#but nobody survives the gas station that long

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 3

Masterpost

Content warning: This chapter involves depiction of a train derailment and subsequent fire throughout. There is also brief mention of death. I will be putting a brief summary in the description if you prefer not to read this part.

Danny jolts up from his fitful sleep. He’s intangible and invisible before he’s even fully sitting up and he’s in the air before he registers the loud boom that woke him. Any concerns about his bright transformation are made totally irrelevant by the warning sirens blaring in his head.

Wait, no. Those are real sirens.

In the distance, lights are now accompanying the sirens; flashing as they speed down what looks like main street. It’s pretty clear where they’re going too, from the violent orange glow cascading over the tops of the nearby buildings.

I knew it, Danny thinks, flying towards whatever disaster is unfolding. probably it’s stupid to get involved, when he still knows so little about this place, but- well, old habits die hard. It doesn’t take long for the problem to become obvious, and Danny freezes as he struggles to process the scene before him.

The metal carnage is nothing like Danny’s ever seen before; what looks to be a freight train has derailed at the worst possible location, sending its cars careening into the various apartment buildings and stores on the east side of town, and to make matters worse, one of them has clearly crashed straight into the gas station by the freeway, and fire is spreading faster than Danny could have imagined.

Danny can already see two buildings blazing, but he quickly focuses his attention towards the carnage of the train itself. Luckily it’s fairly obvious what direction it was headed, and Danny moves fast, looking for the engine. In ghost form, physical sensations always feel a little more distant but even through that, Danny can feel his heart rabbiting in his chest. Luckily it takes less than a minute to find the engine, but as he approaches it, the presence of death catches in his throat, and he immediately knows it’s a lost cause.

He can’t sense any actual ghosts, though, so instead Danny whips around to stare at the derailed cars. He’s far more used to fighting than he is rescues, but he can hardly just ignore the possibility of people trapped, so he carefully begins phasing through the wreckage, searching and listening for signs of anyone. Already, people are starting to gather outside; both those who were nearby and those who have managed to escape on their own, and Danny is careful to maintain his invisibility as he works. 

Danny’s made it through about half the wreck by the time he spots the firetrucks arriving, he’s pretty certain that nobody’s trapped under any of the cars, and he’s also thinking more clearly. The fire has also gotten worse now, and Danny watches as fully equipped firefighters spill out onto the street, already jumping to work as the fire chief shouts out orders. Some rush to start battling the flames, but others head towards the crowd.

They’re getting headcounts, Danny realizes. It seems so obvious in retrospect, but of course, Danny would have to be visible to check with anyone. And now that they’re here, anything he tries to do in secret would probably just make things harder. There is, of course, an easy solution to that, but- Danny has yet to find any evidence that all the meta stuff is anything but propaganda.

Even as Danny considers the dilemma, he knows what he’s going to do. He’s survived danger before, after all, and if he can keep people from assuming ghost, then he’ll have an advantage on them even if it comes to the worst. Besides, there’s that whole great powers-great responsibility thing, so in a way, it’s kind of his responsibility...

Danny floats out of the wreckage before shifting into visibility, figuring it’s probably polite to approach in their field of sight.

“What can I do to help?” Danny asks, causing most of the crowd to stare in shock. Belatedly he realizes he’s still floating, but actually that’s probably a good thing. Makes it clear he’s a meta right off the bat, at least

“New hero, huh? Powerset?” The man responds promptly, leveling Danny with an even gaze. Probably the lack of shock is a good thing. Probably.

“Uh, flight obviously, enhanced strength as well, and um... The ability to turn people and things intangible?” Danny responds promptly. It’s far from his full set, but he figures those are the most relevant, and keeping most of his tricks under his sleeve makes him feel better about what he’s doing.

“Is the fire gonna hurt you? I’m not sending some kid in there to die of third degree burns or smoke inhalation.” The man frowns, giving Danny the distinct feeling he’s not particularly impressed with Danny’s answer.

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’ll be fine! I like, don’t exactly need to breathe? And I’m fine in extreme heat too, so it shouldn’t be a problem...” Danny trails off and the head firefighter narrows his eyes as he tries not to flinch at the assessing look. To Danny’s right, someone shouts and when he turns to look, he sees a firefighter wave their arm and plant some kind of flag before moving on. No longer paying attention to Danny, the chief walks over and speaks to another firefighter. Danny wonders if he’s been dismissed, but before he can do anything, the chief calls out to him.

“Alright kid, you’re up, I guess,” he says, when Danny walks over. “We don’t know how injured he is, so do not move him, but if you’re strong enough to move this stuff fast and safe, that’ll be a damn good help.” He gestures to the twisted mess that Danny’s pretty sure was the edge of a building. 

Danny nods, stepping forward to examine the rubble. The firefighter that spotted the man points to a couple beams.

“Those beams are protecting him from the worst of it right now, but we’ll need to move them in order to get him out, so you gotta make sure that there’s nothing that’ll fall on him him when you move them.” 

“Righty-o,” Danny says, stepping forward to grab the two support beams he’d pointed too. He carefully examines the rubble collapsed around and over it. It’s sort of like a puzzle, he realizes - not quite the same as fixing his parents tech; certainly nothing here is supposed to be smashed together like that, but-

Danny blinks and refocuses. If he  just moves a few things first, he thinks he can get enough cleared away and just intange the beams. He tries to be fast as he does, without forgetting the emphasis the chief had put on safety, and after a few moments, he’s ready to move the beams. He gets into a good position, and then carefully makes them intangible, ready to react if anything bad happens. When nothing does, he carefully pulls them up and away, watching as the waiting firefighters rush in and start to work on actually extracting the guy.

He watches for a bit as a backboard appears and they begin a very slow and careful process of getting the guy onto it.

“Kid,” the chief calls, pulling Danny’s attention away.The chief guides him towards one of the buildings that’s on fire. “Got two people trapped on the third floor here. The stairs are unsafe, so if you can, get yourself up there, locate them, and get them out.”

Danny nods, not waiting for further instruction. He flies up two floors, and goes straight through the wall with his intangibility. The majority of this building isn’t terribly damaged, but one side has collapsed in on itself so if that’s where the stairs were, he can understand the difficulty. The air inside is already thick with smoke, and he quickly stops breathing, belatedly remembering that he’s supposed to not get smoke inhalation. Luckily, it doesn’t take long to catch the sound of voices, and Danny follows it to a room where two people are huddled next to an open window. Right, that’s a smart way to limit the danger of the smoke.

“Rides here!” Danny announces cheerfully, dropping his intangibility. Both people startle as they spot him, but one recovers relatively quickly.

“Him first,” they say, nodding towards their companion, who definitely looks more dazed.

“Right, here we go!” Danny says, stepping forward, and scooping the person up, and wasting no time flying directly through the building, and down to the waiting paramedics. There’s no stretcher currently available, so Danny gently sets them on the ground away from the worst of the smoke, before flying back to get the other person. They’re already standing up, and waste no time in wrapping their arms around his neck as he picks them up and flies them out to the medics as well.

Danny hardly has time to set the person down, before the chief is pulling him away again. They send him in to save a couple other trapped people, but after that, it sounds like everybody is accounted for, because the chief starts focusing all their energy on putting out the fire, rather than just containing it.

Danny is surprised to find himself pulled into helping with this part too. He gets assigned to a fire attack team, and Danny trails along after the two firefighters as the enter the building and begin to fight the fire from the inside.Occasionally, one of them will point at some piece of wall or ceiling and ask him to check what’s on the other side. He goes where they say, looking for signs of the fire, and when he does spot flames, occasionally tearing stuff down so they can get to it with their fire hose. It’s honestly a fascinating process. Danny’s never been anywhere near a major fire and the fact that the firefighters actually do more damage to the building as they work echoes in Danny’s brain as a morbid refrain.

What they’re doing is clearly working though, because he can actually feel the ambient temperature going down as time goes on. He briefly wonders if he should be trying to use his ice powers when one of his teammates complains about how hot it is, but they have protection, and he doesn’t want to risk any more info on him getting out. And anyways, he’s busy enough just doing his job. By the time they leave the building, Danny is exhausted. The interrupted night’s sleep is making itself known, alongside the surprising realization that Danny has actually worked harder tonight than he ever has before.

He lets himself half-collapse against a wall beside one of the fire trucks, once they finish their work putting out the fire. Beside him, his teammates are divesting themselves of their gear. it’s funny, Danny was anxious about revealing himself at first, but this whole night - and Danny belatedly realizes the sun is beginning to drift above the horizon now - he’s not been scared at all. Sure he’s been worried; with people in danger he’s hardly going to feel good, but in the last few hours he’s both worked harder than he has in any of his fights, and he’s done it without feeling terrible. Now, with just everyone accounted for and just about all of them either fine or in the hands of doctors, he feels odd.

It’s not a bad feeling or anything, kind of like when he successfully beats a hard level in a video game, or how he used to feel when he finished science projects in middle school.

Satisfaction, he realizes. And that’s what it is, though it’s far stronger than any version of it that he’s ever felt before. He does have a lot to feel proud of too. He  helped, even though he wasn’t sure it was safe to, and he might’ve actually saved somebody’s life tonight.

“You did good, kid.” One of his teammates says, echoing Danny’s thoughts. He startles a bit, feels himself flushing, and then in his embarrassment, he feels himself tumble over into a full blush. It’s always felt more embarrassing blushing in his ghost form. The way his skin actually glows with the green tinge is just so obviously inhuman, and he tries to avoid, tries his best to seem normal and alive, even when he’s a ghost.

Of course, these people don’t know he’s a ghost, but from what he’s seen, most of the heroes out there at least look functionally human, and he waits for the firefighters around him to freak out at the reminder that he isn’t even remotely one of them.

“Damn,” one whistles. Green glow is a new one. Makes your freckles real cute though.” The others laugh, and the other of his teammates steps forward to pat him gently on the back.

“Stop embarrassing my new favorite hero,” the chief says, walking up to join them. “You gotta name?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Danny answers, desperate for a distraction from this line of conversation. “I’m Danny!”

“Danny,” the chief responds flatly. he almost sounds exasperated, though Danny can’t imagine why, unless...

Unless that absolutely sounds like he just introduced himself normal and they think he’s a hero and he sounds like a dumbass without a secret identity, which- technically isn’t exactly wrong. 

“Yup!” Danny says, trying to make it sound intentional. “Danny Phantom at your service! Y’know cause of the intangibility and like. It just sounded good?” There. That sounds plausible. If he actually does end up having to be a hero, though, he’ll probably need a different first name. If he gets a civilian identity, that is.

“Well, Phantom,” the chief grins, that same assessing look from before back, but noticeably more relaxed now that there’s no immediate danger. “We’re damn grateful for all your help, and if you need anything you come let us know, alright?”

“Yeah, one of his teammates echoes. “You’re an honorary firefighter now, you should come hang out at the station sometime!” A couple of the others echo the sentiment. It’s surprisingly kind, and Danny smiles at the unrelenting wave of welcome.

“I’ll think about it,” he offers uncertainly. “For now, I think I ought to go back to sleep for a few more hours.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Danny,” the chief says. “Just make sure to get something to eat first. You’ve burned a lot of calories today.”

“Yeah, will do,” Danny offers an awkward salute to the man, and then, before he can actually fall asleep standing up, he takes off to hunt down a good spot for a nap.

[wlntrsldler]

soldier, poet, king | luke castellan

song: soldier, poet, king by the oh hellos

warnings: not canon compliant, struck by inspiration and wrote this in one sitting so it's kinda just me rambling

i. the soldier

luke grew up a gentle child. he was the type of child who showed mercy at everything, at everyone, even when he knew that he held more power than them. and he did have more power than them.

from a young age, he knew he was different. he just didn't know how or why. it wasn't like he could just ask his mother why locked doors suddenly unlocked when he touched the knob, or why he always seemed to get away with stealing an extra cookie at the lunch line, or why he seemed to understand people who gossiped in other languages. not only were these odd talents to have (and yes he used odd because that's what his classmates used to call him) and his mother would probably not know the answers anyway, but his mother was unreliable at best.

luke was a quiet child. he never talked about what life at home was like and nobody ever asked him. after all, he showed up to school showered, dressed, and fed. there were no red flags there. he didn't blame the school for not knowing his living situation. how could they know? but sometimes, nine-year-old luke castellan wished someone bothered to ask.

maybe if they did, luke would tell them about how his mother talked to herself in the middle of the night and seemed to argue with the pictures on the walls. maybe if they did, luke would tell them that his mother didn't recognize him sometimes and that she would scream at the top of her lungs until her body grew tired then she'd sit still at the kitchen table until the sun rose.

or maybe he wouldn't. he didn't want to be a bother to anyone.

luke had never hurt anything until he was nine. up until then, he used to scoop up spiders on a piece of paper and release them into the world. it felt wrong to kill them so he never did. he used to watch his steps on the way home from school in fear of accidentally killing a centipede on the sidewalk. he used to leave food on the porch for the stray animals that passed by his neighborhood.

luke grew up a gentle child. until he fled home.

the first time luke killed something was when he was roaming the forests of massachusetts. he ran out of food days ago and was surviving on the honey bun an old lady at the gas station bought for him. it wasn't the healthiest option, but she assumed that he was starving from a long day at school and took pity on him. luke said his thanks and returned to his journey.

he could see the sun beginning to set behind the trees. in another life, he'd be watching the sunset in a tent with his mom. it would've been a family camping trip. he took a bite of the now stale honey bun and imagined it was a gooey marshmallow that his mom helped him roast over the campfire. as he crumpled the plastic, he heard it-- a scream from a girl.

luke's eyes widened and he raced to where the sound came from, reaching for the pocket knife he stole from the box his mom kept hidden in the attic. she never let him up there, but as luke was packing his things to leave, something told him to disobey his mother.

he found you with your back against a tree, terrified, with a dog-like creature snarling at you. it had two heads, glowing eyes, and what seemed like a million teeth. it turned its heads to look at luke, and the smile that dawned on its face was haunting. luke fumbled with the pocket knife and watched in amazement as it grew into a sword, both silver and gold, and seemed to illuminate underneath the descending rays of the sun.

luke stumbled in his steps as he held the sword tightly in his small hands and he swung. the dog barred its teeth, no doubt upset that luke was putting up a fight. his technique was nonexistent. he just swung and swung until he managed to lay a blow on the creature, and when he'd done enough damage, luke pierced the sword between the dog's two heads and watched it vanish into thin air.

luke dropped the sword by his feet, trying to catch his breath. he'd almost forgotten that you were there, that he did all that to save someone else. it wasn't until you placed a hand on his shoulder that luke was pulled back to life.

"thank you," you whispered. luke got a good look at you then. tear streaks down your face, hair a mess in two thick braids on either side of your head, and eyes that seemed hollow, though the will of wanting to survive fought to keep the traces of you there. "you saved my life."

luke looked down at his feet to find the pocket knife back in its original form. he bent down to pick it up, hands still trembling as he stuffed it in his back pocket. he wiped his sweaty palms against the fabric of his jeans, "i-i've never killed something before."

"me either," you gulped, nodding. "i'm y/n."

luke brushed his stray curls from his forehead, "luke."

ii. the poet

life at camp half blood became repetitive after a while. training, dinner, offerings, and repeat. luke was excited when he became the head counselor of the hermes cabin because at least he had something new to do. he no longer needed to follow you around to fill his time, though he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss spending so much time with you.

you'd been promoted as the head counselor of your own cabin months before luke, which was overdue in his opinion. you'd grown dependable, strong, and fearless over the years at camp. sometimes luke couldn't believe that you were the same girl who cowered against a hellhound all those years ago.

the life he had before he met you seemed like a lifetime ago, and in some ways, it was. eight years had gone by since he arrived at camp half blood. he's seventeen now. time had taken away many of his memories from his childhood.

"hey soldier," you greeted, bumping his shoulder with your own. "done with your list yet?"

"soldier," he greeted with a bright smile. "just about. want to tag along while i finish up?"

the nickname grew out of a morbid conversation the two of you had a few years ago. it was after you'd just gotten claimed by your parent, the night before you were due to move out of the hermes cabin. luke had found you sitting in the middle of the arena, your sword tossed carelessly on the floor. when you didn't show up to the cabin after lights out, luke knew he had to look for you.

"hey," luke approached you gently, taking the spot beside you. "everything ok?"

you lifted your head, craning your neck to look at him. you shook your head, "no."

his eyebrows furrowed in concern, "what's wrong?"

"i have a quest," you mumbled, tears welling up in your eyes. "that's why she claimed me."

for years, you found home in the hermes cabin. year by year, you admitted defeat, thinking that your parent would never claim you as theirs. it was painful, watching new arrivals get claimed by their parent while you watched on the sidelines, clapping in celebration. you faked smiles and niceties, but luke knew how much it hurt you.

he'd walk with you back to the hermes cabin and kept you company until you felt better. if he had it his way, he'd stay beside you forever, but he'll be content if he got to stay with you until you didn't want him to anymore. thankfully, that time hadn't come yet.

luke felt anger bubbling in his chest as he scoffed, "all these years... i'm sorry y/n. that's fucked up."

"it's okay, luke."

"it's not, though," he shook his head, "it's not okay that she only wants to claim you because she needs you. what about when you needed her, huh? all those years that she ignored you."

your shoulders deflated. luke was saying all the things you'd been repeating in your head since you've been claimed. "i know, luke, but that's just how the gods are."

"maybe that's the problem," he said. his anger kept increasing, his voice sharpening after each word. he thought about the worst-case scenarios if you left. you could get hurt. you could get trapped somewhere. you could die. the thought of it made luke sick. "maybe the gods need to get a taste of their own medicine. tell me you're not going on that quest."

"i have to."

"then i'll come with you."

you placed a hand on his thigh, "i can't ask you to do that."

"you're not asking. i'm offering."

"no, luke," you sighed, "as much as i would like you there, someone needs to stay here. someone needs to look after annie and the rest of the kids."

"and who's gonna look after you?"

"i'll be okay," you managed to smile, "i can hold my own now. i have the best teacher, remember?"

luke's eyes softened at your words. he'd been teaching you fighting techniques since he was dubbed the best swordsman of camp in centuries. everything he learned, he passed onto you. the life of a demigod was unpredictable outside the walls of camp half blood, and if there came a time when he wouldn't be around, he wanted to make sure you could fend for yourself.

he took your hand in his, tugging on your arm to pull you closer. once you were close enough, he wrapped an arm around you and placed his chin on the top of your head. "i know you can."

there was a silence that fell upon the two of you after that. the two of you sat there beside each other for a beat before you spoke again, "do you think they will ever change?"

"no," luke answered honestly. "we are not their children. we're soldiers to them."

as time passed, the truer those words became. he watched his friends, his siblings, return as a shell of themselves after their quest. he often wondered when he'd be called for his, though he was in no rush. some people were gone for weeks, months, sometimes years, and he couldn't fathom being apart from you for that long.

as he snapped out of his thoughts, you laced your fingers with his, "i'd love to join. i miss your siblings."

luke laughed, "they miss you too. i'm no longer their favorite now that i'm head counselor."

"that's because you never let them have fun," you joked, "fun is good. in moderation."

"hermes kids don't understand the word moderation."

"true," you giggled, running your finger across his knuckles. "chiron is looking for you, by the way. said it's urgent."

luke shrugged, placing a kiss on your temple, "i'm sure it can wait. wanna spend some time with you after finishing up. feels like i haven't seen you in ages."

"we just had breakfast and lunch together, luke," you cocked an eyebrow teasingly, though your grip on his hand tightened. "can't get enough of me?"

"you know the answer to that," he hummed, not deterred by your tone. he never kept it a secret that he'd follow you to the ends of the world if you asked. "but we haven't gotten time with just us two in a while. would like to be able to kiss my girlfriend without campers saying ew."

"the ew's don't seem to bother you that much because you do it anyway."

luke stopped, untangling your fingers so he could hold your face in his hands. he placed a long kiss on your lips, one that left you breathless. "like you said, i can't get enough of you."

iii. the king

the waters were rough tonight. princess andromeda rocked harshly against the current, but luke remained unmoving at the front of the ship. he stared out into the dark waters, thinking back on the memories he had left. kronos was slowly chipping away at all of them, but he held tightly on certain ones because he didn't want to forget.

all of the memories were of you-- the way your skin flushed red after hours training in the arena, the way your hair fell in a tangled mess when you let your hair down, the sound of your laughter when he kissed your neck and his curls tickled your skin. these were things he would fight to remember.

luke thinks a fate more cruel than death would be to forget you.

tomorrow would mark a year since he left camp half blood to lead kronos' army, a year since he last saw you. it seemed trivial to him now to think about the 'what-if's' of his quest, thinking about all that time he would spend without you, only to have it happen anyway. only this time, he knew for certain he wouldn't return again.

life on the ship was vastly different from camp half blood. luke never thought that he'd miss the boring routine, but he did. the only thing that stayed the same was that he remained in power. in camp half blood, he was respected, seen as the leader of the pack. and here, the same can be said. he was kronos' right hand, and until the titan was able to attain his physical form, luke was in charge.

he was the captain of the ship. he was the king. he would bring glory to the demigods.

in the distance, a faint light appeared. luke squinted as he tried to make out the object slowly coming closer. he turned to enter the ship, the room falling silent when he opened the door.

"there's something out there."

chris stood up, approaching luke. he was the only one who dared to address him and luke preferred it that way. chris was his brother. he didn't know the rest of them well.

chris cleared his throat, "we just got word from someone on the inside that they're sending some people to attack us."

"so that's what's out there," luke clenched his jaw, "who did they send?"

"percy, annabeth," chris gulped, "and y/n."

for a moment, luke's demeanor faltered. were you really on your way to fight him? is that what your relationship had come to? luke bit his tongue, trying to control his emotions. he crossed his arms across his chest, "change course now."

another one of the demigods stood up, a puzzled expression on his face, "what? there's only three of them. they're outnumbered. we can take them."

"did i stutter?" luke snarled, "i said change course."

"it doesn't make sense to. changing course will set us back at least. a day!"

"are you in charge?" luke questioned. in his heart, he knew he would pay for this later on. once kronos hears that luke changed the plans without his knowledge, he would suffer but he thinks that whatever torture kronos has in store for him would be less painful than seeing you again.

you were fighting the same war, but you stood on different sides. it was something luke still had trouble coming to terms with.

the boy shook his head, cowering in fear as he made his way out of the room to relay luke's orders to the others. luke turned around and pinched the bridge of his nose before walking back out to the front of the ship. he held onto the railing as the ship turned right, his body jerking with the motion. he always did seem to lose his composure when it came to you. as the ship sailed away, he watched the light he saw in the distance fade into the darkness.

[freak-accident419]

we might be dead by tomorrow

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

Summary: Because everyone seemed to fail him, Derek Danforth decided to call you up to kill Mr. Clay. You are an assassin that had an intimate, yet complicated relationship with Derek in the past, sharing a bittersweet history together. You realize that you’re going against a Beekeeper, and felt obligated to spend one last night with your old lover, as this mission doesn’t guarantee your survival. But you’d do anything for him—even if it meant dying for him.

WC: 4.4k

Content: 18+ smut, MDNI, gender neutral reader, unspecified genitals for reader (vague penetration), more plot than porn tbh, cursing, smoking, drinking, mentions of death, slight spoilers for The Beekeeper but nothing too drastic

(A/n: Thank you guys for showing me so much support lately. I hope you guys enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it :) love you all !!)

-

You raised your glass to your lips, letting the rich, smooth liquid of scotch graze your tongue and go down your throat seamlessly after your brief sip.

You look at the man behind the office desk in front of you. It wasn’t like you haven’t seen him in a ridiculously long time, probably just for a couple of months to a year, more or less. But you never got tired of looking at him when you could. He was an incorrigible asshole, but his beautiful, hazel eyes would convey otherwise. He was an immoral, selfish dick, but the way his lips formed into a smile could convince anybody with basic cognition that he was an angel.

The silence was awkward, indubitably because of the complicated past you shared, but the eye contact really wasn’t—if anything, it was subtly bittersweet. And instead of being at his office inside Danforth Enterprises, you were at his office inside his mansion, which already revealed the secrecy and urgency of his request: he wanted you to kill for him again.

“Nobody has a name for this guy, no leads, no info, no nothing, he is off the fucking grid,” he explained to you sternly. “I was gonna make fuckin’… Wallace fix shit up, but his incompetent fucking men keep failing me, so—”

“You’re taking manners into your own hands and your last resort was hiring me? After, like, months of radio silence from me?”

He perked up at your words, then nodded, taking a lazy sip of his drink. “Precisely.”

“Okay,” you nodded accordingly. It was second nature, instantly agreeing to something this morbid, but you were an assassin after all, and Derek had hired you quite frequently in the past to take care of things. It was actually how you two initially met and eventually became intimate through—for a while, at least. “What’re you offering?” You ask, taking a cigarette out from one small box in your pocket.

“One million,” he answered briefly. However, you scoffed in disbelief, which almost immediately gained a perplexed reaction from him. “What?”

“Let’s go over the facts,” you begin, leisurely crossing your legs by resting your ankle onto your other knee. “This guy burned down your thirty million dollar call center. He could’ve definitely been related to the goddamn gas station explosion, killed all the guys you sent, and you were the last to hear from Garnett before he died at the hands of this man.” You took out your lighter and placed the cigarette in your mouth. “This guy is fucking intense. He is out for blood, your blood, Derek. It looks like he’s going to kill anyone who gets in his way, and if that’s gonna be me, I expect a higher fucking payment.” Your voice was slightly raised at the end of your sentence as you lit your cigarette, taking a long drag.

Derek sighed as he realized that you had a point. You always did, actually, in fact, he nearly always obeyed you. It was like you were the only person who could control that firecracker of a man. “Fuck… Fucking fine. Three million.”

You give a smug smile, blowing out the smoke from your drag and letting your cigarette rest between your fingers once you moved it out of your mouth. “See how easy that was?” You tease cheekily, seeing his brows knit in impatience and exasperation. You pursed your lips before asking, “What’s this guy’s deal anyway? Like, what do you know about him so far?”

Derek huffed with agitation. “Fuck, I don’t know, he… He just fucks around with all my shit, apparently he’s a-a fuckin’ beekeeper, and—”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes widen, heart practically racing as you heard those words come out of his mouth. Was it purely coincidental, or…

“What?” He asked as he noticed how exceedingly pale your face went. You never had this expression on your face, at least not in front of him. You were always seen by him as perpetually unafraid, but in this very moment, you seemed to be unusually apprehensive. “Fuck, Y/n, what is it?”

“Did you say he was a beekeeper?” You inquired silently, fidgeting with your fingers.

“Yeah, that’s the only fucking thing we know about him. Why?” Derek seemed to appear gruff and utterly pissed on the outside, but internally and authentically, he was fundamentally solicitous, especially for you. Why were you, if anything, afraid?

“Yeah, that can’t be a fucking coincidence,” you mumble thoughtfully to yourself as you take an anxious drag from your cigarette. “The Beekeepers is some kind of secret organization, completely off the goddamn grid that consists of professionally trained assassins. And let me tell you, Danforth, these guys are hard-fucking-core. You thought I was terrible? These guys are fucking worse,” you stress, waving your cigarette around as the trail of smoke followed your hand gestures. “If this guy is a part of them, then holy shit, the both of us are dead.”

Derek processes your words, however only growing antsy and disgruntled. “So what? You can handle another fucking cocksucker. I know you, your skills are off the charts.”

“Hey, I know myself more than anybody does, including you. And I know that I have a very advanced skillset, but maybe not as advanced as fucking Beekeepers. Look, Danforth, I will definitely put up a fight, but this man could definitely—”

“Y/n, you’re the best fucking assassin I fucking know, just—just do the fucking job,” he demanded relentlessly, displeased with your insistent, yet assertively spoken doubt.

You glared at him with agitation for a few seconds, before speaking again.

“Five million,” you state bluntly.

“What?”

“Five fucking million, Danforth. If you want me to kill this man, let alone a fucking beekeeper, I expect higher pay,” you argue tactfully.

You sense a sort of irked frustration in him, his face contorted, teeth gritting behind his closed lips, and dark eyes, in which you’ve seen on several previous occasions.

“Goddamnit, Y/n, he’s just another fucking guy! Just, fuck, snipe him if you have to, or whatever,” he insisted tiredly. “You’re the best killer I know. This guy doesn’t have shit on you, just—”

“Danforth, I’m not a hundred percent sure that I’ll come back from this mission alive, so five million or no deal!” You exclaimed, trying to emphasize how dangerous this job would be.

“Jesus! Fuck! Fine!” he conceded aggressively, leaning back in his chair. “Five million it is,” he grumbled.

You feel your eyes soften and your eyebrows relax pleasantly the moment you heard those words. You grinned mischievously, taking another drag from your cigarette. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Derek rolled his eyes in response, displeased by the amount of money he was going to give you just to kill one guy.

“Sure, whatever,” he replies lazily. “I trust you, so whoever—”

You scoffed amusedly, interrupting him. “You shouldn’t,” you say.

“What?” He was extremely baffled as he heard your response.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” you repeat.

“Umm, okay, and why-why the fuck not?” Derek was frustratingly oblivious, too ignorant to comprehend the contentious situation between you two that resulted in a long period of desolated avoidance.

“You are aware that I have tried to kill you, yes?”

A piercing silence.

It was true, unfortunately. Back when you were constantly doing jobs for Derek, an anonymous hire suddenly offered more than $80 million for you to assassinate him. Back then, you were marginally involved with Derek in an intimate setting. You worked for him as his executioner, and soon enough, your charm led to you sleeping together on several occasions and exchanging some sweet kisses and words, alongside the establishment of affectionate pet names. What hurt the most about it was that it was all authentic, his feelings and yours. However, you were weak and selfish and overall blinded with greed. Eighty million was drastically more than any amount you were ever hired with. So you took up the offer to assassinate President Jessica Danforth’s young, foolish son.

You were going to pull the trigger once your eyes locked on the target, but the second you did, you missed, causing severe lockdowns and the anticipated presence of the secret service. And when it all died down, Derek caught you with his own eyes as you attempted to escape, yet shockingly, he let you go. And you barely kept in contact ever again—until now.

“It—It doesn’t matter, Y/n, okay, I don’t see you pointing a gun at my head anymore, so it’s all in the past, alright?” He raised his glass to his lips, drinking the remaining bourbon (he preferred it more than scotch).

“Wh—? Okay, why the fuck are you so calm about it? I tried to kill you, don’t you understand that?” You stressed, continuing to frustratingly watch his nonchalant reaction to you.

He set his glass back down on the table, not even bothering to put it on the actual coaster, which was literally just about an inch away. “It’s because I know you, Y/n. I know that you’re the best fucking assassin I’ve ever hired and you never miss a shot. You’re, like, completely flawless at what you do. And because you’re that perfect at it, it amuses me that you missed when you had such a clear shot at me.” You glared at him as he spoke, plainly vexed.

“You were fucking afraid,” he continued, making you huff in disbelief. “You didn’t wanna kill me. Sure, eighty million seemed promising, but it didn’t live up to the sex and passionate admiration we had for each other. I trust you because I know now that if you were offered all the diamonds and golds in the entire fucking world, you still wouldn’t kill me for any of it.”

You hated how much this was true. You couldn’t kill him if you had the chance. Which was what mainly pissed you off, because he had to be the most annoying, arrogant, egotistical bastard you knew. And yet, you had a soft spot for him. And he had a soft spot for you. You were way too fond of him.

You sigh afterwards, knowing that he was completely right, whether you’d like it or not. “Well… Okay, do you trust me when I say that there is no guarantee that I’m coming back alive—”

“Goddamnit, Y/n, enough about this!” Derek interjected. “I trust that you’ll get the job done—”

“Danforth, I—”

“You know my name,” he snarled. “Use it.”

You groan impatiently, unabashed. “Okay, Derek, well as I said, The Beekeepers is a very elite organization. There is a reason why this guy was able to take down all your men at UDG—”

“It’s because they were fucking incompetent! You, howev—”

“Holy shit, Derek, just shut up for once!” You blurt. “If I don’t make it out alive, then what are you gonna do? Hm?”

“You’re… Y/n, you are going to make it out alive,” he grumbled, tired of your claims.

“Derek, I swear to fucking god—”

“If he fucking kills you, I’ll make sure to rain fucking hell on that bastard and the whole fucking Beekeeper organization itself. Okay?”

And it was clear that he was still so very fond of you.

You gave a slight chuckle, putting out your cigarette on a nearby ashtray. Your hands clasped together in front of you on the surface of the wooden desk, which was also presented in front of him. And so suddenly, Derek placed his hands over yours, lightly grazing the back of your hands and fingers with his fingertips and palms. It was comforting, to say the least, as well as nostalgic.

“I missed you,” you muttered softly, watching the two of your hands fidget with each other, soft, warm skin moving against coarse, cold skin.

“I’ve missed you too,” he mumbled, watching your hands on the table until he moved his eyes up to yours.

“You can deny it all you want, Derek, but I’m not going to get out of this alive or untouched,” you say in the silence of the room.

“I don’t want to believe that,” he simply replied, not wanting to accept the clear reality.

“Well, when you see my obituary in the papers, you’re gonna have to,” you articulate softly as his thumb rubs against yours.

He scoffs in disbelief. “As I said, you’re the best assassin I know. You can easily take out this stupid fucking asshole.” You nod modestly. “I’m serious!”

“Derek, are you trying to flatter me?” You raise an eyebrow with a light chuckle, watching his face gradually turn rosy.

“No, I’m—I’m just pointing out the fuckin’ facts,” he claimed.

“Well… Just in case this is going to be our last night together—”

“It’s not.”

“Well, hypothetically, if—”

“It’s not.”

“Derek!” You exclaim, laughing afterwards. “Just… All I want is for us to spend one night together, as if it’s our last. C’mon, Derek… Let me take care of you.”

It took a short while for him to process your proposal, until he gently held onto your hands to bring them to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Okay. Fine,” he answered indifferently. However, you knew that he had a soft spot for you.

***

His gentle, soft lips moved with yours as his rough hands gripped your sides tenderly. It’s been months since you’ve been like this with him, extremely vulnerable with each other physically, ever since your attempt to assassinate him caused mere estrangement. Your back was against the cushiony mattress, your hands cupping his face as your tongue began to clash with his, nearly gracefully as the familiarity of his taste burdened your mouth. The nostalgia creeped behind your mind until it penetrated your brain, making you remember all the ways he used to touch you and pleasure you. But in this very moment, he and you were taking your time with each other. To feel the warm, soft skin against fingertips and fingernails that one another missed.

“You should’ve stopped this when I told you to,” you nearly whispered after you pulled away from his lips, while your eyes explored his hazel irises once again.

He seemed to have no care, or at least no reaction, tucking his head down to nip at your sensitive neck, leaving soft kisses along your throat. “My mom probably wouldn’t have won the presidential election without it,” he remarked, lips trailing up from your collarbone to your jaw.

You scoff silently, moving your hands behind his head to tangle his bleached curls in your fingers. “I’m sure she had it all under control. She’s a remarkable woman,” you reply, feeling his lips against yours again, feeling him tug on your bottom lip right before pulling away again.

“Sure, yes, but… you’ve seen the shitty stats… Without the money we earned, she probably wouldn’t be sitting cozy in the damn White House.” Derek was very persistent about his role and reasons for the continuous phishing scam.

“Well… It doesn’t even matter,” you sigh dismally. “You didn’t stop when I warned you, and now look, you’ve got a whole fucking Beekeeper after you.” Your voice was heavy in disappointment and shame. You couldn’t believe that your old lover would possibly meet his demise if you aren’t proficient enough in your mission.

“Y/n. C’mon. We’ve got it all under control,” he affirmed, pressing some reassuring kisses all over your face. “You just have to kill this one dickhead, and things will go back to the way they were.”

Your eyes meet again, feeling your heart race for a split second as you felt utterly captivated by his beauty and concealed love for you. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” you lamented under your breath.

The way his eyes gazed into yours had communicated something you never thought he would ever have: regret. “I know,” he mumbles as you kiss again, a more passionate and accelerated movement that you sensed was becoming intense.

He took off his blazer, throwing it somewhere down on the floor as you discard your jacket. The two of you could barely separate from each other for too long, so you would desperately kiss each time a new article of clothing is removed. You lift off your shirt and Derek goes down on you again to kiss at your neck once more, leaving hickeys on your collarbone and tracing his lips down to your chest. He looks up at you with affection, kissing your lips once again until he would remove his own shirt.

He cradled your face, crashing his lips onto your passionately, instantly moving his tongue with yours through parted lips. “Everything that we had…” you began in a small whisper between ardent kisses. “Was it all real? Or was it just a way for us to…. to blow off steam? To feel something?”

“No, no, no,” he breathed as you could feel his hand sensibly caress your bare sides. “You’re fucking everything to me.”

Essentially, you were terrified. You knew that eventually, you two were going to lose each other. That’s why you were taking time with this, making sure to not take even a millisecond for granted. And deep down, Derek knew that you were right and that there was no certain guarantee that you could kill the Beekeeper. So he cherished this moment with you. Because in the end, he really loves you.

It was never said out loud, but the two of you loved each other immensely. After years of knowing each other, working together, the ‘one-night-stands’ with ‘no strings attached,’ you two fell for each other faster than the bodies that you shot for him. You were practically the only person he could be stable and decent around. It was always seen through abruptly softened eyes at even the smallest mention of your name.

Once you two were completely naked, your bare bodies attached to each other throughout each deep kiss. His hands graciously moved up and down the skin of your waist as your fingers lost itself in his soft hair, bodies radiating warmth against the other.

His eyes locked with yours, and there was some kind of poignant, desperation in them, looking at you as if you were going to disappear the moment he looked away. “Promise me you’ll come back from this mission alive,” he commanded softly in the cold silence of the room.

“I’ve told you already, Derek,” you sigh wistfully. “He’s a few more steps ahead of me.”

There was something almost so pathetic and contradictory about his distraught mannerisms. “Then I give you full permission to abort,” he proposed, “when things get too risky. If you seriously think you’re going to get killed, then forget about the entire fucking mission, forget about me, okay?”

“You know I can’t do that.” You stroke his hair tenderly between your fingertips, pushing his curls away from disorder. “It’s either go with the mission or not at all. There’s no point in getting myself into deep shit just to abort.”

The man sighed as he knew you were right, again. But also… “I don’t care,” he blurts. “I don’t fucking care. You can go as far as you’d like with him, but when shit hits the fan, I need you to at least beg for mercy, get on your fucking knees if you have to. I need you to get out of the situation immediately, Y/n, okay? I can’t lose you. Shit, I can’t fucking lose you, okay, not again.”

Your heart sank.

He really did care for you.

“Do you love me?” You ask quietly.

The hesitation in his response would give the impression that he had to think about your question, but the truth was that he always knew—he always knew the answer. He loved you, indisputably.

“Yes,” he answered silently. Then, with more confidence, “I love you. I love you so much that I cannot afford to lose you. I can’t fucking lose you. I just got you back, you can’t leave me again.”

A small smile appeared at the corner of your lips. “I’m still here, my marmalade,” he shivered pleasantly at your use of your old, affectionate nickname for him. “And I love you too. All of me is here for you. That’s the point of all this.”

After a shared, enamored look, his lips attached to yours, and the two of you couldn’t help but whimper as you felt the aching head of his cock begin to enter you, already stretching you with his size. It wasn’t until his length was pushed fully inside you, making your breath hitch as the warm, complete feeling had sparked bittersweet memories of the two of you doing this together in the past. Most of the times they were faster-paced and rougher. But this? It was all foreignly vanilla to you; this was straight-up making love at its fibrous roots.

Your face was flushed, feeling tingly as he slowly began to move in and out, his hands hooked under your shoulders in a grip as you held his forearms, locking his legs down with your own. He kissed your lips softly, then down to your neck as his thrusts slowly increased, putting all his weight on you as your chests were pressed against each other.

The two of you let out soft moans once every overlapping feeling intensified, breath quickening every snap of Derek’s hips. You moved your hand to the back of his head, tangling his hair in your fingers again as you deepened the kiss, the two of you only parting to breathe.

“Fuck,” he rasped, sinking into you deeper. Your bodies were so close together, nearly merging as you felt each passionate thrust filling you up. “You feel as good as I remembered.” You let his head be buried into your neck as you felt him gently nip the skin, your fingers still wrapped in his curls and you let your eyes rest, completely indulging in the pleasure he offered. “You were right,” Derek breathed softly. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

You raise an eyebrow at his remark. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because I don’t even want you to do this job anymore. If I’m gonna die because I’ll end up not hiring you, then so be it,” Derek husked, continuing to move inside you, making your fleshy walls flutter in exhilaration. “At this point, I’d rather have me die than you.”

You stutter out a quiet moan as you feel his movements quicken. “Damn. The sex is that good?” You joked, letting out a breathy chuckle.

He rolled his eyes playfully and snickered lowly. “Yes, the sex is that good,” he reciprocated, mumbling in your lips as he thrusted artfully.

It was like he was no longer selfish with it anymore. Sure, the sex you had in the past with him had equally distributed pleasure, but you would find him focusing on his own release sometimes. However, in this very moment, you could tell that he moved generously and patiently, fucking you carefully—‘fucking,’ however, seemed like a more aggressive approach to describe what was happening, which was plainly the opposite of everything entirely; this was pure lovemaking.

You felt yourself tighten around him as he increases his pace, lips no longer focused on kissing you, but driving the two of you to your release. His cock pushed faster and deeper, in and out, his throat withdrawing stuttered, low grunts and loud, quick breaths. You felt a knot in your stomach, your gut stirring in anticipation. “F-fuck,” he murmured as you felt his hot breath on the side of your face. “Y/n, I’m close.”

Your desperate panting became louder as your legs locked down on his even tighter, threatening to bend further. He lifts his head back up to make eye contact with you, seeing the other’s heated faces and loving gaze. “M-me too, baby.”

He kissed your lips deeply once again, thrusting into you at a rhythm that began to falter, quickening with every soft moan you crooned, repeatedly muttering his name with yearn.

Your cries had crescendoed, hearing desperate, higher-pitched grunts escaping Derek’s pretty mouth, as your bodies stayed warm against each other, building sweat from the intensity’s heat. The sound of skin slapping against skin amplified, wet, squelching noises emitting from each fast action of slipping in and out. You felt an overwhelming feeling of pleasure, feeling yourself come closer to your orgasm as your thighs begin to twitch and body begin to ache. It’s almost like you can’t breathe, the way his length fills you up perfectly and caresses your walls sensually.

“D-Derek, I—” Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head, but you shut them once you feel your lips attached to his. “I’m—fuck—I’m cumming!” You announce, feeling the entirety of your body tense up, already feeling the sensitivity you would feel post-orgasm.

“Hold on, baby, just wait a little longer for me, that’s good, that’s it, fuck,” he breathed frantically, nearly praising your patience and obedience. Derek’s moans becomes louder, practically in unison with yours, and he moaned out your name passionately once the two of you finally came together. Your voice cracks as you call him, hips jolting as you release, feeling yourself become fragile once you clench around him more intensely, back nearly arching in ecstasy. With one last slam of his hips, he came deeply inside you, spilling his warm cum through enraptured and euphoric spurts, making yourself feel entirely filled as his hips remained against yours, cock still utterly inside of you.

The two of you caught your breaths, just to kiss each other again, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck. Because once all the euphoria slowly died down, you remembered the reality of everything: you or him were going to die at the hands of a compulsive vigilante, and not everything you had together was going to last forever.

His head was buried in your neck, placing lazy pecks on it as the two of you held each other comfortably and safely.

“I just got you back,” he muttered. You were the only person that Derek was the most vulnerable around. “I don’t want to lose you again. Please be careful.”

“You know me,” you reassure softly, disregarding everything you had warned him about. You knew you couldn’t stand a chance against this man. But you’d do it anyway, for Derek. “I’ve killed over fifty men throughout my entire job. I’ve got this.”

Suddenly, he remembered everything you said about the Beekeeper, and how you even doubted yourself and your abilities. “But, you said—”

“Forget what I said,” you interrupt. “I’ve got a real drive to kill him, okay, and that’s you. As long as I have you in my head, he doesn’t stand a chance.” You hated lying to him. But at this point, it wasn’t even about the five million dollars or him hiring you at that; it was about protecting him.

“Are you sure? Because you were very persistent—”

You shut him up with a sweet, deep kiss. “Don’t you worry about it, my marmalade. I’ll take care of it.” You lied straight through your tender, flushed lips that he kissed back.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

[dropoutconfessions]

I feel uncomfortable with the way people talk about Evan Kemlp. All of the sad shit that people get horny over is stuff that hurt him. I sometimes want to say "You'll masterbate over him but you won't accept him."

Maybe I'm strawmanning a little but the same people who will deride manic pixie dream girls (rightfully) will turn around and do the same with a traumatised boy just instead going "I can fix him."

The thing that sticks out to me is the butt discussion. Of course he has a long back. Do you all know how much work it takes nutrition and exercise wise to look a certain way? Evan is neither interested nor doing that.

And no shade to Aabria or Erika. They're both just playing the game and having fun. Seriously nobody get mad at them. The words "didn't sign up for an assless man" just stuck in my head. Like of course. K had no idea what Evan actually was. It worries me that a lot of the people who are big Evan Kelmp stans are like this. Just because there are people in the real world who have been through trauma and are not hot and sexy. They still deserve love, empathy, and acceptance and I worry all they're gonna get from you is horniness.

It's fine if you're horny. Just ask yourself if you're accepting.

And for the record, you can want people to heal and to improve but you also should be accepting. Will you look at a badly healed elbow and just comfort someone when it hurts. Will you look at calloused feet that he would have regularly gotten athletes foot on because he had no shoes and not judge him now. Will you see roughed up skin on his knees from them being grazed one too many times after a fight at the gas station and think he shouldn't have had to go through that but he did and he survived and then appreciate his presence. Will you see random bruises on his torso or scars from emergency surgeries because as a kid he didn't get healthcare until he was dying and be empathetic. Or will everything you have just be pity and horniness?

-

[etraytin]

Just a note to let all the moots and buddies know that my family and I are safe and well after several days completely incommunicado after Helene. I admit to a certain amount of personal arrogance before the storm; I spent all of Thursday working a Red Cross shelter in Swannanoa (Western North Carolina was flooding even before Helene made landfall) and went home to sleep, confident that I would be largely unaffected there and come back to help the actual damaged areas after the storm. I didn’t even fill our goddamned bathtubs, what the hell, past me?

In any case, the storm hit us like the fist of an angry god, and while I was incredibly lucky that my home was spared, the winds caused a huge amount of damage to the power grid, which in turn wiped out water (all wells in my area!) and communications. We were still better off than other more low-lying places, where they got the wind and the water both, to devastating effect. I picked my way carefully back to Swannanoa on Saturday because my entire Red Cross chain of command was a black hole of no comms and this was the last place I’d seen them, but the shelter had been closed and moved because the damage was too extensive. I had to drive around a huge car shed that had been set down in the middle of the highway and past a sinkhole bigger than my van just to get to the place, so it was understandable. The weird thing is, Swannanoa had cell signal so I sat in the parking lot of a closed and washed-out gas station for about an hour just to call our loved ones and try and figure out what had happened to us.

Living in a communications blackout is very interesting and strange. You’d think it would be like rocketing back into the past, but it is not. People had ways of communicating before the internet that have not survived the internet. Radio stations are so rarely local now, and how many of them are actually good at relaying emergency information anymore? The most infuriating of our local stations would offer bumpers promising news and wither, then directing people to their website which we of course could not access. Nobody has landlines anymore to talk on the phone. Even people with “landlines” have digital phones through their cable service, not real telephone lines. Ham radio operators are rarer than hen’s teeth. When I got back from Swannanoa, I walked up and down the very steep hill that is my street, visiting my neighbors and telling them that I had gone to visit the internet and come back with news!

My trip did provide us with an action plan and a route out of town, at least. Only one major road out of Buncombe County was open, and it was the one furthest from us, but we hoped we could do it. Both cars had a third of a tank of gas left, so we picked the one that got better mileage, packed up and crossed our fingers. The evening before we left, we invited all the neighbors over and grilled all the meat in our freezer, now thawed and on the edge of ruin. They brought stuff too and we had chicken, burgers, brats, hot dogs, salmon and shrimp. It was really nice and didn’t break up until dusk when we all had to go home by flashlight. In the morning, we left as soon as it was light, hoping to avoid traffic, and with no maps and a vague idea of where we were going, headed for Charlotte and the modern world. It took us about four hours to go what would have been ninety miles on the normal route, including time waiting in a very long line for gas, but we got to my sister’s house where we got showers and cold drinks and basically just fell into bed.

So that’s how it stands now. We are safe, we are out, we are going back soon even if the power doesn’t come back. The Red Cross still needs me and our house is going to get very yucky all closed up to mildew in the post-storm humidity. We are taking this time to rest up and stock up on supplies and batteries, then it’s back into the void. Please send good wishes our way, and maybe donate to the Red Cross or other orgs working out here because it’s a huge, huge job.

[smittenroses]

"I fear you'll regret this sooner or later." "How could I ever regret falling for you?" with the Oni from DBD since it gives Oni vibes.

— The Heart Yearns and Wants

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Fandom —  Dead by Daylight Pairing — Oni | Kazan Yamaoka Summary — You could never regret falling for the man, even if he was a demon. Content Warnings — angst Word Count — 833

The licks of the fire warmed your skin as you sat in the middle of the car graveyard. The games had begun to grow colder and the games growing longer, killers almost always seeming to scratch some sort of itch when they came across a survivor. Rubbing your gloves along your arms, you tried to seek warmth from the fire that never seemed to be warm.

A cruel illusion, one that had been manifested by the entity, whose eyes you could feel on the back of your head as you watched the blaze dance and weave. There was very little comfort that could exist in the entity’s realm.

“You know,” You muttered, feeling as another pair of eyes joined the fray, their constant anger and hatred for most things that surrounded him being one that made your soul shiver, yet, you knew that you were safe, “You can join me.”

The oni knew that you weren’t the type to break that easy. Tilting your head back to stare at where he stood, watching as the oni stood as still as the ever-lasting night, the staring contest the two of you had every time you met was broken as he shifted his gaze slightly to the right, breaking his direct gaze upon you.

“I already checked, there’s nobody else that should be here, except maybe the Wraith.” He was always hanging around his hunting grounds, anyway, it wasn’t like other places in the realms comforted him more than the little gas station that always seemed to be on Auto Heaven Wrecker’s land, but, it seemed to calm the oni enough, Kazan joining you by the false fire.

The kanabo was strapped firmly to his back, reminding you of what he truly was.

“You played well today,” The Oni finally muttered at last, your head barely meeting the middle of his ribs as he stood beside you, the warrior and the survivor staring at the false sense of hope as it flickered away. You hated going against him every time the two of you would cross in matches, always full of blood and rage and pain, your side still lingered with the pain of the katana, your hand ghosting over the wounds that had long since healed, only gripping fabric as your sweater got in the way.

“Yeah, I did.”

The air fell quiet again, the muttering of the entity still whispering in your ear, even when you tried to ignore it. It was always there, always causing you to fight, to run, to hide, to survive, yet, staring up at the Oni, his mask hiding whatever was left underneath, you let your hand drift up to his neck, brushing along the exposed underside of his chin, feeling the way his skin lit up in goosebumps.

An unusual lover, an unusual companion, your lips formed a thin line as you let your fingers begin to ghost themselves away — Kazan didn’t let you, however, his hand coming to wrap around your wrist and press your fingers back against his inhuman skin, you were able to feel the pulse of anger that simmered underneath the flesh, thundering things through the man’s head that you couldn’t even think of.

“That feels nice.” Touch, warmth, your fingers spread across Kazan’s throat as he turned to face you, your hand so small against his throat, against his collar bone, against his chest as you slowly drew your hand down to place it over where his heart was. Where his heart had once beaten with life. The hand remained firm around your wrist, yet, you could feel the way he lightly drummed his fingers against your pulse.

Counting your heartbeat, your own life force.

You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t help the way your body moved on its own to rest your forehead against Kazan’s chest, to wrap your free hand around his waist as you felt the way his body almost wanted to lean into yours, stopping itself short just before he could commit to it fully. You allowed your body to fully sink into him and all his rage, feeling the way his body shuddered with a breath that he almost forgot how to do.

“You’ll regret this sooner or later,” Kazan muttered, his free hand coming to brush some of your hair from your eyes, watching the holes of the oni’s mask burn brightly with a fire that you knew would never fade, that would never wither, but, that fire seemed to shift slightly from an inferno to comfort as he held you, his voice wavering with emotion that he couldn’t show on his face.

Even if you didn’t say it in words, even if you couldn’t even muster up the courage to say them, they remained on the top of your tongue as you leaned into his hold as he wrapped a firm arm around you.

How could you ever regret falling in love with the one thing that had been good to you in this world?

[whereserpentswalk]

There are cloned soldiers stationed in your city. You've seen warriors from your empires military come to your planet before, but never clones. Clones have a diffrent place in the eyes of society then the rest of the military, there's something a bit creepy about them.

Most of them stay at the edges of the city. They're not socialized to talk to anyone outside of their own ranks, they just stand there, all in the same uniform, lighter armor then anyone else in the military has, and gas masks hiding all of their faces. But there's one who you see walking the streets near your apartment, the trench coat over their little body, the gas mask still covering their face.

You decide to talk to them when they've been wandering around for awhile. You're not sure if you're supposed to. They are carrying a laser gun after all. They're terrible at talking to people, but in a way that's almost cute, they're weirdly excited just to talk to someone. They tell you someone handed them a rose while they were marching, and they couldn't understand why, and that they came here to understand.

You offer to show them around the city for the handful of days they have here. You take them out for lunch, and they eat real meat and real fruit for the first time, and they're so happy to finally feel full. You show them a meusum, and they're so excited to find out so many things about the world that they never knew existed, so many exciting and beautiful things, that the world of the barracks they spend their entire life in made seem impossible. And you take them to a toy store you passed, because they didn't understand what toys were, because they were never a child, and you end up buying a doll for them, which they're weirdly excited for. And even though they were born an adult they got to enjoy that doll for a little bit, and feel what it was like to have the childhood they never got to have.

They got to come over to your apartment at one point. And they took off their gas mask for the first time, and breathed fresh air. And when you saw their face you called them pretty, and they were so happy, because nobody had ever called them pretty before. And when you showed them television they were so mesmerized.

And at some point you cuddled together, you don't know why but you did. And you saw their body, a body built to save of recourses, so small and skinny and completely sexless. But you cuddled them and they seemed happy, they took to affection so enthusiastically, melting in your arms. And you pet the scar from where a laser from an enemy gun hit their leg, and told them they didn't deserve to have that happen to them, and that shouldn't have had to fight.

After a few days they had to leave. They were being deployed somewhere else, to fight some human or alien enemy, somewhere far away on a bleeding battlefield. You don't know what happened to them, you like to think that they ran away because of you, or mabye that they survived a few battles and became high enough in rank to live a comfortable life. But most clones made for the battlefield don't last long, dying so that someone more important they could live. Chances are their life ended in some grey pit, to a laser or a bullet. You hope you could give them some comfort before that happened.

[silyabeeodess]

What headcannons do you have on Derrick Arden? I saw your post while back. What would've happened in an AU, everything is the same, except Derrick lives? What would he do after graduation? Both as a job and in private?

Been a long time since I've talked about anything Kuroshitsuji related! Sadly, with the amount of pull Derrick has at school, I just don't see him changing if he survived. More than likely, he'll follow a victim mentality where he'd think he's completely innocent and would ignore all the abuse he himself has done to other students leading up to Greenhill attacking him and the vice headmaster. The reason Derrick was able to get away with everything he has throughout his life is because he's never had to face any true consequences for his actions up until that point. His only consequences prior were responsibilities he did not earn and then just passed on to other people. Moreover, however strict his family his, they've apparently never caught Derrick in his lies, so not even his parents will punish him properly. They'll more than likely just back Derrick as "their poor son attacked by four prefects gone mad."

The thing is though, despite what all of these students, and people like them in the real world, think... School isn't everything. It's a closed environment that means absolutely nothing except what you take with you once you step out of it. I once had bully who ruled over my first elementary school because her mom was a teacher. Everyone followed her like a bunch of mindless sheep, but the instant we got to high school, those connections broke. At this same school, I had a lunch monitor that was so vile she wouldn't let anyone, not even a student with Down Syndrome, get up from their table to get a fork if they forgot it: We were basically told to eat with our hands or starve. She was eventually fired, not for those actions, but (according to rumor anyway) because she refused to help a student who needed to use a urinary catheter (which she legally could not do). She had to work at a gas station after that, along with receiving some other karma that is so dark a fate that I don't feel comfortable sharing it online. In a school's hierarchy, people like those two women, or Derrick and the vice headmaster, get on a power trip, but the instant they step away from that environment... they're nobody.

What would Derrick take with him when he'd graduate? Knowledge? He never put any effort into his studies. Connections? He's got his small circle of nobles, but the prefects and Derrick's victims are a much bigger one--not to mention they're a part of other powerful families like the Druitts that could both figuratively and literally bury him without anyone batting an eye. The prefects would more than likely end up expelled after the event, but all that free time would just give them plenty of opportunities to build up a grudge and cook up revenge. And when things get tough, chances are, those so-called friends of Derrick's that are just as morally bankrupt and follow him around for money are going to kick him to the side.

Derrick's a noble and the family heir at that, so it's unlikely he'd go for a traditional job. More than likely, as soon as he got out of Weston, his family would start pushing him into more adult social circles and prepare him to take over as the next Marques. Here though is where the true consequences of his actions would take over. Because with the prefects expelled, they'll have likely already been in those same circles. Even if his social standing wasn't destroyed, barring him and potentially his family as a whole from things like business deals or marriages... Derrick would by no means be fit to run his family's household. He'd either drag his entire family to ruin; end up revealing his lies to his parents, who'd then strip him of his status as the heir; or both. Even if his family still keeps him afloat with their wealth, if he doesn't know how to manage it, he'll still end up destitute or dead.

Could he grow after that? Maybe. People can change. However, given how many people he's hurt and the severity of his actions, it's not easy to say that others would be willing to give him a second chance.

[idlestxrs]

Western Nights (Part 1) | Spike Spiegel x Reader

Genre : Angst, Romance, Runaway

Warning(s) : Swearing, Violence, Stalking, Blood, Kidnapping.

Summary : You’re on the run from your small town. Freeing yourself of your religious cult, or so you thought as you caught news they were hunting after you. As you’re on your escape, you run into Spike Spiegel, and once push led to shove you knew you’d never be the same.

Note : This is somewhat inspired by Ethel Cain’s album, Preacher’s Daughter. However it won’t follow that story, just the religious aspects of it. I suggest giving it a listen! It’s a masterpiece.

You had been on the run for what seemed like forever. Long enough to have made it from Nebraska to Texas. Gas stations were your best friend. Only the ones with showers for travelers. You had been saving up money for over a year now to make this bold move, and paying for a stay in a hotel would’ve zapped it all in 3 days.

You found a train station that had tickets straight to California. That’s where you always wanted to go, but the ticket would cost half of your money. Being left with $100 to survive on after getting there didn’t sound very…appealing or manageable. Then again after phoning your friend Nathanial and finding out that people from that cult were hunting you down and planned on hanging you upon bringing you back there, sounded a lot less appealing.

You bit the bullet. “One ticket to California please.” You asked the lady in the booth. You coughed up the money. “The next train won’t be here until 10:30 tonight toots.” The lady spoke, her voice was raspy probably due to all the cigarettes she smoked.

You looked up at the clock…it was only 12:00 in the afternoon. You groaned as you sat down in the lobby with the few belongings you brought with you. You sat back on the wooden bench seating, staring at the grey, cracked ceiling. The place had dim florescent lighting, in reality the sun beaming through the windows did more than the lights themselves.

You couldn’t help but find a strange sense of serenity in it, and sighed. The feeling of being alone was scary yet satisfying at the same time. Nobody to tell you who you should be, but nobody to tell you everything is going to be ok either. Except yourself. You learned a lot about yourself on this journey so far. After everything you’d been through, finally felt content with yourself despite being totally alone. Sure there were people hunting you down, but they always thought you wanted to go to Florida. If anything they’d just lead themselves on the complete opposite end of the country and give up. You realized you could be a lot smarter than what you gave yourself credit for.

Your thoughts eventually blurred together leading you to feel drowsy, passing out on your bag next to you. You weren’t sure how much time went by before getting woken up by a poke on the shoulder. A man with messy black, green tinted hair stood in front of you. As you looked around, you noticed the place had suddenly filled up. Your eyes got a glimpse of the clock…2:00, dammit. You sat up and grabbed your bag, yawning. “Good nap?” The man asked with a slight smile on his face. “Decent.” You responded through another yawn. The man chuckled and spoke once again. “Mind if I take this seat next to you?” You sat your bag on the floor beside you, allowing him to sit. “Not like you had any other options.” You replied, giggling a bit yourself. He shrugged and sat down next to you. “There were some other options, but you seemed like the most pleasant person to sit next to.” He smiled and looked over at you. “So where are you headed?” He inquired. “Somewhere.” You responded dully. You weren’t sure why he’d come be so friendly with you, but your paranoia spiked in this moment. You didn’t want to risk anything at all.

He raised an eyebrow at your response. “Well…I’m headed to California. On my journey to the west! My name’s Spike, by the way. Spike Spiegel.” He shot you a big smile. You smiled back at him. “Y/N. I’m headed to California too.” You weren’t sure why you told him that. Your paranoid mind told you no, but something in your gut spoke for you. He seemed trustworthy. He’d find out you were going to the same place when you boarded the train anyway, so it really didn’t matter if you’d told him or not. Might as well be friendly.

“You know…our train doesn’t get here for another 7 hours.” He said with the hint of an idea in his voice. You hadn’t even realized you both had been talking for an hour straight. “Why don’t we go to the café downtown? It’s only about a 10 minute walk there.” Spike suggested. “Why not. It’s better than sitting and staring at the wall.” You sighed and stood up. As you both walked for the door, Spike sped up and opened it for you. “After you.” He said with cheesy grin on his face. “What a gentleman.” You weren’t as amused as he was, and all he did was laugh. “So, what set your sights on California?” Spike asked you as you both were walking down the brick sidewalk of the small down. Small business to window shop in littered the path to the Cafe, and it was times like these you wish you had more money. “To get away from my small town back in Nebraska.” Spike raised his eyebrow at your response. “Too small of a town for your liking or what?” He inquired. “To get away from the religion I was brought up in. It was cultish and there really wasn’t any other way out then to get shunned out of town, or get murdered before you got shunned. I’d been planning this for years.” You take a deep breath before letting out a deep sigh. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this. I just met you.” You stared at the ground, a feeling of guilt washing over you for suddenly dumping all this on the stranger who was starting to feel like less of one. A look of concern washed over Spike’s face. “Don’t apologize, really! If everyone in your town is like that I doubt you’ve really had the chance to get any of this off your chest to anyone without the fear of it coming back to bite you in the ass later.” He paused for a second, then suddenly his concern turned into shock. “Okay so wait. You ran all the way here to Texas from Nebraska?” All you did was nod, gesturing towards your backpack. “Wow...you’re a really strong willed person. I admire that.” He grinned. For the first time in your life, you felt like someone actually meant what they said about you. For you, and not some fake persona you put up to survive. “I really appreciate that.” Your voice seeped of a deep feeling of gratitude. You smiled back at him, and right after that you were walking up a small set of steps. You had made it to the Cafe. “After you.” Spike held the door open for you again. “Thanks.” You smiled at him again as you walked in. “Spike! It’s great to see you again!” The girl standing in front of the cash register shouted. It made you feel a lot more at ease about Spike considering people in the community liked him. Normally that would be a bad thing. Preacher’s usually were held to high esteem back in your town but were the most evil people in the town, but Spike was obviously a free spirited person. Free spirits that are well-liked are typically amazing people, or whatever that book you read back at home said. “Tabitha!” Spike called out. “Always a pleasure to see you too.” He smiled. “I’ll just get my usual. And whatever my new friend here wants.” He motioned to you and pointed at the menu. “I’ll just get the plain black coffee. It’s cheaper.” You spoke to the bubbly girl taking your order. “Don’t worry about the price, it’s on me.” Spike spoke up. “No. I appreciate it but I’ll pay for my own.” You attempted to convince him, but it really wasn’t any use. “You worked so hard to get here. At the very least you deserve whatever coffee you want. I’ve got plenty of money right now. I insist” He wasn’t going to give this up. “Fine I’ll get the cinnamon latte.” You quietly spoke. “Now that’s more like it.” He gave his signature cheesy grin and a thumbs up. You’d known him for what...4 hours now? Yet you already were familiar with one of his expressions. You’ve always loved cinnamon. It was a flavor that brought a strange sense of comfort to you, and you really needed comfort more than ever. As you both sat down at a table to wait on your coffee, your paranoia was rising for some reason at this moment, and it was written all over your face. “Everything okay?” Spike questioned. He read you like a book. “One thing I didn’t mention is I got word that people from my town were looking for me. I’m just nervous they’ll somehow follow my trail and find me. Apparently they want me dead.” You whispered. He nodded in understanding, and nothing could’ve prepared you for his next words. “Even if they do find you, I won’t let them take you. Trust me.” He looked serious about this. “I might not know you that well yet, but I’ll be damned if I miss the chance to get to know you better. Not only that, but I won’t allow you to go back there to die when you’ve only just started living.” You felt a weird sense of relief somewhat wash over you. You were still on alert, but his words made you feel safe. “I...wow. Thank you, if you really do mean that I’ll make sure I pay you back for this someday.” He chuckled at your response. “You wanna know how you can pay me back, yeah? Live and enjoy your life once you’re free from all this. That’s the only payment I need.”  As Tabitha brought your coffee and you sipped on it, the mixture of the taste of cinnamon and Spike’s words made your eyes sting with tears. Your parents always warned you about strangers, claiming anyone not in the religion was trouble. If Spike was trouble, then trouble you’d get yourself into. The bell ringing from the door of the cafe interrupted your thoughts. A woman in all white, wearing a golden cross necklace walked in. Standing next to a man in a white suit, wearing the same necklace. You felt yourself get nauseous. You stared into Spike’s eyes with panic. “What’s u-” You cut him off by shushing him. “They’re looking for me. I know them.” You whispered in a panic. Luckily where you were both sat, you weren’t immediately visible upon walking in. “What do we do?” You were clearly shaken up, not really able to think. “Do you trust me?“ Spike whispered. You didn’t totally trust him yet, but it was either trust him or risk using your own thinking, which wasn’t really rational right now. “Yes.” You responded, and he nodded. He stood up, throwing his coat over him and motioning you to stand in next to him. He untied a string and it dropped the rest of the jacket. Was this guy a spy or something? It covered your legs, and he pulled you in close to him. You were hidden by just a piece of fabric in a dream. You prayed this would go well, but quickly realized how ironic that thought was. “Hey Tabitha! I’m ready for my shift. Where should I hang my coat up?“ You saw Spike wink, and Tabitha got the hint. “Just take it in the back!” She responded, as she then greeted the two people you desperately were trying to avoid. Spike walked into the back and left you back there as he put an apron on, making sure he blended into the role until they left. He gave you a brief hug and whispered, “It’ll be okay,” before walking back up into the front. You awkwardly sat in the back as you eavesdropped. “Have either of you seen this person on the side of this milk carton? This is my cousin.” The posh lady spoke up. You knew she was talking about you. “I haven’t. I’m so sorry.” Tabitha spoke up. “Well, someone saw them come in here today...” The posh man spoke up. “We asked someone, and they swore up and down...” He was gritting his teeth. “Well I hate to break it to you, but even if this person was here today, they’re gone by now.” Spike had a stern tone in his voice. “And you won’t speak to us like that.” You heard the two looking for you gasp. “Who are you to speak to us in such a fashion?” The woman spoke. “The same person who’s kicking you out of this cafe for talking to us the same way. Scram.” Spike demanded. You heard Tabitha gasp. You hated not being able to see what was going on up there. “You’ll learn not to speak to us like that again boy.” The man spat. “Go ahead and pull the trigger. We’ll see what God thinks of that.” Spike retorted. You felt sick to your stomach hearing a gun got pulled. “Let’s see who meets him first.” You peeked and saw Spike holding a gun to the man now. It was a stand off. “What’s the sour face for?” Spike taunted. “Do it. I fucking dare you.” Right before the man fired his gun, Spike ducked and popped back up, putting a bullet between the man’s eyes. The woman with him screamed. Luckily for them, nobody else was in the cafe. She bolted out of the cafe and a car screeched down the road. “The coast is clear.” Spike called out to you. Tabitha was locking up the cafe doors. “We’ll need to clean this up somehow.” Her breathing was all over the place. It was as intriguing to you as it was odd that Spike was calm. Blood was all over the floor. After what felt like hours of cleaning, there was no sight blood had even been here. Tabitha said she “knew a guy” who could take care of the body for them, and so you and Spike made your way back to the train station. “How were you so calm during all of that?” You blurted out. “Inside I was a nervous wreck, I just know how to not show it.” Spike sighed. “In reality I’m still shaken up too, but hey. Better him than you, right?” He patted you on the back. One hour was left until the train would be arriving. You had fallen asleep again, Spike allowing you to use his shoulder as a pillow. The nap was short-lived however, Spike was waking you up. “Hey, it’s time to board the train. Sit next to me, yeah?” He smiled. You weren’t going to leave his side now. He just killed for you. It would be downright cruel to tell him no. He let you sit on the inside next to the window. It was dark out, but you still stared out of the window at all the dimly lit sights. “Hey...I’ve got a question for you.” Spike broke the silence. “What is it?” You turned around and looked at him. “Wanna go see the west with me?” He smiled at you as he asked. “I’m not exactly sure what you mean.” You responded awkwardly. “What I mean is why not come travel with me? Stick by each other’s side, you know? After everything that happened today, something doesn’t feel right making this train ride the last time we see each other.” He looked down at the floor for a minute before looking back up at you, staring into your eyes. Your shaken up mind was screaming no, but your heart and gut were telling you to accept his offer. After a life of listening to your mind, it was time to start listening to your gut and your heart. Those were the things that gave you the nerve to run away in the first place. If you listened to your mind, you’d still be in Nebraska. You nodded as you spoke, not breaking eye contact with the man who had proven himself to you as someone you could trust. I mean, come on. He did just kill someone for you. “I agree. I can’t imagine this just being some one off moment with a stranger after everything that just...happened.” He smiled, not one of his cheesy ones, but a soft one. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m looking forward to getting to know you even more.” You both stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds longer before chuckling awkwardly, turning to look back out of the window. You felt yourself getting sleepy, and as your head fell back to your seat, Spike caught you with his arm, gently moving you to lean against his shoulder instead. Eventually he let out a yawn, his head resting on top of yours as you both fell asleep on the train ride to California. After two days of travel, Spike was once again waking you up. You’d finally arrived in California. You sprung awake in excitement and held onto Spike’s arm. You didn’t really seem to realize you’d been doing it, and he didn’t really seem to mind, so you both walked off the train like this. “We’re actually here I can’t believe it!” You squealed. Spike led you both to a place to rent a car, then soon after pulled up to a hotel. After checking in, you both went up to your room. Two queen sized beds and finally some good air conditioning. You hadn’t slept on a bed in weeks, but you were too excited to sleep right now. “Can we go and explore?” You asked him. He happily nodded and you both ran out into the town, admiring all the city lights. However the part of you that explored back home kicked in and managed to find a quiet spot on a trail. You sat down, and Spike sat next to you. Staring up at the stars. “Look at those starts, it’s like they make a rose.” You were in awe at how pretty the sky was here too, just like back at home. “That one looks like a lion.” Spike chuckled. You both sat and admired the stars for hours, talking about whatever came to mind. Neither of you knew when it happened, but Spike’s arm was around you and you were leaning into him. “I finally feel like I’m living.” You sighed out in a relived and content way. “That’s what I like to hear.” He pulled you into him a little closer and you both kept soaking in the beautiful night sky above you.

[wolfspiders-web]

Green Hell, Act 2

Act 1 is here

tumblr is a functional hellsite

Edge of Civilization

A common stereotype of the people who choose to live in the Verdant is that they're all poor and tech-adverse, considering the most hi-tech thing a compound may use outside of their vehicle(s) might be a radio broadcast station, but in reality they just prefer to jerry-rig and tinker. They're masters of the art, though personal safety need not always apply. A cheap method of travel for bored greenkids is the logbike, or its longer cousin the logbus. Essentially an engine, two or three wheels, and a method of steering, it's perfect on the long straight roads of the Verdant. Braking often requires extra stopping footpower from all riders involved. This is not to say they stay completely clear of the megacities. Many who live close by will commute, either daily for work, or less often to the tune of just a few times a month for basic amenities and groceries. Scattered gas stations double as grocery stores, stocked by bulk buyers with a little bit of everything, and the ones who live further out will visit these instead of the cities themselves. For travellers, there's at least one basic motel between each megacity. On their rare excursions outside of the Verdant these survivalists are well-known for buying expensive, high-quality products that will last years and either be passed down or are known for being easily repaired. If you end up stranded on a trip many communities in the Verdant will open their hearth and homes; after all, survival is a Group Effort and working together is especially important outside of the cities. They can work around any vehicle problem you throw at them and it will last just long enough for you to get to a repair shop; nobody knows how they do it. Chances are high you'll even learn some new skill to take to your destination, and depending on their reason for travel sometimes people just decide to stay permanently. But if you try to harm them and theirs? Well. They won't often get their own hands dirty over it, but there are worse things that live in the war-torn wilds than a bunch of scattered survivalists. Travel carefully.

While I am a fan of nuclear wastelands, I love the trope of nature's beauty hiding lethal dangers so I wanted a different type of green hell for my post-apoc setting. The "wilds" are actually very healthy and green (in most areas, there are some funky dead zones very comparable to the Red Forest), but filled with a metric fuckton of Old-World dangers, many of which can't be seen or sensed outside of special tools.

The further you stray from the roads, the more likely you are to never see them again. c:

[pezpenser205]

being a system and cutting off people im incompatible with as the new host just feels weird. bc i supposedly know that guy and Someone in here cares about him but like. i dont??? wanna??? like i didnt even really know that guy and i didnt like him at all but adam was supposedly still friends with him but it was weird to stay friends with him because hes someone i logically would just dislike and am incompatible with so why tf would i lie and pretend to be his friend. coming back to our socials and seeing the State Of It All and being pissed off that i was gone for this long and just left it to rot in misery. i shouldve been here to post about things i care about. why was i not here. why did i not put a stop to this. why did my brain let a literal joyless parasite that was more scared of loss than eternal unhappiness rule my world for half a year. being a system doesnt make Any sense. in what world would being in that situation have ever helped me survive. everyone say "fuck you adam everything you built and everything you are is worthless and youre nothing without spencers awesomecool." /hj <- i am the number one adam hater. nobody hates thay guy like me and some day i hope everything left of him and eris that they let fester will be nothing but crud on my sick ass boots for me to trample into the parking lot on my way to the gas station. may my babygirl judge their soul harshly

[remembrance-of-light]

Amusing yet Numbing.

A Brief Reflection on Civil War (2024)

Two weeks ago, I had an impromptu cinema date with some of my friends. At first, we were gonna watch recent popular Thai movie (you know which one). But then, my friend had a change of heart. He wanted to watch something that doesn't involve crying instead. He chose this movie.

I didn't bother the change of plan for I didn't even expect us to go to cinema in the first place. As I said, it was improvised.

Despite me being quite nonchalant, something about this movie successfully piqued my curiosity.

"Civil War" is a dystopian thriller movie that sets in a near-future America where a second civil war breaks out between an authoritarian federal government and several regional factions.

The movie follows a team of journalists, the infamous photojournalist Lee Smith (Kirsten Dunst), her journalist colleague Joel (Wagner Moura), their mentor Sammy (Stephen McKinley Henderson), and a young aspiring photojournalist Jessie Cullen (Cailee Spaeny) as they travel from New York to Washington D.C. to document the conflict.

Yeah, I got persuaded by the plot.

I'm interested to see how the narrative plays out the war from the perspective of journalists. Surely, it would be a different experience from watching a movie about war from the perspective of political figures or soldier of an army.

It didn't take long to get me so invested to the story.

As someone who has experience working this field, there were several times where I relate with each characters in this movie.

Let'a begin with the bold chick, Jessie.

A young fire that has just lit is how I see Jessie's character. Talented, curious, full of ambitions, and eager to experience something new. She is the very definition of youth.

When she explores place near a gas station protected by armed men, she finds the men were torturing men they claim to be looters. One of the men taunted Jessie to decide the fate of the tortured men. Scared, Jessie couldn't say anything until Lee defuses the situation by taking a photo of the armed men with his victims. Then, Jessie blames herself for not being able to set aside her emotions and do her job as photojournalist.

That's as far as I can relate with Jessie because I resonates a lot more with Lee.

"We don't ask. We record so other people ask."

I can't recall the exact moment, but I'm sure this was said pretty early in the beginning.

As a seasoned professional, Lee can come across as cold. Even though she often throw sharp jabs with her words, she's not emotionless. In fact, her character is truly humane.

This field of work requires people to directly see the raw, painful, and dangerous reality up close, but at the same time demands them to stay just right on the borderline so that they make it out well, and most importantly, alive. So that the truth they've been working hard to uncover successfully delivered to the public.

That's the purpose of journalistic work, we witness the truth being unfolded hence the world could also witness it too.

That's where Lee's contemplation becomes crucial:

"Every time I survived a war zone, I thought I was sending a warning home - "Don't do this". But here we are."

Where Sammy reiterates to Joel, that Lee is having existential crisis as she starts to lose hope on the power of journalism.

Back in 2022, I read something from Emily Atkin where she shares her journey as journalist covering climate issues.¹ She, too, was wondering whether her efforts on covering the truth about environmental damage really matter because the world stay the way it was. It's like nobody really care nor pay attention to the reports she and other journalists published.

Just like Atkin, Lee also battles the same question.

Does it really matter? Does the effort for making the truth known hold significant value for the world? Do people really care?

That's why, despite her demeanor, I think Lee is very humane in her essence.

Lee's existential dread, her previous experience documenting war and conflicts, and the alienation she and others feels when they come across places or states that deliberately ignore the war and live peacefully in their own bubble. When we take all of these into consideration, we come to understand why sometimes she looks distant and detached.

She has been numbed.

This reminds me of a snippet of Emil Cioran's saying. People who take their live are not pessimists. On the contrary, people who take their live are optimists whose optimistic view of life isn't fulfilled.

In this context, sometimes I think I am a misanthropist. I hate human. I just hate human, sometimes. Something about us bothers me a lot. When I reflect on this emotion according to Cioran's way of thinking, I think people like me doesn't hate human out of blind hatred. We grow to hate human because we have high hopes on humanity.

Think of it like this. The more we trust, the more we care, the more we hold someone dearly, the nastier the wounds they'll cause when they betray us.

Back to the movie, I think people like Lee choose to not wear their heart on their sleeves because that's their defense mechanism. People like Lee may not have the privilege to choose to be detached or not because that's the only way for them to survive.

Although, other than Lee, there is Joel who has different approach towards his experiences.

What I love about his character is that Joel is the one who often shows his raw emotions throughout the movie.

He gets adrenaline rush from listening to the gun fire. He cries the ugliest when Tony and Bohai got shot. He screams and drinks alcohol while regretting Sammy's death.

My writing can't do Wagner Moura's acting justice. You have to watch it for yourself. His emotional charade excellently compliments Kirsten Dunst's detached acts. He makes up for the lack of emotion this movie purposefully showcases.

Just as Lee who's still very humane in her essence, Joel's nature portray different sense of humanity that completes the movie.

Aside from the plot and character, Civil War is an outstanding movie visual and cinematography wise.

I'm not expert in this area, but one thing I notice is how the contradiction is not only displayed through the character, but also in the way Alex Garland built the tension in every acts and diffuse it by replacing the gun and war sounds with upbeat funky songs. It's as if he wants us to keep our focus until the trigger being pulled, then release the tension by detaching us from the actual scene through removing the actual audio element. A clever way to put it, I have to say.

All in all, Civil War successfully left me and other audiences feeling somewhat moved and hollow at the same time.

And just like how Lee told Jessie that they as photojournalists don't ask question, I, too, wouldn't question anything or try to conclude something from this movie.

I'd probably let this movie sit in my mind for a long long time.

———

¹ Read the essay Atkin wrote in All We Can Save (2020). It's a collection of poetry and essays from various women leaders in climate movement in the US, edited by Dr. Ayana Elizabeth Johnson and Dr. Katharine Wilkinson.

[thisisryderinjapan]

May 16 - Mountain hiking + dinner

Today we started the day by going to the train station so that we could begin the hour-long journey to the mountain that we were going to hike on for the day. In one of the pictures you can see the chair that we took up the mountain; it was one of the best parts of the trip in my opinion because we had a great view of Tokyo and it saved us a lot of time and effort hiking up that part of the mountain. It did not take us all the way to the top; we had to hike for around 20 minutes to make it to the summit, which was very ugly because the mist was blocking the view entirely by the time we got there. Also, on the way up the mountain we saw a Japanese Goblin which is learned is this emoji 👺. The myth is that creatures that look like those statues lived in the forest because nobody actually went in there so nobody knew what was (wasn’t) in there. But, the way back down was very fun because we took a trail that not many people used and we were the only ones on it. While hiking the trail, one of us found a worm eating another worm so we all stopped to look at it and performed a little experiment where we pulled the worms apart and witnessed the fantastic spectacle that is nature and survival of the fittest. The hike back down was way longer than we thought it was going to be, but it was very cool because we were basically on the edge of a cliff the whole time, and there were many parts of the trail that opened up to the city and had great views. The one thing I will say is that it was extremely muddy and my shoes are trashed, but it was well worth it for the experience. On the way back down I also got dippin dots, which was disappointing because I got a new flavor and it sucked, but luckily, I also got dippin dots on the way up the mountain and I got the flavor that I like (strawberry cheesecake) so that made up for the horrible flavor that I had. After the mountain, we headed back to the hotel because we were tired and now we are making plans to go to a nicer restaurant for dinner because we have not been to a nicer restaurant yet.

Academic Reflection

My biggest takeaway from the reading was the fact that there is only one virgin forest in all of Japan. I thought that was crazy because forests in Japan seem so lush and healthy that it is hard for me to imagine they are the creation of humanity, especially considering that humans are the ones responsible for destroying the Amazon rainforest which is such a modern, global issue. I feel like the reforestation of Japan is a testament to the power of humanity to do good if we want to and it motivates me to push for change back in America where we have plenty of places that have been deforested. This is especially relevant considering what I believe is the dominant issue of our generation (climate change) because trees and forest are capable of absorbing our carbon dioxide emissions and reducing the concentrations of the gas in the atmosphere, which in-turn slows the warming of the planet and improves the air quality. 

[luvvsoft]

pairing: roland taggart x reader

contains: lovers to enemies, angst, heartbreak, cheating, betrayal, somewhat soft ooc roland

word count: 1046

You met Roland on the run, merely by chance.

Your parents signed your unwind order after they decided that taking care of nine kids was simply not sustainable nor a liveable situation. As the oldest of your siblings, the responsibility now fell on you. Your parents no longer wanted you around; they wanted you gone, and you knew soon the siblings after you would follow.

You were used to being unloved by your parents, uncared for and thrown aside, only to function as a second parent and raise your siblings. