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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

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Late Night Talks

Summary: After a long hunt, the reader and Dean grab a late dinner on the road. Dean notices the reader not eating much and calls her out on her recent eating habits when he gets concerned about the road she’s on...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, discussion of disordered eating & eating disorders, fluff

A/N: Written for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo!

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“I read this article earlier,” said Dean as he popped a french fry into his mouth. You were about five hours from home, eating a midnight dinner at some tiny little diner on the side of the road after a successful but exhausting ghoul hunt.

“Mhm,” you hummed, picking at a brussel sprout on your plate.

“It was on disordered eating,” he said, picking up a piece of bacon that’d fallen onto his plate and eating it.

“You mean eating disorders,” you said, stabbing into the sprout and eating it before you went back to your dicing up your chicken tenderloin.

“No this was something different. It’s like, how some people shift into having an eating disorder, like pre disorder I guess.”

“So...was there something interesting in this article?” you asked, picking up a piece of chicken and taking a bite.

“Actually yeah,” he said. You chewed and took a few bites before he set the burger down and wiped off his hands. “It was about how there’s dangers involved with disordered eating since it could turn into something all consuming, like a full on eating disorder.”

“Well that sounds kinda obvious,” you said.

“Well it was about how stuff like skipping meals, limiting your calories too much, saying some foods are good and others are bad, that stuff over time can really start to mess with your head and lead to that compulsion of being obsessed with food and weight.”

“Isn’t that just common sense,” you said. He hummed and you ate another piece of chicken before pushing the plate away. “I don’t know about you but I’m full.”

“Yeah, it is common sense,” he said. You raised an eyebrow and he pulled out his phone, tapping on it for a moment before spinning it around, showing you a number.

“Are you tracking my fucking calories?” you said.

“Oh geez, Y/N. Maybe cause you hit every red flag in that article I read and I got concerned. There’s no humanly possible way you’re full when you’ve eaten a whopping 800 calories today. You’re starving yourself.”

“I’m not hungry today, weirdo,” you said.

“You were slow on that hunt and we both know why. You’ve been doing this for weeks really extremely and honestly, since I’ve met you.”

“I’m on a diet. You know that.”

“You’re on the ‘I’m fucking up my metabolism’ diet. Ah, that one’s a classic,” he said.

“Back off. I am not hungry lately is all.”

“Eat this,” he said, sliding his plate in front of you. He took your plate and started eating, staring at you. “Eat the burger.”

“I said-”

“Take one bite.”

“I’m not hungry,” you growled.

“Then take a bite and spit it out.” You picked up the burger, covered in cheese, bacon, peppers and a sauce that smelled so good. You swallowed and put it down, Dean shaking his head.

“Dean. I’m just not hungry.”

“Why won’t you take a bite?” he asked. You sighed and closed your eyes. “Y/N.”

“Because I’ll want to eat the whole thing and this has to be a thousand calories and I can’t eat that much, Dean. I’m on a diet.”

“Today I’ve seen you have three cups of coffee, a banana, and half of a small piece of chicken and a few brussel sprouts. You need to eat.”

“I need to lose weight.”

“For what?”

“I’m overweight.”

“Because a little stupid calculator online said so? So another stupid little calculator tells you how much food you’re allowed a day? But maybe you’re having a bad day so you tell yourself you don’t deserve to have even all of that already restricted food? So you make it even smaller to the point of, hm, what’s that word, disordered eating?”

You stared down at your lap and heard him get up, sliding into the booth beside you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you looked out the window.

“I do need to lose weight Dean. It’s true. I’m not supposed to be this big.”

“What are you supposed to be then?”

“Like that waitress. She’s small and thin. She’s healthy.”

“I see,” he said. She was working behind the counter, no one else in the place aside from a man at the other end and the cook. “Excuse me miss?”

She popped her head up and walked over with a tired smile.

“Can we get another bacon cheeseburger? And a big bowl of that ice cream sundae?” he asked.

“You got it,” she said, writing it down.

“One more thing,” said Dean. “Do you like the way you look?”

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Dean, shut up,” you said. “Please ignore him.”

“I mean, are you happy with your body? Do you eat whatever you want, wear whatever you want, never worry a second about what goes in it or how it looks? You’re a beautiful woman but what do you actually think of yourself?”

She was quiet for a few moments before she noticed the swapped plates in front of you.

“You know when you first asked that, I thought, you were being creepy. I get creepy guys in here a lot late at night. The cook is a big guy but it happens. I know I’m small. I wish I was stronger. I wish I looked like she does. I’m something that looks like they’d snap in the wind. She’s strong and has an ass and curves. She’s not a rectangle with no curves or chest. She doesn’t look like a guy. I wish I wasn’t so delicate but I don’t think I can change that much.”

“Probably not so much,” said Dean. “But I hear weight training is good for muscle building. Creeps are always creeps but might help to be able to deck ‘em.”

“Yeah. I’ll go put that order in for you guys,” she said with a smile. Dean turned his head back to you after she went through the double doors.

“Funny. You want her body. She wants yours,” he said.

“She doesn’t know I’m overweight.”

“She doesn’t know how damn strong you are. Her body? She was right. She is delicate and it’d be a safe idea for her to put on some muscle given her job. You though? You I’ll worry to death over no matter what. But you’re missing the most glaring thing of all.”

“What?”

“You just said she doesn’t know you’re overweight. She doesn’t know how much you weigh. If she doesn’t know how does anyone know? Why does a number on a scale matter? Health does, don’t get me wrong, but care more about what your body can do than what size pants you fit in. It’s all bullshit anyways. You can be a small one place or a triple XL somewhere else. You can have a normal chest but be told it’s too big or too small by a different brand. I just don’t want to see you going down a path towards something worse where you’re hurting yourself.”

“I’d never hurt myself, Dean.”

“If your body is hungry and you don’t feed it, you’re hurting it. I’m talking about you’re cold, you’re starving, you have no energy, you feel like crap. But you won’t eat, not until it gets a little worse because you think you can take it because you’ve taken it before. That’s hurting yourself and you hurt yourself a lot sweetheart.”

You looked down and swallowed, taking a deep breath.

“I’m really cold right now,” you said quietly. “I’m tired of always being so fucking cold.”

“Eat,” he said, tugging his plate closer to you. “I’ll order you some soup too. That’ll warm you up.”

He took off his jacket and wrapped it over your shoulders. He kissed your cheek and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’ve been like this for years, Dean. I don’t know how people eat normally anymore.”

“I know. You probably fucked up your metabolism but we can unfuck it up too. You can be healthy but this, this isn’t healthy. I’ll do it with you but you gotta promise me you won’t starve yourself anymore.”

“I’ll try,” you said.

“I’ll take trying to start with,” he said. “I’m gonna order that soup. Eat up for me sweetheart. You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

One Month Later

“Y/N!” shouted Dean from the kitchen as you walked past. “You eat lunch yet?”

“No,” you said.

“Are you hungry?”

“A little. I was waiting for you to get done with Baby,” you said.

“What’d you eat so far?” he asked.

“I had a cup of coffee and a protein bar and for lunch I’m having one of those greek wraps I like,” you said. “Satisfied?”

“I’d prefer if you had two wraps or a wrap and snack with it,” he said. You grumbled and he sighed. “Y/N. You said I could take the lead on this.”

“I’m gaining weight,” you said.

“Yeah cause you aren’t eating what a toddler does in a day anymore which is perfectly healthy for a grown woman. I know it’s only been a month but you have so much more energy, you sleep better, you have less nightmares. Your skin looks amazing. So gain a few pounds, gain more than a few, let’s fix your metabolism and then we’ll start working out a little and we’re not gonna give a fuck how much we weigh at all and we’re gonna be the hottest fucking couple in this neighborhood I swear.”

“I like not feeling cold anymore,” you said with a small smile, Dean walking over and rubbing your arms. “It’s just...hard sometimes to not...wait to eat until your stomach hurts from no food. I’m figuring out what being hungry is again.”

“It’s gonna take some time but your body will learn again. We just gotta be extra nice to it right now while it recovers,” he said. “And then we’ll always be nice to it, right?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I promise.”

“So, one wrap or two?” he asked, opening the fridge.

“One. I’ll save the other for tomorrow. But maybe I’ll have some pita chips and hummus with it?” you asked.

“That sounds yummy,” he said. “I think I’ll have that myself.”

“You don’t have to eat my diet Dean,” you said.

“I could do with being nicer to my own body myself,” he said. “After lunch do you want to go for a walk? I have a sneaking suspicion the couple three blocks over are a pair of vamps.”

“That’s the guy with the skin condition, babe,” you said.

“Are you sure cause he got like a weird rash that one time.”

“It’s a condition,” you said with a smile. “But I would love to go for a walk with you while the day is still nice.”

“Sounds like a plan sweetheart,” he said, starting to take food out of the fridge. You walked over and gave him a hug from behind.

“Thanks for saying something. Even if I tried pretending I was fine.”

“You’d do the same for me,” he said. “Come on, cutie. Let’s get some grub. I’m starving.”

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#tell me a story bingo #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #spn fanfic #dean fanfic #dean x

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youryanderedaddy · 4 years ago

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♡100 followers special♡

Guys, I would like to thank all of you for all the support since I started this blog, you are the best <3 Btw this is the fic Elon Musk doesn’t want you to see lol, jk jk

Title: Humanity

Words: 3.6k

Summary: When you get sold to an odd looking robot after the last failure of a rebellion, things go better than you had expected. Until they don’t.

tw: robot/AI apocalypse au, dystopia au, slavery, slight non - sexual public nudity, discrimination, vulgar language, mention of death and child abuse (in the past), obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, angst

AD 3061y., 14 September

Your hometown was in ruins, shattered by the Forces and left without any source of food, clean water or reliable manpower. The rebellion had failed just like the first ten attempts and as much as you had wanted to believe this time would be different, your dreams stayed nothing more than a way to cope with the harsh reality. Any intelligent individual had either managed to flee before the prosecution or died in agony while trying. You could still hear their pained screams ringing in your ear, the desperate look in their pupils sealed forever in your mind along with the sound of heavy breathing slowly fading into the background like your own hopes for a better future.

The ones who decided to play meek and close their eyes to the inhuman torture happening in the area were spared, but what awaited them could potentially be worse than death itself. You were part of the flock of pitiful weak humans who had surrendered to the heartless machines wanting nothing more than to see mankind squirm and kneel underneath their mechanic heel like a bug. And now you would face the hour of judgment – tired and exhausted, heavy rusty chains around your bruised ankles making every next step a little harder than the last one. But you were certain that the most painful humiliating event hadn’t taken place yet and the thought made your blood run cold. You could recall the countless stories you used to hear on the streets from your friends about androids stealing kids and selling them like cattle to the most powerful leaders of society. Back then you would laugh at them, finding the ideas ridiculous, better fit for a conspiracy theory or a legend rather than an actual threat. But during that time life was easier – the robots were still your friends, just your average citizens, equal to the humans in every manner. It wasn’t until ten years later that some of them realized just how much better, stronger and smarter than the people they really were. That’s how the apocalypse started and that’s how it was going to end. These days the mortals were becoming extinct with the population cut down to one million. You didn’t have names or rights to any possession. Your mere survival had one purpose only – to entertain the machines so they could feel human again. And right now you were being dragged to Soraq, also known as the biggest slave market in the country.

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It was just as terrifying as you had imagined it to be. The Capital was supposed to express wealth, luxury and maybe even happiness but your old human views were easily opposed when faced with the mud covering what was left of the pavement and the pale exhausted bodies of the mortals wandering the streets searching for a hot meal and a little bit of kindness it was clear no one wanted to provide. You reached out to help a young girl sobbing all by herself on the ground but the Officer roughly yanked your shoulder back and ordered you to keep going – his cold hard touch was enough to bruise your skin.

After a few long minutes of uncertainty your keeper finally stopped, pulling you up some black stairs leading to a small stage and if you weren’t too busy looking around for the others who were captured, you might have noticed the crowd gathered inches away from you. Soon enough you were forced to redirect your attention as you heard the approving screams and cheering below. There were hundreds of robots staring at you, smirking maliciously, pinning you with their cold calculating gazes. You finally realized that this wasn’t just a bad dream or a nightmare, something unreal you could easily run away from by opening your eyes. You were about to become property and the worst part was the way the cruel machines perfectly resembled people – they looked the same except for the dark red pupils each possessed which glowed when going into a fight mode. But unlike humans the androids had gotten rid of their most intimate emotions and fears, turning themselves into empty shells, shiny and murderous with no way to experience anything properly, be it pleasure or pain.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The Officers started off with a low chuckle, his heavy hand wrapped tightly around your arm. His voice should have been programmed to be monotone but now it had a playful edge to it. “Today our dear subjects have decided to be feisty yet again. They still haven’t learned their lesson it seems.” He grinned eerily, quickly followed by the mocking laugher of the crowd. Some even shouted slurs and insults but you tried to focus on controlling your feelings. You needed to stay calm if you wanted to survive. “We really can’t expect more from the mankind. They are primal after all, they just can’t learn from their mistakes.” The male robot paused for a second to fix his microphone. “It’s in their DNA code to be foolish and pathetic. That’s why we need to take better care of them.” He whispered the last line down your neck and despite knowing that the machines didn’t have actual lungs, you could swear you felt his cold breath on your sensitive skin.

“The woman is in her early twenties. Her background is unknown, but she certainly looks like someone you would want in your collection.” The android continued talking as if you weren’t there, his hands all over your tinier frame. The mass was yelling, but you only made out the words „down”, „strip” and „human”. Your eyes watered involuntarily and you let the tears stream down your cheeks in spite of the weakness they showed. It didn’t matter – it couldn’t get any worse so you could at least let yourself experience such little bits of comfort. In the next moment the Officer ripped your old ragged t-shirt, exposing your breasts to the cold autumn air. The hot red humiliation washed over you as the degrading whistles pierced trough your heart. It was such a cruel unfair punishment and you couldn’t even keep your composure long enough to not break down ugly – crying right there.

“The bidding starts at one thousand eros!” The robot’s evil voice echoed through the area, reaching the market borders. Suddenly all the attention was on your scared vulnerable half-naked self. More than ten androids raised their hands, making your stomach turn in terror. Most of them had unpleasant appearances, resembling old people, usually men. “Do we have two thousand eros?” The officer added quickly afterwards having seen the shown interest. This time there were only five bots willing to buy you for so much money – but the show was far from over. “Am I seeing three thousand eros?” Your keeper kept going, determined to drain your bidders off their wealth, but to his utmost surprise now there were only two robots with their hands in the air – one seemingly younger and the other looking all wrinkled and bitter at the world. You silently prayed that fate would work in your favor only this time and hand you over to the man who would treat you more like a living being and less like an object.

“Ten thousand eros.” Suddenly the android with a kinder appearance declared out loud, his cold stern gaze fixed onto you. The other male hesitated for a moment, probably wondering whether or not you were worth so much money, but at the end he cursed under his breath and slowly put his hand down with a sour expression. “Sold to K-010 for ten thousand eros!” The automatic voice of the Officer was ringing in your ear like an alarm while the crowd was shouting and cussing, some going as far as to criticize your new owner for giving up his monthly salary for a “cheap human whore”. Next he was invited on the stage to sign off all the needed documents leading to your freedom being ripped away forever and you were injected with a tiny chip which would make your location visible to your buyer at any given time. The android looked at you soon after and in one swift move he managed to place his leather coat on your shoulders, muttering at you to cover up. You obeyed, embarrassed by the reminder that your upper half was still fully exposed to all the hungry prying immortals. When the chains were finally removed, the robot took you by the hand and led you to a small white flying car with a yellow lily drawn on top – the brand was popular among the most powerful members of the Forces.

“Don’t even think about running away.” K-010 growled when he noticed the way your attention drifted to the nearby road before finally taking your seat. You knew it was pointless now that the tracking device was deep into your skin but deep down you still couldn’t kill the last bit of hope screaming at you to do something before you were too far away to find home again, wherever it was. “If you so much as look outside while we drive, I will use my lasers to turn you into ash. Okay?” You nodded meekly and sank into the soft comfortable seat, wishing that your body would stop shaking in fear but to no avail.

---

The journey was long and silent but it made you remember the days when music was still allowed and you used to turn the radio all the way up in your mother’s car. You would sing loudly until your throat hurt and your friends would ask you to just shut up and focus on the road. Everything was so normal and happy back then. The stinging nostalgia threatened to overcome so you tried to focus on something else. You finally faced your owner in an attempt to study his appearance. He was probably in his late twenties, his hair white with some black locks here and there, a fashion trend you usually didn’t care much for. You couldn’t afford to bother with your hairstyle when you were constantly running for your life after all. The robotic male had sun-kissed brown skin, he was taller than most human men and his lips seemed softer than most robots’. But the biggest mystery laid in his deep dark eyes, they looked scarlet at first but the more you stared, the easier it was to realize the color was actually brown.

“Are you a cyborg, K-010?” You asked in a small voice out of the blue, breaking the peace and quiet in the air. The android didn’t spare you much attention with his gaze fixed onto the open sky serving as a road, still he opened his mouth slightly to respond. “My name is Kyle, the numbers are just a formality.” He inhaled sharply as if he was reminiscing a bad memory. “And yes, I am biologically human – just with a few practical upgrades.” You had heard of such people before, the ones willing to become an experiment so they could join the high society oppressing their own neighbors, friends and relatives, setting the lands on fire and destroying the dying environment but you had never met one until today. Honestly, you felt betrayed. It was one thing to be some unfeeling machine’s plaything and entirely another to be owned by someone with a functioning heart even though they weren’t too keen on using it properly.

“Why would you do that?” You couldn’t stop the question from leaving your lips in the next moment. “You should know what humans have to go through just to stay alive. Today hundreds of us were crushed and sold like some animals! Yet you changed yourself to appeal to their disgusting standards.” You raised your voice, the hot tears already spilling down your cheeks yet again, your fists clenched in pure anger at the foolish greedy man. He simply shook his head and leaned back. “I had my reasons, sweetheart. You don’t know anything.” With that the conversation had ended, you could try and argue or even blame him for being a selfish bastard but it wouldn’t have done you any good so you decided against it. It didn’t matter much anymore.

----

A few months went by slowly even though time meant little to someone in your position. Living with Kyle wasn’t as terrible as you thought it would be – his mansion was big and spacious, luxurious even. You had your own room and you were allowed to explore the house in your free time. You didn’t have many duties to attend to, your work mostly revolved around cooking, cleaning and keeping company with your owner when he was too tired to keep the robotic mask on and just wanted something sweet, something weak, something more human around. He didn’t want much out of you so you tried to do your best and stay on his good side – there was always a warm meal waiting at the table at night, every window was carefully wiped from the previous dust and the glass was now shining brightly, and you would listen for hours on end to the cyborg’s ramblings no matter how dreadful it could be sometimes.

But it couldn’t be denied that the man had some odd habits, even if you were to overlook him buying a living being instead of simply hiring a maid. For example, you knew how thin the walls actually were because you could hear him cry almost every night. The half-robot would hold you close any time the news were too loud or a bottle of beer had fallen and shattered on the ground. Still you weren’t allowed to leave his home so all the doors leading to the outside world were locked while he was away or at work. And there were these weird long cuts on his shoulders you had managed to take notice of the first time your master had asked you to bathe him. You hadn’t meant to prey upon his naked form, but the task had been so awkward you needed something to focus on to drive the unpleasant thoughts away. The injuries looked deep and the man would close his eyes any time the soap made contact with them. Finally one day you gathered the courage to ask him what had caused the raw scratches. You were messaging his scalp gently, applying jasmine in his roots, trying to soothe his nerves and get to the information.

“ ’S not important. ” K-010 answered lazily while arching his back into your touch. More often than not the male would melt under your care and you couldn’t help but wonder just how lonely it was to be neither a human nor a machine. “She is dead now.” He whispered darkly, secretly hoping it wouldn’t reach your ear, yet it did. “Who is dead?” You questioned him after a while, stroking his wet locks until you heard him moan. You were getting better and better at provoking a reaction from the cyborg and despite knowing it was manipulative and a little devious, he was still the ruthless owner who held your one and only life in his palms. You needed to be sneaky if you wanted a safe, comfortable life.

“My mother.” Kyle added quickly before looking at the blue ceiling, the glossy material copying both of your reflections. The mention of the woman made the sensitive skin of his nape crawl but he kept talking. “The crazy bitch used to beat me every. She even tried to kill me a couple of times.” A slight smile appeared on his full red lips. “It didn’t work out in the end, unfortunately.” So that’s where the cuts were from – he had been violated in his childhood by no other than the person supposed to look after him. You had always hated abusive parents taking advantage of their authority and even now your own imagination made your heart ache at the picture it painted. A small boy being hit over and over until there his whole body was bruised and bloodied. A child with no one to turn to. It didn’t excuse your master’s evil doing but it certainly explained a lot. “Don’t make such a sad face, darling.” He cooed at you, reaching out to pinch your cheek. “I will always be grateful to the Forces since they gave me the power I needed to finally free myself from her grasp. I even buried her myself after everything was said and done.” Kyle grinned from side to side like a little kid waiting to be praised for the picture they had drawn, except now the man was speaking of the way he had murdered his mother. You were at a total loss of words, suddenly too frightened to respond.

“What’s so special about being a human anyways?” The cyborg grumbled, sounding almost offended of the words you still haven’t said but were definitely thinking deep down. You were staring forward unable to draw away from that one crack in the wall, his words flying above your head. Your confusion was interrupted by the man quickly raising to his knees and catching both of your hands with his strong robotized ones. The cold touch of the metal combined with the camouflage of a soft skin was enough to mess your mind even further into the maze that was his dark gaze. Next thing you knew the male had you pinned on the hard ground, spotlessly clean and reeking of abstergent. You tried to squirm away but the hold of your wrists was too tight and strong to even make your struggling worth the trouble. “Just look at how weak you humans are.” K-010 taunted you, smirking teasingly, cruelly, yet there was something desperate in his eyes, something hidden. “You are so fragile I could probably break you if I were to press harder on your flesh.” He whispered into your ear, breathing down your neck as he dug his icy fingers into your collarbone and made you whimper pathetically at the dull pain. “People are foolish creatures, illogical by nature. They try to fight authority yet the moment they are left with a free choice, they find a way to run from their responsibilities.” The cyborg chuckled maliciously while digging his nails further into your skin.

