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obeiii-mee · 4 years ago

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So, I finally finished part 2 for the original ask. I’ve had a bit of trouble with writing the twins because I think this would affect them particularly bad. I hope you enjoy all this angst, cuz I sure as hell didn’t im fucking sobbing alright?

Pt. 1

Enjoy!

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The Brothers Reacting to MC sacrificing themselves to bring Lilith back, Part 2:

Satan:

-Satan felt like the stupidest demon in DevilDom. He was supposed to be the intellectual, the logical one, the one with more than a few spare brain cells to work with. And yet he never twigged there was anything going on with you. The signs were all there. You had asked him for very specific book recommendations for the past few weeks, about the Celestial Realm and the full power of souls. He even let you borrow some from his own collection without giving it a second thought!

-In hindsight, your goal was very obvious but at the time, he hadn’t even stopped for a second to consider it. It just didn’t seem like something you would be capable of doing. But you did. Of course you did. You were the most driven human he had even met. You managed to live for a full year with seven of the most dangerous demons in hell and make pacts with them no less, so anything is fair game when it comes to you.

-Lucifer and Lilith found him in the library, like usual, reading what seemed to be a very graphic book on different wars that took place in the human realm over the centuries. What can I say, the man wanted to know more human history for your sake. He was one of the few brothers who hadn’t even noticed you were missing and never thought anything was amiss. Sure, he missed your presence but the cynical fourth born isn’t exactly paranoid.

-Now, if it was Lucifer alone that had come to check up on him, Satan would have been very tempted to just ignore him. But obviously he noticed a slightly smaller, less threatening figure next to him and he forced himself to look up from his book. Lowkey hoping it was you because he often complained his brothers got to spend way too much time with you. Satan and Lilith technically never met, face to face. However, I like to think that since Satan was born out of Lucifer’s wrath, he has a small connection with his memories and therefore Lilith. After all, Satan was the only one that never participated in the war or actually fell down as angel.

-He never met her before. Yet he immediately recognised her as she came in. She had every trait you would expect an angel to have. Except she wasn’t an angel anymore of course. She was dead. Or at least supposed to be. Lucifer just stood in the doorway as she approached him. Lilith fidgeted in front of him as she tried to come up with the right words to introduce herself.

-“I’m really happy to actually-“

-She didn’t get to finish because Satan had embraced her almost immediately, almost like he was on auto mode and couldn’t help himself otherwise. She welcome the gesture, glad their first meeting wasn’t as awkward as she had predicted it would be. The eldest brother was watching, slightly in awe because, as far as he knew, the only person he had ever hugged before this was you.

-Of course, the spell had to be broken. Lucifer knew better than to step in and allowed his sister to explain. Satan was going to have a bad reaction nonetheless, but he might become even more aggressive if it was him delivering the news. Lilith never had to deal with this particular brother of hers or any of his fits but somehow, it was like she knew what to do.

- Their sister did her best to explain it to Satan as calmly as possible, as if that would make much of a difference. Satan remained oddly quiet throughout all of it, showing no reaction besides a neutral one. Lucifer found this strange. Yeah, his brother/son was usually the silent type, the sort of demon to think, not speak. But he expected some sort of emotion in there. Anything, really. Anger definitely. Maybe sorrow and misery. But not this.

-Lilith noticed the shaking before even Satan did. His body had just started convulsing on its own as he processed the idea of you laying there, unmoving and cold; dead. He involuntarily clenched his fists and he had to sit down before his legs gave over. Lucifer was still outright confused while Lilith struggled to soothe her brother. He hated feeling like this. All vulnerable and weak, like the skies of hell will fall on him and crush him. He was Satan for fuck’s sake. He was probably considered the most fearful creature in all of existence. He shouldn’t be feeling like this.

-But of course he did. You were always able to do that to him, bringing out that soft side of him he never knew he had. Or at least refused to acknowledge he had. The funny thing was, since you were the one being subjected to that side of his, he didn’t mind. Because you are MC, a literal ball of sunshine. Nothing him and his brothers deserved but you were still willing to spend time with them. The least they could have done was to protect you.

-They couldn’t even do that

-He couldn’t even do that

-Satan is even more retreated now than before, more hostile toward his own brothers and basically everyone else. He will snap at anyone for very minor reasons and lock himself up in the library even more than usual. Anything to get his mind off how much he must have disappointed you. It hurts too much to even hear your name being spoken. God forbid they choose another human to come down there as an exchange student because he will unleash all of his wrath on them on your behalf. How dare some lowly human try to replace you? He’s more prone to fits of anger now too. Long gone is his self control and calmness.

-The one person that understood him was dead. The one person he allowed himself to be close to and genuinely kind to was gone forever. Satan will never get over this. Or the fact that you were smiling so brightly before you died.

Asmo:

-He’s just so sick of it. So so so sick of it. So sick of watching everyone he cares about either die or get taken away from him. If he was a mortal he would have probably gone crazy. Maybe he already reached insanity and just didn’t realise it. After all, everyone has a breaking point, even demons. And once you go beyond that point, your whole world will shatter.

-To him, it seems almost impossible that just that morning he had seen you at breakfast, laughing along with his brothers and overall just being the intriguing, silly human you were. You were right there! Right in front of him, talking to him like it was any other day. And now he has to deal with the unbearable fact that he will never hear your voice again.

-Asmo was out, hanging out at the Fall as usual, when he realised he had missed several, frantic calls from Mammon, who at that point wasn’t aware that you were long dead.

-He brushed him off, initially, thinking his brother was just having another one of his melodramatic moments. So the fifth born went around Majolish, basically buying everything he could get his hands on to ignore the uneasiness creeping up on him. He could feel something bad was happening. He just didn’t know what.

-At this point, he was a bit unsettled which is very unlike him. He is pretty optimistic as a whole so seeing him so startled and on alert was a sort of disturbing sight to see. Lucifer called him after lunch and told him to come home. Normally, Asmo wouldn’t have taken his older brother’s words too seriously but hearing his strained voice on the other side of the phone forced him into action.

-He rushed home, faster then he had ever done before., because let’s be honest, he prefers being outside of the house more often than not. He searched for you everywhere, but you were nowhere to be found. However, he bumped into Lucifer and Lilith in the middle of the upstair’s corridor in his frantic search for you.

-Unlike his brothers, Asmo noticed Lilith immediately, way before he even acknowledged his brother. It was such a shock to him that he thought for sure that he was hallucinating, though things like that never happened to him beforehand. Asmo stopped breathing for what felt like centuries because he didn’t want to raise his expectations, he didn’t to be disappointed if Lilith truly wasn’t there and he was just making her up. He didn’t want to deal with the grief once again.

-However, Lilith remained exactly where she was and flashed him one of her brilliant, warm smiles that he had loved so much back in the Celestial Realm. That he, on more than one occasion, tried to copy because he wanted to have as much in common with Lilith as possible. He wasn’t imagining her and the moment he realised this, he threw himself at her, the worry of his hair being ruined long forgotten and now his only concern was that she would dissipate in thin air.

-Lilith did not yield and embraced her brother, she gave enough hugs today to last her a lifetime but she couldn’t be happier to see her beloved brothers again. It took every ounce of strength on Lilith’a part not to burst into tears from both joy and sorrow.

-Lucifer hated this. He hated having to cut in the happy moment and lay down the bad news. But he had do it. Because no one else would. He was the eldest. He was responsible for everyone. A sadist he may very well be, but it absolutely destroys him to see his brothers suffering from such extreme distress. He told Asmo everything as bluntly as he could, thinking that ripping the bandaid straight off would result in a better outcome.

-It did not.

-Mammon’s reaction to your death was expected, but Asmo’s took both Lilith and Lucifer by surprise. They didn’t expect him to be as emotional as he ended up being and both of them handled it awkwardly because the Avatar of Lust was usually such a confident and admirable creature, it felt weird to see him act in such a way. He fell to his knees in a moment of pure despair and cried enough tears to drown himself in them later. He sobbed for a long time and did not stop immediately, instead going through several stages of weeping, from hiccuping to panting and then back to crying. It was an endless cycle of sadness.

-Lilith half carried half dragged him to his bedroom, while her other brother watched, a bit mesmerised. Asmo usually loved having company and now that his sister was back, he 100% needed it but at the same time, he wished to remain alone for a while. It would be painful but he needed to gather his feelings in one place before he could even put together a conclusion on how he was feeling. So they both left and with the door closed, all the air seemed to suffocate him and drag him into endless despair.

-Asmo received a lot of damage from your death, changing his personality very abruptly. Compared to his brothers, his change in attitude is not so subtle and now he basically hates anything that reminds him of you. He no longer enjoys hanging out or clubbing at the Fall or even go shopping anymore unless it’s necessary because those were things he used to do with you! And now, they seemed so pointless he often wondered what was the point of actually doing it. The only sort of satisfaction he gets is being in your room because if he closes his eyes, just for a moment, he can pretend you’re still there with him, whispering words of comfort to him.

-Yes, he still has one night stands and tries to seduce people left and right but it’s a sort of distraction more than anything else. He doesn’t do it out of need anymore, but out of desperation to get you out of his head. He’s also been sneaking to the Human Realm a lot as of late, as if hoping to randomly bump into you up even though it’s not possible and he knows it. He’s just torturing himself further. Hopeless. Just hopeless.

-You made him feel so much more than just Lust. And now that he had you, even if it was for just a short amount of time, Asmo knew he would never feel that way to anyone ever again. He would never fall in love with anyone ever again.

-He knew the risks of getting attached to a human. He knew how much he would suffer in the end. After all, humans are mortals, they are not destined to live for long. And yet he went and did it anyway because you were too amazing to ignore. You gave him something he never realised he yearned for and you left before he could reciprocate.

The Twins:

-Neither Lilith nor Lucifer was surprised to find the two of them together, relaxing in the attic. It’s common knowledge at this point that the twins have a hard time being separated. And especially more so than before after the whole attic incident, which concluded with them refusing to leave each other’s side. Usually, you were with them too, of course, for good measure. Obviously, they weren’t able to find you anywhere like everyone else. Belphie got tired of searching and just suggested that they go upstairs and that eventually you’ll joking them.

-Lucifer was, understandably, extremely worried at how the twins would react to all of this. Just seeing their adored sister in the same room as them would be more than enough to cause them to malfunction. But if he let them know that you died mere hours ago? And for smuggling Lilith’s soul back into existence no less? It would be chaos. At least with his other brothers, their reactions he could more or less predict. But the twins were slightly different. Especially Belphie. You can never really tell what goes on inside his head.

-Beel noticed his sister before Belphie did. He was so taken aback, he tumbled backwards and off the bed, accidentally dragging his twin with him. It was quite a comical fall actually. Lilith would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the circumstances. She missed them, of course. Truth is, she missed all of her brothers and their memories back in the Celestial Realm. It always hurt so much to think that she could see them but never really interact with any of them. Except through you since you were heir in a way.

-Beel was a mess, first of all. You can easily imagine the distress he was in at the sight of his little sister. His dead little sister. Dead because of him. It might’ve been centuries since Lilith fell from the heavens and got transformed into a human but he continued to carry that burden with him because how could he not? He should’ve been able to save both Lilith and Belphie even though, logistically speaking, it would’ve been impossible. He saw the despair in her eyes right before she disappeared below the clouds. That image had and will haunt him for the rest of his eternal days.

-He was on his knees before her in a split second, grabbing the hems of her sleeves and sobbing into them as if the whole of DevilDom was about to crash down on all of them. Beel was yelling incoherently, switching between begging for forgiveness and stuttering mid sentence, unable to get the rights words out. The whole mansion was filled with his distraught weeping and he just couldn’t stop.

-His sister knelt down and embraced him, almost awkwardly because of the position they were in, as she began crying as well. Out of exhaustion more than anything. She’s dealt with so many breakdowns in one day that she couldn’t handle holding her emotions in anymore. With the death of her descendant and the sorrow of her brothers, she wished from the bottom of her heart she had just stayed dead because everything would have turned out alright that way.

-Belphie was more cautious. He stood at the back of the room, watching as his sister hugged Beel and sort of held him in a way that would quieten him down. Careful. He casted Lucifer a glance, as if to ask “what the hell is going on?” before once again staring at the ridiculous sight before him. Usually, he wasn’t one to look to his eldest brother for help. There was some dangerous hatred he harboured for him deep in his heart after all. But he was so confused and conflicted, he couldn’t fight the urge to seek guidance from him.

-Lucifer didn’t know how long it had been since he last saw his youngest brother be that openly vulnerable. It felt like an eternity now, to be honest. He was like a rock hard, clamped sea shell since their fall as angels. He walked over to him and placed his hand on Belphie’s shoulder. For the first time in millenniums, his brother didn’t try to swat it away.

-“Lilith is back.”

-That was all he needed. Those three words. As soon as Lucifer finished his sentence, he ran straight into his siblings who were still crying on the floor. He almost bulldozed them over if it wasn’t for Beel’s strength. The youngest landed on top of them, almost starting to cry as well. Beel, seemingly tired himself out so much that he went a bit limp in Lilith’s arms, still gripping onto her for dear life as if she were on the verge of disappearing again.

-“MC is dead.”

-It was a horribly timed moment to drop that bomb in, to be fair. Lucifer tried saying it as casually as he could but he could hear his own voice crack and see his own hands tremble. His mind was focused but his body had betrayed him. The twins were so into the moment, so glad to see their sister after all this time, it was almost like they didn’t hear him. So he repeated the statement, this time in a more composed manner. Belphie immediately reacted. He got off his siblings and straightened his back, glaring at Lucifer in shock from the other side of the room. Beel stayed where he was, but craned his neck to gawk at Lucifer, who was standing solemnly, waiting for the predicted chaos. Lilith closed her eyes and winced.

-Beel was in outright denial which was surprising. He wouldn’t, or rather refused, to accept that you could be dead. I mean, the idea itself was propestrous, right? You’ve almost died once and you managed to outdo death. Or more accurately, your future self did. You could do it again, couldn’t you? Just the image of you laying dead somewhere was enough to send him in panic and another, this time almost silent, meltdown. He seized fistfuls of his hair and pulled, as a method of escaping the pain that came with the thoughts of you and death being correlated in any way. If Lilith’s death wasn’t enough to push him over the edge, this sure as hell was. Could demons go insane? Probably. Beel certainly felt like he was. Even with Lilith there comforting him, he had the impression he couldn’t stand or even look up from the floor.

-Belphie didn’t make a move to aid his brother or help his sister. He stood, teeth gritted and jaw clenched, staring at his oldest brother with an odd gleam in his eyes. For a few moments, he was motionless. Then, he turned on his heel and marched out of the attic, slamming the door behind him so hard that the whole room shook. Lucifer didn’t try to stop him. It would be meaningless anyway. He wouldn’t listen to him. And his sister was still occupied with Beel, who kept mumbling with tears trailing down his cheeks about everything being his fault and not being there when he should have.

-The twins did not even go through the same stages of mourning their brothers did. Beel was dealing with the grief of someone incredibly close to him by eating even more than he normally would, causing his siblings quite a bit of concern. But they couldn’t argue much. He was the epitome of gluttony in the end. Belphie didn’t change much in terms of his daily activities. He slept as much as he could during the day. And at night, he stargazed as he always did. But more bitterly than usual, despising the fact that he wasn’t going to enjoy another starry night with you ever again. He didn’t blame you for dying. He was angry you left and to do something so stupid as bringing Lilith back in return for your lost soul. He was angry you couldn’t be selfish for once and let yourself be happy with them.

-He was angry at Mammon too. He learned he was supposed to be with you earlier that day. He wasn’t. And now the two aren’t speaking. For some reason, he is slightly upset with Lucifer too but that is only because he was the one who delivered the sad news. But most of all, he was very furious with himself. Because he promised that he would never let anything happen to you again after the whole choking incident. He swore on his honour as a demon to protect you and he couldn’t.

-Don’t tell him they’re bringing another exchange student in. He will kill them. He 100% will kill them. He doesn’t want to replace you. And neither does Beel. He would probably eat the new student within a few minutes. But it would take a while until all of that is sorted out. After all, even Diavolo himself is bound to be mourning in his own way. Not like you were meant to know, but you were definitely the favourite child exchange student.

-It wasn’t fair you had to leave. It wasn’t fair that you didn’t even get to say goodbye. It wasn’t fair that the three of you couldn’t spend more time together. Beel won’t be able to ever taste your cooking again and Belphie won’t have anyone to cuddle with in the morning and be generally lazy with. And again, they had even more of a reason to curse their father for ruining the one good thing that’s happened to them since their glory days as angels.

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-The 7 brothers will continue to grieve your death for the rest of eternity, be assured. Their sister just as much of course. And at some point, the whole of DevilDom had to in a way as the prince himself wasn’t his usual, peppy self. At least Lilith’s presence had a calming effect on them but not one that could compare to the trauma of knowing you were truly gone. They would wait and with time, there will be healing.

-Except time doesn’t heal anyone’s wounds. It just teaches them how to deal with the pain.

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This took so much longer than planned, Jesus Christ! I guess I was really unhappy with it at some point and gave up, then sort of rewrote it which took a while. And now it’s done! I’m sort of proud on how it turned out. A bit cliche but I feel like it created the right atmosphere. Also, the last quote above is a favourite of mine that I thought would be a good idea to add in.

The twins are joined because I thought it would not only save time but also make more sense since the two are together almost all the time. Hope no one is upset I didn’t do the twins separately, it would’ve taken even longer then!

To add, 1,080 followers???? Wtf, I haven’t even posted anything in a while, thank you so much! You’re all too nice istg.

@doggonudez asked me to tag them in this post, so I hope this actually works lmao.

Al~

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me imagines #angst #death #🔥 own posts #🌪 angst #📚 Satan supremacy #🪞Asmo supremacy #🍔 Beel supremacy #💫 Belphie supremacy

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slytherinsnekxvii · 4 years ago

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hi, remember that murder snily au i'm always talking abt but never have anything to show for? yeah, i've scrapped it like six times now and i finally have a version of it i'm marginally satisfied with. so, here you go, this is the first part of maybe three or four, i think? have fun:

anger

/ˈaŋɡə/

noun

noun: anger; plural noun: angers

1. Normal anger does not split open one's ribcage and wind itself around their heart. Normal anger does not coat itself in venom and sit behind one's teeth and hide under their tongue and lie patiently in wait. Normal anger is not cold and slow and remorseless. Lily thinks that what she calls anger is normal. Lily does not realise that she is extraordinary.

Lily's brand of anger is decidedly... different. What, exactly, makes it so different isn't exactly obvious to her, but she knows that it's not like anyone else's. At least, not as far as she's aware. Hers is a cold sort of anger, an all-encompassing thing that bites and burns and hurts. It's patient, too, winding in and around her ribcage and clawing its way upwards to settle behind her teeth, waiting for a reason to show itself. It's protective, aiming to eliminate a threat before it has a chance to do further damage.

She's... aware of her anger. Not very much so, but it's seen the light of day often enough to be familiar to her. She doesn't know it, though, hasn't made herself properly acquainted with the more... unfortunate spectrum of her emotions, and that is what makes it truly dangerous.

When she feels something scratching at her insides and festering beneath a vindictive sort of justice at seeing Black and Potter and Lupin and Pettigrew suffer the displeasure of the Slytherins, she thinks it's anger. She finds herself in a dusty, unused classroom in the dungeons, helping to refine a brutal spell designed to rend the flesh of anyone unlucky enough to be on the wrong end of it and she thinks it's anger that curls around her and whispers into her ear, "Make sure it hurts."

It isn't. She calls it anger, claims it a necessity, insists that she's protecting her best friend, but she doesn't realise she's mistaken.

The story of the "Prank" gets out—doctored, of course, to keep Black out of Azkaban, and Lupin away from execution—and Lily titters into the back of her hand when she hears it told in bits and pieces throughout the corridors.

"Did you hear?"

"Who would've thought—"

"—bloody idiots went into the Forest! At night! What kind of—"

"—ll five of them, yeah. Can't figure out for the life of me how they managed to get Snape to go—"

"—must've dragged 'im kicking an' screamin', I'm telling y—"

"—Gryffindors, my left tit! Damn cowards just ran off and left Lupin and Snape to deal with—"

"—no clue what happened, but have you seen the scars?"

"—out of the Hospital Wing, already? How—"

"—down fifty points! All because that lot wanted to play jokes aga—"

She smiles, a tiny, smug thing that she doesn't notice, and moves on. The Slytherins are properly riled up now, Rosier and Mulciber and Wilkes and Avery hovering around her and Severus with expressions she can't describe as anything but sadistic. At some point, she realises that their presence makes her feel much less uncomfortable than it did a week ago. She doesn't dwell on it, ignoring the small part of her that worries and shivers in favour of leaning over Severus's shoulder to read about the sort of magic that appears in nightmares.

She grips her wand, idly twirling the twelve-and-a-half inches of willow and dragon heartstring as she skims over detailings of ancient, arcane magic. It's always about blood, she thinks, staring a diagram of a pricked finger dripping red into a cauldron. Potion for Transferring Magic from One Wizard to Another, the heading proclaims. She shakes her head, accidentally knocking into Severus's in the process. "Ow."

He winces a little, and then tells her, "I'm turning the page."

She hums, eyes glued to a book she wouldn't dare look at not even a week ago, and says, "Okay."

It's fascinating, Lily has to admit. Gruesome in some cases and horrific in others, yes, but there's something... mesmerising about it, something hideously captivating in the way that the diagrams seem to eagerly demonstrate their attached spells. On the page, a young wizard is neatly flayed alive, the entire process precise. Her stomach rolls, but Lily can't seem to tear her gaze away for even a second. She doesn't think about it.

She doesn't think about a lot of things, actually, staunchly refusing to acknowledge the way she finds herself drawn away from her Housemates and friends, instead choosing to orbit around her best friend and the seemingly endless rotation of Dark Arts tomes he's somehow gotten his hands on.

Mary's sick of her excuses, she knows, responding to every one with a nod and an, "Oh, alright, then," in that tone that lands somewhere in the middle of disappointment, exasperation and concern.

Marlene has given up entirely, the whole of their interactions reduced to simple greetings in the hall and nods when they pass each other between classes.

Dorcas is nice about it, still catching her arm on the way to breakfast, still offering to study with her when they're all together in the Common and she doesn't want anyone to feel left out. It's undeniable, though, that her smile isn't near as warm as it used to be and it's tinged with worry at the corners.

No one makes it a secret of what they think about her recent activities. And as for the company she's keeping? Well, they'd always been particularly vocal about that.

Things must come to a head eventually, and they do, not even ten minutes after Professor Sprout has dismissed them from the classroom on Wednesday afternoon. She hears the whispers first, half of them from students she doesn't even know, has never said a word to.

"—conspiring with snakes—"

"—think it's the first time I've heard of a Gryff going Dark—"

"—ck was right about her, she's got no—"

Something ugly twists in her chest, and she forces her feet to turn and move, one step after the other. She can make it to the Common Room reasonably quickly, she thinks, and then she catches the self-proclaimed Marauders outside the Great Hall. Or rather, they catch her.

"You can do better than a bunch of slimy snakes, Evans," Potter crows, and she stops dead in her tracks. "Why bother with them when you've got a fine piece of Gryffindor right here?"

"Get lost," she says, the words ground flat between grit teeth.

Potter does not get lost. "Come on, Evans," he continues. "You're not acting like a proper Gryffindor. Where's your House loyalty? I can guarantee that chivalry and bravery are much better than whatever they're offering." It sounds... like a taunt, and this is when Lily realises that what she's been feeling isn't anger.

"Chivalry? Bravery? What would you know about any of that? It's not very chivalrous to corner students four-to-one, now, is it?" She hisses her words, each one more scathing than the last, and as she spits them out, every last one dripping venom, she realises that she wants it to hurt. "And it certainly doesn't seem brave to leave behind someone who needs help because you got cold feet! I'm not a proper Gryffindor? No, I think you've got it wrong, James. If you want to see an improper Gryffindor, the whole lot of you can go right ahead and look in a bloody mirror! I will not be talked down to by the likes of spiteful little cowards like you! I'm more Gryffindor than all four of you put together, but if you're what our House is supposed to look like, then I want nothing to do with it!"

Her ears are ringing when she's done, the whole world narrowed down to one singular focal point, the group of boys headed by the one who'd been desperate to get her attention and regrets it now that he has it. She looks at each of them in turn, summoning a contempt she didn't know she possessed until now. "Save your breath," she snaps, when Black's jaw unlocks, and she turns around and walks away.

Something slots into the place at the back of her mind, and she thinks, oh, her fingers itching to wrap themselves around her wand and whisper the words that will turn them inside out, call the blood from their pores and make it sing. Something clicks, when she thinks about she felt just then, and she can tell the difference quite clearly, very easily, between pure, white-hot, blinding rage and what she's been calling anger. She doesn't know what it really is, and she doesn't want to. She doesn't think about it, either, simply pushes the entire realisation to the back of her head and thinks, oh.

It changes... very little. Something inside of her has changed, and she finds herself growing steadily more unbothered by the voice in her that tells her about old, forbidden magicks of the body and the mind and the blood. It's always about blood.

She doesn't bother reading over Severus's shoulder anymore, the two of them scribbling notes as the pages flip on their own once they've both finished reading.

What does change things is when Rosier corners her after Defence one day, a sealed envelope held in his hand.

"What's this?" Lily asks, eyeing the pristine letter suspiciously. She might get along with the Slytherins much better now—especially after the incident with the Marauders that Rosier had found particularly amusing—but she can't say she truly trusts them.

"An invitation," he says, and before she can speak, he continues. "Every rule has its exceptions. We'd thought there was only room for one Mudblood prodigy, but it looks like there's space for two."

"Don't call me that," she bites, and he waves the envelope at her.

"Think about it. As it stands now, men like Potter and Dumbledore are holding too many of the cards. Men who would let people die and then cover it up to save their own hides. Don't you want to see them get what's coming to them?"

"There's no difference between you and them," she says.

"Isn't there? We've never claimed to be good."

She stares at him, silent.

"It's a new age, Evans. Don't you want to change the world?" he asks.

She takes the envelope.

anyways, i hope you enjoyed that! thanks for reading :)

#fic #murder snily au #severus snape #lily evans #harry potter fanfiction #darkfic #i mean not yet but it will be #anyways #that took wayyy too long #it took me so long to get to this point it's not even funny anymore #but i'm glad i did #getting my shit together seems likw a pretty solid birthday present to myself i think #snily #anyways bye for now #also i have the same birthday as draco malfoy and i found that put via tiktok #gotta love it

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maybe-its-micheal · 4 years ago

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George is laying in silence, his blank eyes hiding behind his clasic white glasses. Though they look they fail to see the dark night sky, and his ears are deaf to the patter of rain all around him. He can feel that his clothes are caked in fresh mud, but he doesn't get up off the ground. He lays there, glossy eyes staring at nothing and expression unreadable. He is motionless.

Footsteps approach him, but he ignores them. If his mind weren't already full he may wonder whether the creature creating the racket were a zombie or a creeper, but he let's the thought hang there, refusing to explore it. As they draw closer, however, they become clearer, and the distinct clang of netherite boots tell him its something far worse than the monsters that crawl through the SMP at night.

"Hello Dream," he says in a low, tired voice. God, he felt so nauseous.

"George! There you are, I've been looking for like an hour. What are you doing out here?"

He doesn't respond right away; he can't bring himself to say it. Not yet. And so when he does speak his words are false and dismissive, and he forgets them as soon as they leave his tongue.

"Oh, ok. Well you shouldn't be out this late with no armor. Do you want my chest plate?"

"No."

Dream could sense a problem, but wasn't sure he wanted to address it- it'd been a long day. He couldn't do it properly so late at night, anyway, he reasoned. "What, are you gonna join L'manburg next?" He asked with a small laugh, hoping if he distracted George with humor everything would be fine. "Here, I can give you some sticks to run around with while you're waiting for your drugs to finish cooking."

George's face was still, and his lips were silent. Dream waited for a response- a laugh, anything- but it never came. The only movement was the subtle rise and fall of his chest between breaths.

"Look George-" he said, sounding exasperated but quickly fixing his tone. "Just tell me whats wrong."

George's lips curled slightly as he sat up. Tell you what's wrong? How can you be serious? Look around. He took a deep breath to still his thoughts and turned his eyes to Dream. "Forget it. How was the wedding?"

"Oh, is that what this is about?" Dream asked tenderly, kneeling down to sit next to him. "Fundy means nothing to me, I still love you. It's just that if L'manburg-"

"L'manburg! L'manburg! L'manburg!" George snapped. "It's all politics now. Tommy this, Tubbo that, your stupid obsidian walls. I'm sick of... I'm..." Just as quickly as it took over the passion left, and he was weak and tired again. His shoulders slumped and he looked away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't yell." His muscles were sore, and his head was pounding.

Dream frowned, and then offered a sad smile as he placed a warm hand to George's cheek. "Its ok, George. Its been stressful lately, I feel it too."

His throat closed up, his lungs felt empty, and his head was hot with fever.

"But with Tommy gone we'll have nothing to worry about soon. Things will be like they used to, I promise."

George felt so sick he could die. Disgust contorted his face, and he pulled away from Dream's hand. "You..." he forced out, hardly able to speak. "You don't get it."

Dream got closer to him, putting his hand back in place. "Then tell me. I want to listen to you, I love you."

George accepted his touch this time, or maybe he just didn't have the energy to pull away again. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, as if that would make his hands stop shaking. "I just-"

George took in a steadying breath. "I'm fine. Its just been a long day." His head felt as if it were full of cotton, and he couldn't seem to keep himself balanced properly. "I just want to go to bed." I just can't be around you right now, you're making it worse.

"Of course!" Dream said, standing up. He took George's hand and helped him to his feet. Before they turned to walk back Dream kissed George's lips- gently and quick.

George pulled away, and freed his hand from the other man's grasp. He felt as if a massive magnet were pulling him back to the ground, and the edges of his vision had gone black. Dream had already started walking, but turned around to face him. "Are you ok?" He asked, but the words were so far away. George felt disgusting- he looked down at his muddy clothes, and felt his rain-soaked hair sticking to his glasses. The filth clinging to his body was nothing, though. Not compared to what was inside. He felt vile- he was repulsive. He was a monster.

Dream walked back over to him, calling his name. He put his hands on his shoulders, afraid he may fall over. "George, look at me." He placed a careful hand under the other man's chin, tilting it up. "I'm going to take you to lie down, and I'll get you some healing pots. Youre going to be ok." And then with concern in his heart he moved to pick George up, ready to cary him all the way back.

"No..." George used his remaining strength to fight back, as his emotions swirled around inside him like a storm. "No! You look at me!" He shouted. "Look what you turned me into! Tommy got exiled because of my house, I ruined the L'mantree, you just-" his voice broke. He took off his glasses and looked Dream in the eyes. "You just kissed me. And you got married today. You're- you're a monster. And so am I..."

Dream took a step back. M... monster? He could see how hurt George was; and as he realized that the pain was all his fault he knew it was true.

"No..." he said more to himself than to George. He didnt want to be responsible for all this pain- he didnt want to have blood on his hands, but no matter how hard he tried he knew it would never wash out. "I didn't mean... I never wanted this to happen! I dont want to hurt you, I love you!"

"Stop! Stop saying that! You don't, you- look what you've done! You've made life a living Hell for everyone on this server, and- and then you come and stand next to me. You've made me your accomplice. Im just as responsible, I-"

Their eyes met. George started to sob. "I can't... I can't keep living like this. You tell me you love me, we kiss, and laugh, but... we're monsters. You take, and kill, and... and I let it all happen. Is this what you wanted? To make me a monster?"

"I only want... to be with you. To love you, George."

"Dont lie to me. You ruined me. Im just as broken as everything else you touch... you hate this server and everyone on it. How else could you do this to us?"

Dream was silent, guilt tearing him apart from the inside. How could he let this happen? No... how could he make this happen?

"Say it. Say that you hate me."

And though he couldn't get his lips to move, his throat to open, or his voice to come he knew it had to be true. To hurt him so bad... he knew he must hate him.

#dream #dreamwastaken #dream was taken #george #georgenotfound #george not found #dreamsmp #dream smp #mcyt #minecraft youtubers #minecraft youtube #mcyt fanfic #dream fanfic #george not found fanfic #haha what if i made all my followers suffer?

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shyrose57 · 4 years ago

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Part 2 with da angst

2: Young Ranbob did not understand at all what was going on, infact he refused to believe he ever had anything to do with the sabotages, it was only when Dream took over completely and gave Ranbob enough of his mind to know what he was doing, did he finally accept it. He tried and tried to break Dreams control and get control of his body back, but nothing he did ever really worked, and the more he tried Dream eventually began to punish him, forcing him to stop. He felt aboustely awful, like a failure, a murder, and just a shitty person during all of this. His journal shows basically all of his mental decline, it went from normal, him recording special things during the day, to semi-normal, him expression concern and fear over the sabotages and killings (with some out of place words or sentences here and there appearing half way through, showing Dreams presence), to recordings from someone with obvious mental distress (misspelled words, extreme fear, showing fear of himself, hasty writings and drawings, very obviously out of place sentences (their neater than the rest and written differently, written by Dream), and meaningless words and sentences, obviously trying to say something but not knowing how too), all they way to flipping entries of when Ranbob is in control (sadness, despair, hasitly done, regret, and just heavy sentences) to when Dream is in control (Neat writing, stating "facts", showing a level of glee). Ranbob does still have it, he actually still uses it to record what happens in the groups and how far he's come. To the Gladiators its more of a "Hey I found this thing, lets read this thing." "No let's not read the thing." "Im going to ignore you and read it anyway.". The pictures are from the current ruined state of the City of Mizu, and pictures showing Ranbob at the fishermens house, struggling to walk and even eat on his own, though a few are from before Dream ever got a hold of Ranbob.

3: The way you just said "Causally drops some trauma on them, huh?" And "Traumatized gremlins" made me laugh so much. Its so accurate and made me just think of the brothers vibing toghere before I just pop in and drop tons of trauma on them before dipping. "Ah, damn, the opponent stared me in my chest." "WHY ARE YOU SO CALM ABOUT THIS!? YOUR BLEEDING OUT!" "Oh im used to this. Trust me I'll survive...probably." "RAN I SWEAR!". And "Ranbob when did you last eat?" "Uhhh, 2 days ago I think." "..." "D-did I eat too soon? I dont have to eat for another day or two max-" "Ranbob shut up and eat." "B-but-" "If you dont eat I'll tell Benjamin." "OK ok I'll eat." Ran thinks its normal to get stabbed often, while Ranbob thinks its normal to only eat every 2 or 3 days, and to not sleep for a long time. There is one particular hunter that's been hunting him the longest, they go by Raq and are the most determined to get Ran, though they don't plan on killing him, but rather kidnapping him and exploting him for pearls. It was a bit hard at first, Ran kept having to leave to wander around the City for a bit, though he eventually successfully got accustomed to staying in one place, though he does sometimes wish he could travel again.

4: A bit of everything, him getting violent and trying to run at first. But after that it fades more into what resembles a depressive state, with him refusing to move and crying while being lost in his head. He requires space to move around but be monitored in the first state, while for the second he needs constant comfort and physical contact. The aftermath was the fishermen and Jackie staying close to Ranbob for the next 2 days, while Grievous and Watson try to find Ran after he stormed off in anger and disbelief. Ran does know what a relapse means, but during the time he believes Ranbobs relapse might be something else (like his facade faulting maybe).

5: Not long at all, while Ran is carrying Jackie and Cletus makes fun of them as Ranbob is following him, Jackie quickly points out how Ranbob is like a lost puppy, and the same thing is basically happening to the two of them, but showed different ways. (The brothers making sure their family is safe by sticking close to them).

6: By the time they travel to Subbin, Ranbob has gained like 80 pounds and is a way more healthy weight and looks much more healthier than when the fishermen first found him.

7: Their usually either getting materials, looking around the area/exploring, being taught things by someone, or sleeping. Charles was the one who revived the nickname! He called him that when trying different tactics to calm him down from a nightmare, Ranbob immediately froze and after a while started to cry, Charles panicked but Ranbob quickly comforted him, saying he just hasn't heard Bobby used in such a long time and brings back both incredibly happy and incredibly sad memories. And with permission, Charles starts using it more. Ran also freezes when hearing it, immediately going ridged and almost ripping a map he has in his hands, when asked by Grievous what was wrong, he just growled out nothing and moved on. Though he does mull over it later, conflicting emotions running all over him.

8: Helping separate Ran and Ranbob was already big for the gladiators. As most people would just watch with glee. Then when they get time to talk and make the connection between Ran and Ranbob, they decide to make a exception and willingly put in effort to bond with the other group. Also them just naturally connecting made the bonding and trust easy between the groups.

9: They do both! They keep some books, pictures, and other stuff, but sell others as relics. Ranbob mostly disapproves of them selling the items, but also knows it'll probably be best to sell them, and have them either spread the story of Mizu as a warning, or have the story of Mizu destroyed by assumptions and twisting of the story.

10: I'm thinking maybe a Wilbur decendent is inhabiting a certain town, and when the groups stop in for a break, Wilbur decendant houses them and listens to their story, and tries to help?

11: They mostly just find them, they either find them in book stores or ruined towns and cities (maybe I can put The Masquerade tale in here somewhere), a wide range of people, from scholars to plain history nerds, to books from during the time of the SMP itself to books written by seemingly no one. Ranbob finds some himself, mostly when exploring with the group. I think I misworded this! Dream is the one who compared Ranbobs journal to Ranboos memory book! Ranbob knows of Ranboos memory book but he himself doesn't see the connection. Ran feels all of the above. He is extremely ashamed and disappointed in himself for hurting his brother, he hugs him tightly and apologizes non-stop, promising to make it all up to him, and while he asks for forgiveness he also says he doesnt expect for his brother to forgive him. Once he finally sees Dream for real though he's the first one to blindly attack and try to kill em. Though he doesnt succeed.

12: No one expect the brothers where outside in the rain when they fought. So no one knew of what was happening. Its only when Ran finally joined them, but alone, did they get scared and alarmed. And when Ran admits they got into a fight and Ranbob ran off, the fishermen immediately start yelling at Ran and run off to find Ranbob, screaming his name into the deafening thunder. Grievous follows them but Watson and Jackie hang back a bit, Jackie just looks at Ran with a heartbroken expression, tears in his eyes, and asks, with his voice shaking and laced with sadness, "Why can't you at least try to accept him, you dont have to like or forgive him, but why can't you just let him heal?" "Jackie..you dont know what's he done-" "I do know! And I'm willing to help him change and recover! You can't and your his brother! What kind of family member are you?" Ran tries to respond but Jackie just chokes and shakes his head at him, running off to follow the others. Watson then speaks up, simply saying "Mate, your doing more than hurting Ranbob at this point." Before running off to follow and join the others. Ran feels horrible, even before being confronted he so badly wanted to chase after Ranbob, but was to scared too and he constantly was trying to reassure himself that he did the right thing, but no matter what, he couldn't convince himself that was the truth. And after the confrontation, Ran is taking what was said to heart and also considering running away, leaving the group behind and sparing them of all the pain he believes he causes, believing that he's just as bad a family member as Ranbob was. But he doesnt, because he feels like he absolutely needs to talk to his brother and everyone else.

2: Oh god. Poor Ranbob. He really went through it. It does make me wonder, did anyone notice something was up? His mentor? Parents? Friends? Speaking off, what was his relationship with them all? From what I know, he seemed to be under a lot of pressure, so how did that effect things, and how did Dream’s presence change that? And uh, gladiators reactions to reading the diary? Also, did they get caught reading it, or? And how did everyone in general react to the pictures? The fishermen may have taken the latter, but how did they feel about seeing Ranbob before Dream came into the picture?

3: I tell it like it is, glad to hear it’s made you laugh though. And uh, oh boy. On one hand, I definitely shouldn’t laugh at stabbing and possible starvation. One the other. Ran’s reaction. Ranbob being threatened with Benjamin. Is he often threatened with Benjamin? What exactly happens if Benjamin is told? Will Raq be causing future problems? Is Ran happy to be on the road again?

4: That sucks. Did the gladiators witness it first hand, or did the fishermen kind of realize what was happening and split off for a bit? Reactions to either seeing or hearing this happen?

5: Ranbob’s reaction to this? Heck, all of the fishermen’s reactions?

6: As he should. If he ever starts looking even slightly thin again, Benjamin needs to jump into immediate action! Also, give him a blanket and warm drink, please? Please, he needs it, they all do.

7: So not too bad, that’s good. Charles was the one, huh? Interesting. Does Ranbob like having it back? And conflicting emotions, hmm? What would those emotions be? Does anyone ever notice the nickname makes him mad?

8: So the gladiators consider that their big approval? Why’s that? Like obviously, they helped break it up, but was it something particular? Did they get between the two? Jump into the arena? What?

9: A warning of Mizu...there’s something awfully tragic about that.

10: Sounds interesting! In what way would they be able to help?

11: Scattered about, hm? So Ranbob knows about Ranboo’s memory book? Did Dream tell him, or did Mizu have a copy, or? And yay, Ranbob finally gets a hug! Most wonderful! Sad Ran doesn’t succeed in murder, but meh. Always next time, I suppose.

12: You...you were really going for my heart when you wrote this, weren’t you? Um, first of all, ouch. Second of all, also ouch. That’s all I’ve got for you right now. Just, ouch, Anon. Ouch.

#dream smp #dream smp au #Brothers AU #tales from the smp #ranbob

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shhh-no-ones-home · 4 years ago

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not an obituary javier pena x reader

+++++++++

i am in my feels, hello yes, it is sad boi hours. holy shit this is depressing as hell.

tw: strong mentions and themes of self harm, abuse, death, and past traumas. read at your own risk.

to anyone dealing with this it is okay to reach out, to get help, and to even feel this way. what matters most is your health and safety and just know that it absolutely does get better, i promise. i went through it and i know first hand, you will get through this, and you will live a beautiful life.

song: dead butterflies by architects

tag list: @cynic-spirit

+++++++++

my hands shook as i listened to the ringing of the receiver. i had been crying for hours and my face was still stained by tears. i was only just beginning to calm down, staring at the broken mirror in front of me. god i looked so tired. how did i let this happen again? i said id never let this happen again. well. i guess i hadnt broken my promise yet. i hadnt actually done anything, but the thoughts alone made me feel like i was betraying myself. i squeezed my eyes closed tightly. maybe i should just hang up and let it run its course. then i heard the ringing stop.

"pena."

he said urgently and i felt a sob leave my body.

"hello?"

he asked, a little concerned and the tears started again.

"javi i need help."

i said, crying into the phone as i slid down the wall of my bathroom.

"im leaving now, dont do anything till i get there."

he sounded so worried. but in all fairness he had every right to be. i had told him about my past, at his request, but i still did it. it was hard to hide them given our usual past time so i figured i might as well. he knew where the scars on my body came from. each one had a story that i longed to forget, the new bruises on my wrist just bellow one of them. it was from the rubber band i refused to take off, being apparent of a better habit i had once picked up. it was just enough pain. but what does one do when that isnt enough?

"hurry."

i whispered before the phone went dead. my whole body shook as i kept coming back to the memories of how it felt the first time. god i craved it. i wanted that life back but id come so far. i shook my head as i pressed my forehead into my knees. i just want it to go away. i want the suffering to go away, the memories, the way it felt then and the way it feels now. i could easily let it go now, i knew a million and one ways. but javi was already on his way. i couldnt do that to him. i couldnt let him find me like that. especially not after he'd pushed me to celebrate a decade of being clean. ten whole years of not hurting myself. i almost couldnt believe it. it felt like such a long time when i heard it out loud like that.

"y/n!"

i heard, snapping my attention to the bathroom door as it swung open. javi was staring down at me with a worried look on his face but he sighed in relief when he saw me still fully intact.

"jesus, you scared the shit out of me."

he said, standing beside me and sliding down the wall to sit beside me. i just stared at him, eyes blurry as he looked back to me.

"i cant do it anymore."

i croaked out, feeling another hot tear slip down my cheek. he looked at me with the utmost pity before kissing my forehead and pulling me into his side.

"talk to me, please, what happened?"

he said softly, petting my hair as i pushed my face into his chest. i just shook my head.

"i dont want to feel this way again."

i mumbled against him, moving my hand into his. i looked down at them together as he ran his thumb over the back of my hand.

"when was the last time you left the house?"

he asked and i bit my lip, watching as he turned my hand over. i felt so guilty in that moment. he knew the answer, i hadnt been to work in over a week.

"would you mourn me?"

i asked and he pulled me up, holding my head in his hands and looking between my eyes. i wanted to cry again, seeing now just how broken he was too.

"you know i would."

he said softly and i nodded, closing my eyes but only for a moment. i looked back at him as he pressed his thumbs through the tear tracks on my face, pushing them away.

"but you and i both know i dont do funerals."

he said and i let out a shaky laugh, watching as he tried to flash me a smile, albeit unconvincing.

"i dont think i could trust anyone else to write my eulogy though."

i said and he moved his hands slowly away from me, taking my hand back in his.

"well if i have any say in it, you wont need one for a long while."

i glanced over his face a few times before he stood up, pulling me to my feet too. he brought me out into the living room and it was the first time id really had a good look at the damage id caused. my furniture was all flipped about, glass shattered from the flower vase on my coffee table and the water from it poured out onto the rug. if anything it reflected exactly how i felt about the situation. i sighed at the sight of it.

"ya know,"

i started, taking his attention as we made it passed the wreckage and to the door. he paused as he reached for it.

"once upon a time i wanted so badly for my address to be six feet under."

he looked over my face again as i spoke.

"but even all the depression in the world couldnt make me leave you."

i said and he just stared at me for a second. when i looked down and moved to open the door he pulled me into a tight hug, holding me like id slip away if he let go or loosened his grip. i hugged him back like my life depended on it, and in that moment it felt like it did.

"ill do everything i can to keep you safe."

he whispered before kissing the side of my head. i breathed deeply, feeling some of my stresses melt away as i inhaled him.

"as long as thats true i promise to stay out of the paper."

i said as he pulled away, nodding once at me and opening the door.

"if i ever got that call i dont know what id do with myself."

he confessed as we made our way to the stairs of the apartments that led outside. i side nodded.

"i guess we'll never find out."

i said, offering my pinky as we stepped into the warm open air of the Columbian summer. he just looked at me for a second before interlocking his pinky with mine.

"thats a deal. now lets go get you something to eat, im sure you could use it."

he mentioned and i laughed a little, looping my arm around his as we made our way down the street. i watched the ground for a moment as we walked, thinking how lucky i was to have him in my life. how lucky i was to be able to live for someone that wasnt myself, because the one thing they never tell you is that if you arent tethered to someone it makes it that much easier to let go. now i had someone who would look after me, keep me dependable, and keep me alive. even if he didnt know it. i half smiled at the thought, slipping my hand in his and swinging our arms back and forth. he just looked at me and i kissed his shoulder lightly.

"thank you javier, i dont know what i would do without you."

#wattpad #x reader #javier pena #narcos #netflix #imagines #one shots #311

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

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Humans are Space Orcs, “Psychological Apocalypse.”

Ha ha I think I love angst a little too much. Its probably unhealthy. Hope you guys have fun reading this extension to he burg war arc. Hope you are intrigued and interested to see what happens :)

Warning: Mentions Drugs and drug related things.

Sunny was glad to hear the silence.

Raised voices and angry yelling had characterized much of the past thirty minutes as Adam made a call to the UNSC. She didn’t know what he was talking to them about because, despite his voice being raised, the walls were too thick to really make anything out. Down the hall Krill peered out from the medical bay where he was tending to the injured.

Sunny shook her head at him, and he returned to his work.

Neither of them knew what was going on, and Adam wasn’t talking, all they knew was that he had a plan they weren't going to like. The only person on the ship who truly knew what was going to happen was Conn, and the one thing about him is that he never gave away secrets, though the twisting of his expressions were enough to say that he was not particularly pleased about the idea either.

That made her worried.

Conn was usually into most things that caused other people emotional anguish.

He was an asshole like that.

Just then, the door next to her slid open, and commander Vir stepped out into the hallway. He was pale, white as a sheet. She would have said he looked sick, if she didn’t know better. Behind him, waffles, his service dog, followed after her head looking up ears pricked in concern.

He didn’t speak to her, but turned and walked down the hallway. She followed after him, and Krill, peeking his head again, from the medical bay gave sunny another look . She could only shrug and continue following him down the hall and towards the cargo bay.

When they reached it, he almost immediately sat down burying his head in his hands suffering silently and refusing to speak to her. His dog sat in front of him nudging at his hands and face with her nose incessantly until he began to pet her. She crawled into his lap forcing him to pay attention to her as she did. It had been a while since Sunny saw that sort of behavior from either of them.

It was almost hard to remember that Adam had post traumatic stress sometimes. Hard to forget that he wasn’t actually cured of his demons.

Though what would be making them flare up now?

The war?

The atmosphere of combat?

The people?

She worried for a moment that it might have been her before dismissing the idea. No, her and Adam were reconciled. There was no hard feelings between them, and no matter what she did, she couldn’t scare hi or even get him to flinch despite being the one who had done this to him.

It hurt her every day to think about it.

The dog’s tail beat against the ground.

They were there what seemed like an hour before red lights around the room began flashing, and crew members rushed to prep the airlock for an incoming ship. Adam took a deep breath and took to his feet looking pale but focused as the airlock doors slowly began to open.

A small ship rolled onto the deck.

It was a human ship, though the distinctive pulsing noise was clearly GA in nature.

She stood up, curious to see what was going to happen.

Commander Vir walked forward just as the doors were opening.

A man stepped onto the ramp and then onto the floor pulling a hover cart behind him, with a large, dusty crate marked with the UNSC seal.

The two men stopped to face each other.

Adam did not offer to shake the man’s hand, instead inclining his head, “Amidral.”

The other man, who sunny had never seen before looked like a person hounded by his own inner demons. He was thin and scruffy, with unkempt grey hair and an outgrowth of stubble over his chin and cheeks, which were sunken and discolored.

“Not my title anymore, Kid.”

He looked him up and down, “I've seen you in the news the past couple years. Was glad to see you were doing ok.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly.

Adam didn’t move, “Yes, I’ve had far more luck than the others.”

More foot shuffling, and the man looked down, “I know….. It was generous of you to donate your money like that.”

“I did what anyone would do.”

“No… no I don’t think so. There are a lot of men who wouldn’t have done as you did.”

More silence.

Adam nodded to the crate, “Is that it.”

“Yes.” The man whispered, “Though I wish you wouldn't have called.”

“Why are you even here.”

The man shrugged, “After the indictment , well, I was found criminally complacent in an unethical and wildly illegal operation, however,” The man’s face twisted into an expression of shame, “The UNSC didn’t want the public hearing about it so, it was all kept quiet. I was silently demoted and my pay was cut.” he placed a hand on the crate, “I was made a keeper of this.” he looked away, “It has been a reminder of what I did yo you men and women….. 64, there were 64 of you, and now less than half of the original number remain.”

Adam’s mouth was pulled into a taut line, “And what happened to them.”

“Pills, guns, ropes…..” He went quiet, “Alcohol, addiction. Those that do live well, they aren’t much better off drugs, alcohol , rehab centers, mental health institutes. You and maybe five to ten others are the only ones I know who made it through…. Sane.”

Sunny was growing very uncomfortable, she placed a hand on his shoulder, but he pulled away.

The strange other human eyed her up and down.

“But I see you’ve recovered quite miraculously.”

“I have.” His voice was stiff.

He motioned the other man to follow him, and together, all three of them walked down the hall.

They were almost to the medical bay when, the admiral cut in front of him stopping the two of them in their tracks though he had eyes only for the commander, “Please, Commander, don’t do this. There are other ways, other things we can try, other newer technologies. Every day I live with the guilt of what this project did, I suffer enough knowing that and I cannot allow you to throw away your sanity for…. For what?”

Adam pushed past him and shoved the doors to the medical bay open.

“You don’t decide what I throw anything away for… not anymore.”

Krill looked up from where he was standing next to one of the beds keeping tabs on one of his patients.

He looked concerned, “What is going on?”

“Prep a surgical suite.”

“Im sorry, what.”

“No questions, just do it!” The commander snapped, and krill stepped back in shock.

It wasn’t like adam to talk like that at all, but the look on his face had krill nodding and quickly hurrying from the room.

Adam followed after stopping before the surgical suite in a prep room with the box. Sunny stood at his shoulder while the other human tried to block the door. His expression was almost pleading. It seemed as if he was about to begin crying, “Please commander, you don’t know, everything. You Don’t have the full truth.”

Adam knelt down in front of the box hooking his fingers under the latches and popping the locks with a soft click. He knelt there for a long moment staring at the unopened box before, reaching out, and flicking the lid open.

Sunny stepped back in shock.

Blood running cold.

“No… no no no, Adam, you can’t, you can’t do this. I won’t allow it”

Her voice overlapped with the other human “You don’t know everything, besides, it won’t work without the attachment, which I don’t have.”

Adam ignored the both of them staring down into the box. As she watched his hands and body trembled head bowed. His shoulders hunched under some horrific weight.

“No, No we are done!” Sunny reached out to close the lid, but in a flash her hand was caught, held fast by the wrist.

She tried to pull away but his grip was surprisingly strong.

He looked up at her, one Green eye blinking at her, It was cold though the edges around it glistened, “You will not interfere, and that’s an order.”

“Be damned about your orders.” She snapped back, “Adam this is insane, and I won’t let you go through with it.”

He stared at her, “I care about you sunny…. Very much, and that is precisely why, I don’t give a damn what you or anyone else says. I am doing this for you, for my family, for my species, for the UNSC, for the GA.”

Sunny shook her head.

The other human was almost panicked, “No, no ,you can’t even operate it. It doesn’t have all the equipment.” Commander Vir reached down and tugged up his pant leg silencing the man in one moment.

“Is that?”

“It is.”

“No…..”

Krill stepped into the room now staring between the three of them and the box on the floor .

“What-”

“Sterilize the equipment, doctor, and prepare it for implantation.”

Krill started on.

“Now!”

He moved to do as asked, though he clearly didn’t like it. The medical staff walked in to help dragging the box into a DECOM chamber at the side of the room.

Adam went to follow, but the man caught his hand and held tight. He held so tightly that his knuckles and fingers had turned a gross, sickly white, “Commander STOP.”

He did turning to look the man in the eye, “You don’t know everything.”

The commander Pulled his hand out and turned away.

“Commander! I didn’t get indicted because of the suit.” Adam paused, turning to look at the man. He paused even further when he saw tears begin to spill down the man’s cheeks. Sunny stood stunned form where she was watching. His voice was soft and filled with pain “ I was indicted because we lied. We weren’t feeding you medication because your limbs had been ripped off though that was part of it. We were giving you medication because just wearing the damn thing is so excruciatingly painful the people we tested it on begged us to kill them.””

There was silence.

“The only way you were able to operate those suits. The only way that we could keep you alive during the process was because N-methyl-1-phenylpropan-2-amine, N-(1-(2-phenethyl)-4-piperidinyl-N-phenyl-propanamide.and (5α,6α)-7,8-didehydro-4,5-epoxy-17-methylmorphinan-3,6-diol diacetate….. That’s what is says on the official papers….. Do you know what that means?”

Adam shook his head though he was very still.

