the table. It is a nice sentiment, but he is not in a festive mood. She means well, they all mean well, but it might be too soon.

“We made all of this to cheer you up and you make us feel like shit!” Zuko accuses. Zuko seldom raises his voice at him. Much less cusses at him. “You make Azula feel…”

Ozai tries to tune his son out.

“She thinks that you hate her!” Zuko scowls. “You know that right? She was trying to give you a good birthday because she knows that you’re having a hard time.”

Katara links her arm around Zuko and clutches him tightly. Ozai wonders if he is frightening her. He must be. “Zuko, I am your father you will not speak to--”

“No. You aren’t.” Zuko hisses. “Azula and I lost both of our parents that night.” He turns to his girlfriend. “Come on, lets go find Azula and Jet.”

Katara nods, “I’m worried about her, Zuko.”

Somehow the girl’s comment unsettled him more deeply than anything Zuko had said. With a second slam he is alone in the lighthouse. He finds a seat at the table in front of his birthday cake. There is no one left to eat it with.

Also in front of him is a handmade card. ‘Welcome home, congratulations, and happy birthday, father.’ She hadn’t left anything out and that was only the cover page. He is home, but his birthday isn’t happy and he doesn’t feel like there is anything worth congratulating. It is his own fault.

He’d just gotten clean and he is already ready for his next drink. He opens the fridge and curses Azula for her forethought. She’d gotten rid of all of it. He supposes that he has ingrained tough love into her.

He should probably give her space, let her run off to Katara’s house or Jet’s. But he thinks that this time, if he allows the problem to fester, he will lose her. He will lose both of his children.

He rakes his fingers through his hairline and heads for the door. He reaches it and hesitates. He sits back at the table.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Zuko #Ozai #Sokkla #Sokka #Katara #Zutara #Jet #Fanfiction

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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

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Not Your (soul)Mate {1/?}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature (mostly for jokes now and for...other things later)

A/N: Hello, friends! It’s me coming at you with more words! This time they’re of the supernatural variety for @cssns with *gasp* a soulmate fic. It’s a fun one guys. Seriously. It’s an absolutely ridiculous concept (soulmates + aroused by each other’s voices), but I’m having fun writing it! I’ve got eight chapters written so far, and I’m itching to share them with you!

A special shoutout to @captainsjedi for her incredible artwork and for being my number one cheerleader as these words were dragged out of me. I feel super honored for her to have made this art for my story! And thank you to the organizers for doing such great work! So, everybody ready? 😁

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @dreameronarooftop15 @searchingwardrobes @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81@thejollyroger-writer @xellewoods @cssns

-/-

One.

Two.

Three.

It’s the pattern he keeps tapping against his thigh as he sits at his desk, the clock on the wall ticking loud enough for him to hear. If he’s busy enough, it’s silent. But when he has time to idle and not focus on something in particular, when he’s anxious to get to go home, he can hear each individual tick as the seconds and minutes pass by. He’s always been sensitive to sounds, the quietest of whispers sometimes equivalent to yelling directly in his ear, but over the years, he’s learned to block the sounds out, to control how voices and taps and screeches affect him.

His clock is driving him insane.

He wants to go home.

And it’s not because he hates his job or anything. Sure, some days it’s like actual torture, nails on a chalkboard multiplied by at least seventeen, especially with the sensitivity of his ears, but most of the time he enjoys designing boats, ships, and the like. He enjoys working with Liam every single day and getting to draw up someone’s dream vessel like he often did as a child when he had nothing more than a pencil and a notebook of battered paper. Really, his job is a way to make his childhood dreams become a reality but in a financially responsible way.

For him. Not for the people who buy custom boats.

He likely wouldn’t enjoy it if he didn’t make any money. Designing boats is a hell of a lot of fun, but he does so enjoy having an apartment (some of the American terms have integrated into his vocabulary by now it seems) to go home to and food to eat. Honestly, he likes tea far too much to not be able to afford it.

How stereotypically British is he?

It doesn’t even matter. He likes tea, and he won’t let anyone try to convince him otherwise. His cabinet in his kitchen keeps him supplied with caffeine, and if it’s all arranged by size of bag and flavor, no one has to know that. He doesn’t live with anyone, so it’s completely fine.

Liam would make fun of him for ages if he knew of all of Killian’s little tendencies and specificities on how to run his life. Liam already has too much fun teasing him about the binders and books on his shelves in his office, but really, of all of the places to be organized, why not in the office? It’s not his fault that Liam lives in a disorganized mess.

Once a Navy man, always a Navy man doesn’t quite hold true when it comes to one half of the team at The Jewel: A Boating Design Company. He was never sold on the name, but it was Liam’s idea so he went along with it. And the odd name hasn’t seemed to keep any clients away, so it’s obviously worked out.

He still wants to go home.

And technically he could. Technically he’s a boss here and could go home whenever he wants, but he doesn’t like to leave before six. It’s bad business, and it’s never a bad thing to keep his mind focused on work. He’s always got a million thoughts whirling around in his head, and focusing on work keeps him grounded.

But today is a different day. Today is difficult for him. It’s an anniversary of sorts, but it’s not the good kind. It’s not roses (or sunflowers because in his opinion, roses are overrated) and wine and beautiful jewelry over a nice dinner with small servings when all people really want is to sit at home and eat pizza on the couch. No, it’s an anniversary of loss.

Of loss that’s not as final as death, and yet it still has its own particular sting that tends to linger. It’s a loss in his life that he’s felt many a time, but this one, this particular woman, well, her loss stung the most.

Her loss stings the most.

And it’s all because of the universe and its twisted sense of fate. He doesn’t mean that in a “weird shit happens” kind of way. He means that in the universe is a piece of shit that has lives decided before the people who live them are even born. It doesn’t matter what you do or how you live. The universe is always standing at the plate ready to throw a curveball and strike you out.

One strike.

Two strikes.

Three strikes.

You’re out.

Soulmate.

Or soul mate with two words. The universe has everything predestined, but apparently, they couldn’t decide on words in dictionaries and whether or not it was one combined word or two separate words. And that’s just scratching the surface of language and grammar, and he only speaks English and a tiny bit of French. Things just get more complicated when you move beyond that.

But that’s not the point. He can worry about grammar on another day. Right now he’s thinking about the unfortunateness of soulmates (soul mates…nope, he’s just going to decide it’s one word for him) and just how completely screwed up it all is.

No one really knows how the human race figured out that there are two people who are perfectly matched up in every single way. It doesn’t mean there aren’t fights and arguments and petty squabbles over who did the dishes or turning the air conditioner up too high. It simply means that somewhere out there, there’s a person who, when it counts, matches up to you so well that the universe has decided to they are your person.

They are the Christina Yang to your Meredith Grey.

(Yes, he’s watched Grey’s Anatomy, and no, he is not ashamed...of seasons one through six. It gets a little murky after that.)

But what happens if your soulmate dies? What happens if you never meet them? What happens if you fall in love with someone only to find out that their sign or their mark or their soul doesn’t at all match up with yours? What happens if you love someone so deeply that you don’t think your heart can take it anymore, and they leave you because the words written across their ankle are not also written across yours?

What happens if you don’t have words written at all?

He doesn’t. He doesn’t have the words. He doesn’t have any kind of indication as to how to find this so-called perfect match of his. He has no idea.

And he doesn’t need to ask the question of what happens when you love someone who is not your soulmate because he knows. He knows that the love can be real and deep and true, and yet the moment that person finds their matching mark, suddenly things start to crumble and fall apart. Questions begin to be asked, and there are no answers. There are no answers that are correct anyhow. It’s as if you’re taking one of those standardized tests where all four answers are correct, but you have to choose the one that’s the most correct.

Bullocks.

That’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, and yet he’s taken the standardized tests. He had to, but that’s really not the point.

(Also, he wonders if soulmate magic is real, are other types of magic real? Is Harry Potter based off of something true? Could he have gone to Hogwarts?)

Milah found her soulmate, and it wasn’t him. She loved him, but she let him go. And he cannot begrudge her for it. No, she’s doing what will truly make her happy, and he wants her to be happy. She deserves it.

He just wishes that it had been him.

The universe apparently had other ideas.

And four years later, he still doesn’t know his mark.

Four years later, he still loves her even if he shouldn’t, even if he knows he should have moved on.

Liam could hear Elsa’s thoughts at night when he was lying down to sleep. It wasn’t in his dreams, though he has heard of those, but simply once the darkness fell outside. They’d known each other in their thoughts since they were children, a love predestined and predetermined that found its way to life despite the countries that were spread out between them. He’s always been jealous of his older brother for a lot of things, but knowing who his love is and getting to know her for his entire life, that may be the thing which fills him with the most envy.

He’s not even sure that he wants to know who his soulmate is, but when he thinks of his brother and the happiness of his life with his wife and his children, he wonders how two people so genetically similar could have such different paths in life.

Robin’s had been a simple tattoo on his forearm. He knew that all he needed was to find his match, and even though it took into his mid-thirties, he did.

Mid-thirties are truly not old – especially since he himself just turned thirty five – but in a society that is obsessed with love and procreation, Robin might as well have been a lonely elderly man with no chance at love…and Robin’s a man. It’s much worse for women, which is fundamentally unfair. But he’s a designer of boats, not a designer of the universe, so he can’t exactly fix that.

Will, well, Will’s soulmate sign is one that Killian is rather fond of if he’s honest. He found Belle because he’d started spending time in a library, and whenever he would touch certain books, fingerprints would start glowing. They were small, dainty things, so he knew that they weren’t his. But the prints glowed, and as he moved throughout the library, he noticed that every book had fingerprints that glowed. And thus he found Belle, the librarian, and even though they don’t seem to match up, they do.

Everyone he knows is living life with someone they’re supposed to be with, happiness and issues all combined, and he’s…not.

He doesn’t think his life will suddenly become perfect if he were to meet this mystery woman. He doesn’t. His life is wonderful. He loves his friends and family. He loves his job and his hobbies. He loves his life.

Today is simply a hard day.

Today is simply a day of loss.

But tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow he’ll go back to normal, and he won’t feel the loss of his love so much.

As much.

“Hey, did you get the Santos order?”

“Shit,” he mumbles, jumping in his seat at Ariel’s voice. He knows that she likely spoke at a normal volume, but he wasn’t focusing and had zoned out. Her voice startled him. It doesn’t help that she takes pleasure in annoying him. “Sorry, love. You surprised me.”

“I knocked three times there, Jones,” she sighs, walking into his office and dropping a note down on his desk. “I know it’s late in the day and all, but you’re really zoning out.”

