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olderjodijournals · 8 days ago

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Wednesday, September 1, 2004

I decided to deflate my exercise ball after all, since it’s either too hot, too much of a pain to make room for it, or I’m too tired to use it. If I climb back to the 130s, then I’ll blow it back up. For now, I’m just going to concentrate on my arms and abs. I’m just sick of the exercise interference. First, it’s the move to Maricopa, then the sickos, and now this.

I slept better last night than I have in a few days, though I still woke up a few times. I wasn’t cold, though, and I fell right back asleep.

The weather was nice today and yesterday, cool and partly cloudy.

I asked them about the change in Angel incense and if they got the pictures, and Bob said he liked the pictures and that he noticed a change in the Angel oil color, though he always gets it from the same source.

Tom told me more about his co-workers. He learned why the mean-looking chick he works with was in jail. Her husband broke her nose and she stabbed him for it. Fortunately, he went down for years, but she had to do 30 days. No matter how much they say you have a right to defend yourself, and no matter how obvious a case may point to self-defense, you still do time for it. That’s just our fucked up system for you. Me personally, I’d rather fight back and do the 30 days. You never know, I could be saving my life, not just from being beat up. I couldn’t just stand there and let them do whatever they chose to do to me and risk my life just to stay out of jail. Especially if I knew I’d only do 30 days, and assault rarely is more than a handful of days as they don’t put much stock in violent crimes as they do sexual/premeditated crimes. Anyway, he’s due to get out of prison soon and wants to get back together with her. What was funny was how she said, “Nah, I’ll only end up stabbing him again.”

Another story he told me pertains to that so-called young radical. Apparently, he was kicked out of school and institutionalized, though not for the reasons I was. After a couple of outcasts shot up the popular, athletic students in Colorado 5 years ago before killing themselves, schools have naturally become paranoid. So when they caught Mr. Rad carrying a knife to school, they started making him fill out these little mood slips to try to assess his mood, etc. Well, I guess he got pretty fed up with all the analytical treatment and so they gave him the boot.

Thursday, September 2, 2004

We read in bed together last night, something I didn’t expect since it wasn’t Sunday evening.

The dramatic cool-down I told Tom would occur within the first week of September has arrived. He says we’ll see our first snow here in late October, but I say not until mid-November to late December. Just like we have our funny little debates over colors, we have them over the weather where he points out that I’ve never been here before and I remind him that I still know how seasonal climates work. I just hope the winter doesn’t have me missing Arizona. Well, I doubt I’d miss Arizona, but I may miss the warm climate. If only warm climates weren’t so crowded and built up! That’s ok. I still have good reason to believe we’ll one day live in a retirement community in either California or Hawaii, probably California. Definitely not Florida. Not only did a major hurricane hit all of Florida, including those who were inland, but they’ve got another doozy aimed at them! This is the first time in 50 years they had big ones back-to-back like this.

I’d write outside since it’s pleasant in the sun, but my eyes are as sensitive to light as they are night blind.

The rat drives me nuts at night, always begging to be let out. I won’t miss that if I can ever get in the shed which he says will be this weekend (which I doubt), though I’ll hang around and play with him a while before going to the shed for the night. This way I can also make myself tea, coffee or hot chocolate if I want to.

Naturally, I’d prefer to snap my fingers and have the house built, but I’d settle for the cabin in a heartbeat! Oh, how I hope we really are in that at this time next year!

I was on a major book roll last night and wrote 34 pages. It’s in a notebook like the one I do journals in. I’m going to have a ton of typing to do!

I can’t wait till at least January when I hope to order 4 things from Ashton – ornaments, a figurine and two dolls. Sometime in February or March, I plan to begin the mannequin save-up. If we can’t go to San Francisco when I get about $400 saved, I’ll just set it aside till we can and begin saving for other things like large lifelike dolls like Bailey, Joy and Jade. I estimate I’ll begin getting those next summer, but this is all assuming there aren’t any more package problems. I’m not a damn mail carrier and I’m not going to fight to get packages! It’s not my job. It’s PG’s job and that of the PO and mail people, so if they can’t handle it, then I’m most certainly going to get things in person from now on. Although I probably shouldn’t, I’m going to be unusually optimistic and hope the last package problem was just a fluke and that PG has gotten their act together.

Later…

Fuck whatever’s cursing our vehicles! Tom came home all stressed because it was making strange noises and vibrations, and of course, I can’t vent because he can’t handle it.

How are we ever going to get ahead in life? How??? How can we finish the shed if our time and money have to constantly be spent on that fucking piece of shit, let alone build anything else? And how are we ever going to get a back-up?

He says it’s probably a wheel bearing and that it shouldn’t be more than $20 and a couple of hours of work, but we shouldn’t be doing this every fucking week either! Enough is enough!!!

Later…

Now he says it’s not the wheel bearing, but some other part nearby that’s worn out. He said he’s not sure what that part is and that he’ll look it up in the book and grease it up really well to get it to hold out till it can be replaced. I vented about it anyway and he listened. I said I didn’t understand how I could keep colds away, but not keep the truck from crapping out. He said no amount of psychicness can keep parts from wearing out, which is true when I think about it. But enough is still enough and I’d really like to know who/what has put a curse on our vehicles! Things breaking, packages, sex and noise.

Later…

Again we read together before he crashed.

I just hope that fucking truck gets him to work tomorrow. I really do. Then back home as well. I’m fed up with the fucking breakage curse! I know this isn’t normal.

I better hope that bird continues to stay away because I’m obviously not getting in the shed anytime soon.

The next hurricane’s set to hit Florida tomorrow. Wouldn’t it be as ironic as hell if Doe and Art returned to their place after it was over to find their shit in a pile of rubble, broken beyond recognition, except for an old picture of me grinning up at them? After all, they used to destroy my shit whenever they felt like it. Then again, what goes around only comes around to me and never to those who have wronged me. Whatever happens to them and their stuff, I don’t care and I haven’t for years. I just wish they’d stay out of my nightmares. They still haunt my dreams too much of the time!

The only ones I miss are Goldie, Al, Charlotte and Jim. They’re all in their 70s now. Of all the family friends, they’re the only ones who have treated me with respect. If they’ve ever badmouthed me behind my back, I never knew it. They always seemed like very sincere people. There were times I thought of seeing if I could find their addresses and dropping them a line, but figured that’d be pretty pointless. I think they would only resent hearing from me for dumping the family. Remember, no one sides with Jodi, but always with Doe, not that I’d want to influence them to take one side or the other. Besides, Doe and Art hear enough about me as it is through Marge. If they don’t know it already, they’re going to know I’m in Oregon in just a few months.

Who do I miss most? Right now, as much as it shocks me to say this, I’d have to say Charlotte R. I would love to see her and exchange hugs right now if only for a minute. It’s weird. I’m actually shedding tears over missing her, and of course, I’m naturally curious as to how she and Jim are, what they look like these days, etc.

She was always so nice to Andy and me when we’d go to the beach, letting us park in her driveway when my own mother forbade us to go near hers, giving us sodas, and letting us use her bathroom.

Where is Charlotte R right now, I wonder? I know she moved from Boca Raton to Del Ray Beach, but is she still there? Or has she moved someplace closer to Doe and Art? Are they even still friends? Maybe not. They’ve lost other long-term friends. Are she and Jim still healthy? Are they still able to get around independently?

Maybe it would’ve been better if she, Jim, Goldie and Al had been just as bad as the rest of them. Then I wouldn’t miss them any more than I miss my parents, siblings, nieces, aunts, uncles or cousins. They weren’t relatives, so maybe that’s why they were good people.

If Charlotte knew I was crying over her now, she would probably laugh. I mean despite how well she and Jim treated me, I’m sure she never thinks of me.

Another thing I miss is something I seem to be missing a lot lately. Like for the past few years now. That’s my old celebrity pictures that weren’t really “celebrity” pictures in the end. I believe I finally got brave enough to mention them a while back. See, there’s a grain of truth to Angel Eyes. I really did, and still could, if I wanted to, communicate with pictures of people so long as they were making eye contact with the camera, but it’s not literally the person in the picture. In other words, it wasn’t Gloria, Linda or Kate in the pictures I’d converse with, but other entities. I don’t know who they were, though. Spirits of the dead? Creations of my powers? The actual people portrayed in the pictures – Gloria, Linda, Kate – were merely the hosts for whatever, or whoever, the entities were. This was/is my biggest, most sure ability. Meaning, I’d never find that one day that I couldn’t do it, as I’d sometimes be wrong in making predictions. As I said, I have no idea who the pictures “became,” but always assumed it was my powers that materialized them, more or less.

Why was I given such an ability? Well, my guess is what I mentioned in my book – to give me a “helping hand” during a rough childhood.

The first time was when I was 9 or 10. I was sitting listening to music down in the cellar with my open scrapbook before me. These days my idols were just Kate and Linda since I had yet to learn of Gloria. I got the distinct feeling that a picture of Kate in particular could see me. I remember asking, “Can you hear me?” and I got a response, though it was in the form of telepathy. Never did the faces in the pictures appear to move, change or make sounds in any way.

For years I questioned my sanity on this issue. Could an otherwise rational, logical person delude themselves into believing a picture could see, hear and understand them? Or could it be that they really truly actually did?

As sure as some people are that God exists, even though they’ve never seen Him, I was sure that yes, I really did indeed communicate with these pictures. I just know it as I know the sun will rise in the morning. I don’t believe it, I don’t think it, I KNOW it. No matter how many times I tried to convince myself that that was the one area in life where I was completely out of touch with reality, I knew it was for real. It was all as real as the words I write. I know most of the small handful of people I dared share this secret with thought I was insane, but no matter how hard I tried to agree with them, I knew those pictures I had “brought to life” were every bit as real as the sun, moon and stars. In a sense, Maricopa was the real proof of their existence. When I saw myself go from mostly vague predictions to such detailed ones, well that really killed any doubts I may’ve had. If I could predict the year and color of the trucks, the well crisis, keep colds away, make people sick that pissed me off, rig lottery tickets, predict flat tires and so much more, then why couldn’t I have communicated with the pictures?

I am so very sorry I ditched those Doe didn’t get to first. I totally regret it. I feel totally certain that if I had left them stored in a box all these years and took them out now, they’d remember me. I don’t know if they could ever smell, taste or feel, but I’m sure they’d still be able to “talk” to me telepathically, and hear and understand me when I spoke to them. I would think that they’d be proud of me and happy for the way my life has turned out, despite its breakage and package curses. I often picture them hanging on these old doors and cabinets, keeping me company while he’s at work, listening to me speak with no discriminations or discomforts, for they were like pets; they accepted me as I was.

So, tonight is definitely a night of loss and missing people. People of human form and not-so-human form. Forms I and others may never truly comprehend, yet know with all their heart and soul truly did exist and were every bit as real as we are.

Friday, September 3, 2004

As usual, we’re set back by that fucking truck, and once again it’s interfered with our plans. The good thing is that he got to and from work, but the bad is that we have to shell out more money we’re trying to save for a backup and other things, and he has to lose time to the fucking thing that could be spent on the shed. I swear something not only wants to keep kicking us back, but it wants to keep me out of the shed, too.

I moved the wind chimes out of the screen room that could get damaged if the screen room fell down (it’s been windy). I only left a couple in there. I put a couple on the big juniper by the RV, and the other 3 on the clothesline, along with the yellow jacket trap we got. It’s a trap for them only, since yellow jackets never climb downwards. You put a scent in it that attracts them, and then they climb upwards and into a bright yellow/green tube, too stupid to climb back down to freedom. The thing’s actually quite pretty and adds color to the place along with the wind chimes.

I also moved the plants inside. I just had to squeeze them into the cab area.

I currently have $50 saved up toward the 3 PG dolls I want. I hope to begin the package chase on the 24th, so long as the fucking truck doesn’t end up stealing the money. As it is, I can’t go out till Sunday or Monday.

Starting Tuesday (Monday’s Labor Day), he’ll be working from 7:30-3:30 rather than 6:30-2:30.

Saturday, September 4, 2004

Thought I’d write while he’s doing what he’s fated to do half the time – battling with the truck. He’s been having trouble getting the transmission out.

Society and fate have thrown yet another change of plans our way. See, that moron and his wife came to “warn” us that a guy who supposedly complains about everyone, reported us to the county for having a gas-powered generator and not a diesel one. Apparently, gas isn’t allowed here. I’m starting to wonder what is allowed. No matter how much we try to isolate ourselves and get away from people, they still fuck with us! There’s just no escape. Why oh why are we so fated to be victims of society and slaves to those with holds on us?????

See, this is why I don’t go for regular check-ups. If I’m going to get some deadly disease, I don’t want to fight it just to prolong all the shit I have to go through in life. Why oh why can’t we ever get ahead in life and why must life be so complicated?

Tom’s still sure we can get out of it and says that there’s no way they can fine us if it doesn’t at all look like someone’s living here which is how we intend to have it appear come Monday. We’re going to take the screen room down and the clothesline so it simply looks like an RV next to a shed, but see, if we’re going to have to be told what to do on our land and made to feel like children, we may as well rent apartments, dump the cursed vehicles, rely on public transportation, and just listen to the damn neighbor’s noise while we get fucked out of yet another dream; to build a house and save up thousands of dollars by not having a mortgage.

And so here’s what we agreed we’d do, with or without people fucking with us. Due to the fact that we didn’t realize just how hard it would be to live out here and how expensive it is, we’re going to rent an apartment for about 6 months without signing a lease. That way, when the neighbor curse gets too rough and I can’t get any sleep at all, let alone hear myself think when they decide to slam doors and blast music, we can get out. As Tom said, we won’t get trapped as long as we don’t get confrontational. That’s another thing right there that really bothers me. How come others can get confrontational with us without getting trapped themselves? Why is it only us who get trapped? I don’t care because either way, I will not let neighbors push me around! Those days are long over. I don’t care who they are, who they know, etc. There’s no fucking way I’m going to take any shit from them. As it is, I know that if God spares us a fine in the end, He’ll at least protect the person who put us through the hassle of having to get out of it. I’m sick of having to answer to this one and having to answer to that one!

The main reason for the apartment is to save money. We’re spending a fortune in gas to use the generator to juice up the RV’s battery. Also, he doesn’t currently have a backup vehicle, so that puts more stress on him, and we’re sick of hauling water and propane up here like crazy and having to dump tanks. I won’t even bother getting into the claustrophobia we both feel. Even if the rent is $400, that’s less than we’re spending to live out here, and I’m starting to think we made another mistake and that we’ll be out of here even quicker than Maricopa. I tell you, something wants us with people and to move around like crazy! The people part is what I dread most. I fear something’s luring me to the city, knowing I’m so fed up with people’s shit and knowing I could snap at the slightest provocation, therefore landing me in prison for life. Something up there does not want us to succeed, to get ahead, to realize and accomplish our goals.

Why does God hate us so? I’m more convinced than ever that if He truly exists, He’s one mean, evil, compassionless bastard! How I hate Him so! Much more than He could ever hate either of us. I mean, I’m still psychic enough to know that while we may succeed with the cabin, we’ll never get to do the dome, and Tom believes me.

The main reason for the apartment, though, is that we didn’t know how hard and expensive it’d be to stay in this shitbox. The gas alone to run the generator to juice up the RV’s battery has been astronomical. Plus, he doesn’t have a backup vehicle and is too new at his job to risk having to call in late or not make it to work at all. The hauling of water and propane is so stressful too, and having to dump tanks. We’ve been going through propane like crazy with the cooler weather. Then there’s also the hassles with the laundry. In the city, we can at least take the bus when the truck craps out on us. Trying to keep up in this shitbox really puts a lot of stress on us.

I really think we made a mistake coming here. Perhaps a bigger mistake than moving to Maricopa, and as I told him, if something wants us in the city, maybe we should go and stay there and sell our cursed truck and rely on public transportation. Maybe we really do belong in the city. We’ll live with the city animals till he’s 55, then maybe – just maybe – we’ll go to a retirement community in a warmer climate. As long as we’re trapped in the city, though, I want it to be a cold climate. Keeps people and dogs indoors more often.

Tom says he thinks we’ll be ok once the cabin’s built which he still thinks will be next summer, but I doubt it. Look how many years we’ve been trying to be “ok” yet we never really are, so why should it happen next summer? Like I said, we’ll never have what we want and we’ll never be safe from the world’s bullshit, so why not just rent places in the city and take buses? Then at least some of the breakage curse would be off of us and we could enjoy all kinds of modern conveniences – water that drains to a sewer, a place to dump trash, the ability to get mail delivered right to our door, and God knows we miss having a real bathroom! One you can actually move around in without having to shower on top of a sink and toilet!

I just dread being woken up every day instead of every few days! I don’t want to go back to doors slamming, dogs barking, people screaming, people knocking on the door constantly, etc. I do NOT want that! If only I could be up from 6 or 7 AM and not crash till 10 or 11 PM. As it is, I’m sleeping from around 2 AM to 10 AM. Sometimes I don’t get up till noon, depending on how many times I get woken up in between. I just dread not being able to nap or go to bed early if I wanted to all because people around us just can’t settle down, sit still and shut up, and I dread having to get up in the morning when THEY say so! I’m sure God will make sure that at least one of the apartments is occupied all day so I can’t even get any peace in the middle of the day either. I know He’s going to stick the noisiest people next to us who are always home. It’s like He wants me to make a career of listening to other people’s noise!

I just hope we can avoid having anyone below us, but especially not above us. It’s noisy enough with people next to you, as I learned in Phoenix. I just dread the idea of someone stomping over our heads and slamming doors and cabinets below us. So much so it’s making me want to kill myself!

Now that I see that the people here are more like they are in Massachusetts than Arizona, I don’t know if that’s good or bad. It’s bad living in a place like Arizona where complaining is considered a mortal sin and they either spite you for it or shoot you, but I also don’t want to be where people complain about your every move!

Anyway, I wouldn’t take literally everything I have to the apartment. Big dolls like Ciara and Chris can stay here.

I’m now thoroughly convinced without a doubt that we’re never going to really be happy and that we’re going to struggle as long as we live. I just hope to hell we can get at least the cabin up next summer (it’ll cost about 3 grand), or else we won’t have the money for a house in San Diego or wherever. Better yet, I’d like to do the cabin and the dome and stay here till he’s at least 55, but I know God will never let us. If it’s what we want, it won’t happen. Instead, we’ll be forced to return to the city and all its chaos.

Why can’t his mom die now when we really need the money?! Instead, she’ll wait till we’re at least somewhat settled and aren’t so desperate.

I’ll just try to look at all the pros to city living when the noise aspect of it makes me want to scream. It’ll be so much more comfortable, I’ll have my stuff set up sooner for at least a while, in case we return to live in this shitbox before the cabin’s up, there’ll be less snow, normal utilities, more space, less traveling time for Tom who won’t have to get up so damn early. I’ll also have more spending money again, if only for a while.

Why can’t we just live in peace and have stability and security? Why are the simplest, most reasonable things so out of reach for us? We came here to save money, yet we’re not. He’s sure, though, that an apartment will save us money even if it’s $400 a month. This is because the savings in gas, propane and other expenses will more than make up for it. We hope to be in one by October 1st. If not, then by the 15th. We hope to be cleared out of storage by November 1st as well.

I’m back up to 127 pounds and I’d say it’s due to lack of exercise. So I’ll inflate my ball in the apartment and exercise till circumstances prevent me from doing so yet again.

There are now at least a dozen yellow jackets trapped.

Later…

What with all that’s been going on, I didn’t know this till now, but the propane ran out last night, he says, and the cold air blowing on him woke him up. I was astonished that something could wake him up that didn’t wake me up, although there’s no vent blowing air on my bed.

I never thought I’d look so forward to moving into an apartment of all places, but you know you’re in rather cramped living quarters when even the idea of the 400-square-foot studio you once had seems like heaven. It isn’t just the lack of space that’s hard to deal with, it’s all the other hassles, too. I’m as excited as I am dreading the apartment. In a way, I hope it’s not peaceful, not that getting a noisy apartment would be a problem. It’s just that it could be easy to get used to the modern conveniences it entails if we were given the privilege of being able to hear ourselves think. At least if there are no washers or dryers available, we won’t be so far from Laundromats.

One of the biggest pros is the $50 of spending money I’ll have every other week, beginning mid-October. Ah, to finally get some of the things I’ve been wanting delivered right to me! I know I’ll still have to fight for them, but it’d still be nice.

The question is, is this some sort of trap by the evil above? Is it luring me into the city, even though it’s more like a small town compared to even Casa Grande, so I’ll be vulnerable and easy prey to assholes? I know the blacks and Mexicans will just have to go next to us if it isn’t storming Mormons or college kids. I don’t expect there’ll be much noise in the way of basketball and outdoor gatherings in this climate, but people still slam doors and play music, even in the winter.

Another question is – if we really have been complained about, are the couple themselves the ones responsible? If so, why would they wait this long and then come to warn us about it? To cover themselves? Whoever it is, God will protect them. In fact, He’ll probably bless them with a multi-thousand-dollar-winning lottery ticket. I’m sure life will practically be handed to them just for picking on Tom and Jodi!

Another neat thing will be that we’ll be less than half an hour from the California border! In fact, he works with a lot of people from there. We’ll probably go to a city closer to the coast if it turns out that rural living simply isn’t meant to be anymore, but I don’t know about San Diego after what Tom told me. I didn’t realize it was even closer to Mexico than Maricopa was, though in a retirement community, it wouldn’t matter as the lazy asses can’t afford to go there. The question is, will we be able to? We may not want to in the end, for California’s government is nearly as bad as Arizona’s. Nevada’s pretty much the only state that forbids the government to butt into their lives. That’s why prostitution and gambling are legal there. The only catch is that rural land is so far from the cities which are the only place to get work.

When I asked Tom where he’d go, he said he may bail out of the country altogether, like maybe to New Zealand. Now that would be quite an adventure, and more shocking than living in lots of states, two of them out west! He said we’d be seen as the invaders if we went to Hawaii like I see the Mexicans as invaders here. Now that ought to be a refreshing change; to be the invader rather than the invaded.

Sunday, September 5, 2004

After many hours of slavery, Tom’s finally almost done with the truck. Now, if we could just go a week or even two without it crapping out on us, that would be wonderful.

Tom said that if he stays here much longer he’ll go batty and I agree. So we decided to go out tomorrow and find cheap motels that do weekly rentals until we can get into an apartment.

The question is, will we ever own a house again? I feel like a cross between a bum and a drifter. It’s like we’ve been drifting in an air balloon for over a year now, and whenever we think we’re going to land on solid, stable ground, we get swept up again by the wind.

Tom says he thinks part of our problem has been making too many long-term plans and that we should just concentrate on the present. Sounds like good advice, but it’s easier said than done. I just can’t help but wonder where we’re headed in life. Will we really build here? Move to some other place in Oregon? Or will we go to Nevada where there are no zoning laws? Will we go to California? Hawaii? New Zealand? Or will we commit suicide? That’s another thing we discussed, though he thinks we’ll live to be old and I sure as hell hope life could never be that bad, but who knows? Maybe we’ll get just so damn fed up that we’ll run a hose into the RV from either its engine or the truck’s and die in each other’s arms from carbon monoxide poisoning. We wouldn’t bother with notes because we wouldn’t care what happened to our stuff or our bodies. It’s just that if I were dead, no one could fuck with me, nor could I be missing out on dolls I never got or anything I may want and never have. I agree with Tom, though, when he says that if we do kill ourselves, we should wreak some havoc on the way out by torching this mountain. I hate people so much! We both do. It’s like everyone’s our enemy! They all want to butt into our lives and make us miserable! I can totally see why some resort to desperate measures, be it massacres, suicide, whatever.

So, thanks to cruel people and cruel fate and a compassionless God, if there is one at all, I’ll be forced to give up my sleep and my solitude completely. How I’ll miss the peace and quiet here, the serene beauty and the wildlife! Ah, but we both agree we fucked up by coming here. Instead of getting an RV and coming to land we’d already bought, we should’ve picked the town, flown up, shipped our stuff, then rented a place and saved up to buy land. At least it’s been an educational experience as he said.

As much as I’m looking forward to getting out of this shitbox, despite the noise I’ll be in for, I really hope we won’t be forced to abandon the land. I hope we’ll at least be able to do the cabin, but if not, Tom came up with a wonderful story for Michael as to why we’re splitting which involves Bob and which I won’t feel guilty about telling if he really did any complaining on us. However, I’m not going to get into that now.

In other news, you’d never know hunting season began yesterday, I’m glad to say, which Tom learned at work began that day. I don’t miss listening to the constant pops in Maricopa, that’s for sure.

We have neighbors, not surprisingly, from what Tom said. He was walking in the back when he saw a vehicle parked on the lot behind us. He never saw or heard anyone, but he could see a table by the vehicle and smell the bacon and eggs they were cooking for breakfast.

Also, what appeared to be a couple, went down the road in a gray SUV, then back up it. When they got in front of our place, they stopped for a few seconds, then slowly began moving again, as if they contemplated turning into the clearing. What I wonder is, did they come to look at the land, or did they come to look at us?

Meanwhile, Tuesday’s the day we’re going to start staying in motels till we can find an apartment. I just hope it won’t take forever! It’ll depend on just how much whatever’s up there wants me to sit and listen to the door-slamming at the motel, though I’m sure we’ll get that in an apartment, too.

One thing we both agree on is to try to have fun in the midst of all the chaos and never-ending cycle of shit from people and life. I’m not only going to enjoy life’s simple pleasures like a long soak in the tub, despite all the bumps and bangs around me, but we’re going shopping! He hasn’t set up his computer in ages and he’s looking forward to a new wheel to play his favorite car racing game.

As for me – I was hesitant to get any more dolls to have to move or lose, but why should I deprive myself in the meantime? So I’ll take his advice, buy dolls when I can, and not worry about their future fate. Better to at least have them for a while than to never have them at all, I guess, even if it means I could lose a lot of money in the end by having to give them up.

We’re kind of making a game of it too, pretending the Mafia’s after us and we’re going into hiding!

Thursday, September 9, 2004

The Motels

We are now at the Townhouse motel in KF. We left our land on Tuesday and got this room for 4 nights. Tom just went to bed and so I thought now was a good time to update.

The day before we left, I got a letter from Bob. He did get Angel Eyes. I told him that it’ll be a while, but someday, if I can ever have access to my printer again, I’ll send the short stories he hasn’t read. He told me more about his life there which I had asked him about. He isn’t in PC like I had thought. Most of the people that he’s housed with are also old or have medical problems. There are two dayrooms and even a pool table in one of them, but not surprisingly, the blacks have taken that over, and if you’re not in with them, you don’t play pool. Quoting his words, he’s had to cell with 9 black bastards and a white bastard and is currently in with a gay deaf guy he’s been with for 5 years. I was amazed at just how few roommates he’s had and the moves he’s made over the years. I think I had more cellies in 6 months at the jail than he’s had in over 10 years of his imprisonment. That was part of the curse, though. If I had been a people-person who liked variety, then I wouldn’t have moved so much nor had so many cellies.

The truck is struggling along, but barely, and it’s looking more and more like we’ll be forced to abandon the land and live in the city, just what God wants us to do and what I was always meant to do since I went out on my own, but you know what? I’m staying here! I don’t care how much I hate it. This time I’m staying in the city like I swore I would if I got trapped in it one more time. I’m sick of getting stuck in places I don’t want to be, so I’m just going to stay put. I’m not going to struggle for rural life if it wasn’t meant to be, and I’m so, so tired of losing! Cruel, heartless fate keeps making more and more decisions for me and taking from me. Another thing it’s taken is my plants. By the time we get back to the land, they’ll be dead for sure. It’s like it wants to take literally everything we own from us, the last of our few precious belongings. I realized this like never before that we’re meant to be losers and to struggle till the day we die, but I will not let it get the rest of my stuff like my dolls. Instead, I’m going to be the one to give them up, not wait around till circumstances force me to give them up. This is the third time in less than 5 years that I’ve been forced to do without my stereo, computer, dolls, etc. It’s making me not want to own or have anything ever again. I just want to get rid of everything but my clothes and computers, though even that may be taken away from me at some point, and forget about buying anything in the future. I’ve wanted the dolls on my list for so damn long that I’m sick of wanting them! I’d rather just get incense occasionally that you don’t keep. I’m just too damn sick of losing, so if I don’t have, I can’t lose. It’s easy moving from rental to rental every time the neighbor’s antics get to be too much as opposed to moving to raw land. Also, when the roof leaks, it won’t be our responsibility. When the truck breaks completely, we won’t have to worry about the fact that we’ve got no backup because in the city he could just walk or ride a bike to work if he had to. When the sickos got me tossed in jail, I swore I’d never leave the city if I got stuck in it again, and I mean it! This may be a puny city compared to Phoenix, but if I’m going to be fated to move every few months to a few years, then I want it to be where civilization is so we don’t have to worry about propane, trash, water, electricity, shit tanks, gas, broken vehicles, etc. Sure I’ll miss the peace and quiet, but was it worth having it just to lose it? And we’re getting faster and faster each time we lose something. Look how fast we lost this land. We may not have officially lost it, but we will. I’m sure we’ll need to ditch it to save the extra $135 a month. Spending $30 on storage is pretty insignificant, but when you’re as poor as we are, $135 is a lot. As it is, we’re going to lose what we’ve paid on the land so far, over $200 for the shed, plus the $1500 that the RV cost. The string of losses never seems to end!

I have been so, so depressed. So pissed, so frustrated, so sad. I’m so sick of struggling just to lose, to be reduced to living like a little bum. One thing we did decide for sure is that we will not go back to living in the RV and I will not live in a fucking shed! I’m not a dog and I’m not going to live like one and feel like a dog in a doghouse!

Why, though? Why????? Why are we so fated to struggle and to lose what few things we manage to achieve? Ok, so Maricopa was a dumb move. We were desperate and greedy, trying to achieve too much too soon, but we can’t even have the simplest of things in life! I can’t even have an average house in an average neighborhood where I can hear myself think! If I can’t have the basics in life, what can I have? Like I said, everything that’s happened over the last 5 years makes me not want to have anything. I don’t want to own anything, I don’t want to buy any more dolls, I just want food, books, music and clothes, preferably all the while I have a roof over my head. I don’t care if it’s smaller and older than the Phoenix house as long as we’re not terrorized by our neighbors and forced to know their every move. I don’t care if it doesn’t have a private backyard, a pool, etc. I just don’t want to live in RVs or motels!

Funny thing, because the day before we left the land, we discovered that those people in back strung off their property in preparation for a fence, no doubt planning to build a house because we moved there, but now I see that it doesn’t matter what they do because we won’t be living there. Tom had made the comment about hoping they’d put up their fence before he did so that that’d be one less side he’d have to fence. “You couldn’t get that lucky,” I told him, and now I see more than ever that he’s not meant to put up a fence anywhere any more than I’m meant to generate money.

Like I said, at this point, big and fancy don’t matter anymore. Security matters. Peace of mind and peace and quiet. Just a place where we can put what few things we have left without the constant barking, basketball games, car stereos, and the commotion we had in Phoenix. Tom said that that couldn’t be a problem in this climate, but when you’re cursed when it comes to neighbors, does climate really matter? Besides, it’s not cold year-round here. They do have summers here, even if they’re mild compared to Arizona. Cursed or not, even I’d have to agree that most sane people wouldn’t throw their dogs outside in the dead of winter, nor would they want to be outdoors themselves to carry on like animals. I’d happily settle for just one bedroom.

The foul-odor curse has followed us here. The RV smelled of rotted food for a while, then there was an odd chemical smell I detected as well. Probably propane. Well, trapped in the city we won’t have to worry about propane, but will whatever place we rent end up stinking, too? It makes me wonder.

I’ve spoken to a lady at this pizza place by this motel, who’s a native of KF. She too, hates apartments and thinks they’re all noisy because people simply don’t care, and she too, wouldn’t want to move to a warm climate where there’s more outdoor noise. If we ever went back to a warm climate, that wouldn’t mean we’d want to go to one that got to be 115˚ in the summertime, but to one more like San Diego, and only to a retirement community, though I know we’ll never be able to afford to buy a house in a retirement community. No matter how much we try to save, emergencies come up to steal the money away. Then again, I meant it when I said I didn’t want to own anymore, so scratch that. As a renter, at least if we got evicted or run out of there by spiteful bosses, crazy blacks or evil Mexicans that know we’re living in a time when they can shit on whites, cry racism and be believed, we wouldn’t be giving up anything that was ours. Instead, we’d be losing something that always belonged to someone else.

Anyway, this lady advised us to rent a house. She said there are lots of them and that the rent is comparable to an apartment. I know God will see to it that if we did get a house to rent the neighbor’s dogs would be outside at least during the summer and that they blasted their car stereo, etc., but at least it’d be so easy to up and move as opposed to having to prep and sell a house! Something wants us to keep moving around anyway, so why not? The original plan was to save up for a cabin or a small, used manufactured home while we rented in the city, but nah, I don’t think so. I’m just tired of losing and I know something would only come up to screw us out of our plans. We may have set ourselves up to lose the Maricopa house by biting off more than we could chew, but it doesn’t change the facts. The point is that we still lost and we’re STILL losing. Every time we think we just might finally be picking ourselves up, something happens to kick us back down again. I’m also sick of being teased with dolls and little treats like that I can only want, but never seem to have, and being kicked off the net by circumstances. We won’t be able to get online till we’re in someplace, so once again I’m losing out on Webshots. I could always go to a library and to their site, but I couldn’t download any of the daily pictures. I try to tell myself I’ve already got a zillion pictures, but that’s not the point. The whole point is that once again, I’m forced to give up, to lose, to be controlled, and it’s just so fucking frustrating! I feel so damn defeated. We’re 38 and 47 and we’re homeless in a foreign state. That’s infuriating. He works his ass off at the bank and now this place. I work my ass off on my stories, and this is what we get for it? Thanks, God, thanks a lot!

I have so many conflicting emotions. A part of me wants to take whatever I can get whenever I can get it and for however long people/God will let me have it, while another part of me wants to die, and another part wants to give up what I have and never get anything new that isn’t a necessity. I mean, it’d be so simple not to have anything other than computers and books, but do I really want to live that way? Do I have much of a choice? Tom says it was our choice to come into the city and to rent, but is it really? Sure we love taking showers in a real bathroom, having more space and life’s modern conveniences you can find in motels, but would the choice really be ours in the end? He takes home a little over a grand a month. Assuming they don’t fire him or lay him off, which is a serious concern for me after the way we’ve been so damn cursed with one crisis after another, this is how I figure it. About $400 would go to rent, leaving $600 for food, gas, internet service, phone time and storage. That wouldn’t leave us much left over for the land payment, let alone any savings, and that would be even if the truck never broke again, which of course, is an impossibility.

KF sure has a lot of pigs cruising around for a small town, and it bothers me. It really does. Perhaps that is major paranoia on my part, but it sure feels like I’m being taunted. I can’t even walk the two minutes it takes to get to the pizza place or the convenience store without seeing one, let alone driving throughout the whole town! Why are they all over the place like this?

Anyway, while I don’t want friends, I appreciate the woman’s advice, whatever her name is. I don’t know if she owns Stagecoach Pizza or what, but I’ve seen her twice by myself and once with Tom, who was glad to have kept down the pepperoni pizza he got from them. I’ve gotten mushroom pizza twice in a row, but tomorrow I think I’ll try their hot wings and hope they’re not too hot.

Okay, now I’ll describe the motel. For someone who’s had the great misfortune to have to motel it so many damn times, it’s one of the best we’ve been in. It’s cheap and it’s privately owned. It’s very apartment-like. In fact, I think they were apartments that they converted into motel rooms. It’s like being in an apartment with just a bedroom and a bathroom, and no living room or kitchen. Some of the downstairs rooms have kitchenettes, but we’ve just got a room and a bath, and it’s cool because the bath is across a little hallway, away from the room. The shower’s the greatest. Awesome pressure. The tub’s a little steep for lying back in, but I did so anyway. The water gets so hot I can make my instant coffee or tea with it. Although the bathroom has a fan and a heat lamp, I like how it’s also got a window I can crack to let the moisture out. What is it with me and flushing things down the toilet, though? I accidentally dropped part of the toilet paper holder down the toilet when flushing it, but I got a new one by saying there never was one to begin with. With just 16 units and two housekeepers, it wasn’t hard to keep them away. I put a please-do-not-disturb note I wrote out on the door just in case, and it’s worked so far. The room has a loud fan in its AC unit that I like better than the sound machine, but unfortunately, the bed’s too hard, there is some door-slamming, as well as stereos going by a few times each hour. Because Tom’s snoring was really bad (I guess thicker air causes him to snore more), he was sweet enough to sleep on the floor. Besides, after feeling his movements in Gert, as we call the old shit of an RV, I don’t need to feel them here, too.

We let Blondie run around loose in here for a few hours in the evenings, which he enjoys doing. I know that unlike most rats he doesn’t miss having a roommate, but he does love people and he savors his time with us. He alternates between climbing on us and exploring. I know he’s peed, but if he’s done any duties, it’s been done in places I can’t see, like under the dresser.

The only other things I don’t like about this place are that the outside lights are too bright, making the room too light at night, and there’s no desk, so I have to use the laptop in bed. I’m supposedly not going to have to write journals by hand anymore because we’re supposedly going to go from living in motels where we can use the laptop, to a place where we can set up our regular computers, but I won’t believe it till I see it. I know all too good and well how much fate likes to throw kinks in our plans. At least I’m still glad we don’t have a kid to deal with in the midst of all this bullshit, uncertainty, frustration, anger and sorrow, and I’m still glad I never made it as a singer!

Anyway, the worst thing about this place is the fucking door-slamming. Why do people think that in order to shut a door they need to slam it? Do they WANT to annoy others? And of course there are the car stereos that go by. It’s not as bad as in Phoenix, though, because they can’t pull up close to the building, and there’s no corner or stoplight for them to slow down at. They just more or less whiz by. Well, we’ll be out of here on Saturday. The woman’s all booked up, so unless someone cancels we’re going to go to a strip motel with rooms that are all side by side. Here we’re on the second floor. I’ll be damned if I’ll tolerate people over my head on top of all else I’ve had to tolerate if I can help it!

Although it’s very hard, I’m trying my damnedest to look at the positive things we’ve got going for us, even if it isn’t much. The most important thing, as Tom said, is that we’re together. Whatever happens, be it God forcing us to literally give up everything we own, and I mean everything, we’re in this together. There’s certainly no reason not to believe He could/would make us lose it all, too! If we’ve lost all we’ve lost so far, sure He could make us lose more, and why not? It’d only be Tom and Jodi’s stuff, so who cares?

I’ve had periodic crying spells on and off over the last few days. God, I haven’t been this depressed since jail, but I knew I’d have a new long-term problem once the sickos were finally out of our lives. I swear, we solve one problem and just go right into a new one! If I knew we were going to be in a fairly decent house in a fairly decent neighborhood by the 1st, I may feel a little relieved as any bit helps. How different this new long-term problem is from the years of problems we went through on account of the sickos. The sickos may’ve been much worse to have to deal with than being homeless, but at least we knew what was going on where they were concerned. The only surprise was the probation cut.

I still don’t miss Arizona, but God do I miss that house! We had our problems there, but at least we had a home. I know things like a mannequin and $300 for a monthly allowance are just a dream, but that’s ok because I’d be happy just to settle for a house, even if it’s old and small, with neighbors that keep their shit to themselves. The quiet neighbor part of it is just a dream too, but if we can get in a place where the door-slamming doesn’t startle and jolt me out of my skin, that’ll be a start. Anything that stands independently.

Friday, September 10, 2004

It wasn’t as noisy as I thought it would be being a Friday night and all. Just the usual door-slamming in the morning, then in the late afternoon. If the owner doesn’t have any cancellations, we’ll be in a strip motel tomorrow, assuming they have any vacancies. Saturdays are always the busiest. I’m hoping against hope that it’ll be even quieter with the way they’re laid out, but I doubt it. God will make sure I get woken up no matter what.

Today’s the first day I didn’t bawl my eyes out, though I’m still filled with the usual slew of emotions. I just hope it doesn’t take too long to rent a house! It’ll depend on how many of them want credit checks. What makes it hard is knowing the neighbor curse is still there and that as long as it can be applied to me, it will. I know whoever’s closest to us will have loud stereos, I know they’ll have dogs, and I know they’ll have lots of rowdy kids and company going in and out. There’ll always be something going on and always someone home.

We got a letter from the Road Association saying it’ll cost $27 to upkeep the roads by our land, but it won’t be our land much longer so who cares.

I chatted with the housekeeper a bit today and I had her give us fresh towels.

I also saw the lady at the pizza place and got hot wings. Big mistake as they were way spicy! Tomorrow I’ll get my mini mushroom pizza. It’s much more filling anyway.

Anyway, besides changing motels, we’re going to do something tomorrow that we shouldn’t have to do – go through storage for things to either sell or pawn.

Saturday, September 11, 2004

Another day filled with struggle, uncertainty and conflicting emotions. Tom doesn’t want to die, but I’m ready. However, I can’t die and leave him feeling deserted. It’d have to be something we both did together if we’re going to do it at all. I’m just ready to go because I’m sick of feeling like a little marionette with an unseen puppeteer guiding me wherever it wants me to go, which is almost always places I don’t want to be. Like motels! I’m still surviving, but every single morning they wake me up with the door-slamming. I sleep through traffic noise, but not those fucking doors everyone thinks they have to slam in order to shut.

I got up at 11:00 this morning and found they let us stay another day. Tomorrow though, whether or not they’ve got an opening, we’re going to do something we shouldn’t be having to do and that’s going motel sampling and comparing. He’s going to get me up with coffee at 10:15, leaving us 45 minutes to gather up our stuff and get out. Then we’re going to a place that says their weekly rates are $175 and they have DSL hookups, plus microwaves. A microwave would be great for popcorn and hot drinks. I just hope they have a desk to put this damn laptop on and that it’s not any noisier than this place is. Asking for quieter would be asking for a miracle, so I’ll settle for it being comparable to this place, which is $32 a night for nothing. I mean, the water’s hot, and the room’s not too small, but without anything else, it’s a bit much to pay. The more we save, the faster we get into a house somewhere. I just hope to hell we get in a house and not an apartment! I don’t care anymore about neighbors being just a few feet away and their antics. We can deal with them afterward. For now, I just want out of motels where people are adjacent to us! I want a place to set up the desktops, my stereo, etc., and I want to stay there forever.

But I know better. We’ll be rental-hopping like crazy, no doubt, as we face one nightmare of a neighbor after another that God protects and makes sure we can’t fight back against.

The truck is going to fall apart any minute. The question is, can it wait till after we have the money to fix it? Somehow, I doubt it. Life just isn’t that good and considerate to us. It’ll probably be weeks before we can make it back to the land. Right now it’s just too risky with the truck clanking along. I’m sure it’ll be after the plants have had plenty of time to die so I can add two more losses to my ever-growing list.

One thing I wonder, though, is if that couple was telling the truth about someone complaining about us. Why haven’t we heard about it then? Tom thinks it could be because the person complains so damn much that they’re sick of dealing with it. That’s what happened with us in Phoenix. Not that our complaints weren’t legit, but the city got sick of hearing it and so they turned on us, citing us for this, citing us for that. Besides, the white man simply didn’t rule down there.

We stopped at storage today and pulled out some things to pawn and sell once we find the best place to take the shit to if the truck will let us get there. We pulled things like power tools, the guitar, and some CDs. Shit we shouldn’t be having to do at our ages, but like I said, I’m coming to see and accept more and more that like it or not, we were destined to struggle financially, and we always will. There’s nothing we can do to change that, period. No amount of hard work, no winning lottery ticket, no nothing, is going to change what’s fated to be in that department. Whatever’s up there simply does not want us to have money. If you can’t pay for the things you need half of the time, you know you’ll never really have money for extras. All I’m going to get from time to time is incense. I’m sick of being teased with wanting dolls and other things, so I’m simply going to forget about it. I’m just sick of this up-and-down rollercoaster we’ve been on. If we can’t stay up, then I’m ready to just stay down at this point.

We may transfer the rat, who had his final run of this room earlier, to the small wire cage. He’s in a glass tank now. The tank keeps his stinkiness in and makes him stink more. With it being just him, he can go in the wire cage where he can climb a bit and we don’t have to worry about him getting out, not that he’d go far or do much damage. With as much freedom as we give him, he shouldn’t feel too cooped up in the wire cage, even though it’s a bit smaller than the tank. He’s getting older now and is losing his spunk anyway, I’m sad to say. I feel so bad for him. I mean, I know he’s just a rat, but I hate to see him subjected to all this moving around we’re so fated to do.

I’m still taking antihistamines to sleep at night, but there is one thing that’s miraculously changed. Despite the fact that God just won’t let me sleep straight through without the interruptions, I’ve been getting up without alarms. Tomorrow, though, he’ll have to wake me up because I usually don’t get up till between 11:00 and noon. But when am I going to have the luxury and the freedom of not having to take anything to fall asleep, and to let my schedule be whatever it’s going to be?

Got a Bob letter. He’s had trouble breathing, and he got some of the excerpts I sent him covering the trip. They were first delivered to another floor in the prison before they got to him.

We went to the Chinese place. The usual crew was there. The last time we were waited on by this unfriendly waitress we’d never seen before whom we only left a buck for instead of the usual two bucks.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

We’ve left the Townhouse motel and are now at the Klamath Travel Inn. It’s way quieter. No door-slamming, no stereos, etc., as we’re outside the city. The only sounds are vehicles whizzing by the highway, plus a nearby train. The rooms are all on one floor. At first we got a room that stunk and was filthy, so the guy moved us. The room we’re in doesn’t smell, but it’s dumpier than the other place. They’re small, yet the bathroom’s spacious. The shower is too low for anyone over 5’ tall, though Tom didn’t mind. Despite its dumpiness, broken soda machine and dumpy community kitchen/laundry, the bed is softer. It’s got a microwave and a small refrigerator, though I don’t expect we’ll use the refrigerator. It also has a little desk. This place also seems to be privately owned (though the Townhouse might’ve been, too), and I told the guy not to bother knocking on the door because I sleep late and that I’ll go to him when I need something. I don’t know if we’re going to stay here after the couple of days we paid for are up. We’ll see. I guess it’ll depend on that damn truck.

We let Blondie run around, as usual, and tomorrow he may be in here all the time, assuming the truck lets Tom get the wire cage. For now, I just give him a quick bath when I take him in to get the stink off of him. There was a sign in the office about a $5 pet deposit, but we’ll just play dumb and say we didn’t notice the sign if they catch him in here. I’ll put the cage out of view, like in the bathroom, so that if he comes to the door with something I may ask for, he won’t see him.

I decided that if we’re ignored by his mother for another month after updating her on our horrible situation, that’s it, we’re done with her. There’ll be no more letters or anything. In fact, I’m going to be sure to write something in the next letter like how I never resented those who have what I don’t, but it’s unfair to know that some people have thousands or millions without lifting a finger for it while we bust our tails for so little. Maybe then she’ll put two and two together and be a bit more generous, though I seriously doubt it. Why should she when she gets to go play in daycare all day, then goes home to be pampered by her daughter? All she’s known for the last God knows how many years is being waited on hand and foot.

There is some good news in the midst of all this shit and that’s that I might be back on the ticket-rigging spells again. The last 3 tickets won $4, $20, and then $3. If only I could win us a grand! That’s what it’ll take to get into a rental because we absolutely don’t want to sign a lease.

I can’t believe there are only about half a dozen other people here! I hope no one ends up next to us. People don’t just love to slam doors, but they slam walls, too. That’s what it sounds like anyway.

Monday, September 13, 2004

Another day of depression and struggle. Tom’s curious to see the outcome of this current mess we’re in, but I’m done with being curious, hopeful or anything. I’m ready to die. Why wait for things to get worse, for me to get older, fatter, etc.? Our biggest fear right now is him being fired. I guess this place tends to fire people within the first few months. If he’s still there in October when the benefits start, then maybe there will be hope of him staying there. Until then, he’s rather vulnerable. Aren’t we always vulnerable to other people, though? Isn’t our fate usually in their hands? Like I said, if life can’t be what we want it to be and we’re only going to have a few scattered bursts of success and happiness, I’m more than willing to check on out of this world. We didn’t come here to live like bums. The plan wasn’t to go bumming it in motels or apartments. We were supposed to build a mortgage-free home. But this can never happen as long as God’s so determined to curse our vehicles and set us back. It’s like, hasn’t He got anything better to do than pick on Tom and Jodi S? What is His obsession with us and what did we ever do to anyone to deserve this shit? I wish He’d pick on his mother for once as in killing her. There are people that could really benefit from her death yet she’s just sitting around hogging up space all damn day and night. Instead of painting pictures and arranging flowers, she should drop dead and get us out of this mess. Then again, so what if we could get out of it right now? It’d only be a matter of time before God would kick us back down again.

What’s God going to curse us with this Thursday, I wonder? I’ve been having bad vibes pertaining to Thursday. I assume it’s over the truck. It always is these days. If we have no well or roof for Him to curse, He’ll just keep going after the truck. On the bright side, I’ve been a lousy psychic since coming here, so maybe, just maybe, Thursday won’t be any worse than usual. If it turns out that I’m right, I’m certainly going to have conflicting emotions about having my abilities rekindled.

We discussed various ways to kill ourselves, but haven’t come up with a sure plan yet. We’re afraid that if we go to the land and run the hose into the RV from the truck it may only put us to sleep and not kill us. Shooting ourselves seems unlikely too, because that’d mean one would have to see the other blow their brains out. Dodging in front of vehicles may only leave us wounded. That leaves possibly hanging or starving ourselves. Another problem is that Tom doesn’t want to go belly-up just yet. I wish he was as ready to exit this sorry world as I am. Maybe after another few weeks or a few months of this shit, he will. I know we’ll be incredibly fucked if they do fire him. Then I think we’d have no choice but to go. I try to console myself by telling myself that God doesn’t hate us enough to do that to us at this time, but how can I be sure of that? No one who’s led the life I’ve led can say they’re blessed. The only way I’ve been truly blessed is by meeting Tom. Other than that, nothing up there likes me or has any desire to cut me any breaks in life, let alone bless me like a little queen.

The only good thing I can say right now is that this motel is incredibly quiet. It’s totally unbelievable! It’s basically because the place is mostly deserted. There are only 5 rooms on the strip across from us that are occupied, and just a couple of others on this side. No one’s been in the rooms next to us yet. The only thing that bugs me a little is that the owner, who I met and spoke with today, may be Arab. They don’t seem to have any more Jews here than they did in Arizona. Tom didn’t notice any synagogues in the phonebook. Oh well. At least there are hardly any blacks. That’s more important to me than the number of us Jews. Anyway, the guy told me nothing I wanted to hear when I mentioned we’d come from Arizona and were hoping to rent a house. He was saying there are people that have been here for 4 years that are trying to rent houses, and that it’s very hard because they want so much money and they do credit checks. Tom said, though, that that’s ridiculous because the more of a down payment you’re willing to make, the less they care about credit, and it wouldn’t take years. This is when he suggested we tough out a studio apartment for a few months to get into a house quicker, but I don’t know. I just don’t know. I didn’t come here for this shit! We weren’t supposed to do motels, studios, apartments, rentals and shit like that!

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Miraculously, I haven’t fallen off schedule yet, even though I slept late yesterday. I guess if something’s keeping me on schedule, then I must need to be. Yeah, no doubt so I can play motel/apartment indefinitely. I had asked Mr. Arab if we could rent on a monthly basis if we needed to, and he said he couldn’t do that. Up to a week is as far as he’s allowed to go, and he has to move us around each week, too. Damn, it’s just like being back in jail again! Only instead of changing cells, we’re changing rooms, and instead of trying to dodge roommates, we’re trying to dodge neighbors.

The kid’s nice, but this dude’s weird. He has this fixed expression that he’s probably not even aware of where his brows are fixed in a curious frown as if he’s never seen another human being before or he thinks they’re all weird as hell.

I’m sad not just because of the big dreams that have gone down the toilet, like having a mortgage-free home, but the little things as well that I’ll miss out on, like the type of cabinets I was supposed to pick out, the handles for them, the color and type of tubs and toilets, the carpet, the doors, etc. Tom’s dream to build a house became my dream as well. Oh, I’m just going to cry all over again, so I’ll write later.

Later…

The rat’s now in with us full-time, I’m glad to say. I have his cage in the bathroom. Because Tom’s sleeping on the floor, I have him shut up in the bathroom. Before I go to bed, I’ll shut him in his cage, and then Tom can open his door before he leaves, though I expect he’ll sleep most of the day. This rat has become more dog/cat-like than any other rat. As long as there’s nothing he could damage or that could harm him, he can be left to run loose pretty much all the time. It’s so funny how he comes charging at me when he hears paper or plastic rustling, thinking it’s food, and how he stands up on his hind legs by the side of the bed to be picked up, and how he takes food out of his cage and under the bed to eat it there. I don’t get the impression that the kid who works here whom we first met vacuums under beds regularly, but when he does, I think he’ll be in for quite a strange surprise.

I saw him today as he was cleaning rooms in the strip in front of us. He asked if the music he was playing was too loud, but personally, I never heard it till I approached him for clean towels.

We got someone a few doors down that I could do without because they spend so much time outside. It’s a couple with a young boy and the boy sits outside by the open door (they’re going to have a lot of bugs in their room tonight) while the parents keep going in and out of their truck. It’s mild compared to door slamming, bass thumping, and basketball games, but I’d still like to see them check out tomorrow. I doubt they will, though.

We got a couple of scratch tickets today, but neither of them won. I’m sorry I’m not psychic enough to rig them, but it gives me a bit of relief about the bad Thursday vibe I’ve been having. It gives me hope of being wrong since I’ve been wrong a lot lately. I don’t know, though. Bad things have a way of happening to us so much of the time anyway that it really doesn’t matter.

I felt so run down and yucky that I jogged in place earlier. I just can’t give up exercising. It makes me feel too good. I like being fit and strong and in good shape. It may not cause me to lose weight with all I eat, but I like the way it makes me feel. Besides, if I don’t at least do ab crunches, my back goes on the fritz.

When Tom got home, we treated ourselves to a much-needed, much-deserved dinner at nearby Mollie’s restaurant. He got a hot dog and fries and I got a seafood platter. It was nice to have something wholesome and filling, rather than the same old, non-filling chips and junk like that I’ve been having.

I know I should work on my story, but I don’t think I could concentrate just yet. I’ve been going back and forth between crying spells and periods of trancelike calm.

I asked myself, well, if we can’t build a house and if I can’t buy any more dolls or things like that because we either don’t have the money or I fear having to pack them away for God knows how long or lose them altogether, then what’s left? What’s left in life to look forward to? I guess the answer to that is singing, listening to music, reading, writing and similar things. Besides, I can still get things like incense and perfume when there’s money for it because those are things you use up. You don’t keep them around as decorations.

Wednesday, September 15, 2004

Sure enough, the people with the kid 4 doors down are still here. At first, however, they were shut up in their room, but now I can hear them hanging around their truck. The question is, are they even going to go anywhere today?

I got cups and toilet paper from Mr. Arab. Yup, definitely not friendly. He barely nodded when I thanked him for the stuff. I don’t know if he’s like that with everyone or if it’s because I’m Jewish, but I don’t care so long as he doesn’t tangle with me.

Actually, I think I hear them leaving right now. I hope they don’t come back till after dark.

Later…

Another shitty day in the lives of Tom and Jodi S. Not only did Tom’s card get eaten up by the ATM, and not only did we get a losing lottery ticket, but I thought I was going to make us a little money for a minute there. I’m sick of being teased with money and not being allowed to make any!

I spoke to both the kid and his dad and they said they were expecting 100 guests from Fresno on the 26th. When I asked if they wanted a housekeeper so long as it could be in the afternoon and under the table, they said yes, in a couple of weeks. So here I was all psyched up just to learn that the “100 guests” are really Mexicans who migrate from farm to farm. They’re being brought up by buses to pick strawberries. It’s like damn those fucking assholes! Damn them to hell! I could’ve made a bit of money for the 3 weeks they’re going to be here, but there’s no way I or even Tom want to stick around and deal with their shit. So, we plan to be out of here on the 25th. I don’t know if we’ll find a place this quiet, but wherever we go will certainly be quieter than it’s going to be here. Since motels are going to be our destiny for some time to come, unless Tom decides he’s as fed up with this world as I am, we can always return after the scumbags leave.

It all began when I heard some guy staying here ask Mr. Arab if he needed help with their remodeling task. I went out shortly afterward and asked him about housekeeping. That was when he explained the so-called guests and the stacks of mattresses on the strip across the way and showed me the room next to us. It’s much nicer than this one. It’s got a separate bedroom like the Townhouse had, only they never lock it up. You rent the whole thing, though this room is separate from the main room.

His son commented on how wonderful it smells every time he walks by the door, and I was like oh-oh, but he said it was no problem. Somehow, I get the feeling they know about the rat too, but oh well.

The kid said he was from Sacramento and asked how Arizona was. Hot, dry, open and loud, I told him. He also said he too, is a night person and offered to take out the light by this room after I commented on the rooms being too lit up at night, but he never did. Maybe Daddy stopped him.

Later…

Still don’t know what’s going on for sure or for how long, and the not knowing is incredibly stressful! I wish I could tell myself, well, if something’s trapped you in the city, it must be for a reason. Maybe there’s some lonely soul out there who needs you.

But I don’t see why I should be designated to be anyone’s source of entertainment. I’m not a people person, I don’t like people, and I don’t want to live with them, period. To be harassed by who? Blacks and Mexicans? To meet who? The woman that was never meant to be?

However, I swore that if I got trapped in the city yet again, regardless of how small a city it may be compared to Phoenix, I’d stay there. I’m sick of moving around, so wherever we end up, that’s where we stay. I’m not going to be the one to run from troublesome neighbors this time around. This time they can do the running and they will, too. No more God protecting the perps. Not even He can save them, trust me. Because I WILL fight back!

Meanwhile, we got someone next to us in the room Mr. Arab showed us. Question is, did he put them there to spite me since he knows I prefer my solitude? Or was that the only large room available? At least they came in fairly quietly, either way, but I don’t know if they’ll get me up along with them. It wouldn’t surprise me if they did. Most people get up earlier than I do and they love to slam doors. Because they seemed to shower and crash early, I’m hoping they’ll leave early and not come back. Better yet, if they could sit still and not leave till I got up, that’d be nice. Their door is right behind my head, just about, and their car’s right out front. Tom has the courtesy to shut doors as quietly as he can, but like the pizza lady said – people just don’t care. If anything, they WANT to disrupt others. I’m also hoping they’re only there for one night because that room’s more expensive. I’m really surprised the people with the kid never returned. I thought for sure they’d gotten more than one night because checkout time’s 11:00 and they didn’t leave till noon. Maybe they figured no one would care if they were a little late in leaving.

The spiders in here sure can get annoying. Between this motel and the last one, I’ve found and killed half a dozen spiders. At least they were all small.

Tom’s going to see if work will let him do God’s favorite pastime for him and play truck fix-it in their parking lot over the weekend. He got another universal joint and hopes to cure the biggest problem it’s got with this. If not, he’ll have to scrounge through a junkyard for a whole new driveshaft.

Saturday, September 18, 2004

We’re now at the A-1 Budget Inn about a mile away from the Arab’s dive. For the same weekly rate of $175, we’re in a much nicer room with seemingly friendlier people from India, though there was nothing wrong with Shelvin. We didn’t get to say goodbye to him because we decided at the last minute to check out, and his father was the only one around when we left at 11:00 this morning. Although I’d still prefer to die and am ready to do so, we came here so we could go online, since it’s not New Year’s Day, our agreed deadline (unless he gets fired first).

The owners are from India and seem nice. We saw a room with a kitchenette, but it’s $250 for a week, so we settled for one with just a refrigerator and a microwave. Although the room is barely 300 square feet, it’s got two beds, internet access, and is much cleaner and less rundown than the Arab’s dive. He lied too, in saying he was the cheapest in town, just like his saying it takes years to get a house is ridiculous. You’d have to make way less than minimum wage for it to take 4 years to save for a house. I think he just enjoys deflating people’s bubbles. Or at least thinking he is. This isn’t to say we won’t ever return to his motel, but it doesn’t look like we will. However, if I have trouble sleeping here, we will.

Anyway, it seems like it’s going to be as dead as the Arab dive, though those fucking scumbags are going to be invading this place too, so we learned. Part of the reason I came up here was to get away from the damn things and it’s like they’re following me! None of what we came here for is happening – no country living, no building of homes, and soon there’ll be no escaping the fucking scumbags! It’s nice that they’ll only be here a few weeks, but where do we go to get away from them while they’re here? Even Tom doesn’t want to stick around and deal with them. They won’t have any more respect for people in this place anymore than those given free houses have any respect for those around them there. They’re scum. Total scum.

So far we’ve been lucky enough to escape anyone being on either side of us, though it’s still early on a Saturday night, so we’ll see. Last we knew, though, there were just 4 other occupied rooms. I feel like I’m back in Phoenix, though, waiting for 10:00 to roll around so I’ll feel “safe.” Safe from potential rude, noisy neighbors.

They have complimentary coffee between 6:00 - 9:00, but I won’t be up then. I better not be, anyway. I asked that they not come around to clean till after 1:00. We’ll see how well they listen.

The pros are that the beds are even softer and the microwave’s bigger with a digital clock on it that I can see in the dark. Because the drapes are darker and thicker, it’s not as bright at night. The room also has better lighting. It’ll make nighttime reading easier.

The negs are the large gap under the door, the $25 fee we had to pay to have Blondie in here, the carpet’s so flat it’s rock-hard, and there’s no nightstand. It’s not a long reach to the floor, though, because these beds are lower. Blondie can get up on them easily.

We got it on earlier and I was surprised to be able to take him as easily as I did. I thought it’d be a few more times before I could. Not that I’m sorry he didn’t cum, but I wonder – with all the guys who don’t want kids out there, how is it that so many of them so boldly cum in women? Do they just think that if they don’t want to make a baby they won’t? What is it, I wonder, that makes most guys get off? And I still wonder, and no doubt always will, what makes Tom not get off? Is it really fear of pregnancy? Because it just doesn’t quite feel good enough like that literature mentioned that Helen gave me? Or is it something else? Something like me not being attractive enough or what?

Speaking of the literature, I wonder how they help those like Tom who want help. The literature said not to hesitate to seek therapy since it’s not something that usually improves on its own, but what “therapy” do they provide? The literature describes it as feeling good enough to get hard, but not quite good enough to get off. How do they fix this, though? By telling the guy over and over again that yes, it really does feel good, till he’s convinced enough to cum? Brainwashing seems so unlikely, so I’d assume they give them drugs of some kind. Well, I definitely don’t want him drugged up any more than I’d like to see him cum these days.

I forgot to mention that the night before last, we had people on both sides of us, yet neither woke me up. It’s amazing how much better I’ve been sleeping in the city than on that deserted mountain! Guess something really didn’t want us there, even though it seems reasonable enough to blame it on being able to feel his movements and the lack of heat. Would I sleep better in a house or cabin up there? Well, we’ll never know, thanks to that controlling, heartless evil bastard in the sky.

Tom and I were talking last night and he says he thinks the best thing for us to do is to just do things without a goal intended in the end. In other words, just buy incense because you like it, not because you want to try to ultimately sell it. Well, once I got into my thirties I learned - and each passing year has confirmed this - that if it’s what I want, I can’t have it. Doesn’t matter if it’s a far-out goal/dream or a simple, ordinary one. If it’s what Jodi S wants, she can’t have it, and this is why I’m ready to die. I don’t want to live another 40-50 years as a puppet controlled by this unseen puppeteer. I know most people don’t get what they want in life, but what makes me different is that I’m not willing to accept that and settle all my life.

Sunday, September 19, 2004

At 11:00 last night, we got someone on the left of us, but they didn’t wake me up. Already, we have people on both sides of us today, so if they’re this busy on a Sunday night, we’ll probably always be sandwiched in while we’re here. As long as they don’t steal my sleep, I’ll survive. They’re not bouncing basketballs off the walls or anything. I just turn on my sound machine to drown out their TVs which is about all I hear so far. They’ve been good as of yet about not going in and out constantly or slamming doors.

The weather’s been cool, cloudy and a bit rainy.

We went to the Chinese place today and that smiley waitress was there. Yeah, I’d say she’s definitely gay or at least bi. She sure acted it anyway. Tom said she was just going for a big tip, but unlike with her other customers, she sure was rather flirtatious with me, calling me honey, and even hugging me at one point because she brought me the wrong order. She was nice to Tom too, saying how nice it was of him to bring me there. She’s older than I thought she was, seeing her close up this time around. I’d say she’s right about my age, perhaps even a bit older.

Monday, September 20, 2004

I’m no longer sure I like this motel. They not only woke me up this morning after the woman said she’d tell the guy that does the rooms to stay away till the afternoon, but they’re stupid, too. Friendly, but stupid. They don’t seem to know much English and every day we have to have our electronic keycards reactivated. They’re also always putting people next to us. They haven’t woken me up yet, but I don’t like having to hear their voices or TVs when I am awake, even if it’s not loud. Again, I did not come here for this shit!

When I think of these owners I can’t help but wonder how the hell come they get to come over here to end up doing pretty damn good for themselves, while we’re from here and we can never get ahead.

We won $10 on a crossword scratch ticket today.

This weekend, along with letters to Paula and Bob, I’ll be sending what I’m almost certain will be the queen’s last letter. I write and tell them of our predicament, and we get shit for it. No email, no phone calls, no letters, certainly no money of all things, and that’s cold. That’s just really cold. They’re nothing but fair-weather friends and I don’t do those any more than I do control freaks, so they can forget about ever hearing from me again.

Never before have I wanted to reach up in the sky, pull God’s ass down to me, and beat it silly. How I hate the mother-fucker for doing this to us! If He’s not the one cursing us, He certainly isn’t helping us. Goes to show again just how delusional religious people are. When they’re not busy bashing gays and being little bigots, they’re promising people that God will help those who help themselves, and this is bullshit. Pure bullshit!

I put a note out asking that they don’t knock before 1:00, so we’ll see if it works. Some other guy told me his English wasn’t good, and I’m like, then why’d he go ‘yeah, yeah, ok,’ and make like he understood me if the dumb cock really didn’t have a clue as to what I was saying?

Another thing I dislike about this room is that it has an even bigger gap under the door than the Arabs did, so I have a towel jammed against it.

Sometimes I just don’t get why God hates me so much, but I also don’t get what He expects me to do in life. Go after everything I don’t want in life? Make lots of friends and live in a crowded, noisy apartment? Never buy another doll or even incense?

I’m just sick of Him using people to turn our lives upside down! I’m sick of all the moving around we do, and I’m sick of struggling. I’m still more than seriously considering suicide come the new year, too. The only question is whether or not I can convince Tom to go with me so I won’t have to desert him. I don’t understand why he’d want to keep going in a life that can never get much better. Why would he want to keep on going through the same old cycles of bullshit over and over?

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

The more I get to know the family that owns this place, the more I like them, though they’re not always very bright. We have to keep getting our keycards renewed. I guess the battery’s low or something.

Anyway, they were kind enough to acknowledge my note and not wake me up, though a series of bumps and bangs woke me up throughout the morning. It was a full house last night so it was probably whoever was next to us. When I got up just after 11:00, I called to let them know I was ready for room service, and I must admit it was nice to be waited on for a change, even if it was at our expense and not for nothing. The lady’s husband came to help, along with the older guy whose English sucks, and I must admit it was rather amusing watching two men make the bed. We won’t need service tomorrow, though, so I’ll leave a little note.

Meanwhile, the husband, who I think is the nicest, let Tom play fix-it in a wide-open area where big trucks park. So far so good, he said when I last checked.

The woman (I don’t know anyone’s name) is rather pretty, though she’s a foot too short. When I went in a little while ago to get my keycard reactivated, she said she was going to show this room in 5 minutes and asked if that was okay. I said it was, but no one’s come to see it yet. Why would she want to show an occupied room, though? I don’t think they’re full up yet.

Soon I will luxuriate in a shower with gallons and gallons of hot water that someone else is paying for! For now, I wish I could bring myself to concentrate on my story, but I guess it’s just a mental block I have as Tom said. It just may have to wait till we’re in an apartment somewhere.

Yesterday I called the Townhouse motel to find out about weekly rates and whether or not the scumbags intend to infest that place, too. The bad news is that she doesn’t have weekly rates, but the good news is that the little shits won’t be there. We’ll probably go back there this weekend. It’s noisier there, but I think we’d like to have that extra bedroom opened up next time around. It’s only $6 more a night, but that way I can escape into the bedroom when I want to read without the damn TV distracting me. There’s also that pizza place next door so I can have a full meal that’s filling for not much money, rather than all this junk I’ve been having. I’m sure I’m at least 130 pounds again. See? This is why I don’t bother losing weight. Circumstances only cause it to come right back, and no, I’m not going back to my exercise ball. I’m going to stick to jogging because no circumstances could stop me from doing that unless I break my legs.

Later…

I really hope the two cocks next to us are out of here tomorrow. This is their second night here and I can still hear them talking even with the laptop blaring music as loud as it can. They talk non-stop for hours and it really gets old. But this is what God wants for me, isn’t it?

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Tom got the truck fixed, so now it can go ahead and break again and cost us more money we don’t have. While he was working on it, he was close to the road and Shelvin walked by at one point. Wow, that’s a long walk from his place to here! Anyway, he said his dad would’ve let him work on it at their place and that he and his father are mechanics of sorts.

We were trying to figure out just why the motels were packed at this time, besides because we’re here, and it hit Tom that the college semester just started and most of the people here are probably seeing their kids off to school. Yeah, well either way, them and the Mexicans costing us the extra money they’re going to cost us since we can’t get a weekly deal at the Townhouse, the only place around that isn’t going to be infested with them, is just another example of how my life is forced to rule around others. Always others affect me and my life! Anyway, I’m sure the motels will die down just as soon as we’re out of them.

Tomorrow we’re going up to the land. If my plants have beat the odds and my “water spells” have kept them alive, I’m going to bring them more water. I’d say they’re dead, though. I just don’t see how they could go two weeks without water. The desert palm – maybe – but the tropical spider plant? It hardly seems possible it could be alive. I just hope no one fucked with the place while we were gone! If they did, it may actually make me glad we can’t keep the land because if they could break into an old dumpy RV, they’d certainly be enticed by a house or a cabin.

The more I get to know this town, the more I see just how small it really is. I know God’s going to send us trouble for neighbors no matter where we go, though. He’ll be all the more certain to sic loud car stereos on us because it’s too cold for people and dogs to be outside year-round bouncing balls, barking and screaming their heads off. However, it’d sure be nice to get a place with a cellar, and even nicer to get a place that had a washer and a dryer down in it, but I doubt either of these things will happen because they’d be too expensive. We noticed that only some of the houses have cellars. They’re not as abundant as they are in New England, though they’re not as scarce as in Arizona. Too many of them have driveways that go between the houses like in Arizona. This makes me even more vulnerable to the noisy neighbor curse, but oh well. Anything’s better than motels, and if we’re forced to deal with problem neighbors, we’ll do it right this time and in a place dominated by whites. I just wonder how long it’ll be before they can possibly be a problem for us to have to deal with!

I keep thinking of that chick at the Chinese place. It’s not that she’s oh-so-gorgeous or anything, and she may not be my type at all personality-wise. She seems too hyper, too chatty, too ditzy and like she comes on too strong. I see Brenda in her. I think she smothers people and it wouldn’t surprise me if she smokes and does drugs. Still, I do look forward to seeing her again, and somehow I get the feeling that she does, too. At first I thought – nah, she doesn’t have a thing for me, but that’s what I said with the idea of Palma and Teddy Bear liking me and I turned out to be wrong. They did like me. Either way, it’ll be cool to see how she behaves the next time I see her. I’d be her friend if she was clean and wouldn’t mind being just friends, but like I said, she may have some traits I could do without.

Later…

Tom said he thinks gay marriages are going to be on the ballot because he’s seen a lot of bumper stickers about it. Bigoted ones, that is. He reminded me that sooner or later it has to be either legal everywhere or illegal everywhere, and I’m sure it’ll be illegal. He thinks it’ll be legal because - who cares? But that’s just the thing – everyone always cares about what’s going on with everyone else. Except for us, people always want to control others and are more interested in what’s going on with other people than they are with themselves. People live to butt into other people’s lives and get them to conform to their ways. Gays will never have much in the way of rights. Meanwhile, the blacks will keep racking up more rights than anyone else ever had or will have.

Anyway, we went to the land we almost had and found that no one tampered with anything. That wasn’t such a shocker. What was unbelievable was that not only were the palm and the spider plant alive and well, but so was the big leaf plant that’s been looking on the verge of death for so long! I was really amazed. The spider actually looked better and like it had grown.

While we were there we got the generator to pawn or sell, some more tools, and then I brought our canned goods, some makeup, my dreadlocks machine, and my airbed for when we have to sleep on the rock-hard beds at the Townhouse. Only thing is, how are we going to blow it up? We didn’t bring the blower. Besides, the thing’s made to plug into cigarette lighters.

Thursday, September 23, 2004

Well, when I asked myself if I wanted the Mexicans to cost us more money or if I wanted to be stuck living with them all over again, I decided I’d rather get away from them and have them cost us a bit more money. This means that we will be checking out of here on Saturday for sure and going to the Townhouse. Tonight we reserved a room for Saturday and Sunday. If worse comes to worst and we can’t afford the Townhouse, which is a bit more expensive without weekly deals, we’ll try some other places. Better yet, I’d like Tom to be right about us being done with motels altogether by October 2nd like he calculated, but I have my doubts. He thinks we can get into an apartment on October 2nd and into a house by February. Nothing ever goes as we plan it, and when it does, it never happens when we plan it. Nonetheless, he went through and explained the math to me and how/why he hopes to have us “sitting pretty” in just a few months from now. I, on the other hand, think we’ll always struggle financially. I’ve been pretty much doing just that since I went out on my own and that was nearly 20 years ago, so why would anything change now unless I get psychic enough to win us tons of money?

The question is – I seem to be saying “the question is” a lot lately – where will we end up? Will a miracle happen in that we find an apartment that’s quiet enough to stay in? Will we end up in a house around February like Tom thinks we can? Will we move to another part of Oregon that’s closer to the coast? Will we save up to buy a place in Nevada? Will we save up to buy/lease a place in a San Diego retirement community? Moving so much is adventurous and does make for good variety, though I’d still like to find a suitable place and stay there for more than half a decade.

See, a lonely prisoner like Bob cared enough to send a letter of encouragement, but does his damn family care? No, of course not! I knew they wouldn’t. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she blew off my birthday and our Christmas money altogether. She’s that selfish, conceited and spiteful. Instead, she’ll send a holiday card to Doe and Art, telling them we’re struggling in Oregon like fools. That’s ok. She’ll be getting what’ll be my final letter. And of course, being the dumb person most people are, Marge will be like, why don’t I ever get letters from Jodi anymore? Why in the world did she stop writing?

Some people just can’t put two and two together!

Bob asked what in the world is Tom doing with a Datsun? Those are horrible. He should get a Ford.

I’ll have to tell him we’re cursed no matter what make/model/year we get.

Tonight’s been ok so far, but it was rather noisy here last night. They slammed car doors and room doors, and the couple next to us argued till 2 AM.

Again I had them give us service, figuring I’d skip tomorrow, then check out Saturday. The guy was telling me that his mom got a little jealous at seeing Tom chatting with Shelvin (they apparently know each other). I defended Tom, of course, letting him know that it wasn’t his fault he happened by while he was working on the truck, and he understood. He said he’s happy as long as his customers are happy and that while Shelvin’s ok, his dad’s mean, very mean. Tom laughed when I told him that. Yes, Mr. Serious isn’t a very nice guy at all. I guess he’s just not a happy person, from what Shelvin told me.

Not surprisingly, when I asked him how the farmers were (they come here every year), he said they were loud and destructive. Yes, they’re little animals. That much is for sure!

Saturday, September 25, 2004

It’s now our last night at the A-1 Budget Motel. Last night got kind of door-slammy, but tonight’s oddly quiet. There’s no one on either side of us. I’m surprised because it’s Friday night.

I ended up having an interesting talk with Tina, who I learned is the owner. Well, I think her in-laws may be the owners, but either way, there are two things I can say about Indian women – they’re way good-looking, but they’re way too short. She’s even shorter than me and because of it, I thought she was 5 or 6 months pregnant when in fact she had the baby a month ago. It’s just that when you’re so short, you retain that pregnant look forever.

The more I spoke with her, the more I agreed with her and thought her to be pretty cool, while Tom wouldn’t necessarily think so because he’s so anti-generalism. She told me she moved from Tampa, Florida to escape black people and told me how she, her sister and others, have had numerous problems with them. When I told her of my troubles with them, she was both surprised and not so surprised.

I got a kick out of how she said, “Why would these people do these things to you? You’re a good person. I’ve known you a whole week,” as if a week were a long time.

I told her I knew Spanish and sign language and was considering learning another language and asked her about the Indian language. She said it’s not hard to learn to speak but is hard to learn to write. She wrote something for me which looked like shorthand. I know I won’t be learning Arabic or Chinese! I went to this site that speaks out sentences as you read them. Simple sentences like ‘How are you?’ and ‘What is your name?’ Arabic and Chinese sound so retarded, not to mention extremely hard. I could maybe learn German or Hebrew, but Italian and Portuguese would definitely be the easiest since they’re so similar to Spanish. The thing is, though, you can’t learn an entire language online for free, so since learning another language isn’t a high priority for me, I’ll skip it.

Instead, Tom and I checked out online palm reading sites for fun. When we found one that didn’t demand money for the results of their little tests, we found it somewhat accurate, though too general. I wouldn’t put as much stock in it as I would my vibes. I just hope his logic beats my vibes and we really are in an apartment come the 2nd!

Blondie spends a lot of time free nowadays. He’s so adorable, so loving and so much fun, but I wish he wouldn’t piss so much! Either way, he’s definitely stolen Little Buddy’s spot as being the best rat we’ve ever had. He’s definitely the most social. He loves to sit with us and be patted much like a guinea pig does. He’s smart too, and usually comes when he’s called. He sure does come running when he hears plastic or paper rustling, signaling food! He preens us sometimes which is weird. I guess not having another rat to do that to is why he does it.

Anyway, I wish we could find a cheap apartment quiet enough to be worth staying in till we either decide to go somewhere else in Oregon or to another state. I’m just tired of all the moving. I moved around in apartments, houses, hotels, jails, etc., and it gets so damn old! Why can’t I just settle down somewhere and stay there? Why are the simplest of things so out of reach for me? I don’t think this is asking for much at all.

So tomorrow we’ll be back at the Townhouse where they’ll slam me awake periodically between the hours of 6 AM-noon, but I’m looking forward to having a tub, a separate room, and a place to get wholesome food easier instead of all this junk I’ve been eating.

What I really look forward to is an apartment somewhere where the people around us will let me sleep whenever I say so. I’m sick of having to take Benadryl to go to sleep which is getting harder to do. I guess I may be getting too used to the stuff. I’m also sick of being cut off from my stuff. I’ve had Bailey for 5 years now, and the time she’s been either stored away or that I was away from her adds up to a whole year! Like I said, why have dolls if I have to sell or store them so much?

Later…

Back at the bumpy, bangy Townhouse. I said goodbye to Tina this morning, who told me I was such a nice person and all that, and I let her know we may be back. Yes, if we’re still cursed with motel life once the Mexicans get the hell out of here, she’s the one we want to go back to. Her place is noisier than that oh-so-serious and not-so-friendly Arab, but she’s so friendly, and we like being able to access the net.

We went to pawn his trombone and the camcorder after leaving Tina’s, then the housekeeper here, who’s runner-up in the ‘friendly’ department, checked us in. Now that I know and understand the layout of this place, I can see why the door slamming is so obnoxious here. Yes, people want to be heard, but still, the layout and types of doors that are in here kind of make it hard not to hear it. Between each room is a stairwell, so there’s a total of 6 doors close to us. The two at the bottom of our stairwell, the two by the stairwell on the other side of us, plus the upper doors on either side of us. I can also hear the people downstairs slamming cabinets in their kitchenette. Nonetheless, I like having a separate room that I can shut myself in if I want to read or type while he watches TV, even though I know I’ll be woken up a zillion times. I know it’s not always easy being quiet. People drop things, they stumble, and they accidentally close doors too hard, but they don’t even try to be considerate of others. As Brenda said (that’s the name of the pizza lady, though she was off today), people just don’t care.

The ceiling in the separate room is way cool. It’s been sprayed with a texture that has scattered bits of glitter in it which looks neat.

I doubt we’ll need heat at least for a few nights. We’re not only on the second floor, but it’s been in the high 70s. Not bad for late September.

Tom spotted Blondie eating something that didn’t look like his food and he came and got me. He apparently was eating a piece of a granola bar that someone else dropped.

We were surprised to get a check for $24 from the Handyman’s Club, something I signed Tom up for in order to get freebies, plus a lifetime membership.

Also, he got an email from Miss Perfect, and this time he’s not even going to bother to respond. All she had to say before she gloated about her new kitten was that mom’s blood was bad and that they’ve had to go to doctors a lot (boo hoo!), but now she doesn’t have to go back for 8 weeks. (aw, too bad) Secondly, she cut her leg (boo hoo hoo!), but didn’t require stitches (I wish I could make her require stitches). Lastly, she said they were able to see the pictures (the ones I sent months ago), sorry it took so long to let us know. Yeah, like she or Dave couldn’t have taken the 60 seconds it would’ve taken to send an email saying they got them. They are just so stuck on themselves and so in their own little world. What used to seem like rather compassionate people, have turned to total stone. She closed with a half-ass comment about “hoping things were better for us,” like it was a last-minute afterthought. Meanwhile, nothing at all was said about our predicament. I was tempted to respond with: When you lose your home and are broke and homeless with a family that doesn’t give a shit and another too toxic to keep in your life, then I’ll feel sorry for your damn cuts and bad blood. However, they’re just not worth it. So, just like Dave ignored my email, we’re ignoring hers. I had wanted to try to keep in touch enough to let them know every time we changed addresses so we could hope to get his share of his inheritance, but you know what? Who gives a shit? It’s just not any big loss if we don’t get it. I mean, so we get 20 grand, do okay for a while, then we’re broke all over again and living like little bums following the script the bastard in the sky wrote out for us and not what WE want for our lives. Like I said, I’m sick of the up-down-up-down routine. Let’s just stay down, ok?

I am totally astonished to report that I’ve gotten down to just a few days before my next period without one spot of blood! If his dick squirted and I wasn’t psychic, I’d be wondering, alright, then if I skipped I’d be terrified, but I know I’ll get it by Wednesday, probably sooner.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

I have quite a bit of updating to do. I hope I can remember everything there is to catch up on. I was just too stressed, depressed or tired to keep up on things as they happened.

For starters, the trip back to the Townhouse was a waste, so the Mexies not only cost us extra money (because if it hadn’t been for them we would’ve signed on for another week here which is cheaper), but we’re also stuck back living with them again. So far they haven’t been as bad as I thought they’d be, but the point is the same – we keep getting stuck back with everything we ran from, and our dreams are just that – dreams. The house in the woods, the $100 a month of spending money, the San Diego retirement house, etc. They��re all just dreams. Because of this and all the shit we’re forced to go through, I’ve upped the day I kill myself from New Year’s to my birthday. I have a feeling Tom won’t be joining me in death, but it’s his life and he has a right to continue with it if he chooses to. All I know is that life in the RV wasn’t nearly this stressful! I slept shitty and we hated having to deal with the water/electricity situation, but for me, life there was better and easier. I wasn’t as depressed as I’d been. I can’t seem to go more than 2-3 days without crying and I am so, so pissed at God. How I hate Him so! If there is a God, He’s a real asshole for allowing us to be in this situation. I’m sorry, but we just don’t deserve this shit. It’s not as bad as being in jail, but it’s worse than the probation stress. Either way, it’s bad enough, so it doesn’t matter. Our lives have been turned upside down and inside out. I miss my old life. The one we had in Maricopa before and after the sickos invaded it once again. I’m just so sick of the struggling we do, and I’m sick of losing things or failing to achieve them in the first place. What the fuck does God want from me? For me to give up everything I own and only go after the unwanted things in life? Should I go after everything I don’t want and don’t want only? I don’t think so. I’d rather die than continue on as His little puppet. I’m not going to live life as an impoverished little dreamer!

He thinks my second letter to the queen will prompt a check for a grand since I mentioned that’s what we’re saving up for to get out of motels, and since we didn’t ask for money, but my first instinct is to say, no she won’t. I know I said this before and was wrong, but that was when she said to let her know if we needed help, and not the selfish “no more” bullshit her perfect little daughter told us she said.

Let me try to go in order of events. We went back to the Townhouse on the 25th. Before I left, I said goodbye to Tina, who told us we were very nice guests, she enjoyed having us, etc. The reason the Townhouse was a dumb idea, besides the fact that it’s too expensive, was that having that extra bedroom only made the place twice as noisy. This rude bitch below us was constantly going in and out of the cabinets in her kitchenette which was right below that bedroom. She was annoying me so much when Tom was out fetching a sandwich with the constant slams and bangs, that I stomped on the floor really loud a couple of times. Not even 90 seconds later, there was a knock on the door. The old couple’s son, I guess it was, asked if everything was alright because the lady downstairs heard a loud crash. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, especially since we didn’t live there, so I said a chair accidentally fell over. Then he asked if something was burning and I told him I was burning incense. Then he goes down to tell Susan, from what I heard him call her, that he guessed everything was ok. Lastly, he came back to tell me not to burn anything because it was a non-smoking room. I just gave him my “Oh, I’m sorry,” line, saying that I thought only cigarettes weren’t allowed.

I really didn’t burn anymore either. For one, I was congested, and also, I don’t like to mess with those who have our credit card number if I can help it.

Anyway, that is so Massachusetts-like of her to complain, which makes me think some of the wonderful neighbors we’re bound to have will complain about my singing, but tough! Besides, I’d rather be complained of than for me to have to complain about someone who may shoot me for it or have me thrown in jail if they have the right connections to do so, and all in a place where my kind takes a back seat to everyone else, though I won’t let what happened stop me. If I’ve got a problem with someone, I’m not going to just take their shit and kiss their ass.

The complainer apparently got a little payback, from what Tom told me after I had listened to music. There was a loose dog running around the parking lot, and this bitch, for reasons I can’t fathom, would leave her door open as well as the stairwell door that both apartments use to enter. Why she’d want to let bugs in and not just open a window, beats me, but anyway, Tom heard her yelling, “Get out, get out!” So the dog apparently went to visit her.

The Townhouse is definitely a place we won’t be going back to. Too noisy, too expensive. They put a lot of stress on us too, by telling us they’d have to move us come Monday if they had a room. What was stressful about it was that he’d be at work, leaving me virtually homeless and on the streets if they ended up with no rooms.

I was so depressed on Sunday and Monday and wanted to die so badly! But Tom keeps telling me to wait. Wait for a better opportunity. But when is there a better opportunity than now to die? We’ve pretty much hit rock bottom, and I know too good and well that when one hits rock bottom, they tend to stay there for a while. For quite a while. That’s okay, I don’t want to climb back up anyway, because I always fall back down too fast. I don’t know if I’d say I miss Arizona, but a part of me wishes we could jump on a plane and fly back to our old house (in Maricopa, of course) and walk inside it to find everything just as it used to be. All our furniture, our other stuff, etc. Oh, I can’t think of it! I’ll only bawl my eyes out all over again.

After deciding to skip the Chinese place, as much as I looked forward to seeing whatever-her-name-is because it’s so expensive, and just grabbing fast food, we hopped across the street to the Motel 6. The one we stayed at that has no tubs and shitty showers. They said they wouldn’t have rooms available till after 3:00, and I wasn’t in the mood to really play up our homeless bum status in life that our wonderful God has blessed us with by hanging out on the streets for a few hours, so that’s when I called Tina. She was quite glad to hear from me, too. I got a kick out of her reaction, actually.

After just two hours of sleep, we came back here the next day at 6 AM on the 27th. (my schedule’s gone haywire because I’ve become immune to the Benadryl and we couldn’t find Melatonin, not that we have the money for it now). We briefed both Tina and her husband in, then I was put in 116 and he went to work. Tina let me know that that room was reserved and that she’d move me in two hours (I feel more and more like a basketball than a human being with all the damn moving we do!) so now we’re in 109, a few doors down from 106 where we were last time.

The room has its pros and cons compared to the other room. I don’t like how it’s lighter in here at night, but it’s got nightstands. That makes waking up with coffee more convenient. I usually get up and get a cappuccino at the nearby gas station. I’ve gotten to know the woman on first shift and the Richard Gere look-alike on second shift, really well.

The first day back here I slept till 2 PM once I was moved. I fell asleep last night at 2 AM and got banged awake at 10 AM when Tina’s husband and her father-in-law were housekeeping. If it weren’t for my liking them so much, I’d have chewed them out royally. At that time I went and paid Tina, explaining we’d have to pay in chunks, but was sure we’d need the room till at least Saturday. She said to let her know for sure, so she doesn’t rent the room out to someone else. She’s only got 4 scum-free rooms right now. After leaving her and going to the store, I crashed from 12:30 - 3:30, and will probably be up till dawn. I know I’ll get banged awake along the way as well as when they come to do this room (I told Tina I’d like service every other day), but oh well. I’m used to having disrupted sleep. It’s a fact of my life. Always has been, always will be, till I exit this sorry earth.

So here’s how life’s been with our little farm animals so far. I can’t deny the fact that they’ve been quieter than I thought they’d be, thank God. I thought it’d be like the NHA or at least Phoenix, though things do go bump more often than they should and I’d still prefer them to leave. When we arrived here they were standing in clusters waiting for the bus to pick them up. I was surprised to see them out before the sun was up since you do need light to work on a farm. I was totally dismayed to see that while a bus comes to fetch them and to drop them back off here, they do have several of their own vehicles, and sure enough, a few stayed back to blast their fucking stereo while they worked in the hood of another vehicle. I had Tina’s husband have them turn it down. I thought that true to people’s defiant nature, they’d take “turn it down” to mean “just a little, and only for a while,” but I’m pleased to report that I haven’t heard any more car stereos. I’m sure I will, though. It’s only day two.

There’s also some good in them having vehicles and that’s that they go out and get drunk in bars or whatever the scumbags do after work, and aren’t trapped here to cause trouble. However, I’m worried about how the weekend will be. I just hope they’ll want to get the hell out and not hang around to disrupt our lives any more than it already has been! I would think the poor shits wouldn’t have laptops to stay around and bang on, and they certainly wouldn’t want to spend their time relaxing with a good book.