“Those are the scientific names for Heroin, Fentanyl and Meth.”

The silence was deafening.

We had to get you high so you wouldn’t notice the excruciating pain of what you were using. We used the Heroin or the Fentanyl to keep you functioning, and then we added the amphetamine to cancel out the drowsiness and make you more focused. We got an entire platoon of men and women high, destroyed them physically and mentally to win the war.”

“You cannot survive that again….. You cannot expect me to allow that again.”

Adam was very quiet, and Sunny had a hard time reading his face.

After a moment, “I would do anything again, for my species, for my family, for my friends, and for the GA.”

Then he turned and walked out.

Sunny ran after him begging pleading with him to stop, but he continued onward, ordering the medical crew to prepare him for the procedure.

Sunny glanced through the window onto the surgical floor to see the suit suspended above the operating table its metallic frame looking like some sort of twisted scorpion, a parasitic thing just waiting to infect.

The ex admiral was pleading, near incoherent now..

But the commander ignored them both standing with the medical team, who looked on in discomfort and horror.

He removed his shirt, and Sunny saw the small white scars running down the length of his spine, starting at the base of his skull and riveting into every vertebra. The scars on his shoulders, biceps, triceps, forearms and hands were never so stark as they were in that moment.

Krill tried to protest as well, but was silenced.

The surgical team could not bend him, and so did as told prepping him, lying him down and preparing him for what was to come.

He lay there silent staring up at the ceiling.

Outside the room Waffles barked and whined as if she knew what was about to happen.

A mask was placed over his face, and as he closed his eyes, a single tear leaked down the side of his cheek disappearing against the pillow on which his head rested. They knew they could do nothing, if Krill didn’t perform it, he would find someone else when he woke, someone less skilled perhaps, someone who could get him killed.

So they did as they were told Rolling him into the surgical suite with Sunny standing helplessly outside the door.

Somewhere, the dog was still barking toenails scratching against the floor as she whined and whimpered for her master.

Adam was placed on a breathing tube, and then rolled onto his stomach.

The ridges of his spine were bright against the light overhead.

Krill stepped forward hesitant unwilling to make the first cut.

Overhead the Steel Eye Exoskeleton loomed.

A psychological apocalypse.

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p1nkwitch · 4 years ago

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Ok, there are i think 5 more parts and the little arc is done, then it will be time for random bits, but maybe i will just put those directly into ao3 instead of here.

@nonbinaryeye Heeey angst fest! i feel you will like this.

Also one more thing for the next few chapters. I had to shuffle and rethink some aspects for the characters since there can only be one per session. So either Jon or Elias had to win the light player spot and im afraid its not Elias this time. Im happy with what i chose instead for him but its just a heads up. I feel it suits him well considering several of his actions.

Due to unforeseeable events that you refuse to divulge or go deeper into, you are currently tearing apart the room you are residing in. You are ELIAS BOUCHARD and you are furious beyond repair, beyond imagination and you are also HURT. That man has no right to hurt you. No right whatsoever.

PETER LUKAS is your husband and he has broken up with you, but not like usual. Not like any of the ways before. This was not him and you refuse to acknowledge it, the fact that he actually did by text was even worse. Your sprite and Jonah are both watching you in your destructive fury. Both with different expressions on their faces.

BARNABAS looks like he wants to say something, yet the acidic look that JONAHSPRITE gives him stops him on his tracks. His double is not destroying the room and the only reason he can think of is that the words that the lonely man used with him, actually cut him deep.

It had been cruel and callous in a way that Peter rarely was and even less with him, with either of them. After all he had been the first to say that Jonahsprite was just as real as he was. So to hear him say the opposite was quite jarring, not even that, but to be told he would prefer the cat back instead of him was unbelievable.

You pick up your INDESTRUCTIBLE CANE OF KNOWLEDGE and ask your question. The handle had a crystal 8 ball that would answer anything you needed.

“Does Peter Lukas love me?”

You wait for the answer, for the single word that has appeared every time you have asked that same question since getting the weapon in question. Sometimes you were in a land on your own and the man would not answer back your messages, so you asked the object and knew without a doubt that Peter was just being stubborn and nothing else.

Its not because you loved to hear the confirmation of it.

The ball goes from clear and shiny to dull and grey with fog inside it.

It takes a few seconds to comprehend what you just read, shaking it again you asks.

“Is Peter Lukas in love with me?”

You start to pace and breathe harder.

“Does Peter have any feelings for me??!!”

The words take longer to appear as if it was trying to parse them through, but the answer leaves Elias frozen in place, feeling a deep pit of despair.

HE FEELS INDIFFERENCE AND HATE

PETER LUKAS CAN'T CARE ABOUT JONAH MAGNUS

“Why?!” You punch and hit the wall out of pure rage instinct and hurt. The others in the room flinch. The anger, hurt and grief is too much and you end up letting a sound more animalistic than human.

You don't expect it to tell you an answer, it's not that good yet for full complete answers, but somehow it does.

It's not the answer you wanted.

THE EYE HAS NOT GLANCED TO THE LONELY

AND THE FOG HAS TAKEN A HOLD OF HIM

IT TOOK HIS HEART AND NOW ITS HOLLOWED OUT

THE SPIDER SPINS HER WEB ON HIM

AND NOW THE EMPTY MAN THINKS HE HAS NOTHING

CONGRATULATIONS YOU PLAYED YOURSELF

You are-

Elias is done with the narrative, done with the game and the web that got him here.

The thief of heart walks out while the other two follow, he goes until he finds the room he was looking for. Annabelle, Jon, Oliver, Martin, Basira and Melanie are there.

“So you started this and told no one?? What now, we are dooming another world again? Is that it, how many times can you-”

“What did you tell him Miss Cane?” The room goes quiet and everyone stares at him.

“What is wrong with you-”

“Melanie if you don't shut up i will leave you brain dead before you can stab me again. Annabelle what did you tell him to convince him to help?” Said woman was staring at him with mild interest, but did not seem to care much. Annabelle was the only one of them left who had not reached god tier and was in her original body.

Melanie started to move in his direction but the detective stopped her.

“I told him the truth, that there is no other way out, he went willingly if that's what you are concerned about. I did not lie or manipulate him in any way. As for anything else, i told him what he already was thinking, but did not want to say out loud” She waves him away as if it was nothing, as if she just didn't basically ensnared him and doomed him.

“You should treat your toys more kindly less someone else picks them up to play with them. Then again… you do have a history to turn a blind eye to the lonely when its picking apart something you care about” Her eyes turn to something on his back and he knows Barnabas and Jonah are there.

“What are you talking about?” Jonathan, curious as always.

“He just wants to know how I got Peter to help me start the scratch. I just asked very nicely and explained myself and he went willingly that's all, he starts it and Simon gets all of us out”

“Yes, but we leave him behind don't we?” Her smile has fangs on it.

“A price he was happy to pay as long as he was alone, it is the only thing he asked for” No, he is not losing this easily.

“Tell him to stop”

“I'm afraid I can't, and even if I did, he would not listen, too far gone. He is taking the worst parts of his aspect and mixing it with forsaken he is a lost cause now. I'm sure once we make a new earth you can find a replacement, it's in your nature after all to interchange Lukas for Lukas”

Elias is fairly reasonable, he only ever acts out in panic and when he knows he has an advantage.

Which is why he doesn't understand why the next thing he knows is that he is bashing her skull with the INDESTRUCTIBLE CANE OF KNOWLEDGE, over and over again, his ears were ringing and he was sure he could hear the others yelling at him, an arm tries to grab him and he shoves as much painful knowledge into the head of whoever is trying to stop him that they release him.

Before the first hit connected with her head however, Elias actually saw the surprise and fear in her eyes. Annabelle did not expect him to react like this.

She did not expect him to care at all.

By the time he is done, her body is lying on the ground with cobwebs and spiders spilling out of the remains of her crushed head. Breathing hard he looks around and sees everyone with their weapons raised at him, except for Basira who was on the floor holding her head and Oliver who merely nodded at him.

He already knew someone was going to die.

Oh.

“I- i think i might have overreacted” The faces of sheer incredulity hit him and before any of them try to stop him Jonah grabs his shoulder.

“He will be in the land of Time, if we hurry..” They won't make it back he knows.

Elias doesn't want to die, but he is so angry at Peter.

No, he is furious at him. After all this time and after everything.

This is not how it ends.

Holding the cane he makes a run for the window and jumps out.

He flies as fast as he can to go and beat up his husband to death. If Peter shall die it would be by his hand, he won't let him leave him first, not like this. Elias will never let him have the last word over him and will not let him die like he wants either.

#tmastuck #magnustuck #Elias finally lost his cool #Peter has a big storm coming his way #also there is a reason why he acted that way #it will be furhter explained later #along with what he actually said #that pissed off Elias so badly #also awww he cares for him <3

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unstoppableforcce · 5 years ago

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waves crash, ships don’t ( 4 )

the Mandalorian x reader

previous part | next part

I promise things will pick up in the next part, for now, enjoy some yearning and shirtless mando tho not as sexy as it could be, maybe soon

The heat on his chest was oddly warm.

No beskar to keep it away, to keep his natural warmth within, nothing. Just his bare skin open to the fire blazing beside him.

His hands snapped up despite the pain to feel for his helmet, still on around his head, not having even been shifted. Not that he really feared you would try anything, but he couldn’t help the concern which overtook him in the brief moment when he realized he had passed out.

Unconscious, he was in control of nothing. And that was a pretty big fear of his.

You stirred awake as soon as you felt him move, and by the time he lifted his head enough to see you, you could tell that even through the helmet, you both wore the same look of surprise in realizing you had fallen asleep beside him.

He dragged his gloved hands over his bare chest, finally able to feel his heart beating again with a steady beat, all the way to the small stitches tied in his side. It hurt, but it was better now than it had been before. It was a pain he could manage.

How could he not, he was used to it by now.

The pain shifted to sharp and scalding the second he tried to sit up.

You reached a somewhat deft hand to his chest and gently urged him back down, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Your voice was a raspy mix of having just woken up and complete and utter exhaustion even despite it. Hair slightly astray, bags under your eyes, hardly the constant version of you that you strived so hard to keep. A rock sank in his stomach knowing it was him who disrupted it all.

So much for being out by sunrise.

“Do you remember collapsing?” You shifted around, onto your knees next to him, keeping your hand pressed to his chest to gauge the steady beat, careful around the wound, checking to see the rise and fall.

Your touch was soft. Methodical in its placement and even in his current condition, he couldn’t miss the callouses that lined your palm and fingers. But it was soft to him. And he wanted more, though he knew he didn’t deserve it.

“Yes.” His voice was something to rival your own, but he realized it immediately as it shot from his lips in a curt graveling tone. He recoiled, he cleared what he could, the modulator spitting it back out in a much more average tone for him, “Yes,” as he repeated.

“Was the pain in your lungs?”

“I thought I had broken a rib…” He mused, trying to steal a look down at his own chest, a pretty gnarly bruise stretching across the entirety of it, emanating from his right side with a line of stitches straight through it. “After the fight… I just ignored it.”

“You punctured your lung, must have been the rib.” You nodded as you spoke, eventually tugging your hand away and bringing back the cloth, which was previously covering him up, replacing your warm touch with it. He wished you lingered for just a second longer, his body yearning for the warmth of your touch over that the fire was providing.

A burst of lightning struck down just outside the house, reverberating back into the room with an echoing rumble of thunder. You didn’t even flinch in acknowledgment of it, you simply waited for the sound to die down and continued. “I stitched it back as best I could, but, you could use some real medical attention.”

He nodded curtly, as much as he could without any pain manifesting, it seemed his whole body ached.

“Do you want me to leave?”

You froze where you knelt, holding your own hands together in front of you, mindlessly pulling over them, but as soon as the words left his mouth, your pull against your own skin got tighter and tighter.

He didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know how to read that.

He knew you, or at least he thought he did, but this was new, a new tick he was going to have to learn. Or not. If he didn’t stick around much longer, what difference would it make?

“Listen-“

“I’m not going to throw you out…” You finally mustered, but you refused to meet the stare of his helmet. You knew he was looking; you always knew. “Your two people have gone out for wood and supplies, mentioned your ship was broken, you can stay until it’s fixed.”

He didn’t nod. He just stared; you weren’t looking his way anyways.

“And they left your baby.” You scoffed, gesturing toward the sleeping bundle on the couch. “Which was, as far as surprises go…”

But the words trailed off on your tongue, something else catching in your throat, words you just couldn’t manage.

“I-”

“I think it would be better if we kept our interactions to a minimum.” You coughed out, getting to your feet and defensively snuggling your arms around your torso. “You should be fine for now, so…”

“Right.” His voice came out strained, he didn’t mean for it to but he couldn’t help it.

You glanced to him and he held the stare. But both of you looked away when the door opened back and his two drenched companions came back in, carrying soaking wood. It was impossible to keep anything dry in that storm.

“Oh, sorry, if we’re interrupting something-” Cara interjected, so hoping that she was interrupting something, you could hear the eagerness in her voice even as she tried to dampen her smile.

“You’re not.” You shot back before Mando could even find the words to do so. “One of you should keep an eye on him.”

He lifted his head with an attempt to protest one last time, but you were gone before he could manage it, moving to the door to grab the sheathed machete there, strap it to your hip and leave.

Cara and Karga shared a look but when Mando let his head fall back down with a groan, they moved over to him instead of lingering any longer.

Karga settled in on the couch next to him, reaching over to gently pat the head of the sleeping kid. “How are you feeling, Mando?”

“As far as near-death experiences go…” He shrugged as best he could, earning a brief chuckle from Karga. “The ship?”

“I can’t even get the engine on her back on, we’re going to be needing a lot of parts.”

He scoffed, because of course, it wouldn’t be as simple as flipping a switch and getting out of here. Reaching down to his chest, he ran his gloved fingers over again, the scoff having torn through him uncomfortably. Everything felt okay. For now, at least.

“I can take you to town tomorrow-”

“No.” Karga was curt. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine-”

“You said that and then passed out.” He couldn’t argue with him there. “You rest. We’ll figure it all out.”

“I’m not very good at sitting still.” He huffed but Karga only chuckled, reaching forward to gently pat him on the shoulder now.

“Figure it out now or next time, you’ll wind up dead.”

He nodded, Karga had a point.

“And there won’t be any pretty women to patch you up.” Cara added, though she had been actively pretending she wasn’t paying attention.

He sighed. He could have done without the commentary.

tag list:

@im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @bva14 @steve-thotgers @bonkybaaarnes @persephonehemingway @scintilla-morningstar @sarcasm-n-insomnia (I think Thats all the tags, let me know if I miss you or you want to be added :)))

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandolorian x reader #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #star wars reader insert #star wars imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin #waves crash

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empyreansmoon · 4 years ago

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Title: Promising Petals

Character(s): Lee Eunjae. Seo Yeonjin.

Summary: Eunjae’s thoughts had decided to play a never-ending game of tug and war on his brain, leaving the boy feeling immensely tired even if all he did was stay on the couch the whole day. However, when Seo Yeonjin is a part of your life, being confronted about your feelings isn’t that rare of an occurrence.

Warning(s): Internalized homophobia, mentions of homophobia, talk about bad mental health, unhealthy behavior (?) (im pretty sure that’s it!)

Note(s): I kinda recommend reading Moonlit Tendencies and Drunken Heart prior to these since this is chronologically like the third part of Eunjae’s plot! The song associated with this on Deoksu’s soundcloud!

Eunjae’s best friend in the past week had seemingly become the couch in the Empyrean dorms. The boy had found himself occupying his-now designated-corner of the couch from morning till night, not finding any motivation or incentive to move an inch. And with Deoksu monitoring the boys and making sure they all had their meals, and going to the extent of bringing it to Eunjae, it wasn’t like he had to move.

Unless he had to use the bathroom, especially when Chan found the smart idea to play waterfall noises in the background whenever he wanted Eunjae to stop hogging the remote and leave the room for a moment or so.

The lethargic feeling seemed to find itself wrapping its roots around Eunjae ever since his meltdown in the practice room not even more than two or so weeks ago. Originally, it was simply present in his mind here and there, almost like a dull pain that refused to leave him alone. However, it began to bloom, allowing the feeling to intensify, the breakdown on the roof seemingly nourishing it’s roots to grow.

And now?

The feeling had blossomed into a full-grown flower, allowing for its petals to droop down into Eunjae’s heart and litter him with its emotions. Which is why he couldn’t bring himself to get up and do something aside from laying on the couch, channel surfing until he found something that could potentially even take his mind off things for a few moments.

A part of him was thankful for the unspoken rule amongst the boys; the rule of how whenever a boy had a problem and didn’t approach the other three first, they’d take the hint that the boy wasn’t feeling up to talk about their problems.

Another part of him was wondering if it would be better to talk to someone about this. He was so close to mentioning it to Deoksu that night in the practice room, but the thought of speaking out about his problems made it feel even more real, and Eunjae wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle another thorn pricking at his chest.

Eunjae raised his finger to his mouth, idly biting on his nails as he eyed the TV, trying to follow along to the movie that had been playing for a little while but whose title Eunjae had far forgotten about. It had become almost a habit for him to do his best in trying to distract himself from his own thoughts by clinging onto something else to pay attention, only for his mind to rest for moments before it reared its suffocating thoughts into the foreground once again.

Suddenly feeling a harm rest on his shoulder made Eunjae jump ever so slightly, his head craning around quickly to see who it was only to be met with the warm brown eyes he had grown fond of since he was a trainee.

“I’m heading to Neostar to garden.” Yeonjin often had the same tone lingering in his words, it was almost like he expected for the meaning behind his words to click in everyone’s brain the moment he let the words out, the smile on his face always proving that his intentions were the furthest from trying to be bothersome or malice.

“Drive safe?”

“Well, yeah, of course I’ll have to drive extra safe if you’re coming along.”

“I’m coming along?”

“I’m glad you agree!” It was always another experience talking to Yeonjin, for Eunjae. There was something about the younger that was different from everyone else Eunjae knew, he had a way with his words and his antics that made it impossible to become bothered or annoyed with what he’s doing. It was simultaneously the feeling of talking to an excited child in a toy-store and the feeling of being wrapped in a warm hug.

“I”m not following.”

“Well, you kind of have to if you’re coming with me.”

“I didn’t mean physically.”

“Oh...ok now I’m not following.”

“Why would I be coming with you to the garden?” Eunjae questioned with a slightly raised eyebrow, watching as a small frown formed on the youngest’s face, either from the confusion that just sparked in his mind or because of Eunjae not showing interest in his garden. “No offense, buddy, but that’s usually your thing.”

“Yeah, it is, isn't it?” the smile reappeared on Yeonjin’s face once again, this time beaming with pride as Eunjae shook his head gently, wondering how he took it as him praising Yeonjin’s garden as opposed to simply saying he never had any interest in coming along. “I’ve done pretty well by myself, huh? Taehui said he’d build me a greenhouse because of how nice it’s been looking!”

“Did he say that or did you say that and he didn’t know how to say no again?”

“Isn’t it the same thing?” Yeonjin titled his head with furrowed boys, his smile almost sly as a few chuckles fell from his lips. “Not the point though. Come with me to the garden.”

“Why?” Eunjae almost groaned, the prospect of leaving his comforting seat on the couch not being enticing in the slightest.

“You need to go out.” Yeonjin’s tone was blunt and it only took one glance in his eyes to note how his warm eyes had suddenly been invaded with an almost concerned gloss smeared across them now.

Eunjae knew it would be Yeonjin to confront him about moping on the couch, because of course it would’ve been him. Yeonjin had a knack for not showing the slightest interest in beating around the bush, or dancing around a topic that’s right in front of him. Whenever there was an issue any of the boys had attempted to avoid, Yeonjin was the one to call all of the boys out and the issue at hand out as well.

It resulted in a few arguments rising here and there, but it didn’t stop Yeonjin and in Eunjae’s eyes it didn’t diminish how his presence was needed in the slightest. Yeonjin was the type of friend who didn’t believe in suffering in silence when it was avoidable, and the younger had no problem making it obvious.

“You don’t even have to do anything with me.” Yeonjin’s smile had shrunk in size but the warmth and comfort that emitted from him hadn’t waivered in the slightest. “Just come out with me. Get some sun, breathe in some fresh air. That’s it.”

Eunjae wanted to argue with that request and effortlessly go back to lying back on the couch, retreating back into a mind that was nothing but the same silent suffering that Yeonjin despised. But in the few moments they had been talking for, it had been the first time when Eunjae’s mind felt less heavy; more tolerable.

He didn’t have enough of a reason to reject his friend’s request. Hell, the young boy deserved to hear some praise about his ever-growing garden, at least.

----

“I can’t believe you stopped for McDonald’s the moment we stepped out.”

“Hey,” Yeonjin spoke through a mouth full of fries, which Eunjae usually would’ve grimaced at the sight but could only find himself smiling ever so slightly at how much his cheeks had protruded because of how much were in them. “You can’t expect me to work on an empty stomach. It’s just not ethical.”

The younger opened the door to the rooftop, slipping the keys into his pocket before motioning for Eunjae to head toward a specific direction as he went his own way.

The older of the two walked to where he saw the few chairs, before he let his eyes take in the rooftop garden.

Yeonjin’s passion for gardening was something Eunjae had learnt of prior to their debut, specifically when Eunjae first visited the Seo household in Busan. It was where Yeonjin proudly showed off his (albeit slightly smaller) rooftop garden on top of the Seo family restaurant, where he grew the vegetables that used in the kitchen all by himself.

“Do you like it? I have so many now that I managed to separate them by purpose! There’s a little row for the ones I send back home, and then there’s…”

Eunjae’s mind trailed off into its own space as Yeonjin continued to speak, slipping in a stream of thoughts that were more than uncomfortable. Watching his best friend aimlessly talk about his garden with the largest smile he could possibly muster on his face sparked, and rather than smiling as his friend’s smile as he usually did, Eunjae found himself raising his eyebrows as he noticed something.

“Where’s your gardening tools?”

Silence sidestepped into the air between the two friends, allowing for Yeonjin’s smile to almost physically decrease in it’s brightness as he looked away from his garden and met with Eunjae’s eyes again.

“Don’t need the tools for today.” not wanting to give Yeonjin the excuse to continue whatever he was planning to say, Eunjae opting to fall back onto the wooden chair, distracting himself with the bag of food in front of him. “Just need you here.”

“Yeonjin-”

“Eunjae.” the younger was quick to bit back, not wanting Eunjae to get in a word as he made his way over to him, pulling one of the folded chairs out and placing it right next to his friend.

“I’m not in the mood for whatever you have planned.” “Yeah, you haven’t been in the mood for a good amount of time, huh?”

There was a lot about Yeonjin that Eunjae had grown to love and adore, and throughout their friendship that was close to hitting a decade, the older couldn’t quite grasp this side of Yeonjin.

It didn’t take much for Yeonjin to get serious and when he did, it was almost like he was a completely different person and the happy-go-lucky kid that ran through the halls of Neostar vanished without a trace.

But that wasn’t the part that made Eunjae contemplate wanting to flee the scene each and every time. It was the part where Yeonjin didn’t mind holding back his tongue when it came to expressing what he wanted, and how he always seemed to know what the problem was before anyone ever told him.

Eunjae had always joked it was because Yeonjin was an angel amongst men, but now that he was in the hot seat, the well of jokes had run dry.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do I have to start guessing?”

“Yeonjin-“

“Is it Eunsoo?” the mere mention of his brother’s name sent a shiver down Eunjae’s back, his eyes quickly darting away from his friend’s.

“Why would you assume him?”

“Because I know you, Eunjae, maybe sometimes better than you know yourself.” it didn’t take Eunjae glancing at his friend to know that there was the tiniest smile seeping from his face into his words, his hands grabbing the bag of food from Eunjae’s and finding itself interlocking with the older’s. “And I know that aside from our members, he’s one of the few people you love the most. Meaning, he’s one of the few people who would make you react this way. Is it about what I think it is?”

“How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking, Jin?”

“Well, okay yeah, maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to say.” Yeonjin spoke sheepishly, finally looking away from Eunjae for the first time since they stepped foot onto the roof.

“What I meant is...is it the same issue from before?”

It didn’t take longer than a beat of silence for Yeonjin to nod his head, his answer being given in the way Eunjae’s eyes lowered to his feet.

“You know, when I was younger, I was really desperate to be accepted by people.” a warm sadness coiled itself around Yeonjin’s words, the smile still present on the younger’s face, yet his tone lacked the same joy. “Like really desperate, like...I used to let everyone at school treat me however they wanted as long as I could be with them. I could tell not a lot of people liked me for who I was at the beginning, so instead I changed myself to be someone who could make people laugh, even if I was being laughed at.”

“And it took a lot for me to realize that...wanting to be accepted by people didn’t make me a better person, even if it made me feel good for a while. I had to learn to accept who I was, so I would be comfortable with who I was. Originally, I thought I would only have to deal with that at school, but I kind of had the same problem at home...my brother didn’t understand when I came out.”

“Daehyeon?”

“No, no. Daehyeon came out before I did.” Yeonjin didn’t look up from his shoes in the slightest, now just barely moving his feet back and forth in a slow rhythm. “I thought it would be a bit easier like that. When Dae came out, it was felt...well, it didn’t feel like it was him that wanted to announce it but something else. He didn’t look comfortable enough in himself to be coming out, especially when he didn’t have a clue if our family was accepting since they never spoke outside of the heteronormative square we were stuck in. But, when he did, the house was uncomfortable for a bit. I think my parents were just trying their best to understand it all, and they did. Told him he wasn’t a different Daehyeon in any sense, and that he’d be their son no matter who he loved.”

“Yeonu was different. With the way he reacted and stayed completely distant those few days, you’d think he was the one who announced his sexuality like that.” there was a smile on Yeonjin’s face once again, yet this time it lacked the same warmth it always had on his face, the smile almost seeming as if it had to be there. “He got it after a bit, and has been supportive obviously. But, when I told him how I felt about people he laughed at it and thought it was a joke.”

“He told me it didn’t make sense that I would be attracted to anyone without caring about gender, and that there were two categories. Those who were heterosexual, and those who were homosexual.”

“Yeonu said that?” Eunjae’s eyebrows furrowed at the thought of the same man who always made his way to the local homeless shelter after his shift at the family restaurant, to feed those less fortunate being the same who would laugh at his little brother coming out.

“Yeah, and obviously it felt like…”

“Shit.”

“Maybe.” Yeonjin finally looked up from his feet to meet Eunjae’s eyes with the lightest smile to have dance on his lips. “He’s obviously understood it and everything now, but that’s not the point. Eunjae, if I were seeking acceptance from him at that moment and I got laughed at, how do you think that would’ve gone? I would’ve been heartbroken, maybe even worse. That one rejection could’ve just...completely messed up how I felt about myself. There’s a chance I wouldn’t be comfortable with myself even now if I felt like I wouldn’t even be able to be accepted by my family.”

Yeonjin took a second to move his body, inching his chair closer, before he reached to ever so gently wrap his hands around Eunjae’s, trying to comfort the boy physically if he happened to fail verbally.

“When you see others do you think someone is better, or has higher importance, than someone else based on their sexuality?”

Eunaje was quick to snap his head back to facing his friend, finally meeting his eyes with his brows furrowed in confusion of where the question came from. “God, no.”

“Then doesn’t that cancel out the need for acceptance? If we’re all the same in that sense, what’s the point of asking for someone to accept who you are as a person? Why would your attraction to men make you lower than if you were attracted to women?”

“But, Yeonjin-“

“You should want him to understand you and who you are. But it wasn’t like he was asking for acceptance when he started dating girls, right?”

“No.”

Eunjae felt his Yeonjin’s other hand carefully find its way onto the side of his face, gently moving his head so he could stare directly into the older’s eyes.

“You shouldn’t feel forced to come out to him or to hide yourself. You are who you are Eunjae, there’s nothing wrong with that at all.”

“But he shares everything with me.”

“Because you make him feel safe enough that he can tell you everything,” there were the smallest of tears pricking in the corner of Yeonjin’s eyes, the smile still prominent in his face in an attempt to make sure his friend knew it would be okay. “If he doesn’t make you feel safe, that’s not your fault.”

The silence danced back into the atmosphere of the two boys, this time it didn’t feel as if it slithered in before coiling around them, creating an unbearable feeling. It was a gentle silence, that both boys were evidently comfortable in.

Eunjae nodded in response to his friend, this time reaching up to wipe at any of the tears that dared to peer over and fall, even if his own began free-falling making them both let out the tiniest of laughs.

Truth be told, he didn’t know if everything was going to be ok. He didn’t even know if he could understand everything Yeonjin said to him in that split second, or if it would matter to his mental-state in the days to come.

But Yeonjin was right: for Eunjae, he needed to accept and understand himself, before he could possibly ask others to understand him.

And if he was lucky, the same self-love he had decided to work towards in that same moment, may be reflected in how his brother treated him in the future.

Because that’s how much trust Eunjae was willing to put in his bond with his brother. Even if he wasn’t waiting underneath him with a safety net, he was willing to take the risk of leaping forwards.

#kumokocnet #kocsociety #bobakocnet #oc kpop bg #oc kpop idol #oc kpop group #oc kpop #idol!oc #idol!au #kpop addition #c: yeonjin #c: eunjae #ahhh #i feel like this terrible #like genuinely shit #buT #it’s a part of eunjae’s plot so i kinda had to force soemthing out to get it going!!#hopefully it’s not too wkjewk #shit

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lnarizakis · 5 years ago

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a two-player game (2 lives left!) | k. kenma

masterlist

2 lives left! | a two-player game: kozume kenma x f! reader

STATISTICS

PLAYER ONE: KOZUME KENMA.

SHOCK: — — — — — 5/5

OBLIVIOUSNESS: — — — 3/5

ADVICE-GIVING: — — — — 4/5

FRIENDLINESS: — — — 3/5

IN LOVE: — — — — — 5/5

PLAYER TWO: (L/N) (Y/N).

SHOCK: — 1/5

OBLIVIOUSNESS: — — — — 4/5

ADVICE-GIVING: — — — 3/5

FRIENDLINESS: — — — — — 5/5

IN LOVE: — — — — — 5/5

(U/N): hello? u still there?

(U/N): hellooooo

(U/N): afk much? haha

(U/N): u didnt finish what u were sYing\

Kenma stared at his screen, wondering what he should say. His mind wandered, thinking about the fact that (Y/N) was somewhere out there, in the comforts of her own home, sitting and playing the same game he was playing. He thought about how she was probably sitting cross-legged, or slouched, or her back completely straight as she probably wore headphones over her ears, or earbuds tucked in the confines of her ears, or blasted the game soundtrack through the speakers of her computer. Kenma sighed, as he slouched back in his chair. A blush crept over his face. He was talking to his crush over a video game. It was practically like texting her. Kenma began to type once more.

applepi: yea im still here

applepi: so abt my crush

No, no, no! What was he doing? He couldn’t possibly tell his crush about his crush! Why? Why would he do that?! He immediately typed in a “never mind.” Despite some protests from the other person, the two pretended to forget that ever happened.

—

All throughout the weekend, Kenma sulked and sulked. There was no particular reason, but he just felt so uncomfortable knowing that he told his crush that he had a crush on someone. There was also the factor that (Y/N) didn’t seem quite interested in what he had to say about his predicament, unlike past times where he could talk about anything he wanted and she would gladly contribute all she had to offer to help the poor boy out.

And so the terrible weekend had ended. It was a nice break for Kenma, being away from everything and everyone; he immersed himself in the virtual world as he let go of all of his worries. But now he had to face reality once more - he had to face (Y/N), the terrible final boss. He had so many more enemies he had to defeat (his teammates, according to Kenma), but the powerful weapon of ignoring them always beat them in the end.

He wanted to stay in his bad mood for the entire school day. It was his plan, and it was a really good plan, but (Y/N) just had to ruin it.

Kenma sat at his desk in his classroom that morning they returned from the weekend. He stared at the nothingness that lay before him on his desk until he heard the sweet sound of (Y/N)’s voice when she came through the door to the classroom. He heard her laugh as she greeted those around her a good morning. He relished in the music as she walked towards her desk.

“Good morning, Kenma-kun!” (Y/N) chirped, as she sat down. Kenma jumped at the sudden words, and he felt warmth everywhere, especially in his cheeks. He smiled at the sound of her greeting, and said one back. God, no one could make him feel the way she makes him feel when he’s around her. He took a deep breath, knowing that his unrequited love consumed his whole heart. Ah, if he were only as smooth as Kuroo was and knew his way with words.

10 DAMAGE TAKEN!

Kenma frowned; from a mile away, one could tell he was clearly in a bad mood. He hung his head down low, as he was reminded of (Y/N)’s date last weekend.

“Kenma-kun, are you okay? Is there something wrong?” (Y/N) asked, her voice laced with concern. Her eyes studied his face, discontentment written all over it. She wondered what she should do; if only she could consult applepi in this situation. The setter faced (Y/N) and he smiled.

“Ah, it’s nothing, (Y/N)-san, please don’t worry,” he murmured, hoping that she would get the feeling that he would like to be left alone.

10 DAMAGE TAKEN!

And so for the rest of the time they sat next to each other during class, (Y/N) thought about everything that applepi had advised her to do with every problem that she had:

(U/N): help!!! i cant decide between buying a sword or a dagger from this shopkeeper

applepi: hm get a sword bc u will get more gold out of the enemy

—

(U/N): theres this one friend i have & i feel like she rlly hates me??/?

applepi: are you only focusing on the small details?

applepi: look at the big picture & notice her behavior around u,

applepi: is it different from when shes around other ppl?

—

(U/N): do u think its weird that talking to u feels like an escape from reality?

applepi: no i feel the same.

applepi: i think that talking to someone u barely know is a good way to let loose bc they dont know who u r

—

(U/N): how do you get rid of the feeling of missing someone?

applepi: i talk to them thru text as if they were sitting right next to me

applepi: like how im talking to u right now

...

(Y/N) looked down at her notes to see that she had written nothing compared to all the complicated words written on the blackboard. She had been staring at the blackboard daydreaming about how she had fallen in love with her internet best friend. (Y/N) thought it was silly, really; it was stupid how she had fallen in love over text on a screen. But those words, all of those words that some guy out there named “applepi” had accompanied her throughout her best and her worst times. She could stay up all night to see them up as well, fighting away enemies to clear the level. From in-game items to wise words of advice, (Y/N) owed so much to this person.

And Kenma had no idea that his crush liked him back.

+1 OBLIVIOUSNESS!

—

(Y/N) was a very friendly person; everybody in the volleyball club could see that. It seemed to Kenma, of course, that (Y/N) was the friendliest with Kuroo Tetsuro, the captain. All throughout practice they would constantly make jokes with each other, teasing and pushing each other around. It hurt Kenma; it really did. But (Y/N) did not know that.

In fact, after that dreaded date over the weekend, (Y/N) and Kuroo promised to each other that they would not go out on a second date. They realized that they were better off as friends, for Kuroo could sense in (Y/N)’s eyes and her words that she had the ability to break Kenma out of his shell, even further than Hinata had done. She also told off Kuroo, telling him that she couldn’t date someone who had such weird bed-head hair, much to his disdain. He couldn’t get rid of it! And besides… she already had someone in her heart.

But the point of the matter is: Kenma was taking this completely the wrong way. He watched with jealous eyes as Kuroo and (Y/N) shared playful banter. Her beautiful laugh rang in Kenma’s ears for all the wrong reasons.

10 DAMAGE TAKEN!

As they practiced serving, Kuroo used this as an opportunity to try out his jump serves. He was consistent, but the one time he hit it into the net, (Y/N), who was watching for stray balls, called out to him, teased him to no end. The other teammates laughed on, especially Haiba Lev, whose serves were just as bad. Kenma mentally cursed at Kuroo, for stealing away (Y/N). He could never possibly curse at him for real; everyone would be in shock at his sudden outburst and ask him what was wrong. (Y/N) would ask him what was wrong. And if that happened… he would freeze up and definitely lose another life.

10 DAMAGE TAKEN!

When they began practicing receiving, Taketora called out to Yaku to try out Karasuno’s libero’s “Rolling Thunder,” or whatever it was called, to which Kuroo made a sarcastic remark that Yaku could never pull off something as flashy as that. (Y/N) laughed, despite not knowing what the “Rolling Thunder” move was. Once again, Kenma mentally told off Kuroo to stop saying funny things that (Y/N) could laugh at. His jokes were the ones that made (Y/N) laugh; he knows this because she laughed at all the jokes he made over their chat in their video game.

10 DAMAGE TAKEN!

During their water break, Kuroo and (Y/N) played a little chasing game as she playfully refused to hand him his water bottle. She tossed his bottle to Taketora, who then threw it to Fukunaga, handing it over to Yaku. Kuroo chased the libero around, who passed it on to Inuoka. He gave a hearty laugh as he tossed it to Lev. Silly, clumsy Lev called out to Kenma as the tall boy threw it to Kenma, who with his slow reaction did not catch it in time. The lid of the bottle flew open, and water poured out everywhere. Everyone else watched in shock, but the initial shock passed by them as they all began laughing.

