#anyway i’ll get off my soap box now

[thetreethatspeaks]

tattoos are just a museum of all the different phases of you throughout your life

[wizardofpalmsprings]

Mind you this is the same woman who told me that “war will always happen” in defense of working for the military/government. I understand that ✨we live in a society✨ but you can make the choice to do something else

She also once said to me something to the tune of “We’ll how would you like if ‘they’ (nebulous global south) did (what we do to the global south) to us?” “They wouldn’t.” “You don’t know that!”

Sometimes I remember the one time I was talking to my mom and she said “I just don’t understand how you like kpop with all that goes on in that industry”

Ma’am

I love you

You work for a military contractor

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

For a request:

Maybe a rescue fic with ghost, price, or soap? One where they rescue their non military fem s/o? I know you’ve written some already and they are so good but I EAT THEM UP EVERY TIME and love that trope so much!!!!!!

Hurt/comfort is my drug I swear

I know that’s pretty vague so maybe I’ll think of more eventually but that’s what I’ve got for now.

I love your writing!

- 🧚🏻‍♀️🧚🏻‍♀️

None Lacking Sins

Pairing: Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

Synopsis: It started with the incident at the grocery store and then built to the hidden gun in the nightstand and a quick, frantic, call to your boyfriend.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: Implied stalking, violence & blood, angst, protective Soap, suggestive language and conversations, implications of wanting a kid, vulgar language, fluffy banter, hurt/comfort, canon typical actions, edited in the middle of the night

A/N: I've been in a Soap mood lately, tbh. I think I'm going to flip-flop uploads for my Gaz series and Requests too...anyways. Enjoy, anon! You can never go wrong with a rescue fic!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*  

You called him for the first time when you were at the store, picking out dinner and asking what he wanted for a welcome home meal.

“Well,” his sly voice made you roll your eyes, but a smile still blossomed over your lips. “If you want me to be rash, Bonnie, I’d say that I wouldn't mind a good bite out of your–”

“Johnny, you finish that sentence, you’re not going to get anything besides butter on toast. Give me a recipe before it gets dark out.” Veiled glee was obvious from your tone, and the heat on your face could all but be heard over the line. Two months apart had made you both eager to be in each other's presence. 

Picking up a box of pasta, you flip it over and check the price, sticking to your budget and tilting the phone parallel to your chin. A deep chuckle meets your ears, and your chest feels light as it pierces your lungs. 

Your boyfriend was off in Australia this deployment—he’d been complaining about the heat nonstop on those few and far between video calls the two of you shared. While it was a step-up to know where exactly Johnny was this go around, the prospect of his job still made you incredibly nervous. There was never a time you could remember when he came home without a new cut or scar; bruises were all but guaranteed. 

Sucking down a soothing breath, you place the pasta into your cart and fix the phone’s position. The Scot was coming home in a day or so, you wanted to make him feel at home again. Destress.

You’ll see him before you know it. There’s no need to worry.

“Bit snappy, then, eh? Oh, alright.” The man huffs good-heartedly, and you hear the springs of those thin barracks-bed mattresses as his large frame shifts. Johnny lets off a soft sigh before continuing. You listen intently, leaning onto the handlebar ahead of you. “What about a nice plate ‘O that one you always make—hell—the…the one with the Pollock and cabbage.”

You blink through a laugh, shaking your head and pushing yourself off to go find the needed ingredients. The dish wasn’t easy to make, in fact, it took a helluva lot of time, but you didn’t mind in the slightest when it came to cooking for Johnny. He deserved it. 

“Hey, now,” He teases, smirking to himself, “What’s so funny over there, Dearie? You makin’ fun of me?”

“I would never dream of it, oh great and wondrous, Mr. MacTavish!” You huff, fake serious, as you place a box of cookies into the cart and pass a few strangers who raise an eyebrow at your conversation. A man passes by with a blue cap on, and you swerve the cart to move around him while tossing back a frown. You soon continue on like nothing happened, pulling back the sense of security from the man over the line. “Do you want mashed potatoes with that as well? Wine?”

Johnny groans, “Hey, you’re the one that asked me!” 

Divulging into giggles, you make your way around the store and stock up, holding a light conversation about how he and the rest of the boys were doing. 

“Ghost told me to let you know he appreciated the book you lent him, said he’d get it back to ya as soon as he’s able.” The Scot comments, and a hum makes its way from you as you head to the self-checkout. 

“Well, that’s good. I said he would like it – the bastard’s so tight-lipped about what he enjoys it was hard to nail-down a genre.” A chortle sounds off when you gather the chilled pollock and scan it; the phone was held against your shoulder to your ear. “High Fantasy for the win, I guess.” 

“I should get the man to read ‘The Way of Kings’ next time—form a little book club, y’know? Get all the boys in on it like some old ladies.” It was adorable how cute Johnny sounded, like a kid on Christmas. “Stemin’ Jesus, could you picture that, Bonnie?”

“I’d pay to see you pitch that, Dear.” A cheeky tone leaks through. “Price would laugh straight into your face.” 

“Please, the old man doesn’t know how to laugh….He’d just puff cigar smoke in my face and tell me to fuck off.” 

“As I said—I’d pay to see it.” Your boyfriend grumbles under his breath as you place the paper bags into your cart, the contents heavy, and grab your receipt with quick fingers. “Gaz would definitely be in for it, though.”

“I don’t doubt that. Anything beats playing cards for weeks straight, aye?” Your hand can finally grip the phone once more, and you sigh contently as the strained position of your neck finally rights itself. 

You’re about to answer but slow your pace with a scrunched look of confusion as you exit. 

Passing through the front doors, you suddenly get a strange sensation in the back of your mind to turn around. The hairs along your arms stand up as a breeze passes the steadily chilling dark sky, but the way the shiver ran down your spine wasn’t due to cold. Lips thinning, you spare a glance over your shoulder and look along the brightly lit grocery store as its windows leave cascading rays of light over the sun-bleached concrete. The black asphalt of the parking lot is hard under your feet.

There are a handful of other patrons at the checkouts—mothers with children and others buying quick meals for dinner—but none are out of the ordinary. 

You huff and roll your shoulders.

Maybe the day’s just getting to me.

“Bonnie,” Johnny’s slightly concerned voice brings you blinking back, turning your head back to the sparsely lit parking lot and realizing you had stopped walking completely. Your hand was sweaty like you’d just run somewhere. Fixing your hold on the device, your boyfriend continues, “...Everything alright? You’ve gone all quiet over there.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you laugh dismissively, trudging forward to your car, “I just got the weirdest feeling right outside the grocery store.” 

The cart makes a loud rumbling sound as it goes over loose rocks and the bumpy texture of the asphalt, the metal rattling loudly so you have to strain your ears to hear Johnny’s next words. 

“What kind of feeling?” His drowned-out voice was so serious that it shocked you—you’d only ever heard him use a tone like this when he had briefly talked about nightmares that had woken him up in your shared bed. 

The Scot’s words were monotone, slow, and even if the sound of the cart’s wheels was raging all around you and making your skull rattle, you’d still swear you would identify that tone over a hurricane. It made your gut churn. 

“Really, it’s probably nothing,” you play off with a tense shrug he can’t see, coming to a stop at your car and reaching into your pocket for your keys. “I just got a chill.” 

Your eyes look around before you open the trunk, biting into your lip at the long shadows that the tall street lamps give off. Licking over your teeth, you bink dismissively and shake your head, unlocking the vehicle and huffing as you begin loading in your purchases. 

“Anyways,” you try to ignore the hard build of your spine or the way your eyes travel back to the brightly lit store. There wasn’t anyone out here but you and the dead forms of cars, trees off in the distance, and far-off lights of other buildings. You swallow and clear your throat. “I was thinking about getting us a dog.” 

“You’re not gettin’ out of this that—wait, did you say dog?” Across the world in a shitty bed, Johnny’s once concerned eyes widen, jaw going slack. “No way in Christ’s Hell, Dearie.”

“Oh, come on!” You groan, placing the second to last bag into the car and tuning your back to the street, throwing out your hand. “It doesn’t have to be a big dog—just one I can go on walks with and keep me company. I know you have a bad past with them, Love, but I just want someone to help not make the house so empty when you’re gone.” 

Your voice slides off near the end of the sentence, and you try not to sound so sullen. Johnny frowns as he stares into the far wall of the barracks over the heads of sleeping men, itching at the back of his neck. It was no secret that the Scot wasn’t particularly fond of canines—his encounters with them were almost never pleasant unless he knew the handler. 

But…

“I’ll think it over, eh, Bonnie?” He relents, sighing, and he thinks he hears snickers from a dark form in the distant corner. The Sergeant glares over at it and continues with a pang of internal guilt about how lonely you must feel most of the time. “Promise…but you’re more likely to get a cat dressed in a suit than a mangy mutt anytime soon.” 

You laugh at the attempt of a lighthearted joke, closing the trunk with a roll of your eyes. A breeze goes by and your arms erupt into shivers, clothes not enough to keep out the chill. 

“I’ll take it.” 

“Hm, you know,” Johnny smirks, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes and grunting out huskily, “there’s another way to make sure the house won’t be all quiet when I’m gone.”

“Keep it in your pants, MacTavish. You’re not even here yet.” Smiling through the heat of your cheeks, the skin of your cheeks glows; your body rolls with heat. “Save it for tomorrow.”

“What, am I gettin’ you all worked up over there?” He hums, and you grab your cart, pushing it into one of the specific areas where someone would grab it in the morning. “‘Cause I have no problem with waitin’, Dearie, all the more perfect when I get to be with ya.’”

“You wish, handsome.” Walking back to the slight rumbling of your car, you speak through tilted lips and completely miss the form walking up beside you. “I think that—”

“Excuse me?” 

Yelping, you nearly drop your phone to the floor as it slips out of your startled grip; heart jerking at the sudden intrusion into an intimate conversation. Swiftly turning around you spot the same man as before—the one with the blue cap that had passed by quite rudely in the store. His strong face looks sheepish.

Johnny quickly calls your name through the line, and you let off a reassurance before tilting the device down.

“Holy hell, man, give a girl a warning next time, yeah?” Chuckling weakly to push back tension and the twisting of your intestines, you notice the stranger’s tall frame is covered in a heavy jacket. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, actually,” He’s not outwardly alarming to look at, the man, with his loose body gestures and controlled tone. “Sorry, but I was just wondering if you could lend me a hand. I found a kitten under a van back there,” he points, and you look over to the far corner of the parking lot. Sure enough, there was a large van surrounded by two black cars. Your eyes narrow on the scene, already getting a prickly feeling. “Do you have any food that might bring it out? Or maybe you’d be willing to reach under and grab the little bastard?” 

The stranger laughs and continues with a jerking of his shoulders. You watch every movement with an upticking pulse, fingers tight over the phone as Johnny listens with growing worry. 

The Sergeant's dark eyebrows pull tight, and he stands like he could run out the door to you; jaw tight and muscles wound.

“Put me on speaker.” You decline silently. Better not to get a hotheaded and protective Scot involved when he was thousands of miles away.

“Sorry,” Clearing your throat, you take a step back, attempting a friendly smile. “I have to get home to my husband.” It wasn’t the first time you’d had to use the spouse card to get away from creeps, and it won't be the last. Worked better than just the boyfriend title, honestly. And there was something about this man’s eyes that didn’t sit right with you. “Work night and all, you understand?”

“He left yet?” Johnny asks, gruff as his accent gets stronger. “Else I’m callin’ the store and sending security out to you.” 

“It shouldn’t take a long time,” the man begs and you take another slow step back to the car door, pupils going tiny. Breaths shallow. “You’ll be back to your…husband, in a few minutes. I’d hate to leave the poor guy all alone.” 

“Sorry.” You say again, firmer. “No.” 

Not wasting any time, you open the car and jump inside, wrenching it closed once more and pressing the lock. Breathing heavily, you stick the keys into the ignition, missing a couple of times, and look into the side mirrors to spy on the tall shadow that hovers like a plague. 

“Sweetheart? Hey?” Johnny calls out your name as you force the car to start driving away, face tight and limbs shaking. “Hey, are you alright?” 

The man has half the sense to wake up Price, but with the stirring bodies around him, there’s half a chance the Captain already knows something’s off. Johnny hadn’t bothered to check his noise level when the uncomfortableness seeped from you over to him. What kind of a man approaches a woman near dark and asks a question like that? The action didn’t sit right with the Scot. 

Johnny’s body hums with energy—volatile rage keeps his heart in a tight fist with a deep seething hatred of not being with you to help force back the freaks in person. He wasn’t above getting into someone's face if the situation called for it; after a couple of outings to less-than-nice pubs, all it took was a few nervous glances from you nowadays for him to create a barrier out of his own flesh.

“I’m okay,” you whisper to him, biting at your lips and peeling back flesh. “It’s all good. I-I’m on the road already.” 

A great weight falls from the man in the form of a sigh. He slowly sits back down on the mattress, lips thinning and slightly shaking his head. His free hand comes up to rub over his cheek. 

“Good. That’s good…” He snaps out of his concerned stupor quickly, but the fast beating of his heart does anything but slow. “You’re okay.” 

It wasn’t worded as a question, maybe more of a reassurance, but it helped you immensely. Your tension lessened at the comforting sound of Scottish drawl and deep, silver, voice. But you wanted him to wrap his arms around you; gaze into those cerulean orbs.

Tomorrow.

“Keep on the line until I get home?” You ask feebly, not able to resist looking in the mirrors as you turn out of the parking lot. 

The blue-capped stranger was still standing there, and one of the black cars in the far corner had turned its headlights on. A deep dread overtakes your ribs like you’d just gotten out of something very, very, bad. A sense of a lingering morality stays in between your ribs.

“‘Course. Wouldn’t be doin’ anything else, Bonnie.” Johnny utters, glaring at the floor. “I’ll be ‘ere the whole time.”

It wasn’t fair that he was unable to be there with you—never before had the constraints from his job hit him full strength in the chest like this. If he can’t protect the ones he loves back on the home field, then what was the point of the Task Force in the first place? 

By the time you get home after taking the fastest route, you quickly gather everything from the back and shuffle inside, pulse still racing. You lock the door behind you and take a deep breath, closing your eyes. 

Johnny’s soft breath over the call was like a lullaby, right in your ear as if he was beside you in bed. Oh, you missed his soft snores more than anything. Your gaze goes glossy, but the tears are held back stubbornly. 

As if sensing your turmoil, your boyfriend speaks lowly. 

“Y’know, I bet the rest of the boys would really love it if we kept ‘em over for a drink and a bite when we all get back. I can whip up something quick on the grill and you can take a breather, eh?” He speaks so softly it almost makes the tears worse, heart palpitating. 

You wetly laugh and place a hand to your mouth, standing in the dark foyer with groceries on the floor and a primal fear slowly leaving you. The familiar scents of charcoal and birch wood from the Scots hair product are stuck into the very walls of this shared dwelling, along with the scuffs on the floor from play-wrestling during movies; a light that needed to be replaced due to Johnny accidentally running straight into it at two am. He had thought an intruder had broken in, but it was just a bird that had snuck in through an open window.

The signs of a well-lived and loved home. 

“But you wanted pollock,” you grumble with a hidden smile and burning ears, pushing the tip of your shoe into the front rug.

Johnny beams and goes to lie back down, putting a hand behind his head against the pillow.

“Well, now I’m makin’ burgers. Guess you’re just going to have to sit back and watch my fabulous arse from the porch, yeah, Dearie? Don’t burn a hole into them, now, they’re the only pair I’ve got, and I know how much you like ‘em.”

“Shut up.” 

“I’ll even wear that apron you got me—what was it you said it did,” the cheeky Scot smirks, all teeth and crinkled eyelids, and hears your complaints get louder as your mind flies away from what had happened almost immediately. “Made me look like I should be in a porno? Hell, if you were in it with me, I’d not complain ‘bout it. Steamin’ Jesus, I’d let you do horrible things to me, Dearie.”

From somewhere in the barracks a low groan echoes out and Johnny snaps his hand down to stifle his loud laughter as you bark at him. 

“MacTavish!” 

Great bouts of laughter leave everyone glaring from atop pillows and from over fingers stuffed into ears; some even get up and gather blankets, leaving the barracks room entirely.

In your foyer, your body blazes with heat like you’d been set on fire, a hand placed over your eyes and a treacherous grin on your mouth. 

“Keep your voice down, you absolute arsepiece!”

“Aye—! That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ya!” 

“Johnny!”

—

The second time you called him was out of pure curiosity, only a few hours before your lover was scheduled to come home and cook for you and his Task Force. Around six o'clock. 

“When was our postbox all scratched up?” Your thumb runs over the black numbers of the sequence, blinking with wrinkled skin as you take a glance at the neighbors’ and frown. No one else's was like that. “I thought you said you compromised with the local kids and would give them money for sweets so they would stop messing with our stuff?” 

“Little fiends were sucking me dry!” Johnny huffs, “No way the devils would pass up more sugar and do something like that. What’s it look like, then? A few stray rocks manage to dent it?”

Your lips release a sigh and you pick up your mail with an annoyed grunt, closing and locking the cubby as you reply. “No way, it looks like someone took a knife to it.” Clicking your tongue, you shake your head. “God, things have just been going wrong lately.”

Shuffling his feet over the tarmac and hearing the plane engines die down behind him, Johnny takes a glance back. Price was standing at the top of the C17 arms crossed and head tilted—the Scot could imagine the raised eyebrow almost immediately. 

He grimaces and holds up a finger, walking a few more steps away as Gaz leaves the hull with his bags slung over his shoulders. 

“I can’t talk any longer, Bonnie, Price’ll wring me for not helpin’ unload the gear. He’s damn near skinnin’ me already.”

You chuckle, “Tell him I said ‘hello’ and not to damage the face.” 

“Oh, you’re a horror, you are, Dearie.” 

Quick declarations of love and see you soons were exchanged before the connection was cut, and your feet carried you back into the house. Your phone and the mail went to sit on the tiny hallways table, shoes tossed onto the plastic mat sitting on the floor with a small thump. 

Sighing, you rub over your eyes, thinking over if it was worth calling the post office or just trying to fix the scratches yourself. 

“I think we have some paint in the garage…” You trail off. 

Ultimately, you just pushed that to the back burner. Johnny was coming home. Your lips peeled into a large smile, and you’re rushing off to get into a nice outfit for the rest of Task Force who was coming a bit later than your boyfriend. Thoughts of finally being able to be picked up by your boyfriend's strong arms were all-consuming, being held into a broad chest and digging your nails to the dip of his spine. 

Just being able to be around the mohawked-man was a blessing that you’d never take for granted. 

You settled on a nice top and casual pants—you’d met the others before, so there was no need to go overboard. Smoothing your clothes down, you enter the living room and go to open the curtains, letting the light of the interior spread to the small lawn and the street. Humming under your breath, the vehicle outside doesn’t catch your attention immediately; the black metal is just another parked entity sitting still. 

When you do pause, your curtains half-opened, the delayed shock makes you lose precious time as you stare slack-jawed at one of the twin cars from yesterday at the parking lot. Your fingers clench into the fabric in a sudden moment of frozen shock. As if a mythical creature had just run past your field of view, the parting of your lips is instinctual before the widening of your eyes. 

A still second passes before you’re sprinting to the front door—locking it and snatching your phone. Heart pounding, you make a dash to the bedroom, dialing Johnny with fear-tight pupils. 

He had told you if there was ever an emergency to call him right away, he’d get there faster than any police officer; for the record, you believed that wholeheartedly. Johnny was more loyal than a dog in a pack, once someone raised the alarm the Sergeant was locked in. 

Rushing into the bedroom, you trip over the tossed covers but right yourself as the dialing tone sounds out, heavy breathing making your lungs hurt. You open the nightstand table and dig under a collection of books, hand meeting the smooth metal of an M9 pistol. 

Putting the phone on speaker, you throw it onto the mattress.

Legally, you shouldn’t even have this—while Johnny had been teaching you to shoot, you didn’t have a license for it yet. But he’d insisted on leaving you behind with something to defend yourself with.

The confused voice of your lover sounds over the open space. “Jesus, Bonnie, you miss me that much? It cannae ‘ave been more than ten minutes—”

“The car from yesterday is outside the house.” You throw the books to the floor and hear them make a clatter just as you pull out a box of ammunition. Taking out the gun’s magazine, you load bullets with a violently shaking hand. Some hit the ground with a metallic ping, but you pay little attention, just blinking back anxious tears and a harsh focus on the sounds of the front door handle being jimmied.

“I…what?” Johnny’s voice gets heavier, demanding with a snarl trapped in the back of his throat. 

Standing stationary in the doorway Base—about a twenty-minute drive from home, the man’s heart suddenly jumps in his breast. Did he hear you right? Behind him, Ghost slows to a stop at the now blocked opening, watching with narrowed eyes; a large rifle slung over his shoulder and a carry bag in his arm. Johnny’s shoulders wind tight, feet parted as he suddenly turns on his heels and takes off back the way he came in, the phone still at his ear where the Lieutenant knew you were on the call.

“What the fuck?!” Ghost’s skeletal head follows after and pointedly notices the Scots lack of care for how his bags hit the ground but keeps the pistol holstered at his thigh and the combat knife strapped to his upper shoulder. 

“Johnny?” He calls out, but only the wind answers him. “The hell are you off to?!” The gargantuan man sends a glance over to Price who was watching just as intently, lids narrowed. Gaz cleared his throat.

“....Shouldn’t we follow him? Sounds pretty serious.” 

Price sighs, taking a moment to watch Soap sprint to the main building and shove past other soldiers and staff. He grunts.

“Move light.” 

The phone call was filled with heavy breathing and hurried orders. 

Your boyfriend was running you down the basics of firing at a moving target as the sound of pounding at the front door became more hurried.

“It’s not like a stationary target—when someone’s runnin’ at ya, they're gonna be moving quick and you’re not going to be able to fire if you don’t mean it!” 

“Okay, okay,” you mutter with a shaky inhalation, loading the M9’s magazine and clicking off the safety. “What the hell do they want with me?” The whispered question is more for you than it is for anyone else, but the answer from the sprinting Scot startles you. 

At that exact moment, the pounding of a fist stops completely.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re gonna fire at the first bastard that comes down that hallway. We’ll ask the questions later.” You hear a car door opening and a yell from Johnny’s side, soon the clammer of grunting breaths an exclamation of ‘hurry the fuck up!’

“I—”

“If you need to, leave through the window and go to the neighbors. Take cover in the foliage and slip away to the back alley.” Johnny never spoke like this to you—clipped and deathly serious. But now that you think about it, as you stay frozen and barricaded in the bedroom, if he spoke any differently you’d probably break down. “Do you copy?”

This was Sergeant MacTavish, and damn him if anything came between that man and the people he cared about. 

He barks your name, “Do you copy?!” 

“Yeah,” the gun shakes in your grip, but nonetheless you hold it at your hip and turn your eyes to the window. It would be easier to leave, you think. You’re not trained for this! “I–I think I’m going to—”

The front door’s window is broken with a shattering of glass. You rush to the phone and turn off the speaker, afraid that the sound would immediately tell these people where you were. Loud shouts flow into the foyer and spread like venom under the crack of the thin barrier separating you and the intruders. 

“Spread out and find her!”

“Yes, Sir!” 

Sir? You ask, eyes snapping this way and that as Johnny is dead silent on the other side. You think you hear the slam of a foot to the pedal, but you can’t be sure. Fuck, there was so much going on, you didn’t know what to do.

“Screw this, I’m going out the fucking window.” You gasp out, lungs tight and skin sweaty, you turn on the safety on the gun and stuff it into your belt. 

One-handed, you unlatch the lock and strain your ears, hearing feet getting closer. Grunting, you shove the heavy frame up and try to stop the ringing in your ears. Whoever these people in your house were—they were professionals. They had patience; studied your intellect with the trick in the parking lot and followed you home so they could mark your postbox number as a reminder of your address. What the hell was happening? 

Just as you’re about to make the small drop into the flower bed, a creak echoes from behind the bedroom door. You freeze in place, one foot dangling into the backyard. 

Breathing slowly, your eyes lock to the deep shadow that spreads like two distorted poles as the large feet face the very place you’d holed up. As delicately as you’re able with an award-setting tremor in your gut, you place the phone down onto the window sill; Johnny’s loud and worried voice dims as all attention moves to self-preservation. You’re just about to reach for your gun when the door busts off its hinges. 

Starling, and before your hands can find purchase, you’re tumbling backward—out of the house entirely with a stifled shout of alarm. Slamming to the ground and crushing flowers in the process, you have no time to think about the pain going up your spine or at the base of your skull before you’re scrambling for the M9. 

Just as someone peeks out from the window, face covered and holding an assault rifle, you’re firing three shots in rapid succession as you don’t even remember flicking off the safety. 

Two shots miss entirely, but on the last and final press of the trigger, as your arms catch the recoil, it connects. 

A comment is cut short as blood explodes in a great wave of velocity, coating the house upwards almost to the shingled roof. The body slumps, weight bringing it down to hang limp over the frame.

Wide-eyed, you still hold the shaking gun in the air, muzzle smoking, breathing fast through your mouth. Had you just…

Your stomach bunched, acid traveling up your throat to pool under your tongue. Perhaps you would have thrown up at that moment, the setting reality that you’d just shot someone in the head like an anvil in your pounding skull. But the barking voices from inside the house snap you back. 

Gasping down the breaths you realized you hadn’t been taking, your wobbly feet dart to shove you up like a newborn deer as sprinting bodies close in on the porch’s sliding door. God, you could only imagine what Johnny was thinking. 

Bolting out of your backyard fence, you remember your lover’s orders and run as fast as you’re able to the neighbor's open yard, using the darkening sky to help cover you. Cursing under your breath and thinking over all of the ways this should have already gone wrong, you wipe at the tears cascading down your cheeks. 

Don’t think about it—just get away.

It wasn’t long before you were down the alleyway, feet weak and lungs burning. There was a stickiness to the back of your scalp, blood, undoubtedly, from an injury caused by the fall.

It’s a damn miracle I didn’t break anything. 

What would you have done then? Just let those people take or kill you? You shiver at the idea and force yourself to go faster. Darting around a corner, your feet skid to a quick halt. 

The barrel of a gun was pointed directly at your face. 

“Had a feeling you’d be slippery.” It was the voice of the man from the parking lot—the man with the blue cap. Your face jerks to an imitation of confined horror and unease at the same eyes boring into you. He was dressed in gear like the rest of the men now exiting your house to hunt you down. The stranger shifts his feet and you flinch. “Drop the gun, Sweetheart.” 

“Who the fuck are you?” You find your voice, hissing out. The pistol clatters to the floor as it slips from your grip and you hate how you flinch at the sound. 

“Your boyfriend and his buddies are hard to track down.” Blue Cap huffs, and the tall stature of the man makes you incredibly nervous. Backing up a step instinctually, he follows and smirks. “But I figured the best way to meet him was to find his little bird first—he’d come right to me. Cliche, I know, but you can’t fault me. Works every time.” 

What did this guy want with your Johnny? Gritting your teeth, your fingers shake at your sides, hips tense and ready to run.

“He’ll kill you.” You level, not keen to show this man how disgusting you felt being near him. 

He shuffles up next to you, grabbing the meat of your arm. Trying to jerk away, the barrel of his weapon is shoved into your ribs; gasping, your body goes rigid.

If your heart goes any faster, it’ll break.

“Not if I threaten to kill you first.” Forcing you forward, you glare and feel the urge to spit in the man’s face. “C’mon, hun.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, freak.” 

“Ooo…fangs. Can’t be surprised, you did shoot one of my men, after all. Not a bad trigger finger, but you do need decent work on your accuracy if you wanna make anything out of it.” Your eyebrows pull in as you’re corralled back out of the alleyway, barrel bruising your skin and blood dripping down your neck. The man’s grip hurts as a strangled whimper falls from your bitten lips. 

Feet scraping over concrete, you’re brought out into the street as neighbors peak out of windows with drawn curtains; phones to their faces. Did these intruders not care about the police? If anything, that made you sweat more. 

“Ride’s waiting.” 

“I’m not getting into that.” Grunting, your eyes are stuck on the black void of the car parked in the street. A menagerie of other armed men stands all over. “Hell no—you can just shoot me now if that’s the case.”

“Don’t tempt me, I can still go after the Sergeant’s dear old mom,” your lungs chill as the man chuckles to himself, looking down at you through dark lashes. “He has a cousin, too, am I right?” 

Rageful tears spark behind your lids as you blink. 

No way it was going to go like this. Where’s Johnny? 

The gun was taken from your ribs as you’re shoved forward. 

“Get in. Now. We’re already behind schedule.” You stare into the interior and clench your fists, lips quivering but jaw clenched. Your Lover’s voice comes to you, sure of himself and laced with stubbornness. 

If you’re ever in trouble, you wait for me, Dearie. I’ll be there ‘fore you know it, ready to defend your honor like the knight in shinin’ armor I am, eh? Why are you laughing…?

Turning back around with every ounce of courage you can muster, you splay your feet and cross your arms.

“No.” The gun is raised to your head, and you want to flinch back in terror but restrain yourself. 

“Get in.” 

“No.” How your voice wasn’t breaking was a question in and of itself, but Johnny had always said you were stubborn like him. Best time to prove him right was with a barrel to your face, apparently.

The stranger’s eyes light with anger, hands clenching over the body of the weapon as the rest of his men stare on in shock. A growl meets air.

“I’m not asking for a third time, Sweetheart—” One loud boom later and you’re ducking down with your hands over your head, ears ringing and body unsteady; a great weight hits the ground right next to you.

The sound of gunfire rattles the world all around the once quiet street, and you think that you and your Lover will have to move after this. No way the neighbors could let all this slide. Looking up, your eyes jump from the corpse spasming near you to the running men, chaos breeding in the lines between shouts and dropping bodies. 

A hand latches into your waist, and you’re being lifted into strong arms moments later. Squealing, your head snaps to the size and meets cerulean blue inlaid in a strong brow line. 

“I’ve got ya.” Your body loses all tension at the accent that you would know anywhere, even in death, a strong grip picking you up and keeping you close to his broad chest. 

Johnny carries you away in the midst of battle as the rest of the 141 get involved, making quick work of the remaining men. Breathing in his scent, you force your face under his chin, feeling the stubble scrape as your fingers dig into flesh. 

He’s here. He’s—he’s right here.

“Don’t worry, Dearie, I’m right here. It’s nearly over, now.” You try to bring him closer as he takes cover behind a wall, pressing his shoulders against the grating stone as he shields you closer to him. Sliding down to the ground.

His eyes snap back and forth, heart rapid. God, he was nearly too late. Johnny presses his nose into your hair as he breathes deeply, watching bodies fall and feeling you shake. Feeling you shiver; now finally able to let everything sink in. 

“Shh,” the Scot mutters, pressing you closer as you whisper his name in a hoarse breath. “You’re alright. I’m ‘ere, Bonnie, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His hands filter over your skin, checking for injuries and feeling over growing bumps from under-the-skin abrasions.

His teeth clench together in hate, hotheadedness taking over for a moment as part of him wants to rush out and pick a few of these bastards off himself. But it’s just not that simple. 

Looking out into the street with serious eyes, the radio attached to his vest sounds off as the last of the firefight ends almost as quickly as it began. 

“Clear.” It was Price. “How is she?” 

Johnny sighs, looking down at you in his hold as he whispers comforting words in quick succession.