“That is the pot calling the kettle black, A,” he laughs, rolling forward in his chair to look at the note she has, her chicken scratch written across the notecard. “You zone out at lunch thinking about how someone invented the fork.”

“It’s true. You’ve got to think about things like that. You okay though? You’ve got that pensive, brooding look all over your face.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before looking up at her and stretching his hands up behind his head, the small ache pleasant. “I’m going to fire you for someone who doesn’t know me as well.”

“My severance package would be fantastic, so you can go ahead and do that. But I also know you’d be lost without me, so that’s not going to happen. No one else in the world knows which pens of yours not to use.”

“That can be taught.”

“Yeah, but no one else is going to accept your weirdness.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Anyways,” she sighs, sitting down in the chair across from his desk and crossing her leg over her knee, “Eric and I are having a dinner at our house on Friday night, and you’re coming.”

He raises an eyebrow while he tries to keep his lips from curling up into a smile because he knows exactly why they’re having a dinner. She’s been his assistant for three years, and somewhere along the way she became one of his closest friends. She also drives him mad with how she doesn’t listen to him at all.

“Are you not even asking? Just demanding?”

She shrugs and flicks a speck off of her pants. “I’m telling you. It’s at seven, lots of our friends are coming, and you will be there if I have to drag you kicking and screaming.”

He hums and taps his fingers against the desk, the sound of his clock no longer in his earshot. “Fine. I think maybe I can be persuaded by some free food that I know is really a dinner party to announce your pregnancy.”

Her lips part, jaw nearly dropping, before she snaps it shut and gets up, walking over to him and knocking him upside the head. “You’re an asshole. That’s supposed to be a secret. How the hell did you know?”

“This note that you just gave me has baby names and a gynecologist appointment on it and not the Santos order.”

“Pregnancy brain is a real thing,” she huffs before slapping his head again and walking out of the room.

“Congratulations,” he shouts, leaning forward in his chair and smiling to himself. It’s a day of loss, but not everything is bad. It’s also a day of life.

He does spend the night drowning himself in a glass of rum, but it’s just the one filled a little too close to the brim. And he doesn’t spend entirely too much time thinking about Milah and all of the women and heartbreak that have come before her. He only spends what he would consider an acceptable amount of time, and if it was most of the night, no one has to know that but him.

Those are the perks of living alone.

Well, that and eating food in nothing but his boxers while watching reruns of whatever the hell he wants.

The Office.

It was The Office. He spends far too much time watching The Office and also…in his office. But that’s something else. That’s work, and it’s not filled with quite the same amount of comedy. Though he is thinking about putting Liam’s stapler in some jello. That’s not as funny in real life, but he’s not exactly sure if he’s desperate enough to wrap up Liam’s entire office in wrapping paper.

It’d have to be some birthday paper or something. It’s April, so Christmas paper likely wouldn’t work. Of course, it’s April, so Christmas paper would likely be on sale. This is sounding better and better, but he’s not going to do it. He’s going to keep on going with his life and make sure that Ariel isn’t setting him up on a date at this dinner party he’s been at for thirty minutes like he’s pretty sure she’s doing with her friend Jane.

Amazingly enough, the existence of soulmates does not keep people from setting him up on blind dates.

You’d think there would be at least one perk.

Besides the whole perfect match thing and all.

That’s supposedly a perk.

“Would you excuse me for just one minute, love?” he asks Jane, flashing her his most sincere smile and squeezing her shoulder before walking toward his brother who is talking to Will and Robin in the corner of the backyard.

“BJ,” Will greets, grinning from ear to ear as Killian shakes his head.

“You cannot call me that, Scarlett,” he groans. His protests don’t matter at all, but he can hope. He can hope that one day one of his friends will listen to him.

It’s a pipe dream.

“Well, baby Jones isn’t quite as funny as BJ.”

“You have the humor of a fifteen-year-old lad.”

“At least I’m not boring like you,” he scoffs before he takes another sip of his beer. “How’s your little date going over there?”

“So you can tell that it’s a set up?”

“Little brother,” Liam sighs, clapping his hand down on his shoulder, “you scratched your ear enough times for us to know you were nervous. Plus Ariel told us. She was practically jumping out of her skin with excitement.”

“Younger. I’m younger, and of course she did. Jane is…she’s a nice woman, but I’m not really in the mood for another date.”

Suddenly his head starts pounding, sounds muting for a moment before he hones in on a laugh, a laugh that has his skin heating and gooseflesh rising over his arms as he only focuses in on it before all of the other sounds come back to him, the laugh fading into the background. He doesn’t know what the hell just happened, but he’s not going to focus on it when he’s got to deal with his brother and his best mates being undeniable assholes.

Tuning things out has always kind of been his thing anyways.

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” Robin helpfully supplies, “but I think the lass likes you, so I’d turn her down easy.”

“There’s nothing to turn down.”

“She might not know that.”

“Anyways,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, “how long do you think A is going to drag this along until we get to eat dinner?”

“I’d say until she finishes talking to her friends over there.” Liam points to a group of women standing on the other side of the deck. He recognizes Ariel and her friend Mary Margaret. He’s been to her house and met her husband. David? He thinks his name is David and that he’s a detective. And obviously he recognizes his sister-in-law, but he doesn’t recognize two of them. One of them is tall, her legs stretching on for miles, and she’s got straight brunette hair that falls down her back with the tips of it covered in red. The other woman is shorter, but not necessarily short, and her blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail so that he can see the openness of her dress as it dips down her bare back and rests just above the curve of her waist. He doesn’t know her at all, and he wonders how. Ariel may simply work with him, but she’s made him such a part of her personal life that he feels like he knows all of her friends.

Then again, he didn’t know Jane, so obviously she has several friends she wants to announce her pregnancy to that he’s never met. They’re all ships passing in the night.

Of course, it’s not quite night yet and they’re definitely not ships, but his point still stands.

Or sails.

He can design a ship that would work for this purpose.

He has too much time on his hands.

All of the sounds mute again before the same laugh as before comes back, but this time he knows exactly where the sound is coming from. It’s coming from the blonde who’s talking to Ariel, and he can feel his skin heating up again, the flesh pricking and hair rising across his body as a shiver runs through him. He knows this feeling. He knows it well. It’s the start of something that he usually finds pleasant, but it’s not something that he finds pleasant while standing in a public place with all of his friends around.

Will may have the humor of a teenager, but apparently Killian has the uncontrollable sex drive of one.

Shit.

This is not good.

He needs to think of the government or his grandmother or people who think Hawaiian shirts can be worn to the office as casual wear when they live in Maine because his jeans are rather tight and he’s afraid that nothing can be hidden when he’s feeling a little excited.

Or a lot excited.

When he should not be excited at all.

Oh hell. He’s aroused. He’s not excited. He’s aroused, and there is absolutely no reason for it. Does he even need a reason? Probably not. Still though. This is a problem he doesn’t really want to have right now at his assistant’s barbecue to announce that she’s created a spawn of her loins.

Those are the only loins he should be thinking about.

Not Ariel’s loins, though. That is…this is all too much for him.

“Hey, lover boy,” Will whistles, and suddenly the laughter is fading away so that he can focus on the sound of Will’s whistle and the wind that’s causing the leaves on trees to rustle and mix in with all of the conversations that are happening, “you’ve got to stop staring at Emma or she will kick your ass all the way back to England.”

Emma.

“Who is that?” he ponders, reaching to scratch his beard. He should have shaved this morning, but he didn’t have time to clean his scruff up. “Emma? You said her name was Emma?”

“Aye,” Will confirms, his fingers tapping along the glass of his bottle and picking up the condensation. “Emma Swan. She lives with Belle. I’m bloody terrified of her sometimes, but she’s fun.”

“Why are you terrified of her?”

“Because she’s a cop. A detective, I think, and I’ve seen first hand just how good she is at kickboxing.”

“Why? Did you beat your ass for saying something dumb?”

Will rolls his eyes as both Robin and Liam chuckle, even if they try to muffle the sound. “I may have said something a bit unsavory one night, and she may have literally kicked my ass for it. But I’m on the straight and narrow path now.”

“Huh. So she did what we’ve all been wanting to do for years now. I like her.”

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Liam prods, wrapping his arm around Killian’s shoulder and slapping him harder than he should. “Are you scared to talk to another girl? Is this going to be like teenage Killian who can’t flirt with more than one woman in a day without being terrified of having to do it again?”

“Sod off.”

“I’m telling you,” Liam starts, but Killian moves out from under his arm and walks away from the group of them so that he can go inside and get a glass of water, not really interested in hearing Liam teasing him about his childhood. It doesn’t bother him, but he’s heard it all before and doesn’t really need to hear about it again. It’s still been A Week, and there’s only so much teasing about his relationships that he can take when he’s still mourning the loss of one.

Once he gets into the kitchen, he grabs a cup off the counter and fills it with ice and water from the fridge, the sound of the ice machine drowning everything out so that he doesn’t hear someone come in behind him. He doesn’t hear her, so he’s got no idea that she’s within a foot of him when he turns around and hits her shoulder, the cup of ice cold water in his hand spilling all over the front of her dress.

Of Emma’s dress.

Of Emma’s white dress.

Because it’s the woman who he was just admiring who he spilled a drink on.

“Holy shirt-balls that’s cold.”

He wants to laugh at her words, at her The Good Place reference, but then it’s happening again. His skin is heating, his temperature rising by several noticeable degrees, and he can feel the hair on his body begin to rise while his jeans tighten. How are his jeans still tightening? His erection can’t get any worse.

Holy shirt-balls indeed.

What the hell is happening to him?

“I’m sorry, love,” he stutters, trying to focus his hearing so that everything won’t be so heightened, but then his eyes glance down at the way that the material of her dress is clinging to her skin, the edges molding to her breasts, and everything gets worse. So, so much worse. He loves women. He’s never denied that. But hell, he should not be having this kind of reaction. This is not some kind of bad porn movie.

This is not some kind of raunchy romantic comedy either.

This is his life.

She’s got fantastic breasts.

Nope. Nope. Nope. He can’t be thinking that. He shouldn’t be thinking that. Something is happening to him, and he needs it to stop.

“I mean, I would say it’s not your fault, but you did spill the water on me,” she laughs, grabbing onto her dress and squeezing the water out a bit as she makes her way further into the kitchen to grab a towel and wipe herself down.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Again. You’re Emma, right?”

She’s still dabbing at her dress when she looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. Her cheeks are flushed red, and he’s not sure if it’s from spending the evening outside or from the embarrassment of him spilling water on her. But she’s got these beautifully flushed cheeks and light emerald eyes that can’t seem to focus on him, her gaze constantly changing.