Kenma thought they were all laughing at him.

10 DAMAGE TAKEN!

The same ordeals continued even after the water break, and after a millennia later, the practice ended. Kenma, along with everyone else, helped clean up after practice. They also cleaned up the little water spill, which (Y/N) thanked Kenma for helping clean up.

Kenma changed his clothes in the club room. He was the only one inside, as Kuroo and (Y/N) were outside waiting for him. He could hear their laughter through the doors. Then they suddenly went silent. Kenma groaned, knowing that they were probably making out or something, as he buttoned his uniform back up.

10 DAMAGE TAKEN!

He opened the door, and to his surprise, Kuroo and (Y/N) were actually not exploring each others’ mouths with their tongues. Instead, he opened the door to see a smirking Kuroo and a very, very flustered (Y/N). She gasped slightly when she caught sight of Kenma and she turned her flustered face away from his prying eyes. Poor Kenma thought that he had accidentally caught them making out and they pulled away right as he opened the door.

10 DAMAGE TAKEN!

And so he walked away, leaving them in the dust.

10 DAMAGE TAKEN!

He thought he heard her call out, “Kenma-kun, wait!”

10 DAMAGE TAKEN!

1 LIFE LEFT! FINAL LIFE!

—

hello! thank you for reading! next part is the last part, so please comment if you want me to tag you on the last part! whatchu guys think so far? lemme know! i also take requests too........... B)

taglist (comment/ask to be added!): @i-bitch-you-bitch @cadememe @animefan7420 (wont let me tag u :( !!!!) @issalilmessy

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #kozume kenma x reader #kenma kozume x reader #kozume kenma #kenma kozume #cadekagi

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ahh-fxck · 4 years ago

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Chapter 7: Fire and Ice

Hello beautiful hearts! The next chapter of my main AU Warrior’s Blues is up! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :) And if you do, like and reblog so that others can read!

The Ao3 link is here!

@stressedspidergirlsfandomblog thank you so much! You have been so much more than a beta. Thank you for co-creating this little universe with me through our chats and all of your wonderful questions. You rock!!

Please let me know if you’d like to be (un)tagged from the tag list!!

@astouract @smolpoe @ladyknight-keladry @yes-im-the-violin-girl

Warrior’s Blues

Chapter 7: Fire and Ice

Morning creeps into the room, slow lazy fingers of light brushing across the rumpled quilt, the clothing tangled on the floor, the soft blue, yellow, and white braided rug covering the wood floor. Daylight also reveals an antique desk underneath a window, piled high with unruly stacks of handwritten documents. There is a trashcan next to it which contains mainly crumpled paper, a few wads of which sit on the carpet forlornly nearby, having not made it in when they were unceremoniously tossed. Towards the back of the messy, quiet room is a large closet whose doors are currently closed. This is probably for the best, as there are visible lumps of fabric peeking along the very bottoms of the white folding closet doors.

In the bed, two figures sleep, their naked bodies entwined. At some time during the night Jaskier had moved, and was now curled loosely in the curve of Geralt’s body, spine pressed comfortably to Geralt’s ribs, waist trapping his left arm. Geralt is curled softly around him, his face nestled up near the back of Jaskier’s neck, his breath stirring the fine hairs there with every exhale. The sweet scent of his skin and soft, heavy warmth of his body weigh Geralt down, making it difficult to want to waken. A warm haze enfolds him, protecting him, blunting the harsh edges inside of him. He drifts, avoiding consciousness.

Jaskier stirs some time later, as the room begins to warm and become bright and sweaty in the summer heat. He turns his head against his pillow and yawns, snuggling into the welcome feeling of bare skin at his back.

Geralt startles a little at the movement, eyes popping open, noticing that he is not in a familiar environment. As consciousness filters in he feels the heavy warmth of the other man on his arm, along his side, sees the soft brown hairs at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, watches them shiver as he breathes. His heart skips a beat and he frowns. Half frightened and half fascinated, he leans forward to brush his lips along the hairs, feeling the prickle of them. He revels guiltily in the warmth of Jaskier’s skin against his lips, his heart twisting as he takes in the soft oaky, soapy smell. The world is trickling back in faster now, and with it, bleak sensations of sorrow and fear.

“Ah, fuck,” Geralt sighs, without any real rancor. He drops his head back against the pillow and rolls onto his back, his side still pressed up against Jaskier’s skin as if he can’t quite bear to part from him.

Jaskier lifts his head sleepily. “Hmm?” he murmurs, voice thick. He lets out a yawn and stretches, then rolls over and puts his chin on Geralt’s chest, looking up at him from under his lashes. Despite the morning stubble he looks younger in the morning light, face smoothed by sleep, his fine hair unruly. He combs his fingers lightly through it as he asks, “Everything all right?”

Geralt looks down at him, terror and profound fondness twisting around inside of him as he gazes into those wide blue eyes. Hesitantly, he runs experimental fingers through the soft short hairs at the back of Jaskier’s head, down along his neck, feeling the light prickle beneath his fingertips. As he does so he gropes for words, golden eyes searching Jaskier’s face as if he will find answers there.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he grimaces, voice low and rough with sleep. He clears his throat, shaking his head and breaking away from Jaskier’s gaze, glancing to the side to see out the window. There’s not much to be seen through the lacy curtains, just the driveway, Jaskier’s car, and a neighbor's high wooden fence. “This is what got me in trouble in the first place.” He takes his hand off of the back of Jaskier’s neck and scrubs his face with it. The other hand he keeps close to his chest. It aches fiercely, and the bandages on his knuckles need to be changed, but it is far less painful than it was the day before.

Tilting his head to the side, Jaskier studies his face. “What, being in my bed?” he inquires gently, full well knowing that’s not what Geralt meant. He gets more comfortable on Geralt, unselfconsciously splaying his hand across his lover’s chest, careful not to jostle his injured hand.

“No.” Geralt grumps, annoyed at Jaskier’s deliberate obtuseness, but obscurely enjoying the gentle touch that accompanies it. The warmth of it is intoxicating and weirdly painful, making his heart ache. He wants to bury himself in it and vanish again, but in the bright light of day it is so much harder to do that.

“Fucking around like this is what got me fired. I shouldn’t be here.” Geralt struggles to sit up, pushing the sweet heat of Jaskier away from him even though his skin silently cries out at the loss. Jaskier reluctantly lets him, sliding off to the side and pulling the quilt in around his waist. Concerned eyes watch the big man as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and rubs his hand across his white hair, his two day stubble, his pale face. The silence stretches, and Geralt can feel Jaskier behind him, can almost feel him choosing his next words carefully.

Normally, Jaskier wouldn’t cut right to the chase like this, but he suspects that the big man is about to make a break for it. Praying his words won’t be received the wrong way, Jaskier asks, “Geralt, I hope you won’t mind me being impertinent, but… Is that really true?" He knew that the Army had a long and storied history of coming down on gay soldiers far more harshly than others; Jaskier had seen it too many times, one way or another. Not that Geralt hadn’t done anything wrong; if he had gotten caught with another man in front of a camera, he’d clearly been out of bounds. However, it wouldn’t surprise Jaskier if he had been excessively penalized for something that might have been otherwise swept under the rug.

Geralt turns to glare over his shoulder at him. “That’s none of your goddamn fucking business,” he growls, face hardening.

Jaskier spreads his hands out, putting them up in a gesture of surrender. “My mistake,” he says, but he sounds more exasperated than apologetic. “Just… you would not believe the amount of inappropriate sex stories I’ve heard from servicemembers. People get caught doing stupid things all the time. I just wondered…” He cuts off abruptly as Geralt growls again, a deep, unfriendly sound that makes the hair on his arms stand up just slightly.

Geralt glowers at the tousled man sitting on the bed behind him, then down at his fatigue pants on the floor. He wants to get up and walk away from this conversation, but the idea of putting on another pair of fatigues right now actively makes his heart hurt, so he hesitates. Behind him, Jaskier slowly subsides, thankfully silent for another moment.

It gives Geralt time to think, really think, which he hasn’t given himself much chance to do since being discharged. His eyes trace the folds and contours of his pants on the floor, rage, guilt, and sorrow boiling the inside of his body raw. The untold story sits on his tongue like a lead weight. And at his elbow the steady warmth of Jaskier’s body radiates, warm and reassuring. After a life of service, that warm presence is the only one left. No one else to talk to, no one else to lean on. A sudden surge of loneliness spikes through him, cutting through his anger, and he visibly deflates. Licking his lips, he hesitantly begins to speak. He’s surprised to find himself telling Jaskier the truth, but some part of him so badly needs to hear the words said aloud that he almost can’t stop himself. “I knew better. I… I should have never let him do. Uh. What he did. It was my own fault.” He presses his knuckles against his thick thigh and cracks them nervously. “I deserved to be fired.”

Jaskier’s face flickers as he processes this and he bites his lip, trying to feel his way across the minefield of a conversation in front of him. He scrubs his own hand across his face sleepily, wishing deep down that this could have waited until after coffee. On some level, though, he knows he brought it on himself. Closeted older men like Geralt didn’t always do well the morning after, even in the best of circumstances. And this? This definitely was not the best circumstances.

“Mm… that sounds like a very impulsive thing to do,” Jaskier muses delicately. “But was the… uh, sex, really the thing that got you fired?” He leaves this hanging in the air, trying desperately not to push Geralt too hard, not sure if he is succeeding. It is very difficult for him to see a queer man beating himself up like this though. The sheer outrage he feels about the way the Army treats its gay servicemembers is making it very hard for him to hold his tongue or act with discretion. He flinches very slightly as Geralt snarls, but aside from that, refuses to waver, watching Geralt intently. He notices that Geralt begins to flick his fingers rhythmically against his thigh as he thinks, and that the motion seems to calm him.

Geralt gropes for words, feeling like the air is getting sucked out of the room as he searches. After a long silence, he speaks, his voice thick and low. “You’re trying to ask me if I was fired for...uhm. For being with who I was with. Or if I was fired for being inappropriate. Right?”

“Yes, love. That’s what I’m asking,” Jaskier replies gently, wanting more than anything to reach out and run his hands over Geralt’s shoulders and back, to soothe some of the pain away. The man’s body is humming with tension though, nasty sparks of it crackling in the air between them, so Jaskier sits back slightly instead to give him room to think. He can see Geralt’s jaw working, clearly uncomfortable to be confronted with the question so baldly. Slowly, Geralt shakes his head. He looks defeated, and Jaskier aches to see his sadness.

“I don’t know,” he says, and he sounds bone-weary. “I wish I knew, but I don’t.” The words are heavy in his mouth, difficult to get out. In a strange way, as angry as he is, he is also grateful for a chance to talk about it. A lifetime of choking silence feels like it is giving way to something new, though he doesn’t quite understand how yet.

Jaskier sighs, nodding, then tilts his head to the side and runs his eyes over Geralt’s back again. His heart sinks as he notices for the first time that there is a massive map of thin horizontal scars criss-crossing his back, from his shoulders all the way down what is visible of his buttocks. They are faded, old. Probably from childhood. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, and he looks up at the ceiling quickly to stop them from spilling over his cheeks.

When he regains control, he swallows a few times, then says, “You’re not bad for… wanting… who you want. The world very much wants queers to think we’re bad for loving the way we do, but there’s no… no inherent harm in being interested in other men. No more than there is being interested in women, or anyone else.”

“Tell that to my commission,” Geralt snaps, still staring at his pants.

Jaskier grimaces, clenching and unclenching his hands and trying not to let Geralt’s anger throw him. He knows it’s not personal, but he is so upset about how unjustly Geralt has been treated that it is hard for him to retain his center. Wrestling with his own discomfort, he looks for something kind to say, and settles on, “Okay… yes. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want… I don’t think anyone should ever think they’re bad for being queer, Geralt. It’s just not… it’s not fair. It’s not fair to you, it’s not fair to anyone else.” He pauses, then adds softly, “I didn’t choose to be the way I am, did you?”

Geralt’s shoulders sink until he is hunched down, cheek held lightly against his splinted hand, all of the remaining anger draining out of him and leaving him feeling icy and frozen inside. Slowly, slowly, he shakes his head ‘no.’

The way he unconsciously pulls in after he shakes his head, like he is expecting to be hit, makes Jaskier’s stomach plunge. Unable to help himself, Jaskier reaches out to Geralt, but he twists out from under Jaskier’s hands with the speed of instinct. Jaskier leans back immediately, guessing how deeply upset the other man must be given how badly his own heart is racing. His lips thin in frustration and sadness. He pulls his hands back into his lap, eyes tracing over the scars on Geralt’s back helplessly as he thinks.

“Well… I didn’t either. And neither did Yarpen, or any of the people you worked with or served in my bar. I don’t know who told you what, Geralt, but…” Jaskier sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Look. In my house, you’re safe. No one’s here but me, and I’m not going to terrorize you. Ok? You can work out the rest later when you’re ready.” He slides his legs over the side of the bed, sitting carefully next to Geralt without touching him. Giving the other man an awkward little smile, he adds, “That is, if you don’t run away screaming. Was this all too much for you?” He gestures vaguely at the bedroom, including himself in the gesture, recalling the intimacy of the night before.

Much to Geralt and Jaskier’s mutual surprise, Geralt begins, quietly, to chuckle, a hollow painful sound. He puts his face into his hand, covering his eyes, and shakes his head. “Oh… I don’t know, Buttercup,” he groans, Jaskier smiling slightly as he hears the nickname.

“I feel like I’m going fucking crazy,” Geralt confesses. “I feel like I died and just haven’t stopped walking yet, and I’m wondering when I’m going to drop. I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me anymore.” He presses on his eyes until he can see stars, trying to process everything he’s feeling, feeling like he’s drowning in icy water instead. He sits, caught in a whirl of gnawing guilt and profoundly lonely hunger. Everything he’s ever thought he was is falling out from under him, leaving him disoriented and desperately craving safety.

Feeling powerless, Jaskier sits at his side, wishing that he knew the magic words to make it better. He’d make it all go away in a heartbeat, if only he knew how.

After a moment, Geralt heaves a deep sigh and continues, “And I know I should regret…” he pauses, groping for words. He settles lamely on, “Last night. I know I should regret you. But I… Hmm.” And he reaches out suddenly and grabs Jaskier’s hand, surprising himself. He feels like he’s tearing in two, but he craves a return to the sunny warmth of Jaskier’s touch so badly that it doesn’t matter. The heat of Jaskier’s hand in his own makes Geralt’s hungry skin sing . Jaskier startles, but not unpleasantly. Then he lightly squeezes his hand back, a crooked smile lighting his face. Geralt grimaces, guilt and shame and desire causing his cheeks to heat and his heart to freeze, but he doesn’t let go.

“Thank you, I think?” Jaskier laughs softly, and Geralt ducks his head, embarrassed. “For what it’s worth, I very much do not regret being with you, either.” He gives Geralt a frank, curious look, running his finger over Geralt’s knuckles. Geralt twitches and pulls away, but when Jaskier stops rubbing, he allows his hand to fall back into Jaskier’s. He lifts his head slightly, watching his kind lover out of the corner of his eye, his expression guarded.

Jaskier catches Geralt’s eye and smiles at him, warm as the morning sun. “Thank you for your trust, dear heart. For your body, for your… mm, everything.” His eyes flicker fondly over Geralt’s naked, scarred body beside him, and his smile widens ever so slightly. “I so very much want to do it again sometime.” He gives Geralt’s hand a little squeeze, and Geralt feels warmth race up his arm, making his heart skip and flutter despite the gnawing icy ache.

“Maybe some coffee and a shower first, though, hmm? And we’d promised we’d have a bit of a talk,” Jaskier gently releases Geralt’s hand and stands up. “You’re welcome to use my shower, love, it’s right through that door. I’ll go put towels out for you and get some coffee going.” Stepping carefully around the tangle of clothing on the floor, Jaskier snags some boxer briefs out of a dresser.

Geralt watches as he hops into them awkwardly, taking in the long muscular lines of his body as he wrestles with his undergarments, oddly charmed by his gawky movements. He twists between shame and longing as his eyes linger on Jaskier’s strong hips and firm ass, finds himself already craving the soft heat of his skin once more even as some part of him quietly insists that he is broken for wanting it.

Jaskier, oblivious, slips through a door near the foot of his bed that Geralt hadn’t noticed in the dark. There’s sounds of rummaging, of running water, and then Jaskier emerges and flashes Geralt another brief smile before vanishing out the bedroom door.

Geralt watches Jaskier go, at a loss for words. His hand is still warm from Jaskier’s touch, tingling and prickling where their skin was in contact. He flexes it thoughtfully, eyes turning to the door of Jaskier’s bedroom, listening to the distant sounds of bustling coming from the kitchen. The heat of the man’s presence is like sunlight, and without him the room feels colder, empty.

He turns his head to take in the messy bedroom, finally registering all of the crumpled laundry on the floor, the paper outside the wastebasket, the lumps of fabric peeking out from under the closet door. The mess causes him to glower, makes him feel itchy under his skin. He wonders silently how Jaskier lives like this, with socks scattered on the floor like leaves. His own crumpled clothing lies near his feet.

Giving it a guilty grimace, he picks it up and smooths it out, folding it and placing it on the bed in a neat pile before heading naked over to the half-open master bathroom door. After military school, much less the Army, walking bare in a stranger's room barely phases him. What does bother him, though, is his skin. It pulls where come has dried on it, and he brushes his fingers over his hip musingly as he walks. The touch conjures a little flash of memory, of Jaskier's head thrown back in the moonlight. He flinches and draws his hand back, overwhelmed.

The first thing he sees in the surprisingly clean bathroom is a white sink under a mirrored medicine cabinet. It is fitted to a blue tiled wall. The cleanliness is a welcome contrast to the chaos of the master bedroom, and Geralt finds himself relaxing slightly. Immediately next to the sink is a tall white cabinet with several small doors, dividing the sink from the tub. The tub itself is huge, both deep and long, more than large enough for even a big man like Geralt to sink into and get a good soak. Draped over the edge of it is a large light blue towel, soft and fluffy, with a hand towel, a washcloth, and a fresh unopened plastic razor sitting on top of it. At the very end of the bathroom, built between the large tub and the wall, is a shower stall enclosed in rippled glass. It is steamed over, the water inside already running.

Geralt takes all this in numbly, feeling like his insides are slowly becoming one great big block of ice. The gnawing feeling that this isn’t where he should be sets in deeper now that he is alone, feeling out of context in this cozy, welcoming bathroom. Still, he needs a shower, and a shave, and he can’t think of a better way to go about getting them. So he goes over to the towel and picks up the razor. Every step he takes across the bathroom sees him sink deeper into chilly, crushing depression, an uncomfortably familiar part of washing a lover off of his skin.

He barely sees the inside of the stall, tuning it out as he goes through the motions of cleansing himself, careful to keep his injured hand as dry as possible. He uses the little mirror hanging on the wall to clumsily shave his face. The inability to perform his usual shaving routine makes him feel so tense that his shoulders and stomach physically ache, but the idea of the stubble overtaking his face is far worse, so he fumbles his way through until he is finished. When he is done he is nicked in several places, but finally feels clean. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, he rinses and exits the shower.

As he exits, he hears music playing in the other room, far quieter than yesterday, upbeat and cheery. “ Roam, if you want to… ” he hears a woman sing, “All around the world…” The song is unfamiliar, but pleasant enough. He snags the towel and rubs himself dry with it, listening to the rustles and scrapes of Jaskier in the main living space. When he is dry, he wraps the towel and around his waist, leaving the bathroom. What he sees causes him to draw up short, depression snapping suddenly into irrationally potent rage. On the floor near the foot of the bed is a box, marked “Clothing.” On top of it are the attic keys.

“Jaskier!” He barks out, his voice cutting across the house like a gunshot. “What the everloving fuck is this?” His jaw clenches as he stares at the box on the floor. He hears a muffled swear from the other room, indistinct through the music, and then Jaskier’s feet thumping rapidly across the wood floor to the bedroom door.

Jaskier opens it and gives Geralt a worried look, unsure why he’s been yelled at. “Geralt! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you, I just thought you wouldn’t want to put your dirty clothes back on…” he trails off, visibly withering under the weight of Geralt’s thousand watt glare.

“Don’t. Touch. My. Things.” Geralt grates out, standing stiffly over the box. “Did you touch anything? What did you touch?” He rounds on Jaskier, and Jaskier shrinks back, face going from worried to ‘oh shit,’ blue eyes wide and startled.

“Oh god nothing, Geralt, I’m really sorry, I promise that’s the only box I touched,” he replies, looking a bit panicked. Studying the tension in Geralt’s body, he brings his hands up in a gesture of unconditional surrender. “I swear, I didn’t even look,” he promises. “I just grabbed the one box and came straight downstairs, I haven’t even looked inside it. I promise I was just trying to help.”

“Don’t help me.” Geralt snaps, turning away from Jaskier. He considers the box for another moment, weighing his options. Though he is furious, rationally, there is no real harm in what Jaskier has done, providing that none of his other boxes has been touched. He settles on snarling, “Get out of here. I need to get dressed. And…” he turns back, giving Jaskier such a menacing look that Jaskier takes a step back, “If you so much as fucking touch anything else of mine, we will have a fucking problem. Got it?”

“Got it,” Jaskier gulps. “I’m really s-”

“Go!” Geralt barks. Jaskier startles and exits quickly, cursing under his breath. Geralt grumbles and kneels down, picking up the box and setting it on the bed, catching the keys as they slide and setting them back on the neatly folded pile of his fatigues. He feels obscurely guilty for the amount of rage he took out on Jaskier, but also quite justified in telling the spoony little bastard to stay away from his personal things.

Still muttering, he opens the lid to the box. As he pulls it aside he falls silent. Inside are his clothes from his first few years in the Army, undisturbed as promised. They look like they will still more or less fit him. White, crisp, short-sleeved button down shirts. Plain khaki pants. Belts. Even some rolled up dress socks that he had barely worn but felt bad about discarding.

A jet engine roared behind him as he strode confidently off of an air strip, dispersing from a column of men and heading for a steel door on the side of a tan building. Over his shoulder was thrown a duffel sack, and on his head was a neat black beret. Gold bars shone on his shoulders, showing his rank of Second Lieutenant. It was his first day on the foreign base, and he was reporting for duty.

As he approached the door, it banged open. From within the building emerged a slight woman with a mass of curly dark hair trapped in a neat braid, an exasperated-looking man at her heels. She was dressed in an impeccable black blazer and slacks with a white blouse underneath, a pass pinned to its lapel that identified her as press. And as she barged around him, snapping, “Move it, boot!” he could see that her eyes were a startling shade of violet. He stumbled back, surprised, making way for her and her companion.

The man following her was broad-shouldered and brown, with a closely shorn head of dark hair. He had an easygoing-looking face with a short beard, pockmarked cheeks, and kind eyes. He was wearing fatigues, and had the same press pass as the woman clipped to his tan shirt. Over his shoulder was slung a black bag, and over his neck hung a worn camera case. As he passed Geralt, he gave him a friendly wink.

Geralt turned, watching them head across the tarmac, feeling like he’d been hit between the eyes with a hammer. Never in his entire life had he seen a woman like that, one that made his heart race just seeing her. And on the air, surrounding him, was the smell of lilac and gooseberries.

He feels a lump rising in his throat as he reaches into the box, fingering the empty shoulders of his white shirt where the insignia used to be pinned. The anger is draining away, turning back into something cold and weary as he looks over the old clothing. Then he pulls the shirt out, flaps it once to unfold it, and begins putting it on. It is very slightly tight across the chest and shoulders, but still fits. He reaches next for pants, lost in memory.

As he stumbled into the darkness of the building, feeling caught off balance, a voice snapped from down the hallway, “Rivii! Is that you? Get your dumb fucking ass in here!” His stomach plunged with a sudden sensation of dread. That was an ominous way to be greeted by a commanding officer he hadn’t even met yet.

“Yes, sir!” he called down the hallway, speeding up to a neat trot and coming to a halt in front of the older man glaring in an open doorway. Snapping off a crisp salute, he said, “Second Lieutenant Rivii, reporting for duty, Sir.” The older man’s lip curled, and he grunted, stepping back into his office.

“You’re late,” he said to Geralt, who was not, in fact, late. Geralt suppressed a grimace, keeping his face carefully wooden as he watched the Captain stride across the room and sit behind a desk with an expression like a sour old bulldog. “Well?” he barked.

“Sorry, sir, won’t happen again sir.” Geralt replied cautiously, not sure exactly what was expected of him. This was not how he wanted his first day on the job to look. He planted his feet and placed his hands behind his back in parade rest, eyeing the other man stoically, waiting to see what was in store. What was in store for him turned out to be the lecture of a lifetime. The Captain chewed into him like a buzzsaw, taking him pre-emptively to task for every fuck-up he was likely to make as a green officer, plus a few unlikely ones that left him quietly impressed at whoever must have come before him. He made a mental note to find out what an ibex was.

As the Captain wound down, he pulled his attention back in, hands still held behind his back, shoulders thrown stiffly back. “...And the last thing,” the Captain barked. “Is that you will be taking that bitch from the AP off my hands. She is now officially your problem, Rivii. You keep that woman so happy she’s shitting rainbows, or I will have your commission. Got it?”

The sinking feeling that Geralt had been experiencing this entire conversation turned to cold dread. That woman was… the least happy looking woman he had ever seen. Oh fuck. “Yes sir,” he replied, carefully impassive.

“Good!” Snapped the Captain, turning to the papers on his desk. “You’re dismissed. Report to the barracks.” He gave Geralt a nasty smile. “Then, you better track that press bitch down before she wreaks havoc around here. Now get the fuck out of my office!”

He pulls on his pants, also a little tight around the hips but not unbearably so. They won’t do for long, but they will be fine until he can buy some civilian clothing. Out in the main room he can hear something sizzling, and the smells of good coffee and breakfast cooking are starting to reach him. He finishes dressing, slipping on the belt and socks, before sitting back down on the bed next to the box.

“Oh, you’re here to keep me happy?” The woman’s lip curled. “Might have to kiss that shiny new commission of yours goodbye, pretty boy. I guarantee I am about to make your life a living hell.” She turned away and Geralt started to follow her awkwardly, not sure how to handle this situation. “Oh for the love of-” she snapped, turning back to face him. “If you follow me around this whole base, how am I supposed to get anything done?”

“I’m supposed to help you, ma’am.” He looked embarrassed, and the dark haired man standing behind the woman grinned, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “I uh, can’t leave you unsupervised.”

“Fuck.” She muttered. “Fine, then, follow me. I have people to interview.” And before he could protest, she snapped an itinerary out of the bag at her hip and shoved it in his face, where he could see the official Army seal and a scribbled signature. “Don’t start. Where’s the Major?”

With a sinking feeling, Geralt gestured up the hallway. The woman took to her heel immediately, the man with the big bag falling in behind her. Geralt hesitated for just a moment. “Let’s go, Skippy! We haven’t got all day! ” the woman’s voice cracked out, startling him into motion. He jogged to catch up, swearing under his breath. Army upbringing had led him to expect a hard life in the service, but this? This he was not prepared for.

“Fuck my life,” he grumbled.

Slowly, he rummages through the rest of the box, checking to make sure everything is still in place. His anger has cooled considerably now he is sure that everything is in order. He relaxes slightly, sighs, and rubs his hand across his face again. The lack of stubble is an enormous relief, the sensation of his shaved skin under his palm serving to soothe him further. Placing the lid back on the box, he stands and pockets the attic keys, then grabs his shoes. He quietly slips out of the bedroom and heads for the front door without Jaskier noticing. Fumbling on his boots, he ducks out the door and into the hot summer morning air.

The wet New England summer hits him like a soggy, steaming blanket as the door closes behind him. Grimacing in disgust, Geralt heads around the side of the house. By the time he reaches the top of the stairs, he feels like his shirt is already sticking to him. He opens the door to the attic loft, feeling his stomach twist nervously, half expecting to see his things scattered all over the attic. Much to his intense relief, however, he can see that everything looks absolutely untouched. The box of letters on the bed is still closed, hasn't moved an inch. Every other item is still where he put it.

He heaves a quiet sigh of relief and drops the box of clothing next to the dresser. Then he snags his bag, fishing out his deodorant and a clean pair of underwear from its depths. As he paws through it, he sees the sheaf of letters that he keeps carefully tucked at the back, and hears the jingle of his dog tags at the bottom of the sack. He’d taken them off when he was discharged, stuffed them in his bag. Not ready to confront either of these things, he leaves them in their places and heads to the bathroom.

When he is done, he grabs his dress loafers out of their box before he heads back downstairs. He slips them on as he heads out the door. They are stiff, and shiny, but also significantly easier to get on and off than his boots were. The anger he was feeling has faded to a faint buzz of frustration, barely noticeable over the background of icy depression which has resumed its grip on his body.

As he slips in the front door, music washes back over him, the house filled with the pleasant sound of people singing in chorus, “If you need me, let me know. Gonna be around, if you've got no place to go, when you're feeling down...” He eases the door closed, disliking the “thump” it makes when closed normally, and toes his loafers off next to Jaskier’s unruly collection of shoes in the entryway. Quietly, he pads across the house to the kitchen, towards the coffee smells, towards Jaskier, who is singing and dancing in his underwear and bare feet while he watches something on the stove.

Jaskier is holding a coffee cup, which he sips occasionally between snatches of song. He lifts the lid of the pan on the stove, curses as he burns himself on the steam, drops the lid and sucks his fingers, then tries again. This time he is apparently more successful, because he nods in satisfaction. The steam smells good, eggy and rich.

Geralt approaches on habitually silent feet, coming to rest at the corner of the kitchen island. He clears his throat carefully, trying not to startle Jaskier too badly. This… utterly fails. Jaskier’s hands fly up, coffee mug dropping to the floor and shattering, hot coffee splashing all over the kitchen floor.

“Fucking Jesus! Geralt! Where the hell did you come from?!” he gasps, putting his hand over his hammering heart. Geralt, nearly as startled as Jaskier, gives him a wide-eyed look, eyes traveling between Jaskier’s wide-eyed face and the shattered coffee mug on the floor.

“Um.” Geralt manages awkwardly, at a loss for words. Coffee drips from the hair on Jaskier’s legs, and his bare feet are surrounded by little ceramic shards. Embarrassed, Geralt kneels down and begins picking them up. Jaskier goes to move and Geralt makes a little gesture, indicating that he should stop before he cuts himself. The look Jaskier gives Geralt is a little wild-eyed, but he complies, holding still while Geralt gathers the worst of the shattered cup up off of the floor.

“Sorry,” he rumbles apologetically. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He stands with easy grace, moving around the other side of the kitchen island to where he saw Jaskier stow the trash can near the back door last night. “I’m quiet on my feet.”

“You are… not wrong,” Jaskier gasps, gaping at his dripping legs. “Fuck, Geralt! How did you even get that quiet?!” He grabs the dish rag off of the stove and begins to gingerly wipe his legs off, trying not to move his bare feet and step on any of the shards. Then he shakes his head, muttering, “Sorry, stupid question, I just…”

Geralt kneels down in front of him carefully, trying to get in his line of sight before making eye contact. “Sorry,” he apologizes again, lips quirking in a little half-smile. He holds his hand out for the towel, and Jaskier hands it over to him, still slightly flustered. Geralt very carefully wipes the last of the broken cup away from Jaskier’s feet.

Jaskier watches him kneeling there, broad shoulders moving beneath the white button down. Darting his tongue across his lower lip and trying to restart his brain, he stutters, “It’s ok. Um. Jesus fuck, Geralt, I’m going to have to put a bell on you.” He breaks out in a flustered grin, watching as Geralt rises and goes to the bin. He shakes the towel out as best he can and sets it on the counter gingerly, then goes to wash his hand in the sink. Jaskier rakes his hair out of his eyes and looks him over.

“Are you ok? No cuts?” He turns back to the stove, returning his attention to the pan.

“I’m fine. Are your feet okay?” Geralt asks, keeping his eyes on his hands.

“Fine, thanks to you,” Jaskier hums pleasantly, cutting a frittata apart in the cast iron pan and beginning to serve it. “And… look, about your stuff-”

“Stop.” Geralt grumps, frowning. “It’s over.”

“I just wanted to ap-”

“Stop! Just don’t touch it again,” Geralt snaps, shaking his wet hand off and looking around for a towel. With a slightly wounded look on his face, Jaskier fishes one out of a drawer and hands it to him. Geralt takes it, his face falling a little when he sees the look on Jaskier’s face. His habits of speech could be anywhere from rough to downright unfriendly, especially when he was upset, but he hadn’t meant to hurt or scare him. He grimaces and dries his hand off, passes the towel silently back to Jaskier, and goes to sit down on the stool he picked the night before. Settling onto it, he fiddles with his bandage, feeling guilty and wrong-footed.

Jaskier eyes him uncertainly for a moment, looking like he’s about to say something but then biting it back. Instead, he brings him a fresh mug of coffee and a plate with a quarter of ham and green onion frittata. There’s cheddar on top, and Jaskier pushes over salt and pepper grinders so that Geralt can season it. After serving himself and getting a new mug, he settles in on his own stool and eyes Geralt warily.

Geralt avoids his eyes and digs into his breakfast, embarrassed. After the MREs and mess hall food he had been subjected to in Somalia, the eggs are just this side of heavenly. He tries to eat this meal a little more slowly than the dinner of the night before, forcing himself to slow down and chew. There’s no rush, and although everything feels desperately unfamiliar, he also gets the sense that he is genuinely safe.

“This is really good. Thank you,” Geralt mumbles, poking a piece of egg around with his fork, still embarrassed.

Jaskier looks up over his mug and the corners of his bright eyes crinkle. He takes a long sip of his coffee, gaze softly roaming over Geralt. He seems more relaxed now, the dangerous tension mostly gone from his frame, and Jaskier finds himself slowly relaxing too. “You’re very welcome,” he responds, warming back up. “I really enjoy having the excuse to cook, I let myself get lazy being on my own. Too many frozen pizzas after the bar,” he drawls, and chuckles. “They’ll be the death of me but I love them.”

“Don’t you get home at three or four in the morning?” Geralt asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, don’t judge me!” Jaskier laughs. “Sometimes pizza and wine is the only way to wash down coming home at that ungodly hour.” He pauses and takes a sip of coffee, waving his long hands about. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my bar almost as much as I love breathing, but the schedule can be awful when the books come due.”

“What, you do them in the middle of the night?” Geralt shakes his head, forking up the last of his frittata.

“Well of course! Best time, when it’s all quiet and I don’t have any excuses to run off and avoid them,” Jaskier laughs. “There’s too many better things I could be doing during the day.”

“Hmm,” Geralt chuckles, shaking his head again in disbelief. “Sounds like a terrible plan.”

“Well, when you start running the bar, I’ll take your opinion into account,” Jaskier says lightly in return, a teasing grin playing about the corners of his mouth. “Speaking of which… What are your plans, now that you’re back in the States?”

The smile falls off of Geralt’s face and he looks down at his mug. He flashes on the boxes upstairs again and feels an icy rush of guilt that rolls across him like freezing water. Jaskier eyes him, then stands and takes Geralt’s plate back to the stove. He refills it with another portion of frittata and pushes it across the island to Geralt, before settling back in with his coffee to wait for his answer.

Geralt takes the plate back, grateful for something to focus on other than Jaskier’s inquisitive look, simmering with shame and disquiet. Using his fork to poke at the frittata, slowly pulling it apart, he waits for words to come. “Uh... “ he sighs deeply, shaking his head. “I don’t have any plans yet. I need to find my truck, I need to renew my US driver’s license…” he shrugs uncomfortably. “Need to get a hotel room or something. Find a job. A place. Figure myself out.” His stomach turns sharply as these words leave his mouth, feeling like they burn his lips. The future stretches out in front of him in painful relief, new and alien and empty.

Jaskier nods, rubbing his coffee mug back and forth absentmindedly on his lower lip. He takes a drink, then sets it down. “Your truck’s been towed by now, I should imagine. I have a phone book you can use. I think I even remember which tow service the city usually uses.”

Geralt grunts, nods, takes a bite of his frittata. It’s cheesy and warm, deeply comforting flavors that help anchor him to the here and now. He chews in awkward silence, studying his plate. To be perfectly honest, he had no clue how he was going to land a job with a dishonorable discharge on his record. People who would take an older veteran like himself on faith were thin on the ground, as far as he knew. He starts in surprise when Jaskier speaks again.

“You’re welcome to stay in the attic while you get your legs under you,” he tells Geralt, gesturing to the house with an open hand. “No need to waste money on a hotel. Not forever, mind you, but I should think a few days won’t hurt. My house is a little too quiet with just me in it anyway.”

Geralt lifts his head and looks at Jaskier, surprised and a little wary. “You don’t know me. Why would you do that?”