Another thing we both weren’t happy to see was the grills they’ve got set up, but if either of them has been used yet, I haven’t seen it. I fear they’ll spend the weekend out grilling and partying in the parking lot, but if they really act up, I’ll call Tina, and hopefully other guests will, too (as long as they’re not from Arizona where that’s such a no-no). I would think they’d be more inclined to act somewhat civilized as opposed to the Phoenix freeloaders because the Phoenix freeloaders had nothing to lose. They were given a free house and a free income. If these people get kicked out of here and fired, they’re fucked, not that it’d hurt to see someone who may actually deserve to lose what they’ve got, or at least most of it, take a fall.

Tom found a woman that would let me pawn some of the fashion dolls, but you know what? I’m tired of losing and having to give up this and give up that! I know we could buy them back, but still, I promised I wouldn’t let circumstances interfere with the things that are dearest to me. Having to store them away for so long is enough! If I were to live I’d sell the least favorites and quit collecting altogether, but since I don’t plan to be around much longer, I’ll let Tom do what he wants with them after I’m gone because I doubt he’ll be joining me in death. It’s his life, so it’s got to be up to him. If we both were to die, then who gives a shit where the dolls end up?

We went to a property management place and were given a list of their studios, apartments, duplexes and houses for rent. First of all, my vibes are going to be right about us not getting out of here on Saturday. We’ll probably be here for at least two more weeks. Secondly, we’d have to sign a 6-month lease on an apartment and a 1-year lease on a house. Tom weighed the pros and cons of an apartment versus a house, but as I told him, he’s welcome to pick what he wants because I won’t be around long enough to care! The houses are Phoenix-close, we have a noise curse on us, and so I know that no matter where we went and no matter how long we did, it’d be noisy. I know we’d only end up with a place where the neighbors had cabinets along walls dividing our place from theirs, making it go bump and bang constantly, and I know there’ll be dogs, kids and vehicle noise, so what difference does it make? We’re never going to get what we want, and if this is our only choice in life, I’d rather just end it all. Why live when there’s so much more bad than good? Why live to get grayer, fatter, older, wrinkled, arthritic, etc.?

Anyway, after seeing a triplex on a very steep hill and a cool view (I thought it’d be noisy with people, dogs and traffic) we came to pay Tina for tomorrow, and tomorrow we’ll pay her for the next two days, then we’ll do a week. Tina said I could pay anytime, even at night, which was very nice of her.

If there’s anything good going on these days, it’s the weather. It’s been in the 70s a lot and it looks like it’ll stay that way for another week.

Thursday, September 30, 2004

Tina’s husband is now doing the room, and boy have I got a rather funny story to tell about her! Tom left me in the room while he went to grab stuff from the gas station, then to pay up throughout Saturday morning. He was talking to what he thought was Tina when all of a sudden, a car pulled up and Tina got out of it! So as he came back telling me, there’s two Tina’s. That makes a lot of things that seemed peculiar make sense now that we know that. There’d be times when we’d mention something to “Tina” that she didn’t seem to know about that we’d recently mentioned to her like the day before or something like that. Also, I noticed the other day that “Tina,” who’s really her sister-in-law (I thought they were twins due to how much they look alike), had a much flatter stomach, and I thought to myself, no amount of ab crunches could do that in just a day! That’d also explain why sometimes I’m “ma’am” and other times I’m “Jodi.”

I have no problem with the English, Hispanic and southern accents, but this Indian accent is rather hard to understand at times. When the older guy was doing the room, he said what sounded like, “This is my brother’s room.” It took me a minute to realize he was really saying, “This is a nice room.”

Later…

Tom and I went across to Mollie’s for dinner. I got a giant porterhouse pork chop. It wasn’t all that great, but edible enough.

My period was pretty wimpy, so given that, plus the fact that I didn’t spot for a year before I got it, tells me I might be able to “spell” them away little by little.

We also learned something else. Leaving here wasn’t the mistake, coming back was. Except for the scattered series of bangs, the Mexies still aren’t as bad as I thought they’d be, but they’re still costing us. They’re not doing any weekly rates while the scumbags are here, so we’re going to zip across the street to the La Vista motel Saturday morning. The shitheads aren’t invading that place. Oh, and they do use their grills. We saw them using one earlier.

I’m just so sick of being a little basketball! Tom said that if his mom was smart, she’d send us our Christmas money now so she could be helping us while at the same time sticking to her “no more” rule she set on us. It’s not that she’s not smart enough; she’s too wrapped up in herself to care. I think that’s the real issue and I don’t know if “no more” means no Christmas money either, but I doubt we’ll find a check for a grand waiting for us at the end of the week. That’s ok, though, cuz if we don’t, we’ll survive on our own and we’ll ignore her and her perfect little daughter altogether. Tom says he’ll still get his inheritance because she’s too dumb to cut him out of her will and because the IRS will go after any executor of any will that doesn’t see to it that everybody that’s due money, gets it.

I just want a home! Even our old dump of a house in Phoenix seems like heaven to me right now. A similar thing happened to me when I moved to Connecticut. When I moved from the Woodside apartment to the Oswego one, the Oswego one seemed so small and dull compared to the Woodside one, but then when I moved to the NHA, that tiny little dive made it seem big and luxurious. I’d never want to be back in any of those neighborhoods, though.

Anyway, today’s the day I finally went from sad to mad. I don’t know if we’ll ever get to build a house or move to a retirement community in San Diego, but I’m determined to live long enough to see him get that wheel for his computer car racing game, and I’m going to get some of these damn dolls I’ve wanted! Furthermore, we’re going to get out of the city for good after we do this last 6-month sentence back in the city (though we may do a year depending on what’s out there), and not return for things other than shopping/errands!

I figured that if I’m going to have to fight for doll packages anyway, regardless of where they’re coming from, I may as well order some PG dolls. Ashton-Drake dolls are nicer, though most aren’t that much nicer and neither do realistic eyes, so why not save a ton of money and mostly do PG dolls? I’m only going to get the ones from Ash that I think are exceptionally nice.

We were going through The Nickel, which advertises apartments and houses for rent/sale, and there’s this manufactured home dealer that charges $25 per square foot, making a 1000-square-foot place cost $25,000. I don’t know where we’ll go once we leave the city, but I do know this – it’s going to be for the last time! Also, I’m going to have two bathrooms again someday. I hate having to pee so badly when he’s taking a shower!

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delicrieux · 4 years ago

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results).

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be.

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children.

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim.

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do.

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point!

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus.

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping.

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex.

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him.

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red.

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!!

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling.

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!”

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you.

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage.

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her.

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement.

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.”

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fic #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #quackity #dream smp #corpse x y/n #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader

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the-fiction-witch · 3 years ago

Text

Mrs Watts

TV SHOW THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY X READER RATING SWEET + FLIRTY REQUESTED

songbyrd15 asked:

Hi! I’m not sure if you’re still taking requests and if you aren’t feel free to completely ignore this, but I would like to request Benny Watts with a kind of farmer’s daughter aesthetic reader. Like, she wears jeans and overalls and is kind of a tomboy and also carries a knife. Kinda cowgirl esque? Thank you!

I smirked to myself as I often did fixing my facial hair in the mirror and making it sit just so. I put a comb through my hair and headed out into the main part of my hotel room. I put my socks on and squirted a little extra aftershave on as I knew it would be warm today. Having to jump a little to get my jeans on. Grabbing my belt from the bedpost slotting my knife in as usual. I grabbed the first shirt out of my bag and ended up with my grey button down so I did it up leaving the top as usual to expose my chains. I slipped my rings on and my shoes and hat taking my keys on the way out. I locked up and headed down the hideously patterned hallways down to the main hall where everyone had gathered for the tournament. With the mass of button-downs and greased hair, I went to the bar and grabbed myself a sprite and I spotted a familiar camera on the marble bar top.

"Morning towns"

"Morning Watts" he smiled back "you signed in?"

"Not yet. Wanted a drink first"

"Why worried?"

"Worried? Me? Not at all towns. Well have this wrapped up prize money in hand by this afternoon"

"Would you like an interesting bit of information about the competition?"

"I don't need it" I smirked

"Alright" he laughed having a little more drink

"Tell me anyway"

"I found something of interest this tournament"

"What? Are we actually playing on wooden boards this time?"

"No something even more interesting"

"Oh? Go on then don't keep me in suspense"

"I believe I found the future Mrs Watts"

"What?" I choked up laughing

"You haven't seen her yet? Have you?"

"Trust me. You'll know her when you see her. And I'll be the first to recommend myself. I shoot great wedding pictures" he smirked winking at me before heading off I assumed he was joking so I didn't think much more about it I signed in and wondered around keeping an eye on the few faces I knew could possibly be worth more than a thought

"Get lost perv!" I heard across the way it was undoubtedly a female voice so I looked over the hotel lobby and...

I saw her.

These little black boots sat happily at her ankles, with little wedge heels. These skin-tight blue jeans that exposed her every curve and crevice a fairly sizable ass had been squeezed in them to the extent I'd be a little worried if she bent over that the back seam would bust, the jeans up to her waist with a black belt around her hips a holster on her right hip holding something that I couldn't see but the belt had bullet loops that she has stored something in not sure what little gold tubes only two or three of them sat there. She had a blue button-down the sleeves rolled to just above her elbows a tattoo clearly on her arm of what I couldn't see from here, the shirt tucked into her jeans the top buttons undone to reveal a little cleavage. Little makeup on her face but a blood red lip and some eye liner her hair in this intricate fire maybe even six strand braid that went all the way down her back in a braid it went to the small of her back god know how long it was out of it. She was standing with a young boy named Quinn that I knew well he had a tendency to be an asshole to the few women who show up every now and again. Given where his hand was he clearly slapped her ass and honestly having seen her ass I'm not sure I blame him for trying... cause I think I would have in his situation.

And her response was a hard slap in the face loud enough people looked and his face turned bright red his eye-watering.

She looked pissed and walked off into another part of the hotel and I have to admit I watched her every step as she left.

"Fuck."

"Yeah. I did say" towens laughed as he has heard me

"She.... Shes-" I began lost for words a little

"What's this then, the masterful Benny Watts has a crush?"

"Shut up towns. She's... nice. Certainly different" I told him "her name?"

"Miss y/n y/l/n according to the sign-in sheets"

"She's playing?"

"Apparently so"

"Excuse me." I told him quickly finishing my drink and heading off in the direction she went and quickly I found her by the bar so I went over "Hey, can I buy you a drink?"

"Hum. Double scotch on the rocks hold the rocks" she smiled

The barman heard her so I nodded and plaid for her drink getting myself a cola,

"Cheers"

"No trouble. I've not seen you before"

"Not typically my scene but why not right?"

"You're not that interested in chess?"

"I never said that. I like the game just not the players" she says "a lot of bullshit to chess tournaments I'd rather just play"

"Yeah. Me too" I smiled "benny Watts" I offered my hand

"I know. Recognized you from a back issue of chess review" she smiled "y/n y/l/n" she says giving my hand a shake immediately I was shocked by how strong she was I have her hand a little kiss which made her crook her eyebrow at me a little taking her hand away and very obviously wiping it on her jeans where I kissed her

"Sorry about Quinn he can be a dick"

"I noticed," she says sipping her drink

"I promise not all chess boys are like that?"

"Aren't you?"

"There's a few good ones" I smirked "Texas?" I asked as I had been trying to figure her twang

"Ohh soo close. New Mexico"

"Damn. You guys a tricky" I laughed

"Maine?"

"Not bad. Not bad. New York."

"Thought I had it" she sighed "what's with the knife?"

"This is for protection"

"From? You got bears in New York or something?"

"From whatever" I shrug taking it from the holster and sitting it on the bar she happily took it giving it an inspect

"Nice. Needs sharpening" she says putting it back on the bar "I mean... I don't wanna get into a who's is bigger but" she smiled pulling from her holster her own knife and jr was in fact bigger than mine and sharper. And I have never felt such a confusing feeling of both being aroused and humiliated at the same time my dick didn't know what to do so I ended up with a strange semi. I took the knife and inspected it myself it was old but very well cared for and likely would do far more damage than mine.

"This is impressive"

"Thanks." She smiled taking it back

"But if you're carrying a knife around, what are the little cases?" I asked looking to the small gold and silver tubes she had beside her knife holster she smiled pushing out the loop twisting the golden tube causing it to open up revealing a bright red lipstick identical to what lay now on her lips she touched up her lipstick with it and returned it to her belt "how the hell have I not met you before"

"Luck of the world" she shrugs "see ya around Watts" she smiled giving my cheek a kiss and going off to her first game and towns snuck up and leant on the bar beside me giving me a look

"Shut up," I told him

"I'm not saying anything" he smirked

"Then your thinking loudly"

"I am. So, what do you think of her?"

"I don't know if I hate her or I'm in love with her."

"Isn't that what you say about yourself in the mirror every day?"

"Kinda" I shrug

"Also," he smirked offering me a Hankey from his pocket

"Ohh what am I drooling over her?" I joked

"No, you have a bright red kiss on your cheek"

"Ah. Thanks" I nodded happily taking it to clean my face off

"Well if you don't like her. I think I'll go and ask her to dinner" he smirked

"You keep your hands off my cute little cowgirl," I warn him and instantly noticed his smirking face as I realized the words that just exited my mouth

"Okay. Okay. Thought you didn't like her?"

"I never said I didn't like her" I answered "in fact, I rather think I do... quite like her" I smirked

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sleeping-on-cracking-ice · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! Can you write something with Chishiya and Y/N when she almost died in game beacuse of Niragi but didn't tell anyone about this (he tripped her on purpouse or smth). Chishiya finds her up on the roof few days later really anxious+crying beacuse her visa is ending and she is scared that Niragi will come and play the same game as her and will try to do something bad. Chishiya becames really protective over her especially when he sees her bruised knees.

Here you go!

Comfort Zone | Shuntaro Chishiya

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Character(s): Chishiya (ft. Niragi, OC’s, Hatter)

Summary: You came close to dying due to being attacked by Niragi, and you fear it will happen again during the next game. Chishiya notices your anxiety and tries his best to prevent it from happening.

Warnings: mention of murder, swearing, blood, violence (punching)

Word Count: 3.9k

*reader is female

“Just my luck,” you groaned out, lifting yourself to your feet by using a chair nearby for leverage. “Not only am I clumsy as fuck, I’m also stuck with a group of murderers.”

Hatter had suggested you go with a few of the militants for the next game, as he wished for them to test you to see if you were capable enough to join them.

It was a hearts game called Capture The Flag. It was very self explanatory. You had to capture the opposite team’s flag and bring it back to your base without getting killed by them. The game would continue until a flag was captured, and the losing team would have their small bomb strapped to their chest explode as soon as the flag was returned to the team’s base. So theoretically, you could die at any second. And if that wasn’t stressful enough, everyone carried weapons, ranging from machete’s to revolvers, so you were on high alert.

You were on the same team as a muscular militant woman named Ren and a much younger kid (he looked around fifteen years old) called Minato. But of course, Niragi had to be placed on your team, bringing you nothing but more trouble.

The room you stood in was dark and ominous. You managed to trip over a few shards of glass and impact on the ground heavily, causing your hip to throb in pain as you attempt to recover from the fall.

You had been separated from your group. You managed to sneak off without them noticing, just rather being on your own than with others. You thought you had a better chance by yourself anyway, as no one was there to betray you.

In the Borderland, you didn’t know who to trust, so you kept to yourself.

The brightness of your game phone flashed a light green, reminding you of what colour team you were on. You had to search for a base that was illuminated by a blue light and take the flag that was supposedly meant to be there. But so far, you hadn’t seen any indication of the other team. You hadn’t even seen any of the other players now that you thought about it.

You made your way out of the empty room you had just checked, peeking around the corner down the hall before stepping out of the doorframe. The small bomb strapped to your chest over your shirt felt heavy on your frame, especially knowing that it held your life in its hands.

You sighed loudly and rubbed your hands together to relieve the tension in your muscles slightly. You had to be close, surely. You had been walking around the abandoned hospital for ages, as if you hadn’t at least walked past the enemy’s base and missed it somehow.

Just as you were about to turn the corner to the main corridor, a whispered grunt made you stop in your tracks. You held your breath and pressed yourself against the cold wall next to you, trying to listen to any movements they make.

The sounds of rustling met your ears, making you frown. It sounded like someone was trying to find something in their pocket, moving around the objects until they’ve found what they need.

You slowly peeked one eye around the corner, making sure not to accidentally hit the wall or fall forwards in fear of the person being an enemy player. Good news, it wasn’t. But seeing someone on your team wasn’t much reassurance either, as all three of them seemed to be clinically insane.

Niragi was crouching over a dead body. A game phone was thrown to the side on the ground a few feet away, emitting a bright blue light. The dead person must have been on the blue team.

The blood pooled around the body, Niragi’s boot being in one of the puddles.

‘Why didn’t I hear the gunshots?’ you asked yourself, watching as Niragi rummaged through the pockets of the guy’s jacket. He was probably looking for another weapon or perhaps something to assist him in the game.

Your eyebrows furrowed when you noticed a slight blue tinge on the fabric of Niragi’s shirt. You turned your head the other way down the hall, eyes lighting up at the sight of a bright fluorescent blue light coming from around the corner. That must’ve been the enemies base.

You glanced back quickly to Niragi, noting he was busy with the corpse, still searching through their pockets. Perhaps you could make it if you were quiet enough.

You slowly lifted a foot while keeping your eyes pinned to the man down the hall, ready to dive back behind the wall if he decided to turn around. When your whole body had left the comfort of the darkened hallway you came from, you turned and quickly shuffled down the hall towards the light, looking over your shoulder every now and then.

When you had turned the corner, you let out a sigh in relief. “Fuck,” you rasped out, wiping your sweating brow with the back of your wrist. “If only I came with Chishiya, I wouldn’t be so cautious.”

You entered a room a few steps in front of you that had a door slightly ajar with the blue light pushing through. You squinted your eyes as you opened the door at the brightness of the light, covering your eyes and hissing lightly.

When your eyes adjusted, you felt a euphoric feeling fill your body when you caught sight of the blue flag resting against the wall. You immediately scrambled over and gripped the wood, feeling the sweet ecstasy of victory and being able to live another few days.

You walked out of the room flag in hand. But as soon as you exited the door, your game phone rang loudly, making you freeze in your spot.

“Green Team has now obtained Blue Flag.”

Your breath became lodged in your throat and you felt your fist tighten on the flag pole. If the game announced it to the rest of the players, they were going to come after you.

Your fear was proven correct when you heard loud footsteps down the hall, making its way to your position. You knew it was Niragi, but the fact that he was on your team gave you slight reassurance. He wouldn’t hurt someone he’s meant to be working with, right?

You couldn’t be so sure, so you pulled out the fairly sized knife that you had sneaked into your pocket before leaving for the game. There was nowhere you could run. Down the hall was the only exit you had.

Before you knew it, the angered face of Niragi turned the corner and you locked eyes. He glanced down at the large knife you held at your side, then at the flag. A smirk painted on his face and he chuckled cockily.

“You think you can defend yourself with that piece of shit?” he asked you, taking a few threatening steps towards your frame. Your feet remained planted on the ground, trying not to appear as panicked as you actually were. “Everyone’s going to come here, and you’re going to fend them off with a kitchen knife?”

You felt belittled from his mocking, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “The fuck else am I supposed to do?” you asked, pointing the tip of the knife in his direction.

Silence filled the air as you and Niragi had a stare down. The grip he held on his rifle tightened whenever you shifted, never failing to make your heart skip a fearful beat.

“Princess,” he started with a sickening pet name, “why don’t you give the flag to me? I’ll protect you.” His sudden change in mood gave you whiplash and you took a step back in confusion, still holding your weapon towards him.

“What?” you muttered out, a bamboozled expression on your face. “I said, pass the flag to me. I’ll make sure we’ll be okay,” he answered while slinging his gun to his side a bit too casually for your comfort.

You watched as he fiddled with the bullet compartments of his rifle. He seemed to have been checking the ammo, making you realise what he was intending.

You shook your head, trying to sound normal, but the slight shakiness in your voice made you quite obvious. “It’s fine Niragi,” you insisted, “I can get it to our base myself.”

He glanced up at your frame as he closed the bullet compartment to his rifle. His serious expression made your adrenaline kick in and your hands began to shake, becoming obvious from the way the tip of the knife was quivering.

“Fine,” he muttered out, basically snarling at you. “I’ll do this the hard way.”

His words made your expression drop and before you could even think, Niragi swung the butt of his rifle and socked you across the side of your head, making you fall to the ground abruptly and drop the blue flag. You groaned in pain, and yet you didn’t even get a second to recover before Niragi blew another hit to your shoulder, kicking you harshly in the stomach at the same time.

You suffocated on nothing, becoming winded from his kick. Gasping for air, you attempted to crawl away from the violent man, shuffling on your hands and knees. Another hit to your lower back brought you to your stomach and you gagged at the sudden feeling.

Luckily, Niragi had quit abusing you and reached down next to your bruised body to pick up the blue flag. “Maybe next time, be careful what you say to me,” he hissed into your ear before standing up and walking away from you.

You laid on the floor for a short moment, trying to compose yourself and control your breathing once again. When you finally came to your senses, you lifted yourself up from the ground while groaning in pain. You had to find a hiding spot, otherwise the Blue Team would find you at their base and kill you.

You used the wall for support as you stood up, bones cracking and blood dripping down the side of your face. You lifted your hand and pressed against your throbbing head, wincing as the pain rocketed from your action.

‘At least he didn’t kill me,’ you thought to yourself. A bright shimmer caught your eye and you turned your head to see your weapon laying on the ground. A grumble left your body as you leant down to pick it up, admiring the way the blue light reflected off it.

You leant against the wall and slowly made your way down the hall, searching for a small cabinet or anywhere that you could hide for the next ten minutes or so. You got a wave of relief when you spotted a cleaner’s cupboard just down the corridor, stumbling towards it.

When you pulled yourself inside the dark cupboard and closed the door, you allowed yourself to slide down against the cold wall, feeling a few tears slip from your eyes.

All you had to do was wait for Niragi to get the flag back to the Green Base and you would be fine, hopefully.

***************

You dragged your exhausted body towards your hotel room, your legs throbbing in pain at every step you climbed. You had decided against going back to the hotel in the car with the other militants, as you didn’t want to deal with the tension of sitting next to the man who almost killed you. Plus, the car would hold half the amount of people it left the hotel with, probably making the atmosphere more eerie.

The door of your hotel room felt heavy as you pushed it open, stumbling into the cold room. You groaned in frustration at your past self. Why didn’t you leave your heater on before you left?

You let out a deep sigh before falling backwards onto your bed, spreading your arms out wide to feel the comforting blankets underneath you. Your eyes closed in content, trying so hard to ignore the pain on the side of your head and your knees.

The blankets shifted underneath your tired frame as you rolled over, pulling the duvet over yourself in the process. You didn’t even have the energy to turn your body so you could place your head on the pillow, so you simply slipped into unconsciousness in the position you laid in, hoping for a better day to come tomorrow.

Whilst you travelled to dreamland in your mind, a short blonde man stood outside your door, knocking lightly on the wood. When Chishiya received no response, he lightly turned the silver door knob and peaked his head into the room. A soft sigh of relief left him when you saw you safe and sound, asleep on your bed. He had been worried from how you were acting as you slumped to your room, noticing that you seemed more tired than usual.

Chishiya walked into the room and quickly shut the door behind him, holding the doorknob until it was completely shut to avoid the clicking noise. He tip-toed towards your frame and admired your sleeping self, his lips curling up at the sight.

“Get some sleep love,” he whispered, running the back of his hand softly down your cheek to sooth you. “You need it.”

Before Chishiya left the room, he tucked the blanket tighter around your body so you stayed warm and gave you a soft peck on your forehead. He glanced back once more before stepping out of the room. He headed back to his own hotel room to get some sleep, feeling content that the person he cares for most was okay.

**************

As the days of your visa grew fewer, your dread grew bigger. Thoughts from your last game bounced around your head, continuing to come back to you in the most random of times. Sometimes you would feel an imaginary harsh kick to your back in your dreams, causing you to wake up abruptly, covered in sweat. You couldn’t escape the fear of Niragi attempting to kill you again. If you managed to run into him again like in the last game, it would be a guarantee that he wouldn’t let you off the hook again.

Just the thought of Niragi blasting a few bullets from his sniper through your head brought you the irrational belief that that was your future. No matter how hard you attempted to shake it, it found its way back into your mind.

The stars shone in the sky, glistening against the endless ceiling of darkness and winking at you from above. It felt foreign to see such sights in the world you lived in, where everything seemed to hold some kind of darkness behind it. Even the label of ‘Utopia’ on The Beach was a complete lie.

You huffed in a stressful tone, hanging your head low and rubbing your eyes with your hands as you leaned your elbows on the railing. The minutes before the next game were becoming less and less. If only you had one more day on your visa, you could potentially avoid all the bullshit that Niragi brought with him everywhere he went.

Hatter had informed you that Niragi was taking you to another game, as he didn’t get to properly assess your skills last time. He was making you go because that night was the night your visa ended. You didn’t have a choice.

Before you knew it, small droplets of tears escaped your eyes, cascading down your face and dripping off your chin. You felt helpless and scared. You could do nothing but wait for the fire alarms to ring to indicate Hatter’s speech before everyone left for their own games. It felt like your time on the roof was lasting forever, so you tried to drag out your time there as long as you could.

You closed your eyes and lifted your head high, letting the cold air swim around your face and bring you comfort. “This isn’t fucking fair,” you stated bluntly to yourself.

It wasn’t. Why did the world think you deserved this kind of stress? You never asked to be in the Borderland. You never asked to be involved with these people. Why did you have to be thrown into this mess?

The sound of light footsteps ripped you from your thoughts, causing you to whip your head around and lock eyes with Chishiya, who froze a few metres away. Your face visibly relaxed at the sight of your boyfriend, smiling weakly as he lifted his hands in defence from your paranoid actions.

“Hey Chishiya,” you greeted him, turning your back and wiping your tears from your eyes. “Sorry, I’ll be down soon. Just give me a minute.”

Chishiya frowned at your shaky voice, approaching your frame and placing a soft hand on your shoulder. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You turned your face to him and his eyes displayed concern as soon as they met with your teary ones. “Wait, baby why are you crying?” he asked, placing a hand on the small of your back and another cupping your cheek to make you look at him.

You shook your head and gave a fake smile, not wanting to tell Chishiya what had happened. “It’s fine. I’m just getting a bit stressed for tonight.”

Chishiya eyebrows furrowed at your answer, noticing how you bit your lip after your sentence. You only ever did that when you were lying.

His eyes glanced up towards the small gash on the side of your head. “How did this happen?” he questioned you, lifted his hand to run a gentle thumb over the injury. You glanced at him nervously as he waited for an answer.

“Oh that? It’s nothing. I just managed to trip over and smack my head on the wall during the last game. You know me, such a clumsy idiot,” you tried to laugh it off.

Chishiya didn’t buy it for a second. He moved his gaze to the rest of your body, searching for any more injuries. He had had enough of your lying when he saw your bruised knees, dried blood around the edges of small cuts from earlier when you accidentally reopened them.

“Y/N, what happened the other day? Who did this to you?” Chishiya asked in a serious tone, wrapping his hands around your neck and holding you protectively. “These look bad Y/N. I’ll have to treat them for you.”

You nodded, looking down at the ground. Chishiya lifted your chin with his finger to make you have eye contact. “You going to tell me what happened?”

You let out a big sigh, accepting the fact that you can’t hide literally anything from Chishiya. He knew you too well.

“Look, it’s fine Chishiya. Niragi just got mad at me during a game. You know how he is. I’m honestly glad that he didn’t do anything else,” you explained, watching as Chishiya’s face contorted into anger at your confession.

He fell silent, making you more tense. You knew Chishiya was really aggravated when he went completely silent.

“Niragi did this to you?” he asked scarily calmly, running a soft hand over the gash on your head again. You nodded, leaning against his touch.

“Alright. You stay with me tonight. I don’t care what Hatter has asked from you. You stick by my side and don’t let go of my hand,” Chishiya demanded you, pulling you into a comforting hug. You tucked your face into his neck, breathing in his scent.

“I love you,” he whispered out, giving you a soft smooch on your cheek. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

You shook your head in denial. “Don’t be baby. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

Chishiya smiled happily at your words, pulling back from the hug and giving you a loving kiss on your lips. You both held each other close, moving your mouths against one another’s intimately.

You felt safe in Chishiya’s arms and he felt safe in yours. And that’s where both of you were intending to stay as long as possible.

****************

You sat on Chishiya’s small bed, admiring as the young man wiped carefully over the dried blood on your knees. He was being so careful, holding you by the underneath of your knee and making sure not to press too hard on your bruises.

You had returned from the game you attended with Chishiya. Before the game commenced, you both hid on the roof so Niragi or Hatter wouldn’t come looking for you, wanting to take you to the game. You waited until most cars had left before making your way down to the bottom floor, climbing into the last car together that only held two other people you didn’t know.

Chishiya made sure to keep you by his side the entire game, not letting go of your hand once. At some point you were afraid he was going to sacrifice himself for you, as he wasn’t acting too far from it. His protective side had kicked in and he wasn’t taking your situation lightly.

At some point you both had to hide from an attacker. Chishiya had shoved you both into the corner of a small room, shielding your entire body with his with both of his hands against the walls, keeping you trapped in and hidden. The action alone was enough to make you realise how much Chishiya actually cared, how afraid he actually was of losing you.

“All done,” the blonde announced, breaking you from your thoughts. You grinned as he glanced up at you, giving you a cheeky wink. He shifted up the bed and leant against the headboard beside you. “Are you okay?” he asked once again, his fingers lightly running along your thigh soothingly. You nodded, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about Niragi,” Chishiya reassured you after a short moment of silence. You looked up at him from his shoulder. “Why not?” you asked.

Chishiya gave a cocky smirk and ruffled your hair playfully. “I’ll make sure to give him a piece of my mind,” he said in a monotone voice as usual.

You chuckled at his words before placing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I’m sure you will,” you laughed.

Chishiya smiled happily and turned his body. He picked you up slightly and made you lie down before placing himself next to your frame. You rolled over to face him, not even getting a chance to breath before his lips were on yours.