With how uncomfortable his jeans are right now, he’s honestly kind of wishing that he had ice water dumped on him.

Seriously. What the hell is happening to him?

“Um, yeah. How do you know that?”

“Will told me. I’m…we’re old friends. Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan,” she sighs, continuing to dab at her dress while he looks away. He has to look away or he’s going to do something inappropriate by anyone’s standards. Something is happening to him, to his mind and his body, and he needs it to stop right now. “You know, if you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was introduce yourself, no spilled water involved. And if you wanted to see my tits, well, I should warn you that I carry around a gun for a living, and I don’t take too kindly to things like that.”

“I can promise you that wasn’t my intention.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at me right now?”

“Swan, if I’m honest, it’s because I can see both through and down your dress, and it’s not proper to look no matter how much I want to.”

Holy shit. Why did he just say that?

“Is it hot in here?” Emma asks, changing the subject, and he has never been more thankful for anything in his entire life. Though, really, if she could stop talking, he would be thankful for that too. Her voice is focused in his ears, every word reverberating and spinning around so that he can focus on nothing but her. It’s like her laughter earlier. His body instinctively tuned into it, focused on it, and it caused this same feeling of arousal to base itself at his spine.

And every word she says, makes it worse.

Fuck.

He somehow knows what’s happening, his brain instantly making the connections, and if he could walk out the front door and have never come to this party, he probably would.

Emma Swan is mostly likely his soulmate if the way his senses are picking up are any indication, and every word she says gives him the most inappropriate erection.

Her voice arouses him, and it’s not in a normal way.

Of all the soulmate signs, why this?

Couldn’t he have gotten a damn butterfly tattoo right above his ass instead?

#Not Your (soul)Mate #cs fic #cs ff #cssns #captain swan #captain swan fic

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ringmaster-jack · 5 years ago

Text

Pass the Kerosene

[ An intermitted drabble elaborating on what occurred between Jack and his firebreather during the events in Early August. It’s long as shit and it took me forever to write but I’m sick of looking at it so herE. Preemptive apologies for all the god damn fire puns. Also this drabble gets kinda dark and psychological-like so if you’re bothered by that kind of thing, warnings inbound. ]

♤ �� ♤ ♠

"What do you mean he's GONE?"

"I mean what I said. He's gone. He left."

The ringmaster clutched his face in his hands, a desperate and unyielding attempt to quell some of the disorganized jargon that threatened to spill from his lips. It took him a few moments to collect his barrings enough to speak again without screaming, but even then, it was barely contained. There was only so much one man could take over the course of a day, and there had been too many days like this over the passing months. Chaos, change, danger and all that came with it; it was something Jack had more than accepted as a part of his life, long before he ever began his showmanship. But everything was moving too fast, now. Much too fast, and much too much of it, with repercussions he couldn’t even begin to unravel. The way his brow tightened against the press of his roughened fingertips seemed to mark the coming of a nasty headache.

"What did you say to him.”

It took a hyper sense of focus, an ungodly shade of self-control for him to even manage one line to the woman in front of him without snapping like a territorial wolf.

"What he needed to hear." Just one.

"...SERA. What does that even MEAN? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO.”

Even if the sturdy-shouldered firebreather had wanted to respond to him, he didn’t really allow her the time with which to do that before he began flapping his jaws again. Never shutting up was one of the ringmaster’s most defining features. It was why a lot of the crowds he drew in enjoyed him, though to this woman, it was his most aggravating trait. He never listened.

For a time, she allowed him to continue his yammering, though she felt herself not far from her own tipping point. Jack was the only one who could insight such a very specific and special sort of rage in her that was otherwise left unexpressed to their fellow carnies. Amber eyes narrowed gradually the more she listened to him blather on, locked to his frantic and emotive pacing.

"This is...bad. This is really really bad, this is not good this is a damned--catastrophe-- he can't--he has no place else to go, Sera, ANYTHING could happen to him--ANYTHING could just-- what, what was it? What did you say to him? WHAT DID YOU SAY? WHY? What the fuck possessed you to think that sending HIM --of all people--out-- THERE-- He was hurt, he--"

"He wasn't in critical condition. And he left on his own. He's a grown man, Jack, he can take care of himself."

"NO, HE CAN'T. HE'S NOT...THERE. MENTALLY."

"Okay, so then you took advantage of someone with a serious psychological condition. That’s what you did, you haven’t done anything to actually help him. That’s pretty horrible, Jack. You, you are pretty horrible. Y’know? "

Miss Seraphina Lefevre was many things, but she had never been one to pussyfoot about when it came to matters such as this. For at least 5 years now she’d known and followed this man, which was why it came as no surprise to her when he turned on a dime and launched himself into her personal bubble to thrust her to the nearest tent rafter. The framing of the big tops always held considerably sturdier than any of the personal tents, but even they shook with the force of his motion.

"Don't you dare put that shit on me, Sera. It’s not like--"

The ringmaster didn’t have time to finish speaking before he felt a pain strike him where he touched her, a scorching heat that left blisters on his hands. He should have known by now to never even try with this woman; the fire witch hadn’t even the need to struggle in order to get him to back down with a startled shriek.

She pushed herself away from the pole she’d been so rudely knocked against, arms folding as she approached the man who by now had gotten over the momentary shock of having the first layer of his palm skin burned off.

She spoke before he could finish, contemptuous and lucid in her speech, despite her obvious irritations over his lazy threats of violence. Some people feared this man, but she knew him for what he was.

"What is it like, Jack? Because from where I'm standing, this isn’t exactly out of your usual routine. Maybe you’re invested in it now, but you know as well as I do you’ll eventually lose interest. You always do. You can go on and lie to yourself, if you want to believe you actually have feelings for him, then fine. But it’s not the truth. If you actually cared about him then you’d realize all you were doing was using him and playing games with his head. Hurting him. Like you do with everyone. All. the time."

The heat that radiated from her person felt like stepping into a sauna, but Jack refused to swallow his pride no matter how many steps she took towards him. He was sweating now, but his expression refused to crack under the very literal heat. He was a stubborn sort.

"Why are you such a fucking bitch to me--”

"No, Jack. You're going to listen."

With every breach of distance, the showman's posture would sink. Even with disregard to her firepower, this woman stood at a respectable and athletic 6′2″-- she was no delicate flower, and Jack, although he’d been healthier than in previous months-- was still not much of a match by comparison. Not without his toys, or some backup-- and she was supposed to be his backup.

"I don't care how much you think you want him. You do this every single time. You fixate on one person or thing and drain it of everything it has until there’s nothing good left."

"I don’t--want him, Sera, I need him--it was different with him. I don’t know how to explain it, it just...I’ve never felt this way before. You don’t understand-- you don’t-- get it.”

"Oh, I don't?"

Though she’d stopped moving toward him, her words were no less harsh than the fire in her veins. Perhaps even worse, to one such as the ringleader.

"4 years ago, Cayri. Do you remember that name? 3 weeks of courting and one pregnancy later and suddenly you're not interested. She's madly in love with you but you push her away to the point of emotionally crippling her despite the child you left in her belly. 3 years ago, Scout. How about him? You certainly loved to push him around, and he was ready to give you the world, but whatever happened to him? You think he just--disappeared, Jack? He's probably dead now, and you don't even care anymore. Left to rot somewhere in the catacombs for centuries, I’m sure of it. 2 years ago, Alice. Dead from an overdose on stimulants that you provided her with. She’d never done anything like that in her life before she met you. 2 years ago, Rosalie-- a prostitute and an addict now in the red light district. She was in school to become a teacher before she met you, Jack. A teacher. 1 year ago, Khai. You--"

"Stop, stop-- just-- stop it. I get it. I get it, okay? What do you want from me? I can’t control the way I feel. I don't know what to do. You don’t know all the shit I have to deal with Sera. I'm doing the best I can."

"THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH."

Ah, there it was. Her breaking point. One could only listen to the crying, blithering bleats of a spindly, insane man-child for so long before losing their cool. She never really had that much ‘cool’ in her, anyway. This was made abundantly clear by the flames that danced between her fingertips a mere inch or two from the man who spoke, exaggerating her gestures in the most intimidating of styles. Jack ducked away from each movement she made-- she wasn’t making any conscious effort to injure him, not yet, anyhow, but he could still feel his unshaven chin hairs singe when she got too close.

"I don’t CARE if you’re trying. You need to be better. You need to be a better PERSON. Your mental disorders aren’t justification to be a horrible human being. You ruin everyone you come into contact with and you don't even CARE. You can’t just keep doing this shit every other month and going on about your business like it’s okay. It’s not fucking-- okay, Jack. There are consequences. Maybe not for you, but for everyone else who has the fucking misfortune of having to deal with you. If you actually care about anyone then get your shit together."

Silence.

The ringmaster heard nothing from her that hadn’t already been reeling around in his own mind-- and pretty often, in truth. It didn’t make it hurt any less to hear it out loud. Although his eyes followed the fire that swirled within her calloused hands, he gave no real reaction to it, now, unblinking and motionless. There was a stillness that followed before his voice made its reappearance, indignant and soured. He turned up the collar of his coat, a small expression of anxiety that he rolled into with a hefty side step, away from his second in command and her judging stare.

"...If that's really how you feel, then why don’t you just leave? Just. Go. Get out. Go ahead. I don't need you."

"I can't. I made a promise. Unlike some people, I actually keep my promises."

"And what promise is that, Sera? To irritate me relentlessly until I develop high blood pressure and die of a heart attack at the age of 42?”

"This isn't funny Jack."

“No, it’s not. You think I’m joking? Leave. I told you to go. That wasn’t a suggestion, it was a demand. Good day to you, madam. Au revoir. You are dismissed. Goodbye, I am tired of listening to your bullshit. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 gold. Make sure to leave your keys by the door. Get the fuck out.”

This did not earn the look of shock or terror that the jackal had initially expected. In fact, she actually laughed at what he’d had to say, and genuinely so. It wasn’t because of the content in his words; though, and he knew that long before her merry sounds were quelled. Even with the heat of her flames still twitching through the air, he felt his blood chill.

“Jackie...” the redhead began, her voice softened from its previous state of enmity. Coming from her, that didn’t necessarily mean something good was inbound.

“I do...at least 70% of your paperwork. Most of the documents for all this?” She gestured around them, her fire leaving streaks of afterglow in the dim light of the tent.

“Most of this is in my name. Just because you’re the poster boy doesn’t mean you’re the showrunner. I got you here, not the other way around. This is my circus.”

Well... she had him there. It was never something he’d actually thought about, though. Ever. In fact, it was such a distant concept in his brain that it almost felt as if he’d just learned it. How was he supposed to come back from that? He hated arguing with this woman. He hated this woman, period.

“Well...then...fine,” He was defeated. He knew when to admit that. But it didn’t mean the lanky showman was going to take his defeat lying down.

Instead, he’d walk away from it entirely.

“Then I’ll leave! I don’t need this place. And I especially don’t need you. See how well this garbage runs without me, I’m gone. I don’t have time for this.”

A dramatic exit was the goal, here, but yet again, the witch superseded that in an instant by way of magic. Before the ringmaster could even get halfway to the door, he’d been cut off by a wave of fire-- if he hadn’t sucked in and allowed himself to stumble and fall back, it would have most certainly burned him. The uncharacteristically high pitched shriek that came from his lungs would have been funny in other circumstances, but this wasn’t really that sort of moment.

The fire that spread formed a ring around them, a cage of flame that suspended itself at a height that made it nigh impossible to take his leave. He was more than just a bit upset, now. He was pissed.

“No.” the fire witch exclaimed, her voice strong and unyielding.

“Sera, what the fuck?”

"Jack..."

Through the veil of flame, the fire dancer had coast towards the ringmaster, unscathed by the heat of her element. She’d made a point to kneel down beside him, her hands to her knees to speak to the man as if he were a child. Jack rebound from his momentary startle and returned to a state of violent irritation in record time, his brow heavily knit in her direction.

"Why am I here?" She asked of him.

"Well, presumably to make mon--can you please stop it with the fire? My nuts are getting steam-cooked here, "

"No. Besides that."

"Because you enjoy making my life miserable?”

"Jack...”

“...Let me go, Sera, I swear to your gods...”

Seraphina didn’t seem to have any intention of dropping the firewall that surrounded them. Even as the ringmaster tried to slip back on his rump, she stayed where she was -- it wasn’t like he could really go anywhere unless he wanted to burn. The possibility of crossing the flaming barrier wasn’t completely out of his mind, though. Especially when she began talking again.

“She asked me to stay with you. Tabitha. She asked me to keep an eye on you if anything happened to her. To make sure you don’t get into trouble. I’m basically your caretaker, Jack. We’ve talked about this.”

“I can assure you we most certainly have not.”

“Three times. I’ve discussed this with you three times, now. You’re not...well, Jack.”

“No, but I’d be a whole lot fucking better if you stopped holding me hostage like some kind of fucking domestic terrorist.”

While his anger was mounting, the firebreather remained static, indifferent. Jack had begun the task of pushing himself back up to his feet again, though with a brief curse beneath his breath when he used his scorched palms to do so. He’d forgotten about that.

“I need to go, Sera, I need to-- I don’t have time for this, I have to-- find him, he could be--”

“He hates you.”

Although he’d begun pacing around the flickering heat that surrounded them to try and find a means of escape, the showman stopped in his tracks when she spoke again. Of all the things she’d said to him, this was one he hadn’t anticipated. He gawked at the woman with more confusion than antipathy, his forehead dripping with sweat.

“...What? What does that even mean?”

“He said he hates you, Jack. The jester.”

“...You’re lying.”

“Do you really think he would have just left like that if I was making shit up? I didn’t want to tell you that part, Jack, but you left me no other option. You nearly got him killed. The gods know what else you’ve done to sway him in the other direction, but he told me himself how he feels. Not in...so many words, but-- just let it rest. Persuing him won't get you anywhere. You’re just going to make yourself even more miserable. It’s been a long day. For everyone. It’s time to give it up.”

Whether she was being honest or not, this new revelation was one that Jack hadn’t the mind to even begin contemplating. He didn’t want to contemplate it, but he knew that the moment he actually had a second to relax, it would be the first and only thing he’d be able to ruminate on. He felt a hollowness in his chest that crept into his belly like the sensation one felt when falling. He didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

“...Okay. Fine, just. Whatever, I won't--I won’t go -- looking for him. Please, just... take down your stupid firewall. I need to get out of here, Sera, I need to--”

“You need to calm down.”

“I AM CALM.” Hardly. He inhaled sharply and shot her a glare that was even sharper. Everything in him was tense.

“I have to feed Umbra. Do you have any idea how much I’m trying to placate this absolute trainwreck of a situation that is my life without having a total and complete nervous breakdown? Because frankly you’re doing nothing to help with negating that scenario, woman, so if we could just please please please continue this conversation later, I promise promise promise you, I won't-- leave, okay? Scout’s honor. But I need to fucking go. Now. He has to be fed before this gets any worse.”

“I’ll get him food. You need to go rest.”

“You can’t give him what he needs, I--”

“I know, Jack. I spoke to him. He told me what you’ve been feeding him.”

“...You...spoke to him?”

“Yeah. The night you got stabbed, actually. I took him to a diner. Bought him a milkshake and everything. I know what he is, Jack. It’s inconsequential. You were supposed to stop--”

“I did--I did stop! But I have to now, for him. You don’t know what will happen if I don’t...”

“You don’t know either, Jack.”

She just wouldn’t let up, would she? The fire still blazing around them, Jack pushed his fingers into his eyes-- not enough to really hurt, just enough to blackout his vision and show him stars. He pinched the bridge of his nose after this, no longer even attempting to take his leave as he tried, tried to compose himself. As was the case with most situations for the ringmaster, he knew that the only way he was likely to get out of this was to smooth talk his way to the end. But he hadn’t felt this angry in a long, long time-- and when he opened his lips to try and convince her again, all that came out was a bitter, tired,

“I fucking--hate you. I hate you so much.”

The firebreather had pushed herself back into a standing position, if only to keep on level grounds with the ringmaster. She’d remained unphased by the lazy insults or Jack’s penchant for traipsing the tent floor, something that had started again, like a caged lion. When she spoke, it was much calmer than it should have been.

“I think you need to go back to Zaun.”

He halted in his tracks, but only to look at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you need to be hospitalized again if this is how things are going to be with you. In the past half a year alone you’ve almost died at least 5 times, you’ve happily invited an assortment of demons and malevolent spirits into our place of work, endangering everyone in the process, you’ve murdered an unknown amount of innocent people to use as sacrificial fodder to a literal dark god-- do I need to go on? Because I definitely can, you’ve also-- ”

“Shut up.” he hissed, his voice barely a whisper.

“You’ve made it crystal clear to me that you’re a danger to yourself and to others. You need things that I’m not capable of providing. With the record you have, getting you involuntarily committed is a non-issue, Jack. But I’d really rather have your consent. You need help. Please recognize that.”

“You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about! They don’t help anyone there, Seraphina! They make everything worse! Exponentially! Do you know what they did to me in there? Do you have any fucking idea--”

“I’ve been given a basic summary of your history, yes.”

“Then you know it won't make anything better.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“NO. NO I AM REALLY, REALLY NOT.”

Incapable of finding an exit within the ring of fire, he turned back to the flame dancer instead, her self-righteous attitude and confident stare doing nothing but fueling the anger that bubbled in his stomach. He wanted to approach her, to scream in her face, or worse-- but he knew any attempt at fighting this woman would probably end poorly on his behalf. Especially if what she said was the truth. So he continued speaking, instead. Aggressively and with a bit too many flippant hand gestures, but maybe she’d listen.

“2 years in that place was enough. They kept me so doped up I could barely function-- I’m only just now remembering bits and pieces of it, Sera, but I don’t need to remember any of it to know the shit they do in there-- it’s not fucking good. By ANY stretch of morality!” he exclaimed, to which the witch seemed apathetic.

“They don’t heal people there, Sera, it’s where you go when no one else will take you anymore. They just lock us away with disregard to any kind of human dignity and throw away the key. They do things that would never fly anywhere else in the world because nobody actually gives a fuck about people like me. Do you understand where I’m going with this? I don’t know what misguided garbage my sister funneled into your thick fucking skull, Seraphina, but I’ll tell you right now--her whim isn’t worth the trouble.”

“It’s absolutely worth the trouble. I loved her, Jack. And she loved me. And regardless of what you think, I’m not your enemy. You’re like family to me, now. I just want what’s best for you.”

My gods, the emotional rollercoaster they’d been on over the course of the past 15 minutes was one for the history books. Now, it was the ringmaster’s turn to laugh. It was a cold sound that built up from a soft chuckle into a half-exhausted but deep-bellied cackle, one he made zero effort to hide. It made the elemental hesitate; if only for a moment, shifting her weight to the opposite foot in discomfort. When he looked at her again with a shimmer in his eye, that hesitation grew.

“Is that really what you think? You think she actually loved you? Oh, honey-- if that’s really what your whole life has been based around for the last 6 years, do I have some sad news for you--”

She’d wanted to interrupt him before he spoke again, but she didn’t get the chance. His body lethargic in the heat, Jack floundered his way in her direction-- though this time there was no intent to try and assail the witch. His cruel smirk betrayed his intent.

“Tabi didn’t love anyone. You think I’m bad? At least I have the capacity to actually feel something. I fucking hate it, but it’s a thing, no matter how much I try to ignore it, y’know? Her, though-- all she ever cared about was power. Progress, at any cost. What she thought was progress, anyway. She’d do anything if it meant furthering her ��career’. She slept around a lot more than I ever did-- you were just one in a long, long list of others. I really don’t think she wanted you to babysit me with my best interest at heart. She never really did care what happened with me.” The bitterness that hung on those words was enough to crumble his facade of egotism, at least for a moment, before his speech would continue on, more somber than before. Sera was left to her own rumination for those few protracted seconds.

“If you’re really telling me the truth-- if you really do care about me, then. Prove it. I made a promise to you, and I don’t intend to break it. But I need. To go. And you need to trust me. Please, Sera. I’m begging you.”

The firebreather knew that Jack had a way with manipulating people in his favor, regardless as to whether he was in the right or not. She was one of the few mortals who had lifted that veil and seen the ugliness beneath the surface. She didn’t buy his bullshit, not for one minute-- but in the stillness of the evening, with only the sound of her embers crackling in a coil around them... she saw some sincerity left within this filthy but charming man she’d followed for half a decade. Maybe it was something in the way his eyes gleamed with unshed tears, or maybe it was the sheer exhaustion in his voice. She didn’t know at that moment. He’d hit her in places that were much more damaging than the scorch of any flame ever was. Things weren’t adding up.

“...Fine.”

Jack let forth a triumphant but passive ‘woo!’ when the intense temperatures that surrounded him where uplifted in a flicker of hot ash. He knew better than to bolt immediately, so he took a moment to wipe the sweat hanging from his skin with the sleeve of his jacket, and offer her his graciousness. Of course, the almost sardonic tone to his voice belittled that sentiment, now that the danger had been extinguished.

“Thanks, boss, you won't regret it, I--”

Well, maybe not extinguished, so much as... muted. Temporarily.

His words garbled by the sensation of the firebreather taking clutch to his throat, Jack’s own hands instinctively moved to try and grab her arm-- a poor choice, as it only reignited the sting on his palms. Her grip was so rough that the tips of her ruby-polished nails left crescent brandings around his neck. Speaking was nearly impossible when you had a fire witch strangling you, which had perhaps been her intention.

“But let me make one thing clear to you first.”

Her amber gaze left holes in the man’s skull. Jack did his best to avoid eye contact, but the panic in his expression was undeniable.

“You’re not a hard man to track down, Jack.”

That was all she said. Nothing more, nothing less. One cryptic line that would stick with him in the coming weeks, though the burns on his neck would fade in a matter of days.

It didn’t take the woman long to release him, giving him the freedom of speech again-- but it took Jack a moment to compose himself through the fit of dry hacking. He managed to rasp out a passionless,

“Okay,”

to her statement, though nothing more came for a minute still. Fire mages were never any fun, and though it was in his nature to poke fun of her for her amusingly heated temperament, he toned it down. For once in his life.

“I’m... leaving now. If you want to dance again later, you know where I’ll be. Thanks. I suppose.”

It was an anticlimactic ending to an incredibly intense night, enunciated with wounded pride that he did his best to uplift long enough to carry out the door with him. He was no gentleman, but Jack would still do the bare minimum to at least present some sort of dignity, whatever that meant in his mind. It was a fine note to end on, he pondered, as he knew somewhere in the back of his thoughts that this was far, far from over.

The stench of paranoia lingered in the air beneath the saccharine smell of late summer. It hung itself heavily on the evening breeze that kissed the showman’s wet skin when he stepped out of the big top.

#ooc #drabbles #writi #long post #thIS TOOK A LOT LONGER THAN I WANTED IT TO #I'm just gonna end it there and post it #even if I haven't really proof read it officially #because imM TIRED OF LOOKING AT IT #jfc #seraphina #jack #tw: abuse #tw: swears #tw: violence #tw: asylum?#tw: drug implied #tw: dark themes in general #idk what else to tag this

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greywindys · 6 years ago

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It’s that time of year again! I, and possibly a good number of you reading this, just spent the whole of 2018 in the Gorillaz fandom. Congratulations! You made it! Because this year...kinda sucked. Not just for the Gorillaz fandom but, if this Washington Post article is any indication, for the rest of the world too. Maybe on an individual level there were moments of light. Maybe Gorillaz was your moment of light. If it was I’m genuinely happy because that means you probably found a way to avoid or ignore all the chaos that went down this year. But overall? Fandom was rife with disappointments, confusion and conflict with some good parts (for me, at least) sprinkled in here and there. Below is a personal reflection on the top 10 significant events in fandom of 2018.

1. Murdoc Goes to Prison

2018 started out peacefully for fandom. We were just finishing up sharing our scans of G-Magazine and theorizing over the next album when we’re treated with this - a nineteen second mocap of a frantic Murdoc accepting a Brit Award with an “oh by the way I’m going to prison.” We didn’t know why or for how long, and, though fans were confused and Murdoc going to prison is a tired, overplayed storyline at this point, it was cherished as any new Gorillaz content, especially animation, is cherished. Memes were made, most notably the #FreeMurdoc hashtag complete with a petition which was acknowledged by creators and caused the first big outburst in fandom for its messy tag. I did what I always do with Murdoc videos and went through the entire thing frame by frame to collect screenshots. Little did I know that this would be the only time I would get to indulge in this beloved past time. Little did I know that I would be wearing the same expression as Murdoc is in this screencap this entire phase.

2. Murdoc hate

Murdoc hate has always existed. It’s also generally accepted. However, when it was confirmed that Murdoc was going to be in prison for an undetermined amount of time and that he may not even speak this phase (thanks a lot, phase 5 plot!) it reached unprecedented levels of viciousness. Some fans took every opportunity to drag him in the main tag, start debates with anyone who might mention one positive thing about him and expressed how they genuinely wanted him to die and/or never come back. It kinda reminded me of this season of MTV’s The Challenge when everyone ganged up on Johnny Bananas. Like, yes he’s an asshole and yes this was probably long overdue but also omg when is there and end point? Is there an end point? It was like some people hated Murdoc more than they liked Gorillaz. For some additional context - this tense environment was born out of an astoundingly severe conflict that happened in spring where three separate fandom storms that had been brewing since late 2017 collided into one huge mess. Discords were raided, friendships were lost, the police were called (I’m not even exaggerating). I won’t go into it more but if you were there, you know what i’m talking about. Murdoc wasn’t the cause of this, but his character was at the center of one of those storms and the canon sending him to prison only reignited the ire towards him. For awhile Murdoc fans weren’t sure were exactly they stood with the greater fandom, and new fans were confused as to why this one green character was the source of so much grief for haters and fans alike. This continued for most of the year (and still continues today), hence why it’s getting a mention now.

3. Ace

Believe it or not Murdoc and Ace are confirmed #friends. You wouldn’t know that from all the Murdoc vs Ace content that sprung out of this year but Ace was the one who joined Murdoc for hot chocolate after he got out of prison, “they go way back” etc etc. Ace was a big deal because it was probably the only time the fandom guessed something correctly this entire year. Jamie began posting cryptic pictures of Noodle with this unidentified man, then another with only the Ace card visible. “It a Powerpuff Girls crossover!” Some people claimed. But that seemed so random? Really? A B-list cartoon villain from a cartoon targeting an entirely different demographic? More likely than you think! Ace never spoke a word and he wasn’t allowed to smoke or have sex. People obsessed over him anyways. To this day I still have no idea who he is or what kind of personality he has or really anything. But he wasn’t a bad guy (more on that later) and he was Murdoc’s friend so he’s alright with me.

4. Messaging Denholm

By now the fandom was fraught with distress on so many levels. We were lost. We needed someone to guide us, to show us the way, to show us the #truth. I don’t know exactly who started this trend but it soon spread around Reddit and other social media sites that Jamie’s son Denholm was replying to dm’s on Instagram and soon, he was graced with a deluge of of inquiries from casual fans and Murdoc stans alike. The thing is though - he actually *did* answer them. Many of us had spoilers re: Murdoc and Ace’s friendship, Murdoc getting out of prison, etc. MONTHS before they happened. I believe he even told us that 2D was fine back in like, June or something. Denholm knew! Eventually we pissed him off but it didn’t stop him from answering. He just answered angrier. It also caused fans to argue more because people started accusing others of photoshopping his responses and nothing can ever be done peacefully here. I haven’t followed up on this story singe the end of summer but I think fans have finally scaled back on the messaging. But I hear he’s working on a Gorillaz documentary for 2019 so...I’m sure we’ll be talking again soon.

5. Noodle

I want to take a moment here to also acknowledge the struggle AMA Gorillaz hosted on, of all places, Youtube. Thankfully, diligent redditors compiled a google doc of all the answers otherwise they would lost thanks to Youtube’s confusing interface. ANYHOW. The answer that stirred up the biggest milieu of debate and confusion came from Noodle. This isn’t exactly my lane - I don’t wade into Noodle issues and I don’t id as part of the LGBT community - so I’m not going to say much here other than, at the very least, this was the second or third time she has officially denied any interest in dating her bandmates.

6. 2D’s journal/2Doc

Okay first of all: 2DOC...jk, jk...jk? But no, honestly, this actually did become a big story this year, much bigger than expected. The release of 2D’s journal was the catalyst here, revealing a number of drawings and images of Murdoc. “Souk Eye,” a song that came with visuals featuring close ups of Murdoc’s face and vaguely romantic lyrics was depicted in 2D’s journal next to yet another drawing of Murdoc. We were confused! 2D didn’t care that Murdoc was gone, right? 2Doc shippers were intrigued. I was hesitant. We were all called delusional. However, “Souk Eye” was later confirmed to be a love song by Damon Albarn, and Murdoc and 2D have both claimed their relationship is “better” since the end of phase 5 (hhMmMmM). Obvi, take this with a grain of salt because it’s Gorillaz but the journal was instrumental in confirming how closely The Now Now (and the entire plot of phase 5, really) was tied to Murdoc and 2D’s relationship, particularly what 2D thinks of Murdoc. Think of it as platonic if you want but they share a closeness on SOME level and the content of 2018, from interviews to the Murdoc chats to the album itself, supports this. I rest my case.

7. Lost theories

Pour one out for all the lost theories. If you were a new fan this year you probably came up with a theory, or you got really invested in a theory. Some examples: HIM from PPG orchestrating the destruction of Gorillaz by possessing 2D and getting Murdoc framed with Ace as a double agent, or Murdoc’s imprisonment being tied to his trouble with EMI from phase 4, or phase 5 being about time travel, or Murdoc crashing Demon Dayz fest and fighting El Mierda on stage, or 2D being the one to frame Murdoc or Murdoc’s inmate number (24602) being a Les Mis reference implying that he’d get a character arc similar to Jean Valjean...you get the idea. But there are dreams that cannot beeee, and there are storms we cannot weather. You can argue about the budget or G-Shock or whatever but the truth is Gorillaz is just disorganized. This is their Brand™.

8. The Murdoc Chatbot

Gorillaz did an interesting thing this year - it let us talk to Murdoc! Sometime around June, he writers decided that the plot of phase 5 would be best spent, not on exploring the band’s dynamic with Murdoc gone or developing Ace’s personality, but on Murdoc! Fandom spent most of the summer following Murdoc’s experience in prison and helping to “free” him via a chatbot you could access through Kik, Instagram or Facebook. Basically, Murdoc was Paddington from Paddington 2, and we the fans were supposed to be the Browns trying to break him out and prove his innocence. Other fans begrudgingly used the chatbot to make fun of him or tell him to die and follow along with the story (it was the only place you could get plot updates). It was a neat idea as well as a funny experience to pretend to be talking to him, and the plot was very engaging at times. It was the chatbot that revealed the very dissatisfying (albeit happy) conclusion that Murdoc is no Paddington and had lied about everything - being framed, El Mierda etc. - but felt really bad about it. His apology was basically this. I’m going to also tag the #FreeMurdoc merchandise debacle, how overpriced it was and how it ended up being pointless anyways because Murdoc wasn’t framed and didn’t need to be “freed” onto this, because it all falls under the same event. Oh, and you got to talk to Noodle sometimes, too.

9. G-shock ends phase 5

I put “ends phase 5″ in strikethrough because G-Shock on its own is actually pretty cool, and made up for the lack of videos (2 in total) that were released this year. The now Murdoc inclusive band goes to space and starts an alien war! That’s fun! Completely removed from whatever phase 5 was, but fun! (And I say that genuinely) What was messy about G-shock was that it came out of nowhere. The final Murdoc chat, that was SUPPOSED to reveal the ending to the prison arc, hadn’t even happened but suddenly, Murdoc was back to sell watches to aliens with the rest of the band and Ace was gone. But the final chat was delayed by a month and G-Shock came out anyways. Out of this came memes about how phase 5 ended so Gorillaz could try to sell us watches.

10. Cass Browne Tells us the True Plastic Beach Ending

We ended 2018 with not one but two major interviews from the fancast, Hallelujah Monkeyz but I’m choosing to cover their latest interview with Cass Browne, writer of Rise of the Ogre. If you were new this year you probably heard older fans mention ad nauseam how much they missed this guy name Cass. Well, Cass came back and dropped actual bombs about the true ending of phase 3, Murdoc’s lost backstory and the Plastic Beach book he found AND that a sequel to ROTO was planned and dropped. Understandably, this sparked a lot of discussion and also revealed just how important Cass was to the continuity of the Gorillaz storyline. Back then, we had ROTO and Plastic Beach. Today, we have “Murdoc drowns in poop and reunites with the band offscreen”

And that’s the year! And look I’m not saying this because I’m a stan but this was a Murdoc year. He was at the center of like, at least 80% of the angst and joy of fandom and I could make separate “top 10 Murdoc moments” or “top 10 2Doc moments.” I guess for me, on an individual level, it was an alright year. For one, I actually talked to more people this year and met some really great friends (something I don’t typically do in fandom). I also get to check “write a fanfic” off my bucket list (it’s still a WIP but it’s the first WIP I’ve ever had so I’m counting it). And personally, my life has changed and without getting into too many details I’ve overcome a lot, grown professionally and...I think I can be kinda proud of myself for that. I expect 2019 to be a slower year than this one, and, I think the fandom needs that. Hopefully I’ll still see some of you around because I’m going to be here for at least the next few months while I finish up you know what.

Honorable mentions: 2D “Dies” of Ligma and other 2D memes, 2D writes The Now Now, Benjamin Clementine says he regrets working with Gorillaz, Noodles old VA confirms Jamie ghosted her and recast Noodle without telling her, Gorillaz delay the final Murdoc chat by a month, Demon Dayz doesn’t get streamed, Music video releases - “Humilty” and “Tranz”, Cyborg Noodle returns with boobs and causes debate, the “Let Ace Speak” petition,

#endofyear #long post /#there's a 2doc mention in here just fyi if you want to avoid #not as organized as last year's that's for sure #but here it is!#again this is more for my records and tradition but also here to read if you want

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spmcomic · 6 years ago

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Even with her glasses on, it was hard for Nastasia to be subtle about checking on the Count. He wasn’t paying much attention to the two of them, anyhow, but she didn’t dare risk anything that would push him over the edge. O’Chunks carefully kept his eye on Nastasia, even when the Count paced around out of her range of vision.

“He’s, um, not going to last much longer at this rate,” Nastasia forced her voice lower. They didn’t really have any privacy in the open cave, and if O’Chunks could hear her, then the Count could. But she needed to know the plan. To have a plan. “So we’ve got to act soon. ‘K?”

O’Chunks’ eye flicked up toward the ceiling for a moment. He tugged at his beard. “Methinks I’ve got something we can try, now that ‘e’s awake,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble even as he struggled to whisper.

The Count circled back around behind O’Chunks where Nastasia could see him. His ear wasn’t turned their way, she noted. He was lost in his own thoughts. She didn’t allow herself a moment to sigh in relief. She simply nodded her chin in the Count’s direction. O’Chunks scratched at his beard idly and sauntered over to intercept the Count. Or, he tried to. Nastasia could see the stiffness in his steps.

“Hey, eh, Count…” O’Chunks started.

The Count stopped and stared at him. Nastasia wasn’t sure if he recognized O’Chunks, from the anger and confusion etched into his expression. “Y… Wh… What,” the Count stuttered. Nastasia winced behind her glasses. It was so hard to tell when he would hit his threshold. He’d been getting worked up and burning out in shorter and shorter cycles, the last few days. Did they even catch him in time, or would it have to wait until tomorrow?

O’Chunks held up his hands, slowly. “I noticed yeh seem t’be havin’ some difficulty.” He did an admirable job of keeping his voice low and level. Nastasia briskly marched over to the two of them, folding her hands behind her back to hide her hand-wringing.

The Count simply narrowed his eyes.

“I know yer stressed,” O’Chunks continued. “I might be able t’help yeh… Would yeh like teh try somethin’ out with me?”

The Count was squinting now, as if he was having trouble staying focused on O’Chunks. Something deep in Nastasia’s core ached.

“… Wh… at… are you sp… t-talk, ing, about…?”

O’Chunks briefly pursed his lips before he spoke. “Have yeh ever tried t’control yer breathing? Breathing exercises?”

The Count blinked and straightened, though his expression didn’t change. “Wh…”

When he didn’t finish his thought, O’Chunks took a deep breath. Nastasia held stock-still. “Count, yeh haf’ta learn t’calm yerself down. Nassy an’ I cannae keep watchin’ yeh fizzle out like this.”

The Count’s eyes flickered to Nastasia, who nodded curtly.

“If yeh cannae hold yerself together, we haf’ta go back teh avoidin’ the weirder towns and their folk.”

The Count made a tiny noise of displeasure. “B-but… th… s… supplies…?” The book hovered just behind his shoulder, wobbling every few seconds.

O’Chunks shook his head. “Safety first.” He hesitated. “… We depend on you fer tha’.”

Nastasia’s mouth twisted to the side. “It’s up to you. Yeah…” Before she could continue, O’Chunks nudged her ankle with his own. She straightened.

The Count stood back against the wall, uncertain. Nastasia hadn’t noticed he’d been puffed up until the fluff on his head started, ever so slowly, to settle back down. “H-how… to… Why…?”

“Panicking hits yeh harder’n vintage gouda,” O’Chunks explained. “We need teh get tha’ under control at least.”

The Count blinked at his turn of phrase, but let it go. His bad ear fell back. “Wh… at, is, p-panicking?”

Well, that was a new one. Nastasia’s head tilted just slightly and she caught O’Chunks reach to scratch his head before suppressing the gesture. She eyed him, waiting to see if he’d catch her gaze, but she was standing on his blind side. So she waited.

“It’s, uh, like when yeh start feelin’…” He turned his head to the side and back. “Outta control? I guess, fer yeh, it would be like when yeh start feelin’ all turned around in yer head. When yeh get too scared.”

The Count’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Too accusatory.

“What… does it feel like, when you, um, start feeling like that?” she ventured.

“… Feels…” The Count struggled for a moment. “I-it feels… as though… Count Bleck is… is l-lost in a… in fog. He becomes…”

O’Chunks and Nastasia glanced at each other. Even that sentence seemed to exhaust the Count, and he reached for his book.

“Count Bleck is weak and tired. The world is too fast for the slow, feeble Count Bleck. Only with the support of the Prognosticus may he truly participate,” he hissed.

O’Chunks frowned. “Methinks I can wrap me head ‘round tha’… Soldiers can feel tha’ way, now an’ then, on the battlefield. After th’battle, they can get… hazy, an’ confused.”

The Count was drifting off. They were getting too sidetracked. “So, yeah, we should get started,” Nastasia said. She shifted her weight. The Count hadn’t looked up from his book yet. “Count? Are you ready?”

The book lowered. He blinked. “Ready… for…?”

“Th’exercises, Count.”

“If… w-we must.” He grimaced.

It took several minutes to get the Count farther away from the wall and arranged into a circle with them. Or, Nastasia supposed, a lopsided triangle. Her hopes for O’Chunks’ solution were dwindling with the Count’s patience. O’Chunks outlined each step with careful, slow motions, and then he had them get started. She was supposed to have her eyes closed, but she couldn’t help but watch the Count’s brows furrow with every breath O’Chunks led him through. She bit her lip. The other two wouldn’t notice. Her thoughts swirled together in disorganized clumps over O’Chunks’ low murmuring.

She couldn’t take it anymore. “Um, Count… Is everything going alright over there?”

His fangs drew up in a silent snarl. “Th… is, is not… w-working…” He fidgeted. She sighed when he grabbed at his book and opened his eyes. “The exercise would be futile. It will not work. It will never work. Nothing but the Prognosticus could help the pathetic Count Bleck.” It rose in front of him as he dropped his head into his hands and she lost sight of him.

O’Chunks paused. Then he reached out with a long arm and gently shooed the book off to the side. “There’re still some other things we can try, Count. This is only one way to do it.”

“Perhaps the general is deaf as well as blind.”

“Not yet,” O’Chunks grinned. “I know yeh may not notice it at first, but this kind of thing takes practice, buddy.”

The Count twitched his fingers open to glare at him with baleful eye. Nastasia tilted her head back and pretended it was to stretch her shoulders. It was too risky to clown around with nicknames. Luckily, he cleared his throat after a moment and continued.

“Yeh gotta make it a habit. Then it’ll help more, yeah?”

The Count didn’t respond.

“Yeah, so, we could do this more if you wanted. Add it to the schedule. ‘K?”

He let his hands drop and turned his head away. “… No…”

“What are you so worried about, Count?” Nastasia pressed.

The Count frowned. It was a long time before he responded. They waited in silence. “How could… How… Wh-why would Count Bleck st-stop, and close h-his eyes… and wait… while i-in t, in danger? H-how could it help, wh-when it m… when it n-needs to? How could s-some, thing, so small and strange… affect this…?”

O’Chunks frowned thoughtfully, leaning forward. Even Nastasia needed a minute to parse that.

“Wh, why would Count Bleck s-stand there, and… d-do nothing? Count Bleck does… e-enough of n-nothing, already…”

She looked up at him. He seemed like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands; instead of sitting statue-like, he was clenching and unclenching his fists. They probably didn’t have much longer, now, as hard as he was working to stay awake for them.

“Maybe…” She paused. The Count glanced in her direction, eyes bleary. “Um, well, something my supervisor did in the colony… She would just count to ten. Slowly. To get her head out of the emotion.” She twisted her fingers together. “It was, y’know, an important skill, around my coworkers…”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Th… That still… r-requires…”

“It dinnae haf’ta help then,” O’Chunks said. “It jus’ has teh help now, Count. Jus’ do it when yer safe.”

“Just, you could practice right now, while we’re here… ‘K?”

“Very… well…” He shifted his weight and closed his eyes. Soon he was frowning again.

“Don’t hold yer breath,” O’Chunks reminded him. The Count huffed.

The two of them waited a moment, but he didn’t open his eyes. It would be easy to mistake his expression as simply troubled sleep, after too long…

Nastasia frowned. She looked up at O’Chunks. He was resting his arms in his lap, watching the Count’s book sink to the ground. She nudged him.

“Yeah, so… I’ve never seen you do anything like this,” she muttered. O’Chunks flinched.

“Ehh, well, yeh know…” He rubbed his head. “I already have lots o’combat experience, I jus’ don’t need it much nowadays…” Nastasia stared at him and he crumbled.

“It dinnae help me much,” he whispered. “But it can help some people.”

She returned her attention to the Count. It was too hard to tell if he was awake, or asleep, or… She set her mouth in a thin line. “If it helps at all, even once, it was worth it.”

“I know, Nassy,” he said. “I know.”

previous | next

index

start at the beginning

#spm #super paper mario #paper mario #nastasia #count bleck #o'chunks #arc 4

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fracturedxprospice · 7 years ago

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RP PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET

want new-and-exciting plots for your character? long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? fear not! fill out this form and give your rp partners both present and future all the of juicy JUMPING OFF POINTS they need to help you get your characters acquainted.

be sure to TAG THE PLAYERS WHOSE CHARACTERS YOU WANT MORE CUES TO INTERACT WITH, and REPOST, DON’T REBLOG! feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. template here.

MUN NAME: Jaymi & Pashy are the go tos but I’m down for whatever anyone calls me ^-^ OOC CONTACT: Preferably Discord (citrusantiseptic#7843 and if anyone catches the reference you get 10pt in the friendship fuck it bucket). Just let me know who you are and stuff because I have been avoiding Tumblr IMs like the plague, especially since Tumblr IMs just stresses me out for some reason.

WHO THE HECK IS MY MUSE ANYWAY:

My muses are Certified Garbage Fire Kids. So here’s a little crash course; essentially all my muses are connected and at the center there’s this shadow organization called SUPERSTITION that regulates and hides supernaturals existence from the public eye. They’re borderline shadow government (but they have facilities all throughout the world so... organization). Anyhow, they’re heavily corrupt and lie and manipulate these “monsters” because they view them as less than people. Though some Supernaturals have gotten their hands in the organization unbeknownst to the human front runners, they tend to mistreat the creatures (honestly, ask Isis. Ask me. Cause that’s... Wowee!! More at 11). Their main goal is to manifest or create and control a creature that could wipe out all other supernaturals, and most of the mythicals are far too busy with their own personal or contained problems that no one’s really paying much attention.

POINTS OF INTEREST:

I believe this post covers most everything I got about SUPERSTITION...so far. If you’re looking for lore, I haven’t posted that stuff yet. If you’re looking for solo character well... I don’t have their tags back up yet so patience is a virtue. I’m more than willing to give someone a tag for a particular character if they want to read up on them a little more.

WHAT THEY’VE BEEN UP TO RECENTLY:

Depends on thread and verse. Everyone has their own experience with a character and it nudges my character toward an end. Nothing more can really be said here.

WHERE TO FIND THEM:

Most tend to stick to crowded populations but some tend to stay away from people for various reasons. They all travel around fairly frequently, most because they’re forced to, some because they like to. You’ll find them wherever the wind blows, usually.

CURRENT PLANS:

None worth mentioning... Especially because some of the plans I have are better as drabbles. Lol

DESIRED INTERACTIONS:

All of them. Literally, whatever you got, I want. Gimme what you got.

OFFERED INTERACTIONS:

No one really takes up the pre-est offer but I’m always up to plotting. The only thing I won’t do is pre-est romance and for a past romance, I would definitely like to test the waters of that before I fully consent to something like that. A lot of my muses feel physical attraction more than... Basically any other kind of attraction.

CURRENT OPEN POST/S:

Since they aren’t on the navi page and totally though it was XD

ANYTHING ELSE?:

My activity can be sporadic and all over the place. My motivation for everything goes all over the place and my mind is very disorganized. I forget things a lot so remind me if I miss something. And just because I may ship something doesn’t mean my muse will go for it. Please don’t take me liking something as a confirmation of a ship cause it’s not always the case.

TAGGED BY: i stole TAGGING: whoever wants

#Living Like Kings With Broken Strings { outofcharacter ||#cw long post #{(i forgot this was in my drafts XD )}

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thnks-fr-th-mngs · 7 years ago

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run me over

So... finally got good WiFi to post this fifth part!

Part One: thump

Part Two: melt

Part Three: do you even meme?

Part Four: laugh

Part Five: fall

It’s not a date. That’s what Jack had been telling himself for a week now. It’s not a date. He was going to see Felix again, enjoy his company one more time in complete one sided emotion. They were going to hang out at the arcade. Like the good old days when the two guys were just kids, and the arcade was still a cool place to hang out. Not that it wasn’t anymore, but it was a dying oasis.

Maybe he shouldn’t have worn this shirt. Maybe a different colour would have been better. What was Felix’s favorite colour? Maybe that was something Jack should know by now, he has been working on a friendship for near a month at this point. They had been talking almost every day since having watched the movie with PJ. He was even texting the goof himself and getting advice on how to deal with the Swede.

Thank goodness for that too, because Jack almost blew it a couple times there.

Jack was in the car with Felix now and just a block away from the arcade. They had been talking about video games, and Jack’s favorite game.

“It’s a good game, not gonna lie,” Felix said. “I played it. I just like Dark Souls better.” Jack could almost feel offended at this.

“Shadow of the Colossus is so much better! It’s just boss battles over and over!” Jack looked at Felix and wanted to hold his hand so badly, but refrained. Felix winced at jack’s yelling. He still wasn’t used to it yet.

“Alright!” Felix yelled in mock agreement. “It’s the best game!” Jack faced forward again.

“Damn right it is!” the two pulled into the parking lot of the arcade and got out to walk when the car stopped. Jack was visibly excited. He almost skipped as he walked, giggling when he talked. Felix was amused to see Jack act almost like a little boy. It was definitely endearing to say the least, Felix definitely was comfortable enough with his sexuality to call the man adorable.

Stepping into the arcade, Jack and Felix took a moment to take in the blips and bells and lights from the dozens of games around. This was definitely going to be a good afternoon.

“Wanna make a bet?” Felix almost sings, his eyes twinkling and eyebrow raising. Jack loved his eyes.

“What are ou planning you meatball?” Jack squinted his eyes and put his hands on his hips. They walked to the coin machine to trade forty dollars for tokens.

“Whoever wins the most games by the end of the day wins,” Felix suggested. Jack thought about it, sure that he wouldn’t win. Felix was just as sure of his gaming ability.

“Somethings got to be at stake here,” Jack said. “Loser has to do whatever the winner wants. But only one thing!” Jack would make that win count. Felix smiled even more and gave a little laugh. Jack could feel his heart squeezing in his chest.

“Get ready to lose, Sean!” Jack wanted to die right then at the sound of Felix calling out his legal name. It was almost too much for him to handle. Jack smiled through the urge to jump Felix and kiss him, wrapping his arms around him. No doubt he’d lose him uber quickly that way. He just had to wait, lie and wait.

“You have to be cheating!” Felix called out after. He was losing sorely in air hockey – the final game the boys would play. Jack was already ahead by wins, but Felix insisted that air hockey would be the ultimatum. The all or nothing. And he was still losing five to one.

“You are terrible at this,” Jack retorted. He hit the puck once and it landed itself in the little goal. Felix huffed as jack gained another point.

“I’m not, you're just a cheater!” He complained like a child.

“How can you cheat at this?” Jack laughed, watching the puck that Felix was serving. The two of them had genuinely been having a blast, even if Felix was sorely losing. They hit the puck back and fortha few more times until Felix made a lucky shot and gained a point. It was now six to two. If Jack made another point, Felix would lose the whole bet.

“Ha!” Felix threw his hands up in the air. “I got a point! Get ready Irish leprechaun cause I'm about to whoop your ass!”

“Be quiet you goof,” Jack laughed. “There are kids around.” Felix’s arms went down quickly and looked embarrassed very quickly. His cheeks got the tiniest hint of pink and Jack laughed more. In truth he found it to be the most adorable thing ever, but played it off as Felix being funny. “Come on, we aren’t finished yet!” Jack set the puck back on the table top. Immediately it started floating away. He hit it towards Felix, the man whom he was slowly falling for more and more.

The two men kept passing and missing hits for near a minute. Felix tried his best to keep Jack from winning. But Jack was just a little too good. Or maybe it was just luck, seeing as how he’d never heard of anyone who was genuinely good at air hockey. Anyhow, Jack made the final seventh point, signifying he had won the game. He lifted his arms in victory.

“Yes!” He cried out over the blips and shouts from other people. “Irish Leprechaun gets the win!” Felix narrowed his eyes playfully at the gloating shorter man.

“I still say you cheated,” He pointed an accusatory finger at Jack, who just laughed.

“Oh shut up and let’s count our tickets.” Jack led the way to the ticket counting machine. He had a mess of tickets in his hand which he had gotten from most of the games they played. It almost made Felix roll his eyes over the disorganization Jack seemed to have over them. It took a while to untangle them enough to insert them into the machine, and ripping the tickets was necessary at times, but eventually the machine printed a receipt that dictated Jack had over nine hundred fifty tickets.

Felix was smart about the whole issue. He had folded his tickets nicely into rows of ten and kept them in the cup they used for tokens. Neat. Jack wondered how Felix had the patience to do that. It was cute, how he used his head even at the most useless of times. Easily, Felix fed the tickets to the machine. The receipt read six hundred twenty three total tickets. Jack made the pathetic muted trumpet sound that played in old cartoons whenever the character failed.

“Shut up,” Felix muttered playfully. They made their way to the rewards counter to get things. They looked around at different stupid toys for a few minute. Chinese handcuffs, those stupid plastic hands, tops, stickers, sweets. They laughed at everything they saw. Nothing was good enough. They were a bit too old for some of these things and neither of them had enough to get the really good things like the hover boards or wii games to play with guests. Jack’s eye caught on a black plushy the size of a pumpkin.

“Fe, look!” Jack cried out pointing to the dragon plushy. “It’s a Toothless!” Felix looked to the toy. He could tell jack really liked it. Could tell he wanted it. The way Jack looked with wide eyes at the cute dragon was endearing. He was like a child. Felix smiled.

“You should get it,” he said. Jack looked for the tag that said how much it was. Twelve hundred thirty tickets. He frowned disappointed.

“Can’t,” he said dejectedly. “It’s too much.” Felix frowned and looked at the tag. He did some quick mental math. He pulled Jack be the sleeve to get to the counter and got the attention of a girl who was working behind the counter. When she saw Felix she smiled.

“What can I get you?” She said. Felix took Jack’s ticket from him and handed them to the girl.

“Can we get the Toothless thing if we combine the two?” He asked, pointing to the plushy. Jack looked up quickly and looked at Felix. Combine the tickets to get him the Toothless? Would he really do that for him? Felix didn’t look to be joking.

The girl looked at Jack and smiled. “You’re in luck,” She said lightly. She moved to get the Toothless from the shelf. Jack just kept looking at Felix while waiting. It wasn’t such an odd thing to do, but it was so incredibly sweet, so terrifically lovable. Jack’s heart beat perfectly calm and didn’t hurt at all. Different to the usual reaction he had when Felix did something he loved.

That’s when Jack knew his emotions had gotten too strong.

“Here you go!” The girl handed over the plushie to Felix. “That leaves you with…three hundred forty six tickets.” She seemed to do the math in her head. Felix handed Jack the plushy. He took it in his hands gingerly. It was a surprisingly good quality. Had the DreamWorks tag on it. Jack smiled softly when he hugged the plushy tightly. He’d love and take good care of this for the rest of his life. A gift from the first guy he ever loved.

Loved.

“Wanna get a bunch of candy?” Felix asked. Jack could only nod. He was afraid to speak, maybe his loud voice would blow Felix away. Felix turned to the girl behind the counter. “Just fill a bag with different sweets until we run out of tickets.” The girl nodded and grabbed a bag and went to the sweets under the glass counter. She pulled out an assortment of lollipops, sour strings, skittles, Jolly Ranchers, and chocolates.

“Hey whats wrong?” Felix said noticing jack was very quiet.

“Nothing,” Jack said softly. “I just can’t believe you gave up half your tickets for me.” Felix smiled at that.

“No big deal,” he assured. “I’d rather you get something cool you want than we both get shitty little toys.” The girl came back and gave Felix the bag of candy. The two men walked back to the car. Felix was going to drop Jack off at home now.

On the way to Jack’s house, he thought a lot. Perhaps to Felix the gesture was simply an act of kindness or sensibility. But to Jack it was a whole lot more than that. It was something that pushed jack to understand the depth of his emotions. How he could never live without Felix being in his life one way or another. Even if they never got together romantically, he needed him. Without Felix, what was even the point of living anymore? So of course, he had to keep him. Even if it meant never telling Felix he was gay, or admitting his feelings to a man who believed he was incredibly straight.

If this is what love felt like, Jack was in for a lifetime of unrequited love and disappointment when Felix found a girl he thought he loved. It was definitely a fast fall for him. Almost two months since he had first been saved by Felix. Only one month of talking to him. Of course it was an incredibly short amount of time. Most people would say it definitely was not love.

But he was sure it was. How could it be anything else?

Felix reached Jack’s house and stopped the car.

“Well here we are,” Felix said. They had both been munching on sweets on the way. Felix was currently munching on a chocolate. Jack was sucking on a lollipop that he just opened.

“I had fun man,” Jack said with a smile. “Thanks for bringing me!” He unbuckled his seatbelt.

“I had fun too! Still think you cheated but it’s whatever.” Felix shrugged and giggled. That gave Jack an idea.

“Oh yeah,” he started with a mischievous smirk. “About that…” Felix’s smile disappeared. The bet had still been on and Felix just reminded Jack of it. Oh no, he thought. For sure, Felix thought Jack would make him do something horrible. Jack thought about it quickly. What did he want from Felix now? A kiss would be nice, but no doubt Felix would question it and refuse and then wonder what Jack was really around for. But perhaps a kiss on the cheek… but it had to be weird for Felix.

“Kiss me on the cheek,” Jack said with a smirk. “Since you lost.” Felix’s eyes widened and he looked confused at Jack.

“What?” He chuckled nervously. “For real?”

“What?” jack taunted. “You aren’t comfortable enough in your own sexuality that you can’t give a friend a kiss on the cheek when you lose a bet?” Felix blushed a little bit.

“How is this rewarding for you?” He asked moving his hair around on his head.

“It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?” Jack laughed. It was a good cover for him. No one had to know or suspect anything. Felix thought about tit for a minute. A bet was a bet. He had to pay up. Jack apparently knew exactly what made him tick.

“Alright,” he surrendered. Jack smiled as if he had won – which he had – and closed his eyes. He turned his head and brought his cheek out for Felix to kiss when he was ready. Felix bit his pride and heterosexuality and leaned in to give Jack a kiss to his cheek. He left a small mark of chocolate on his cheek. Felix saw and was tempted to wipe it away but decided against it. Jack smiled wider, probably amused – unbeknownst to Felix he was shining with joy and resisting to pull Felix in for a kiss.

“Not so bad now was it?” Jack joked. Felix blushed a bit.

“The worst thing I’ve ever done in my life,” he playfully insulted. Jack laughed and got out of the car. After a quick goodbye, Felix drove away. It was a strange feeling; kissing a man on the cheek. He had never done that before. Felix shied away from anything that could be considered homosexual, although he could act like the gayest person in the whole city, he never acted on words or phrases he’s said or mimed.

He drove home thinking of the green haired boy and the kiss on the cheek. It couldn’t have meant anything to jack… so why was it starting to mean something to him?

#jelix #fanfic #fan fiction #septicpie #jelix fic #run me over #little fic

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regents-hidden-artblog · 5 years ago

Text

Fresh Start

"It had finally dawned on me; I had inherited my father's darkness, but neither his worldly insight nor capricious wit were passed on with it. I had but one resolution..."

I heard a knocking at my study door, and a familiar voice calling from the other side.

Isabella: Dante? are you in there?

Shocked, I looked around the room, trying to find my clock.

Dante: ah, fuck, is it really...

Dante: oh, son of a bitch.

I found it, and as I feared, it was nine thirty-two. Isabella was right on time, and I was still busy writing.

Isabella: are you alright?

Dante: yeah-, i...come on in.

She pushed the door open, and was greeted with an absurd, disorganized mess of papers, desks, TV-trays, and more papers, all of which was the product of my favorite hobby. I set down the clock, and the cord dragging off the side of the desk it originally sat on pulled a few stray papers off down to the floor.

Isabella: oh my goodness.

Dante: yeah, uh.

Dante: there's a reason i don't tend to let anyone in here.

I fumbled around a short desk, one which I doubtless had used as an impromptu footstool once or twice, but now was laden with half-written stories. I captchalogued the papers that covered it, and pushed it comfortably out of the way, sitting down on it as I motioned for Isabella to take my desk chair.

Isabella: are you sure you're alright down...there?

Dante: yeah, i'll be fine.

Dante: ...not like i could fit a second actual chair in here anyhow.

Dante: sorry about...sorry about forgetting about the date, i got...caught up.

She started to look over the papers on the main desk, doubtless noticing how I scrawled a title at the corners of the page to organize them. I looked away, which seemed to have caught her attention.

Isabella: it's quite alright, Dante.

Isabella: it could have been worse, of course. you might not have been home.

Dante: where else would i be?

Isabella: the Red Star, perhaps?

Dante: ...nevermind i asked.

She chuckled warmly, reaching over to place a hand on my knee.

Isabella: I'm joking, of course.

Dante: right.

I gave a nervous chuckle in response, and I saw her eyes wander back over to my current project.

Isabella: I take it this is what you were caught up with?

Dante: yeah, i...

Dante: i guess you could say i got caught up venting a bit.

Isabella: venting?

Isabella: may I read a bit of it?

Dante: ...sure.

She stared at me for a moment, sensing my hesitation, though her eyes went to the papers after I nodded my assent. She shuffled through the chaos, finding and organizing the pages by their number before starting to read.

I sat still, keeping silent, but while she read my mind raced with fear. Surely she'd recognize what the writing meant, I had already clued her into my dissatisfaction by calling it "venting". She'd read it and fear that I was about to do something stupid, which, to a degree, I was, but how stupid it would be would pale in comparison to how stupid I'd feel having let her read it.

Just as my mind started working over what she might say, rehearsing an entire conversation yet to happen, she caught my attention.

Isabella: is this the last page?

She showed me the most recent page, marked VIII, and I gave a brief nod.

Isabella: what is he going to do?

Dante: he's...

I hesitated, deciding whether or not to lie, while also racking my brain for what I was about to even write. Ultimately, I decided to be straightforward about it.

Dante: ...going into seclusion.

Dante: i'm retiring him as a character. i'm...i'm done writing him, i guess.

She paused for a moment, looking over the words on the last two pages again.

Isabella: I see.

Isabella: does this mean you plan on doing something similar?

Dante: you say that like it's even an option.

Isabella: you've humored it before.

Dante: yeah, but...

I shrugged, casting my eyes down to the floor.

Dante: i'm not that stupid anymore.

Isabella: Dante...

Dante: besides!

I spoke up before I realized I didn't have anything prepared to follow it beyond an idea - a rough one, but for me it was sufficient.

Dante: just because i'm done writing him doesn't mean i'm just done writing period.

Dante: i've got another character in the works, someone better.

Dante: someone i can really...try to emulate.

The hopes of communicating the idea bled out of me, and I slumped my shoulders. Isabella must have seen the excitement leave my face, but she seemed lost in thought, contemplating something. And after a good minute of doing so, she spoke.

Isabella: so...

Isabella: what you're saying is, you're done writing Balder, because you've left too many of your negative aspects to bleed into him...

Isabella: so you're going to write up someone new, a fresh start to build upon and hopefully become better through?

I blinked, utterly stupefied. And, just as stupidly, I nodded with unrestrained vigor.

And she smiled.

Isabella: what's his name?

Dante: ask.

For a moment, there was silence, and it was her turn to be befuddled. She raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

Isabella: ...I did.

Dante: no-, i mean...

Dante: oh goddammit i'm dumb.

Dante: i mean, his name is going to be "ask". like..."ask and embla". "ash".

I heard a puff of restrained laughter, and she leaned back in her seat to let the rest of it out.

Isabella: oh! well, that's quite the interesting name.

Isabella: I like it.

I grinned, leaning forward with just-restrained joy.

Dante: i hate to mess around with our date plan on the fly, but...would you like to help me work on that tonight?

She thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

Isabella: certainly. but first, we should probably see about cleaning up this mess of yours.

Isabella: I can't imagine how you can work with everything...everywhere, like this.

Dante: yeah...ahheh.

Dante: i guess we should get started, then.

Isabella: we should.

And so we did.

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