Jaskier cocks his head to the side, pondering his answer. He runs his fingers over the edge of the coffee mug, back and forth, back and forth, then puts it down and leans his elbows on the counter. “Because I can. Because it’s a nice thing to be able to do for someone.” He smiles again, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “And because I like you.”

Geralt flushes and looks away, grabbing his coffee and taking a long drink, grounding himself with the feeling of hot bitter liquid on his tongue. He feels grateful, confused, even a little alarmed by the offer. He also can’t think of anywhere safer to go, not with everything he’s lost. Besides… The idea of being near Jaskier longer feels inexplicably good, despite all of his misgivings. Warming. Groping for words, he settles on grunting into the mug, “It’s your funeral.”

Jaskier laughs at that, unphased. “It’s my pleasure, darling.” He goes quiet for a moment, watching Geralt as he eats. Then he says, “You should consider getting your server’s permits, too.” Jaskier nudges him lightly with his toe. “I was really impressed by how you handled the bar during rush. People who’ve been serving for years don’t stay as cool-headed as you did. How did you learn to mix drinks?”

Geralt blinks, not sure he heard Jaskier properly. “Server’s permits?” he asks dumbly.

“Server’s permits, that’s what I said! Food and drink! I can take you down to the city center to get the process rolling, it’s not far from here.” Jaskier replies. “I still need a server down at the Peg. Maybe you could try it… even just for a few weeks. Until you find something better. It’ll give you something recent on your resume, if nothing else,” he points out, then rises, asking, “More coffee?”

“Please,” replies Geralt, grateful for the opportunity to process what Jaskier just said. He holds out his cup and Jaskier refills it, then his own, with nutty, fragrant coffee. Taking another long swallow of the hot beverage to clear his head, he reflects upon Jaskier’s offer. After a few beats of silence, he speaks again.

“I um… didn’t like most of my co-workers very much, so I spent a lot of time in bars when I wasn’t working,” Geralt reveals, flashing his canines in an unpleasant smile. “Got to know the bartenders. Finally got a mixology manual from one of them because I was asking so many questions, and I got hooked.” He shrugs one muscular shoulder, looking out Jaskier’s kitchen window at the shady, ratty yard out behind his house. “Memorized that one when I was in Israel. Next one when I was in Lebanon.” Taking another long sip of coffee, he continues. “Gave me something to focus on that wasn’t... I don’t know. Wasn’t death, I guess. And,” he pauses and shakes his head with a little shrug, "it gave me something to talk about with the bartenders. They make better conversation than most soldiers do. Better friends, too, as far as that goes."

Jaskier tips his head to the side, listening. “Sounds lonely,” he muses, rubbing his foot against his ankle and playing with his coffee mug. Geralt snorts softly into his own mug and nods.

“It was,” he agrees, watching the dark liquid swirl in his cup as he turns it. After a long silence he queries, “What makes you think I’d be a good employee? I just got fired from my last job.”

Jaskier frowns. “Why wouldn’t I? Did you have any other major interruptions in your career?”

Geralt glances up at him, surprised. “No…” he admits, eyeing Jaskier.

“And how old are you, mid-forties? No, don’t answer that, it’s not important,” Jaskier waves his hand, taking a quick sip of his coffee and then continuing. “Point is, I guarantee you I’ve never had anyone else with a job history as stable as yours working in my bar, darling. Unless I’m missing some terrible secret, I’d hazard a guess that you’d be a wonderful asset to our little crew.” He gives Geralt a friendly look. Geralt looks back at him in bewilderment.

Geralt is accustomed to many things, but being trusted so deeply and immediately is not one of them. It’s disorienting. Much to his horror, he feels a deep blush creeping up the collar of his shirt and making a bid for his cheeks. Turning his attention back to his coffee, he tries to get his bearings. Jaskier watches him kindly, turning his mug in his hands.

“I don’t understand,” Geralt settles on saying, looking down at his plate. He feels so warm under that gaze that it makes it hard to think, much less answer a question like that clearly. Jaskier smiles gently as he replies.

“I’m trying to hire you, Geralt. Was I not being clear?” Jaskier teases lightly. To his surprise as well as Geralt’s own, Geralt cracks a smile. The white-haired man shakes his head, still staring into his coffee.

“Let me think about it?” he says finally.

“Ah, of course, darling!” Jaskier exclaims warmly. “Do you still want me to take you to get the permits? Just in case?” He forks up the last of his frittata, then stands and takes his dishes to the sink. While he waits for Geralt to answer he begins to rinse the dirty dishes and prepare them for the dishwasher. Behind him, Geralt licks coffee off of his lips and watches Jaskier move, eyes playing over the bare skin of his long back and broad, muscular shoulders.

“Sure,” he says, finally, and downs the last of his coffee. What the hell. His life had gone to fucking hell in a handbasket. While he felt too vulnerable to just say yes, the offer at least held up some kind of hope for his otherwise alarmingly blank future.

He shakes his head and pulls his plate close, cleaning the last of his breakfast off of it hungrily. "I'm going to get fat if you keep feeding me like this," he grumbles, standing with his dishes and rounding the island to take them to the sink.

Jaskier takes them with a sunny smile, tilting his head to catch Geralt’s golden eyes with his own. “I somehow doubt that,” he says, a little playful purr at the very edge of his voice. Geralt looks quickly up at the ceiling, not sure how to react but enjoying the feel of Jaskier’s warmth nearby. Jaskier gently elbows him, smiling to himself as he rinses the dishes.

“The phone book is right next to the phone, darling.” He gestures behind him to the section of wall between his bedroom door and the kitchen, where there is a low wooden bookshelf with a phone sitting on top. “I think the towing company’s called Meehan’s.” Teetering somewhere between gratitude and embarrassment, Geralt nods his thanks and crosses to the telephone.

What follows is a frustrating and instructive hour in the vagaries of municipal administration. Jaskier was right about the usual tow company’s name, but it turns out they were not the ones contracted for the industrial neighborhood Geralt left his truck in. Grumbling, Geralt takes down a few numbers with the pad and pen next to the phone, then begins his hunt.

By the time Geralt has found his truck, he is boiling with frustration. The rest of the morning and much of the afternoon is consumed with visits to various government buildings to deal with paperwork. The evening is taken over by the ordeal of retrieving Geralt’s ancient truck, which obliges eventually to start at the tow yard. Geralt drives it all the way back to Jaskier’s home with the heater on high and the windows all the way open, a grueling trip in the thick summer evening heat.

By the time they arrive back at the house, Geralt is miserable and covered in sweat, and Jaskier is running late to get to the bar. While Geralt showers upstairs and changes into fresh clothing, Jaskier quickly reheats some dinner for Geralt. By the time he comes downstairs, Jaskier is dressed in clean clothing and is pulling his shoes on by the door. He pauses before he leaves to squeeze Geralt’s arm fondly, indicating where dinner sits on the kitchen island and letting him know that he is welcome to pour himself some wine and make himself at home. Then he flits away, leaving Geralt standing in the entryway.

Geralt watches the door close behind him, feeling a little at loose ends. He trails through the darkened house, coming to rest in the pool of light that is the kitchen. The meal is leftover chicken and potatoes from the night before, still delicious the second time around. He hunts around in the kitchen drawers for a corkscrew, helps himself to some wine, and settles in at the island to eat his meal. The house feels smaller somehow, less full of life without Jaskier in it. His depression, which he has been holding at bay for most of the day, now returns to quietly envelop him as he eats.

The bottle of wine and the food both vanish silently in the cooling emptiness of the kitchen. When he is done, Geralt carefully rinses the dishes and places them in the dishwasher, then seeks out the recycling and dumps the wine bottle into it. This done, he dithers in the kitchen. The upstairs loft and its bed beckons, but he isn’t tired, and the idea of spending time in the company of reminders of loss and failure makes him feel like he can’t breathe. He can’t ever go home, and he doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Instead he scans the house, searching for something to do that won’t leave him feeling like he is choking on cold water. The books, normally a draw, look like too much effort to read. The CD player looks a little out of his league, and after browsing Jaskier’s music collection (heavy on ABBA, light on the hand drumming Geralt prefers,) he gives up on that, too. Finally, his eyes settle on the television. There was almost always one running somewhere on base. While he’d never particularly gotten into watching it, he knew that sometimes it could be oddly soothing. Opening another bottle of wine and grabbing his glass, he brings them over and sets them on the little end table near the couch, grabs the remote, and flicks it on.

There isn’t much to watch at this time of night, and he ends up settling on some awful show he can’t follow about a kung-fu cowboy. It’s meaningless, and numbing. It’s something he can at least drink wine to while he watches it. The depression settles slowly into a gnawing background torment, and in it, he eventually finds a kind of quiet. After the show ends, he finds something else. When that ends, he eventually settles on a late night Looney Tunes rerun, which is at least familiar. He empties the wine bottle slowly as he watches, and when he is done, he disposes of it carefully and washes his glass before returning to the couch.

Jaskier finds him there some hours later when he returns from the bar, the television still flickering across his sleeping face. His injured hand is cradled against his chest, and the shadows under his eyes are deep in the pale light from the screen. Tsking softly, Jaskier turns off the television and brushes his fingers carefully over Geralt’s left wrist, waking him without startling him.

“Hey,” he whispers, hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at the exhausted man on the couch. Geralt wakes as Jaskier touches him, eyes wide and lost. He looks like he is drowning in icy water, frightened and alone. As their eyes meet, Jaskier feels like a great shard of ice leaps between them, burying itself in his heart. He reaches out on instinct, gently drawing Geralt up off of the couch. He's seen dying men before, seen the look in their eyes, and his skin prickles coldly as he sees the way Geralt is looking at him. There’s no way he can leave this man alone tonight. He wasn’t intending to get this close with Geralt this quickly, but that look… it fills him with a quiet, abiding fear. Without another word, Jaskier leads him to his bedroom across the house.

Geralt follows him quietly, trailing in the wake of Jaskier's warmth like a moth seeking a flame. The wine has worn off in the intervening hours, leaving nothing to blunt the emptiness and pain he is feeling. But there, in the darkness, is Jaskier, all warm skin and good smell and kindness. He doesn’t really understand why he undresses next to him in the darkness of his bedroom, doesn’t know why he can’t just walk away and go upstairs to sleep. But, as they slide into bed together in the thick darkness of 3 am, he knows that the heat of Jaskier’s skin on his skin brings welcome relief to the desolation inside of him. He knows that the heavy weight of Jaskier’s head on his chest is oddly peaceful, that the sound of his breath in the silence is music. Laying in the darkness, he tentatively brings his arms up around the handsome man curled along the length of his body, and is rewarded by a contented sigh. Jaskier sinks heavily against him, and before long, he is asleep. Soothed, Geralt soon follows him.

Morning comes slowly, in pieces. First, a sensation of pressure, heavy warmth holding him to the bed. Movement, the minute feeling of his rising and falling chest pressed against another breathing person. Scent, the smell of sweat and skin and linen. And as he wakes more fully, the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Jaskier. The elfin man is lying fully on his chest, stomach resting between his thighs, quietly studying his sleeping face.

When his eyes open, Jaskier’s thoughtful expression transforms into a sleepy smile. “Good morning,” he hums affectionately, stroking his hand across Geralt’s broad chest. The warm weight of him is alien but also deeply soothing, and Geralt’s arm instinctively tightens where it has come to rest around Jaskier’s waist. Geralt can feel his heart speeding up as a tangle of longing and confusion and deeply-ingrained fear wells up in him.

Atop him, Jaskier firms his strokes across his chest, starting at the center and kneading outwards, providing deep, calming pressure. Geralt struggles with the fear while those soothing hands work. As consciousness trickles back in he realizes that, unlike most of his life, there’s no one here to discover him in bed with a male lover. No reason to be afraid, or to run. Safe.

He shivers a little as Jaskier looks up at him from under his eyelashes, feeling a spike of heat run from the crown of his head to the base of his spine, breaking up the icy grip of the fear. And when Jaskier darts his tongue over his lower lip before he leans up to catch Geralt’s mouth in a kiss, Geralt groans helplessly with pleasure. Feeling like he’s falling off of a cliff, he uses his good arm to draw Jaskier in closer. Their legs tangle and he shivers again, heartsick and dizzy with desire.

Jaskier gives a small murmur of pleasure into Geralt’s mouth, and Geralt feels his mind melting, the soft little sound washing away his worries in a flood of sudden hunger. He parts his lips slightly, instinctively inviting, and Jaskier slides his body up a little more so that he can softly tongue into Geralt’s mouth. Geralt can feel himself getting hard where his cock is trapped against Jaskier’s stomach, pressed against firm, warm skin. Jaskier purrs and shifts, releasing it so that it’s in a more comfortable position, then delicately lowers his body again. His own cock brushes against Geralt’s thigh, hardening as they kiss.

Geralt hums a delirious little groan, pulling him closer yet. Jaskier follows willingly, deepening their kiss, pressing his cock into the crease of Geralt’s hip as he shifts. Geralt takes a stuttering breath, the last of his mind vanishing as he feels velvety heat brush over his sensitive skin. He spreads his big hand across Jaskier’s lower back to keep the pleasurable sensation close, craving more of it.

Jaskier gives a soft chuckle into their kiss, experimentally rocking his cock against his lover’s sensitive skin again. He is rewarded by a soft, deep moan of startled pleasure, a sound happily captured between their hungrily moving mouths. Jaskier rocks more firmly this time, drawing another sweet moan from Geralt. They begin moving together, tentatively at first, mouths and tongues and hips seeking a rhythm. As they discover a good pace, they begin to move more confidently.

The hot sensation of Jaskier’s cock rubbing along the exquisitely sensitive crease of his hip is driving Geralt crazy. It’s all he can focus on, all he can feel, and soon he is trembling with desire. His body, unused to being able to relax into a lover’s embrace, is singing with unfamiliar tension and hunger. He finds a soft cry of disappointment escaping his lips as Jaskier lifts his hips away and draws back. It only takes him a moment to realize why, however. Jaskier breaks their kiss and winks at him, then leans over him and reaches out to fumble open the drawer in the small table right next to the bed. Inside, from what Geralt can see from his vantage point, is a stash of condoms and a blue-and-white bottle of lube.

Jaskier paws into the drawer and grabs one of the condoms, flourishing it playfully between two fingers before sitting back between Geralt’s thighs and smiling at him. Geralt gapes back at him, bewildered and so aroused he can barely feel his own face. He watches as clever fingers unwrap the condom, discarded wrapper falling to the side, watches as Jaskier reaches out and firmly grasps Geralt’s cock. A shock goes through Geralt’s body as fingers close around the base of it. He’s so sensitive that he jolts, but Jaskier is a quick study. He knows now that he has to hold firmly for it to feel good, and he does so with one hand, using the other to slide the condom skilfully down over Geralt’s aching erection.

Geralt watches this silently, a flush of pleasure creeping up his pale cheeks. When Jaskier slides back and ducks his head down, his eyes widen, his hand instinctively coming up to hold Jaskier’s shoulder. And when Jaskier’s mouth wraps around him he growls pleasurably, a deep bass sound. Jaskier moans in response, lowering his head and taking Geralt deep. Geralt gasps, his eyes fluttering shut, and he loses himself in the wet heat of Jaskier’s hungry mouth.

Taking his own weeping cock in hand, Jaskier begins to quickly stroke himself even as his mouth works its magic upon Geralt. His eyes roll back in his head as Geralt’s hand slides from his shoulder to wind in his hair, surprisingly gentle. He was expecting the big man to fist his hair firmly, but the way Geralt holds his head is soft, almost reverent. Tender, even. That gentleness sends a spike of hot arousal all the way through Jaskier’s body, and he moans deeply around Geralt’s cock.

Geralt cries out at the feeling of vibration, his hips unintentionally bucking. He gentles his hold slightly on the back of Jaskier’s head, not wanting to choke him, but his lover just moves with him, taking the thrust like he barely even noticed it. Jaskier bobs his head as his tongue works, skillfully pulling another cry from Geralt, another bucking motion of his hips. His hand comes up and wraps firmly around the base of Geralt’s erection and then he leans forward, fist pumping his own cock rapidly as he gulps Geralt deep into his mouth again.

“Ohhh, fuck, ” Geralt gasps, hand spasming on the back of Jaskier’s head, feeling a hot twist deep inside of him. “Oh fuck, oh, oh,” he pants, half leaning up off the bed, his body curling into a knot of humming tension. Encouraged, Jaskier bobs his head faster, tongue swirling. With a sharp, sudden cry, Geralt comes, his whole body shaking with the force of the release.

Jaskier whines happily around his cock, moving easily with Geralt as his body twists and shakes. Jaskier’s own hand works harder, faster, his breath coming in short little pants as his tongue works Geralt’s cock all the way through his orgasm. It only takes a few more quick strokes to bring himself over the edge, too. As he comes he releases Geralt from his mouth and throws his head back, releasing a ragged cry that sends a wave of hot prickles across Geralt’s skin. His seed spills between his fingers, dripping onto the sheets in the sticky, stunned silence that follows.

Geralt drops slowly back to the bed, breathing heavily. Between his legs Jaskier lets out a breathless laugh, wiping his hand on the sheet and shaking his hair out of his eyes. Geralt rumbles out a delirious chuckle of his own, bringing his hand up to cover his face as he tries to regain his senses. Jaskier leans over to the bedside table again and pulls open the drawer, fishing out a pack of wet wipes from the depths. He wipes his hand clean, then, delicately, pulls the condom off of Geralt’s cock and knots it. Geralt twitches and shudders, reaching out to grab Jaskier’s shoulder again; Not to stop him, but because the sensation is so strong.

Jaskier smiles dopily, giving Geralt’s thick thigh a kiss before he rises to dispose of the trash. As he does so he passes a wipe to Geralt, who cleans himself gingerly as he watches Jaskier walk across the room to retrieve the wastebasket from beside his desk. He brings it back and sets it near the bed, then crawls back up, laying himself along Geralt’s side lazily.

Geralt tosses the wipe into the trash and leans back, making room for Jaskier to lay himself out along the length of his body. The warmth of all that skin pressing against his own is delicious, and he finds himself feeling greedy for more of it. He carefully rolls and tangles himself in Jaskier, pulling his lover up against him until his chin is resting on top of Jaskier’s head and his arms are draped around him, holding him close. Jaskier hums contentedly, wrapping his own arms around Geralt, and together they drift into a sleepy daze. Geralt is quietly stunned, but the heavy satisfaction he feels spreads warmly across his body, wiping away some of his fear and shame, dragging him slowly down back into sleep.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #witcher fic #geralt x jaskier #geraskier pride week 2020 #geralt #jaskier #yennefer #ahh-fuck writes #ahh-fxck writes

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