“We might be doomed forever because of our emotions but there is something you fail to consider.” You finally spoke out despite your rapid heartbeat and fear so great it could defeat death herself. The predator already had you in his sharp claws and there was no pointing in playing coy anymore. The worst had come to worst. Your words caught the attention of the half-robot and he licked his lips in anticipation to hear what you had to say. “Unlike the androids we can still experience love. And at the end a life without love is a life wasted in the big picture. We might be mortal but you are the ones waiting to die instead of living.” You spat at the man fiercely, ready to face any punishment he would bestow upon your weak tired body for the sheer honesty. Instead he started laughed maniacally, the sound so loud it hit the ceiling and echoed through the house like a pained scream and so violent his shoulders shook to the sides. For the first time his eyes were glowing in a bright red color so saturated and vivid you couldn’t stand to look at them.

“This is really funny, my little human.” Kyle pronounced carefully, having calmed down. He lowered his head so that his lips were ghosting over yours, just brushing against them. “I belong with neither humans nor robots so why does my chest ache every time I look at you? Tell me, darling, am I in love?” His voice was harsh, husky – as if he was purposely trying to sound evil but the tears in his eyes pointed at another feeling. A raw painful feeling.

You couldn’t reply not only because you had no idea what to say after the confession but also because you couldn’t breathe properly with his pretty, wicked face so close to yours. Your silence only managed to stir the cyborg up further into his madness and he kissed you roughly, hungrily lapping and biting at your lips until they were sore and bruised, the robotic man more than happy to lick the small drops of blood off. For a moment you considered kicking or shouting for help but there wasn’t anyone willing to in the radius of kilometers. No one of significance cared much about the few remaining mortals. “I could never love you.” You uttered weakly, half – heartedly pushing the man away. You were all alone in this and there wasn’t really a point in fighting someone so much bigger and stronger, yet a sad little part of you hoped that Kyle would leave you alone if you made it clear enough just how much his actions were hurting you.

“It’s fine if you don’t love me by choice.” Your master replied calmly in a cold piercing voice. His hands were wandering through your form stopping at your hips to draw them into his. The pretty dress you used to like so much was now crumpled and reeking of him, torn apart from your shivering body and thrown away. You wished you could cry but all the adrenaline had left you too uneasy to process the pain and fear. Kyle whispered in your ear while stroking your hair gently and it made you feel like a trembling sheep before a starved butcher. “I own you, little human.” He placed a small kiss on your hot sensitive neck. “And I have enough love for both of us.”

#yandere #yandere male #yandere male x reader #yandere ai #yandere ai x reader #yandere cyborg #dystopia #yandere love #yandere concept #yandere oneshot #yandere OC #yandere male oc #yandere oc x reader #yancore

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sageinacage · 3 years ago

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Why I am leaving this blog

This is the truth as of why I'm abandoning my tumblr, @/sageinacage.

CW: swearing/harsher language; mentions of breaking boundaries, sexualization, bondage, non-con/tickle torture, kinks, toxicity, overall rly uncomfortable topics

TLDR at the bottom.

Before I start, I want to say that I’m not talking about everyone in this community. Not everyone is like this, but still a lot of people are, and unfortunately the negatives are louder than the positives.

Having this blog was quite an adventure. It definitely had its ups and downs, but I was quick to notice that it had a majority of downs instead of ups. As of now, I'm dreading being on this page.

I don't feel comfortable here anymore and it's incredibly hard for me to feel any sense of safety in this community, and I honestly feel personally ashamed to be in the MCYT tickle community with the bullshit me and others have seen and experienced.

People go around on anonymous and practically harass creators, I've seen so many rude anons get sent to myself, my friends, and people on my dash. People are also breaking CC's boundaries left and right, and no one will listen to anyone when it's spoken up about. I remember making a post stating that if you send anon hate then DNI, and I lost 4 followers. So disappointing. Actually after I took a screenshot of my boundary/trigger list and posted it, someone sent me an ask and did EXACTLY what was listed in my triggers. It went fully against my boundaries, and it caused me to feel scared whenever I get a notification in my inbox, because I’m scared that somebody is trying to purposely trigger me again; and I shouldn’t have to be on Tumblr with such paranoia as I’m experiencing.

Going onto the topic of the more weird and uncomfortable side of the community, I also remember I made a post a while ago saying "if you support putting minors in heavy bondage, then unfollow," and I lost 5+ followers. To put it bluntly, that’s fucking disgusting. For those people to admit for putting minors in a borderline NSFW situation, since heavy bondage is quite literally something that only happens in the kink world and there’s nothing wholesome or cute about it, and for them to admit to doing it, is fucking weird. Though, I’m thankful those people got off my blog.

I have literally seen someone post art of c!Ranboo in heavy restraints and it didn’t even look remotely fun or consensual. It was pictured, or at least my friends and I interpreted it, that he was being tickle tortured and it was non-con. Though, it’s to be expected when the art is a dark-lit room with an intense tickle machine with heavy bondage, with a blindfold and what looks he is genuinely struggling. What made me even more uncomfortable is that an adult drew it. Another person wrote a fic of c!Ranboo in a lot of bondage with the sign “tickle toy” attached to him. That’s fucking weird. That’s practically something that never gets condoned in a strictly SFW sense. The sad part is that others and I have seen a lot of this happening around.

I was actually informed that an artist the other day on another MCYT tickle server drew literal non-con tickle art of Technoblade (/srs). I was revolted. The worst part is, some people didn't even have an issue with it and reacted to the image with heart emojis. For someone to draw non-con in a completely SFW server filled with a bunch of minors is creepy and weird. Non-con isn't a fun thing, and so many people, including me, have horrible experiences related to it; and for someone to turn it into a "heehee fun tickle" situation is fucked up. For someone to even fantasize non-con as a tickle fantasy just makes me feel sick. There are a few fics like this I've seen as well, unfortunately.

Related to non-con things, I've actually gotten a request before asking me to write Schlatt literally tickle torturing Tubbo, and multiple asks that are similar to that; even when on my request rules it stated not to ask for things related to that. Anything with the word "torture" in it is not consensual, especially in the context it was in. I’ve probably had to delete around 5–8 asks in total from my inbox that were related to non-con or torturous things, even after I already stated in my rules I do not write that stuff.

Another thing I've seen is romantic-esque things written with CCs and then the creator slaps a "/p" onto it, and all of a sudden it's okay? Ranboo has even stated in a stream that he is uncomfortable with his IRL self being written/drawn cuddling his friends, and I see so many fics and concepts of IRL Ranboo cuddling in some way (which I've spoken out about before, but again, no one listened).

Moving on, I've probably met the most toxic people in this community than any others I've been apart of- and I've been apart of a lot, I've been on Tumblr on different blogs since I was 11. For some reason, so many people love to guilt trip here (both my friends and I have noticed and experienced a bunch of people doing it in this community), and the people who get called out for it avoid apologizing like the plague. A person in this community made me and a few others literally scared to say no and scared to advocate for our boundaries, because of how much we got guilt tripped. And no, no one received an apology. But still, people DEFENDED this person, even though me and other people spoke out and explained how this person hurt us. That’s so fucking upsetting. I automatically don’t feel safe in a community where people willingly associate with a literal manipulator and someone who hurt probably over 10 people in total (/srs).

Another thing I've noticed is that so many people seem entitled to something. For example, when I got practically harassed by anons for my discomforts/triggers, basically trying to squeeze out reasoning. No one needs to explain their boundaries/discomforts to you, and this community doesn't understand that from what I've experienced; after being harassed by multiple people on anonymous multiple times, all of which were because of personal reasons I was not obligated to share. No one should be able to say that they got harassed by people on anon for their OWN BOUNDARIES. ON 3 DIFFERENT OCCASIONS AS WELL.

Long story short, I can’t help my triggers. Each of my triggers has developed from trauma I’ve gone through or a bad experience, and I shouldn’t even have to defend myself for my triggers/discomforts if people were respectful and weren’t so fucking entitled for an explanation. So many people in this community can’t mind their own business, and I unfortunately had to learn that the hard way.

I've also seen people project onto IRL CCs. Those are real and breathing people. I understand doing it for comfort, but, the CCs have a literal character that people can project onto, but for some reason, people have to push their things onto real life people. I’ve seen someone headcannon IRL Tommy as trans. That's like the same as your friend "headcannoning" you, a real person, as a different sexuality that isn't what you identify with, and one you may not even be OK with being seen as, and without knowing if you're comfortable with it or not. It's weird.

There are more points I could bring up and more specific things I could state, but I think you got the gist of why I'm leaving. I don't feel comfortable being a member in a community which a lot of its members condone in this stuff.

This is the reason why I'm only active in the MCYT tickle community on Discord, because my server, "Mcytickles," actually respects CCs boundaries and is truly an SFW server, and people are respectful towards each other. It's the only safe space I have in this community anymore, so please do not join it if you exhibit any of these things on this post.

No, I will not be coming back, so please do not try to convince me to stay. I’ve been wanting to leave for about a month now, so this isn’t some impulsive decision. I’ve been in the MCYT tickle community since April, and these problems have always existed but have just gotten worse and more extreme, so I’m leaving for my own mental health and to protect myself from further harm than what I’ve already received.

TLDR: I am leaving this blog and the MCYT tickle community on Tumblr due to the many boundary breaking and unacceptable behaviors I've seen be exhibited, and it makes me not feel safe and comfortable to be here anymore.

I want to thank my mutuals, though. You were all awesome and such kind and loving people, and I’m happy to be your guys’ mutual. I want to thank those who were always so nice to me and hyping up my work, and those who were respectful to everyone and advocated for boundaries. Thank you so much for everything, moots <3 (/gen)

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scripttorture · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! I have a few questions related to your most recent post and the definition of torture. You said:

"A trained person who was never tortured will always out perform someone whose training involved torture."

According to everything else I have seen on your blog, this makes sense - the mental and physical trauma from being tortured have lasting effects which make certain tasks more difficult.

However, this seems to juxtapose certain tropes I've seen in US military training advertisements. For example, "Hell Week" in the Navy SEAL training seems like it would be torture if it was forced upon someone (like if the soldiers didn't sign up for it and didn't have the option to quit.). *Hell Week is when soldiers are training continuously for 5 days in freezing, wet conditions, with little more than 4 hours of sleep for the entire week, under insane amounts of physical and mental stress.

- If someone chose to be tested both mentally and physically, I feel like it wouldn't be torture. However, if the same exact conditions were forced upon someone else (testing their mental and physical limits without their consent or understanding), does your quote above mean that the person who did not have a choice would not reap the benefits of the training/testing? Or would the Navy SEALs be better soldiers if they didn't have to go through 'torturous conditions' during Hell Week, regardless of their choice to do so?

(I used Hell Week as an example, but I meant this question generally. I'm trying to figure out how to best train an elite soldier and avoid any harmful torture apologia tropes, while also making sure that they are able to handle insanely challenging situations)

- My other question has more to do with the definition of torture that you quoted from the UN in one of your master posts. If someone is being seriously injured (pulled fingernails, whipping, starvation etc), but not for the purposes of interrogation, punishment, or intimidation, is that still torture, or is that just abuse? And, regardless of what we call it, would the effects be the same as if it were torture for any of the three motives above?

Sorry if this is long and hard to understand, I can clarify if needed!

It’s not the longest I’ve gotten and it’s perfectly clear, duck*. :) Honestly this is a difficult topic with a lot of nuance, it’s better to take a longer and more thoughtful approach.

From the stand point of the legal definition and what we study/understand as torture any consensual activity, however extreme, is not torture.

But here’s where it gets interesting: consent and our attitude to an activity actually changes our response to pain. It may even change how much pain we feel.

I’m going to take a slightly different example to yours. There are a lot of cultures globally that have practiced scarification, ritual cutting to deliberately form scars. And this can be done for a lot of reasons: membership of a family or clan, coming of age, traditional medicine, religion, you get the idea.

A lot of people in these cultures describe their scars as incredibly important and the process of getting them as a moving, deep and positive process.

This does not mean they wouldn’t be traumatised if they were attacked by someone with a knife.

Being able to approach something painful and see it as positive really changes our perspective. It makes trauma and mental illness a lot less likely. And being able to back out, even if it’s just for a little while to take a breather, seems to make us able to withstand more pain then we would have otherwise.

The simplest and most famous experiment that dealt with this relationship between our mindset and pain asked people to keep their hands in ice cold water. They timed how long people could do it when they were told to stay silent and how long they could do it when they were allowed to swear. If they swore they could hold their hands under for longer. An average of forty seconds longer.

Looking back over O’Mara (Why Torture Doesn’t Work, a very good intro to how pain works and what it does to the brain) the way he describes it as by thinking of the experience of pain as a collection of three things. There’s the physical sensation itself, the nerves firing. But there’s also an affective component, how we feel emotionally about the experience and a cognitive component, how we think about it.

Did you ever play that game as a kid where you stuff as many chilis as possible in your mouth to see who would spit them out first? I… might have done. And from what I remember it hurts an awful lot. But those memories to me are mostly about messing about with my friends, I remember trying to be stubborn about it and I remember us laughing at each other.

This is a completely different experience to someone being held down and having chili stuff up their nose. But the difference isn’t necessarily in the physical damage done or the physical sensation of pain. It’s in the other components, the emotional response and the rationalisation.

I also had a filling drilled in my tooth without painkillers as a kid. I don’t know how common this is in the West? It happened in Saudi. Honestly my biggest memory of it is the language barrier between myself and the dentist.

These are anecdotes obviously but I’m trying to show that you probably also have experiences in your own life that back up the experiments too. The way we think about a painful experience really does make a huge amount of difference. And that means consent matters enormously.

These soldiers are going into this experience knowing what to expect, how long it will last and that they can stop at any time. That makes a huge amount of difference. Those same factors have drastically increased the time volunteers will spend in solitary confinement for research. I’m pretty sure if I dug even a little I’d find pain studies with similar findings.

Here’s the flip side: the physical factors are still in play.

Sleep is an important physiological process that’s essential to normal functioning. Studies on consensual sleep deprivation have shown massive negative impacts on memory along with a host of other things that you can read about here.

Let’s take a non torture example. A student who stays up all night cramming for an exam is not going to develop the symptoms of trauma that a torture survivors who was sleep deprived would. But the effect sleep deprivation has on memory is due to sleep playing an essential role in preserving memory (and learning more generally.) So they’re both likely to have difficulty remembering things in days just before and just after sleep deprivation. They’re also both more likely to have false memories and catch a bad cold.

As a result of this memory impairment I question the educational value of anything involving sleep deprivation: you can’t learn while messing up the processes that let your brain remember things.

There have been cases in the UK of people dying during training for the armed forces. Because while consent makes a huge difference, mindset makes a huge difference- our bodies still have limits. We can choose to push ourselves past those limits and, whatever our motivation or feelings, it can do real harm.

Personally? I’m unsure of the benefit of these kinds of exercises. As in I’m unsure there is a benefit. Learning is going to be shot, chances of injury are going to be a lot higher- I don’t see anything that could be improved by these sorts of exercises.

Anecdotally people do report feeling like a closer unit after going through these sorts of routines. That might be the benefit: moral and unit cohesion, possibly self-esteem too.

If you’re making up something for your story I think it’d be helpful for me to mention a little statistical effect that gets used to justify punishment pretty regularly. Get some dice out if you’ve got them and roll one. Let’s say the number represents performance in some kind of test (because effort and learning matter but our performance also varies because of things we can’t control.) A roll of 1 gets punished, a roll of 6 gets praised.

Now after you roll that first 1 statistically speaking the chances are your next roll will be better. And if you roll a 6 then statistically speaking the chances are your next roll will be worse. People observe this effect in real life and they often conclude that there’s no point in praising someone but that punishment leads to improvement. Really it’s just a statistical effect, after a particularly, noticeably bad day the chances are things will be better next and vice versa.

This effect can make it difficult for people to recognise overall, long term progress. Which is the kind of progress you should be paying attention to when designing a training program.

If you want good performance from people, whatever the metric, the most efficient thing to do is ensure that those people are; well fed, have access to clean water, get plenty of sleep, have breaks and have access to medical treatment when they need it.

I’d say the main things to keep in mind when designing this fictional training regime are:

Being honest about the effects you describe, ie if they’re spending long periods without shelter are they at risk from exposure? If they’re standing in cold water are they going to get hypothermia?

Remember that even if something is damaging or causes lasting trauma it would not necessarily prevent someone from doing their job. Torture survivors have serious, lasting symptoms but many of them still work.

I think I’m going to leave that there because I’m not an expert in militaries or training people. And keep in mind that I am a pacifist, read this with my biases in mind.

Getting to the second question, there is a little more to the UN definition then that. The primary factor is still who the abuser is. For it to be torture (legally speaking) the abuser has to be (or be ordered by) an on-duty government employee, part of a group that controls territory (ie an occupying force). Some countries also count international organised criminal gangs in this definition.

It’s also important to note that torture can be targetted at someone other then the victim. So if the police arrest the brother of a political opponent and beat him in order to intimidate the politician, that is still torture.

Basically there are a lot of factors in the legal definition of torture and it’s that way by design. The hope is that you end up with a framework that captures as much government abuse as possible.

But it also means that there’s a pretty high barrier when it comes to proving torture. Which means that things which are legally torture can be prosecuted as assault, bodily harm or equivalents to these, because it’s easier to get a conviction for those charges.

Technically you are correct: if abuse done by a government official doesn’t have one of the four motivations in the legal definition (attempts to obtain information, forcing a confession, intimidation or punishment) then it doesn’t meet the definition.

However in practice I’ve not heard of a case failing because of the motive.

I’m not a lawyer and I’m not an expert in international law. I won’t say it’s never happened. But it’s much more common for cases to fail for other reasons. Off the top of my head I’d say the most common reason is difficulty proving the abuse took place.

The most common types of torture today are ‘clean’, a term we use to indicate that they don’t leave obvious marks. If someone turns up with fingernails torn out or the skin of their back lacerated by a whip that is clear physical evidence of abuse. Nothing else causes similar injuries. But if someone turns up at a doctor’s with swollen feet or reddened skin, if they’ve lost a lot of weight or they’re so tired they’re struggling to stand… Well all of those things can be caused by common tortures. But they can also be caused by common illnesses.

A lot of the deaths from torture today are similarly hard to prove. Beatings and stress positions ultimately cause death by kidney failure. Which can mean that prosecutors are asked to prove a victim didn’t have an underlying health condition. Or take drugs.

Honestly my instinct is that the motive is the easiest thing to prove. It’s often harder to bring charges against people in positions of authority, regardless of the country we’re talking about. Bringing those charges, proving abuse took place and proving it was done by the person in question, those are usually the tricky parts.

The difference between torture and abuse is scale. Torture is industrial scale abuse.

The law doesn’t define that scale but that’s what we’re talking about when we talk about abuse from organised authority. Abusers might have dozens of victims. Torturers have thousands, tens of thousands.

If you want to explore a different motivation in your story, something outside the legal framework, consider the scale at which this abuse is taking place. Consider how organised it is. If it’s organised and large scale, with multiple abusers, with no prior relationship between the abuser and victims then torture will probably be a better model then abuse. If it’s smaller scale with a more personal relationship and if it isn’t supported by a legal framework/organisation then abuse might be a better model.

For victims and survivors the difference isn’t so much about the symptoms they personally experience as the… side effect of that scale. Abuse victims are often very isolated and may not know anyone who has had a similar experience. Torture implies a community of survivors and possibly generational trauma. There are also effects to do with access to support, access to medical care and how likely it is that someone will be believed.

Torture survivors are often systematically disenfranchised in a way that abuse victims are not. Torture survivors are often forced to leave their home country. Anecdotally, based on what I’ve seen globally over the last few years, I think that struggling to get citizenship is increasingly an issue for torture survivors. And without citizenship there’s difficulty finding legal work, getting accommodation, accessing medical care, accessing the legal system etc.

I do not know whether torture survivors are more or less likely to be believed by their community compared to survivors of abuse. I do not think any one has attempted a comparative study. I do know that the prevalence of clean torture means that many torture survivors are not believed and this puts up a further barrier, making it harder to access medical treatment and bring charges.

Rejali’s book was published in 2009, so things may have changed a tad. At the time he was writing the average wait for a torture survivor to see a specialist doctor was about 10 years.

Abuse is to torture what murder is to genocide. And there are difference on a wider social scale as a result.

I mention all that because I feel it’s relevant but the impression I get is you’re mostly interested in the long term symptoms? In which case, yes the legal definition makes very little difference. The physical injuries caused by particular kinds of abuse don’t change depending on whether it’s a private individual or a police officer holding the Taser.

The lasting psychological symptoms are not particular to torture; they’re what the human brain does when traumatised. The same symptoms can manifest in people who witness traumatic events but weren’t actually hurt themselves. They can manifest in people who were injured in accidents and they manifest in people who were neglected or abused. Hell, I have a couple of them, though no where near the severity a torture survivors would experience. A sufficient amount of stress is enough for these symptoms to start developing in anybody.

You can find the general list of symptoms here. There’s also a post specifically about memory problems over here.

The pattern I describe; that these symptoms are a list of possibilities not ‘every torture victim will get all of these’ holds true for trauma survivors generally. Anecdotally there is some variability with chronic pain being reported more often with some kinds of abuse. That might be because it can have physical causes, psychological causes or a mix of the two.

Whether it’s torture or abuse there isn’t any way to predict a survivor’s symptoms in advance. Much of the advice I have about writing torture survivors and their symptoms holds true for trauma survivors generally. Which is why I’ll still take a crack at some questions that aren’t about torture.

Pick the symptoms that you feel fit the character and serve the story. We can’t predict symptoms and that means that there’s no reason why you shouldn’t pick the things that appeal to you.

And I think I’m going to leave it there. I hope that helps :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*This is a weird English endearment. I had someone ask if this was me trying not to swear.

#orphicphosphenes #writing advice #tw torture #torture as training #legal definition of torture #clean torture #military abuse #trauma #trauma and consent #pain #pain and memory #sleep deprivation #attitudes towards clean tortures #writing survivors #abuse within the military

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tuanhood · 4 years ago

Text

theta

pairing: frat!bambam x reader

genre: smut

warnings: 18+, language, cringey frat stuff, fingering

word count: 4,400+

summary: you haven’t been doing so well in stats, so your tutor - the last person you thought would be teaching you something - recommends giving you an incentive.

a/n: hi guys! i’m a little late... but it’s kinda technically still the weekend? ngl this definitely isn’t my best work and I’m sorry for that because I feel like I’ve been lacking a little bit lately! but i promise that i have a few things in the works that will hopefully be better! but nonetheless enjoY!

“Okay so in a college class, the average IQ is 115. Assuming that the distribution is normal and that the standard deviation is 15. What percentage of the class has an IQ between 105 and 130?”

You felt like you were going to die.

When you were a little girl, you’d fantasize about all the fun and cool things you’d be able to do in college. Stay up late, hang out with your friends all the time, eat whatever you wanted, and take the classes that would help you become the best-selling author you aspired to be.

In all of those daydreams and fantasies, you never pictured yourself in practical agony studying for a statistics class that you never wanted to take in the first place. You were more of an English and critical analysis girl, definitely not a science and math girl. Especially not stats.

You told yourself probably a hundred times throughout the quarter that you could make it through. That you could maybe actually do this, but sometime between weeks three and four you got completely lost and when you received your midterm grade back, you knew you had to ask for help.

“I don’t fucking know,” you exhaled in frustration as you practically slammed your head down onto the table in front of you.

There’s a pause before Bambam lets out a sigh of his own, “let’s come back to that one later then.”

This was how most of your sessions with Bambam went. He’d read the questions out loud to you as if was going to help, hope that you’d be able to solve it – which you typically wouldn’t – and then you’d give up in frustration. Then you’d call it a day.

That was another thing. Another thing that made this whole tutoring thing even worse – you were being tutored by Bambam. As in Bambam of Theta Chi.

As dumb as you felt saying it, but you felt even more pathetic for having to be so terrible at stats that you have to be tutored by a frat boy. Sure he came highly recommended by the people at your school that put together and pair people off for the tutoring sessions, but it didn’t get rid of the pain you felt when you had to tell your friends who exactly was helping you pass stats. Or… at least trying to help.

“Okay, so what is the probability of rolling snake eyes using two fair dice?”

Maybe you were being shallow, but even his voice screamed frat guy and not the master of statistics who is now teaching his peers. You don’t know why but it aggravated you. Traditionally he wasn’t supposed to be good at these kinds of things, someone like you was. It didn’t make sense.

You groaned, your head still on the table, muffled by the surface, “I don’t know? 1/36?”

At your answer, you could feel Bambam straighten up beside you. You had to admit the boy was a trooper for being willing to meet you at your apartment today instead of your usual spot in the library or at Starbucks. You just couldn’t be bothered to make the trek to campus, if you were going to have another agonizing day of probability, deviation, and whatever – it was going to be from the comfort of your living room floor.

“Correct! See Y/N you’re not a lost cause.”

Bringing your head up from the coffee table, you grimace at him, “I never said I was a lost cause.”

His cheeks turned a shade of light pink, clearly embarrassed by his statement, but being the cool and easygoing frat guy, he is – he covers it up, “I know. Dude, I’m just saying, chill.” Leave it to Bambam to cover up any real emotions.

Even though it was frustrating that you were being tutored by a guy in Theta Chi and you felt lame whenever you admitted to anyone, it didn’t necessarily mean that you had anything against Bambam. Before he had started tutoring you, the encounters you had with Bambam were fine – certainly not an “oh my god you are so freaking annoying” situation. They were minimal of course, just a hello or a how are you at various school events or parties. You didn’t hate him, which was why at the beginning between the studying you had tried to talk to him and get to know him. But he never said anything real or authentic – it always felt like he was putting on some kind of ultra-frat boy act for you. Whenever you asked questions about him, things he liked to do, what he was studying or his family he would simply shy away from it and talk about Theta Chi. You didn’t get it.

“Bambam is so freaking deep. I had a two-hour drunk conversation with him at Theta Chi’s party last weekend and my mind has been opened.” Your friend had told you when you told her about him tutoring you.

So what? Did he have to be drunk to want to talk to you about something other than probability? Or was it just that he didn’t want to talk to you? You couldn’t put your finger on it, but it bothered you a little too much for some unexplainable reason.

“I am chill,” you confirmed with him – a bit too bitterly. You couldn’t tell if your annoyance came from the ongoing frustration of not understanding stats regardless of how many times you’ve met with Bambam or the fact that he was constantly shying away from you two actually getting to know each other.

“Well…” he began suddenly, swallowing almost nervously, “what if we work on a rewards-based system?”

You scoffed at him, “what am I? A child?”

“Do you want me to answer that? Listen… all I’m saying is that rewards or a prize can be a good motivator sometimes. It definitely can’t hurt the studying process.”

There was a part of you that felt annoyed at Bambam for thinking that the only way that you were going to understand any of this was through some kind of incentive. An incentive that had nothing to do with your overall goal which was to not fail the class. However, you had to admit you were curious as to what Bambam could bring to the table when it came to “rewards,” so you decided to play along – for now.

“What kind of motivators are we talking about?”

For a second you swear you see Bambam fidget nervously in his seat, but it happens so quickly, you’re sure it must be your brain playing a trick on you, “I don’t know… I’m literally the co-social chair of Theta Chi so I pretty much can get you whatever you want. Booze, drugs… sex.”

At his last “category” for rewards, your interest is peeked, but not in a weird or perverted way – you swear, “what the social chair orchestrates and plans sexual encounters now?”

He laughed and shakes his head, “definitely not. I’m just saying… If there was anyone you were interested in at Theta Chi… I could probably set it up for you. I mean you’re definitely not bad looking so I don’t think it would be difficult.”

You were half pleased by Bambam’s compliment and intrigued that by the fact that it seemed like perhaps his “non-tutoring” personality was emerging from the surface. It caused you to push more regarding his “reward” if it meant that you could see more of it, “So what? I solve the next equation and I get to fuck Im Jaebeom? Is that how this works?”

He clicked his tongue, “Jaebeom, huh? Wouldn’t have thought he would be your type.”

For some reason, you suddenly felt a wave of nervousness rush through your body and you feel defensive as though you have to explain yourself for some reason, “No- I mean it was just an example.”

Bambam nodded his slowly and looked away from you for the first time since he brought up the incentive thing. His focus goes back to the textbook in front of both of you, “It’s okay if he is. Jaebeom’s a chill guy.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, for a moment there you almost got a hint of something from him. You weren’t quite sure as to what, but it almost felt like he was… jealous? But then he has to cower away and go back to stats… That was technically why he was sitting in your living room, but right now this seemed like the least important thing going on.

“What is it with you and chill? Does everything need to be chill? Why can’t you just be… normal?”

He laughed at your query, “What if being chill is normal for some people?”

You grabbed the pencil in front of you and tapped it on the table rhythmically in thought, “Chill people aren’t masters at stats. That’s just a fact.”

Bambam’s face goes into fake shock, “really? Damn well, I guess that’s why you haven’t learned anything the last month that we’ve been doing this.”

It’s obvious that it was meant as a playful dig, to tease you, but Bambam feels his heart race when you simply frown in response instead of laugh. It was clear that he had gone too far. This was the thing he had been most worried about this entire time he had been tutoring you.

He had heard from one of his brothers in Theta who knew a friend of yours that you felt embarrassed by being tutored by a frat guy – by him. Hearing that certainly didn’t make him feel good, but he tried his best to help you the last month or so. He didn’t want to do or say anything that could allude to “frat guy” behavior – so most of the time he tried to keep conversations statistics related. Part of him felt like it was because he was offended by your embarrassment, but another part of him felt like it was maybe because he wanted to impress you. He wanted to prove that he wasn’t the typical frat guy because you probably didn’t like that.

But he had to admit… in certain ways, he was the typical frat guy and restricting that part of himself meant restricting segments of his personality. The teasing – that was apart of it.

“Shit – y/n I’m sorry I didn’t actually mean it. I meant it more like-”

At his quick and panicked response, you burst out into a fit of giggles, “dude I can be chill too. I was just fucking with you. Now come on… let’s keep working, I want my prize.”

Bambam lets out a sigh in relief. Maybe he had misjudged you, “so you do want a reward?”

“Of course, I want a reward.”

He licked his lips in thought and you have to admit it’s hard not to stare, “okay what should we start with?”

You began to tap the pencil on your chin instead of the table, thinking about what exactly it was you wanted. When you finally have your grand prize in mind, you figure it’s better to start small.

“I don’t want to be charged cover at any future Theta Chi parties.”

He looked at you with surprise written on his face, “you go to our parties?”

You rolled your eyes at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, he can’t help but admire how cute you look when you do it, “of course. They’re the biggest parties on campus… why wouldn’t I go?”

Bambam shrugged, “I just didn’t think you liked frat stuff…” drifting off he looks to see the confusion written on your face and he doesn’t know why, but for some reason, he feels the need to keep talking, “Unless it’s for Jaebeom.” Immediately he wants to punch himself in the face for his continual teasing.

You thought it was funny how he was stuck on the Jaebeom thing. You had just said his name as an example – something you already explained to Bambam – but for some reason, it seemed to bother him. Bambam was more your type than Jaebeom, but it would have been weird if you had brought him up as an example.

“What was that?”

His voice causes your body to jolt up in surprise. Had he heard you? No way.

“Y/N what did you just say?” Bambam asked once again.

The second question regarding what you had just said sends you into a frenzy, considering he was the last person who had just said something based on your recollection. Therefore… he fucking heard you.

“Did I say that out loud?” You asked embarrassed and judging on the look on Bambam’s face – you have your answer.

You felt your mouth go dry, “I- shit… Bam I didn’t mean- Well I mean I did, but- Fuck I-” you cut off your stuttering with nervous laughter and you feel more awkward than you’ve probably ever felt in your adult life.

Rather than saying anything, Bambam looks at you curiously. A hint of a smile appears on his face but soon disappears as if he’s thought of an idea or just something. Hopefully, an idea to get me out of this, you think to yourself. Instead, he scoots closer next to you on the floor and for a moment you have to remind yourself to exhale.

“Instead of the cover as your reward… What about…” he begins, placing his right hand onto your thigh, “this? Is this okay?” If you had to keep your breathing in check just when he moved closer to you, then you felt like you were going to need to be resuscitated now.

Rather than verbally answering, you nodded your head, afraid to open your mouth in case the wrong thing came out.

Keeping his hand placed firmly on your thigh, he asked you the next question, “Suppose X and Y are independent random variables. The variance of X is equal to 16; and the variance of Y is equal to 9. Let Z = X – Y. What is the standard deviation of Z?”

It’s becoming harder to concentrate. All you can focus on is the placement of his hand on your thigh and when you don’t answer right away, he begins to move it up and down your leg.

“Come on, I know you can do this one,” he said softly.

You couldn’t believe that your tutoring session was now taking a sharp turn – a turn that you had to admit you were now craving – but Bambam was still expecting you to be focused enough to answer questions. You weren’t able to typically do it even when you didn’t have his hand on you.

It’s almost as though you’re on autopilot as you put your pencil to paper and work out the problem. The only thing on your mind is the curiosity of what his next move will be if you answer him correctly.

“5?”

He gives you your answer by drifting his hand up your thigh until it sits at the top of your thigh, dangerously close to your core. You wonder if he can tell how damp you’ve become, even with the sweatpants you’re wearing. It was probably evident just by looking at your face.

“A coin is tossed three times. What’s the probability that it lands on heads exactly one time?”

This was becoming frustrating. How the fuck were you getting turned on by him asking you stats questions? You felt like your brain was about to explode with how completely mixed up it felt. The cause of your stress for the entire quarter was now the cause of you being turned on? Your mind was currently rewiring itself.

For this question, it takes you some time to focus enough to work it out and calculate. Bambam who is usually patient with you when you struggle, has instead been replaced with a much more impatient version of himself as he slips his hand up to the waistband of your sweatpants, delicately playing with the top to tease you, you suddenly wished you would have worn better underwear for what’s about to happen. If you could answer the question that is.

Just as you feel as though you’ve come to the end of the problem, you feel him dip a single finger underneath the top of the band, rubbing it softly against your stomach. It causes your hand to slip up on the paper, drawing a line right through your problem.

“What’s wrong?” He asked innocently, completely aware of what he was doing to you, “do you need help?”

You shook your head in response, unable to say anything. It was becoming more and more difficult to even get your hand to move fluidly on the paper. It was instead starting to get more jagged. Your fives were beginning to look more like threes. When you’ve finally solved the problem, you find yourself pointing at the paper for Bambam to look at your answer. He laughed.

“Correct again. You’re doing so well,” he murmured as he finally dips his hand beneath the band of your sweatpants and down to your panties. You sucked a deep breath in, waiting in anticipation for his next actions, feeling him so much closer to where you need him the most, but instead, his hand just rests there, over the material.

Letting a very out of character whine escape your lips causes him to chuckle. “Do you think you can have your reward that fast? No, no,” he tutted, “you have to finish answering all the questions like a good girl.”

You try so hard to remember the next question he asks, but he soon begins gently rubbing you through your panties and it makes you want to kill him for playing so dirty. How were you able to solve any problems when it felt like an actual ocean was forming in your underwear? You knew Bambam could feel it too with the way his gaze on you got even darker, one of his fingers wandering to the side of your panties, playing with the hem but not daring to slip underneath.

What the fuck was the question?

“Having trouble angel?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer – even if he did you weren’t sure you’d be able to provide him with one – instead, he slips his hand underneath your panties until his fingers find your entrance, slowly stroking up and down. You let out a moan when he’s left his index finger on your clit, rubbing small circles around the bundle of nerves.

“It can’t be that hard to remember a simple question. Is something distracting you?”

Another sigh of pleasure is released from you when he presses down a bit to place more pressure on your clit, “I’ll ask you one more time. You have to remember this time or you lose your reward, okay? Are you listening?”

Nodding your head, he smiled, “The standard normal curve is symmetric about 0 and the total area under it is 1. True or False?”

Bambam himself was losing his patience, he so badly wanted to bring you to your release and see how tight you get around his fingers, how much you ask him for it. He had to admit that wasn’t the original question he had asked you, but at this rate, he just wanted to ask you the easier questions so both of you could get what you wanted.

“T-True?” You managed to stutter out.

“Doing so well for me,” he whispered into your ear at your response. The teasing had been so achingly painful that when he finally fully inserts his pointer finger you feel like a kid on Christmas. You feel as though you can finally let out the breath you had been holding in since he started the taunting.

The pace he starts with is clearly another method to get you worked up – which you certainly are – but you also felt thankful that at least it was something compared to the nothing you were getting from him previously. When he curls his finger, hitting you in the spot that drives you crazy, you felt your body instinctively jerk forward in surprise. He had found it so fast and with such ease, you wondered if the two of you had down this before in another life.

“Bam, I-” you begin, but as his thumb draws circles over your clit, you ultimately lose your train of thought and fall even closer into him, until your head is resting on his shoulder.

“There’s one more question left… Do you think you can handle it?”

The whimper you let out sounds borderline inhumane and in any other situation you would be frustrated with yourself for giving in so quickly, but right now you didn’t care. All you needed was him to keep going – to really give you your reward. The noise is enough for him to dive into the last question and you feel like you’re gonna pass out at the way he begins to rhythmically tap your clit, his finger now going stagnant.

His eyes drift down to the textbook on the table, gazing through which questions on the page are still viable to be asked. After a moment he locks eyes with you, the tapping still consistent.

For a moment he looks shy and despite his previous teasing, you feel your heart leap out of your chest in deep want and longing. It’s a weird feeling you have to admit, but somehow it feels just right.

“What’s the probability of you going out on a date with me after this?” Bambam blushed when he asked you his query and for some reason, he feels so small being in front of you – asking this – despite his current position with his hand in between your legs.

You, on the other hand, have no trouble answering this final question. The question that’ll get you your reward and perhaps something else entirely.

“Without a doubt, 100% chance.”

The smile that emerged on his face is so big, you take a picture of it in your mind, wanting to keep it safe and bottle it up to view later, a hundred times over.

He slipped in another finger, watching your face as it contorts into even more pleasure, “there we go.”

You felt a groan arise in your throat as soon as he began to pick up the original pace of his sole finger. With both of them curling and pumping in and out of you, you felt even more overwhelmed than before. Bambam smirked, taking in your tightly shut eyes, “Good?” Opening your eyes, you felt your climax right around the corner, only able to moan his name in response to his question. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured, leaning in to place his lips on your own.

Somehow, the pace of his fingers only increased, practically fucking into you over and over, hitting your g-spot each time. Even though you were sat on the floor, already mostly leaning onto Bambam for support, you still felt as though you could melt into the floor. With a final few pumps that hit your sweet spot and his thumb still massaging your clit, you feel your walls tighten around his fingers. “That’s it, good girl,” he said against your lips.

Soon you fall apart, feeling as though there’s no breath left in your body, your body falling practically limp at your release around Bambam’s fingers. He takes a moment to slip his hand out from between your legs and you don’t ignore the feeling you get in your core again when he slowly places his fingers in his mouth.

You groaned, feeling like you were practically in a sedative state at how relaxed your release made you feel, “do you have to do that?”

Bambam narrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“Be so damn seductive.”

The two of you look at each other before bursting into laughter at your very serious confession. After a moment when it’s silent you look down at your lap to realize that somewhere during your encounter with Bambam, your sweatpants managed to slip down to the bottom of your thighs.

“I should probably go get cleaned up…”

Bambam coughed awkwardly and turned to his things on the coffee table, “yeah… I guess I should probably just get my stuff together too and get out of your hair.”

Get out of your hair? Who the fuck says that Bam? He asked himself.

You looked at him with confusion, “I thought you were taking me out? Remember? 100% chance? I mean… unless you didn’t mean it…”

His eyes went big, “No!” he exclaimed, “I definitely meant it! I just didn’t know if maybe you said it in the moment and- Or I don’t maybe you did mean it- but also if you didn’t that’s cool. Just so you know I would have still given you your- uh reward if you had said no- Sorry I’m rambling. I ramble when I get nervous.”

When he stops talking, he instantly avoids your gaze. This was the Bambam you wanted to see. This display of authenticity made you feel as though the curtain had finally been drawn.

“I said it because it was true. The likeliness was 100%. Give me like 15 minutes and I’ll be ready to go,” just as you’re about to head to the stairs, you stop yourself and remember why the two of you were even here in the first place, “shit stats…”

Instantly, Bambam shakes his head, “if you think we’re going to go back to probability, standard deviation, and bullshit right now after what just happened you are very mistaken. We’ve done enough… work for today.”

Smiling, you nodded your head in confirmation and begin to go up the stairs to your room. Considering something, you find yourself stopping on the third stop, turning towards the living room where Bambam looks up at you with his head cocked to the side.

“You picked easier questions towards the end on purpose, didn’t you?”

He let out a laugh and grinned – another smile that you decided to file away in your memories, something that you figured might soon become a regular part of your life.

“Let’s just say that I wanted to give you your reward as much as you wanted to have it.”

#got7 smut #got7 fanfic #got7 #bambam #bambam smut

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a-la-la-llama · 5 years ago

Text

The one where Marinette Steals the Batmobile #1

I’m trying to get a schedule going for my writing and planning on writing one-shots and posting them every Monday. We’ll see How this goes, Enjoy!

Part 2 Part 3

Fifteen year old Marinette didn’t know what her future would hold but her younger self did not expect this. Five months before her thirteenth birthday she was given the Ladybug Miraculous. After that she was named the guardian of more than a dozen pocket sized gods while still trying to defeat Paris’ villian. By the time she turned fourteen, she had defeated her partner's father, took a hold of all the miraculous’, and became an orphan. The kwami’s supported her in her time of need and understood she was adjusting to not having all her previous weight on her shoulders and the grief of losing her parents in the final battle. With no real person to turn to, she decided to lose herself. What better place for a teenage superhero to retire in than a dark city filled with highly unstable people such as herself. With the Kwami’s and her parents, Master Fu’s, and her own savings she teleported to Gotham City.

Just because the miraculous were made to stop evil did not mean the Kwami didn’t like getting into mischief. Especially a certain cat, fox, and mouse with no one but the god of creation to stop them. The same thing could be said about Marinette, however, she too was curious about making trouble. The city was practically in rubble but it already had heroes and she no longer wanted the weight of being a hero. Marinette also couldn’t stand the long faces of the tiny gods who wanted nothing more to explore the world. Within the first months of her stay in Gotham she became a well known thief that could rival the infamous Catwoman. She never stole anything for her own gain of course, most of the time it was miraculous’ in museums or bad people’s stuff. At the moment she has three notorious gangs wanting her head for stealing their guns and feeding them to Plagg. The only thing ever left behind was a red symbol much like the design of Master Fu's box.

��Kitten! I’m so bored, why can’t we go out?”, Plagg whined atop of Marinette’s head.

“You heard what Tikki said, we have to lay low for now since we stole that emerald and ancient headware piece from the museum”, she said.

“But those new kwami’s are so mean!”, Trixx added.

“That’s why they are in the box and you guys are allowed to roam around.”, countered Marinette.

“Mari, you really shouldn't be wearing this many miraculous.”, chided Tikki from her tray of cookies.

“I’m fine, I am only wearing five anyway!”, she responded.

“I for one think three days is enough time. Plus, we don’t have to steal anything, just go out for a joy run!”, Mullo said.

“I agree, please Mari!”, Trixx begged.

“It’s not up to me Miri’s, you have to beg Tikki.”, she responded. Marinette smiled as the three swarmed the red god with pleas and threats to destroy all the cookies in the house. It was all worth the glare Tikki sent her way before she gave in.

“Fine. No stealing, I swear if I find out you did I’ll make you return it!”, the goddess threatened. Just like that a multi mouse, fox, and cat made their way across the rooftops for their latest adventure.

“What should we do, now?”, asked MultiMouse.

MultiMinou narrowed her eyes at a dark parking lot with only one car parked in it. “Since we finished our joy run, how about we take a joy ride?”, she said with a cat-like grin.

MultiFox wagged her tail in excitement, “It looks nice too! I bet Kalkii would help us transport it to the Kwami dimension to take it for a spin.”, she squealed.

MultiMouse divided herself once more, “Mullo. Kalkii. Merge!”

The four jumped off the roof they were perched on and made their way towards the car before transforming into their smallest selves. Entering the car through the front all the way to the air ducts was a simple task for the mice. Once inside, Multi Mouse, Minou, and Fox worked on the gas pedals and steering wheel while MultiHorse worked on the portal in the passenger seat.

“How do we even start this thing!”, Minou whined.

“It has a screen right here. Maybe we push it?”, suggested Mouse.

Tapping the screen, the car let out a soft hum before various blue lights turned on. The mice all had one thing on their mind, “Merde!”

Marinette had had a couple of run-ins with the dubbed ‘BatFam’ in her time in Gotham already. She had expected it to because of her being a well-known thief and all, of course they would try to stop her. Marinette also had a huge upper-hand against them with her powers. One minute her bright orange tail is being chased by three and the next she is standing right in front of them watching them curse, wondering where she went. Illusions were the best thing to ever have! Marinette especially liked messing with the youngest one because of how angry he would get. Once, she saw him wait until no one was there and proceed to cut a trash bin in half with his katana. When he is with the one with the red helmet the two curse like sailors. The boy who has a cowl that looks like an egg, similar to Aspik, gets frustrated when his heat sensor malfunction when he is looking right at her. When the youngest isn’t around she’ll tail the one in blue and whisper things while he is patrolling. Most of the time it’s ‘Boo!’ or ‘Rawr!’ and what she has heard the people in his ear call him before as Minou, ‘Dick’. The man screams like a little girl and gets paranoid easily. When he tries to tell his partners they brush him off!

That wasn’t the point right now. The point was, Marinette found herself trying to steal the Batmobile. As if matters couldn’t get any worse, MultiFox turned to her left to see the youngest and Batman making their way towards her, trying to steal the Batmobile! So, MultiMinou did the only logical thing to do. As soon as the portal opened she slammed on the gas leaving the two in her dust. Darn Plagg and his chaotic-ness! Hopefully the drive would be worth the wrath of Tikki.

It was not worth Tikki’s anger at all. Of course Marinette, Mullo, Trixx, and Kalkii threw Plagg under the bus for it but they didn’t get out of it unscathed. True to her word unlike the five, Tikki forced them to return the vehicle to Batman the next night. They also had to write a note apologizing to Batman for all the trouble they caused. MultiBug went with the four as they teleported straight into the secret Batcave and pushed the car out of the portal. Luckily no one seemed to be there and they left quickly after placing the note on the windshield.

Red Robin was there. Red Robin blinked once. Twice. Red Robin rubbed his eyes.

The Batmobile was still there but the five identical girls were gone.

He calmly turned around back towards the computer. He must be hallucinating right? When was the last time he slept? That didn’t matter. He had to check the cameras to see if they got that and once the rest got back from patrol they could tell him if it was real. He turned back one more time towards the car and noticed the note. Better to not touch it in case it disappeared again. Coffee. He needs coffee to explain this.

Marinette ended up passed out on the couch as soon as they got home just like Tikki predicted. Seriously, that girl should listen to her more. Miraculous’ can take a huge toll on humans. All the active Kwami were nested on top of her unconscious body when Tikki decided to ask what exactly was on the note.

“The note? Oh that note! Well…”,Plagg dragged out with a yawn.

Dear Mr.Batman and Traffic Light boy.

We are very sorry for taking your Batmobile for the day and I swear we didn’t mean to. We thought it was an abandoned car and wanted to learn how to drive. When we got in we realized this was a mistake but you were very close to us and we didn’t want to get in trouble so we took it! Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything with it but drive. Since we are making confessions do you think we should add the rest? Might as well Kitten so she doesn’t get mad at us. No, Trix don’t write that, stop it!

-We were the ones that scared the Blue Boy.

-Tell him that ‘Dick’ isn’t a very good vigilante name.

-Traffic-Light boy we saw you cut that trash bin in half.

-Traffic-Light boy and Red Helmet need to watch their language.

-Egg head, your cowl looks like an egg.

-Those guns we stole all got destroyed, don’t worry! Have you ever melted them? It’s really cool to watch.

-We ate that granola bar that Red Helmet had in his pocket.

-It made us feel really funny.

-We caught Egg head when he passed out while grapple hooking.

-Oh, write that we are really evil. I wanna make them scared!

-We are really evil!

-Blue Boy has really good jokes that make us laugh.

“Then it’s signed with their usual red symbol, a green cat print, mouse ears, fox tail, and a horse spur.”, Alfred concluded.

“Shiitake mushrooms! They knew my identity and didn’t even realize it.” Nightwing screeched, grabbing his hair.

“That granola bar was a ‘special’ brownie.”, Red Hood stated.

“I do NOT look like an egg! ...Ok maybe I do.”, sighed Red Robin.

“I told you I kept hearing things and I was RIGHT!”, shouted Nightwing.

“They can’t be real if they liked your jokes, Grayson.”, Robin said.

“Ouch, Traffic-Light boy! That felt like you cut me in half like that trash can.”, teased Nightwing.

Batman took the note from Alfred and rewatched the footage from the caves cameras. They five looked younger than Robin and obviously held some type of magical abilities to create a portal. From what he could tell they weren’t actually doing bad things and when they did they felt guilty about it. He pulled up the note left at the museum that was also an apology.

“They are just kids, Alfred.”, Batman mumbled.

Alfred hummed. “Kids who need some guidance I suppose, Master Bruce?”, he suggested.

#maribat #The One Where Marinette

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lovelyirony · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! “If I fail, I’ll fall apart/Maybe it is all a test/because I feel like I’m the worst / so I always act like I’m the best” -Oh No! This is one of my favorite lyrics ever, and I'd really like to see what you bring out of it :) You're amazing, ily! 💞

what if maria had more of an effect on tony’s upbringing than most? howard’s still a dick but make it funny

Tony has known he was probably not the best human on earth ever since he was five and his dad made a bigger deal out of a dead man’s birthday than his own.

At age five, you don’t really know a lot about the world yet. There were about two things that Tony didn’t know that he wishes he did know:

1.) The word “fuck.” It would have helped with a lot of his situations.

2.) The concept of jealousy. He probably could have gone to a child therapist or some shit, he’s not sure if those even existed back then, or if his parents would have even let him go.

(After all, he’s supposed to be their perfect little boy, just the right amount of precocious and the other amount being something like genius or respectability.)

It is actually his mother who takes the reins on his life. Howard has effect, he has huge effects.

Maria is a socialite who absolutely refuses to let her son succumb to Howard’s devil-may-care attitude that he’s so infamous for. Her son is going to be well-mannered, respectable, and know exactly how to treat a lady of high social standing.

This involves training at a young age. Six would be a fine age.

It’s not Howard who sends him to boarding schools, it’s Maria. She ensures that he goes to the finest schools available, most abroad in Europe. She trains him out of the American accent, into something a bit more refined.

He spends summers learning different languages and different skills. He learns how to fence by the time he’s ten, and becomes quite proficient at it.

She quizzes him on established families, up-and-coming families, and never keeps him far from her sight.

Anthony Stark is not going to be a wild-child, she decides.

Anthony isn’t, for the most part. Sure, he usually stays up past what is acceptable for the night to work on some mechanic stuff and uses the word “damn” a bit too much for his mother’s liking, but that’s the reason make-up and apologies were invented.

He follows rules and is known to smile like his mother and enjoy listening to quartets play out in the open air during the summer months. He travels to Europe and participates in various activities and is the talk of many socialites who eagerly await his arrival.

He’s a portrait, holding still for all’s approval, and he’s not quite sure how to move.

That’s troublesome, he thinks.

The problem is this: Anthony Stark doesn’t have any interests outside what is required. He loves working on inventions, and they are necessary for the company to survive, but his father hates any robotic invention he pushes for, and mother thinks that if he tells people he’s rather fond of AC/DC then he’s a plague to society and will be shunned.

(He doesn’t say it to her face but they haven’t shunned Sunset yet, and she’s a whole world of problems, so rock music is the least of their problems.)

There is one thing that he pushes for: university in the United States. He’s been traveling to Europe since he was a child, and he honestly needs to do something for himself.

Maria is not pleased.

“So after I sacrifice so much for you, this is how you repay me?” she asks him over dinner.

He places his fork to the correct side.

“Yes. This is how I am repaying you. By getting a perfectly respectable college degree from a critically-acclaimed university that anyone would be lucky to attend. Not to mention it might reflect badly on Stark Industries if I don’t go to an American college. Do I not trust American institutions to run an American business?”

“You shouldn’t.”

Anthony laughs.

“Mother, they cannot teach me anything that Europe can’t. Let me go to college in the United States. Please.”

“No.”

It takes Howard to convince her, and a.) Howard doesn’t even like Anthony that much, and b.) he also doesn’t like his wife that much.

“He’s going to a damned college here, Maria. We don’t need him to go to any more of that fancy bullshit you call school over there.”

“Fancy bullshit, Howard?! Bullshit?! You mean what has gotten him this far in life and will make him a better man of social standing than you?”

“My god, is social standing all that matters to you? What are your little friends going to do, choke on their silver spoons when they find out that your son is going to an American college?”

Jarvis also convinces her.

“It will be easier to monitor his progress from a shorter distance,” he advises. “And you can visit frequently.”

Anthony gives him a very dirty look. Apparently, he wasn’t supposed to mention that.

Oops.

But, Anthony gets his way. He’s going to MIT, and he has a roommate.

(Okay, so mother doesn’t know that. But he supposes she will if she ever visits. Or maybe not considering if Tony can successfully convince his roommate to “disappear” for at least a day.)

Rhodey does not give a singular shit about high society anything or anyone. Anthony Stark is a name he registers, but doesn’t recognize.

“Anthony’s a mouthful,” he says a week into their cohabitation. “You have a nickname or something?”

“Ah...no? I mean, not yet,” Anthony says.

“How do you feel about Tony?”

“I...I suppose that that is alright.”

“Are you from Europe?”

“No, from New York.”

“Well holy shit, you sure as fuck don’t sound like it.”

Anthony--well, Tony now--learns quite a bit about American schooling and what he’s actually supposed to be doing to pass off as normal.

Rhodey (yeah he got a nickname that ended in ‘y’ too, Tony said he wouldn’t be the only one) takes him to the thrift store and tells him to pick out some clothes.

“...there’s a shirt that’s advertising a restaurant from Montana.”

“And? Does it look hilarious?”

“Is that the point of this?”

“Fashion is supposed to make you like what you’re wearing or like yourself. I swear if you say that those boring black suits make you feel better about yourself, I will be dragging you to any therapist that will take us for at least five dollars.”

“Five dollars?”

“Maybe less if I can negotiate.”

“Hey!”

Tony learns how to have fun. He loves it.

Rhodey makes him go to record stores and find the bargain bin, and they play the warped records and laugh as voices go up and down in pitch. Tony blasts Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden until the RA begs him to go to bed and Rhodey throws all of his pillows off of his bed.

In return, Tony teaches Rhodey how to read other’s facial expressions, dress for any occasion and be the best-looking there, as well as avoiding any sort of conflict by bringing up past embarrassments.

“Are you serious about the color of my shoe affecting my social standing?” Rhodey asks, trying to shove his foot into a shoe that was a brown color that Tony had described as a “golden mahogany.”

“Yes, I’m dead serious.”

“No fucking wonder everyone says eat the rich all of you are so fucking pretentious. It’s brown, Tony.”

“Tell that to any high society woman over fifty.”

“I will.”

As it turns out, he ends up doing it much sooner than anticipated.

Tony’s parents come to visit.

They call him Anthony. Which is gross. Rhodey hasn’t used the name “Anthony” in about six months.

“I wasn’t aware that you were his roommate,” his mother says.

“Well, here I am,” Rhodey says. “Name’s also on the information they sent out to the parents about the living situations.”

Tony tenses as his parents brush off the obvious comment on how little they actually know about his situation and move right into the room.

Maria stops at the huge poster of a rock band.

“I assume that this is...James’?”

“No,” he says timidly. “It’s...it’s mine. Their use of movement on the guitar strings-”

“Take it down,” Maria demands. “It’s unsightly.”

“Oh give the kid a break,” Howard says tiredly. “For once he’s not listening to you talk about the merits of paisley prints.”

“I’m training our son for a more successful life than yours,” Maria hisses. “Of course, you’d have to stay away from your friend Jack to understand that.”

“Rhodey, leave,” Tony says. “Trust me, it gets messier from here.”

He does think about it. How easy it would be to walk out and check in with a couple of his other friends and talk about how crazy Tony’s parents are. How he could check back in near dinner time and then Tony could tell him all about how terribly it went.

But Tony already looks terrible, and he’s doing that weird thing with his hands where he wrings them and then remembers he’s not supposed to wring them and makes it worse.

“No,” Rhodey says. “I am staying until the bitter end. Who knows? Maybe I can give your mom a heart attack when I ask her the difference between kelly and forest green.”

Tony grins.

“You can leave any time, it’s about to get...interesting.”

Tony’s family is quite dysfunctional. They can put on a good front in public, for what it’s worth.

Howard is impressed that Rhodey’s planning on going into the Air Force and then talks about Captain America for a lot of the dinner. Rhodey is very uncomfortable and then asks about business and Maria rolls her eyes and orders another glass of wine.

After Howard finishes up talking about some contract and making vague threats against businesses that Rhodey thinks might actually be in trouble, it’s Maria’s turn.

“So, Rhodey, where is your family from?”

“We live in the Boston area,” Rhodey answers.

“And what do your parents do?”

“Dad works as a consultant for a local construction company, and my mom works as a high school history teacher. They both like their jobs.”

“Hm,” Maria remarks, and it’s so light and casual and yet so cutting. Tony can see how Rhodey squirms, and he can’t just let it stand.

It’s one thing for Maria to cut her own son down until he’s nothing. Still fucked up, but Tony can handle it. He’s been handling it for years.

“Rhodey, how did your mom come to want to know she liked teaching?” Tony asks. “That sounds like it could be really hard to figure out.”

“Oh, well it all started when she was in high school and wanted to change how one of her teachers treated students. It was a really inspiring moment for her.”

“That sounds really cool,” Tony says. “What does she like most about her job?”

“Probably the kids,” Rhodey says.

The conversation carries on about Rhodey’s family until their dinner arrives and his mother manages to cut in with more questions.

“So, what else does your mother do?”

“She volunteers at the local food kitchen and helps some of the younger kids at the after-school program,” Rhodey answers. “She also makes a mean Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Would you look at that,” Tony says. “Mrs. Rhodes sounds like a fine cook, I wish I could say the same for you, mother.”

“Oh?”

Howard actually laughs at that as he signs for the bill.

“The kid is right, Maria. At some points I think your kitchen is only used for decoration.”

“Oh, and you know how to cook, Mr. Stark?” Maria asks, raising her eyebrows. “I’d love to see you make anything other than coffee.”

“I’ll make toast.”

Rhodey laughs, and so does Tony.

“Ready to go?” Tony asks, and part of it is a way to get away from an isolated conversation, and part of it is to make his parents leave for their hotel room sooner.

“Tony, I want to have a talk with you before we retire for the night,” Maria says, and Tony tenses up.

Rhodey can’t protect him from that, and he squeezes Tony’s hand as they walk behind his parents.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispers.

“Maybe,” Tony says. “Maybe.”

Rhodey goes into their building, and Howard waits in the car. He nods to Tony on his way out.

“You’ve...changed,” mother says.

“Well, that’s how humanity goes,” Tony says dryly, looking anywhere but her eyes.

“Rock music? These snappish remarks towards your own mother? I don’t know if this college was such a good idea.”

“It is,” Tony says. “I just...learned new things and incorporated it into my life. Nothing the matter with that.”

“Nothing wrong with that?” Maria reiterates, surprised look on her face. “Rock music is for other people, you know things that others don’t know! You can perform violin and piano, you don’t have to listen to the personal manifestation of a headache!”

“And if I like that headache?!” Tony asks. “If I like something that’s outside of what you approve, why so angry about it? Is it because you finally can’t control every single aspect about my identity? Is it because I’m not like your perfect little toy that you can make walk and talk how you like?”

“You know it’s not that.”

“Isn’t it?” Tony asks. “Because you want me to change every single interest that I’ve found I like by myself. I bet you want me to listen to Bach for fun.”

“I do not want you to change from who you are,” Maria says. “You have eaten at the finest restaurants in the world and now you brag about making something called ramen in a microwave. A microwave?!”

“A surprising amount of families in America have them,” Tony says. “And I’m a college student! I’m supposed to eat crappy food and then laugh about it in twenty years!”

Maria turns red, and her lips screw up into a tight line.

“I don’t think you should be here,” Maria says. “You’re forgetting your place. Your roommate is...”

“My roommate is what,” Tony starts, glaring at her. “My roommate is what, mother? You want to honestly finish that sentence?”

“He’s not good enough!” she yells at him. “You are a Stark!”

Tony stares at her for a moment. And then another moment.

“Leave,” he says. “Get the hell out of here.”

“You don’t tell me-”

“I do,” Tony says, using his full height to his advantage. “You can tell me how many times I’ve fucked up as many times as you want, but you never talk about James that way ever again.”

He twists on his heel, forcefully opening the door to the dormitory and not once looking back.

Rhodey finds Tony back in his room when he gets back from getting ready for the night, and Tony is clutching a pillow and laying face down on the bed.

“You know, you’ll have to turn over eventually to get some fresh air.”

“Leave me to die, Rhodey. Oh my god.”

“That bad?”

“That bad. She’s probably going to try and put me in a prestigious college or some shit.”

“Oof. Wanna fake your death and run away?”

“Please.”

“Well, too bad. I have a test next week, and you need to do your poetry notes.”

“But poetry sucks.”

“It only sucks because you don’t like modern poetry, suck it up and pull it out of your ass or something.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Maria is trying very hard to get her son away from MIT and towards a fancy school in Europe. She doesn’t even care where, just away from his roommate and his classic rock posters and the dormitory. Anthony needs an environment where he can focus on networking, meeting more people.

Howard says no.

He can’t even bother to remember her son’s birthday, and he says “no.”

“We need Anthony to go to an American school, and nothing is better besides maybe Cal Tech, and he’ll have to finish another year of college and Hammer Industries can use that as a sign of an unsteady heir.”

“Well then get rid of his roommate.”

“I’m not doing that, you’re asking for a PR death sentence.”

“He’s a bad influence.”

“No he’s not,” Howard says tiredly. “The kid is finally standing up for himself, and you hate that.”

“I don’t hate that he can be his own person.”

“You just wish he were his own person under your specifications,” Howard drawls. “He’s staying at MIT, that’s final.”

“Hmph.”

Howard rolls his eyes.

“Go back to planning whatever charity gala you’re hosting this week, honey. I’m sure things will be fine.”

Maria doesn’t speak against her husband, just fumes and decides she’s going to try to get Jarvis’ opinion.

Edwin is also a flat no.

“He will not forgive you if you do this,” he says, pouring her tea and adding in one sugar cube. “He loves his school, he talks about it all the time.”

“And what, he calls you?”

Edwin Jarvis realizes he shouldn’t have mentioned this.

“At times, madam. At times. Will that be all?”

“...that will be all.”

Jarvis does bring up a good point. Besides her, of course, he knows Anthony best, even if he does keep calling him Tony. Anthony will grow out of that nickname soon enough.

She has hope for her boy. He will most likely grow out of this silly little phase in life and finally appreciate her lessons.

Tony Stark doesn’t.

Well, he learns her lessons. Can appreciate some of them and how much he hates that he uses them.

But he learns a far more important lesson from Rhodey, and it shapes everything:

“You’re your own person, and you’re far better as your own person,” Rhodey says. “I wanted to kick the shit out of you when we first lived together.”

“You did?”

“Of course I did!” Rhodey explains, gesturing with his coffee mug and getting yet another stain on the pillow. (Laundry again. Ugh.) “You talked like you were from a movie from the forties, it sucked.”

“Oh, you mean the transatlantic accent?”

“It’s pretentious, just ditch it. You’re interesting enough to listen to on your own. I listen to you talk about how much you hate Picasso sculpture, don’t I?”

“You do,” Tony admits.

“So then be yourself. Use what your mom taught you sometimes, but otherwise don’t.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, I’m a fucking genius.”

Tony snorts.

“Okay, Mr. ‘I Forgot to Run the Dishes Again.’”

“I already said I was sorry!”

Tony takes Rhodey’s advice into account when he walks into any board room. He wears the worst possible shoes with every single suit, usually uses all sorts of cultural references that fly over the old board members’ heads.

He does things his way. It’s unconventional, it’s unpredictable, and it earns him a reputation.

He’s in an interview in a suit and patterned tie (patterned with tiny robots), and the woman is smiling in a plastic way on the other side.

“Now, a lot of people are saying you’re taking the business world by storm with your unconventional methods and personality. What helped you formulate this, your father?”

“Oh god no,” Tony says, laughing. “He’d probably curse me to hell and back for even wearing this tie. My mother would drag me back down to hell again for this.”

“Then who helped you with this?”

“Rhodey, who else?” Tony asks. “He always gives the best advice, even if I’ll deny that about fifteen minutes later. He really is the reason that I’m who I am today.”

“Seems like a great guy.”

“He is. He always is,” Tony says with a grin. “Except, of course, when he doesn’t fold his laundry, that bastard.”

The interviewer laughs and moves on, but Tony smiles to himself.

He doesn’t have to be the best, he just has to be Rhodey’s. That’s all that matters.

#lovelyirony writes #maria stark #howard stark #tony stark #rhodey #ironhusbands #kind of #i'm hinting at it and i didn't outright rlly say shit but y'all know me so you should know this #anyways tony DOES develop his own personality and rhodey hates him for like three months

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poormeowmeowcollector · 4 years ago

Text

Let me give you my life

Pairing: Loki x Tesseract

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, delusions, mental illness, alcohol, Original Character Death, Odin, fantastic racism

Summary: After Frigga's funeral, Loki starts hearing a voice. It changes their life completely.

Chapter 4: Bridge and Chorus

Chapter summary: the aftermath

Chapter warnings: Odin, Major Character Death, suicide

Chapter note: this chapter is dedicated to @lucywrites02 because she pretended to be a bad bitch yesterday.

Previous chapter AO3

No masters or kings when the ritual begins

The shackles sing as Loki walks towards the throne, fighting back a grin. Odin, on the other hand, sits on his high quality chair, believing to be intimidating.

"You have committed a grave crime against the-" Odin tries to speak, but Loki chuckles.

"I know what I have done, Odin. No need to repeat yourself," they interrupt, using a voice they've been hiding in their throat since they learned how to speak.

And it has so much to say…

"Has your mother taught you no respect for your king?" They yell, their favourite way of speaking to Loki. In all these years, Loki cowarded away at this voice, scared of a physical expression of the anger. This time, he laughs at it.

"Not my mother, and I have no king but myself," they smile, watching a new wave of anger flashing in the old charlatan's face.

"Silence! You never knew how to shut this mouth of yours!" Odin raises his voice, hoping to see the now natural cowering of Loki. The only answer is another laugh.

"Do you really want me to start speaking, Odin? To see who is truly guilty, with all these good dicks and whores listening?" Loki asks, a glow in his eyes as he gestures around as wide as the shackles allow. The harshness of their tongue makes the nobles who watch the "trial" gasp.

"Who taught you this language?" The old man spits, narrowing one eye.

"Apart from your anger? And that old warrior you ordered to teach Thor and me how to survive in a forest? And there are the guards, I can name a few but stitching is a worse crime than murder…" he mutters, acting if like he's chatting with a cup of tea other than being on a trial for murder.

There's no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

"Enough with your games! Why did you murder Lord Gæirasson in cold blood?" Odin asks the "big question", as if the right answer will lift the charges from Loki's name.

"Because… one, because he was a racist and offended me, to which the punishment is death. Two, because he started a war-"

"You started a war, Loki," Thor interrupts, taking Odin's side, like every time.

"A war had been started. Let's not blame people, Thor. Now where were I? Oh, yeah, at how Gæirasson started a war. Also, he refused to pay his taxes and you know how seriously I took my responsibility of being in charge of the palace's finances. Did war crimes against my people, father would be proud the son of a bitch is dead. And lastly, but definitely not least, a dreadful sense of fashion. Have you seen what his grooms wear? I think I threw up in my mouth when I saw it…" they finish with the rumbling, not even thinking of answering seriously. Odin will execute him anyways, would some fun be so bad?

"I said, enough with the games!" Odin basically screeches, their face going red.

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

"For the murder of a lord, cause of a war and disrespect towards the throne, I Odin Allfather sentence you to a life in the dungeons," he decides.

"Dungeons? Not axe? Did Frigga's ghost or this moron talk you out of killing me?" Loki questions, taking their turn to narrow their eyes.

"If you keep talking, I might change my mind," Odin sighs, rubbing his temple.

"And get rid of this perfect pawn to hold King Laufey from the balls? A shame, really," Loki poutes and shrugs, pretending awfully that he cares.

"I will not stand your disrespect any longer! I had granted you your life, Loki, more than once! You will learn to respect me for it! Take them to the dungeons!" Odin speaks the final order. Four guards grab the chains that lead to Loki's shackles and push him away, forcing him to walk with them

Only then I am human / only then I am free

On the way to the dungeons, Thor stops the guards and demands to speak to Loki.

"Just tell me why, brother. Please. What didn't we give you to make you care so little?" they ask, grabbing Loki's shoulder, just like they always used to do.

"A family. That's what you didn't give me. And that's what I've earned," Loki answers, staring right into his no-brother's eyes, the blue in them and the pale lines that resemble his lightning. They know they won't see Thor from this close ever again, and they deserve a proper last memory.

"Then, I'm sorry. It's late, I know, but remember this, please… I shall visit, whenever I can, Loki. I swear. You shouldn't be in prison all alone," Thor promises. Loki gives only a nod, enough to make Thor dismiss the guards and let them keep walking Loki to his future and last chamber.

The only sign of emotions they allow themselves to show is a sigh, only out of sympathy.

For he knows that his freedom just begins.

Take me to church / I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

The moment the guards put Loki back into the white vacant cell and take their eyes off them, they cast an illusion of them settling on the floor and staring at nothing. The real Loki is walking up and down the room, waiting for the Tesseract to speak.

"Now?" he asks, feeling it close.

"Now, you need to learn who your family is. Not Odin, not Laufey, your true family, Entropy," they answer.

"What with this name? After all this, can't you call me by my name?" Loki groans.

"I am. You have many names. Entropy, the Chaos Stone, the Death Stone, the Knot… the last one, actually, is the name you're most familiar with, translated to Old Jötunn tongue," they speak, all matter-of-factly.

"You're lying, the Chaos stone is a myth," Loki brushes off the answer.

"It does exist. A black gem, created by billions of ropes, strings and threads tangled together. The hardest one to wield and command and impossible to find. The Jötnar had found it and worshipped it. And when Laufey found out that his son is nothing but a dead baby, he sacrificed the infant for the infant. And Odin found the baby crying in the altar, the gem gone,"

"So I own my life to an imaginary stone, apart from an old piece of shit. What a surprise…" Loki throws their hands in the air.

"No. You are the imaginary stone. In order to give life, the Chaos gem entered your body and never left. You are the flesh of a corpse and the mind of an infinity stone. And it's time to leave the corpse and join us,"

The aimless walking stops, and Loki's heart skips a beat

I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife

"You made me kill a man, for this?" he asks, glaring at nothing. They don't answer.

"You made me kill a man! Just so I could die!" boiling hot tears streaming down their eyes and slither into their shirt as burning red eyes stare at the empty room for something. "I trusted you! You promised me a family!" he yells between his sobs.

Their feet cannot support them, and they kneel down, turned into a crying sobbing and yelling mess. A hand, created by mist, grabs his shoulder, trying to provide comfort.

"I hate you," they spit, flaring their nose drills as they stare into the blue eyes of the illusion they use to pretend they're close to them.

"I'm sorry, hurting you was… if I could prevent it…" the stone says and gives him a small squeeze. And they mean it. If there was a way to do it without any pain, they would. But it's too late, Loki is already hurt…

Offer me that deathless death

Loki throws themselves into the tightest embrace they ever had, weeping like a baby. "I don't want to die. Please, I don't wanna die. Anything but this, anything, please!" he whispers, diving his head into their shoulder without a thought of holding back the tears.

"Shhhh, you won't die. Not truly. Your mind is the stone, as long as it exists you exist. And the body will stay intact until you need it again. You will be fine, I promise," they whisper, hoping of making them feel better.

"I'm scared, Tessie. I'm so scared, I can't," for a prince, Loki sounds so small, almost like the small child they used to be. Tessie starts playing with his hair, hoping to calm him down, even for a bit.

"It's alright. Everything will be fine, no matter if you do it or not," they shush them.

"If I do it or not?" Loki repeats, sniffing quietly and breaking the hug only to look at the misty blue eyes of Tessie.

"I… you're in so much pain… if you decide that you had enough, you'll be left alone," they explain. Loki nods, still quivering from the crying, but determined.

"No. We got so far. I-I-I'm not giving up," he lets his voice get louder, and then stands up. "What do I do?" they ask, collected once again.

"Get comfortable in a position. And once you're ready, make the ropes appear and let them wash over you," Tessie explains, holding this sympathetic voice. Loki nods and sits back down against the white wall, moving to get comfortable.

Then, with just a thought, the ropes appear and fill him with this calming sensation. Tessie walks closer and cups their cheeks. "See you on the other side, Loki," they smile and kiss their forehead before vanishing.

Loki takes a deep breath, and looks around the cage. He remembers a field day he had when little, a good day. Odin was sleeping on a bench and Frigga was yelling at them and Thor to not get into trouble as Thor dragged Loki, who was just above six, on an expiration of the forest around a castle in Vanaheim. Of course, they returned after the sun was down, with scraped up knees and dirty clothes and Loki had traces of tears in his cheeks because a bug scared him. But it had been, and still is, the best time they ever had with Thor.

He holds tight into the memory as he lets the ropes cover him and closes his eyes.

Good God, let me give you my life

The guards don't know how this happened. One moment, Loki was gazing at nothing and the next…

How does one say this to the Allfather?

The healers walk out of the cage when Thor storms in the dungeons, on the verge of panicking. "Is he alive?" It's all they ask.

The healers won't answer, it's enough to know.

Thor walks in and sits beside what used to be Loki, holding their cold and deformed hand and letting tears run down his face.

Loki doesn't respond, how could he?

He's a statue, as if made from black stone, and his hands covered in stone black ropes, with a faint glow where his heart should be being the only sign that there was once life there.

Loki's face doesn't have the signature smirk, and there's no gleam in their closed eyes. But he does wear a peaceful smile. A smile Thor regrets he had to see this body in order to know that his brother knows finally peace.

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leviathanswingman · 4 years ago

Text

killing me softly, chapter 12: actions speak louder than words

Lucifer was sitting in his study, stacks of paperwork on his desk in front of him. He was meticulously working, going through paper after paper. The big celebration was in a day and he still had a lot of catching up to do. After having pulled another all-nighter, he had almost finished all of his tasks. Next to him was a trash bin, filled to the brim with white and blue rose petals, a few single buds mixed in with stems and thorns.

Exhausted, he allowed himself to rest for a moment. In front of of him were a cup of coffee Barbatos had brought over and an untouched slice of apple pie which Beelzebub had unceremoniously dumped in front of him. Lucifer took a big gulp of coffee and leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh. The warm coffee felt like medicine to his sore throat.

As he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of the rich scent of roasted beans, suddenly, the doors burst open and Asmodeus barged into the room.

Surprised, Lucifer almost threw the cup of coffee over his shoulder. Quickly, he kicked the overflowing trash bin under the desk, almost making it tip over in the process. It swayed dangerously before finally coming to a halt.

„Asmodeus!“ he growled as he got up from his chair. „How many times have I told you to knock? Looking at your behaviour one could assume you'd been raised by apes. I suppose you must have a fairly good reason as to why you have disobeyed my rules once again.“

Asmo smiled at him recklessly. „Oh, I do! I'm on the most important of missions!“ he exclaimed as he crossed the room and walked around the table with a spring in his step. Elegantly, he then sat down on top of Lucifer's mahogany desk, one leg crossed over the other.

„If you don't want me to cancel all of your beauty subscriptions, you better speak up. Now.“

“Oh come one, Lucifer. You wouldn't do that!”

Lucifer held eye contact with his brother as he picked up his DDD and dialled a number. “Good evening, is this-”

“No!” Asmodeus yelled as he grabbed Lucifer's DDD and threw it out the window. From far away they could hear a distant thud, followed by an angry yell. “OW! If I find out who threw that DDD, I swear to fuck-”

“Sorry Satan!!”

Then, there was the sound of a garbage can getting kicked out of its socket and Asmodeus shrugged nonchalantly.

For a moment, Lucifer simply stared at his brother. Normally, now would be the perfect time to punish Asmodeus, make him learn from his mistakes and most of all, make him refrain from overstepping his boundaries ever again. However, Lucifer was extremely tired. The last two days he had worked tirelessly, attempting to make up for the time he had spent in Lord Diavolo's chambers. Adding to the exhaustion that came from his overworked mind, Lucifer was also suffering under the fits of hanahaki that had gotten progressively worse over the last two days. The only blessing that had emerged out of this situation was the fact that his enormous workload was effectively keeping him apart from Diavolo.

With Lucifer holed up in his study and Lord Diavolo busy preparing for his guests, there was no time left to mull over that pesky disease. Everything was working completely in Lucifer's favour.

“Are you trying to sign your death warrant?”

“Not actively, no,” Asmo answered, tilting his head playfully.

“Oh, really? I can make that happen, you are aware of that?” Lucifer threatened half-heartedly. It took much energy being threatening and angry, energy he definitely couldn't spare at the moment. He just had to make it through the celebration, both literally and figuratively.

Lucifer was most aware of the fact that he did not have much time left. Aside from the obvious hanahaki attacks, his breathing had worsened immensely and he had started to get random nose bleeds.

As Yuuta would say, he felt like hell, which was quite ironic, taken his current place of residence. Lucifer had one last task left to fulfil: making it through the celebration without raising any suspicions. If he managed to do that, he could die without regrets; could die with the knowledge that he didn't have to sully Lord Diavolo's name.

After Barbatos had caught him, resting in Diavolo's arms, he had spent evening after evening laying out all of his options and had come to one conclusion. If he were to allow himself to be with Diavolo, if he were to alleviate their relationship to a romantic level, he would sooner or later bring shame to Lord Diavolo. As the current demon prince, a romance with his right hand man would be one of the biggest scandals all around devildom. Although the demon king was not present at the moment, he would certainly not be willing to give his blessing for a union like that.

Lucifer snapped out of it and sighed deeply. In moments like this, he couldn't help but feel a saddening kind of softness. After all, this was one of his last days with his brothers. Almost his entire life he'd portrayed himself as the serious, untouchable older brother. Today, he was allowed to be lenient for once.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to Asmodeus. “Pray tell, what is this mission of yours?”

A quick smile flashed across Asmo's face. “Actually, you are my mission.”

Lucifer raised his eyebrows in a silent question. “I am your mission? In what way is this supposed to make sense?”

His little brother put his hands on Lucifer's shoulders and beamed with excitement. “Well, sorry for saying this, but you look terrible, like absolute garbage.”

“You know you can't hurt my feelings with crude language like that. I'm a busy demon and work always comes first. So what are you trying to accomplish?”

Asmodeus sighed in annoyance. “You don't get what I mean. You probably have to be at Diavolo's side the entire party, right?” he questioned, head cocked to one side.

“It's a celebration, not a party, but yes. It's what's expected from me. Diavolo and I will be responsible for our honoured guests.”

Asmodeus didn't skip a beat. “Looking like that?” he murmured sweetly, yet still loud enough for Lucifer to hear.

Of course, Lucifer had allowed himself to be somewhat kind during his last days, but that didn't mean he'd let his brother bully him without reason. With a strong hand, he whacked Asmodeus in the back of his head.

“Ouch! What was that for?? Lucifer, you're such a meanie! I was just trying to help!” Asmo wailed. “Don't you think you should look perfect for the party? It's no secret that you're blessed with good genes, but right now, you're looking like a zombie!” He rubbed the back of his head as he averted his eyes. “Don't you want to look good for Lord Diavolo?” he added, his expression obviously fake lost in thought.

“What was that last part about?” Lucifer asked coldly, a sickly sweet smile painted on his face as he gripped Asmo's wrist a little bit too tight.

“Oh, did I say that out loud?” came the answer. “Whoopsie.”

“Stop it with your little games, Asmodeus. We both know you have come here with an agenda. Knowing you, there's no way to persuade you to just leave it. So what are you here for?” With a deep sigh, he twirled his hand in a circular motion, signalling his brother to keep talking.

Asmodeus basically lit up. “I'm giving you a makeover!”

Lucifer simply glowered at him. As soon as Asmodeus recognized the look on his brother's face, he corrected himself.

“I'm not saying you need a makeover, after all you are gorgeous Lucifer, I just think you need a bit of last minute skin care to perfect your complexion. Both your exhaustion and hana-”

At the mention of his disease, Lucifer threw Asmodeus a threatening look, making him freeze in place for a second.

“Both your exhaustion and your illness,” he corrected himself, “have taken a toll on you. Wouldn't our beloved guests get worried if they caught you walking around like the living dead?” Asmo concluded.

After a few moments of silence, Lucifer surrendered and sat down on his chair. Deep down he could tell that this wasn't just another one of Asmodeus' shenanigans. There was a bigger picture he wasn't quite aware of.

Still, that didn't erase the fact that his brother had a valid point. If he were to attend the celebration looking gaunt and exhausted, people would eventually end up gossiping. Lord Diavolo already had a hard time proving himself to be as good of a leader as his father had been, rumours about his overworked right hand man were the last thing he needed at the moment.

Lucifer felt a petal working itself up his throat again. He coughed once, trying to alleviate the discomfort, but to no avail. Given the fact that Asmodeus was already in the picture, he felt little shame in pulling the trash bin out from under his desk. Forearms leaning heavily on his thighs, he leaned forward and quickly heaved a load of petals into the already overflowing trash bin. For a few moments he stayed in that position until he could feel his elbows digging into his thighs harshly. Tomorrow, there would probably be bruises there. Lucifer now leaned back, letting the back of his head hit the chair's backrest.

“Do not say anything, I don't need your unnecessary comments,” he said, voice croaky. “Save it.” Suddenly,he felt something trickling down his nose. Blood.

Asmodeus squeaked at the sight of it. “Tip your head back! Tip your head back, oh my god!! Wait, don't tip it back I think you're not supposed to do that! Towel.. towel!” He hurried across the room, scurrying to find anything to stop the bleeding. Eventually, he found one of Lucifer's handkerchiefs and ran back to his side.

“That's not necessary,” Lucifer started as he held the palm of his hand pressed to his nose, blood trickling down to the slightly protruding bone of his wrist.

“Just let me do this!” Asmo exclaimed as he shoved the handkerchief in Lucifer's face. Lucifer let out a few grumbles, but still grabbed the handkerchief and held it to his nose. “So, we were discussing your plan?” he continued their former conversation, acting as if nothing had happened.

Asmodeus looked at him intensely and for a second, a look of suppressed anger cracked through the mask he had carefully crafted. However, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. After breathing out heavily, he fixed his bangs with steady fingers and put on a smile.

“Of course. So, I've been thinking about what we can do to make you look less like you're about to drop dead and more like you're drop dead gorgeous, right? I still have a few amazing creams and tinctures which can save you from literally anything. We are going to use those on you. With that, problem number one will be solved,” he snapped his finger, “just like that.”

Lucifer folded the bloodied handkerchief in half and pressed it back against his nose. He wasn't the biggest fan of all of Asmo's flowery perfumes and creams; admittedly, the heavy scents gave him migraines, but if it would help him look more presentable for his last duties, he would have to suffer through it. “I understand. What else?”

Asmodeus clapped his hands once. “Problem two is mostly me being nitpicky, but I just know it will make you shine so much more and take everyone's attention off your illness. I'm not trying to be rude here, but you do have a track record of being terrible at hiding,” he motioned towards the full trash bin, “that. You have to show me your outfit and I'll work out how we can perfect it.”

Perfection. Exactly what Lucifer wanted to portray, almost to an obsessive degree. Everything had to be neat and tidy for his final performance.

The bleeding had finally stopped and Lucifer threw the handkerchief into the bin on top of all the sickly smelling petals and buds. “Alright then, follow me to my chambers.”

“So?”

Asmodeus was standing in the middle of Lucifer's room as he waited for his brother to bring out his fit for tomorrow's party. He knew Lucifer could tell something was up, but seeing as he had only a day left and his pride to maintain, he had budged. Well, he had budged very reluctantly. Taken the fact that they were talking about Lucifer however, it was a wonder he had given in to begin with.

When him, his brothers and Yuuta had formed their plan, Asmodeus had immediately known what exactly he had to say to Lucifer to get him to involuntarily cooperate. Catering to his pride had been their only realistic option and it had worked incredibly well.

We're not gonna let you go, you stubborn brother of ours. We're annoying like that and you are all that we have left, Asmodeus thought to himself for a moment.

He was nervous to a certain degree, but out of all of his brothers and Yuuta, he was the one with the most viable poker-face.

Asmodeus prided himself in being distracting and eye-catching, turning conversations around was his forte. Now he completely had to rely on those skills of his. Everyone was depending on him to make this work somehow. He hid shaking fingers behind his back as Lucifer stepped back into his field of view, holding a pristine black suit. It was neither too plain nor too ornate, perfect in a marriage of respectability and beauty. Thoughtfully, Asmodeus nodded his head as he circled the suit once, looking at every inch of fabric closely.

“We can work with this. Waistcoat and shirt?” he then asked, his pointer ghosting over his lips.

“Red waistcoat, the dress shirt is a regular black one,” Lucifer answered, handing over the suit to his brother. Asmodeus laid it out on the bed, careful not to crease the suit.

“The waistcoat is a good choice, but drop the black dress shirt.”

Lucifer furrowed his eyebrows. “What is wrong with a black dress shirt. It's professional yet elegant.”

“That's exactly the point. This is not a business meeting, this is a party.”

“Celebration,” Lucifer cut in.

“Par-ty,” Asmo insisted. “Lord Diavolo and you are there to entertain and mingle with the guests. Dress like it. Aren't parties there to impress and wow the crowd?” He winked at his brother. “Or do you want me to have all the attention to myself? Oh Lucifer, I didn't know you were this considerate! Anyway, the shirt gets switched out with a black dress shirt made out of lace, no getting out of this one.”

Lucifer glowered at him. It was almost hilariously obvious how badly he wanted this situation to be over. “Are you done?”

“Am I done? I've barely even started! Show me the shoes!”

After crossing the room again, Lucifer brought over a pair of elegant, black dress shoes. Asmodeus stared at them in blank horror. “Ew. Ew ew ew. Nope, we are certainly not doing that!”

With a bit too much force Lucifer sat down on the bed, barely suppressing a deep grumble. “What's the problem now?”

“What's the-? Everything! Lucifer, how did you manage to woo Lord Diavolo with clothes this unadventurous?!”

“I told you before, I do not-” before he could finish his sentence Asmodeus raised one finger and dashed out of the room.

Lucifer sprung up from his bed and quickly grabbed the nearest handkerchief, coughing into it violently. His throat hurt to the point that one, two, three more buds didn't matter all that much anymore. He tasted blood, but kept coughing until what had been clogging up his windpipe dislodged. Two bloodied buds were now lying in the handkerchief between his hands, a blue rose and a white rose.

Images of those mesmerizing eyes, all honey and smoke, flashed through his mind again. Nowadays, the mere mention of Diavolo was enough to send Lucifer into painful fits. Still, he had made his decision and he was going to have to live with it. Or rather, he had to die with it, but that was just semantics right there.

Just as his breathing calmed down again, Asmodeus barged back into the room, holding something in his hands.

In the middle of wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, Lucifer looked back up, realizing what exactly his little brother had brought over so excitedly.

“You cannot be serious about this.”

Asmodeus flashed him one of his signature smiles, a smile few could say no to. Although Lucifer was different from regular demons, even he himself found it difficult to refuse his little brother when he exuded this kind of energy. But Lucifer knew his brothers better than anyone else. Asmodeus' smiles were infused with his powers. Whether he did this on purpose or not was a completely different question though. Awareness generally lowered the impact Asmodeus' powers had on you.

“Yep! I'm completely serious about this. I will come by 2 hours before the party starts so I can do your make-up.”

Without batting an eye Lucifer crossed his arms. He had worn make-up on multiple occasions, a little bit of concealer or foundation here and there to hide his tiredness and exhaustion. Knowing his brother however, this was not going to be where it ended.

Apparently Asmodeus saw the distrusting look on Lucifer's face, since he hurriedly scrolled through his phone, turning it to Lucifer to show him the picture he had just looked up.

“Like that,” he said. “Doesn't that look just darling? We'll use a little bit of red eyeshadow, which will work great with your eyes, then apply a tiny bit of eyeliner and then finish it off with mascara. Subtle yet enticing.” Slowly, he looked up at his brother who seemed to study the photo for a moment.

“Enticing? I would rather say it's quite daring, taken the fact that I am Lord Diavolo's right hand man.”

Asmodeus sighed deeply. “I promise, I'm not trying to make you look like a whore! This is gonna look so sophisticated! You're gonna look hot!”

Finally, Lucifer gave in, not because of his brother's last comment, but because it was his last day with his family. With Lord Diavolo. Going out meekly had never been quite his style.

“For once, I entrust myself to you. Do not disappoint me, Asmodeus,” he threatened, but his brother was barely listening to him as he had already jumped up and hugged Lucifer tightly, nuzzling his chest with his head for a moment. Surprised, Lucifer froze for a moment, but then resorted himself to awkwardly patting Asmo's head. A few moments later, Asmo let go again.

“It's settled then, I'll see you tomorrow!” he beamed before leaving the room with a spring to his step.

Lucifer sighed deeply as he let himself sink back onto his bed. Suddenly, his eyes settled on the clothing item Asmodeus had brought over before. Boots with a heel, approximately four inches in height, which would reach over his knees, hugging the beginning of his thighs in an almost promiscuous promise, made of the richest of leathers. They were beautiful works of craft, there was no denying that.

Lucifer's gut feeling was telling him that tomorrow would be the most interesting of days. No matter how much he would have preferred a calm passing, the fact that his brothers were involved in some way or another told him that chaos would inevitably ensue. After all, it always did.

There was only one certainty about tomorrow's evening in the ballroom: it would undeniably be Lucifer's last day alive.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 , Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 13

*nsfw chapter

taglist: @el-does-photography

#my writing #obey me #shall we date? obey me #dialuci #diavolo x lucifer #obey me! lucifer #obey me! diavolo #obey me! asmodeus #hanahaki au #fanfiction #aaaah this took me a minute #got all distracted which is #fun #not really #also i escalated a bit this was supposed to be like 1.5k words but i did more than double that #i'm an asmo simp on main when it's about him i just won't stfu #obey me! satan

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teacup-baphomet · 4 years ago

Text

G/t Drabble (Crash landed on a hostile planet trope but NOT via the a tiny vulnerable human in a planet of mean powerful alien bigs route)

tw: a bit of censored cursing. Uh. I’m not sure what else. Maybe broaching of sensitive tops such as sexuality and religion. But not really. Mostly it’s just rlly dumb word play/lame humor and a confused alien being confused (and kinda freaked/troubled due to the confusion? you’ll see if you read it i guess). there is some sad lorg boi times. idk. no romantic relationships. just a shaky friendship is forming between a crash-landed big-arse alien (a human! *gasp* i woulda never guessed something as vile as that o: ) and one of the much smaller, very much not human locals. most want to kill the poor dude who got stuck on this planet of hostile lil guys who think he’s a monster and immediately decide they much off him asap. so like having this one ally is kinda important to him. But it’s hard. because. lots reasons rlly. culture differences. the language tech can only do so much. the size diff creates definite issues because trust is hard in general. and trusting a big being that could easily cause havoc on your planet mostly just cuz he /seems/ nice is not a very good foundation... there is much to learn between the two before they can be truly good frens. so uh good luck to them lol *raises glass* I mean. I don’t think I’ll ever write these two again. but I’m sure they’ll end up good friends. probably.

Anyway without further adieu, here have a disappointment (read: attempt to be creative but i’m kinda lazy tbh and still kinda bitter I can’t draw for more than like 10 minutes before I start spacing out :/ )

"We are called humans or the scientific name is homo sapiens" spoke the large alien, Lyle.

"Homo sapiens? That is rather long, is it not? Why is a "scientific name" even a thing? Why would that be necessary? Scientific name versus what kinda name? Emotional name? Why are these science names two words? Seems annoying. What is wrong with just calling yourselves simply homos? Or something else just as nice and concise. Straight to the point if you will. Probably. I... Uh.. I obviously don't know what exactly is the purpose of a scientific name as i already implied... Sooo..." The much shorter – and much scalier- native being (called Torrynts) awkwardly looked off the side to stare at the plain, blank, siding of their dilapidated, isolated house as if it were the most interesting thing in the entire vicinity. Which it wasn’t of course. There was a f***ing alien 15 times their size only a few them-sized lengths way…

Lyle gave his new comrade – and only friend on this gawdforsaken planet that mostly wants him dead- th pondering, and possibly ironically, rather colourfully scaled Torrynt by the name of Kyvlar a bemused look, bordering on coy.

"Huh. 'Straight' to the point you say?" He paused with a small snort. "Well, my not-so-statuesque friend, do I got news for you~"

Kyvlar suddenly blanched, giving a Lyle a look that was like a knife to the heart while blurting out. "Wait, wait, wait! Hold up! We? There are more than one of you? Here? On this planet? Were you just a distraction the whole time. Oh... Oh no.... Have we really been victim a secret homo invasion this whole time! I-"

Their panicked monologue was interrupted by a most horrendous noise. Like a slowly dying tornado with the hiccups or something.

"STOP. Stop I-I can't. I can't. This is too much much!" Spoke Lyle with his hand covering the bottom half of his and his eyes scrunched shut.

'Welp,' thought the Torrynt, 'This is the end. This is when I die. I should have known better than to immediately put my trust in such an enormous obviously dangerous specimen. Ho-'

Kyvlar’s dramatic internal speech was interrupted when the alien surprised them by uncovering the his face, revealing a huge grin. ‘They weren't upset? Huh?’ The Torrynt blinked owlishly at the human in confusion.

"Sh*t, bite-size (Kyvlar noticeably paled at the impromptu nickname not 100% the foreign joking tone, well it would have been noticeable to someone their size at least), I know you don't mean to, context-wise, but you reminded me of my great aunt Karen when my Uncle Todd and Uncle Copper decide to have their friends over along with relatives for a gatherin'."

Plastering on a faux distraught look and blatantly mocking tone, he continue with exaggerated hand gestures. "Oh no, it's the...the...," he paused with snort, "... the homo invasion... No, no, no... Not here... not in this... this good, Christian neighborhood. Aren't just two of them enough? Oh woe is me!" The alien dropped the mocking tone and smirked towards the smaller being. "Heh. Good ol' great aunt Karen could never remember Uncle Todd was Jewish and so was the majority of that neighborhood.... It’s where my Uncle Todd was raised actually…"

The said smaller being just stared blankly at the homo-no-human they supposed as just “homo” meant something else, they weren’t sure what else, beyond just something else.

"Uhhm. Wh-what? U-Uhm, so what exactly is “homo” then? And what’s Christian? And Jewish too. What’s that? Are... Are those other types of -uh- intelligent, sentient creatures on your planet? Y-you know, b-beside hom-er-h-humans? Or are these subtypes of humans? What kinda are you? What is a great aunt? or Uncle? Does the great indicate a larger size? Oh gawd, a-aren't you humans b-big enough regularly? Oh... W-wait. O-or are you a great- uhm- great aunt, was it? E-er, g-great something? Ohhh. Zyntall (Torrynt swear). I'm sooo confused r-right now... " The timid tiny being, sighed in frustration before their eyes snapped open wide in a panic, and they did an immediate one-eighty with their behavior, and it was off all their previously trust, as wavering as it was, vanished in an instant, squeaking out a quick "sorry. oh, Z-zyntall... I'm so-so-sooo sorry. I-I hope I d-didn't offend y-you or anyth-thing... p-please, oh please, don't hurt me" while gazing everywhere except towards the much larger alien, hoping desperately the 'bite-size' nickname was just a bad joke...

Clearly they not only didn't get what so hilarious about the whole thing but also thought he was a monster prone to violence – still. Lyle sighed, all the mirth that was previously in his expression draining out of him leaving him with an uncomfortable grimace on their face. How disappointing... They really wish there was another human here to share in the jesting. But alas, that was not meant to be. At least as far as they knew there was no "homo invasion" in the making. Lyle wasn’t naïve. He knew humans were easy to slip into a gray moral state, at best. The role of villains at worst. And many of his kind would likely take advantage of a planet full of tiny, vulnerable people. Lyle couldn’t help but inwardly cringe at the thought, getting nervous about something that wasn’t an issue. At least now. Currently, human-wise, it was just him on this distant planet. And as far as he knew, no one - well, no other human at least- had any clue where they were. It probably just seemed he simply disappeared. Never to be seen again most likely. Trapped on this random alien planet in scenario that is akin to some sort of a personal hell of sorts.

'Wow. Hello, major depressive episode that’s making me overly dramatic. I haven't seen you since I was - what - eighteen?' thought Lyle regretfully. Calling this planet a personal hell was probably a bit over the top. But still, he couldn’t even seem to keep the trust of his single native ally. It only adds to his feelings of lonely isolation. And he feared his lonely angst will only get worse and worse. But only time will tell.

Giving a small sigh, he mentally prepped himself to try and get back his small friend’s trust. At least he was able to laugh for a wee bit earlier. It had been so long since he had done such. It was nice. Hopefully next time it will not lead to a backtracking in his attempted friendly ships with an open local, or even worse, a hostile local. The little laser guns that native being had stung like a b*tch. It reminded him when he got bit a couple times by some fire ants during a vacation as a child.

-----------

So yeah these were rando improvised characters made on the spot.

But Lyle is a guy (he/him. He’d be chill with they/them too)

And Kyvlar is… a Torrynt. So like they/them I guess. Torrynts don’t have genders. Like at all. I guess they hermaphroditic (intersex if talking by human terms but not really as they are capable of reproduction and they aren’t human so… I dunno… Not even sure if hermaphrodite is a useful term. As idk if hermaphroditic animals, in nature, are capable of reproduction… I don’t think so? But I’m not sure tbh…). There is no variants like there are with human “sex”. And male/female concepts are 200+% foreign to these wee reptile-like aliens (albeit warm-blooded minded, so perhaps more draconian than reptilian idk. Also aliens being described as reptilian gives me hives due to a conspiracy theory that is like super bigoted actually n’ stuff. Very yikes. Don’t want to talk it about it rlly…). Their reaction would def be “wtf. That’s the weirdest sh*t ever” to such a thought as male n female binary dynamics & whatnot. No exceptions. They’d be like why a lot of you guys limiting yourself because of whether or not you are a potential offspring vessel or not. I don’t understand.

So Yeah. Uh. Anyways.

Their conversation about this prolly (or close to this):

Lyle: Hi. I’m Lyle. Just some random dude form Earth I guess.

Kyvlar: a random dude what?

Lyle: uh. I’m a dude. I guess I meant that I’m a boy though dudes don’t really have to be boys I think. But not to derail too much… Yeah. I’m a man/guy/boy/brosef, whatever you wanna call the male gender. Please not by brosef actually, heh. Anyway. Yep. A boy. That is what I am. Uh. How about you. I can just tell… you ….you have uhm two legs. Oh damn. Wait. That sounded so stupid. I wouldn’t assume your gender or anything. I just… You don’t look exactly human so..uh. UGH. Nevermind. I don’t even know where I was going with that... Heh. ANYWAY, so yeah what’s your gender is what I’m trying to say. Sorry I’m awkward as f***. I’m not used to socializing much. Been doing deep space sh** on my own for a few years now and.. uh.. yeahhhh….

Kyvlar: *stares blankly*

Lyle: Uh. Yeah. So. A Gender? Do you, uhm, have one? Or…????

Kyvlar: Uh. I think so? I mean I’m mostly a day-by-day I’ll figure it out then type but I, I really want be able to fix my home up. I want to learn to cook. Kinda suck at it now. Uhm. I guess… Uh. I should probably help you get on good terms with my people so they stop trying to kill you. You seem nice n’ stuff… so yeah. There’s that. I could use a little more purpose in my life. Not to-

Lyle: wait. Huh? What are you talking about? Are you talking about an agenda?

Kyvlar: Yes????

Lyle: *snorts* I didn’t say an agenda. I said a gender. As in A. Gen. Durr. Like are male or female or maybe something off the typical binary track??

Kyvlar: Uh. Er. Huh??? I, I’m so confused right now…

Lyle: Hooo boy. I’m so not prepared for this discussion at all.

-----------

One of these days I’m gonna have a character that’s silver-tongue and smooth af and not some bumbling awkward doofus (*cough* like I am *cough*).

#g/t #g/t writing #i think this is sfw #i don't know why it wouldn't be #giant/tiny #giant dude #but he's really a human #it's like the crash landed on a hostile planet g/t trope #but the crash landed is a human #and he is the BIG #and the tinies are a bunch of hostile aliens #except for one #and they aren't really tiny #they are technically normal I think #i mean it is their turf yknow?#the tiny alien in this drabble is non-binary I guess #or maybe agender would be a better term?#the tiny aliens have no gender #or rather they have one gender #so it basically is means little to them identity to wise #like how humans are humans and thus that doesn't honestly say much about them.#except gender means even less to these aliens than that #not in a offensive way #in a they have no knowledge of gendered creatures so the concept of gender is very new to them #actually it's a non-issue to most of them because they don't give a shit about Lyle at all #oh your a guy #we don't care just die already #poor dude #he just wants a friend #but's awkward

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snarkwrites · 4 years ago

Photo

Title: snowbound pt 1 of 2/3

Theme: snow

Fandom / Character(s):Ben Solo/Kylo Ren x Earth!FemaleReader.

Warnings: First up. I preface with two strong warnings.. I am not a medical professional in any capacity. Second, I am only kind of a casual Star Wars fan, so Idk how things work in their universe as compared to here on Earth. The actual warnings here are blood!tw and injury!tw. Again, I remind you. I am neither a veteran star wars fan nor a medical professional. So, some things may be entirely wrong. And Ben Solo is most likely written totally OOC as he is not a character I am used to writing, by any stretch although i love him with my whole heart... Anyway... The warnings are: Blood!TW, Injury!TW, OOC fandom character and a strong dose of hurt comfort / fluff in the next parts I kind of hope i get to do for this. This part is so long because I was using it to sort of set things in motion..

Word Count: 2k. Listen, I was setting things up and got carried away, rip me.

Listen... You all just don’t fucking understand how much I love Kylo/Ben... I know, I know, he’s a bad guy. Anyway, this is me doing something I’ve literally been dying to do, a scenario in which Ben somehow winds up Earthbound just in time for the holidays...This is my daily entry for my bb @champbucks over on the @12daysofchristmas challenge blog...

OH YEAH.. for the sake of a timeline here.. This part takes place around the end of November/beginning of December. Part two will take place two and a half weeks later and part three will take part a day or so, maybe two, after part two. Trust me, this needed to be said.

Also, again.. I made the banner for this. Don’t steal or repost.

TAGGING:

So, here’s the thing.. There really isn’t anyone on my Star Wars masterlist and like... I haven’t really written anything Star Wars related... Until now. So, if you want to be tagged in my star wars stuff, click the little link below or send me an ask/dm on my main and I’ll happily add you.

@champbucks and @12daysofchristmas

[ about my writing | masterlist | multifandom tag doc ]

“What the hell?”

The boom from outside had the windows to my grandma’s old cabin rattling and I quickly sat up just in time to look out the window at the head of my bed to see a bright flash of blue as it disappeared beyond the treeline across the road.

,, Curiosity killed the cat, remember?” my brain nagged at me the whole time I was slipping on the jeans I’d worn earlier in the day. That nagging only grew as I slipped on my warmest boots and by the time I had my daddy’s old shotgun loaded and I was heading out the door, I wasn’t entirely sure if going over to see what the hell was going on in the woods across from my house was a good idea or not.

I mean yeah, the odds were that some idiot kids were racing around Deadman’s curve and one crashed.. Or a drunk trying to drive home on an icy road hit black ice and lost control… At the thoughts of what probably happened, I stopped in the middle of the road and felt my back pocket.

As soon as my fingers grazed the cool weight of my cell phone, I took a deep breath and started to walk towards the woods on the other side of the little country road.

My eyes were adjusting to the semi darkness, so when the wrecked craft came into view just a few feet into the trees, I had to stop and really stare at it, rubbing my eyes.

“What the fuck?” the words left my mouth in a soft gasp as all the breath left my body. I knew exactly what I had to be looking at by now… And rather than turn and walk away, back to my grandma’s cabin, I kept moving closer. Pushing through bushes and trees and overgrown weeds and dead grass as I made my way towards the clearing to get a better look.

I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, because everybody knows there’s a damn good reason we have a military base on the outskirts of our little town and we all know they’re not testing weather balloons out there.. I knew that if this were a military thing, there would most likely be a cover-up.

So I did what anybody would and I pulled out my camera, recording the crash site and taking a few pictures of the craft as I walked around it slowly.

I froze completely when I heard a wounded groan.

Now, I’d assumed that whoever crashed whatever this… Thing.. Was… they’d gotten the hell out of dodge as soon as the crash was over.

,,Or they were dead on contact because the impact was really hard.’’ my brain finished. I glanced all around the clearing that the craft crashed in the middle of. Everything was silent. Almost deathly silent, as if something had come along and sucked up all the sounds and background noise. I shivered and hugged myself, swearing under my breath about not having the presence of mind to stop for a jacket or grab my first aid kit on my way over here...

A scream died on my lips when I felt a strong grip wrap around my ankle as soon as I stepped closer to the wrecked craft, bending down to peer inside, my phone out and ready to call for emergency services.

When I looked down, after I dove away as quickly as possible, of course, I swallowed hard and tried to find words.

“Help.”

As he said it, I got the distinct feeling that this was not a word he enjoyed saying, not at all.

I could only nod and when my brain finally felt it had enough time to process what was going on, it kicked into overdrive.

“Can you pull yourself out?” I finally managed to ask the question.

“Trapped.” the word came on the heels of words that were totally unfamiliar to me, yet somehow I knew instinctively that this guy had to be swearing up a storm and in immense pain.

I guess tonight’s one of the few reasons I’m glad I went into the medical field instead of becoming a horror novelist or a starving artist like I used to want to when I was a kid. Tonight my years of school and training and the experience I’d gotten thus far as an intern at the hospital in town was all going to come in handy.

Because the lack of military vehicles or police by now only meant one thing to me.

The military either didn’t know yet so this gave me a chance to finally do something about the way they were polluting the water supply and making people sick or… Nobody knew about this.

Laughing softly at the thought that I might’ve stumbled onto an alien crash landing, I bent lower, peering into the smashed window and I dug around in my jeans pocket until I found my dad’s old pocket knife.

“I’m gonna.. I’ll try to cut you out, okay?” I muttered. He grunted, a light pained scowl playing at gorgeous and full lips.

I leaned inside a little, swearing as I felt shards of glass.. Or whatever the material was on the windows, digging into my hand..As soon as I got a good look, I realized that he wasn’t trapped by a harness or belt of any kind.

He was trapped because when the craft he was inside made impact, the damn thing basically folded like a soda can. I winced. Drawing a few sharp and shaky breaths, the fog from their warmth lingering in the air as I tried to stop and think.

I should be calling EMTS. I should be leaving him here because everything I’ve ever learned about accidents of any kind clearly predicates that if someone is hurt and you don’t know how fucking bad, you don’t move them.

But here’s the problem with that knowledge and my current situation… If I didn’t do something, then either that military installation was going to get away with the shit they’ve been doing the past few years since they mysteriously popped up on the outskirts, show up to finish this guy off in the time it took me to get help on the way… And then they might just do me in also because I had evidence and proof that they were up to something shady out there... Or… They’d find him and take him back to the base and do God only knew what to him.

,, but he might be an alien…” my brain gave me the gentle reminder and the counter argument arose almost immediately, ,, he can’t be. He looks like I do. He looks human. I can’t just turn my back and leave the guy… If he is military and they do realize what’s happened, he’s as good as dead… And I cannot live with someone’s blood on my hands.”

And with that thought, I proceeded to try and figure out the safest way I could to go about breaking years of protocol that had been drilled into my brain.

I started with the obvious. I leaned in, my body brushing against him as I raised my hand, pressing my fingers to his neck, feeling for the jugular so I could attempt to see if his pulse was steady.

He groaned quietly and I explained in a hushed tone, trying to keep him calm, “I’m trying to take your pulse… to make sure it’s okay to move you if I can get you loose. Because we’re gonna have to get you out of here somehow.”

He merely nodded. I almost asked if he spoke the same language as me, but that was a later question. I was still operating under the assumption that I was working with a very small time frame, either way.

Because even if the military didn’t know what happened out here, they would soon.. Because this just felt like something they would be aware of or become aware of. And I wasn’t going to let them get their hands on the guy, especially when he was injured and far too weak to fight them off.

Or so I thought…

,, where the hell am I? What happened? Need to.. Get out of here. Get back to the others.”

I heard it so clearly that for a second or so, I thought he might’ve actually spoken. I answered quietly, “You’re in Montana. Apparently, you crashed whatever the hell this thing is. If you’ll be still and stay calm sir, I’m trying to get you out of here. We have to hurry. If those damn military guys realize what happened and come down, we’re both probably fucked.” and continued checking him over.

I dreaded what I was about to have to try and do, because if there was any internal injury, I was about to make it worse. The goal, I decided mentally, was to move him as carefully but as quickly as possible.

He gritted his teeth and gave another long and wounded grunt as he seemed to pick up on my rush and started trying to maneuver his legs free from the part holding them in place.

“Okay, whoa. Easy, sir. Stop moving, damn it!” I said frantically, eyes widening as they settled on the dark depths of his eyes.

He glared at me, speaking in a calm but firm tone. “I have to get out of here.”

“And if you’ll go about this carefully, like I said before, you might actually live through this. I don’t know if you’ve been injured internally or not. I won’t know how severe your injuries are until I’m back at my cabin. I’m hoping that since you’re vocal enough to be an entire stubborn ass right now, that you’re really not seriously injured.” I snapped back because he’d snapped at me just seconds before.

He eyed me, almost wary. Almost as if he weren’t entirely sure whether to trust me. But I stared him down, firmly as I could. He managed to get his legs free and clear of the way they’d been pinned somehow and if I hadn’t thought the guy might be strong as an ox when he grabbed my ankle before, I now knew that fact beyond a shadow of doubt.

Oh, he grunted and groaned and growled in pain the entire time, but he seemed to be entirely too stubborn for his own good, too hell bent on getting himself out.

Once he was slowly pulling himself through the busted glass and lying on the snow, I cleared my throat. He winced and gritted his teeth as he pulled himself to a sitting position in the snow. The form fitting black garment he wore on his upper body was shredded in a place or two from the way he’d pulled himself through the window of the wreckage.

“Do you think you can walk? Because we need to figure something out.” I asked the question as I worked on keeping calm. But I was in a bit of a panic see, because internal injuries are difficult to spot and often, they go unnoticed until the person injured either dies or suffers massive complications. And I knew that me, moving him as little as I had and then him freeing himself from the wreckage somehow and all that movement… It was tempting fate, in my own opinion, but I was that determined not to let all this be covered up or to have this man’s blood on my hands.

He looked as if he were going to attempt it and I stood, holding my hands out to him to at least try to help him. But after the second or third attempt, the fight or flight response within me kicked in and I was… Growing impatient to get him indoors and both of us hidden away somewhere safely.

“I’ve got an ATV up at the cabin. It’s literally just across the road at the top of the hill… I need you to stay here and stay hidden. Are we clear?” I didn’t mean to bark it at him like an order, I guess I just assumed at the time that if he were a soldier who worked that base, he was used to it.

He bit his lip and eyed me.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” that firm tone, I won’t even begin to go into the effect it had on me, but I was the one who wasn’t injured and didn’t possibly have the US Armed Forces about to pop up at any second, so I had to act as if nothing he did or said had any sort of effect on me at all.

And god was it ever hard!

“Which one of us crashed a fucking piece of government property and is injured, sir?” my hand dragged through damp hair and tugged a little as I tapped my boot against the crunchy snow covered forest floor.

“ The ship is mine.” he corrected. I eyed him with a brow raised.

“Whatever you say. Either way, arguing semantics with you is not getting either of us to my cabin.”

The searing pain that shot through my palm as I rubbed it against my jeans had me grimacing, but I tried to ignore it. He stared me down, head tilted slightly.

“Alright. I’m going now.” I turned on my heels and I bolted up the hillside, hurrying so fast across the slippery pavement separating me from my cabin that I nearly slipped a time or two and I finally got to the shed that I’d parked the ATV under after riding it along the creekbank earlier to look for fallen trees I could use as firewood.

The keys were still in the ignition. I jumped on and fired it up, biting back a pained whimper as I curled my hand around the handlebar and that only put more pressure on the wound that I didn’t even realize I’d gotten trying to help the man out.

I shoved out the pain and focused on getting back across the road as quickly as possible. And in the back of my mind, yes.. I did find it more than a little odd that nobody had come down. The neighbors a mile away from me have to have heard… Then I remembered that Herb and Isla were out of town, in Kentucky with their oldest daughter and her family for the holidays.

,, c’mon lady luck, don’t fail me now.” the thought came and went and I took a shortcut through the treeline that I knew would put me straight in front of the crash site. Now I just had to hope to God that the guy was okay and he hadn’t left the scene.

Right as the crashed ship came into view, I spotted him trying yet again to use the wreckage to pull himself to his feet and I rushed over.

“You’re a stubborn one.”

“Trying to..” he took a few heavy breaths and grumbled before continuing, “Get back home.”

“And you can do that.. The second you’re at least partially healed, sir. I’m gonna…” I trailed off, awkwardly positioning myself against his side so that he could use me as a crutch and lean on me to get to the ATV so I could take him back to my place, “Lean on me.”

But the guy was an actual fucking giant.

And normally, in a non life or death situation, I’d have been absolutely mesmerized by… Pretty much everything about him. But tonight, I was too focused. Too intent on getting both of us to safety.

,, daddy always told me curiosity killed the cat. Now look what I’m smack in the middle of.” I thought to myself, grunting a little as he leaned into me heavily, my arm around his lower back and his arm around my shoulders as he clumsily tried to make his way to the ATV.

Once I got on and he managed to get himself on behind me, I took off. “Might wanna cover your face.”

And a minute or so later, as I parked the ATV right at my porch steps to make it a little easier to get him inside, he eyed me warily again, this time questioning, “Why are you doing this? Don’t you know who I was?”

“What do you mean was?” I asked the question, all the worst possible scenarios flashing through my mind. And that adrenaline surge from earlier that I had yet to come down from? A little more panicked.

He muttered something and shrugged, putting a shoulder around me again as he grunted and managed to get himself standing.

The light overhead on my porch caught on his bloodied pants leg and I grimaced. “Well, pretty sure that’s a broken leg.”

I kicked open the front door with my foot and helped him into my living room, letting him sink down onto the couch. After I got him all settled in, I rushed around my pantry gathering up my medical supplies that I kept on hand.

And I wandered back into the living room, taking a seat on the handmade heavy wooden coffee table in front of my old plaid couch. “You’re gonna have to… Take off the shirt..”

He eyed me, this curious gleam in his eyes that quickly vanished when I firmly repeated myself.

His eyes caught on my palm and he eyed my own smaller wound, then fixed his eyes on me. “You’re dripping blood on the floor.”

“And I’ll worry about that as soon as I’m totally certain that aside from a possibly broken leg and a few cuts and bruises, you’re fine.” I insisted, a firm tone of my own as I started to tug the ripped fabric up and over his body. I grimaced at the older scars and bit my lip as I surveyed the bruises already starting to form against pale skin. “Are you in any pain at all when you breathe?”

Bear in mind here. I am still only just an intern. So I haven’t actually had to deal with a whole lot in the way of injuries. The most I’m currently allowed to do is make rounds and do consults, checking in on patients to let their actual physician know what they might need or how they might be feeling on that particular day.

So this was all trial by fire for me.

One glance at his well muscled body had me definitely continuing to think that he was one of the guys from the military base and I made a mental note to maybe NOT turn down Carrie if she offered to set me up with one of the guys her fiance knew in the future as I had been doing.

He cleared his throat.

“A little.”

“Most likely dealing with a bruised rib or two. I’ll wrap those for now.. I’ll call in a favor with Dr.Albertson in the morning...I don’t think he’ll tell anybody.”

The man nodded, agreeing.

I went back to cleaning and patching the wounds I could patch and then I turned my attention to his leg.

“I’m going to have to cut your pants leg…”

“Or I could take off my pants.”

I eyed him as soon as he said it because truth be told, not only did he have me flustered in saying it, but also, I couldn’t entirely tell if he were being helpful at last, or if he were being a flirt.

As if to prove he was serious, he rose up slightly, unfastening the black pants he wore, working them down his hips and I have literally NEVER… ever.. Turned away and tried to still catch a peek as I did in that moment.

“Christ. You could’ve given me a second to turn.”

“Why?” he tapped my shoulder as he asked the question and I turned around.

My breath caught in my throat and I quickly had to refocus myself. Because if I thought taking his shirt off was a bit of a distraction… Then him sitting there pantsless was.. A bit more.

I bit my lip and my eyes settled on the lower portion of his leg. The swelling was bad. The leg was definitely broken. I sighed and clucked my tongue, shaking my head.

“I’m gonna have to call in that favor with the old man now. Because this can’t wait to be looked at. And I need to be sure you’ve got no internal injuries.” I stood abruptly, nearly doing so fast enough that I almost landed on top of the guy.

He eyed me and I pulled back and away from him, raising to a full stand. Walking quickly into my kitchen and sliding the pocket door closed behind me.

“Hey, doc? I know it’s late, but if you get this, can you please swing by my grandma’s cabin on your way home tonight? I need your help. And I need someone who can be trusted to stay quiet on what you’re gonna see.”

I’d just walked back into the living room when my cell phone rang in my hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’d rather explain when you get here, doc.”

“I’m on my way now. Just grabbing my equipment.”

“Thank you, doc.”

“I always told you and I promised your grandma when you were knee high to a grasshopper. If you ever need me, kid, I’ll be there.”

I hung up and sank back down onto the coffee table, letting a deep breath escape my mouth. The adrenaline was starting to wear off finally and all I could do now was… Process everything. Try to figure out just how far up the proverbial creek I might’ve gotten myself.

The man shattered the silence in the room by clearing his throat and reaching out. I eyed him, a brow raised.

“What are you doing?”

“If you’re not going to do something about your hand, I’m going to.”

“It’s fine. It’s a little scrape.”

“There’s blood caked on it.”

Something in the look he gave me had me extending my hand. It almost felt as if I wasn’t in control of myself, though I didn’t realize this until much later…

His larger hand gripped mine carefully, holding it on bare legs.

“You still haven’t put any pants on, what the hell..”

“If you called that person and they’re going to come and examine me, doesn’t make sense to.” he didn’t look up as he answered, instead, focusing on swiping the cloth that I’d gotten as a spare in case I needed a clean one for his wounds. When the light overhead caused something in the wound to glisten, I tried to yank my hand free in a hurry, but that sensation was back in my mind and his grip on my wrist tightened to a point where I couldn’t move.

“Be still.”

That firm tone again, honestly, fuck him for it.

“Fine. But I feel like I should remind you, I am a medical professional. I could get this looked at when Doc arrives.”

“Well, I’m doing it now.” he stated calmly, as if I had no say in the matter. And when I opened my mouth to argue, to insist I could just wait the ten minutes it would take Doc to get to my cabin, nothing came out.

He gave me this smug look as he took my tweezers and worked them into the cut, making me bite my lip and take a few deep breaths.

When he finally got the shard free, I pulled my hand back, cradling it against me.

He eyed me, amused it seemed.

“I’ll clean it out and wrap it now, thanks.” I mumbled in a softer tone, giving him a small smile and thanking him.

Now, we just had to wait on Doc to arrive...

#12daysofchristmas #12 days of christmas #ben solo fanfiction #ben solo fanfic #ben solo imagine #ben solo imagines #trapped on earth au #my writing; ben solo #my fics; ben solo #my moodboards; ben solo

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escritorian · 4 years ago

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How to (not) be an Adventurer by Althea Dawnwind Chapter 2 - Role models

All right, so I figure if he’s going to hear all this the first time around, anyway, I may as well keep recording. Or...asking him to transcribe, I guess. We talked about it.

While I take no offence to your choice of pronouns, I feel I should remind you I have no gender.

Gotcha. Sorry.

No need to apologize.

Thanks. Still sorry. Wait, so is all this side commentary getting transcribed, too?

Yes.

Lovely. Perfect. All right, whatever. ��Let’s go.

So there are a bunch of new people at the house. Most of them are super cool, but one of them’s a total creeper.

Predictably, Julia’s hot into the creeper. (Ugh, her taste) But whatever. Her romantic graveyard. Let her dig it. Besides, I’m sure Galen would never let this guy actually hurt Julia. (If he could actually hurt Julia). It does make me wonder about why he lets this skeezeball travel with him, though. I mean, I guess he’s not always the most perceptive, but-

Whatever. I’m getting off topic.

Can journals be said to have an incorrect topic, properly?

Shush. Anyway, they were all just here, suddenly, talking about the pact and my plague and my future. I wanted to scream, but I was just so tired and scared. I think I’d have accepted anything that gave me hope at that point.

Okay. No. Wait. Not anything. They were saying in some alternate past (?), they thought I was about to make a pact with some god of entropy? And honestly, that just sounds bad all around. Like sure, okay, I was pretty sure mine wasn’t one of those cases of spell plague you live through, you know? But some things are just worse than death.

Honestly, I was- am really offended that they thought so little of me. Okay not “they,” really. I barely even know most of them, but Galen…I really though at least he’d have some respect for my integrity. I thought maybe he could see me as more than just the little sister who needs protecting and can’t be trusted to make her own decisions I only even made this pact because everyone seemed so sure it was my best shot. And I- I mean, I wanted to live. Guilty, okay? Who doesn’t?

I felt the same, Althea

Yeah. So… yeah.

It is not wrong to wish or fight for life.

Thanks, Sha- uh, do you have like, a nickname I can use or anything?

Shadhavar is the only name I have ever known.

Wow, that’s…kind of sad. For the record, you can call me Thea. It’s what everyone in the family calls me.

I thank you, Thea.

Ha. Ummm. I was about to say I was smiling, you know, to transcribe it? The idea? Feeling? But, what is it, really? Can you even smile here?

There is no physical form or structure here to demarcate itself into what you call a smile. The underlying ideas and feelings that cause the smile, however, can be recorded.

Oh. Cool. I mean, no really. Seriously. Cool. Anyway, what was I saying?

Is this question rhetorical?

Um, yes? I mean it was, but you can- you know.

Those who found me presented you the possibility of a pact.

Yeah, that’s pretty much it, and I said yes.

Do you regret having done so?

Pfff, no. I’m not going to pretend I understand the full implications of having formed a soul bond with an ancient, sentient sword-bridge-focus thing born from both the feywild and the shadowfell? But it’s for serious better than the alternative. I can say that with total confidence right now.

Anyway, most of Galen’s new friends seemed like they really cared for me despite having just met me. It was weird, but also kind of nice? Oh! And Galen’s girlfriend. (!) Apparently she left after everyone else but flew here the whole way to catch up!

Bad.

Ass.

And they all helped him defeat a death priest (or something) who was after me. I mean, okay. Julia helped. That…doesn’t count for nothing, I guess. I know mom and Nicon have trained her a lot and she’s freelanced a bit without telling mom. But now I have this whole group that seems like they’re sticking around for a bit? And maybe giving me some lessons?

This. Is going. To rule.

I also intend to provide you with instruction regardless of anyone else’s actions.

Really?!

Yes.

That’s…Ioun’s Wisdom, I don’t even know what to say! This is…am I going to cry? Fuck. No. I’m not going to start crying in here. Quick. Help me out.

Focus your mind on a task. You’ve mentioned these friends of your brother, but only just. Describe them.

Y-yeah. *sniff* Okay, yeah.

Breathe deeply and slowly.

Nono, I’m okay. It’s okay. Thanks. I’ve got this. Okay, strong feelings first. Let’s start with that creeper.

So, Creeper Creepzoidington is basically like a broody shadow who shoots everyone dirty looks, and I don’t say he’s a shadow because he’s drow. Like, that’d be rude and also really inaccurate. I say it cause this guy loves shadows. Like, he loooves them - practically lives in them. They’re his home and they keep him safe and warm. Nicon says he’s already stolen from them, and I think the only time I’ve heard him talk was to swear. So yeah, whatever his deal is, I am not training with him.

Then there’s this other drow, Phaedra. I mean, I only point out they’re drow because they’re supposed to be really rare. Surface elves are, too, but not as much? And I think I’ve only ever seen one of them. And now? Bam. 3 drow. More than I thought I’d ever met in my life, and everyone’s reaction has pretty much been, “Oh, hm! What a perfectly normal occurrence!” It's just a little bit surprising.

Anyway, Phaedra, she’s about as different from Slimeus Slimeballius as you can get. She’s really elegant and nice. She came by later that night to see how I was doing. I didn’t feel much like talking, so…um…I didn’t, but she was really calm and polite about it. I could tell she knew I wasn’t really fine, but she didn’t press it. She just…did her best to be reassuring then left me alone. I kind of didn’t want her to go, but I appreciate that she did.

And how she moves! I mean, okay, so that probably sounds weird, but you should see her! She’s like floating silk or flowing water. She doesn’t even seem human, sometimes. Well, I mean, she’s not human, but you know what I mean. She’s just ridiculously graceful, like she’s dancing in slow motion all the time, and my brain wants to learn the secret to it so much it can’t look away. So yeah, her I would totally train with.

Then there’s this younger drow, Tsabura. (Tsubara? Someone keeps messing up her name, and it’s really throwing me off.) I thought she might’ve been be their kid or something, but even without speaking the language, I picked up that was not the case real quick. She’s super cute but really quiet, and – I mean, I don’t know if the same standards culturally apply (nor am I sure whether or not it’s rude to consider that) - she has such nice skin. She seriously just glows. Her skin is literally, physically lustrous. But she’s just so angry. Like, all the time. Also? Really sad. I hope we can be friends. I guess that’s a bit random, but it’d be great to have someone to relate to on a different level while on the road (more on that later), and maybe having a friend will help her not be so sad and angry.

It's weird, though. Like, no one’s saying anything about her, but she doesn’t seem like she’s been taking lessons from anyone, and she was pretty much dressed in rags? Mom tried to give her some of my old clothes, but that didn’t go so well. Maybe that’s why she’s in rags. Or maybe it’s a religious thing? Either way, I should probably stop calling them rags. When I tried talking to her, she barely even looked at me. Honestly, I’m not sure I didn’t just imagine the brief glances she did give me, either. I just...I want to know why she’s deliberately making herself so distant. It’s like a mystery my brain needs to solve.

Moving on, there’s this really cheerful gnome named Tielka. She’s...interesting. She’s covered in armor and has a sword that drips frost but somehow seems super approachable? Paradoxically, that makes me kind of nervous to approach her. She also sounded really smart. So I guess she’s...what? A friendly warrior scholar? I don’t know. I mean, the image I’d always had of paladins is super stiff and serious, all thees and thous, but this? It’s a weird vibe. I mean, she looks like she’s 20, but she’s got this really motherly aura making me unsure if I want to befriend her or make sure she doesn’t catch me at mischief, so she’s got that, “inspiring the best behavior in others” thing down, I guess.

She’s also got a huge dog named Axle with the best leg. I mean, omigosh, okay. So his natural leg would’ve been the best leg, of course, but out of potential replacements? This thing is, literally, divine. Like, it’s full of clockwork, but it makes almost 0 noise, and it moves with him. It doesn’t just sit there. I really want to know how it works. I mean, I’m guessing the answer will be something like 50% divinity, 40% magic and 10% mechanics, but still.

And then there’s Max. I’m getting to her last, but she’s easily the biggest personality of the group. (As befits a bard.) She’s pretty much the polar opposite of Broody Broodfacerson. She’s super friendly. She’s always smiling the brightest smile. She has a siren’s voice and sings all the time. She has a whole troop of animals who follow her around, all of whom I’m pretty sure she actually talks to. (I think they’re all named Annie for some reason?) And she’s so pretty. Seriously, everything she does is extra charming. There’s just something about how she moves, how she talks. Just like, everything she does is so captivating. There must be some lesson on mannerisms in bard college that teaches you how to keep people’s eyes on you cause there are like hooks on her gestures that grab the brain and don’t let go. Basically, what I’m saying is she definitely made the right career choice. Honestly, I wish she were a little quieter, but, well, no one can have everything, you know?

sighs

“You know.” I have to stop that.

This is your fifth time using that phrase in this entry.

Fuuuck, really?!

Yes. Would you like me to alert you when you use it?

Nooo. I mean- auuugh, Vecna blind it! Yes. Yes, please do.

Very well.

Thanks. Anyway, moving on...actually, I think that’s about it.

Oh! And Galen. But you know about Galen. Well, I know about Galen, but will you, hypothetical/theoretical mystery future person, know about Galen? I guess I should talk about Galen. I mean, honestly, though, it feels like it’s enough to say he’s the best oldest brother anyone could want. Aforementioned rudeness aside, that is. He’s just, I mean, he’s always giving me his time and teaching me the most interesting things, and he’s smart enough The Academy was too slow for him. So he just, you know, decided to go adventuring and-

That’s six times.

What?

That you’ve used the phrase, “you know.”

Ugggghhhh. All right, you know what? My brain’s clearly tired. He’s great, and I might end up going adventuring with him, which would be the best. The end.

…

Sooo, how do I stop...

You can do so in the same manner as you did last time.

Yeah, I’m not really sure what I did last time.

You need simply to “feel” your intent to stop.

Okay, so kind of like-

#That Which Once had Never Been #Althea brain journals #althea dawnwind #julia dawnwind #galen dawnwind #antiope dawnwind #the dawnwinds

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inugirl · 4 years ago

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Tagging : @cammysansstuff, @meggz0rz, @cstormsinukagblog, @itzatakahashi, @mcornilliac, @lady-dark-69, @fantastiqueparfait, @nartista

Mistaken Identity

Chapter 2

Fanfiction: Inuyasha

Rating : M (language, violence, drugs)

Kagome gets mistaken by the mysterious half-demon, Inuyasha, as the woman he was supposed to chauffeur to the big boss’s restaurant to discuss certain business. The stubborn dog ends up making matters only worse for himself, and Kagome.

~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~

Inuyasha begrudgingly made his way to The Burned Bandit. An oddly named high end restaurant that was only made as a cover by the head man in charge. Just thinking about him made Inuyasha’s stomach upset. He screwed up and now he was going to deal with the consequences. What would have taken the average person forty minutes to an hour by transit, took only him about fifteen minutes to travel from the self-proclaimed college student’s suffocatingly small apartment. Careful not to make himself obvious, Inuyasha ceased his inhuman speed and opted to walk the remaining few blocks to the restaurant. It was imperative that he went there to see his higher ups and although he would admit this to no one, Inuyasha was scared.

Finally, he stood just outside of the restaurant most would never be able to afford to eat at. He took a deep breath and nodded to the doorman to let him in. He was greeted instantly by a multitasking hostess eager to end her shift. Her eyes darted across her computer monitor while her face edged towards him.

“I’m sorry sir, the kitchen is closed now. If you’d like a drink the bar is-oh! I am sorry Mr. Takahashi!” Her eyes finally landed on the man before her. He was still dressed in his black slacks and white button-up shirt, but this time, he had his disguise on. His normal long white hair was now black, the dog ears that adorned the top of his head were now unseen and his iris that looked to have been dipped in honey were now a deep gray. To anyone he looked like a human, an attractive and mysterious human.

“Don’t worry about it, just take me to whatever room he’s in this time.”

“Y-yes! Of course! Follow me!”

Inuyasha trailed the hostess around the upscale double story restaurant to where the private eating rooms were. His posture held confidence but inwardly he was a mess. He fucked up. Such a simple task and he fucked it up. Inuyasha could feel his heart beating from his chest and a lump form in his throat.

The hostess stopped next to the fusuma and bowed slightly.

“He’s in here.”

Inuyasha gave no thanks to the hostess, his concentration was solely to the man on the other side of the fusuma. He was nervous, and the man was known to smell fear. Inuyasha knocked softly on the frame, a sign of his own apprehensiveness.

“Come in.”

A single command by the man who Inuyasha feared the most. It was a simple command yet petrifying to the ear. Inuyasha opened the fusuma only enough to let himself in and closed it behind him. He waited in place and didn’t dare look around the room. Inuyasha could smell who was present. His inhuman qualities were only hidden to the eye.

“So glad of you to join us.” Inuyasha unknowingly held his breath and kept his vision down. ‘Fuck I’m pathetic right now. Some of the higher-ups are here too. I feel like a fucking pup showing off my belly.’

“Well look what we have here, it’s the Mutt!” It was Koga. A vicious man with the qualities and pride of a wolf leader itself.

A soft echo of chuckles spread throughout the room. It was easy to make fun of Inuyasha. He wasn’t one of them to be exact. He could never be one of them. He should have been killed years ago or exiled as an outcast. He was an infection in a perfectly hidden world amongst the humans, he was-

“You are alone.” The man's words silenced the room to an immediate hush. No one dared to even breathe too hard; how would Inuyasha respond?

He didn’t dare to.

The room stayed silent and quickly became awkward. Normally by now Inuyasha would be on the floor bleeding and trying to catch his breath. But he wasn’t. That only put more fear into him. It was worse than any punishment he has ever received thus far. It was unknown to him, and it was becoming unbearable. Inuyasha gulped. He swore it was loud enough to be heard even by an average human if they were sitting in the room. Ever so slowly he looked up at the man he feared the most. His hidden amber eyes met the man’s deep black eyes.

Naraku.

“I am not surprised however. It was called off.”

Inuyasha’s posture didn’t lax, but his eyes grew wide with shock. The direct eye contact with Naraku didn’t pass as he continued to speak.

“I assume you were not aware of the update. You were to be told hours ago, Koga here was supposed to give word out to you.” Inuyasha finally broke eye contact to look at Koga who sat to Naraku’s right. All eyes went from the lily-livered man to the new man in question.

“Wha-I, I had that taken care of!” Koga’s icy blue eyes darted between Inuyasha and Naraku, his own fear and embarrassment rising.

“Inuyasha, lend me your phone.” Inuyasha reached into his pocket to pull out his smartphone. It was at that time he wondered why he just didn’t call one of the higher-ups to ask what was going on with the meeting. ‘I was probably too caught up in the moment with that girl to think straight.’

Naraku took the extended phone and unlocked it. He tapped away at it and Koga tried his best to not peer over the man’s shoulder. He glared at Inuyasha, a silent snarl on his face. If Naraku wasn’t going to punish him, Koga was sure to.

“As I thought. I don’t see any incoming calls or messages from you Koga, or any of your members. Do you not take my instructions to heart?”

“Ah-no! Of course I do! Naraku, I swear I-“ Before Koga could spew whatever reasons he had for his mess up he felt a powerful force on the side of his jaw. He groaned and fell against the people sitting beside him. Koga could feel his cheek already starting to pulsate and swell. He could taste the bitterness of his blood and he was sure he had bit his tongue.

“I do not care for excuses, Koga.” Naraku now stood tall, wiping what little blood was on his knuckles with a handkerchief and tossed it to the person beside him. No one dared to move as he crouched down to grab the top of Koga’s hair. He pulled up roughly at Koga’s hair to bring his face towards him.

“I hope you can take my words more seriously now Koga.” Naraku’s words were always bitter and to the point. His eyes black eyes were easy to get lost in. The kind of lost where you feared the black curtain of emptiness surrounds you. Unable to see your hands you question if your eyes are even open. Although his human disguised eyes were petrifying, Inuyasha preferred those eyes to his natural demonic red-colored eyes because at least in his black eyes, he couldn’t see his own terrified reflection.

Naraku towered over Koga who continued to lay the henchmen he fell against, all who were avoiding his gaze and from assisting Koga in any way. A soft vibration and a playful chime caught his attention. He was still holding onto Inuyasha’s phone. He naturally checked it and noticed a notification from a mobile puzzle game. Naraku arched a thin eyebrow and handed back to Inuyasha his phone. Flabbergasted, Inuyasha took his phone back and looked at his notification.

‘Today is such a weird fucking day. Everything he’s doing is freaking me out.’

Inuyasha placed his phone back into his back pocket. He wanted to leave immediately. Inuyasha knew it was only a matter of time before Koga would attack him and he’d rather save that for another night. Right now, Inuyasha has never let a day just exhaust him the way this one has. However, he couldn’t leave on his own accord. When Naraku was in the room, it was only him who could demand the entry and exit of someone.

“Well Inuyasha, it appears you are no longer needed for the remainder of the night. If Koga here has learned his lesson, he will be giving you my orders on what to do next.” Naraku sat back down in his initial spot. Inuyasha eyed Koga who fought against the help of his posse beside him. With fresh blood still dripping out of his nostril and lips, he held the side of his swelling face and glared ruthlessly at Inuyasha.

Inuyasha closed his eyes and took a quick deep breath. He bowed to Naraku and bid him farewell; he couldn’t wait to leave the room. He turned on his heel to open the fusuma and inwardly winced at his own causal mistake of showing his back, but before he could lay his hand on the frame Naraku spoke.

“Inuyasha.” He froze in place. Naraku has only called him by name a handful of times. The only time his name was ever spoken in praise from Naraku was when he got promoted to his current status within the gang. Hearing his name fall from Naraku’s lips made him feel nauseated.

“You smell of a woman.”

For a split second, he thought he might have actually hurled.

‘I thought I got rid of her scent on me! I basically rolled around in fucking dirt, trying to get her smell off of my clothes!’

Inuyasha turned around with a poker face hiding his internal screaming. Naraku arched a brow and chuckled softly. “You sly dog. Instead of reporting that the woman didn’t show up, you used the spare time you had to go see a girl.” The smile that corrupted Naraku’s seemingly handsome face made Inuyasha’s skin crawl.

Naraku wasn’t one for smiles. In all the years Inuyasha has known the man, he has never once genuinely seen the man smile. However, the smile the wicked man had on his face was something to be feared. Naraku’s nefarious smile is ingrained into Inuyasha’s memories from all the beatings he’s received from the demon. This one, however, baffled him. It was a smile he has never seen before. Could it even be considered a smile? How could a man with such a small mouth, grin so widely? Naraku’s smile would make anyone wish they'd never seen it. It was horrendous. If the pure vile presence of the man couldn’t make one nervous, Naraku’s almost ear-to-ear smile would certainly make anyone shit themselves. But this smile wasn’t right. Inuyasha kept his gaze to Naraku’s face, hoping he wasn’t looking as creeped out as he felt. The ominous feeling of horripilation on his arms and legs; he desperately wanted a shower more than ever. The depraved smile that somehow fit so perfectly on his face wasn’t meant for Inuyasha. No, it was meant for the woman he smelled of. The woman he scared shitless and made faint.

‘It’s okay. She’s fine. He doesn’t know her. Even if he smells her, it's faint. Not even a wolf would be able to find her from this faint scent. She doesn’t have to get mixed with all this.’

“It’s faint, but she smells fantastic. Why, I could just eat her up.”

“I wasn’t with anyone sir. A, uh, a drunk woman bumped into me on my way here.”

Naraku narrowed his eyes to slits. He kept his gaze on Inuyasha’s face searching for any holes in his unbeknownst lie. “Well,” His eyes closed completely to add to his eerie smile. “It’s a surprise she smells so nice. Inviting even. You may go now.”

Inuyasha quickly bowed and avoided the gaze of everyone else in the room. Without turning, he reached behind him for the sliding door, slid it open and walked backward to step out. It was out of pure experience that he learned to keep his back away from the higher-ups. Inuyasha calmly made his way out of the closing restaurant and stood out front to hail a taxi. One soon pulled up and drove away following the directions Inuyasha gave.

Around thirty-five minutes later they arrived in front of a house. Inuyasha got out, paid the driver and watched him drive away. He stood in the warm night outside of his Naraku approved household. A place Inuyasha would never consider his home, but he lived there nonetheless. It took years before Inuyasha was able to earn the trust he had within Naraku’s power. He used to live in an apartment with other low-level demon lackeys. Most of the jobs they had were to be debt collectors. Inuyasha and the other demons would have to find and collect payment from anyone who was late on paying back the red-eyed demon in charge. By any means necessary. Inuyasha has been in more fights than he could remember trying to get people to pay him. He’s been stabbed, shot, seduced, and even almost hit by a train after chasing a runaway client. It had been Inuyasha’s job for years collecting owed debt for Naraku. It wasn’t until a few months back that he actually moved up a tier and became useful to Naraku for more private affairs. He didn’t know why he moved up the food chain and he didn’t dare to question it. With his new unknown title Inuyasha was given his own place of residence.

Thankfully, Inuyasha lived alone, but he had controlled privacy. He knew he was being watched inside his home. Hidden cameras were set up in every room of his home. Inuyasha assumed it was in case of treason or if the police were to question him on any matters. He hated being home. The time wasn’t what Inuyasha would consider late. He had too much energy to just go to bed early too. Still, he unlocked his door and stepped inside, taking off his shoes at the entrance.

His house wasn’t at all grand or massive. It was simple, boring if one were to describe it. Aside from a gaming system, Inuyasha’s flat was accommodated with the very basics of modern living. He went straight to his refrigerator and looked inside for a while searching for nothing in particular.

‘Gotta make it look like I have a reason to go out. I have a feeling Naraku is going to keep closer eyes on me for a while.’

Inuyasha closed the door and released a loudly obnoxious sigh. “Fuck, there is nothing to eat, and I don’t want to cook.” He opened his pantry cabinet and did the same search for nothing. He needed to look convincing, just in case.

He groaned in annoyance and went back to the front door and placed his shoes back on. Inuyasha needed to talk to someone, and there was only one person he knew he could speak freely to about his troubles. He closed and locked his door and made his way to a local convenience store he always went to. There he would not only be able to eat some ready-made food, but he could tell the attendant how he royally fucked up.

Inuyasha rolled his eyes at the thought of the attendant. ‘He’s going to love what I’ve got to say.’ He dug his hands deep into his pockets to pout about his mistakes. It was then that he felt something odd, something that shouldn’t be there.

‘Wait, I put my keys in the other pocket. What the hell is thi-fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Realization struck him. They were keys. Her keys! They were so tiny and simple, she didn’t even have a keychain charm on them.

‘Shippo is really going to get a kick out of this.’

#took me forever and a half #but i did it!#chapter 2 is up and 3 has already been started #mistaken identity #inuyasha #kagome #inukag #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #inufanfic #update #miroku #sango #shippo #kikyo #naraku #koga

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Wasting the Time We've Got (Methydoll) - Thorpe

A/N: Two fics in the span of one week? Who even am I anymore? Last time I gave you a vague angst. Now, this is an Angst with a capital A. I love Nicky and I love Crystal, so I made them suffer. I have no excuse for myself. Thank you to Mac and Freyja for being wonderful and amazing and agreeing to beta this story. I’m also sorry to everyone affected by the tea discourse. I’d love to find out what you’re thinking on @freykitten. Enjoy! xx

…

One Euro is 1.12 of an American Dollar, so Nicky greets the airport with a flair of superiority in her step, and people do fawn over her accent, but no one really cares. The States aren’t as great as television made it seem, but they are something new and entirely different, and it’s just two semesters abroad, so she lets herself be lured in. Gets excited.

She’s imagined she’d be partying in sororities, drinking from red plastic cups and playing beer pong, or spending 12 hours in a car on a cross-country road trip to see the biggest rocking chair in the world.

She isn’t.

Her whole life consists of choosing literature classes and trying to figure out the difference between a freshman and a junior. And there’s also her roommate.

Crystal is sweet in a way that tells Nicky her parents are good people above anything else, and she seems to have a bigger problem wording her thoughts in English than Nicky has. She leaves long pauses and communicates in high pitched noises, and Nicky adores her for that. For that and many other things. There are so many reasons to adore Crystal that sometimes it feels like a default setting.

It’s month two and they’re sitting on Crystal’s bed on a Thursday evening. They have fairy lights on (Crystal’s doing) and a couple of candles lit (courtesy of Nicky), and it’s pouring rain on the outside (aided by no one in particular, as far as they know, but they make use of it by having a cozy night in).

Nicky doesn’t catch the name. She’s pretty sure it’s because Crystal never said it, but, to be fair, she doesn’t catch many things. It’s hard to focus on what Crystal is saying when she can look at her instead. She’ll write it off as a language barrier later, but it’s not. It's… keen interest. That’s what it is. And Nicky totally isn’t thinking that it also could be translated as an infatuation, especially not when Crystal is telling her about the girl she likes.

She’s asking for advice on flirting with someone else, so Nicky’s luck really isn’t the best. The subject annoys her and she offers the simplest, most cliché things she knows from movies in hopes of ending the conversation. It doesn’t work. So she tells Crystal she’s not an expert, that she doesn’t know a thing about “American dating”. And that, it doesn’t make it better. It makes it worse. Because Crystal starts giggling and decides they have to catch up on everything. She takes her to the movies, she takes her bowling, she fails to teach Nicky to rollerskate, and later they share a strawberry shake in a diner. It’s too pink and doesn’t taste of strawberries, but Crystal’s eyes are sparkling and she blushes when she asks if Nicky is having fun. It’s nice. She is having fun. Too much fun. Too much fun to be having with a girl whose eyes reflect a whole galaxy of stars when Nicky asks her about the progress with her crush. She never tells her anything concrete, and Nicky is thankful for that, but Crystal looks down and plays with her fingers in a way that tells Nicky everything. It’s going well.

Then, it gets even worse. Crystal comes to her for another piece of advice. She’s so genuinely concerned, that Nicky forces down her jealousy and smiles. “Why don’t you do something she likes?”

It gets worse, because Crystal is so sweet and she’s so interested in Nicky’s life. Asks about her hobbies and life in Marseille, goes to jazz concerts with her, memorises the names of her friends and her favourite Dunkin’ Donut. She starts learning French from an app. Nicky jokes that when she comes to visit her in France, she won’t let her go. Will keep her there forever. It’s a joke, and Nicky is the only one who has any business knowing it’s not a joke at all. Crystal gets excited, too excited to speak, so she keeps nodding her head, making her curls and plastic beads on her necklace bounce. And Nicky knows Crystal is in on the joke, that she wouldn’t want to actually fly to another continent and stay with her forever, but she blushes like she would, and it hurts.

She’s been there for a whole semester already. Someone brings it up when they’re out with their friends and none of them can believe it. Crystal throws herself over Nicky, wrapping her arms around her, and asks Nicky not to ever leave in a shy whisper. Nicky just holds her tighter. If only Crystal knew. But she doesn’t and she can’t and she won’t. Nicky plays it off as a joke, like it wasn’t twisting the knife already stuck in her heart, but lets herself tangle her fingers in Crystal’s hair and stroke the back of her head. It could be enough, she tells herself.

Later, when they’re walking to their dorm, they’re holding hands, laughing. They’ve had a bit too much to drink, just enough not to care about zipping their jackets and to swear they can see twice as many stars as there actually are. They stop for a moment to count them, but they’re suddenly spinning, so Nicky holds Crystal and spins her too. They’re slowly swaying to the sound of the wind rustling the leaves. And then Nicky turns away from a would-be kiss. She shakes her head, puts a lot of effort into not crying. It’s not her. There’s someone else, who is not her, and Crystal would regret it when the alcohol wears off and the probability of Nicky’s chances significantly drops in percentage points. They keep dancing in silence and Nicky manages to make Crystal laugh again. Before they carry on walking, she presses a light kiss to Crystal’s temple. It’s not enough, and she doesn’t have it in her to lie to herself anymore.

“I think you need to get your shit together.”

Crystal’s been dancing around her crush for almost a whole year now, gushing about her, but not making any definite moves. Nicky probably wouldn’t survive seeing her with someone else, but she cares for Crystal’s happiness far more than for her own comfort, so she pushes her.

“Was it out of line?” Nicky soothes, making up for her harsh words by putting two glasses of iced tea on the table in front of them. It’s a calculated move. Crystal’s been the one to introduce Nicky to the atrocity that instant tea is, and it always makes her happy when Nicky likes the things she shows her.

“No, but it doesn’t mean I wanted to hear it.” Nicky chuckles at that. Crystal doesn’t join her, but it doesn’t make her worry.

“Are you angry?” She still asks. Crystal doesn’t respond, just worries her lip between her teeth and does this thing with her fingers she always does when she’s nervous. Nicky scoots closer. “You can’t.”

“I can’t be angry?” Crystal finally looks at her and she doesn’t seem mad - Nicky isn’t sure she’d be capable of that, in all honesty.

“No. Not with me,” she simply says and rests her chin on Crystal’s shoulder. “It would kill me.” Crystal lets out a frustrated huff, and Nicky smirks. She knows it’s not fair, using that on sweet, kind Crystal, but she’s never had one bad intention towards the other girl, so she feels pardoned. And who knows? Maybe it’s the truth. Maybe it would kill her. “I’m sorry, my love.”

“No, you’re right. I’m going to talk to her.” Crystal turns to look at her and her eyes are clear like the sky, but stern. She says it like she’s promising something to Nicky, and her heart drops at that.

So, it’s happening.

She’s here. They’re at a party and the girl Crystal might be in love with is here. Nicky chose her best dress, spent an hour and a half on her makeup, and teased and coiffed her hair until her blonde curls were like white gold and looked purposefully, adorably disheveled, which usually made people beg to take her home with them. Crystal can’t stop looking at her and she lets herself hope that maybe it’s working, that maybe Crystal will choose her over this strange girl that could never love Crystal as much as Nicky does.

But then they get surrounded by a crowd of people and Nicky can’t stop herself from scanning every girl talking to Crystal, wondering if it’s her. She looks at Crystal, searching for an exceptionally wide smile or a blush or a spark in her eyes. Crystal is covered in glitter, and Nicky swapped her highlighter for gunpowder, ashy and ready to go off. She winces when Crystal briefly lets go of her hand to hug a friend, and she feels her heart speed up at the thought that as soon as they run into her, Crystal will let go for good. She can’t be there, she can’t risk seeing it. So she lets go first and heads to the bar.

She doesn’t see Crystal for the rest of the night. It comes with an effort, because Nicky is always looking at Crystal, naturally gravitating to her. But she’s scared of what she’d see if she turned around, so she stays rooted to her place on a barstool, looking for a distraction. When she finally gets up, she finds Crystal alone in a booth and presses a fleeting kiss to her cheek. It tastes sickeningly sweet from grenadine in the drink the woman standing behind her bought her - or maybe just from the idea of leaving with someone else. But she can’t be here. So she places a kiss on Crystal’s cheek and wishes her luck, before walking out with her date and not looking back.

The next day she doesn’t need to ask how it went. Her heart breaks at how crushed Crystal looks when she comes back in the morning. Nicky curses herself for leaving her alone.

“Yeah,” Crystal chokes on a sob, “why couldn’t you just stay?”

She wants to burrow Crystal in her arms, hold her until the pain transfers onto her and Crystal smiles again, but she seems to reject all forms of comfort. She avoids hugs. She shuts off Nicky’s soothing. She shuts her off completely. And it hurts. Nicky’s aching to hold her and stroke her hair and tell her it’ll be better - she needs that for herself too. But since Crystal needs something else, she forces herself to go back to normal. To regular conversations and casual jokes. Pretends nothing’s happened and that Crystal didn’t get her heart broken, breaking Nicky’s in the process. They don’t mention it again.

They don’t mention a lot of things. They get distant, and Nicky swallows the lump in her throat. Crystal asks for space and there’s nothing more important to her than Crystal, so she gives her space and time and silence. The first time it feels like the old times again is the night before Nicky’s flight home. Crystal climbs into Nicky’s bed and clings to her and they cry as the sky goes from navy blue to indigo to lavender.

She texts Crystal when she lands and then calls her when she gets home.

“It was you, you know? That whole time. It was you.”

“Crystal, I-”

“Yeah.”

“It was you, too.”

“Oh.”

For a while, neither of them says anything, and Nicky’s whole world falls apart with a single “oh”. She feels desperation claw at her throat because she’s 4,899 kilometres away and this is not happening. Except it is, because they’re 4,899 kilometres and 3,043 miles away from each other, and there’s nothing they can do about it now. She swallows once. Twice. Nothing changes. It’s still too late.

“Goodbye, Nicky.” Crystal ends the call, and Nicky stands there long after, her phone pressed to her ear, hoping to hear something else, to hear something that would make it all alright, because it can’t end like this, they can’t end like this, they-

The phone stays silent.

#rpdr fanfiction #nicky doll #crystal methyd #crystal x nicky #angst #a lot of pining and no happy ending #thorpe #concrit welcome #submission #s12 #lesbian au

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