“Shaken, but alright…” The reply is muttered as you sniffle, your fingers going to wipe away tears. “She’s—she’s alright.”

Johnny beats you to it as he tries to calm down, large digits tilting your head to the side and studying intently as he swipes them away with a firm thumb and a careful frown. 

“Johnny—” Your eyes stay locked on him as the Scot gets rid of any trace of fear or sadness, calluses burning your skin just as they always did. His gaze flickers to you; lips pulling tight. None of you choose to move, too content with being this close to one another and safe, even if the situation was serious. “I…”

You trail, not even knowing what to say as the wetness of your eyes blurs your vision, body hot, and the back of your skull aching. Your hands go to cup his cheeks. It’s all the words he needs. 

Eyes soft, the Sergeant attempts a weak and worried smile. “I’m so proud of you, Dearie, y’know that? So damn proud.” Your lips quirk, a strained laugh echoing out. A finger pokes the side of your nose. “Hey, I’m serious now. Stop your foolin'.” 

Johnny’s fingers run deep circles into your temples as you trace the lines of his cheeks. 

“Shut up.” You huff, straining against a wide smile. It was easy to push all of this behind you when you were looking at him. He made everything better.

“Hm,” He moves forward and presses his lips to your forehead, quickly going to lay kisses all over your face until giggles spill out from the alleyway to the waiting three. 

Gaz smiles to himself, Price grunts lightly, and Ghost gazes off. 

“I’ll just have to prove to my Bonnie Little Lady that she’s a prime piece of work, then, eh? Smarter; more quick than a fuckin’ recon team,” he leans close and you have to try and shove him away playfully when he starts to squish you against him. Your laughter grows as his scratchy chin nuzzles your neck. “And don’t mind me sayin’ now, but a proper fine pair of tits and arse to go along with the brains of ya, Dearie.”

“MacTavish!” you squeal, “I should call your mother up and explain how you speak to me—that’s vulgar! I know for a fact she didn’t teach you that.”

“Teach me? Oh, now, then, no one could teach me a thing when you’re around. Cannae think a bit; better off talkin’ to a pile of stone.” You punch his solid chest and laugh so hard your face hurts, breath fanning against his neck as his roaming praise continues as if his mind was a bag of water punctured by a knife. “I’m always thinkin’ ‘bout you, my Little Bonnie.” 

The last sentence is quietly muttered into your temple, a kiss pressed tight. He pulls back slightly and feels at the dried blood on your locks, fingers separating to find the scalp. Johnny’s chest rattles in a sigh, hand shaking slightly when he sees it. 

He’d also seen the body on the window sill, though he knows not to mention it.

Christ, you’d had to kill someone. 

The prospect of taking a life was easy to the Scot—some days he felt like he had been born and bred to do just that. It became simple. Elementary. Like his mother could memorize a recipe, he could memorize the position of arteries; what shot to take at that instant, and which to wait on based only on past missions that resonated like past lives.

But for you…

Oh, it was never supposed to happen to you.

“Are you alright?” Johnny breaths, humor gone and left with guilt. 

He feels your lips on his raging pulse and lets his eyes close, content to feel you move against him as your head remains in his neck. Shifting his body into a more comfortable position, he cages you in protectively. Never again would he allow this to happen.

“I shot someone.” The man’s lips quivered, heart hurting at the blatant shock in your voice. It hadn’t hit you yet, and, hell, Johnny still remembered his first kill like it was yesterday. It wouldn’t be good when all this calmed down. He’d thrown up for two days straight, himself.

“Aye.” He breathes.

“His blood’s all over the house.”

“It is.”

“Is…is that,” you’re shivering, so he massages your spine soothingly until you find the words. “Is that a good thing?” 

He should say no, tell you that the situation that you’d been put in was never supposed to happen and it was just an unfortunate reality. Death wasn’t a good thing, per se. But the man had broken into your shared home—busted down the bedroom door with the intent of using you as a bargaining chip to get to him. So, to the Scot, the answer is clear.

No one messed with his family and lived.

“Yes.” Taking down the air of a dusty alleyway as sirens wail a street over, you weren't surprised that your boyfriend had managed to get to your home far faster than the police could. He said he always would, didn’t he? 

The bills for the speeding tickets and the running of red lights were going to be atrocious.

“Okay.” Your answer is muttered as you peel back, pressing a kiss to the corner of Johnny’s lips. You believed him. Always would. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me.” His bright teeth show off a smile as your mirror. He kisses you heavily on the lips. Whispers against your lips, a promise. A vow. “As long as you put up with me, I’ll always keep you safe.”

“Soap,” Price yells, snapping the two of you out of it. “Get on with it!” 

The Scot raises a shocked brow and smirks down at you as you tilt your head and listen in happy confusion. 

“Y’know, those shots weren't half bad back there. ‘Specially after takin’ a tumble into the flowers.” Your expression freezes in denial as you’re lifted bridal style into the air. Speaking over the calls of police and firemen as they come to the scene, your voice monotones as your legs swing.

“...I missed two out of the three, you dork. That’s failing.” Johnny gapes in mock surprise and you refrain from snorting at the boyish glint in his eyes.

“Jesus, is it really? Hell, you’ll be comin’ for my job in no time, won’t ya? That’s one better than me!” 

You kiss him and feel the grunt through your lips.

TAGS ||

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet​, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

[constellationguy]

Another perspective

Episode three

"Text": regular talking

'Text': regular thinking

"Text": Saiki talking telepathically

'Text': Saiki thinking

ATTENTION! You might want to rewatch episode three of The Disastrous Life of Saiki K before reading to fully understand the events.

Summary: Episode 3 in L/N Y/N's perspective.

Previous episode

—————————————————————————

“Who’s ready for another tre bien trick by me! Master illusionist Uryoku Chono! Hey pink hair join the fun. I’ll do a trick to put a smile on that face!”

“No thanks, I’ve already seen it.”

“Oh I see you’re a sceptic! But once you see my show you’ll become a believer in my powers to amaze!”

‘Is he really going to ignore me the whole time? In that case, can I leave?’ Y/N thought to Kusuo. ‘No, if I have to stay so do you. We’re only going to watch so he leaves me alone’ Saiki thought back. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this but alright.’

“Right! I hold here an ordinary cardboard box. As you can see it’s empty inside.”

‘From this angle you can’t see the bottom, we don’t know that’s it’s ordinary.’

“But watch! Just a couple taps and it’s party time! Aren’t they amazing folks?” Most of the audience clapped as doves flew out of the box, say for Saiki and Y/N.

‘I always wondered how you could get those doves to behave and stay quiet during that trick, maybe I’ll never know,’ Y/N shrugged.

“Hey there kid, tre bien, am I right?”

‘It’s not “tre bien” if anything I’m worried about that dove’ Saiki thought towards Y/N.

‘Okay now you ruined that surprise for me. Sure you can easily see through the trick but the surprise and smoothness of the illusion is still impressive,’ Y/N huffed at Saiki.

“And now ladies and gentlemen, please turn your attention here, for the main event of our show! My super illusion! Magically teleporting for one box to the other will be my lovely assistant Micheal!”

‘Lovely is a strong word,’ both Saiki and Y/N thought.

“And drum roll!” Chono was making an odd pose while he vocalized the drum roll. “La la la la!” Mused Chono as he threw confetti.

‘Okay this is awkward now. Tell me why I couldn’t leave again?’ Y/N thought to Saiki perplexed.

“Alright let’s open the box! Three, two, one. It’s party time! Tre bien!” Micheal didn’t come out of the box, instead he came out from underneath the table connecting the two boxes.

The group that was standing there walked away, even Y/N started to walk away, too tired to appreciate the faces Chono was making, but Saiki grabbed their arm before they could get too far.

“Why should I pay you for ruining the illusion?!”

“I moved at the normal speed, it was your darn pattern that got too fast. Now you hand over that 500 yen.” Micheal commented back.

“No one tipped me for this performance so I couldn’t pay you even if I wanted to! Hey, why are you hanging around?” Saiki pointed towards Chono’s hat while still holding onto Y/N making sure they wouldn’t walk away.

“What? Oh, you want to give me a tip? Haha I could never take money from a kid. The look of joy on your face is- PICO!!!!” Chono only realized his dove was still in his hat after he took it off.

“I completely forgot she was up there.”

‘You’ve done your thing, let’s go now,’ Y/N said while trying to walk away but was still held back my Saiki.

“So you weren’t trying to tip me, you were trying to remind me. Wait does that mean, that you’re a magician? That’s how you knew she was up there! With instincts that good you must have hated my show. Maybe I’m not cut out for magician game after all.” During this Y/N tried repeatedly to walk away but was still being held back. ‘I’m not the one being spoken to so why do I have to stay?’ Y/N whined internally.

“Until a few months ago I was just your average office drone. Then I made a small mistake.”

‘Let’s go. I’m gonna miss my soap opera at this rate! And how does a small mistake get you fired anyway?!’ Y/N whined at Saiki.

“Corporate fat cats laid me off. And my wife skipped town.”

‘Is it too late to walk away?’ ‘Maybe but I don’t really care.’

“With no job I couldn’t pay the mortgage anymore. One little mistake and career, wife, and home had all disappeared. And then it dawned on me. I should become an illusionist! Ya!”

“Wait what”

“Because so many things in had vanished from my life I thought it must mean that disappearing them was my talent!”

‘That’s a stretch,’ ‘Your only talent is self delusion,’ Y/N and Saiki thought towards each other.

“So even though I’d been offered another office job I turned it down to start my new life, doing street magic!”

“Again what?”

“If I can save up one million yen then I can buy a sawing a body in half trick. Then my wife is sure to come back!”

‘Okay, normally I would find this entertaining but this guy is sad and delusional and I’m missing my show.’ Y/N thought generally.

“But then I wonder if I chose the wrong path.”

‘Yes. Yes you did. Now quick street magic and get a real job.’ ‘You sure you should be just thinking this, this guy needs to hear it,’ Y/N thought back to Saiki.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to get so gloomy,” Chono said, finishing his back story.

‘Look he still hasn’t said a word directed towards me, if I’m lucky he’ll forget my existence. Now let me go!’ Y/N again struggled to leave.

“Let’s get back to your background as an illusionist and how you knew I had a dove up there.” Chono said continuing the conversation. Saiki decided on his next move and put his bag out I front of him.

“Woah, gonna pull something out of your bag? You’re gonna pull out, a dove! Well I’ll have you know I can do a bowling ball.” Saiki then reached inside of his back and pulled out Chono’s assistant, Micheal.

“That’s impossible!” Chono said while falling to the floor. “Ya, ta fricken da, can I go now?” Y/N said, a little annoyed.

“Thank you. Now I can see, if your talent was hair yours would be a flowing main and mine would be just an eyelash. Make me your apprentice!!” Chono said bowing deeply. “Does that make Micheal my apprentice by proxy?” Y/N joked.

“Yay! I can afford soup!” Micheal said holding some coins behind Y/N and Saki that he probably found in Saiki’s bag.

—————————————————————————

In the L/N residence, Y/N was baking coffee cake while the TV was running some random program.

“TONIGHT! You will whiteness a miracle! A stupendous, amazing illusion preformed by the former homeless man turned master magician, Uryoko Chono!” “Now that’s tre bien!” The TV spoke loudly in the house so Y/N could hear it from the kitchen.

“Holy shit!” Y/N ran to the living room, tripping and almost falling in their way. ‘That’s the guy from the other day! How is he on television now?!” Y/N thought, rightly shocked.

“After losing it all he became a street magician and mastered tricks that others can only dream of!”

“What tricks are they talking about? The show I saw was pretty lame,” Y/N thought aloud.

“What I’m attempting tonight is the most dangerous escape you’ll ever see!” Chono said gleefully, the screen then showed what the trick entailed.

“As you can see folks, Chono’s hands and feet are both shackled as me makes his way to the crate. Oh no he fell! He’s safely inside the box, and with that Mr Micheal, Chono’s formerly homeless assistant will lock him in.”

“Wait I’m not ready!” Chono’s nose was bleeding! Now he’s banging on the box!

“The amazing Chono needs to escape within 5 minutes or he’ll be destroyed right along with this box!”

“Why is he trying to be the next Houdini?! He’s gonna get himself killed! I can’t watch a man die on screen, I’m going back to baking,” Y/N said anxiously.

“He’s got three minutes left to escape!” Y/N tried to tune the TV out as they turned on the mixer to make the frosting for the coffee cake.

“Two minutes! Just two minutes left!”

“There’s been an accident! This isn’t part of the show! Chono is burning alive in that crate! We’ll preopt the rest of the show until we can save him.” Y/N almost fell again running to their living room. “How could he survive this?! Why is the show still running?!” Y/N said flabbergasted.

“Times up! Mr Micheal will now use the swords! 17 swords to go!” ‘I know he’s probably escaped by now but damn is this stress inducing’ Y/N thought while checking on the cake in the oven.

“This is the last one folks. How could anyone survive this?!” ‘No one could, except maybe Kusuo’ Y/N thought absently.

“Now a construction crane is hoisting the box thirty meters on the air! And dropping it!” Y/N jumped a little while finishing icing the cake when the box hit the ground.

‘Glad I’m not there in person, I bet the stress of watching this in person is way worse,’ thought while sitting down on their sofa to watch the end of the special.

“That box has sustained catastrophic damage but we still have more in store for it! We’re lighting it on fire!!” ‘Okay that’s a little much, wasn’t it already on fire earlier?’

“And now we’re running over the crate… WITH A STEAM ROLLER! ‘Gosh that’s loud, wouldn’t want to be anywhere near that thing,’

“Chono’s box is as flat as a pancake, how could he survive that? Hold on, who’s that I see?! It’s the miraculous illusionist himself, Uryoko Chono! He’s alive!!!!!” The crowd cheered and Y/N let out a sigh of relief.

“Well folks that sure was some first rate escape artistry” “Tre bien right?” “Hey, stick around for what’s next! The world premiere of a mystery called ‘Love Fantasy’, my character will try to uncover the mystery of his girlfriend’s death! Enjoy the show!” The camera then fades to a commercial.

Out of nowhere Saiki teleported into Y/N’s living room. “Oh shit, are you good?” Saiki was still covered in dirt from his escape.

“Ya, just wanted to pick up some coffee jelly,” Saiki said while walking towards the kitchen.

“I just made coffee cake if you want some, but shower first before serving yourself a plate, I just cleaned up.” Y/N said while turning to Saiki.

“Fine fine,” Saiki said, turning around and walking towards the stairs. “Just pick whatever from my closet, we wear the same size clothes anyway.” Saiki gave Y/N a quick thumbs up before walking up the stairs.

—————————————————————————

“Guess what I’ve been summoned. If I told you why I’d have to kill you Saiki, but for now let’s just say the world is in store for some pretty big changes.” Kaido said to Saiki before walking away.

“What? Did he make a friend?” “Oooo, we should follow him! I feel like being a little nosy today, come on!” Y/N said to Saiki before dragging him behind them to follow Kaido.

“Thurisaz, isaz, hagalaz,” a suspicious voice spoke from beyond the door Kaido knocked on. “Sowilō, gebō, fehu,” Kaido said back. “Ehwaz, you may enter.” the door then opened.

“Okay, I know we just got here, but what the hell was that?” Y/N whispered to Saiki, he only shrugged in response.

“I hope no one has followed you, the jet back wings.” “Not to worry Jade eyes, I’m-”

“Wait! There’s something you forgotten” “I’m sorry sir, you’re right. An energy field surrounds this room, if one doesn’t perform the holy grail ceremony within 66 seconds, they’ll vanish!” “That’s right”

Y/N could only hear Kaido clap then say “Laguz”, ‘He did something funny didn’t he? I wish I could see this,’ Y/N thought.

“So have you come to terms with the truth?”

“It’s not that easy for me. It’s like everything I’ve ever knew was a lie! You say in a past life, I was a top soldier in Dark Reunion. But then after discovering their plan to sort man kind, I stole the mystical stone Panalyze, and went rouge. And then when they cornered me, I performed the phantom technique and became a disembodied soul! And then I entered the unborn body of Shun Kaido?! It’s not easy to believe all that!”

“You seem excited by it” “I’m not really!”

“That’s fine. So long as you’re realizing the truth.” “I have always left like there’s something different about me from other kids.”

“The powers of the spirit within you are absolutely vital to destroying Dark Reunion. That’s why we’ll do what we can to help you regain your memories.” “What we? Who else is here?” Kaido asked while looking around the dark room.

“There are four others at this table besides me. Of course, they are all phantoms. I take it you dont see them, if that’s so, you have no chance to help us.” “No, no, I see them fine! They’re just not here physically right?”

“Ah yes, they are here in spirit but not body like myself. Unfortunately they don’t trust you.” “Why’s that?!”

“Because you haven’t yet presented the sworn ally absolution.” “Oh, I got that right here,” Kaido said confidently.

Y/N could hear the other person taking something from Kaido’s hand before saying “Woah, such detailed answers! It’s everything we’ve expected and more from the jet back wings! With this they’re sure to except you into the group!”

‘So ghosts have clicks now? Geez,’ Y/N thought.

“Great! If that’s all it takes I’ll be-”

“Stop!” “What?” “Mannaz, ingwaz, wunjō!” “Um, what was that?”

“Dark Reunion has found out about this room. We’re under attack!” “Attack?!” “They just killed the four phantoms,” Y/N could feel Kaido’s fear from beyond the door.

“What?! Phantoms can die?!” “Yes even phantoms can be killed, if we want to make it out of here alive, we need to act. Now we need to create a barrier.” “Ya, sure! So what do I do?” Kaido asked worriedly.

“Well first things first. I need you to put any and all metal objects on you into that special bag. Metal can interfere with the barrier magic.” “Right!”

“Even change?” “Yes! You know what- just put your whole wallet in,” “right.”

‘He sounds a little to excited to be swindled like that,’ Y/N thought that was odd.

“Great now repeat my movements” “okay!”

“Ansuz, jēra!” “Ansuz, jēra!”

“Ehwaz.” “Ehwaz!”

The room then feel silent, it took a lot of strength for Y/N not to laugh in that moment.

“Looks like we got io the barrier just in time.” “Ya that was close.”

“Now it’s time for us to go home.” “Oh okay! Then can I have my wallet back?”

“The barrier is still unstable. It’s much to risky to remove it from the bag.” “But it’s got my train pass-” “thanks for your help friend! If it was for you, I would’ve died today with the phantoms! Jet black wings, you our savior!”

“Oh, sure no problem.” “Come back same time tomorrow. And keep doing the sworn ally absolution.” “Yes” The door closed then Kaido walked away.

“Those guy’s stupid fantasies are the best thing ever! He couldn’t tell the absolution was my homework. All I had to do was play along with him! I even got the idiot to give me his wallet. Hehe Dark Reunion? Thanks for doing my homework delusioner HAHA!”

Suddenly the lights turned off.

“What the- who did that? AAAAAAA”

The next day.

“Don’t tell a soul okay? This meeting involves the fate of the world. Uh it’s open? AH what’s going on? THATS THE LOGO FOR DARK REUNION! Could it be their only one step behind me?!”

‘Pretty much’ Y/N thought while watching them from behind the corner.

—————————————————————————

“What’s wrong Kaido? You afraid of the water?” Teased Nendo.

“Nu- no, t-that’s not true! I know how to swim jerk. I’m not afraid of the water.” Kaido’s tone of voice wasn’t very convincing.

“AH water-” Kaido then fell dramatically and was splashing harshly.

“I’LL SAVE YOOOOOOU!”

Y/N then looked over their shoulder, ‘I know that butt.’

“Yo, it’s Hairo!” “Oh hey Nendo! Hey Saiki.”

“You getting some sun too?” “Actually, I volunteer as a lifeguard.”

“AH IM DROWNING!” “I’LL SAVE YOU!” Hairo then ran off again.

“I can’t believe he does this job for free in this heat. Hey, when are you gonna get in the water buddy?” “Just forget I’m here,”

‘Maybe I should forget I saw them,’ Y/N thought briefly.

“You guys are no fun! I don’t want to go swim the the ocean all by myself! So! To the ladies!” Nendo said with a smirk.

‘Never mind. This job can wait, this is going to be funny,” Y/N thought while turning off their metal detector.

“With a face like that you don’t have a chance!” “Why don’t you try walking on water instead? You’ll have better odds at that.”

“Oh ho ho. My looks don’t matter. It’s about attitude.”

“I’m sorry, I find your face repulsive.” “are you joking? There’s no way I’m giving my number to that face. “Ever hear of a mirror? You should look at one before leaving the house.” “AAAAAA DON’T RUN AWAY!” Nendo said while running after the girls.

‘Wow that was harsh. But even from this far away I could tell he was staring that their chests,’ Y/N thought with little sympathy.

“Girls are stupid”

“Well arent you just a little cutie pie!” “I love his spiky hair! Don’t you?” “Hey, stop touching my hair,” “Hey, come over to our spot!” Nendo then stood over the three of them with a very intimidating face.

“Oh I just remembered I have to move my car?” “Ya, me too!”

Y/N then had the perfect view of Nendo barring Kaido in the sand, they laughed quite hard at that, then got back to work.

“Where’d my bro go? Bathroom? Saiki?! You going pee pee?!” This almost started Y/N’s laughing fit back up. Y/N then turned away, put their headphones back on and continued metal detecting.

“I ROCK!” ‘Wonder what that’s about, probably nothing,’ Y/N could hear Nendo’s shouting but chose to not think anything of it.

“WOOOOAAAH��� when Y/N turned around again the spotted Nendo “walking on water”. ‘Now that’s not something you see everyday.’

“Thanks for saving my life. Sorry I joked about how ugly your face is.”

“I’m glad you didn’t ask for her number in return for your heroics.” “I try to be a gentleman, but if that hotty fell in love with me, I’m not gonna turn her down.” “She wouldn’t” “WHAT’D YOU SAY!”

When Y/N was packing up the group finally spotted them.

“Hey it’s buddy’s friend! What’s that?”

“Ya and why are you not in a swimsuit? We’re at the beach.” Kaido asked confused.

“Oh this old thing? It’s a metal detector, my uncle has this whole business finding things that are lost in the snow, sand, and even underwater! He sent me out to do this job for him, I was able to find the client’s phone not to long ago.” Y/N smiled brightly.

“And for the swim suit thing, I didn’t think I wasn’t goin to go deep in the water so I thought shorts would suffice. Funnily enough, I think these shorts are Kusuo’s” Y/N laughed.

—————————————————————————

“Hairo, you got tan.” “Ya I volunteered at the beach as a life guard.”

“You’ve got a crush on someone?!” “Teruhashi is this a joke?” “Is it one of us?” “It’s someone I ran into over vacation. It was the 6th of August when I first fell in love with him!”

“I remember seeing you that day too. And the guy you were talking with, was Nendo!” “YOU ARE WAY OFF IDIOT! Ah uh, ya! His name is Yuriof Idiot. He’s a Russian exchange student, you should get to know him!”

“Hey Saiki. Just me or is Nendo acting weird today?” Kaido asked. “You’re the one being weird.”

“Like usually he’s always saying “we should do stuff after school buddy”” “He is quieter than normal.” Saiki agreed.

“Oh my look? Don’t worry about it, it’s a long story.” Kaido said while covering his eye covered by an eyepatch. ‘I wonder what his excuse is first dressing like that, but maybe Nendo acting different than is more interesting than Kaido’s story,’ Y/N thought.

Nendo made a couple dejected faces, did an odd form of sighing then left the class. “Pretty fishy right?” “My interest has peaked.”

“Alright -alright I’ll tell you. It all started-” “Hey! I heard you saying that Nendo was acting weird. Do you mind me tagging along to figure it out too? It sounds pretty interesting.” Y/N was able to interpret Kaido before Saiki got too annoyed at him speaking.

“Oh! Uh, sure, indubitably!”

“His house isn’t this way. He’s got something going on.” “Oh maybe!”

“Why are you two so excited about this? And better yet why are you so good as tailing people?” “Oh hush, you want to know about Nendo acting weird too right?”

“Saiki, L/N, check it. What’s Nendo looking at?” Nendo was making a creepy face at a little girl.

“Creepy” “creepy” “creepy”

“Nendo has a thing for little girls?!”

“This doesn’t look good. We should probably call the police.”

“A little quick to make assumptions but if it turns out that way then ya, we should do that.”

“He’s walking into a store! Looks like a flower boutique.” Kaido said a bit confused, Saiki was making a face that matched Kaido’s tone.

“Don’t tell me he’s got a girl-”

“No not Nendo” “No not Nendo”

“Ouch”

“Another one! That’s just gross” Nendo made another face towards a little girl.

“We’ll confirm it after we call the police,”

“Ew, ya.”

“No! We need more proof than this. I mean list of people like sun flowers. And it’s natural to smile when you see and cute little kid right?”

“I guess.”

“Good point. Let’s not be brash.”

“Hm another shop. Cakes! WOMAN AND CHILDREN CAN’T RESIST SWEET TREATS, SO WHEN YOU COMBINE A WOMAN AND A CHILD YOU GET A LITTLE GIRL!”

“Now you’re just jumping to conclusions,” Y/N agreed.

“I MEAN HAVE YOU EVER SEEN NENDO EAT THAT?! OR LIKE FLOWERS?! IT’S ALL MENT TO BE GIVEN TO SOMEONE, BUT HE HAS NO GIRLFRIEND TO GIVE THEM TO. THAT COULD ONLY MEAN THAT THEIR BAIT! AND THAT HES USING THEM TO LURE AWAY LITTLE GIRLS!”

“I think that anyone that works on has their own problems.”

“Bummer, they were all out if shortcake. Oh well, it’s not like anyone will ever eat this.”

“If it’s not for eating it must be bait” Kaido and Saiki said in unison.

“NENDO! YOUR SECRET’S OUT! HOW DARE YOU HURT LITTLE KIDS, YOU MONSTER!”

“Wait what secret? You mean my dad?”

‘I’m honestly surprised he didn’t think more about that accusation’ Y/N thought.

“So he’s dead?” “I visit on the anniversary of his bus accident.”

“But the flowers and the cake…” “respectful offerings for the dead. It’s normal to bring cakes and flowers to a family grave.”

“To think Nendo is lecturing us on normal.”

“That’s fair, I bring flowers and the favorite snack of one of my family friend’s to their gravesite.”

“When did your dad die Nendo?” “Well it was before I was born, he died trying to save a little girl who ran in front of a bus. Huh, maybe that means he was into little girls.”

“I hope not haha,” Kaido laughed nervously.

“That’s a dark joke.”

“So if he died before you were born, he must have been pretty young.” “He was only 18 or 19 years old. Here look! I’ve got his picture.”

“Hey this is just a picture of you!” “Nah it’s him! My mom says I look more like him each year, weird.” Nendo said sentimentally. “You don’t look like him, you look the same!”

“Are you okay Kusuo, you look like you’ve seen a ghost haha.” Y/N joked slightly but got a little more serious when Saiki’s face stayed shocked.

‘You haven’t developed a new power since you were like five, you better not have just developed the power to see ghosts.’ Y/N thought while looking at Saiki concerned.

“Hey wanna go get some ramen?”

“I know my powers are literally super natural, but personally, I don’t believe in ghosts. So I’ll pretend today at the graveyard never happened.”

“Is that really the best thing to do Kusuo?” Y/N laughed a bit, before following Saiki’s eyes to his mail box.

“It’s for me. Weird. I never get mail.”

The letter read “Kusuo Saiki, I know you have psychic powers.”

“What.” “Oh dear.”

—————————————————————————

Next episode

[daisygirlwrites]

Car Rides

Summary: An old memory of Simon’s resurfaces during a car ride to Crash’s house.

Warnings: none

Pairing(s): Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 1,025

Note: No uses of (Y/N), some angst but it’s barely there. 

a/n: hello hello! back with another fic :) ngl this one made me kind of sad but still enjoyable to write. I have a set of headcanons that I wrote along with this fic but i decided that I’ll put it into the next post instead :0c !! anyways, i hope y’all like it and would love to hear feedback!

“Keys.” He demanded.

Quickly, you pull your hand back, the other coming up to shield it. The man in front of you narrows his eyes but puts his hands back into his hoodie pocket. You open your hand, revealing a set of keys, along with a lego Darth Vader keychain. Flipping over the key fob, your black Jeep Wrangler makes the distinct sound of itself unlocking. “After you, LT.”

He opens the back passenger seat to set down his duffle bag before moving to the front. While he does that, you get yourself onto the driver's seat and start the vehicle. You check your surroundings before backing out of the parking spot and after a series of turns, you two are on the road, exiting the airport.

“Apologies about earlier, Simon,” you say, after a couple minutes of silence. “I know you want to drive but love this car way too much. Don’t want to crash it, ya know.” He glares at you as you let out an airy chuckle.

“And what do you mean by that, Sergeant?”

“Remember Las Almas? How you slammed on the breaks so fuckin’ hard that I almost went through the window, for the second time? Or that time in Moscow, where you proceeded to hit every curb you saw and we got pulled over?” You glance at him. He stares back at you, offended. And even with a facemask, it’s evident that he’s scowling at you.

Looking back at the road, you lightly elbow his arm. “Don’t worry, LT. You’re great at a lot of things.” You pause, weighing out the option of whether or not to push his buttons more before saying, “Just not driving. Or piloting. Like last month, with the helico-”

“That’ll do!” Simon raises his voice.

Palms on the steering wheel, you open your hands as a signal of surrender. “I’m just jesting, Simon.” You give him a half-hearted smile. He sinks down into his seat, with his arms crossed.

45 minutes passed and the only sound you hear are the cars on the road. Simon looks out of the window, taking sight of the buildings rushing by. In the distance, he can see the large mountain range.

The whole team was given a month of leave after the last mission went up in flames. Literally, burning helicopters and all. While the guys usually went back to the UK, you had invited them to your mountain home in Colorado. Ghost initially declined but after you and Soap begged on your knees, he reluctantly agreed. And now he regrets it after you made fun of his driving skills. But at least it was just you and not the rest of the team. Actually, he’s grateful that they’re flying in tomorrow. Didn’t want to handle three idiots in a car.

“I got a CD folder in the glove box,” You break the silence. “It’s your pick too. Long drives are better with music.”

Simon gives you a nod and begins flipping through the case. He recognizes most of the albums, and taking a closer look, some of the art on them are flaking off.

“Never thought you’d still have CDs this old,” he comments.

“Half of them are my grandpa’s. I’m just adding on to it.”

He hums in response. Spotting a maroon colored disk, he rotates it, reading ‘Queen: Greatest Hits’. Carefully pulling it out of its pocket, he hands it to you. Left hand on the wheel, you stick your finger in the middle and glance at it. Nodding, you slide it into the car player.

“Good choice.”

“Brits have good music.”

“I agree with that.”

Flicking your eyes down to the display screen, you skip the first eight tracks. Without looking, you can tell that Simon is giving you a disapproving look. “We’ll come back to it, promise. Just want to listen to this first.”

He turns his eyes back on the road before him, the first couple notes of ‘You’re My Best Friend’ playing out. They’re in the mountains now, the roads becoming more twisty. Slowly down a bit on the turns, you let the windows down a couple inches. He hears you quietly sing along with the song. Rolling his eyes, Simon leans back on his seat again. Again, looking out the window, enjoying the greenery. It reminds him of the long drives to his aunt's house. Green blurs of evergreen trees passing by. Turning his head to look at you, his heart picks up the pace.

He doesn’t see you. Instead, it was a woman in her early thirties. The driver window slightly opened, leaving her light brown hair flying behind her ears. Hands tapping on the steering wheel on beat with the music. Hazel eyes meeting his. There were bags under them, dark circles hidden by makeup. She smiles at him, little wrinkles appearing on the corner of her eyes, along with two dimples, one of each side of her smile. Just like his. Opening her mouth, she sings along with the song,

“Ooh, you make me live Whenever this world is cruel to me I got you to help me forgive Ooh, you make me live now, honey Ooh, you make me live.”

His mom stops singing. “Simon!” she calls out. “Come on, love. Sing with your ma!”

He’s too stunned to say anything, he just stares at her. “Simon?” Her smile drops, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Simon?” Her voice sounds muffled.

“Simon?!” It’s like echoes now.

“Lieutenant Riley?!” That one snapped him out. 

Heart beating like a drum, he opens his eyes, staring at the bottom of his hoodie before looking back up. It’s just you, Crash, his sergeant. Not his mother. But the worried look you give him is identical to hers.

You give him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to wake you up LT.” His eyebrows go up with confusion, he didn’t know he was even sleeping. “We’re here.”

Simon steps out of the jeep, closing the door behind him. Taking a look of his surroundings, he glances up at the towering evergreen trees, just like the ones in his childhood. Just like the ones at home.

[talons-and-teeth]

i was going to write something cheeky about being a greedy dragon hoarding treasure but honestly -

some of you people’s sense of entitlement is astounding. and the absolute lack of manners is horrifying. fandom is meant to be about communities based around a shared passion and reciprocity and appreciation of art; it is not transactional, and under the oppressive conditions of capitalism i consider that a beautiful thing. fic writers produce stories out of sheer love for them, and are incredibly courageous to post them online to be consumed by the masses - and yet some of you come on here and demand for more, more, more. no thought given to someone’s real, personal life, the millions of other things they’re doing and going through, it is all about you and your inability to consume entertainment at a regular rate. streaming services are rotting your brains. fic writers and artists are BURNT OUT. think again before you use your stubby little fingers to type out a nasty comment asking when the next chapter will be posted. think about how it’ll make the person on the other side feel. hint: it’s not a nice feeling

With all the rudeness and entitlement going on in your reviews, I just wanted to pop in and say that I love you and appreciate you! Also wanted to ask about swamp safety 👀

People forget that my gwynriel fic is a gift for @talons-and-teeth first and foremost. And if she's telling me I'm fine to take my time, then everyone else is, too.

It's not even just rude- it's demoralizing because historically, when I feel good, I update a lot and I feel like it just never buys me an ounce of goodwill- just this feeling of like, "as you should, now get back to it."

I know the vast majority of people get it- we all have periods of time when things feel harder and you need to be able to step back. You DESERVE that. And I feel like when I say this, a lot of people feel they have to rush forward and let me know that it's not everyone. I hate that everyone else is feeling punished/penalized but I also need people to hear me say (over and over) that I am only one person who is, also, not unlike a car. My check engine light is on- I am broken down on the side of the road with a tow sticker on my back windshield or whatever the metaphor is that I'm trying to make work here.

My point is that I think I would like people to extend me the same grace I offer when I'm updating twice in a week because I'm excited. Average it out. Writing 5k chapters is a lot of work. No one is helping me. I do it by myself. If I've abandoned it you'll know because I'll take it off Ao3 so I don't have to look at it anymore.

[distant-velleity]

Stay With Me

Summary: Santiago and Chrysos have a lot of feelings to work out. Spoiler alert: they still don't confess. Word count: 2.6k Warnings: major character not-actually death (this is my Boxing Day gift to you all) A/N: I wish I could've put Major Character Death as a real warning. Alas... such is life. Anyway :) I'm super done with writing this, I don't wanna keep going insane, I'm just gonna post it as is. It's actually pretty tame for angst on my part. Enjoy!! Tagging: @thehollowwriter (finn mention!!!) @kitwasnothere and @nahelenia as my top 3 murderers <3

-

When Santiago comes to, groggy and lightheaded, he’s greeted by the watered-down sun filtering through the seas of Octavinelle above him. Bird and sky separated only by the glass and several gallons of water, his limbs sure feeling as distant and heavy as the ocean.

Ah, he thinks, ever-intelligently. How did I end up here…?

He can’t quite remember. All of his recent memories are escaping like soap bubbles in the wind. 

While he racks his brain trying to figure it out, someone approaches and kneels next to him. A single glance at the person’s blonde hair and red eyes tells Santiago all he needs to know.

“Sorry about that,” Chrysos says, monotone as always. It’s hard to tell if the merman really is sorry or not. “I usually don’t get normal customers involved when 86’ing nuisances.” 

Santiago can’t help the smirk that comes to him all too easily. “Are you sure I wasn’t the nuisance?”

“Hard to say,” replies Chrysos with an amused huff. He stands back up and offers Santiago a hand, to help him stand up.

Something about it feels off—maybe because Chrysos’ gaze seems so benevolent, that he seems so unbothered about gently helping someone he’d normally be too embarrassed or proud to. Still, Santiago laughs and sits up. “Tight-lipped as always,” he comments, and reaches for Chrysos’ hand, pulling himself up to stand.

They hold hands for a moment longer than they need to. It feels, if he dares to admit it just to himself, nice—

“Hold it.”

As if he’s been burned, Santiago jumps away from Chrysos at the sound of Azul’s voice. Approaching them are the Octavinelle housewarden and his entourage of three. 

Santiago notices, with a distant sense of dread, that he’s never seen Chrysos look so furious and disappointed upon seeing his upperclassmen. 

“Get back, Parrotfish,” Floyd warns. “That’s not the right Lionfishie to be getting all buddy-buddy with.”

How odd. Why would Floyd, of all people, go out of his way to warn him?

Santiago glances at the Octaquartet, then at Chrysos, whose expression is steadily darkening.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chrysos says coldly.

“My, my.” Jade conceals his magic pen, clasped tightly in one hand, beneath the other. “There’s no need for that frigid tone. I’m sure we’re already on the same page.”

“No?” interjects Santiago. “No, we’re not. What’s going on?”

Finn looks him dead in the eye and then cocks his head towards Chrysos. 

Santiago turns back around, and everything changes. 

Where Chrysos was just standing as normal, there’s suddenly inky shadows surrounding the Octavinelle freshman. His eyes flare red-and-yellow as the ink (no, blot) viciously wraps around him in strands to form a cocoon of sorts. Santiago staggers back when the cocoon contracts, a dark purple haze spreading throughout the area and blocking out the sun. The whole dorm is plunged into a deep-sea darkness.

It’s Chrysos and a towering Phantom now, him hovering a little too close to the glowing pendant around its neck for anyone’s liking. 

“We’re running out of time,” Azul says grimly. “Our fight from earlier didn’t do anything—”

“I’ll help fight him if it cuts down on time,” Santiago immediately declares without missing a beat. “If it saves his life.”

“Of course you would. Well, stay sharp, then.”

And Santiago tries, of course—

—but it doesn’t stop him from misfiring at some point, trying to hit the Phantom, only for it to grab Chrysos with a sickening crunch of his ribs and hold him up in range of the destructive fire spell. Santiago can only watch as it strikes Chrysos indiscriminately. 

The resulting wail of agony is bloodcurdling and unbearable, but not nearly as much as when the Phantom moves a thrashing Chrysos closer and closer to its chest, a gaping hole like a beast’s maw forming there, the pendant dangling right before it.

“Wait—”

It’s what all the teachers warn about when they discuss the occurrences of Overblots. Defeat the Phantom, and the victim will come out unscathed. Take too long to destroy it, and the Phantom will… will…

Chrysos is brought to that gap, drawn in like an object near a black hole.

Santiago can’t breathe. 

He can’t bring himself to close his eyes either. Even when a sinking feeling blossoms in his stomach, gripping him with all the force of a predator’s claws.

The ‘hand’ of the Phantom squeezes, another crunch of body parts that shouldn’t be breaking—

“Don’t you dare take him—let him go—” Santiago begs, but it’s useless.

The Phantom simply. Tucks Chrysos away in itself like nothing. Ignorant to his furious, fearful screams. 

The hole in its chest closes over with viscous blot. 

Santiago can’t look away.

“Ah… Ahh…”

He 

can’t 

look 

away—

“AAAAAHHHHH—!!!”

A guttural scream tears its way out into the open from Santiago’s raw throat, burning and hoarse and painful. Still begging for a life not his own, his eyes fly open as he sits up in a grieving frenzy. “Chrysos, please, don’t leave—!”

“I’m right here,” calls a familiar voice from beside him, miraculously free of its terrifying Overblot overlay. It’s melodious and soothing, easy on the ears, just when he thought he’d never hear it again.

“You—” Santiago’s hand shoots out without thinking, clamping down on Chrysos’ where it was gripping the edge of his blanket.

…his… blanket…?

Only then does Santiago realize, half-delirious, that he’s on a bed in the school infirmary. He’s not in Octavinelle, he’s not surrounded by torrents and mists of pure blot. The air is clear here, and the sun is shining bright and pleasant through the windows like it does through the forest canopy back home. Although his lungs still burn a little, everything’s okay.

And, looking at the boy sitting right next to him—Chrysos is okay. He’s alive. 

In silent awe, Santiago squeezes the cold, ungloved hand in his a little more tightly.

He’s alive.

Chrysos bites his lower lip and pointedly avoids looking at their joined hands. “What a nightmare you were having,” he says, false indifference in his tone. “Screaming like that… You’re lucky the nurse isn’t in right now.”

Santiago blinks. “A nightmare?” 

“Yes. You were trembling and crying out in your sleep. If it weren’t the first time you’d shown any signs of movement in days…” Chrysos trails off, brows pressed tightly together.

Putting aside the fact that it was all little more than a bad dream, thank the Great Seven— “What do you mean, in days?” Santiago echoes disbelievingly. “I don’t even know how I ended up here, and you’re telling me I’ve been unconscious for days? Hello? Way to hit me with the double whammy.”

It was an attempt to lighten the mood for both their sakes, but when the corners of Chrysos’ mouth twitch downwards and his lips thin in a stressed frown, Santiago immediately realizes he’s said something either really wrong or really stupid. Or both.

“You don’t remember what happened at the SDC?” asks Chrysos. “Weren’t you there? You know, for Schoenheit’s Overblot, like Yu said…”

Santiago’s eyes widen. He only slightly loosens his grip on Chrysos’ hand a second later. “Oh, you mean—”

Toxic purple mist surrounded them, reeking of a sickly sweet concoction. 

More saccharine still was the smile on Vil’s face. Even as blot dripped down his snow-white face from beneath his elaborate crown, he still found it in himself to pursue being the fairest one of all. 

Showing simultaneously all and nothing of his burning jealousy and bitterness.

“—yeah, I remember,” he continues, letting out a laugh with no real humor in it. “I even remember getting a faceful of poisonous mist and then passing out right after the awards ceremony ‘cause I tried to act tough.”

“At least your brain wasn’t permanently damaged. That’s good,” remarks Chrysos with a half-hearted smirk. “Maybe you’ll be out of here sooner than I thought.”

No, there was definitely a screw knocked loose if Santiago was imagining Chrysos Overblotting in place of Vil… much less sobbing desperately at the possibility of his death…

…Santiago swallows, mouth suddenly dry for no good reason. “Uh-huh? I don’t know, I still feel a little off.”

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Chrysos suddenly leans forward, hand subconsciously moving at lightning speed to place itself on Santiago’s wrist. “You still feel off? You’re not messing with me, are you?” he asks, voice demanding with a hint of… something else. “I swear, I will have the nurse over here faster than—”

“Whoa! Don’t get your boxers in a twist, jeez!” Santiago exclaims, and Chrysos halts immediately. “Am I still dreaming? Did you just gaslight me into thinking this is reality? I mean, seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worried about me.”

“I’m not worried,” retorts Chrysos, although the watery look in his eyes as he tries to meet Santiago’s gaze says otherwise. And where there would normally be an underlying bite to his tone, it’s totally absent. “Isn’t it fair to ask questions when a certain someone has been unconscious for days?”

Nevermind, I’m definitely not still dreaming.

“So you’ve been worried about me. Got it.” Hopefully that isn’t giddiness bubbling up in his chest, despite—or because of—the way Chrysos sputters out another denial, because it sure as hell is conflicting with his sense of spite. “Why don’t you save any of it for yourself? You’ve been a resident here way more often than me.”

Chrysos stiffens, before puffing up a little; chin lifted indignantly and gaze judgmental. Santiago wouldn’t have it any other way.) “I was conscious all those times and did not actively inhale dangerous toxins made by a very powerful mage.”

Seriously, this guy… Santiago shakes his head. “Dude, I heard you nearly turned yourself into sand that one time, also because of ‘a very powerful mage.’ I saw for myself when you could’ve died fighting Jamil or Overblotted at the same time and had to stay in the infirmary for a very lengthy check-up. You know, you—” 

died in my dream because of me and I would never forgive you or myself for that matter if that actually happened,

“—are a grade-A idiot getting hung up on the wrong details,” he decides to say instead. “One of these days, you’re gonna end up back here and I’m gonna get to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Hmph.” Chrysos scoffs and turns his head away. To anyone else, it might look aristocratically prim and stuck-up in the way his hair tosses slightly. “You wouldn’t come running to my bedside crying out my name, then?”

It’s Santiago’s turn to stiffen, feeling called out in too many ways. “...fuck, I forgot you heard me talking in my sleep. Well…” He pauses, searching for an appropriate response. “I would if you wanted me to.” He doesn’t have time to appreciate how smooth that was on his part before his traitorous mouth moves faster than his brain, going right ahead and saying, “And I’d still do it even if you didn’t want me to, ‘cause if you die on me I’m absolutely going to—”

Crap! Backtrack, backtrack, backtrack!

He shuts up immediately before he can incriminate himself any more, pursing his lips and watching carefully for signs of a negative reaction.

Almost too neutrally, Chrysos glances back over at him from the corner of his eyes, the piercing look in his irises only partially hidden by his lashes. “...You really would be that concerned?”

“Maybe,” Santiago answers, pasting on a nervous smile.

“‘Maybe’ isn’t an acceptable response.” Chrysos looks him straight in the eyes. His hand feels warmer, for some reason. “Don’t be shy. What would you do?”

Santiago huffs defensively. “Fancy that, you telling me to not be shy—”

“Santiago. Stop messing with me already.”

That tone, desperate and curious and impatient all in one, is singlehandedly more commanding than any other order Santiago has ever gotten in his life. 

The beastman slumps back against the headrest, being sapped of his will to argue. He already knows it’s pointless. It’s kind of hard to beat around the bush when the bush has already slapped you in the face with a very thorny nightmare. “Miss you, probably. I mean, I dreamed about it, but…” 

He thinks about the way he screamed and forced himself to wake up because that scenario had seemed so real. Probably can only begin to describe whatever he was feeling.

“...Well. You’re the only person who’s ever gotten me, y’know, so don’t die because you couldn’t help yourself. I don’t wanna have to cope with my dream becoming reality. Please,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh.” Chrysos stares blankly at him for a moment, then at their hands. “...oh,” he repeats, in a much quieter ‘sudden realization’ sort of voice.

Santiago squints at him. “Dude. What kind of guy tells his buddy to open up about his feelings in such a pleading tone and then is surprised when he actually opens up about it?”

“The one right next to you who was expecting his buddy to dodge the question again.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Santiago replies, rolls his eyes. 

Chrysos worries his bottom lips, gaze shifting to the side suspiciously quickly. It looks like he’s considering something.

“...Are you taking that literally?” Santiago wants Chrysos to take what he said literally, to be honest, but that’s beside the point.

“Because you’re so dense, yes,” Chrysos snaps back. His free hand comes up to tug one of his curls closer to his face in that bashful way he always does. “If you died like you could’ve from Schoenheit’s poison, I would march right over to the afterlife and drag you back into the world of the living. Then I’d beat you into the ground for hurting me like that. Your ass is not leaving this life until I say it’s okay to. Does that make enough sense to you?” 

“I don’t remember the story of the musician and his muse being this violent,” mutters Santiago, feeling incredibly touched despite the brash nature of that admission. Or maybe because of it.

Chrysos’s cheeks flush as red as the ends of his hair. “You asked. I delivered. Look who’s being a hypocrite now.”

“Touché.” 

It feels like something between them has… changed, when they both fall silent for lack of things to say. Not in the terrifying way Santiago’s surroundings shifted during his nightmare, but a change for the better. Like a burden has been lifted off his shoulders, making the silence bearable.

“I… think I may need to go,” Chrysos says, a dusting of pink still on his face. Maybe because he’s spoken too much, or at least by his own standards. He stands up, letting go of Santiago’s hand. “Culture fair and. All that. You know how it is. I’ll see you—”

“Wait a minute.”

Santiago reaches out and, instead of just grabbing, intertwines their fingers. His longer ones settle perfectly between Chrysos’ knuckles as if they were meant to be there. 

The merman goes still. 

“Hypothetically,” Santiago begins, “if I asked you to stay a little longer—would you say yes?”

Chrysos’ mouth opens, freezes, and then closes. When he next speaks, it’s slow and cautious, like he’s testing out how the words actually feel. Testing the waters. “In this hypothetical scenario… I could be convinced to stay. Possibly.”

“Cool. So don’t run away just yet. Stay here with me.”

They make eye contact.

“...How persuasive. Well—” Chrysos sighs and sits back down, before offering Santiago a small smirk. Barely noticeable, but there. “It seems like I’ve actually got plenty of time to spare all of a sudden.”

Santiago can’t help but smile too.

[unadulteratedfandomtrash]

Steve Rogers x Reader ~ April Fool’s Day  [Shield Adventures]

A/N: I came up with this idea after April Fool’s Day, sadly, but I figured you guys won’t mind a belated fic! There will be more “Shield Adventures” stories to come in the future.

[My Marvel Masterlist] 

Word Count: 1967

“Steve!!!”

Before the Quinjet’s ramp has a chance to lower all the way onto the landing pad, (Y/n) is running straight into the aircraft, making a beeline for her husband clad in red, white, and blue. The man in question has to brace himself and the young woman all but throws herself into his embrace. 

“Hello to you too, (Y/n),” he chuckles softly. “As much as I’ve missed you, I am pretty sweaty right now. I wouldn’t exactly recommend hugging until I am out of the suit.”

(Y/n)’s head lifts away from the comfortable spot between the blond super soldier’s pectorals to flash a pout. She pulls away with hesitance, but Steve promises to make it up to her with cuddles on the couch, which immediately puts a smile on her face. 

“Oh yeah,” (Y/n) suddenly exclaims, “Tony told me he needs your shield. He mentioned something about upgrades and polishing it.”

“”Right now? Can’t it wait until after I settle down and finish up my mission reports?”

“I can drop it off with him. I have to head over to his lab anyway. Tony’s been working on a new design for my uniform that’ll give me more maneuverability when I move my arms around. It’s pretty neat.”

While (Y/n) continues to ramble on about the new upgrades, Steve cannot help but zone out. Rather than focusing on the conversation, his attention is on (Y/n). Ever since the beginning of their relationship, Steve has admired her ability to grow excited over every little aspect of life. Something as simple as improved mobility in a tactical garment normally does not elicit too much excitement, but with (Y/n), it is as if Christmas came early.

“Steveee,” she whines, stomping her foot all the while. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, yes. I heard you. You’re getting some awesome suit upgrades to let you flail around better on the field.”

His phrasing brings back her pout. With arms crossed in front of her chest, (Y/n) begins to explain in heavy detail about her telekinetic powers requiring calculated movements, not uncontrolled flailing. 

“Don’t worry,” Sam butts with a smirk as he makes his way down the ramp. “Steve flails just as much whenever he uses the shield. You should’ve seen him today. His arms looked like those weird balloons at the car dealerships each time he threw that frisbee of his.”

The couple, scandalized by the former airman’s remark, send him a glare and threaten to assign the least-favorable task come the next mission. 

“Anyway, I should get going.” Wrapping her arms around Steve, (Y/n) squeezes her husband once more in a tight embrace, only this time, her hands find their way to his shield as she pulls away from him. “I’ll see you tonight for those cuddles. Bye, Steve!!”

Steve finds himself shaking his head with amusement as he watches his beloved run off across the landing pad.

“Well…there’s no telling when I’m getting that back.”

“I got it!”

Grinning like the cat that got the cream, (Y/n) holds up the shield in triumph as she enters Tony’s lab. She nearly runs into DUM-E, but her quick reflexes, and the shield, save her just in time when the robot nearly hits her head with a fire extinguisher. Unfortunately, her safety comes at the cost of DUM-E’s mechanical arm, which is now bent and dented at a weird angle.

“I invite you to my lab, and here you are, breaking my stuff.”

“It’s fine! That’s what the shield is for,” she snickers, “And DUM-E has been broken since you made him. You have no one to blame but yourself for that one.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you come to me for a favor,” the man teases while holding up a large box. “Are you sure you wanna do this? Cap isn’t gonna be too happy in the morning.”

“He’ll be fine. You said the glue will come off with a bit of soap and water, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Tony eyes her warily. Despite his excitement to prank Steve, he will suffer the consequences if the blond super soldier finds out who lended a helping hand with the prank. He knows for a fact that (Y/n) will be left off easy for simply being married to him. Tony, on the other hand, will not. He already had a shaky start at the relationship when they first met to save New York. While their relationship has been mended since then and he and Steve are both friends and coworkers, pranking him feels like a line that should never be crossed. Especially when it involves his shield. “You better not mention my name. Tony played no part in your shenanigans, you hear me?” “Yes, sir,” (Y/n) replies as her hand comes up in mock salute. “Now, hand over the gems and glitter.”

The sun has long since set beyond the horizon. Disregarding this, Steve elects to keep the lights off in the bedroom as he lays on top of the duvet, his eyes close to just rest as he waits for (Y/n) to return from whatever it is she has occupied herself with after having run off with his shield. Being a man of his word, Steve has stayed awake in order to fulfill his promise of cuddles, yet he has no clue where his wife could be. “Maybe I should call her,” he mutters to himself once he realizes midnight is nearly creeping up. Yet, right as he decides to turn to grab his phone from the nightstand, the familiar sound of the bedroom door creaking open has him freeze.

Despite being shrouded in partial darkness thanks to the cloudy night sky keeping the moonlight from shining through the windows, (Y/n) carefully sneaks across the master bedroom. She carefully tiptoes with her uniform in one hand and the leather shield bag in the other. There is a soft clunk as she sets down the bag in its designated corner by Steve’s nightstand; the super soldier has grown paranoid of potential break-ins or emergency missions, so he has gotten into the habit of keeping the weapon within arms reach.

“Ya’ know, if you were trying to be sneaky, you’d have to try harder.” Steve watches in amusement as his beloved jumps in the air like a spooked feline. A small chuckle escapes once he notices the sour look on her face. 

“Steve, you scared me! Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Well, someone was feeling clingy earlier today, so I promised cuddles, remember?”

“Oh yeah!” Dropping the uniform to the floor in favor of physical affection, (Y/n) all but dives onto the bed, landing on top of her husband’s chest and successfully knocking the wind out of him. “Snuggle time!” Strong arms wrap around the smaller form sprawled across him. The cool spring breeze is nothing compared to the heat radiating from the super soldier’s body. The warmth has (Y/n) sighing in comfort, nuzzling her head against Steve’s pectorals with a hum of delight. “So, what kind of changes did Tony make?” “I dunno. Wasn’t paying attention.” “You weren’t paying attention to your partner in mischief?” “No,” she argues, “Sam is my partner in mischief. Tony just provides the money to fuel the chaos if he approves of it.”

“I knew you had looped Tony into your shenanigans.” “Shhh. It’s late. Go to bed, old man.” “You’re married to this old man,” Steve teases, pressing soft kisses along her neck. 

“Yup. And grandpas like you need sleep,” (Y/n) states with finality, leaving the blond super soldier to chuckle even more when he peers down to see her eyes fluttering shut with exhaustion. “Good night.”

“Good night, (Y/n).”

“(Y/n)!!!” The woman in question freezes at the sound of her name being yelled from the other side of the compound. She woke up early to evade Steve, and to solidify her reason for disappearing, the young woman dragged Bucky and Sam to accompany her in an extensive training session.

“Ooooh, he sounds mad,” Sam remarks with a smirk. “What’d you do this time?”

“This time? Are you accusing me of always torturing my poor husband?” “Well,” Bucky joins in, “your ‘poor husband’ always uses that voice when he’s upset. I would know. He’s been doing that since the 40’s.”

Rather than answering, (Y/n) chooses to drag the two men in front of her to hide behind them right as the double doors slam open. The two veterans in the gym are unable to contain their laughter once they realize the reason for the blond super soldier’s anger. In his hands is a shield covered with red, white, and blue glitter with rhinestones covering the star in the center. 

“Goin’ to a party or something, Cap?” Sam manages to wheeze out between choked breaths. “Star spangled man with a plan? More like a sparkly spangled man with a plan!”

Steve sends Sam an unamused glare. He does not need to look hard to find his wife, given that Sam is hunched over in an attempt to catch his breath from laughing too hard. Words are not needed as he glances back and forth between the bedazzled shield and (Y/n). “Hi, Steve.” “Are you going to explain yourself, (Y/n)?”

“Happy April Fool’s Day?”

Without speaking, Steve gestures for (Y/n) to make her way to his side. But instead of listening to his silent request, she chooses to simply peek out from behind Bucky’s metal arm. Her eyes stay trained on her husband, waiting for any sudden movements so that she can panic react accordingly. 

“It was just a fun little prank, Steve. No need to get upset.” “Upset? (Y/n), my shield is covered in glitter and jewels. How am I supposed to get them all off in time for the next mission?” “But Tony said the gl-” A hand slaps itself over her mouth as soon as the woman realizes her mistake. Unfortunately for her, it is too late to take back what she had said. Steve heard her loud and clear; the blond super soldier sets down his newly-bedazzled shield by the entrance in favor of using both arms to cross them over his chest. Authority oozes from his stance as he raises an eyebrow, waiting for (Y/n) to speak up. “Tony said what exactly?” (Y/n) mumbles the answer meekly, but the only person who can hear her is the two men acting as human shields, and being the cheeky person he is, Bucky shoves her towards his best friend. A gasp can be heard at the sudden betrayal. “I’m not actually mad,” Steve admits softly when he realizes (Y/n) is actually worried. “I know you were just having a bit of fun. I know you well enough to know that if you were the mastermind behind a prank, there won’t be any permanent damage.” “Tony promised that the glue he bought should wash right off with soap, water, and a bit of scrubbing.” With a quick kiss pressed to (Y/n)’s forehead, Steve picks up his shield and turns around to leave.

“Thank you. But don’t think I’m gonna let you get away with this without some form of punishment. The next mission we have, you’re benched.” “What??” “Love you, sweetheart!” Steve exits the room just as quickly as he had initially entered it, stomping away with purpose as he enters the elevator and instructs FRIDAY to lead him to a certain genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist; as (Y/n), Bucky, and Sam resume their training, they choose to ignore the distant shouting from the floor above.

The End

[entitled-fangirl]

There was even one fic where Jace lost his virginity with his wife, a fellow virgin and he was roughly fucking her like super rough and painful and then he ends up choking her with both hands I think and obviously it surprised her. Then another fic where he asks a female ward of a noble house for help finding a room and she helps him and he drags her into a private hallways and face fucks her as she chokes and then he pushes her face against a pillar and takes her virginity doggy style. It was manipulation and everyone was praising it, so that upset some anons.

Then there are the 2 or 3 fics where Jace is angry about the war and SA’s his wife like rough fucking from behind and she’s very clearly not enjoying it and she doesn’t finish and Jace doesn’t care. Like a man taking out his anger on a woman, his wife who didn’t do anything wrong anyway. Like his wife offers to help and he SA’s her to feel better. Any man taking out his anger on a woman, physically or sexually is insane and abuse. People were loving these fics and they got well over 1,500 notes so that also upset anons.

It’s not like the fics where Jace’s wife can tell he’s upset and she offers to help him sexually and she gently makes love to him to show him that she cares about him. Like Jace was just using his wife as a hole to take his anger and stress out on. It was very dehumanizing. And these are young women writing this, so that upset people.

*me covering my eyes terrified as I just now read that*

Good god

Maybe I will get on my soap box. Holy fuck

I’ll just say this for now- While writing is definitely an outlet for the writer, it is so important that the content (if you’re a writer with a big following or audience) is well received by the reader as well. I always ask myself “what are the readers going to get out of this? What’s the message I’m trying to convey?”

I started reading fanfiction at a YOUNG age as I’m sure a lot of us have. WHAT WE WRITE AS ADULTS CAN ALSO BE SHAPING KIDS’ MINDS ABOUT WHAT HEALTHY BOUNDARIES LOOK LIKE

Like I say 18+ but I was a kid once. I started reading smut at probably 14. And I never found sweet and fluffy smut and it took a toll on me. So when I started writing, I told myself just how careful I had to be in case this is really going to change someone’s mind on what is okay and what is not.

Abuse is never okay.

Getting off of the box for now

[ofmermaidstories]

Merms!!! I am so exited about reader’s love of fresh produce you’ve got planned for sho’s fic!! I work on a nonprofit farm and conservation center and am sooo passionate about sustainable growing and regional veggies and herbs and plants so I’m very very exited that’s a lil nugget you’re putting in!! Not that it’ll be like the star of the show but those little glimpses and specificities are always so fun and full of life!

Anyways hehe visit your local farm stand(s) everyone if it’s available to you! A lot of places (around me, and my farm at least!) have programs and partners to help with food security so you can get free or discounted produce! And everyone there will prob be willing to chat about plants and growing or info on local food security initiatives, we give some of the harvest to the community and one of our neighbor’s focus is solely on food security!! Anyways RAHHH APOLOGIES I care abt this a lot and got up on a soap box 😭

Don’t apologise! Passion is good, and this is such an important thing to be passionate about. 🥺 Omg working on a farm though—I grew up on one so I can only imagine how hard you must work!!! I still live in a rural area now—although not as rural as East-Jesus-Nowhere when I was a kid—so I’m pretty lucky to have access to a lot of local produce!!! Especially with inflation hitting and raising prices. 😭 I shouldn’t complain though; my bestie was back home last week, visiting, and she was floored that sweet potatoes were like, $2.99 a kilo at the fruit shop—whereas apparently she was paying about $10 back in New Zealand? Dire 😭

You must do a lot of good work with your conservation and your non-profit. 🥺 All this talk of gardening tho makes me think of Carly Burd, that British woman who was harvesting from a little allotment and using the veggies she was growing to make up boxes to hand out to people who needed them—until some bastard salted the land!!! 😡 I hope they’re eventually outted—imagine having scum like that walk around among you! And you have to be scum, to have a problem with someone helping others feed themselves. idk, in Australia at least we waste so much produce just because it’s not pretty enough for the shelves or is a bit smaller than what the supermarkets want or it has to be thrown out EOD, and it’s so devastating because we’re such a big country—we can afford to feed our own, and we don’t. 🥺 I hate it!!!! I’ll stop myself there before I really get going, lmfao, but I just wanted to say your work sounds meaningful. 🥺 At the end of the day, getting yourself fed is the main thing, whether it’s from a packet of frozen Dollartree beans or a fresh bag of ‘em off the farm, but—it’s good that there’s farmers and programs and people out there trying to do what they can. 🥺💕

(Just for you, Anon, I’ll make sure our Reader for Shouto’s fic gets her veggies as local as she can 💕)

[dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy]

A somewhat brief, but NOT SPOILER FREE Ladybug and Chat Noir movie review:

(I’m sure the kids this was aimed for enjoyed it better than I did.)

I watched it on Netflix.

The voice acting was great as usual. The singers had good voices too. THE ANIMATION WAS GORGEOUS.

But some technical stuff kept me from enjoying it as much as I could have. And of course, I have my gripes like every other person. And I am older than the target demographic. The movie wasn’t BAD, it just wasn’t for me. The way the plot was rolled out wasn’t what I’m used to.

I already knew it was going to be a musical. But I didn’t have high hopes, because of that one Christmas musical episode the series did a few years back. I admit that at the time of that episode airing, the voice actor for Adrien wasn’t great at singing. And if the actor is not a singer, I understand using a different voice for the songs. And the singers for the songs are different from the voice actors in THIS movie. And the singer for Adrien n had a similar enough tone to just barely match to the voice actor… But it really jarred me just how different the singer for Marinette was to the voice actor. Don’t get me wrong, the singer was really good at singing the songs, but it was blatantly obvious that It was a different person singing for her, and that the tone was just too different. and I’m sure the voice actor for Marinette already could sing? so why didn’t she? I think this part of the production process might’ve been done or around the time they were fighting for equal pay and such with the production company, so I can see how it happened I guess?

 anyway, when it comes to the script, other than the songs I personally thought it was pretty bare-bones. It showed all the moments they wanted people to see throughout the series, but there is almost no transitional period between the parts. first there was the learning of powers and becoming a team, then SUDDENLY it was the last fight and they don’t need their powers anymore and reveal themselves to each other? One tiny montage was not enough to fill in that big of a jump and make it smooth. They tried to cram all the seasons into one film this time. What I see as a young adult who’s studied film and script editing isn’t the same as a child who was the target audience. I get that. Doesn’t mean I don’t still feel frustrated over it, but eh it is what it is. The transition of Gabriel ignoring/controlling his son to suddenly being worried when he came home (and not giving a full moment for us to see him react)didn’t feel like it was justified. And they really put too much time into Gabriel’s reasoning for his crimes, and putting it at the VERY END didn’t feel right. But then at the end when Gabriel is ousted they don’t show the repercussions? Not even him in jail? They just announced it was him on the news and then go back to the storyline of the “dance” and Adrien is perfectly fine?like, OKAYYYYY I GUESS. 👀

But.

Guys.

“Save one life save the world?” The throw away “Master Fu” character we got in this movie was ridiculous. I can’t express it more without making this post way too long. 

***And btw Gabriel was only hotter because they actually gave him a decent neck size and (occasionally) 5 o’clock shadow. He was a great singer…and he had actual emotions at the end.

Okay. I’ve said my piece. I’ll get off the soap box now.

[ascendancy-echoes]

Chapter 5: The New Mystic

Ismene slithered over to the doorway that led to the room she had previously claimed was off-limits and gestured for Russ to follow. Russ followed Ismene into the new room. It was filled with dried flowers hanging from the ceiling, fresh potted plants along the window and a long counter that had various glass containers, some filled and some empty. The scents of so many herbs and flowers filled the air. 

“What’s all this?” Russ asked as he looked around. 

“This is my workspace where I make various medicines. Since I’m letting you stay here, you can help out a bit. See that large double basin sink on the far wall?” Ismene replied, opening a window.

Russ nodded.

“Fill one with soap and water, then fill the other one with just water. I want you to clean all the shit next to it… Be careful, I don’t want any beakers or vials broken,” Ismene instructed. “The soap is right by the faucet.”

As Russ went over to the sink, Ismene watched out of the corner of her eye as she sorted items and jotted down notes at the counter. After a moment, she looked up to see that Russ still hadn’t started the task.

“What’s wrong? You forget how a sink works?” Ismene huffed. “It’s not that hard.”

Russ felt his face get hot with frustration. He had no memory of seeing a washing basin like this before and Ismene’s remark made him feel ashamed for forgetting a commonplace thing and how to use it. Russ turned to face Ismene, tears building in his eyes.

“Què dimonis?!" Russ shouted. Emotion seemed to intensify his accent as he continued, “I already told you I don’t remember anything before you found me! Then that doctor prods me and asks questions I don’t have answers to! Do you really need to mock me on top of that?!”

“Shit… sorry,” Ismene muttered. She did feel bad for upsetting Russ but it came out sarcastic. Sighing, she said, “Look, I don’t know if you noticed but I don’t do well with others.”

“That said, I ain’t kicking you out. I may be anti-social, but I’m not cruel,” she concluded. “Just turn the knob to the left a little bit. I’ll be over here working on some orders.”

In doing as Ismene instructed, Russ suddenly found himself almost splashed by the sudden jet of water as it hit the side of a glass jar in the sink. He quickly turned the water down so it wasn’t as intense and sighed to himself as he reached for the soap.

Ismene turned and went back to her work. Despite the fact Russ seemed utterly clueless, Ismene was happy to see he was willing to perform the chore instead of whining. 

As Russ worked silently and slowly, Ismene quietly worked on filling vials with liquids and putting ground up mixtures of dried leaves in small linen satchels before packing things into various boxes. She checked off each order and put a slip of parchment on each container before stacking them to the side.

“Okay, I finished,” Russ called out after several minutes of cleaning vials and bottles.

Ismene set her book down and said, “Good. Now let’s see if you can help me cook dinner.”

~o~O~o~

Ismene was glad to see Russ was capable of some food preparation although he did a terrible job peeling the potatoes so she took over. It was easier to do it herself anyways.

After dinner was cooked and they sat down to eat, Russ found the courage to ask Ismene a question that had been bothering him since they arrived at her home.

“...Eezmeenee?”

“What?” Ismene asked, mentally reminding herself to correct Russ on how to say her name later.

“Your home seems rather big for one Mystic. Can I ask why you live alone?” Russ asked cautiously.

Ismene sighed and picked at her dinner. “I don’t like thinking about it but if you have to know… My parents were killed by humans in Guardia about twelve years ago. Cephas, a family friend, survived the attack and told my grandmother everything. Nana told me what happened when I was old enough to understand and talked all the time about how the humans killed them without mercy. If it wasn’t for the picture in my room, I wouldn’t know what my parents looked like.”

“Ah! I’m sorry.” Russ suddenly felt terrible for asking his question.

“Don’t be. I was only four when they were killed. I had my Nana for years….” Ismene replied. “She died about three years ago, but I’ve been fine on my own.”

Russ nodded in understanding. As he ate, Russ realized that, based on Ismene’s story, she was just a teenager, not even an adult like Paion. He still didn’t have a sense of how old he was supposed to be but it now seemed like he wasn’t too much younger than her. Wondering that, Russ suddenly found himself wondering why Ismene’s parents would leave her and risk their lives going to such a dangerous place if humans were as bad as Ismene claimed.

“You said the humans are bad,” Russ said. “Why did your parents go into their land?”

“To get revenge for the war,” Ismene stated flatly, taking a bite of potato.

Russ stared at Ismene and asked, “… What war?”

Ismene raised an eyebrow. She resisted the urge to make a harsh comment considering Russ’s amnesia, but there was no hiding her incredulous expression and tone as she explained that there had been a war between Mystics and humans four hundred years prior when Oz’s ancestor united the various Mystics into one army and fought back against the humans.

“The Demon King may have started the war, but humans started the fight long before that,” Ismene remarked. “They’ve always feared and hated us.”

Russ looked at Ismene in surprise. “Why? What did we do to them?”

Ismene sighed. “Humans have claimed that we’re scary fiends and demons… and sure there’s been bad Mystics throughout history but that doesn't excuse all of us being treated like monsters, hunted and killed over the centuries.”

Russ frowned, unsure of what to say. Ismene’s words worried him. It seemed like more and more that he was alone, that something had happened to his family. Ismene sensed he was feeling anxious and tried to change the subject, saying that they should finish eating so he could help clean out a room so he could have somewhere to sleep that night.

After dinner, Russ followed Ismene down the hall to a door. Ismene opened it to reveal a room that had a bed and some crates blocking the way. Ismene explained it was her childhood room but she had been using it as a storage room for various supplies since she was living alone. 

She opened the window to let in some fresh air and instructed him to start helping her move crates to the workroom. Russ was grateful that the crates weren’t as heavy as they seemed. It wasn’t long before the room was cleared up. Ismene brought some bedding and dropped it on top of the bed.

“Here, you can make your bed when you’re ready to get some sleep.”

“... Thank you,” Russ said. “For everything.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it… If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen cleaning up.”

Russ looked to the bed as Ismene departed. He started to put on the bedding when he found himself gazing out the window at the setting sun. He wondered where his family was and if they were worried about him too. As he finished putting the sheets on the bed, he prayed he’d find them soon.

~o~O~o~

Ismene didn’t bother looking at the clock when she was woken up by Russ screaming at the top of his lungs. She rushed to the room and turned on the lights to see Russ sitting up in bed, screaming something in a strange language and crying as he clutched himself so tightly that he had clawed up his arms.

“Russ!” Ismene shouted as she reached the bed.

Caught in the throes of his nightmare, Russ scratched Ismene across her arm as she reached to wake him. While most of Russ’s words were lost on Ismene, there was one that she did understand. Despite everything else being gibberish to her, Ismene was sure she heard the word “no” being yelled.

Ismene cursed to herself as she pulled back from being scratched. To her confusion, Russ suddenly stopped screaming and thrashing. His breathing slowly calmed and his face relaxed as he laid down and seemed to go back to sleep. Ismene stood beside his bed, clutching her bleeding arm and staring Russ as he slept peacefully, as if he had not just been screaming.

While she had no idea what he had just yelled, Ismene knew Russ sounded terrified. It made her all the more concerned that someone had traumatized Russ so badly he blocked the incident from his conscious recollection. The idea that humans or worse, his own family, had hurt him angered her greatly.

With a heavy sigh, Ismene quickly left Russ to find some salve and bandages for the both of them.  Returning, she couldn’t believe how peaceful Russ was sleeping, a complete change from the terrified and screaming boy minutes earlier. After she bandaged her own arms, Ismene tried to wake up Russ as gently as she could to avoid getting clawed again.

Russ woke up although he was very disoriented as he mumbled and asked what was going on. 

“You just had one hell of a nightmare and clawed the shit out of me and yourself,” Ismene replied. She didn’t mean to sound so angry but she was tired and sore.

Russ seemed to wake up more as it dawned on him that his arms hurt. He flinched as Ismene applied the salve and firmly wrapped the bandages around his arms.

“I don’t even… remember…” he mumbled, his voice hoarse from screaming. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ismene huffed as she picked up everything. “Just try to get back to sleep.”

Ismene slithered over to the door and turned off the lights. She paused by the door after she closed it, half expecting Russ to call out and ask her to stay. Met with silence, she returned to her own bed. 

~o~O~o~

The next morning, Ismene got up at dawn as she usually did, slightly exhausted from the previous night’s ordeal. Her morning routine went as normal although she made sure to make breakfast for Russ as well. She was almost done with the bacon when he came into the main room, looking exhausted.

“Just sit down. Breakfast is almost done,” she called out, catching Russ in the corner of her eye. “Did you get any more sleep?”

“I think so? I thought I had dreamed you bandaged my arms until I woke up a little bit ago,” Russ admitted. “I think you said I had a nightmare?”

Ismene sighed and tried to reassure Russ as she dished them up. “I wish I could remember what you were screaming… You sounded terrified.”

“I don’t remember dreaming anything,” Russ confessed. "I'm sorry."

“Let’s not worry about that right now,” she added, bringing over a plate full of bacon and eggs with toast. “Eat up so you can help me wash those sheets you bled all over. Then we can go to town so I can make some deliveries and we can stop by the tailor shop to get you some better fitting clothes.”

Russ thanked Ismene and sat down as she brought over a plate full of bacon and eggs with some toast. Setting the plate down, Ismene told him to start eating while she got them something to drink. She strongly suspected that he would not want coffee given his fussiness over the tea the day before, so she poured him a glass of juice while she brewed herself a cup of coffee.

Ismene noticed that Russ hadn’t started eating when she returned with the drinks but before she could ask what was wrong with the food, he said that he did not want to be rude and eat without her. Ismene smirked and said, “Glad to see your manners didn't disappear with your memories.”

Russ peered at Ismene as she sipped her coffee. Curious, he asked “What is that drink?”

“Coffee,” Ismene replied. “You’re probably too young for it… and it’s really bitter.”

Russ frowned at the notion that Ismene thought he was a little kid. This coffee couldn’t be that bad, could it? It smelled amazing. He looked at the coffee and asked, “Can I try it?”

Ismene offered her mug to Russ, warning him that it was hot. 

Russ took the smallest sip before grimacing. He choked down the sip of coffee, then quickly took a gulp of the juice Ismene brought him and exclaimed, “How can something that smells so good be bitter?! How can you drink that?”

Ismene smirked as she took her mug back. Shrugging, she took another sip. “It helps me wake up in the morning… Sometimes folks put cream and sugar in their coffee to make it less bitter but that ruins the potency and the whole point of drinking it.”

As they ate, Ismene wondered yet again about finding Russ in the forest. Where was his family and what had happened to them and to him? She was sure that the same questions were racing through Russ’s mind even as he quietly ate his food.

Later, laundry proved to be even more of a foreign concept to Russ than dish-washing had been. Ismene found herself sternly explaining every step as she did the work herself while Russ stood by and looked ashamed. At least he was able to help hang the sheets, Ismene thought. She was baffled how someone could be so helpless at his age.

With the laundry done, Ismene had Russ follow her into the workshop so she could gather the orders she needed to deliver for the day. Amongst the orders was Oz’s father’s and Ismene did not enjoy the idea of having to deliver the bottles of medicine with Russ in tow. However, if she didn’t deliver it today like she had promised, Oz would be pounding on her door and she’d have to explain herself to his father anyways.

An irritated sigh escaped her lips as she packed up the order. She instructed Russ to grab the small leather booklet on her counter as she carefully packed bottles of liquid medicines, boxes of teas and small corked jars of powders.

“How do you manage to do this all by yourself?” Russ asked as he brought over the booklet.

Ismene shrugged as she slung her basket over her shoulder. “I just do. Been doing it for about four years now. I’m used to it. Just hold that booklet and follow me.”

As they neared the town, Russ felt anxious and quickened his steps to stay near Ismene. She glanced at him and said, “You’re fine. They don’t bite… at least not other Mystics. Just stay close.”

Russ nodded. As he followed Ismene, he became keenly aware of the bystanders and how their voices got quiet as Ismene and he walked by.

“Let’s get your clothes altered first, Bel always has her shop open at this hour.” Ismene said, ignoring the attention she and Russ were receiving.

Russ nodded and followed Ismene to the tailor’s shop. As they reached the door, a thought occurred to Ismene. She stopped and turned to Russ and asked him bluntly if he knew what a Kotengu was.

“A Kotengu?”

“I just don’t want you embarrassing yourself by asking any dumb questions,” Ismene replied. “You seemed surprised to see me when you woke up and you didn’t recognize Oz.”

“Th-they’re the bird Mey-stiks, right? They look like ravens?” Russ asked cautiously.

“Mystics,” Ismene corrected. “And yes. But Belinay is a bit… flashy for a Kotengu. Most don’t dress like her or act as showy. Still, she’s good at her job and that’s what matters.”

Russ nodded and quickly followed Ismene into the shop. No sooner had the door shut behind him and the door’s bell had finished ringing than Belinay came out from the back room, calling out a greeting.

Flashy was definitely a way to describe Belinay to Russ. The colors of her clothing were vibrant blues and greens, patterned with embroidery of ornate blossoms and trimmed with shining beads. Silver jewelry clinked and jingled in her wrists as she came around the counter to greet them.

“Aaah! Ismene, is this the boy you mentioned?” Belinay asked cheerfully. “What a charming young Mystic. Welcome, come in.”

“Morning, Bel. Can you fix his pants?” Ismene said, cutting to the chase. “They’re too loose.”

Belinay clacked her beak and said teasingly, “They would have fit yesterday if you had brought him along but bridge under the water.”

“Let’s get you fitted, come,” Belinay placed a hand on Russ’s back to guide him to a curtain that led to her workspace. “Ismene can wait out front.”

Russ glanced nervously at Ismene who gestured for him to follow Belinay. 

“You’ll be fine, Bel’s not gonna hurt you.”

Russ couldn’t be sure if Kotengu could smile but it certainly seemed like Belinay was smiling as she led him into the back of her shop. He stood by the curtain nervously as Belinay grabbed a measuring tape and slipped a pin-cushion wristband with pins over her wrist.

“So, Ismene told me a little bit… Dreadful news that you have lost your memories,” Belinay remarked as she guided Russ a bit further in. “How are you feeling? You’re not too seriously hurt, are you? I see your arms are bandaged.”

“Ummm no, I’m okay,” Russ mumbled. “Eesmeenee has been really nice.”

“What a fascinating accent,” Belinay noted. She made Russ move his arms as she measured him. “I would love to find out where you’re from and learn more about the Mystics of those lands.”

“Tell me, did Ismene remember to feed you? You look so skinny and I assume you stayed at her home overnight,” she continued before Russ could say anything. “I hope she didn’t make you drink any of that coffee she’s so fond of.”

“Y-yes… she made food for me and um, no,” Russ mumbled, now self-conscious of his accent. He struggled to pronounce words like Ismene or Belinay. “I did ask to try the coffee…”

“And?”

Russ didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure what Belinay was getting at. He felt like she was asking too many questions but he didn’t want to be rude and tell her so.

“Ismene may know medicine but she knows nothing of a proper morning beverage,” Belinay remarked, ignoring Russ’s silence. Calling out to Ismene, she shouted, “You really should switch to a nice Porrean tea blend! The boy would benefit from a good tea!”

“I’m not drinking that human-made crap,” Ismene called from the front of the shop. “I’d sooner drink ocean water.”

Belinay laughed. She and Ismene had long since agreed to disagree about coffee versus tea but she couldn’t help but tease Ismene in front of Russ.

“You like tea made by humans, Belinay?” Russ asked cautiously as Belinay continued to measure him and stick pins here and there on the clothes.

Belinay nodded. “Please, call me Bel. All my friends do. And yes. I’ve yet to find anyone here who can make a proper tea blend that isn’t strictly medicinal.”

“Aren’t humans bad?” asked Russ.

Belinay nodded. “Oh my, they are. Terrible, magickless monsters…. But they make good tea.”

She pointed to a curtain in the back of the room and said, “Please go behind that curtain and carefully take off your clothes. I’ll sew them so they fit properly. It won’t take more than a few minutes.”

Russ obliged Belinay and waited in the changing room while Belinay went to work and tailored the pants. He peeked out from the curtain to see Belinay humming to herself as she worked at a machine. He had never seen such a thing but as Belinay’s foot tapped a pedal, there was a small clunking sound and after a few minutes, Belinay picked up something and then held up the shorts, admiring her work.

“There,” she walked back over to the curtain and shoved the shorts at it for Russ to take back. “This should fit perfectly now.”

After Russ got dressed, he thanked Belinay for fixing his pants. Belinay nodded and assured Russ it was her pleasure to help. She eyed the belt in Russ’s hand and asked him if he would like for her to get rid of it.

Russ pulled the belt close and shook his head. He didn’t know why but it felt important to him and he told Belinay as much. Belinay shrugged.

“I’d recommend getting a new strap but I won’t take away such a treasure,” she said. “In any case, I have your measurements so we can talk about future orders later. We’ve kept Ismene waiting long enough.”

Belinay led the way back to the front and smiled at Ismene. “Have a pleasant day, Russ… Ismene, we can worry about payment later.”

Ismene nodded and gestured for Russ to follow. As she and Russ went down the road, Ismene noticed Russ clutching the belt he had been wearing.

“Keeping the belt?”

Russ looked down at the brass buckle and worn leather. He let out a small but heavy sigh and said, “It feels like it's important but I can’t remember how or why…”

Ismene rolled her eyes and continued to lead the way down the road. Russ glanced around as he followed, noticing the nearby marketplace and the various homes. All the while, various Mystics eyed him curiously.

“Okay, we’re here,” Ismene sighed, coming to a sudden stop in front of a large, two story house.  Russ almost tripped over Ismene’s tail, he was so distracted by his surroundings. Something about the house told him it belonged to someone important.

[hearsayhorizons]

Thinktober 2024 25: Break

It was supposed to be a break. If I am attentive and helpful and keeping pace when we’re busy, why can’t I feel comfortable with a slow day? Especially with half the employees of this family business in California? If they can go to California, I  can catch a breath.

But instead of sitting idle or catching up on reading or even writing, I’m reorganizing drawers of paperwork. I used to keep the past two years plus the current stuff on this side and older stuff in the attic next door. We’re progressively busier every year, and now even this year and last is a tight fit. Three times busier, but the pay is still—

"Shit!"

I was so careful. My skin is so dry and the air is dry and we ran out of hand soap at home and the dish soap tears the shit out of my skin, but I got through three drawers of manilla folders and six cardboard boxes before I snagged my cuticle. Not even bad, just a little blood. I slam my eyes shut anyway. I feel the attention leaking in, like someone is standing behind me and leaning... on my eyeballs.

Are you well?

“I’m fine,” I mumble, because while most of the crew is on vacation and Evan is mostly deaf from partying when he was younger, there are cameras here. I have to subvocalize. I take this moment to catch my breath and try to forcibly stop my back from aching before He can question it. When He’s “looking” like this, he can feel what I feel. I shouldn’t have been moving the banker boxes anyway, but I get so fucking tired of asking people to do what I “should” be able to do.

What I can do, on my good days. But if I do things sometimes people don’t get that I can’t do them all the time and that’s just a whole discussion. I’ve been waiting two years to get a bunch of this clutter moved. I just don’t feel comfortable asking people to do what I can’t, but I’ll never be able to do it myself.

Would you like assistance? I’m tempted. For just a moment, I’m tempted. To turn my mind off, let a greater power than just my muscles lift everything. Maybe get everything cleared out in the attic before I fall back into myself...

Of course, I haven’t gone to physical therapy in a year, because I no longer stand on my feet eight hours a day, and because I especially no longer let Him “drive.” Sure, the day or two of being insensible to pain is great, but it comes due.

It’s the time I slip up and it isn’t just a day or two I have to worry about. You’d think being possessed would either be easier or harder than this. You’d think it’d have more relevance after the botched ouija incident, that it’d make me a villain or an antihero or at least interesting.

As I carefully sit down, I contemplate letting Him have at it for a while. Demons, I’ve found, love paperwork, and routine tasks like entering invoices. But His dyscalculia is somehow worse than mine. It’s Friday. Just a few more decades, probably, before I get... a break.

[barrelingtowards40]

497 Days, and counting.

Hi,  I should insert my name here, but it doesn’t matter. I’m a mom, working mom, working mom outside the home mom, working mom outside of the home without the luxury of logging in every morning in my sweatpants mom, wife, not a first wife, working on my third to be exact (I have all the excuses and reasons to justify, but why should I, you don’t even know my name. I am a hot mess, although holding it together, and I am barreling towards 40. 497 days until I turn 40. It scares the hell out of me. 

What am I here for? No clue, I’m longing for something, is it more money….. Maybe. I look at side gigs daily because My retirement fund tells me I’m behind. I already work more than full time, teach yoga on the side and have a handful of semi decent and failures of hobbies that I either got bored of or simply don’t have time for. I sold the Cricut I begged my husband for, have a ton of soap making supplies, embroidery was harder than I thought. I’m decent at photography although too scared to charge for it. I actually make decent money, I’m in trucking, not a driver, but the person who gets yelled at all day by drivers and customers. I’m actually pretty good at it. Maybe it’s all the damn subscriptions I have and don’t use. Maybe I can retire at 62 if I cancel those. That will be my goal before 40, cancel all the virus protections, drop box space, Adobe programs I don’t use, and the Planet Fitness membership I haven’t used in over a year. Those sneaky bastards, I have to go in to the actual gym to cancel. That’s embarrassing and when the hell am I supposed to do that? I don’t even have time to go. 

I should have time, I’m divorced from my kids dad, and they go to his house on Wednesdays (I teach yoga that night) and every other weekend…. Yet I still have sporting events to attend, and all the cleaning and laundry. Never ending laundry. I always wonder how those moms who sell make up and skincare got so lucky. I get messages all the time, “Hey Girl, it’s been forever!” I get excited, seeing my friends at this age is like planning a wedding. Babysitters, work schedules, fucking sports!!! Kids sports! I have devoted so much of my life to watching my kids play sports. More on that another day, I’m not the Best Sports Mom. I have no shirts with Basketball Mom in fancy fonts that match my bedazzled school spirit hats, ( no offense if you do, I can barely muster enough energy to swipe on mascara and brush my hair as I rush home from work.) Anyways, back to the cute moms who sell makeup and wear rhinestones on their apparel. I mean, I’m willing to be friends with them. But, it always ends up, You should sell my special Collagen Syrup, it sells itself, and I have been to Mexico 3 times this year. Girl, your husband is also a lawyer and nobody wants to see me make tik toks. Friendship is over before I even ask if they want to drink wine in a driveway. Ok, goal number 2. Make more friends. I do have the best girl friends in the world. But, you know, life when you are barreling towards 40 leaves little free time to drink wine and talk shit about MLM moms with successful husbands. And my husband IS successful, and sweet. But, in our house, we both work. Duel incomes, we both go 50/50. We came into our marriage as adults, me with 2 little girls who are now preteens. He is super helpful with them. I count my blessings. He’s also very private, so I’ll probably not speak of him too often. Since you don’t even know my name, not sure it matters anyway. I’m not sure if anyone will ever even read this. I forgot my password after signing up last week. So, there’s a chance I’ll forget it again and never make another post. 

Ok, back to the point. Things to do before I turn 40, part uno. 

Goals: 

Cancel subscriptions I don’t use.

Be nice to Lularoe moms and make friends.

Signing off, lady who is too scared to say her name on a blog and almost 40.

[mandylove1000]

^^^^^^^^^^^

I can not stress enough how much this update has pissed me off.

I literally had an rude anon tell me that and I quote “Lol fucking loser going off on a tumblr ad. It’s an ad. Chill the fuck out. Tumblrs not gonna see your bitch fit anyways loser.” Simply bc I passed the ad and had been pissed off bc of the update so I used the merch post they have as my soap box.

Now do I think staff is going to listen to me. Absolutely not. Do I care. Sadly no bc I know they are literally trying to take some people’s happy place away (mine included).

We have the right to be mad about the updates considering they got rid of/moved 2 very used things which had been in those spots for at LEAST 10years. Made it a pain in the ass to get to them now 😒. They can’t be bothered to do the minimal things we ask for like getting rid of the bots but instead give us fucking lives…..if I wanted that I would go to twitch, YouTube, tiktok, Instagram, hell even fucking Facebook. Like genuinely this app doesn’t need it bc there are genuinely some people on this site that would use it for the wrong thing.

I’ll stop now but I need you guys to know we have the right to be mad especially bc they didn’t do it gradually nor tell us about it beforehand. So we were blindsided there for are emotions are valid.

It’s ok to be upset at a company and it’s ok to call them out.

On that note good luck to everyone with this shot.

(Ps.anyone that’s thinking about sending me hate for me yelling at staff sign your names I’d like to say if you are gonna do it at least be grown enough to sign your name)

Whoever made these community labels, respectfully, suck the dick I don’t have.

 Same goes to the jackass who thought making Tumblr kid friendly would be a good idea. Explain why you thought this platform, a place where people happily scroll through porn gifs in the middle of taking uni notes during lectures, WOULD BE A GOOD PLACE FOR KIDS. 

Also the update sucks ass, why tf would you add tumblrmart in the place of the home icon. 

I hope your pillow is hot. I hope someone tweezes your nose hair one at a time. I hope you stub your pinky toe and then right after you drop your keys as you try to unlock the house door and then your jean belt loop gets caught to the door when you have to go the bathroom really badly. 

Anyways. I should be doing work rn. 

[icouldntthinkofabetternamesook]

A Study in Insomnia and Building a Better Home

I might have posted this already, but I'm going through some of my old works and I remember how much I liked this little pice I wrote about Dick moving into titans tower after falling out with Batman.

Enjoy!

........

There is a grey room, with grey walls, a grey bed, a grey plastic desk and a grey ceiling. There is a grey bathroom with a sink, a mirror, a shower, a tub and a toilet. An empty closet stands beside it all.

I paint the grey walls sky blue, a blue I’ve only ever seen in the sky over Kansas fields. It drips on the uncovered grey floor so I paint the floor, then the ceiling. I open all the windows, leave it to dry and contemplate what I’m doing here.

I take the grey bed and add dark blue sheets. I add a white comforter, a mint green knit blanket, a yellow knit blanket and a pale blue blanket weighted so heavy I can hardly move. I add more pillows then there should be room for, in cases of green and yellow and dark and light blue. I move it into a corner and put down a rug that spirals from orange to yellow to green to blue where it once stood in the middle. I add a bed stand on either side and try to get some sleep.

I fix a white bookcase onto a wall and get to work. Books need to be sorted and photos put up. Weights need to be unpacked and the mat rolled out. I get rid of the old desk and add a new one with more drawers, more space. I get rid of the old chair and add a new one that can spin and has a fuzzy mint green cover.

I add a mini fridge and attach a sticky note telling me to go down to the kitchen to eat instead. Four times out of five I’ll probably ignore it, but that one in five matters so I put it up anyway. A giant calendar goes over the desk, white dry erase so I can use it month after month.

I add a yellow desk lamp because I know I’ll be sitting here when it’s dark and I should be asleep. I add one to each of my bed stands and hope it will get me to go to bed if I can work there too.

Weeks later I stare up at the ceiling and decide it’s not done. 

I open all the windows, get more paint and start adding fluffy white clouds. The overhead light fixture is replaced with one of stained yellow glass, swirled with orange. Yellow swirls are painted around it and now it's the sun.

I stare at my sky and decide I like it.

The grey bathroom becomes the same sky blue as the used-to-be-grey room. The ceiling becomes a simple white. I pack the sink with scentless soap and make-up and towels and everything I need to take on and off. I add light bulbs around the mirror's edge to illuminate and highlight every flaw and every scar and every single thing I need to cover up to be normal. I don’t like what I see so I use my make-up to finger paint over the mirror and turn my attention elsewhere.

My eyes flicker to the green and blue towels lying on the floor, toilet, towel rack then rest on the bright yellow bath mat I got because it made me smile when I saw it in the store. “It’s A Good Day to be Happy” it makes me smile and makes me annoyed in equal measure. The smiles are worth it and I don’t always have to look down.

I never unpack the closet in full.

I have too much stuff and not enough space and not enough motivation. It’s a black spot of my own creation in a bright world of my own creation. A bit like me I guess, and leave it be.

There is a room, with blue walls, a blue-green-white-yellow bed in eternal disarray, a  meticulously organized white desk, and a sky for a ceiling. There is a blue bathroom, a sink stained from concealer and nail polish spills, a mirror I try to ignore but fear the consequences of such, a shower with it’s tub, and a toilet. A closet of unopened boxes stands beside it all.