His kiss was passionate, running his tongue along your lips to ask for you to open them. You obliged, letting him have his way with you. You ran your fingers up underneath his shirt, feeling his warm skin shiver underneath you touch. He groaned at the feeling, pushing himself closer to you and placing one hand on the back of your neck while the other dragged lazy patterns along your bare hip.

You two held each other close, getting lost and drunk on the thoughts and feelings of one another. No one could make each of you feel the way you made each other feel. In Chishiya’s arms you felt safe and content, making all the terrible things around you disappear. And for Chishiya, you made him feel sane again. You made him remember that he was human, he was allowed to have human emotions and make mistakes.

You brought a sense of comfort to one another, and clearly Chishiya wasn’t willing to let anything come between you both.

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astridbecks · 3 years ago

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@astrid-week may technically be over but we’re still doing this, oops. Part four of five, started as a fill for day 5 (years). Also on AO3.

CW: discussions of death, gaslighting; this deals heavily with the effects of memory modification, but the premise is that at some point, Astrid and Eadwulf must have also had their memory restored

— — —

Remove Curse (3rd-level abjuration)

Range: Touch Components: V, S

At your touch, all curses affecting one creature or object end. If the object is a cursed magic item, its curse remains, but the spell breaks its owner's attunement to the object so it can be removed or discarded.

— — —

Two years and three months after Bren is sent to Vergesson — Bren would be able to tell her the time elapsed, down to the hour, were he in his right mind — Astrid sits cross-legged on top of the desk at the front of a dark classroom. It’s near midnight; the moonlight through the high windows leaves faint rectangles of silver to fall across the empty rows of desks.

It’s one of the larger lecture halls, used for introductory courses. Behind her, the blackboard is still marked with the day’s lesson. She’d spent a few minutes staring at the arcane equations for the second fundamental law of evocation, then the next half hour staring through the pale, moon-limned chalk lines, recalling her own first year of lectures and papers and exams. The untrammeled ambition and hope.

A floorboard in the hallway creaks and she tenses. One hand rises, ready to cast; the other draws a knife from a sheath in her boot.

A familiar figure steps into the room, broad-shouldered and carrying a scent of wine undercut by iron.

“You always pick the strangest places to brood,” Eadwulf says, and then: “Please don’t stab me, I don’t need more blood on this shirt.” Fire crackles to life in his hand, throwing flickering light over his face. His expression is drawn, a shuttered look to his eyes, and there is indeed a telltale stain on one sleeve, red fading to brown.

Astrid narrows her eyes at him, but sheathes the knife with a jerk. “Don’t sneak up on me, then. And I’m not brooding.”

“Aren’t you?” He leans against the desk, making a familiar gesture, and a bottle drops from a pocket dimension into his hand. The fire leaps from his other hand, lighting the lamp on the desk. “Want some?”

She shakes her head, wordless. He shrugs, uncorking the bottle and taking a swig.

“So. If you’re not brooding, what’s on your mind?” He sets the bottle between them, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What went wrong with tonight’s mission?” she asks instead of answering. It’s technically a guess, but she knows she’s correct even before his eyes grow harder and more distant. (He wouldn’t have worn a shirt light enough to show bloodstains if he’d expected the night to end with stabbing.)

“Doesn’t matter.”

Astrid could press the matter, but it’s not worth it. She flicks her finger moodily against the bottle, nail ringing on the glass, until Eadwulf gives an irritated sigh and moves it out of her reach.

“And you didn’t answer my question, anyways,” he adds, lifting the bottle again and regarding her over the lip of it.

Astrid raises an eyebrow. “I was considering the factors that might turn a loyal citizen of the Empire down a path of treason.”

Eadwulf snorts and sets the bottle down harder than strictly necessary. “Your extracurricular activities are supposed to be different from your actual job, you know.” When she fails to respond with something barbed and clever — misses her step in their usual conversational dance — something in his gaze shifts. “And you could’ve thought about that without breaking into a classroom after hours to lurk in the darkness.”

“Where I choose to have my breakdowns is my own business,” she says, haughty.

“Is that what you were doing?”

“No.” Not yet, at least. “I was just… thinking.” He doesn’t press her to elaborate, but he also doesn’t look away from her as she turns the words over in her mind, considering her admission. “Our — graduation. It doesn’t make sense when you really consider it. The coincidence of it, the lack of prior indications, the lack of a motive. And the execution followed so quickly that we never had time to hesitate.”

It’s a cruel thing to throw at him without warning, especially when he’s half-drunk and recovering from a botched mission. She sees his hand shake before he grips the bottle tighter, knuckles going pale.

“Soldiers don’t get to hesitate.” His voice is strained. “Shit, Astrid. Why dig up the past like that?”

One of us has to remember. It’s an exceptionally unfair thought, and she knows it. “How did you find out? An overheard conversation?” She doesn’t need him to confirm it; they’d reported to Ikithon together like the good, loyal children they were. “One conversation. Short — a few minutes, no? Ten minutes or less?”

The traitorous discussion she’d overheard had been startling in its simplicity, a clear admission of intent and disloyalty. Later (much later) she’d thought back, tried to remember. She’s never had Bren’s knack for telling time, but it could have been ten minutes. It could have been less.

It’s almost insulting, the idea that Ikithon might have only deigned to use one spell on each of them, not bothering to expend the effort to make the modification more convincing. It would be insulting, except that it had worked.

Eadwulf lifts the bottle to his mouth again, but his hand shakes and wine splashes on his collar, leaving a pale plum stain. Astrid resists the urge to lean forward and pluck the bottle from his hands.

“We did what we had to,” he says hoarsely.

It would be simpler to remember it that way. It would be comforting to believe that.

“There are ways to undo enchantments,” she says, and Eadwulf shakes his head in mute refusal. “Simple ways, for arcanists of our ability level.”

“Stop it.” His eyes blaze with abrupt fury, a sudden immolation. “We don’t need to know. It doesn’t matter.”

“If we can find out, there’s no reason not to,” Astrid snaps.

Eadwulf’s hand jerks, flashing the somatic component for a shield spell before he catches himself. He dismisses the bottle without bothering to recork it — stupid, it’ll spill all over him the next time he summons it — and steps away from the desk.

“That’s what’s going to get you killed someday, you know. Not knowing when to let something go.”

“Oh, are we taking bets on it now?” Her voice comes out more venomous than she means it to, but there’s no way to take it back. “Because based on this, I’d say you’re most likely to get killed because you’d prefer to close your eyes and pretend everything’s fine, even with a knife pressed to your back.”

Eadwulf stalks out of the classroom, leaving Astrid alone in the silent moonlight.

There are things that can be burned down, over and over, until they’re rebuilt correctly.

Memory is one of those things. It doesn’t even take a spell to do it — not if you’re patient and careful and cruel. A calculated lie here, a seed of uncertainty there, and a master of the art can manipulate a target’s recollection of reality simply by making them doubt their own reliability.

Astrid knows so many ways to rewrite history. She’s learned by example. Embed crystals in a child’s skin until they sob, but tell them afterwards that they were so strong to endure it, that bearing this pain is a privilege. That they’re getting stronger, even as the nightmares get worse and every hint of compassion is stripped from them like marrow from a bone.

Be cruel, but call it kindness. Kill an innocent, but call it justice.

Eventually, if you repeat a falsehood enough, even the liar starts to believe it.

In the minutes that it took her parents to die, she prayed (pointlessly, irrationally) that they would not realize it was her hand that tipped the vial of poison; that they would die thinking that her crime was only — only — failing to act to save them as they choked before her.

Like everything else she’d known, the gods showed little mercy. Perhaps she had been beyond the reach of mercy for a long time.

She’d clutched Bren’s hand under the table, out of sight. His face had betrayed no pain even as she felt bones creak under her fingers. He wore the same impassive mask that settled over her own face as she watched her parents die. The mask of justice delivered, a sentence handed down with merciless hands.

The night Astrid killed her parents, she killed the child they’d raised, too. It just took her longer to realize that.

She opens her door the next morning to find Eadwulf standing outside it, hair mussed and eyes bleary, still wearing the same stained clothing from last night. She opens her mouth to comment on the fact that this time he seems to be the one lurking around in strange places, which makes his comments last night very hypocritical, but he cuts her off before she can.

“I’ll do it. We’ll find out together.”

Astrid casts a critical glance over his rumpled state. “Why the change of heart?”

Eadwulf glares at her. It’s a hollow echo of the fire in his eyes the night before. More resigned, somehow. “Because I know you’re going to do it by yourself if I don’t, and I’m not letting you do that alone.”

Unexpectedly — and embarrassingly — her throat tries to close, an uncomfortable tightness building in her chest. It takes her a moment to steady herself enough to nod and say, “Fine. Together, then.”

The worst part is this: Astrid already knows how to spin the justifications out, to walk the tightrope of truth and propaganda. She knows how to burn down a memory of guilt over and over until the ashes have no choice but to yield vindication.

It was necessary. Even if their parents were never traitors, weapons have to be forged somehow, and if they are destined for greatness, well — a few murdered innocents, a bit of blood on their hands, these are small prices to pay. The sacrifice their parents made — the sacrifice any loyal citizen of the Empire might be called upon to make — is one that Astrid and Eadwulf and everyone else like them must simply make worthwhile.

That is the fulcrum on which her life swings. If, years down the line, she takes her seat on the Cerberus Assembly, wears the scarlet robes of an archmage, shepherds the Empire into a new age of peace and prosperity, will it have been worth it? Will she finally be able to visit the humble graveyard in Blumenthal and find the grave she’s never searched for and honestly tell her parents that no, their deaths were not in vain; yes, Astrid has become everything they had hoped for and more?

Does it matter, when that will never change the past?

They would have understood, if they knew everything, she tells herself. If I could tell them, explain it all to them, they might have forgiven me.

She knows it’s a lie.

The spell to remove a curse is simple, in the grand scheme of things. No expensive material components; nothing terribly involved in its casting. Any sufficiently advanced wizard could learn it. By the end of the week, both Astrid and Eadwulf have acquired the necessary materials and copied it into their spellbooks. It is truly laughably easy.

The inevitable conclusion is that Ikithon wanted them to know. Not immediately; not until they could prove themselves ready. It has the shape of a lesson, even — identify a possibility, acquire the means to test that possibility, remain unbroken under the weight of that final truth.

This is still part of their schooling. The last stage of the final exam. A graduation of a different sort — to understand what has shaped them, that they might better understand how to shape others.

(Perhaps that is only what Ikithon wants her to think. Or perhaps he has never truly cared what lies she spins to justify her actions, only that she knows how to do so.)

Eadwulf stands in front of her, his spellbook open on the table next to them, his brow furrowed. “Are you ready?”

Astrid lifts her chin. “Yes.”

To Eadwulf’s credit, he doesn’t voice the hesitation evident on his face. He only places a hand on her shoulder and speaks the incantation, voice steady even as his fingers tighten with unspoken fear.

The spell rushes like a sudden wind under her skin, and the smoke in her mind tears away.

The memory of her parents’ treason turns faint and insubstantial. Present, but unreal. A fiction laid down by Ikithon’s voice, a cunning whisper she now hears clearly — you overheard your parents plotting terrible, treacherous things against the Empire. They wanted to undo all of your hard work, supplant your accomplishments, because they were afraid of what you could become.

Astrid supposes she should feel surprised, but maybe she lost that ability long ago. There’s only the hollow echo of wind, fading. Eadwulf releases her shoulder and she sways for a moment as she comes back to herself. He watches her warily, waiting for her to speak.

“You know,” she says, and can’t quite meet his gaze. “I agonized more over my choice of poison than the act itself. I thought it was weak that I didn’t want to see them suffer for too long, but I knew that if it was too swift, he would think I was being too merciful.” She takes a shuddering breath. “That was what worried me most — if he would approve of the way I murdered my parents.”

“Astrid.” His voice wavers. He’s afraid, and part of her hates him for it. Does he think she will break like Bren? Does he think he will, when the veil is torn from his eyes? “Was it—“

She slams her palm against his chest and casts.

The spell releases in a burst of warmth that she feels through her hand, up her wrist. Eadwulf staggers back half a step, breath rushing out of him as the realization breaks over his face, memory slotting cleanly back into place.

His face blurs, and it takes Astrid a moment to realize that she’s crying. A sob catches in her chest, sharp and humiliating, and then Eadwulf’s arms are around her and she buries her face in his shoulder, feeling him shake with her.

I’ll kill him for doing this to us, she thinks, and the thought settles in her chest, cold and sharp. It doesn’t sound like a lie, but she repeats it anyway — I’ll kill him with my own hands, watch the life leave his eyes, make sure he knows it was me.

There’s nothing to say, so neither of them speak.

#astrid week 2021 #critical role #cr2 #astrid beck #eadwulf grieve #my fic #i'm a big fan of the 'wizards doing somatic gestures as instinctive responses to conversational stabs' trope #also these ficlets keep getting longer and i'm not sure why #r: caught between forever and nothing at all

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goldeaglefire1 · 3 years ago

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so! I was thinking about One Step From Eden, and then it occurred to me, "you know, people never talk about Serif even though she's a boss and the one singular character to get any sort of characterization beyond the playable ones; maybe I can come up with something?" so I decided to think about her, and think about her some more, and maybe I thought a bit too hard about her because something clicked about her that did not before and now I'm sharing that information with you all

which is, very simply

Serif is Saffron's mom

my reasoning is as follows

- Saffron and Serif are the only two blondes in the game - everyone else either has brown, black, or some variety of anime hair. This isn't much but should still be noted

- Both have a primarily white color scheme (Saffron has her labcoat, gloves, and boots, while Serif has white over her Everything. also as a bonus Serif's sprite has some light purple in there which can be seen as parallel to Saffron's pink)

- Both are heavily associated with swords (Saffron's preferred spell is Ragnarok, Serif has those twin flaming swords she always carries around)

- Both have some form of notable time manipulation (the other characters can pick up spells that let them stop time but Saffron is the only one who can potentially stop time from the start; Serif uses her power over time to throw the player back and is the reason why runs reset on a neutral run or failed genocide run)

- Both have similar tactics in their boss fights (trying to overwhelm their opponents, Saffron through her unpredictable array of spells and Serif through sheer magical might; both also have a "you really don't want to hit this" structure in the form of Saffron's self-defense dolls and Serif's light bombs respectively)

- Finally - and this is a real knife-twister - Saffron is the only character who gets a unique reward for pulling off a genocide route. Sure, you can unlock the extra skins of the others by using them to do a genocide route, but that route is stupidly hard and you can get those via pacifist also so. you're not really inclined to try that. Saffron, on the other hand, has a whole KIT that unlocks if you kill everyone...or, more specifically, Serif in particular. Ouch

now, assuming this is correct, it does raise the question of "how the hell did Serif become basically a god;" my thoughts on that are that Serif made herself into a magic superweapon (like how I speculate Yami is), and when the whole apocalypse thing happened she decided to dedicate her power to protecting all the survivors she could, which eventually resulted in the settlement of Eden

anyway! have fun with this new revelation!

#one step from eden #osfe saffron #osfe serif #headcanons #long post

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dragon-kazansky · 4 years ago

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Til death do us part | Helmut Zemo

Bodyguard AU! 🕶

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

I'll be waiting for your responses eagerly. Come at me!

Warnings: Blood. Stabbing.

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 13

The night of the party. Helmut had organised an outfit to be delivered to you before hand, so right now you have been in your room awaiting it.

You had been waiting in worry. Every possible outcome of how tonight could go had run through your head. You were certain Walker would make an appearance tonight and you had to be on high alert to protect Zemo.

A knock sounds at your door. You get up and answer it. One of the maids stands there with a box in her arms. She holds it to you. You take it, thanking her. The maid leaves. You close the door and walk over to your bed, where you then place the box. You open it.

You can't help the chuckle that escapes you.

You take out the expensive looking clothes. You already knew he had fine taste, but to think he would extend that to you, it was almost overwhelming. You don't think you've ever worn something that looked like it's price tag may have more zeroes than you're comfortable with.

Regardless, you put it on.

Just as you're about done getting ready, there is another knock at your door. This time you look at yourself in the mirror as your heart skips a beat. You don't look like you. At least, not a you that you've ever known. It felt strange not to be putting on your usual suit to do a job.

You looked amazing. There was no better way to put it.

Another knock.

"Come in."

Helmut opens the door and slips into the room. You watch him in the reflection of the mirror. You smile, unable to contain it. After his confession, you feel all the more giddy when you see him.

It comes as no surprise he is also dressed to the nines. The man has immaculate taste in everything.

He's smiling at you.

Helmut comes to stand behind you, but by the time he gets there, you're standing up and facing him. The way he looks at you makes you forget how to breathe for a moment and you have to try and gather yourself without looking like a fool.

He chuckles softly.

"Absolutely breathtaking," he whispers.

"Yes, you are," you say, not really meaning to say that out loud, but it's too late to take it back. You know he heard you because of his smile.

He reaches out. You do nothing as he pulls you a little closer and looks at you.

"Shall we?" He asks, voice soft and low.

You nod.

Helmut offers you his arm. You take it. You walk together upstairs to the main hall of the estate. When you get there you are greeted with a crowd of people. So many people. The whole estate had people walking around, laughing, chatting, and dancing.

"You went all out."

Helmut smiles smugly.

"I told you, my house, I'll do what I like. I wanted a party, so a party we shall have."

He guides you further into the room. He smiles at people as you both pass through the crowds.

You had to admit, it was a thrilling experience. You had never been to a party like this, well, as a guest anyway. Normally you were on the sidelines observing and looking for any trouble.

Speaking of, you briefly catch your friends on duty. They are scattered about the room, all in great spots should things happen, but you also wondered if it was enough.

If John Walker was serious about killing Zemo, then he would use this party to his advantage, and would be smart about it too. Zemo was practically inviting him into his own, daring him to come and try.

That's what worried you the most.

"May I have this dance?" The Baron asks, smiling at you in the centre of the room.

You chuckle softly.

"I suppose."

He rolls his eyes with a grin and pulls you in close. You hope he cannot hear your heart racing rapidly in your chest. This man was making you feel things you never thought you would ever experience. How could he get you to swoon with so few actions and words?

The smile he gives you is devastatingly handsome. You're resisting the urge to melt in his arms as his eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint.

You're pulling against his chest, his face right close to your ear. You don't have to look to know he's smiling.

"See? Nothing to worry about. Just the two of us dancing in a crowded room."

"You realise that's what worries me? The room is packed with people. He could be here."

Helmut moves his head so he can look at you. His expression has fallen into something more serious.

"I won't let him hurt you."

"Stop it. That's my job. My life before yours," you tell him.

He shakes his head slowly.

"You don't understand, darling. I'm not here tonight as the Baron. I'm here as Colonel Zemo. I don't care of you're my bodyguard. Walker is a dead man if I see him, and then I'm going to take you in a proper date. I'm serious about you."

You stare at him, looking for a hint that he was messing with you, but you found nothing.

"Colonel Zemo?" You whisper.

Oh. Hearing you say that made his spine tingle. His eyes drop to your lips. You notice that. His eyes return to yours. He doesn't hesitate to kiss you.

You melt against him at last.

You give yourself to him fully. It's safe to say, you have made Helmut Zemo the proudest and happiest man in the world.

His lips were soft and warm. Your fingers, which were threading through his hair, felt how soft and fluffy his hair was. These aren't things you had thought about before, but now you write sure you wouldn't be forgetting this moment.

You wanted to stay like that forever.

Screaming.

You hear screaming.

Both of you part ways and turn your head sharply in the direction it was coming from. Helmut wraps his arms around you and holds you close to him. His gaze is hard and cold as he tries to find out what's going on.

Though you're still flustered from the kiss, you are quick to get your head back into the game.

You realise what he's doing and switch it up, pulling him behind you roughly. He is less than impressed of your move.

More screaming. People begin to scatter.

"Let me protect you," he hisses in your ear.

You turn to face him and shake your head.

"Y/N."

A gunshot rings out. You give Helmut a hard shove. He scatters backwards,unable to grab onto anything to stay upright. You look up and nod.

Natasha had her eyes in you. She nods back and does not hesitate to hop over the railing of the balcony above. She lands with a hard thud and hurried over to where the Colonel was now sitting up.

You're gone. He can't see you. In that second you had pushed him, you had rushed off and now he couldn't see you.

"Y/N!"

Natasha grabs him by the arms and pulls him up. He doesn't even look at her. He tries to push her away to go look for you, but she's tougher than she looks. Natasha holds him back.

"We have to go."

"No. If this is Walker, Y/N is not safe," he growls.

"Look, I know you're in love with them, we love them too, but Steve made a promise with them and I'm not about to break it."

Helmut turns to look at her sharply.

"What did they promise?"

"That we would carry on with our duty no matter what happened."

He glares harshly. He is not here to play nice. Helmut had only just won you over, he was not about to lose you now.

"Let go of me."

She does not.

"That's an order."

She releases him. He adjusts his jacket and storms off through the crowds, who were making their way out. This was not the party they had come for.

Natasha sighs.

"Forgive me, Y/N." She storms off after Zemo, not willing to let him go alone.

When you pushed Zemo down, your eyes caught sight of the man you hated more than anyone. He was smirking at you. He bolted the moment you saw him. You gave chase. You chased him up the long staircase, away from the party.

The crowds were thinning, he would have no one to hide behind. That also left you open too.

You saw him dart into one of the guest bedrooms. You rushed over to the door and opened it rapidly, coming to a step inside.

You didn't see Walker.

However, the room wasn't empty. Hoskins, Walker's right hand man, was standing opposite you. He had a gun in his hand, aimed right at you.

"Where is he?" You ask.

"Not here."

"This is a trap isn't it?"

He smiles, but it's not a happy smile.

"You've left the Baron's side. He's exposed."

"I can assure you, he is well guarded."

"Is he? Do you even know who you are up against?"

"I know the type of person I'm up against," you say, heart beating faster than you would like.

You're scared. You are genuinely scared.

Hoskins can see your fear.

"You're afraid. Walker already has an advantage over you."

You shake your head.

"This is a trap."

"You're smart. He likes that. Heike was smart too. It's something he loved about her."

You shake your head and turn around quickly. However, your exit is blocked. Walker stands menacingly in the doorway. He stares down at you with a sinister grin upon his face.

In his hand is a knife, glistening in the light.

Your fear grows. You didn't want to be here. You didn't want to be alone.

"Helmut..." you whisper.

Walker steps closer.

"It's a shame he had to fall in love with you. If he hadn't, your life wouldn't matter so much to me. Now, I need to use you to break down his walls."

"He will kill you," you stay, trying to keep your voice level.

"No. He will bend to me. He will kneel down and do whatever I want him to. He will bend to me."

It happens so quickly.

The knife is plunged into your abdomen. You can only stare wide eyed at Walker as your hand grab at his wrist. Even in your panicked state, where you stand with a knife in you, you know you need that knife to stay there.

Walker knows you need that knife to stay there.

That's why he takes it out.

You fall to your knees as your hands try cover the wound. He drops the knife near you and gives you a push a with his boot clad foot. You topple over and gasp loudly. Tears fall, gasps escape your lips rapidly.

Your blood was warm in your hands.

Walker and Hoskins step over you and leave. You lie there, hands at your stomach, eyes trained on the door.

You were supposed to protect him.

Helmut...

As if he had heard your thoughts, the man himself enters the room. It was the only room on this floor with door left wide open.

Walker and Hoskins were long gone.

All thoughts leave him as he kneels down beside you. He cradles you, trying to be mindful of your wounds, but he is so overcome with worry, he isn't careful enough.

"No. No!"

You look up at him. You're bleeding all over him now.

"Helmut..."

He hushes you, look down at you as he place one hand on your cheek. He needs you to look at him.

"Why did you have to run off like that?"

You go to answer but he stops you.

Natasha enters in a rush. She can't believe what she's seeing. This is far worse than last time. There was so much red.

"GET HELP!" Helmut yells, looking up at her.

Natasha scurried away.

You cry softly.

Helmut leans down and presses soft, though slightly sloppy, kisses to your forehead. He cradles you to him, using one hand to press over yours where the wound bled profusely.

"You'll be OK. You're going to be fine."

You can only cry softly as you try to cling to his warmth.

You can hear his soft cries. You can feel his heart hammering away inside his chest.

"Helmut..."

"Don't talk," he says, closing his eyes as he holds you. You were going to be alright. He would make sure of it. He will look after you.

"I love you."

He looks down at you quickly, lips parted as he tries to work put if he actually heard that.

"I love you," you said again.

"You do?" He asks, softly.

You manage a smile.

"I do."

It's then your eyes flutter closed. Panic sets in and he gives you a shake.

"Stay awake."

You keep your eyes closed.

"Y/N, stay awake!"

Nothing.

Steve and Bucky reach the end of the corridor. Natasha had called for help, passing them along the way. As quickly as she could, she told them what happened.

As they reached the hall, they come to a stop.

A sound so broken comes from up ahead.

A cry so sad, so broken, so devastated, halts them in their tracks.

And they know it belongs to the Baron.

Both of them take off.

They reach the doorway and both want to take back everything they thought they were seeing.

They wanted to believe they weren't looking at Baron Helmut Zemo cradling your body.

@thesuitkovian @justfangirlthingies @belle82devart @anteroom-of-death @silverlambcaptain @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @lieutenantn @daniielbruhl @awesomesauce-abbie @latenightartist-author @lazygurl05 @rumblelibrary @nonamec0s @shura-gorl @ginger-abreu @caligrl1992 @livvyshmiv @luciadiosa @vverliebt @tatooineisdry @charistory @somethingthatsaysbubbles @apparrio @alex-the-nb @thewrongkhristol @hb8301 @the-chaotic-cow @mssennimatilda @uncomfortablebagel @fictionlandslanddreams @madhatter2727 @kinismanditory @the-webkinz-kier

#marvel #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo #au #baron helmut zemo #zemo #bodyguard au

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anonofseasons · 2 years ago

Note

3 & 10 for Sophie!

3. What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? While it is technically a necessity, Sophie buys expensive clothing. It might even seem beyond her means, but I channel my personal real life wish that we made items to last a long time again, and these are clothes that will last her for decades. The most expensive being her favorite winter wear. That starts with the custom cloak in lilac purple with the white fur hood. It detaches from the wool cloak for washing, although wool requires specific care to avoid shrinkage. It's also some fancy wool, like cashmere. It isn't her only cloak, but it's the favorite and most expensive one. Then there are the boots. White leather is a pain to manage, and they're made to last. Her rabbit-fur lined white leather gloves match the boots. Beneath these, she tends to wear a lot of fancy blouses and belts with her impeccable trousers. None of it comes cheap, all of it is custom commissioned, and she wears it damn well. She tends to wear these for special occasions and in the worst weather. Mind, even her "run to and from work" winter ensemble is fancy, but not nearly as costly as this one. She's equally indulgent about bedding materials, and you don't have Graham for a father and walk away without being a little snobby about furniture and interior design. Sophie's other indulgence is going out with her spouse on their days off. There is usually only good memories to show for that. So most of her disposable income is used to go the extra mile with items she would usually own anyway. She just owns fancy as fuck things that will last her decades. As an immortal, it certainly saves on money in the long run. She does bake in her free time, but once you buy the tools for it, the ingredients aren't usually that expensive outside of maybe fancy fruits for filling and such. (I do not touch on it much, because I had to cut the chapter, but there are mentions of a food shortage they all experienced that led to rationing. Acquiring ingredients then would've been incredibly expensive, but she also would've still needed to eat. So I really had trouble thinking of this as an indulgence, outside of the fancy fruits she might select sometimes.) 10. What objects do they always carry around with them?

In this world, it's expected to always carry some kind of knife on you. Not just as a precaution against attackers, but as a practical tool for cutting. She has a pearl-handled folding knife. (She has a matching one for gift wrapping materials at work.) She also carries identification, since she had to make herself an official citizen when finding jobs and marrying. House keys, emergency cash, a folded mirror case, her personal handkerchief she's using for the day, and a packet of disposable tissues. She uses her handkerchief; the tissues are for offering to other people, since her job is with the public. Specifically with children. She needs them on hand to offer to kids. :) All of these items fit inside her cloak pockets, which are hidden in the interior of her cloak. Minus the knife, which is sheathed and strapped to her calf.

#Seasons Spoilers #///#////#/////#//////#long post #Sophronia

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angel-tries-to-write · 4 years ago

Text

A Knight in a White Hood

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Rating: Teen and up Pairing: Ezio Auditore x fem!reader Word count: 1258 Genre: hurt/comfort

Ezio wants to save Caterina, but you don’t like this idea. And obviously, you are not jealous!

“Ezio? Why the rush?” you asked, getting off the table you were sitting on, as your beloved master assassin stormed in to the hideout on Isola Tibberina (Tiber's Island).

“I know where Caterina is. Now I just need to make a good plan of her retrieve” he answered, looking at the city map.

“Why? Are you going to set her free all alone?” you didn't like this idea at all.

“Si (Yes). It is my responsibility.”

“It is not. Besides I don't like this. Why would you risk so much for a woman who would not do the same for you?” you tried really hard to hide your jealousy.

“How can you say such things? You can not know what would she do” apparently your response irritated him. Was it a sensitive topic?

“Oh, please. Women like her rarely do something because of their feelings. She needs you, so she used you. Open your eyes and see it” you pointed out.

“We are not having this conversation. I need to save Caterina” Ezio clearly showed you he wasn't going to listen to anything you have to say.

“Va bene (Very well)” you sighed. “Come on, ladies and gentlemen. We have to save contessa puttana (countess bitch)” you motioned to your apprentices, heading to the exit.

“(Y/n)!” Ezio scolded you, but your only response was a middle finger directed at him. If he wanted a broken heart, he would have it. It wasn't an appropriate behavior, but you didn't care.

You didn't talk to Ezio anymore and when the time came, you lead your apprentices for an attack, providing a distraction and creating an opportunity for Ezio to sneak in to Castel Sant'Angelo, find Caterina and rescue her. When he was inside, you commanded everyone to retreat.

Then someone's throwing knife managed to reach you. A sharp pain exploded in your side, but you ignored it, until every one of your apprentices was heading the hideout. Some of them were wounded and you were mad at Ezio, that he risked so much for a woman who never cared about him. Or maybe it was just your jealousy speaking through. It was indeed difficult to handle that he cared for an other woman this much, especially that woman. You made sure that your assassins had their wounds treated, carefully hiding your own. The doctor had just ended taking care of your apprentices, when Caterina Sforza herself came back, announcing that Ezio stayed behind to make sure her path was clear.

You used all your strength to not yell at her and stormed outside, taking a crossbow. You knew Ezio was going to be fine, but a little help wouldn't hurt. It was about time when you had arrived, he was surrounded by a large group of guards and while he was doing pretty well, he looked more and more tired. Not thinking much, you took your position, aimed and shot, killing one of the guards. Ezio briefly looked around with confusion, not stopping his fighting, then he noticed you when you shot another guard. You kept covering him until he got out safely and you could go back to the hideout.

When you entered, the doctor has just finished tending Caterina's wounds and looked at you carefully.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I am fine, only tired” you answered, leaning on the desk and trying to make it look natural.

“You are pale and sweaty, you look unwell” the physician argued.

“It is nothing. Take care of those who need help” you growled, the adrenaline was wearing off and you started to feel the pain.

“I have already taken care of everyone who needed it.”

“Fine” you gave up and uncovered your wound. The doctor examined it carefully then ordered you to undress. Reluctantly, but you did what you were told, trying not to think about having to stand almost naked in the presence of Ezio, his lover and a couple of apprentices. But the wound hurt too much and you've lost enough blood to start to worry. One of your students helped you take your clothes off, soon you were leaning on the desk only in your pants, boots and breast bindings. Your clothes needed to be washed and stitched anyway, but you would feel more comfortable with than without them.

The doctor said something about your wound (you weren't paying much attention to him), disinfected it, which made you grunt in pain, handed you some painkillers, then started giving you stitches. You always hated it, no matter how many times you experienced that — and there were many — you couldn't get used to that. When he finished bandaging, you moved to the nearest chair and collapsed onto it, breathing heavily. You were sitting there for a while, when suddenly you felt someone lifting you bridal style. You opened your eyes and saw Ezio's concerned face above you.

“When did you get this?” he asked and you suddenly felt the urge to smack him.

“When we were providing a distraction so you could sneak into Castel Sant'Angelo” you answered, not even pretending you didn't blame him for that. Ezio didn't say anything and carried you to your room in silence. Then he placed you on the bed and undressed you to your underwear. You were so shocked that even if you tried to protest, you weren't able to. And you quickly understood he meant to make you comfortable, because as soon as he took your clothes off, he covered you with a blanket.

“You need to rest” he said and left. Thankfully the painkillers started to work, so you just fell asleep, otherwise you would just break in tears.

It took a few hours before you woke up and to your surprise, Ezio was sitting by your side, lost in his thoughts.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, making him notice you're awake. “Shouldn't you be with your woman?” you were really tempted to call her somehow else, but you didn't want to fight again.

“Caterina have left. She went back to Forlí. I really hate to say that, but you were right, (y/n). She did not do anything because of her feelings indeed” Ezio sighed and even though he has just admitted you were right, you couldn't feel satisfaction. “She never loved me, just like you said.”

“But I do.”

You couldn't believe what you just did. It was probably the worst thing to do, but you did it anyway. Your fellow Master Assassin looked at you with confusion and shock.

“You do?”

“I thought it was obvious. I was so jealous of Caterina I did not want you to help her. Which was foolish of me, I should have never let my feelings interfere in our mission. I am truly sorry” you explained with embarrassment, avoiding his gaze. “I am also sorry that I was right about her. It must have hurt when she said that.”

“It did. But I think you can cheer me up.”

“I'm busy getting well.”

“Va bene (Very well). You were jealous and you got hurt. I did not listen and I had my heart broken. Can we say we are even?”

“In a moment. Come here” you patted a spot on the bed. Ezio hesitantly moved and when he was close enough, you sat up, leaned in and kissed him hard, ignoring throbbing pain in your side. After a while you pulled back and lied down again. “Now we are even.”

“I think I am falling in love with you.”

#assassin's creed #ezio auditore #ezio auditore x reader #my fic

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lazarettta · 4 years ago

Text

Misthios V

Pairing (Mother Miranda x Spartan!Reader)

Rating (T)

Word Count (1.9k)

Warning (Language)

You spend your morning with Alcina and her daughters while Miranda deals with Karl and Village business.

By the time the sun had begun to peak over the mountains you'd already made yourself at home on one of the balconies of the castle with a woven basket full of croissants and mason jar full of freshly squeezed orange juice. You'd been snooping in the kitchen looking for a snack when you found the partially hidden side door. It was shielded by produce crates and bags of potatoes—you guessed it was an old service door or something, and it was probably what the help around the castle used to sneak around the castle grounds while their Mistress sleeps.

You certainly did. You took a trip to town on a whim and you were bored. You didn't have anything on you in terms of currency but you weren't one to rely on some currency to get you by as there was always a favor or two to be traded. New era, same tricks and it never failed you once. Most of the village was still asleep when you strolled through but the few farmers you saw tending to their stocks gave you less than friendly looks but you didn't take any offense. You were new and places like this didn't take too kindly to a new face, especially a young new face.

Hell, the woman in the bakery shop by the church wasn't very fond of you either until you revealed that you understood every word that she said. She turned into a different person and suddenly you weren't much of a stranger anymore, by her standards anyway.

By the time you found your way back to castle Dimitrescu, you had bruised knuckles, a basket full of goodies you probably shouldn't be eating and a decent knife now warming the holster in your boot. It wasn't tactical or as balanced as you liked but you felt a hell of a lot better with it than you did a few hours ago without it.

You had no idea who's bedroom you'd invaded to get to the balcony though you didn't really care, you saw a plush chair that was only just covered in ice and the cushions were only just a little wet, shockingly.

And that is exactly how Alcina found you, and she wasn't alone. Trailing behind her bundled up even more than you with the hood pulled up over her blonde head was a young woman with eyes that matched Alcina's. Curious that she didn't get her mother's height though—she was probably around your height, give or take.

“You missed breakfast, dear.”

“Didn't think you'd send a hunting party for me,” you smiled but in truth you hadn't realized how much time had passed since you got back to the castle. Between stuffing your face full of bread you hadn't really had in years and well, yeah, you definitely lost track of time. Thankfully there were still a few pastries left in the basket for you to offer to Alcina and who you assumed to be one of her daughters.

The girl's eyes hadn't left you since she first saw you—you knew when you were being studied but for the moment, you were too tired to actually care but not tired enough to drop your guard with these people.

Alcina waved away your offering as she took a seat in the other chair, obviously as unbothered by it's less than ideal conditions as you were but her daughter graciously scooped up a buttered croissant before leaning against the rail, her back to the gorgeous view behind her. She was probably used to seeing it and you certainly weren't a stranger to such joys either but you never really grew bored of them.

“(Y/n), this is Bela, my eldest daughter. Also my successor should anything ever happen to me.”

“Mother, stop it. Nothing will ever happen to you.” You watched as Bela ducked her head, but she wasn't blushing, she turned to you, pushing the hood back from her face slightly but she didn't say anything.

Alcina pulled her cigar holder from somewhere on her dress she was currently wearing, and pointed down at the basket sitting on the small table between you three, “It's not safe to roam around on these roads at night.”

You shrugged, “I can take care of myself, Lady Dimitrescu. A few wolves don't really scare me.”

“There are far worse things out there than death, (Y/n).”

You scoffed, laughing a bit much to the dismay and surprise of the Lady and her daughter, “I've been around long enough to know how true and wise that statement is, but I'm far too old to be scared by it anymore.”

Bela looked at you curiously, “But you don't look a day over thirty, (Y/n).”

You bit back another laugh, picking at the pastry still sitting on the napkin on your thigh. Well. You weren't going to be getting any answers if you didn't give any yourself. “Who do you think Miranda got her skin care treatment from?”

You looked up when the other two balcony occupants were quiet for too long and you realized that they were both staring at you with equally unreadable but different expressions. Though Alcina's hat always made it impossible for you, or anyone else, to gauge her moods and reactions.

“What?”

“You're being serious?” Bela asked, both of her eyebrows disappearing beneath her loose hair.

“Yeah, seriously. I met Miranda back when she was ruling her first kingdom. She thought I was a fucking Viking for the longest time.” Miranda is going to murder you and find a way to make it permanent.

“You're joking. Mother, the mortal is joking...isn't she?”

“Mortal?” you finished your breakfast and wiped away the crumbs, “I haven't been called mortal for a very long time, but now that we've all established that no one on this balcony is of average stock...”

“We can really talk.” Alcina finished as you trailed off, taking a very long and heavy drag while giving you another once over, slower this time as if she was going to find the answers to whatever she was wanting to know. She glanced at her daughter and sighed when she saw her starting to tremble a bit.

“Bela go inside and get your sisters.” Alcina said softly but her tone still held no room for argument and you could tell that Bela wanted to protest against her mothers wishes, “Have tea prepared and brought to the study.”

“For everyone?”

Alcina smiled a bit, “Yes, dear, for everyone.”

When Bela was around the corner and well out of earshot, Alcina brought her attention back to you. And you looked back, waiting for her to ask or say what was on her mind.

“What era?”

“The Peloponnesian war. I'm the last living Spartan on Earth.”

Miranda neatly folded away the paper the moment she heard the ceremony doors opening. Miranda sighed heavily when she heard Karl’s mouth down the corridor—the man's need to chatter (and argue) never ceased and Miranda was positive she would be leaving this meeting with a migraine. She'd rather be doing something more productive with her time…working on her own research, cracking you like an egg or maybe even trying a new recipe for a change.

It wasn't long before Karl burst through the doors, his prized hammer resting on his shoulders and a cigar between his teeth and in his other hand was a satchel that was holding something it wasn't designed to carry. The grin he wore grew when his eyes landed on her and Miranda sighed inaudibly behind her mask.

“Well,” he purred, sitting on the bench he normally claimed and set his hammer down next to it, “If it isn't the woman of the hour! How kind of you to meet with me today.”

Miranda didn't care too much for his charming tone—his charisma was impressive but Miranda had never been a true fan of it, and Alcina outright hated him forcing Miranda to often play the role of a mediator every time there was a faction meeting which almost always ended in chaos and bloodshed. Thankfully it was only once or twice out of the month unless it was an emergency.

“Your message said that you have something of importance to show me, Lord Heisenberg, get on with it.”

“Oh, someone's testy today,” he mumbled under his breath but just loud enough for her to catch his words and Miranda's jaw clenched, “As requested, one head of a troublesome villager only searching for his beloved little girl. Maybe do your job and tell that supersized bitch to keep her brats on a leash next time.”

The satchel landed on the floor at Miranda's feet. Miranda's eyes narrowed in his direction, barely glancing at the satchel that narrowly missed touching her, and Karl felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise alarmingly fast, “Do not forget your place here, Heisenberg.”

Karl snarled but he quickly conceded—he's proved himself to be the biggest Alpha in the region time and time again but he wasn't stupid enough to think that he could challenge Miranda evenly. Miranda relented, accepting his surrender but she didn't buy it, she never did.

“All I'm sayin' is that we don't hunt in the village for this very reason—”

“I understand that, Heisenberg. And it's been taken care of. Lady Dimitrescu will see that it never happens again.”

Karl grumbled but thankfully he didn't push, this time, “There's something else too that I think you should know. There's a stranger in the village, probably owns that cute little camp my lycans tore apart a few miles outside of town.”

That caught Miranda's interest though she did not let it show—it wouldn't do to have a man like Karl have even the slightest bit of leverage over her. He was still too useful for her to kill.

“A stranger?”

“Yeah,” he smirked, relighting his cigar and taking a long pull, “Tall, real tall and quite a looker too...I'm here to officially claim her. If she's as tough as she looks, I'll—”

Miranda's wings fluttered when those words left his hairy lips, he didn't have to go into detail for her to know who he was talking about and Miranda felt the edges of her claws trying to grow beneath the veil of her dark wings.

“No.”

“No!?” he sat up quickly, setting both of his feet down on the ground, “What do you mean no?! Aren't those your laws for fresh meat?!”

“Yes, and that woman is off limits. Defy my word, it will not end well for you. If that is all Lord Heisenberg, I will see you this Friday at the faction meeting.”

“You gave her to that zombie in the castle didn't you!” he called after her when Miranda transformed into a flock of birds and left through the rafters.

Karl pulled his hammer to him as he jumped to his feet and he destroyed the bench he was previously sitting on but Miranda was already gone by the time the splinters where she had once stood, “I never get anything nice around here! Always scraps this and scraps that ever since that bitch took over!” he turned and threw his hammer, nearly slicing a pillar in half and he was half transformed before he caught himself.

Karl dusted himself off with one hand while the other brought another cigar from an inside pocket of his oil stained coat and picked up his hammer on the way out of the ceremony room, his temper simmering down. He took one last look at the damage he caused, and smirked.

“Have fun cleaning this up, mother. ” He didn't care what she said, the woman in the village he saw this morning was his game.

#resident evil 8 #mother miranda x reader #mother miranda #assassins creed odyssey #the old guard #resident evil village #lady demitrescu #dimitrescu family #reader is a spartan

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 4 years ago

Text

Their Doll 15

Bucky

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: Tony throws a party, bucky returns

Warnings: kissing, swearing

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

It's been nearly six months since I escaped HYDRA a second time, and since then all me and Steve have done is have sex. It's glorious, the freedom (and the pleasure) that comes with being with Steve, and I love him more and more every day. He told me he loved me about a months ago, over a candle-lit dinner and a bunch of roses. It was so sweet, but I am yet to say the words back to him. Well, not that I've been talking much, per say.

My voice was slowly returning, yet I still couldn't string together more than two words and my voice was far from being strong or sounding like it used to.

Bruce had miraculous found some medication that helped, and abashedly admitted that if the sex was helping me make any noise, it should continue.

One of the main issues, is that almost everyone except my dad had been walking on eggshells around me for months. And in new exactly why. It's because they're yet to bring him the soldier.

And if I'm being a hundred percent honest, I'm slightly happy they haven't yet. After all, I don't know if I could bury my feelings towards him and that wouldn't be fair to Steve. And yet in being fair to Steve, I was being cruel to the soldier. After all, to make Steve comfortable, I'm mentally condemning the soldier to continue the horrid and violent lifestyle that comes with HYDRA.

I shake the overcrowding thoughts off, resetting my stance before landing a pinch to the bag.

"Good." Steve praises, stood beside the swinging bag with his arms crossed over his chest. I continue to punch it hard, focusing more on the strength than the technique as I try and will away the flurries thoughts in my mind. "Why don't we try that thing you always get wrong?" Steve asks, almost mockingly. I shoot him a glare. He chuckled, unwrapping my fists for my before bringing me over to the table where our water sat. I took a big pull of the refreshing liquid, barely paying attention as Steve readies the targets.

When I saunter over, he hands me a set of small, but agile, blades before stepping away. I clear my throat, putting myself into the correct stance before giving my boyfriend a nod. Steve nods back, pressing the button before the human-shaped targets begin to move. They're staggered, the last one so far back I can never seem to hit the bullseye. No matter how many times a I try - which is at least once a day - I can never hit it.

The aim is to hit the targets in order of closest to furthest, burying the blade in the mannequins' chests where the red dots it. I take a deep breath, letting my wrist fall loose. I release the blade of my exhale, watching with narrowed eyes as it sinks itself into the black dummy's chest. I let out a breath I was holding, moving onto the next one. Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye. Onto the last target, my vision focused, my mind centred on the farther and the target only.

Inhale. Focus. Exhale. Throw.

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed, before my hand quickly flys to my mouth, slapping over my lips in shock. It was almost cartoonish, the way Steve's eyes widened like a deer in headlights before the brightest, wolfish grin became his lips.

The knife had wizzed through the air, breezing past the other targets before the tip was piercing smoothly through the little red dot at its heart. Bullseye.

"Holy shit." I repeat, a smile pulling the corners of my mouth up. Steve rushed forward, engulfing my knees a bone-crushing hug before lifting me from the ground and spinning around with me in his arms.

"You spoke!" He rejoiced.

"I can talk! My voice - it's back!" I was starstruck, completely and utterly speechless. I can talk.

"Holy shit indeed." A voice came from behind us.

"Tony." Steve greeted as he let me down, my feet already carrying me across the room until I was enveloped in my dad's arms too.

"We should celebrate. I'm throwing you a party." Tony decided, placing a kiss to my hair. "Tonight. Wear something nice, both of you." He pulled away, looking pointedly at me and Steve before retreating with a smile.

...

I stood before my mirror, hands smoothing over the dark blue fabric laying over my hips. I breathed deeply, head tilting to the side as I studied myself. I wore a silky blue dress that cling to my waist and fell elegantly down from my hips, hitting my ankles and presenting a thigh-high slit on one side. The dress barely had a back, the front showing just enough cleavage to be considered teasing. Around my neck I wore a necklace steve had given me the night he told me he loved me, and I couldn't help but breath out a laugh at the small silver Captain America shield charm hanging from it. I wore some shoes I new I'd regret - trainers. Plain, white canvas shoes that totally ruined the look. But I'd never worn heels before, and I didn't feel like embarrassing myself at my own party.

My hair fell over my shoulders in loose curls, make up simple as I never tended to wear any anyway.

I took a deep breath, opening my room door to be greeted by Steve. He was dashing, clad in a navy blue suit and tie, his hair slightly messy bit in a hot way, and his blue eyes gleaming.

"You look breathtaking, doll." He commented, eyes scanning over my body, clearly lingering on the slit in my dress. I smirked slightly, looping my arm with his outstretched one.

"You look rather handsome yourself." I smiled sweetly, not missing the way steve held back a laugh when he finally noticed my choice of footwear. "Hey!" I laughed, slapping his arm playfully.

"I'm sorry, doll. I just didn't quite expect it." He sniggered, making me scoff and roll my eyes.

"And what did you expect? Three foot tall, strappy heels? When have you even seen me in anything besides trainers or tactical boots, Rogers?" I asked pointedly, shutting Steve up. When we reached the main room when my part was already in full swing, Steve pulled my close to him, coaxing a gasp from my lips.

"And where would you be hiding your knives tonight?" Steve murmured in my ear, nibbling on the lob as his arm kept me firmly pressed against him. It was a little joke we'd formed, as every time I was out in public steve managed to find a knife on me somewhere - in a pocket, down my bra, tucked into the waistband of whatever I was wearing, you name it. To anyone else, we simple looked to be having a normal conversation like any couple would've, but it was much more than that. I assumed in his question Steve was referring to my backless dress that hung so low there's no way I'd even find a way to wear underwear with it. So I went without.

"If tonight goes how I'm planning, you'll have plenty of time to find out for yourself." I whispered against his neck, smirking when his adam's apple bobbed. I sauntered away slowly, making sure my hips swayed as I walked.

The party flew by, people I could hardly remember greeting me and telling me how much they'd missed me as if they'd been some kind of surrogate mother or something to me.

That's where I currently found myself, a fake smile so big it was probably obvious plastered over my face as I nodded along whenever May said something. Peter stood beside her, champagne flute that I just new was filled with appletiser clutched in his hand, smirk hidden behind the rim of the glass at my pained expression.

"So how long have you been home?" May asked, smile so genuine it was embarrassing how fake my own was.

"Only about six months." I smiled back, eyes darting around the room nervously looking for an escape.

"Six months?! You should've met up with Peter sooner! You would've hung out with her, right Peter?" May exclaimed, turning to her nephew who was clearly trying to hold back a snigger as he answered with a quick 'of course'. I sent him a glare that briskly morphed back into a smile the second May was turned my way again.

The smile turned much more real the second I saw my dad climb up onto the table across the room, glass and spoon in his hands. May and Peter spun to look at him along with everyone else in the room when the captivating sound of the metal clanging gracefully against the champagne flue echoed in the room.

"Thank you, thank you, everyone!" Tony called, chatter diminishing in the crowd at his voice. A smile - an actual smile - graced my lips when I realised he was making a speech about me being home. "I'm just here tonight, talking to you all, about my daughter!" Tony began, a small applause following as many pairs of eyes sought for me in the crown.

"You know, the day I found you laying on my doorstep," he stated, taking a swig of his drink, "I thought: how the hell am I gonna raise this stupid ass kid that's been dumped on my like some sort of...animal." I gasped, tears bubbling in my eyes. I thought we were past this- this hate. "This fucking bastard that's come from the filthy streets."

"Tony, that's enough." Nat says from where she stood beside the table, tugging the man's ankle in an attempt to get him down.

"You're drunk." Steve stated from beside him, anger written over his usually perfect features.

"It's all you! It's you, y/n!" He shouted.

"Dad.." I mumbled through my tears, every head in the room locked on my as my bottom lips wobbled aggressively.

"You killed me the day you showed up, and ever day I see you I realise how much I regret taking you in, raising you as my own." He spat with a venom I'd never heard in my dad's voice before.

"Tony!" Steve shouted, but he merely pushed the super soldier's words aside.

"You're not special, y/n! And you never were! Just a Thorne in my side," he explained, climbing down from the table with a slight drunken wobble. "That's why I picked Peter. Smart, agile, unique." He rambled on, making his was through the sea of people that parted instantly for him until he was right in front of me, Peter and May. "So why don't you make this easy, and don't make me chose between you a second time." Tony claimed.

"What? Because you'd chose him?" I sobbed, hand covering my mouth as I bit back the tears.

"Tony, don't!" Steve snapped, now at my side and holding his hands on my hips possessively.

"If you chose him over you're own daughter, Tony...I swear to god somebody better hide you in the time it takes me to find a gun." Nat glared, standing to my side with a wicked look in her eyes.

"Y/n is your daughter." Bruce tried to reason, flinching away when Tony shot him a look that could kill.

"Yeah, I'd chose him." Tony finally settles, silence ensuing after the piercing shatter of a glass broke the room. May stood there, broken glass at her feet and mouth open so wide her jaw must've physically hurt.

"Y/n, I- I am so sorry.." Peter barely whispered from beside May, his own face red from a mixture of threatening tears and embarrassment. I have Tony a dirty look, leaning forward slightly and spitting at the ground in front of him.

"Fuck you." I bit like a viper, spinning harshly on my heel and storming from the room, trying so hard to hide my tears until I was out of sight.

Once I'd reached the stairs, I was kicking my heels off and springing up the steps, two at a time. Reaching the top, I clutched the railing for a second as if to ground myself as a sob ripped through me, my palm covering my mouth again as if it could stop the sounds. I padded quickly across the carpeted floor, fumbling with the handle of my door before pushing it open blindly, stumbling inside.

A sharp gasp was stolen from me when I walked in, more tears clouding my eyes. I hastily swiped them away with my palms, desperate to get a good look of the man before me. His cerulean eyes, long and thick dark hair, his undeniably visible metal arm...

Then his lips met mine. Not desperate or hard like usual, but gentle and slow, as if I would shatter to a thousand pieces if he even held my soft face with too much pressure. "Y/n." he said seriously, but a small smile still glistening in his deep blue eyes. "Soldier." I responded, reflecting his playful seriousness. He pulled me in for another passionate kiss, my whole body relishing in its tenderness. The soldier bought his mouth next to my ear, leaning over me and holding my waist carefully. My thoughts raced one another over and over, but there was always a clear winner: I had him back.

His compassionate whisper floated past my ear, dancing around the loose curls of hair that were tucked messily behind my ear, a whirlwind of emotions tunnelling through me, allowing the butterflies to roam free as he murmured "It's Bucky, by the way."

"We're done."

A frown settled across my face, my head snapping the the side to see Steve stood gobsmacked and clearly hurt in the door. He must've followed me, to make sure I was alright and now he's seen this, and - how long had he been standing there?

"Steve, it's not what it looks like." Bucky tried, now also looking at the Super Soldier.

"So it's not my best friend kissing my girl? Hm?" Steve almost whimpered, as if the words physically hurt him to say.

"Well, yes, but-"

"No. No buts. I don't give a shit what you have to say." Steve interjected me, the harshness of his voice cutting through me like a knife. "Have a nice fucking life." He spat, before turning and retreating out of the door. I started wistfully after him, before glancing back to Bucky and opening my mouth to speak.

"Go. I'll talk to you later." He answered for me, a reassuring glint in his blue-grey eyes. I gave him a small nod and a grateful smile before instantly running after Steve.

"Steve! Steve, wait!" I called after him, but the man's strides were so damn long I couldn't catch up to him even whilst running. "Please, let me explain!" He turned around at that, my body colliding with the wall of muscle that was his torso.

"What's there to explain, y/n?" He said, defeated.

"I- I don't really know. I just don't want to lose you." I murmured, placing my hands of his chest and looking up at the man through my lashes. He wrapped his hands around my wrists before yanking them away from his chest, tears stinging in my eyes. "I love you, Steve." I whispered, for the first time. Steve averted his gaze with a frustrated sigh.

"It's a little too late for that. You can tell Bucky he won't be hearing from me either." Steve spoke, dropping my wrists and turning to leave again. I didn't follow him this time, I didn't call after him, I just sunk to my knees, head in my hands, and cried.

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kuroopaisen · 4 years ago

Text

tiny love || v

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime was easy. iwaizumi ultimately decided to rebuff you. but that was a year ago - things are different now. and you have other things to worry about. things like moving halfway across the world for university; and moving in with the very boy who’d broken your heart.

warnings: f!reader

wc: 4.3k

m.list | ch. 4 ↞ ch. 5↠ ch. 6

Life moved too quickly.

That was the only logical conclusion you could come to after the past few weeks. One minute you’re finding out you’ve got a scholarship to a university overseas, the next you’re spending as much time with your friends as you can without burning out, and then suddenly you’re standing at the airport, suitcase in hand and loved ones lined up in front of you like this is some fantasy RPG and you’re about to go into the final battle.

Your family had said goodbye before, but that didn’t seem to make it any easier. You’re the youngest, after all. The baby.

“Remember to call if you need anything, okay?” Your mother said, smoothing a hand over your hair.

“I know, mum,” you smiled. “I love you.”

She sighed, pulling you into a hug. She said nothing more, letting the slight tremble in her arms say all that was in her heart.

Your father was next, ruffling your hair with a certain melancholy. “Be good, you hear?” He chastised. “Don’t talk to boys.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Dad…”

“I’m just saying, there are more important things to focus on,” he nodded sagely. “And don’t go causing any trouble.”

“I won’t,” you nodded. “Promise.”

Kaori was next, a certain mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Send me a photo of every pigeon you come across,” Kaori said.

You grinned at her. “Really?”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “That way I’ll know you’re alive every day.”

You stuck your tongue out at her. “That’s a terrible plan.”

“Is it so wrong for me to want to check up on my little sister?” She teased. “I just want to make sure you won’t forget about me.”

“I won’t,” you laughed. “I’m sure you won’t let me.”

“Too right,” she grinned.

She gave you one good, tight hug. She, more than anyone else in your family, seemed to be the best at swallowing this whole situation. It was a relief to know that someone would be there to console your parents.

Finally, Amaya. She pouted at you, pulling you into a rough hug.

“Don’t forget to text me, okay?” Amaya mumbled, her arms tight around her shoulders. “Or I’ll knife you.”

“I know,” you chuckled, squeezing your grip on her waist. “I’ll keep you updated on everything, don’t worry.”

“You better,” she huffed, pulling away slowly.

Once, you might’ve dreamed of going to the same university together. But life had a funny way of taking your plans and crumbling them to dust in the palm of its hand.

But you were sure that no matter what, your friendship would hold steadfast. Amaya wasn’t the type of person to let things die so easily.

You couldn’t delay any longer.

As you walked through the gate, you wondered if Tooru had felt like this. If he’d been hounded by this unrelenting fear, doubt, and anxiety. If he’d also felt like throwing up. If he had, he’d covered it up well.

That thought didn’t do much to quell the lurching in your stomach.

Tokyo had once felt unbelievably far away. But California? That was a different beast.

✧ ✧ ✧

After a twenty-hour plane ride and two stop offs later, you’d come to the conclusion that airports, in fact, were the most unholy places known to man. Whose fault was it that airports were labyrinthine hellholes which were impossible to navigate?

By the grace of God, or perhaps as an apology for the godforsaken pilgrimage that was your flight, you managed to find the luggage pickup area with relative ease. By the time you managed to haul your suitcase off the baggage carousel you were ready to take a nap for the next three months.

You sighed, looking up at the clock hung high on the wall. 5:21 AM. Ew.

You felt a touch of pity for all the workers rostered on at such an ungodly hour.

Oh, and whoever was responsible for escorting you to your new ‘home’.

As you trundled through that godforsaken place, suitcase trailing behind you and carry-on slung over your shoulder, you were too tired to think and too tired to worry about who might be waiting for you.

That clawing anxiety had gripped you for the first hour or so of your flight, but it’d been completely replaced with other worries.

There’s only fiberglass separating you and an absurdly high fall… what happens if the plane goes down? What happens if one of the wings caught fire? What if one of the doors inexplicably ripped off mid-flight and sucked you out through a vacuum?

Regardless, you’d landed with your soul very much attached to your body – although that in itself presented you with a host of new problems.

You glared at the signs pointing in every conceivable direction, praying that your English was good enough to decrypt this mess for you.

Arrivals. That sounded right.

You dragged your feet in that direction with a big yawn, decorum be damned.

A thin crowd was gathered at the gate, waiting to greet the ragtag group of travellers who filtered through. Mothers, daughters, beloved friends, lovers…

You scanned the crowd with narrowed eyes and the hope that you’d catch sight of some familiarity.

Oh.

There was your name on a placard, written in hiragana.

And holding it…

Shit.

Iwaizumi Hajime. He was glancing around the airport, seemingly a little bleary-eyed.

Your flight-or-fight response was well and truly activated. Had he really shown up at the airport at five in the morning just to pick you up?

Oh no. Oh God. That’s… not what you were expecting. Sure, you’d been told you’d be “picked up” from the airport, but you’d just expected some taxi service or something. Your mum had sorted that all out anyway – she’d insisted that you let her do that, at least, to give her some peace of mind.

But she hadn’t told you it would be Iwaizumi picking you up. Were you supposed to have assumed that? Fuck.

With the inside of your cheek trapped between your teeth and a sinking feeling in your gut, you dragged yourself towards him.

Each step you took towards him just seemed to make him look even hotter. He was wearing a loose white shirt, but you could tell that he was built. Even more built than he’d been when he left. He hadn’t done his hair in that spiky Godzilla style he used to, and it’s longer than when you’d last seen him. He’s gotten a tan, too – an unfairly flattering golden tan.

And he was wearing a pair of fucking grey sweatpants.

I’m going to die, you thought. It’s official. I am the world’s biggest idiot, and Iwaizumi Hajime will be the cause of my death via cardiac arrest.

Was it too presumptuous to text your family your goodbyes?

He caught sight of you.

You made eye contact for the first time in a year.

What do I do? Your thought, cursing yourself out for being so… so like this.

But Iwaizumi just waved at you with a small smile on his face.

You closed the distance between the two of you with trepidation, scouring your mind for what to say to him.

Hi? How are you? It’s good to see you?

None of those felt quite right. You were much too tired for this. And he was much too hot—

“Hey,” he smiled, dropping his hand to his side.

“Hi,” you nodded, resisting the urge to bow. Should you bow? He is your senior… but this isn’t Japan. But that didn’t change the rules of etiquette, did it?

“I can carry that, if you need,” he said, nodding towards your luggage.

Under normal circumstances, you probably would have refused on the basis of pride alone. But you’d just flown halfway around the world, and you were doing your best not to drool at the bloody Adonis standing before you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, handing him your carry-on. You managed to finish the hand off without your fingers brushing, much to your relief.

Iwaizumi observed you for a second, a touch of concern in his eyes. “You okay?”

“Just tired,” you smiled at him weakly. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a lie.

“Understandably,” he chuckled, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket.

You frowned as he jangled them around one finger. “You drive?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I got my license back in Japan. Managed to transfer it over.”

“Huh,” you said. When had he learned to drive? That’d been happening right next door and you’d had no idea?

“You ready?” He asked, looking at you over his shoulder as he turned around.

You nodded, tugging on the handle on your suitcase.

The two of you made your way to his car, which turned out to be a dingy-looking thing cobbled together with dull navy metal and rubber.

You said nothing as you packed the luggage into the boot, Iwaizumi doing most of the grunt work. Part of you felt bad, but you knew full-well that he had more strength in his right middle finger than you could ever dream of having.

He strolled around to your side of the car before you had time to remember which side of the road Americans drove on.

“Here you go,” he said. The asshole just had to open your door for you too, didn’t he?

You nodded your thanks, settling into your seat with a little more frustration than feasible.

He’d slipped into the driver’s seat as you finished buckling yourself in, and before you had time to take much of anything in, he was backing out of his parking lot.

You watched him from the corner of your eye.

He looked so… casual, doing this. The Iwaizumi you knew had never been behind the wheel of a car. And yet now, he’s moving like it’s second nature.

How much had you missed? So much must’ve happened while you were out of contact.

“Hey, uh… Iwaizumi?” You mumbled, clenching your fists in your lap.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for picking me up,” you said, chewing on your cheek. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“No problem,” he chuckled.

You felt like you should say something else. But you’re weren’t sure what. He seemed relatively calm, given the situation. Saying the wrong thing could potentially fuck that up.

“How was your flight?” He asked, gently making his way through the car park.

“Uh…” Was there a polite word for ‘awful’? “It was fine.” You shrugged. “I made it here in one piece, so…”

Iwaizumi chuckled. The sound made your stomach flip.

You leant back in your chair, closing your eyes with a sigh. You didn’t know how far away your apartment was. Fifteen minutes? Ten? An hour?

Your brain reeled with potential small-talk topics. There might be a lot of time to fill.

“Take a nap if you need to,” Iwaizumi said.

“Thanks,” you hummed.

Maybe he was aware that he was giving you an out. Maybe he had no idea.

But you were more than happy to take it regardless.

✧ ✧ ✧

A pre-made bed was waiting for you in your room. You blinked at it a few times, the brain-fog of a long flight still clouding your mind.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Iwaizumi said, leaning against your doorframe. “I just got you some sheets because I didn’t think you’ have the energy to sort all that out today.”

You’re going to cry. Cry, and then die.

“Do you need help unpacking?” He asked.

You turned around sharply at those words, waving your hands about. “Oh no, no… I’m fine.”

He looked at you for a moment longer, as if he was appraising you. He simply nodded. “Well, call out if you need me.”

“Yep!” You offered him an unbearably stretched smile.

“Alright,” he said. With that, he was gone.

You sighed, turning to your suitcase. It was laid on the floor, unopened.

Shit. This really was a big move, wasn’t it?

And, you’d moved in with Iwaizumi. Something you’d never expected – not like this, anyway.

Shaking that thought out of your head, you kneeled in front of your suitcase. Something about it felt more reverent than it had any right to. You unzipped it slowly, pushing back the battered red lid to reveal your belongings.

You bit the inside of your cheek, starting with the first layer. You’d packed your pyjamas on the top – a move you’d like to thank younger you for.

As you placed it in your lap, you gazed at the rest of your belongings crammed into your suitcase.

You hadn’t brought all that much. Mostly clothes that you thought would be appropriate for the Californian weather, a few knick-knacks and keepsakes that you felt particularly attached to, a handful of your favourite books, your polaroid camera…

So much had been left behind. You didn’t mind that, for the most part; but it still felt like you were abandoning a part of yourself. Everything you’d accumulated over the past nineteen years, just…

Maybe your parents would hold onto all your things. But it wouldn’t be remiss for them to throw them away.

It’s all just part of growing up. That’s what you told yourself – you had to change, move on and get over it.

If Tooru could do it, you could to. You had to.

But now it felt like his shadow was hanging over you darker than ever. Part of your own journey had been dictated by him; if he hadn’t recommended you live with Iwaizumi, where would you be?

What was Iwaizumi even like now? Was he a good person? He’d been very nice and polite ever since you’d seen him at the airport, but…

Was he trying to be warm? Or was he keeping you at an arm’s length? Could your ‘friendship’ ever recover from… that?

You swallowed, running a hand over one of your dresses.

Honestly, you just wanted to go to sleep.

You didn’t want to leave the room because that meant you might bump into Iwaizumi. You didn’t want to unpack because you had the sneaking suspicion that it was going to make you feel like crying. You didn’t want to call anyone because you knew you didn’t have the energy to do so.

There was only one thing to do, then.

You managed to drag yourself towards your bed, hoisting yourself onto it with a grunt. You curled up on top of the sheets, wrapping your arms around your knees.

The ache in your eyes didn’t subside as your closed them, but there was nothing else to do.

Attempting to rest was better than nothing.

✧ ✧ ✧

A knock on your door.

You bolted upright, startled out of your uneasy slumber.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi’s voice was distant but distinctive.

“Hm?” You didn’t trust your own voice to hold up.

“You okay?”

You bit your lip. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.”

It wasn’t your best lie,

A long pause followed.

“No, you’re not.” His voice was soft, gentle. Not like what you’d expected.

Although, you weren’t even sure what that was.

“Can I come in?” He asked.

“Uh…” You swallowed roughly, crossing your legs. “Yeah. Sure.”

He needed no more prompting, letting himself in and leaning himself against the wall.

There was good distance between the two of you. You’re grateful for it.

“What’s wrong?” He looked genuinely concerned. Why, you didn’t know.

Nor did you know if you should actually tell him. There was admittedly no reason to; at this point in your life, he was just a roommate.

“It’s just…” You sighed, your mouth moving before your brain. “It’s a big move, you know? I don’t think I’m ready for it.”

You’d had this conversation over and over again, both with Tooru and with Amaya. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. It was the one thought you couldn’t escape, no matter how hard you tried to justify this whole thing to yourself.

“You’re more ready than you know,” he said softly. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I guess…”

“It’s not easy, but you can do it.” His tone was resolute, not harsh but firm. It almost makes you feel like he’s right. Almost.

“And…” He swallowed, his gaze flicking to the ground. “I’ll look out for you. You’re not alone.”

You weren’t quite sure what those words made you feel.

“Thank you, Iwaizumi.” Your voice is quiet enough to go unheard, but he smiled. It was only a little smile – one someone who hadn’t known him for so long might’ve missed – but it was genuine. You couldn’t tell if that was a good omen or a grim portent.

“You shouldn’t be thinking about this tonight,” he nodded, standing up straight. “You’re already exhausted, so you’ll only make it harder for yourself.”

You pouted at him, much to your own surprise. Unfortunately, he was right.

“Give me a moment,” he said suddenly, disappearing.

You sighed, lying back on your bed and closing your eyes.

It felt like you’d entered the Twilight Zone.

Maybe things would improve when you started uni. Then you’d have something else to think about that wasn’t just ‘oh God, I moved in with Iwaizumi Hajime and that was stupid, dumb, and a colossal mistake.’

Your instincts were begging you to book a flight and go straight home to Japan. Surely, you might be able to get into some university – sure, you missed the entrance exams, but perhaps…

Were you already chickening out? Tooru had moved halfway across the world entirely on his own, but he’d never once thought about turning back. And yet here you were, lying in your bed feeling like you were about to disintegrate just because your roommate happened to be someone you used to have feelings for.

God, that was pathetic. It was only day one.

“Here you go.”

You flinched, sitting up suddenly.

Iwaizumi stood at the side of your bed, holding a mug out to you. You hadn’t even heard him come in.

“Oh, thanks,” you nodded. As you took it from him, you peeked at the tea bag.

Your favourite. He’d made you your favourite tea. You took a tentative sip.

Shit.

“I hope you still like it that way,” he said, a touch of pink to his cheeks.

It reminded you of winter back home.

“I do.” You looked up at him, giving him a genuine smile.

He smiled right back, his face softening in that rare but stunning way you remembered.

You were a little proud of yourself for keeping it together.

“I, ah…” Iwaizumi cleared his throat, taking a few slow steps away from the bed. “I’m going to go to bed. I’ve got practice early tomorrow, so…”

You nodded.

As you watched him leave, closing your bedroom door on the way, you wondered if you should’ve asked him what his training was for.

But you just sipped your tea.

This really was going to be difficult, wasn’t it?

✧ ✧ ✧

By the time you woke up in the morning, Iwaizumi was out. That was something of a relief. Iwaizumi not being around meant you could explore the apartment without the fear of bumping into him.

So, you took the opportunity, sneaking out of your room and taking stock of the layout of your apartment. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room attached to a kitchen… it wasn’t big, but you weren’t about to complain.

It’s quite a change from the family home you grew up in, but the change is a little exciting. It’s certainly liveable, and you know your parents are grateful for the fact rent was affordable enough.

The apartment was well-tended and clean. You weren’t sure if he’d cleaned it up before you’d arrived – which wasn’t unlikely – or if he usually kept it this neat – which also wasn’t unlikely.

A few photos hung on the wall, some with people you knew, some you didn’t. There were a few photos of the Seijoh team, exhibiting various degrees of chaos. Some others included people that you recognized as his friends from high school, and there were several of himself, Tooru, Hanamaki and Matsukawa.

Other photos were a total mystery, though. Probably friends from university, a mix of men and women you didn’t recognize.

You didn’t let yourself look at them for too long; your mind was concocting too many questions, too many narratives that made your gut feel all funny.

The only other thing of particular interest was the television and the DVD stand next to it, stuffed full of both Japanese and English movies. Most people streamed these days, but Iwaizumi had always been a bit of a traditionalist when it came to technology.

Regardless, the small size of the apartment meant there wasn’t all that much to explore.

You slunk back to your room after a close inspection of the bathroom, which you decreed as ‘clean enough’.

By the time you passed through the threshold of your room, a quiet blanket of exhaustion settling over you. Jetlag really was a piece of shit.

You tossed yourself on your bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Maybe you could call someone. But you weren’t sure how the time zones lined up. Your parents wouldn’t be happy with you if you woke them up at some ungodly hour, and Kaori needed the rest. Amaya might be up, but you didn’t want to stress her out…

Tooru was an option. He wasn’t that far away in the grand scheme of things, and he might’ve been able to offer some advice…

But he was probably busy. And you’d already bothered him enough.

God, why were you so frustrated? Was it exhaustion? Anxiety? How difficult it was to wrap your head around the situation? You just wanted to sleep for a week.

Before you knew it, your eyes fluttered closed, and you drifted into an uneasy nap.

✧ ✧ ✧

A firm, steady knock cut through your barely conscious mind.

You blinked rapidly, frowning. Shit, did you have another nap? That better not become a habit.

With a groan (and a great deal of strain) you managed to get off your bed, dragging yourself to your door.

You opened it with trepidation.

Iwaizumi stood on the other side with a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of yakisoba with chopsticks poking out of it in the other.

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, eyes flicking to the ground, “you didn’t come out to eat, and I didn’t see any dishes in the sink, so…”

“Ah,” you swallowed. “Right.”

You hadn’t eaten yet. All day.

“Thanks,” you nodded, taking the bowl from him. To his credit, it looked good; plenty of vegetables, and nothing seemed to be burnt. That might be a low bar, but you digressed.

“Would you like to eat at the table?” He asked.

You resisted the urge to stare at him.

Eat at the table? Like… like… a family? Did roommates do that?

“Sure,” you nodded. You’re not really sure why – some fear of hurting his feelings, probably.

But you tottered after him, hoping to God that your stomach would settle enough to allow you to eat.

Iwaizumi settled himself down at the table, his seat already prepared with a glass of water, a bowl, and a pair of chopsticks.

He set the glass of water in his hand down opposite from him, in what seemed to be your designated spot.

You slipped yourself into the seat, taking note of just how uncomfortable it was. Affordability over comfort – a student mantra, apparently.

“How was practice?” You asked. You just wanted to fill the silence. Once upon a time, silence between the two of you wouldn’t have made you feel like crawling out of your own skin.

“It was good,” he nodded. He didn’t seem like he was trying to be terse of anything – Iwaizumi was just a man of succinct, short sentences.

“I’m assuming it’s volleyball?”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

You took a small bite of your yakisoba. It reminded you of home. “Are you still a wing spiker?” You asked.

“Mhm,” Iwaizumi nodded. “Although there’s a fair bit of competition for the spot.”

“Really?” You asked. You couldn’t imagine a volleyball team where Iwaizumi wasn’t heralded as a magnificent player.

“A lotta guys wanna be the ace,” he grinned.

You smiled. That made sense.

Silence fell over the two of you for a moment as you both focused on your meals. Your appetite was voracious, now – you hadn’t even realised how hungry you were until you’d started eating.

“Did you leave the apartment today?” Iwaizumi asked, making you jump.

“Ah, no,” you shook your head. “I was worried about getting lost.”

“Fair.”

Another silence settled over you, a more pensive expression taking over Iwaizumi’s face.

He was completely unreadable. Probably because you knew nothing about him. Not anymore.

“Would you like me to show you around tomorrow?” He asked.

You blinked at him, completely blindsided.

“We could get lunch,” he offered.

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to process the muddle of feelings inside you.

What on earth was going on? Perhaps he was just reaching out a friendly hand. And, chances were, he felt some kind of duty to protect you.

“Sure,” you smiled. “Sounds great.”

You weren’t stupid enough to push away the only ally you had in this strange new world. Hopefully, other friends would come. But for now, it was just you and Iwaizumi in this little apartment, trying to make this arrangement work.

You had to make it work.

You’d find a way.

✧ ✧ ✧

a/n: aaaa thank you for your support so far! sorry this one’s a bit choppy, but i think you’ll enjoy chapter 6 (i hope sfdlkdfj)

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu x reader #tiny love

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beskarberry · 4 years ago

Text

Star-crossed

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 11

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

"His heartbeat picked up to a wicked cantor, echoing in his helmet like a storm of leathery wings. Whispering demons crawled up his brainstem and dragged beloved memories down from his skull and into the light of judgement. Memories of you."

<-Previous Next->

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 9.k oh no

Content warnings: Major angst, nightmares, premonitions, auditory hallucinations, unsavory parental figures, paranoia, domestic disputes, child endangerment, violence. No smut in this one, the only thing getting fucked in this chapter are our feelings.

A/N: This one hurt to write, there were definitely some tears shed while putting this together this so fair warning do not expect this one to end well. :(

High above the metal decking of the engine room, you were elbow deep in an exhaust port, clearing away the slag to replace one of the durasteel plates that had started to warp from the excess heat. You were singing, as you always did when you worked; a vulgar, brassy shanty that was almost louder than the reciprocating scraper in your hands. You spat and wiped a wayward chunk of grease from your mouth, the taste of it oily and burnt. No matter how many times you’d been taught the lesson of ‘keep your mouth closed’ you couldn’t help it. Whenever you worked, you sang.

Raucous as a mudhorn in heat and louder than a full grown krayt, your songs were a favorite of your unit, and the chief of engineering would often come stand a while and listen; though the moment he was caught eavesdropping he would scold you for not working harder. Tough love is what he called it. He was yelling at you now from far below at the base of the hyperdrive engine, and you pushed your goggles up your grime-smeared face to see him.

Bilgerat! Get’cher ass down ‘ere, posthaste!

Yessir!

Now you were standing in front of the chief, though there was another man standing there too. Tall, thin and pale with eyes like a dead fish and a tight, steelset jaw. You didn’t recognize him, but he looked important, his lapel shining with the badge of a high-ranking officer.

You there, girl, sing.

Sir?

Don’t argue with me, child, I heard you from three decks over. Sing.

Being watched made you nervous, but you did as you were ordered. You sang something, maybe everything, either way the stranger watched you, no, judged you, his eyes never leaving your face. The dead-eyed man furrowed his brow and stroked his chin thoughtfully, but you had already stopped watching him, caught in your song, powerless against the siren song that was your own voice.

It always felt so good to let loose, your voice could set your soul free, and yet it also felt like it was pulling something in. Something greater than yourself, flowing through you, connecting you to every living thing that ever was or ever will be. Your boots were firmly stuck aboard the starship called the Wyvern’s Tongue, but your songs carried your heart to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, to worlds beyond your durasteel home.

The humming is what woke Din up, though he hadn’t slept much through the night anyway, too suspicious of the artifact he had found aboard his ship. Fully armored, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall of the borrowed quarters he had stood guard over his tiny clan, dozing in and out of restless sleep.

He lifted his helmeted head to zero in on the noise you were making. It was one he was familiar with, you often hummed in your sleep, it was something he loved about you. The warm, wavering sound coming from the floor where you had made a nest of quilts for yourself was comforting, but tonight something about it seemed off.

He watched you sleep, noticing the way that your fingers twitched and your legs kicked behind you slightly. It wasn’t like you to be so energetic, so distressed. Clutched to your chest the foundling purred softly, but you didn’t seem to hear him. Your hums turned to whimpers, making the Mandalorian’s blood run cold.

She’s having a nightmare.

She’s perfect. I’ll take her.

But sir, she’s m’best bilgie. How’ll I-

Is that insubordination I hear, Chief Wellers?

N-no Cap’n Forescythe. She’s all yours.

Good. Come along, little sparrow, your talents are being wasted here.

You remember being so scared, looking to your chief for reassurance, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Though you’d lived aboard the Wyvern’s Tongue since she had left Corellia’s port you’d never actually met the captain. The starcruiser was well over a thousand meters long and home to hundreds of crewmates, putting bilgerats far below the captain’s sphere of influence. What did he want from you?

Each step you took in your dream you got taller, your strides lengthening as you grew from a gangly teenager to a young woman. You were at the bridge now, being sat in a stiff but comfortable chair. You were taught to relay orders, delegate operations, interpret incoming transmissions and their origins. It was a station high above your birthright, but you were never one to turn down a challenge, and you bullied your way to excellence; much to your captain’s pride.

Captain Forescythe was usually described as a cold, unforgiving man, but he treated you remarkably well for a boat-brat dug up from the scuppers, much to the disdain of his fellow officers. He told you that you were a natural talent, gifted by the Maker with a voice so strong, so beautiful, almost like he revered you for it. Much like the ship's namesake, the Wyvern’s captain lorded over you like treasure, jealousy guarding you like a priceless jewel.

The captain’s precious little pet.

Sing, my little Sparrow.

Unable to spectate any longer, Din crawled over to you, brushing an armored hand over your sweat-streaked face. “Mesh’la? Are you alright? Wake up cyare, you’re having a nightmare.”

Wake up.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Once where a beautiful, peaceful world had once been there was now only dust. The Death Star your ship was escorting had succeeded in her mission, and you had been graciously allowed to watch as the mechanical moon obliterated a billion lives as one would exterminate a nest of roaches. Around you your crew cheered, hooray for the Empire! Death to the Resistance! But you couldn’t hear them.

You heard screaming.

Clawing at your ears and squeezing your eyes closed did nothing to make it stop. As if millions of voices were funneling directly into your skull.

You ran. Ran through the labyrinthian hallways, ran as fast as you could to your quarters. Even your blankets would not protect you, the wailing only growing louder.

Murderers! Monsters! You killed us! Why? Why why why!

You ran from your tiny room, backpack slung over your shoulder, filled with what few things you owned. Ran all the way to the hangar. You’d worked on interceptors a thousand times before when your hands were still small, when you could weasel your way into the narrowest of spaces and prove yourself worthy of not getting jettisoned. Knife in hand you unlocked the security protocols easier than picking your teeth, and the hangar fell away beneath you.

Turning back one last time to glance at the artificial home you had known for so long you saw a figure standing there. Was it the captain? Had he come to stop you? Stop his precious Sparrow from flying away?

No. They were blue, flickering in and out of corporeality. Their face took up your entire mindscape now, their features ever changing, like you were looking at more than one face at a time. The eldritch being’s eyes bored through yours, shifting rapidly from those of a man to those of a child to those of an elder, a hundred lives all demanding to be seen at once. Their mouth did not move when it spoke.

“i̴͊̎t̴'s̸̉͋ ̵͋c̸͑ȏ̸̕m̸͐͛i̸̽͘n̷̾͂ǵ̵”

You sucked air like your lungs had never known oxygen, nearly launching the foundling into orbit as you bolted upright. Beskar burdened arms coiled around you the next second, and you stung your knuckles on his armor trying to fight him off in your panic.

“Ger’off’a me! It wasn’t my fault! I’m sorry! Please!”

“Cyare! Stop! You’re having a nightmare, it’s ok I’ve got you!” Battleborne muscles held you tight against a cold plate of steel while you thrashed until you were coherent. Husband. You let your body relax against your oathsworn and wept, deep, heaving sobs that tore your throat apart and crackled your ribs. Soft shushing noises came through Din’s modulator next to your ear, but the cold metal of his armor brought you little comfort.

“I-I’m s-s-sor-ry.” You stuttered into the fabric of his cowl, the roughhewn cloth soaked with tears. Strong fingers carded through your dampish hair, still not dried all the way from your shower only a few hours ago. Din pressed his palm against the back of your head, burying you in the crook of his shoulder where he could protect you from whatever had scared you. The yellowed tips of his gloves bumped against your unburdened ear cuffs with each pass of his hand, but the leather scraping the metal couldn’t drown out the whispers that still oozed from your thoughts.

Why why why why why why...

“It’s alright, cyar’ika, I’m here. Grogu’s here.” Without tearing your eyes away from the safe haven of his cloak you groped blindly for the baby, finding the disheveled youngling and pulling him in tight. “Can you tell me what happened?” Din asked, his modulated voice soft with worry. You shook your head against your partner. “Alright, that’s ok.”

-ỉ̶t'̸͑̋́̂s̸ ̵̝͕̏̀͠͝c̷̬͙̃̽͌̑̊o̷̅͑̓̈́m̴̧͓͈̭̃͂́̽͌͑ǐ̶̓̕n̷̓̋̚g̵͕͙͎͊̀͊̽!̶̑̀-

You gasped and pulled away from your husband’s comfort, eyes wider than moons, pupils shrunken to pinpoints. Gloved hands found your face, cupping your cheeks and trying to get you to look into his hidden honeywells that were searching your eyes. Unblinking, you looked right through him.

“Can you hear that?” You whispered, your voice far, far away.

“Hear what?”

-I̴̭̊̚͘͘T̷́̽̕S̴̔̅̈́ ̸̋C̸̀͋Ỏ̸̉̄͝M̸̐͂I̶N̷̽͗̈̌G̵͓̎̈̊̀͛͘͠!̶!̷̤̏-

“That!” you shrieked, making both your boys jump. You clawed at your ears, though you knew that wouldn’t help, the voices were coming from inside. “I-I have.. I have to go! I have to go now!” You tried to spring up off the floor, but your arm was caught in the iron grip you knew and trusted, keeping you at your knees. “I have to warn Alewyn!”

“Cyar’ika what are you talking about? Warn her about what?”

The phantom voice wailed again, and you doubled over from the force of it, sending a fresh wave of tears down your face. Din was getting scared now, his eyes wide with worry behind the visor, his throat bobbing around dry swallows. You’d never woken up like this before, so distraught and inconsolable, and it was making him feel helpless. He couldn’t put binders on your emotions, grapple with your fears, slay your inner demons.

“Let go!” You roared and flew from his grasp, tripping over your faceplate and the pile of quilts as you blasted out the door, sprinting down the Sunskate’s curving corridors towards the bridge with your foundling stuffed under your arm. Haunting voices chased you through the halls, making you deaf to the armored thunder that was following dutifully behind.

You charged through the bulkhead to the bridge, nearly busting the durasteel door off its hinges when you flew through it, skittering to a halt in front of the viewport. With wild eyes you searched the void, ignoring the concerned questions that were being asked of you. Where is it where is it where is it?! From corner to corner you scanned, locking your red-rimmed eyes on every flicker, every spark.

Nothing.

Nothing for miles.

Slowly you became aware of those around you, the soft leather gloves of your mate pulling on your face and the warm but worried voice of the Sunskate’s captain.

“Cyare?”

“Tra’laar?”

“Patu?”

Your legs gave out under you and you let yourself be caught in the steelbound arms of your husband, the two of you sinking to the floor with the foundling still locked to your chest. Terror replaced itself with scalding embarrassment, making you bury your unblinking eyes in the foundling’s forgiving tummy. Your eyelids wouldn’t close no matter how hard you willed them to, because they knew that somewhere, out there,

Was a dragon.

“What’s wrong with her? Did you do something to upset her?!” Alewyn hissed, becoming defensive of her ill-begotten rescue.

“No! She had a nightmare, I think. Cyar’ika whatever it is, it’s not real. There’s nothing out there, come back to me, please.” Mando’s loving pleas and careful touches went unrecognized, no matter how diligent they were.

What finally drew you back to reality was the gentle pat pat pat of fat baby paws on your face. You turned your wilted gaze to the foundling, the embarrassment of being seen so vulnerable only growing stronger and more painful. “I-I’m s-sorry, Goober, you s-sh-sh-shouldn’t have to see me like-”

Pap.

Baby beans smacked you softly on your forehead and closed his eyes, making you furrow your brow. “What are you- oh.” Your eyes slid closed, and a warm peacefulness breezed through you, exorcising the whispering voices between your ears. You took a deep, somewhat stuttered breath and let go, feeling whatever weird baby magic the foundling possessed flow through you. The night terror faded to the back of your mind, dissipating like mist until it evaporated entirely from your thoughts.

“Thank you…” You whispered, nuzzling the baby’s chubby belly. Heart rate steady and breath even, you leaned back against the man who was still holding you up. Din rested the edge of his helmet on the top of your head and hummed, a low, brassy tone, sounding relieved. Where his hands were wrapped around your sides you felt the slow roll of his palms, warm and protective. “I’m sorry, Mando, Alewyn, I don’t know what came over me...”

“S’all right, missy, t’ain’t the first time I’ve seen someone go wailin’ through the halls. We all have our burdens to bear.” Alewyn combed a dainty hand through your hair, brushing it out of your face. “Good thing them boys’ve gotcha though.” She glanced between the visor of the Mandalorian that was coiled so defensively around you and the little green baby you held so dearly. “I can tell they love ya.”

You nodded sheepishly and let Din help you to your feet, his hands never leaving you lest you waver. Angrily you wiped at the corners of your eyes, trying to cover your shame as the three of you walked back to your room. When the bedroom door closed behind you, you went straight for the porthole window, cautiously searching the stars again.

“What are you looking for?” Din asked hesitantly, “What… what were you dreaming about?”

“Um. I had a dream we were… under attack.” You lied, your eyes still locked to the void. If you could help it, the secrets of your past would someday die with you, though by the sounds of the whispers you had heard not even death could keep its mouth closed.

“Must have been one hell of a nightmare, I’ve never seen you like this. Is there anything I can do for you?” Din the ever-thoughtful asked, draping a quilt over your shoulders. The fabric was still warm from where you had been sleeping on it, the weight of it reassuring on your back. You shook your head. He glanced at the back of one vambrace, “We’re still another hour from the station, why don’t we get our things packed and back on the Crest? Would that be ok?”

It was better than going back to sleep, you didn’t trust your own thoughts not to terrorize you again, and you nodded enthusiastically. Din didn’t allow you to lift a finger while he zoomed around the little room, collecting your armor and laundry and then you, scooping you and the foundling up in his arms.

“Put me down, tinman, I’m not helpless!” you chided with a weak little laugh.

“There’s my girl. Nope, I’m carrying you. Deal with it.”

You sighed in a heavy, mocking tone, covering your face with your mask like a shy child while he proudly tromped back to the hangar to where your immobile home lay. Once you were all lifted up the half-hanging ramp you dropped graclessly onto a crate with a huff. You were beat, but it felt nice to be back in your ship, the familiarity adding to whatever calming effect the foundling had used. The little green terror was drowsy in your arms, spent from using his wild baby powers to vanquish your demons. You kissed his wrinkly little head and swaddled him in the quilt Din had accidentally stolen for you.

Tinman was digging through the larder, looking for something for breakfast and found a pack of biscuits to give you. Though the suspicious item he still carried in his pocket had kept him sleepless, the need to care for his loved ones overrode every other instinct, making him forget it for the time being. You weren’t hungry, if anything you were nauseous from your night terror, but Din was insistent; and you nibbled on a bright blue macaroon, splitting bites with the sleepy baby.

Eventually a soft beeping chimed from the Mandalorian’s vambrace, stationfall in fifteen minutes. Outside the ship you heard a holler, and you strode to the ramp to find Alewyn and Lilah, ready to bid thee farewell.

”Alright, so!” Alewyn exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Here’s the dealy-o. The Sunskate can’t actually… dock with the station. M’good ole dad’s still got hunters on the loose, never know when they’ll turn up, eh?” She laughed. “Your ship’s gonna have’ta dock on’er own, but Lilah’s patchwork should hold ya together long ‘nough for the service droids’ta pick ya up.”

You ignored the loud, audible groan from behind you. “I think we can manage that.” You started to hop down off the ramp, but the spry Togruta was already climbing up into the Crest, barreling you over. Alewyn the Affectionate squeezed your ribs so hard you felt the air leave your lungs, making you grunt ugly. One of her nimble hands disappeared from you into her many secret pockets, then snuck into one of yours, leaving a sizable weight of credits behind. “Wynnie!” you hissed against her montral, “Not again!”

“S’least I can do, since we nearly ripped that old bucket’a shit in half and you spared another spacer from the slab.” She held you out at arms length, bobbling her montrals at you with an arrogant grin. “Take care’a yerself, missy. And you too, Mando! Be good to this woman’n’er son or so help me!” The princess raised a fist at him that turned into an outstretched hand. He shook it hesitantly, but the lavender lady reeled him in, and you giggled at his hover-hands while she squeezed the life out of him.

Lilah helped her wife down from the ramp, and the two of them waved before hefting the ramp closed, sealing you inside with your crew. You dashed up the ladder to the cockpit, looking for a horn to honk but there wasn’t one, giving you another item to add to your mental grocery list. Din followed you up with Grogu in tow, taking his seat in the captain’s chair.

The Sunskate’s hangar jaws slid open slowly, pulling a blue force field over the stretch of stars. Far ahead you could just barely make out the shiny little dot where the station was, glittering just a little brighter than the stars themselves. With the cockpit door tightly sealed, Din carefully started up the old gunship, and on instinct you covered Grogu’s ears to protect him from the inevitable backfire.

The Razor Crest sputtered to life and slowly floated out of the hangar door, relying more on inertia than propulsion to get her towards the station. Out the window you saw the enormous rayship that had carried you here bank away from you, the starlight glittering briefly on her copper-colored belly before her propulsion engines flared back to life, and soon enough she was nothing more than a comet streaking through the void.

Din fussed with the radio transponder, opening up a hailing frequency that would alert the attention of the station droids, and it wasn’t long before a large transport unit was making its way to you. The automatic taxi magnetized itself to the roof of the Crest, easing the strain off of your damaged engines.

A robotic voice beeped through the comms: “THANK YOU FOR CHOS-ING EL-GON AU-TO-MA-TED SER-VI-CES. SMILE-Y FACE. CO-MEN-CING TRANS-PORT TO HAN-GAR SEV-EN-TEEN FOR EV-AL-U-A-TION AND RE-PAIR. HAVE A NICE DAY. SMILE-Y FACE”

Din groaned, his fists creaking on the steering wheel. “Why’s it gotta be droids…”

You shrugged in your chair. “Elgon’s old as dirt, prob’ly older than the Crest. I’d be surprised if there wasn’t anything on it that wasn’t animatronic.”

“Great.”

Ahead of you, the station dominated your viewport, humming with a myriad of activity. A neutral starport, Elgon boasted service to any and all as long as they had coin in their pockets, regardless of their commendations or crimes. You’d been to the old outpost many a time, both on your own and while you still wore a uniform, and excitedly you remembered a particular sweets shop that used to operate in the center.

Your service droid was nearly at the station now, approaching a large closed hangar with the number seventeen painted on it in orange Basic. You playfully kicked at the side of the pilots’ seat where Din’s butt was unguarded by the arm rests. “You excited to get fixed up, bucket boy?”

He nodded, he was ready to get back on the trail towards the last bounty. The thought of hunting again reminded him of the Imp device in his pocket that still mystified him, reigniting buried suspicions. I should ask her about it, maybe she knows what it is. He hadn’t wanted to disturb you while you were showering, or when you were getting ready to sleep, so being the polite riddur he decided he would bring it up with you in the morning.

Din reached into his pocket, closing his fingers around the mechanical spider, ready to pull it into the light when the hangar doors opened.

Revealing a blizzard of white duraplast.

“Oh fuck.” Your collective hearts went through the decking at the sight before you. There, swarming the station proper were dozens of Imperial stormtroopers, their eggheads covering the hangar like dirty snow. “Get down!” you hissed at Din who was already two steps ahead of you, sliding out of the pilots seat and under the dashboard. You tore the faceplate off of your crown and stuffed it into his hands along with Grogu and caged your two boys in with your knees, determined to keep anything mando-factured out of sight.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Din spat, slamming his fist on the floor. “This station is supposed to be neutral territory! We need to turn around, we can not stay here!”

Under you the Crest swayed gently in the droid’s grasp before being lowered onto a maintenance skiff, the hoversled bouncing slightly from the weight of your ship. Desperately you threw levers and pushed switches, trying to get the Crest to restart, but her engines were long gone, the turbines spinning almost mockingly slow. You weren’t going anywhere.

The comms light lit up on the dashboard with a soft chime, and on reflex you went to answer it when Din grabbed your leg. “Don’t even think about it.”

You made ‘what-choice-do-we-have’ hands at him, “Dude we are fucked unless I answer them, I-I speak their language, I can get us through.”

“Yeah? So do I.” He hissed from the floor, smacking the side of his thigh where his firearm hung.

“-Ksst!- hush! I’m handling this.” You straightened your shoulders and set your jaw straight before flipping on the receiver.

The holoprojector lit up in front of you with a tiny stormtrooper. “Identify yourself.”

“TK number SPW dash seven-zero-four-two, engaged in dogfight planetside and in need of repairs.”

“Why isn’t your ship running a beacon, soldier?”

“It's pre-empire surplus, it doesn’t have one.”

“What are you doing flying around in such a relic?” The stationmaster said with a bite of suspicion.

“...Budget cuts.”

They chuckled. ”No kidding. Alright then, what’s your designation?”

Shit, uh... “Prisoner transport unit.”

“Roger. Stand-by for transportation to engineering bay and prepare for inspection.”

The trooper winked out of existence, and you started to sigh with relief when the hand on your boot yanked you down to the ground.

“Prisoner transport unit?!” He rasped once you were at visor level with him on the floor. “Could you have come up with something else?!”

Unwillingly, your lips curled back and bared your teeth at his hateful tone. “There’s a shitload of guns and a goddamn carbonite freezer down in the hold, we’re not exactly delivering cookies. We need to get you two hidden before we get to the mechanics, come on!”

Din watched you drop through the ladder hatch with his heart in his throat, the fluttering organ violently trying to break out of his ribs. The Maker must think this is hilarious. After everything I’ve done to keep this kid away from the Imps we’re just going to go knocking on their fucking door. Everything was stacked against him. He was tired from lack of sleep, he was scared for the safety of his clan, and to top it all off he was becoming more distrustful of the microchip by the second; the mounting tension he emanated filling the cockpit like carbonite fog.

Maybe it’s a tracking device?

That… might make sense. Elgon station was out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, why else would a shitload of Imps be here if not to capture him and his crew? To take his son? Through the night he had grown suspicious of the item he had found, and a nagging thought had seeded itself in his frontal lobe, one that he refused to give audience.

What if it came from her?

No, that’s stupid. That’s your riddur, she’s obviously not an Imp. He reasoned, slowly soldier-crawling his way to the hatch with his son and your armor in tow. It must have been in the coral already, or come from one of the pirates, maybe they planted it here. But if that’s the case then we’ve been handed right over into a trap. He lept down the ladder with Grogu squashed under his arm, watching you fly around the cabin looking for an acceptable hiding spot for your foundling and a full grown Mandalorian.

Time started to move in slow motion as it usually did for him when he was sizing up quarry. What did her puck say, before I decided not to turn her in? He ran through his mental rolodex, digging for your file. Ex hunter. Guild dissenter. Bribed out of high-profile bounty. Now that he had met the high-profiler for himself he really couldn’t blame you, though it was suspicious that you had returned from the bridge one bounty short after speaking with Alewyn in private.

Alewyn. Princess-turned-pirate, a renegade royal that had made a name for herself literally ripping ships down from the sky. Hunter ships in particular. Awful convenient for her to be right in our line of travel to a station full of Imps out in the middle of fuckall nowhere. He froze, his visor locked to your frantic form. As if…

As if she was waiting for us.

The corners of his lips bared his teeth to no-one behind his visor as the distrust he had sown in his own heart dug its claws in deep. This has been a trap from the beginning! She’s been playing the long con since Tatooine. In his other hand he held your betrothal gift, the beskar faceplate that he had presented to you when you swore your vows. It reflected his own visor back to him, the hazy lighting of the cabin shimmering on the mudhorn embossed on the brow. No… that’s not it… that’s not true, she loves you…

Right…?

Or… so she says. His heartbeat picked up to a wicked cantor, echoing in his helmet like a storm of leathery wings. Whispering demons crawled up his brainstem and dragged beloved memories down from his skull and into the light of judgement. Memories of you.

He’d caught you so easily on that dirtball of a planet, too easily for a hunter of your stature. You’d practically tossed yourself into the arms of a complete stranger, assumed the role of the child’s caregiver without question. Agreed to marry him after barely a month.

Grogu made a sniffling noise under Din’s arm, gaining both of his buir’s attentions. His nebulous eyes were beginning to moisten, threatening to spill over with tears at any moment. Instantly you ran to your baby’s defense. “Hey buddy boy, what’s wrong?” You carefully took the baby from Din, hugging him to your chest and making the tiniest sob bubble out of his nose. “No no no it’s ok, please don’t cry sweetheart!”

“He’s scared.” Din growled in a manner not at all comforting. You glared at the indomitable mountain of metal, offended that he would use such a tone in front of his own son. “He knows when there’s a threat nearby.” Under you the Crest wobbled slightly, signaling the start of her trek to the engineering bay. Tick tock.

“Fuck! Can you get in a storage crate?” you asked frantically, bouncing Grogu on your hip to get him to quiet down. The baby could sense the mounting anxiety radiating off of his buir, and was getting himself spun up into a fresh panic. His cries devolved into sobs, making the hull echo with despair. “Shh.. it’s ok! Baby boy please, we can’t do this right now!”

“Too obvious.”

“Ok, the sleeping cubby? The lockers? C’mon Mando work with me!”

“They’ll tear this ship apart the second it hits the bay. There’s no hiding. That’s it, we’re done for.” Din tossed up his hands and made some kind of noise in the back of his throat, some kind of strained laugh, the husk of it making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You knew that sound, it was the sound of acceptance, of defeat.

Like fuck you were giving up. You made to retaliate when something past his shoulder caught your eyes. Expecting you to fight with him he stopped his pacing and glared at you, then followed your eyes to the carbonite freezer. He whipped back around, gawking at you like you’d grown a second head. “Oh fuck no.”

“We are out of options!” you nearly screamed, “I can’t just cuff you, there’s no guarantee that they won't take you and Beans hostage, freezing you would be safer. I-it would only be for an hour or two, tops, just to pass inspection! That thing can unfreeze, right?”

“That is not the point!” Din bellowed, “You are suggesting not only to freeze me but to freeze him as well?” Din jabbed a finger at the baby, a rush of emotions threatening to boil his bucket right off his head. He widened his shoulders, broadening himself so large that he seemed to encompass the entire ship, glossy black eye turning dark and hateful on you. He couldn’t keep his suspicions to himself any longer. “You… has this been your plan all along?”

You balked, “Plan? Plan for what? The hell are you-”

He threw your beskar on the floor and grabbed your shoulders, pinning you against the wall opposite the freezer and making Grogu scream out in terror. Mando’s visor took up your entire field of view, reflecting with your own wild eyes. “Your plan to capture us!” He barked, the malice overflowing like an erupting volcano. “You told that Imp that this was a prisoner transport unit. We don’t have any prisoners on this ship unless you’ve had them since the beginning.”

“Are you out of your fucking bucket?!” You spat back at him, “You think I want to put you in carbonite?! Put my son in carbonite?! There’s nowhere else on this ship to hide you!”

“How convenient.” The joints in your shoulders popped from the force he was applying to them, his weight nearly fusing you with the wall.

“You’re hurting me!” Over you the lights began to flicker, though neither of you saw it with your eyes locked on each other; yours filled with pain and anger, his visor pinning you down as if you were quarry.

At the sound of your pain the tension on your shoulder bones eased slightly, but not enough to let you free of the wall. Scalding shame burnt its way across his face, bitter and stinging. He was hurting you, the one thing he swore never to do to you again, the very first oath he had promised.

You chewed the side of your cheek, trying to steady your words. “Din. I love you. I love Grogu! I lied to that Imp to protect you. I don’t want those rotten eggs to have you, how could you even think that of me?”

She lies. One thing that Din knew about you was that you were unquestionably good at was putting on a ruse, able to sweet-talk quarry or lure droids to their deaths. But the way you took to the comms was different, how you were able to use the Imps own terminology against them, even how you spoke to the pirates before you were ‘rescued’ was delivered with flawless diction. It was too perfect, too natural...

As if that was your real voice.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” He growled, digging armored claws into the flesh of your shoulders, making you suck air through your teeth. Defensively you coiled your arms around Grogu, burying his wrinkly little head against your chest where he would be safe from the man you thought you trusted. Fire cascaded out from under Din's helmet, trying to burn you at the stake. “You told me once that I don’t know you.” His helmet tilted like a serpent poising to strike, words dripping with venom. “But I should have known an Imp when I saw one.”

“I am not an Imp!! That’s not who I am any MORE!” Bulbs exploded around you at your words, glass and sparks raining down from above. The strength of your thundering roar broke the delicate machinery in Din’s helmet, causing his audio intake to screech with feedback. Immediately his hands left your shoulders and went to his ears, trying to protect himself from the horrible noise.

The let-up was all the invitation you needed, and you dropped yourself low; catapulting into Din’s chest plate like a linebacker and knocking him into the freezer. You kicked your faceplate between his boots, thrust Grogu into his arms and punched the activator on the wall, tears flowing hotly down your face. As the fog billowed outward Mando wrapped himself around the foundling, as though his impenetrable armor could protect the child from the nightmare of being frozen alive.

Horrified, you watched as the two creatures you loved most were consumed by the mist, leaving a dark block in its wake that bore their likeness. The metal was already ice cold to the touch when you ran your hand over the glaring curve of your husband's visor, and down to the terrified, tear-streaked face of your baby.

Choked sobs tore at the back of your throat, trying to drown you with guilt. I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry my loves, I… I did what I had to do. You weren’t given time to process your grief, nearly jumping out of your skin when plasticast fists rapped on the access door with authoritarian vigor. Composing yourself to the best of your abilities, you stuck your finger down the barrel of your blaster, scraping off the dark residue and smearing it under your eyes to hide your welted cheeks.

Glass crunched under your boots as you made your way through the dismembered cabin to the wall panel, punching the buttons with shaky hands. The ramp chuggered and stopped halfway down, but it was down far enough for you to make visor contact with the platoon of troopers who were demanding your attention. Their armor was clean, freshly moulded and recently polished. These weren’t just the Empire’s soggy leftovers, these were new recruits.

Disgracefully hopping down from the ramp among a scurry of pit droids you puffed up your chest and squared your shoulders as you had seen your partner do whenever he was intimidating quarry. You crossed your arms behind your back in parade rest, watching as a painted trooper strode up to you, his rifle pointed at the floor near your feet.

“Stand aside, we have orders to search this ship.”

“Whose orders?”

“Elgon Station is under the Imperial jurisdiction of Admiral Forescythe, no ships in or out without search.”

You felt all the blood in your body evaporate at the name. Forescythe. Shit balls of hell, that fucking bastard is still alive?!

“Is that really necessary?”

The rifle in his hand rose just slightly. “You got something to hide?”

“No, sir.” you said sweetly, hoping politeness would buy you brownie points.

“Stand aside then.” The trooper barked, gesturing to your ship with the barrel of his rifle. You jumped when the heavy access ramp hit the ground, turning to glare daggers at the droid that had unfastened the damaged hydraulics. The stormtrooper marched past you up the ramp, inspecting the interior of the cabin as he went. As predicted, he nudged the lids of the supply crates open, pointing his gun at any would-be threats. Another pair of eggheads followed inside, rudely stomping through the Crest’s belly like they owned the place.

The painted trooper made loud, gross sniffing noises. “Smells like carbonite in here, your freezer might be leaking, better get that checked out…” He trailed off when he clocked the machine and its contents, taking big strides towards it. “Lookit that, Is that an actual mando? I didn’t even think they were real, I’ve only ever heard stories.” He gestured to you with his gun, “How’d you do it?”

“Do what?” You asked coldly.

“How’d you catch him? And his... weird dog?” The trooper tapped harshly on the solidified metal that covered your foundling's eyeball, making your blood pyroclast through your veins, but you remained composed.

“I’m more dangerous than I look.” You seethed, digging your nails into the skin of your arms behind your back. And you’re about to find out just how fucking dangerous if you don’t back off!

One of the unpainted soldiers piped up. “Do you think this is the one they’ve been looking for? The one the Admiral was talking about?”

“Could be, I’ll radio the Wyvern when it makes stationfall, should be dropping out of hyperspace in a few hours.” Cotton seemed to grow in your mouth at his words, making it impossible to swallow. No, it can't be.

-ī̶̱̩͋t's̴̈̅ ̵̛̂̈̋͋̏͘͝c̷ŏ̷̐̓͑ṁ̸͌̋̾̕in̵̨͎̩̠̼͂͜g̷͑̔.-

Shut up. The commander jabbed his rifle at you. “I heard someone say that mandos never take their helmets off, we should unfreeze it and see what it looks like.”

“No.” You barked, making the soldiers flinch. Haha. “He’s very dangerous, even under the effects of hibernation sickness he can still be quite lethal.”

“There’s three of us and only one of it.” A rifle was pointed your way, “Thaw it out.”

Like hell. “Alright, then I won’t have to be the one to explain to the Admiral why a Mandalorian is loose in the station, or dead. I’ve heard he’s a reasonable man.”

The three troopers looked at each other with questioning glances, suddenly unsure. That seemed enough to deter them, and you waited while the troopers barked orders at the repair droids, ordering them to get your ship fixed up. A battalion of robots swarmed the Razor Crest inside and out, almost making you thankful Mando wasn’t there to blast them full of holes. The greasy robots would make quick work of the damage, and hopefully have you out of the station before the Wyvern arrived.

The Wyvern. You wanted to curl in a ball and die. Of all the bullshit the galaxy had to offer it had decided that you deserved a double helping of unwanted nostalgia. Not only was the Wyvern’s Tongue still operational she would be bringing with her good old Admiral Forscythe, though last time you saw him he was just a captain.

Your captain.

And he was on his way.

To this station.

To your ship.

To you.

Oh fuck.

Immediately you turned to your partner for reassurance, only to meet his frozen stare. You wanted to release him, let him carry you safely away from this place, but you weren’t out of the woods yet; so you were both going to have to wait. You’d never been frozen, thank the Maker, but you’d heard stories. How being frozen is like being trapped alive, trying to breathe but not being able to move your lungs. Still being conscious but feeling your blood stop in your veins. A living death.

A waking nightmare.

Repair droids swarmed your ship’s interior like a hive of bees, but they were making quick work of the damage and would hopefully be gone soon. Shaky legs carried you back over to the carbonite freezer, and you leaned heavily on the block of frozen metal, stretching your arms around it in an attempted hug. I wish you were here, my love, but it will be over soon.

You pressed a kiss to both of your boy’s faces and slumped to the floor, leaning on the bandoliered boots behind you. Between the wide open ramp and the droids working on the stardrive you were too exposed to unfreeze your family, and the thought of having to wait even a minute longer made the edges of your eyes threaten to spill anew.

Stars above you wanted this to be over. The back of your throat tasted like bile, and the plasma residue smeared under your eyes was starting to burn. You needed to get away, to blast off into space with your boys and put your draconian past behind you before the literal beast reared her ugly head.

But… now he knows. You groaned into your knees, digging claws into your own hair. He knows! You fucking asshat now he knows! Your greatest, vilest secret had been spilled, and you were going to have to find a way to live with the consequences. He... he’ll understand. Bilgerats are practically foundlings, I just need to explain myself better. Yeah! That’s it! I didn’t have the chance to explain myself. He’ll forgive me… right?

Time seemed to crawl, languid and slow, forcing you to wallow in your own guilt. You cautiously eyed the platoons of troopers that would often march past, trying to glare daggers through their shiny white buckets, but they paid you no mind. The hours ticked by, making you more and more anxious by the second. You had no way of knowing how soon the Wyvern would arrive, could be hours, could be minutes. Could be seconds.

-į̶̱̩̄͋ͅt'̶̡̳̰̝̇s̴̈̅ ̵̧̛̺̂̈̋͋̏͘͝c̷̄͋͛̚oṁ̸͌̋̾́̈́̕͝i̸̇̏-

I’m aware! You snapped at your thoughts, pissed that they were still present long after Grogu had purged them from your mind. I must be going crazy, it’s the guilt. It has to be the guilt. You rubbed at your temples, trying to dispel the mounting tension in your skull. When you opened your eyes a sweeper droid was clearing away the glass shards from the floor, and you cocked your brows at it as it went by. When did the lights burn out?

Eventually the interior repairs were completed to the fullest, and the moment the ramp hydraulics were functional again you slammed the door shut and booked it back to the freezer controls.You turned a pair of knobs on the side of the carbonite block and took a step back. The metal that covered your beloved crewmates turned red, then bright gold, sloughing off in luminous waves.

You jumped to catch Din and the foundling before they hit the ground, his strength lost from the effects of hibernation sickness, nearly causing him to melt onto the floor along with the aurelius sludge pooling at your feet. In your ear you heard both of your boys taking desperate, broken breaths; and you rubbed at Din’s dorsal plate, encouraging him to fill his lungs.

As a unit you sank down to the floor where the child practically rolled into your lap. His enormous eyes were squinty and blinking, making you think that he may be temporarily blinded. “Hey booger, it’s ok, can you hear me?” Grogu made a sad little noise, but that meant he could at least still hear. “There ya go, that’s it, nice’n slow. Y’ok?” The child looked up at you with a twisted expression, then immediately yarked bright blue all over your shirt. “You know what, I deserved that, thanks.”

Din’s modulated cough grated in your ear. “How… long?”

“Couple hours, but the repairs are finished, we can get the fuck outta here now. Are you alright? You gonna barf?” He started to shake his head no, but the shaking might have been his downfall because you felt him start to heave. “Not in the bucket not in the bucket! Come on, up! Heeere we go…” You gently set Grogu down on the floor and bullied yourself up under Din’s arm, dragging him as fast as you could to the fresher. You barely got the beskar out of the way in time for your partner to empty his stomach. “That’s it, let it all out, I gotcha.”

Din hung on to the sides of the fresher like his life depended on it, shaking violently with every hurl, and there wasn’t much else you could do but hold on. He released one armored claw from the side of the fresher to reach back and find you, but when you tried to hold his hand to comfort him he pulled his fingers from your grasp. Again you tried, but this time he didn’t just let go, he pushed you away, and you heard him mumble something into the fresher bowl.

“-..a...tor-”

“What’d you say?”

“Traitor!!!” Din spat, curling back around at you with viciously bared teeth, eyes wild and bloodshot. You backpedaled away from the fuming warrior that was half crawling half leaping towards you, making weak throws that were slowly gaining in strength. “You fucking traitor! I should have known! I should have known from the very fucking start!” You’d never seen him angry without the helmet, and it terrified you. He terrified you.

You put up your hands defensively, backing away from him. “Please! Let me explain! It wasn’t-”

“I don’t listen to Imps!” He swung at you and missed, but his agility was quickly returning. You wouldn’t be so lucky the second time.

“Damn it Din, fucking listen-” Ignoring you, he groped for the gun on his belt, and you were barely able to grab your armor in time from the freezer to block his reckless shots. You crouched over Grogu, using your body and the face plate as a shield against the assaulting Mandalorian. “Din! Stop! Please! You’re going to hurt our son!”

“Our?!” He hissed, snarling around the word. “That is MY son! Get away from him!” Din grabbed the beskar mask and tried to pull it from you, yanking you up from the floor. “MY son does not belong to you, this does not belong to you! Who do you think you are?!”

“Who am I?! I’m your wife!”

He stopped trying to wrestle the lovingly-chosen armor away from you, meeting your eyes with his own darkened gaze. His earthly irises flickered fast between both of your own pupils, searching your face for something, some kind of reminder. A reminder that he loves you. The muscles on the side of his jaw clenched and rippled, chewing on the words he was looking for.

When he spoke his voice was hoarse, but certain, as if there would never be a greater truth than the one he breathed into being.

“No, you’re not.”

The coldness in his tone stabbed icicles in your veins and froze your mouth closed, rendering you speechless. His hateful gaze looked down to the mask still in your hands, twisting into a pained expression. “Did… did this mean anything to you?”

“Din… please…” you begged, you voice barely above a whisper, “It means everything to me, you mean everything to me!” Behind you Grogu was already starting to cry again, making the situation even worse. “I love you! I did what I did to protect you, to protect Grogu! I didn’t want those Imp bastards to take you. Can’t you see that?”

The Mandalorian laughed, miasmatic and sickly, infected with distrust. “Isn’t that just like an Imp, lying right up til the very end.” He let go of the beskar as if it was unclean, then turned swiftly around on his heel, striding to the fresher to grab his helmet from where it had been discarded on the floor. He picked it up and looked into it’s visor, almost like he was debating whether or not he could put it back on. It sank over his head with a hiss of it’s latches, amplifying his dominating presence tenfold.

You pressed on, balling your fists in determination. “It shouldn’t matter who I used to be, just who I am now. I don’t know anything about your past, all I know is who you are now, I know that you are my… ner rid-oor…”

He was on you in a flash. “Don’t make me cut out your lying tongue as well, Mando’a is sacred, I should have never taught it to you.” In one swift motion he grabbed the offensive beskar from your useless fingers and threw it somewhere behind him, the iron clanging ugly against the durasteel decking. He dug behind his chestplate and found the lucky talismans you had given him as a sign of your affection, a sign that he now decided should have been a big red flag, shoving them into your empty hands.

“You have dishonored me.”

The Mandalorian bent to pick the crying youngling up off the floor, carrying him over to the bed you had all shared. He didn’t turn around to face you when he spoke again. “Get out.”

His frigid words had you frozen in place, frozen in time. He’s leaving you. Your mind was racing, your heart flooding with sadness and grief. Words abandoned you, giving you only a whisper of your silver tongue.

“Din.. I-I didn’t have a choi-”

“GET OUT!!!” He ripped your backpack off the wall and flung it at you, making you reel from the impact. The ramp opened behind you, and you were suddenly being shoved out the door, rolling backwards out of the Crest. You scrambled to your feet, clutching the krayt teeth so hard that the edges cut your palms while you banged on the rising wall of steel.

From behind the closing door you heard a sound, faint but desperate, nearly inaudible over your own pounding heartbeat. It sounded distinctly like a baby’s cry.

“Bubu!”

-SLAM!-

The access ramp sealed shut, and a shiny silver dome appeared in the rounded transparisteel viewport where Mando was taking his seat at the controls. Imps began swarming you while the old gunship’s engines flared to life, burning like a newly risen phoenix. Poorly-aimed blaster fire ricocheted off the ship’s hull while her landing gear tucked itself up, and soon the home you had grown to know and love was blasting towards the hangar exit without you.

The Razor Crest slid through the magcon field, the backs of her engines turning bright blue as her stardrive kicked into gear, rocketing her into warp speed just as an enormous star cruiser dropped out of hyperspace, dwarfing the station with her size. As prideful and arrogant as the Empire she sailed for, she took up the starfield with the domineering presence of a ship that had once served as the Death Star’s loyal guard dog.

It could be no other than the Wyvern’s Tongue.

-ȉ̴͗t̴'̴s̶̛̓͝͠ he̷̍̂r̶̔ë̷́.-

If you had a single coherent thought left to your name you would have made a series of snide remarks to the completely useless voice that whispered in your ears. You would have fought back against the stormtroopers that were roughly grabbing you and forcing you down under the barrels of their guns. You would have ran through the station and commandeered one of the other ships that had come in for repairs and blasted off to somewhere, anywhere else.

If you weren’t so grief-stricken, so heart-broken, so lost, you would have hurled literal dragonfire at the man who was approaching you now.

The troop commander spoke first. “Sir, this one allowed the mando to esca-”

“Get her up. Now.” You were hauled back up to your feet, but your eyes stayed on the forcefield that was draped over the stars, just waiting for the Razor to come back around.

To come back for you.

Your view became blocked by a tall, thin man in an Imperial uniform, his lapel shining with an even bigger emblem of authority than the last time you had seen it. His soulless eyes bored right into yours, and you knew instantly by the look on his face that he hadn’t forgotten his favorite communications officer. “Sparrow? Is that you?”

The long abandoned nickname stung like needles in your ears, reeling you violently into the present. The admiral cupped your chin and brought your eyes up, forcing you to see him and stop pretending that he wasn’t real; that he was an apparition brought to life by your wailing night terrors. “It is. My little Sparrow has flown back to me.”

The stormtrooper braved an interruption, “Sir, the mando-”

Admiral Forescythe silenced him with a wave of his hand, “No matter, the universe has brought me something even better than whatever Moff Gideon had been after.” The glare on the Admirals face turned to a sickly smile “Pray tell, little bird, won’t you sing me a song? I’ve so missed your lovely voice.”

You shook your head from his hand and pointed to the electromagnetic cuffs that still hung from the backs of your ears, the last remainder of the beloved faceplate you had been gifted. “Hull breach, tone deaf.” was all the excuse you could muster. A stiff leather glove rose up to brush over the Mandalorian steel, and you fought every animalistic urge to go batshit ballistic, rip the admiral limb from limb.

“What a pity, but at least you can still speak.” He was standing too close now, and the disgust you felt for the man who practically raised you made your flesh boil under his gaze. His gloved hand slid down from your ear and grabbed at the bottom of your jaw, forcing your head to tilt while he inspected the bitemarks Din had put on your neck when he still loved you. “At least you haven’t been lonely, good thing I had you chipped when I did. Shame on you for letting someone defile you in such a manner, were you still on my ship I would have had them jettisoned.”

The Admiral raked his eyes over your disheveled form, from your marked flesh to your blackened eyes and your blue-stained shirt, his face twisting in disgust. “Whatever life you have been living clearly doesn’t suit you, it’s high time you cease this reckless behavior and come back to where you belong.” He bent down and picked your backpack up off the floor where it had fallen, slinging one ratty strap over his neatly-pressed shoulder; then extended a hand to you. “Are you ready to come home now, my little Sparrow?”

You blinked a few times at the question, your heart becoming as cold as stone. Home? The Wyvern was not your home anymore, and the admiral was not your family. But the home you knew, the family you loved was now lightyears away, far far away from where you were now; and they weren’t coming back.

Din wasn’t coming back.

That left only one place left for you to go.

Back... home.

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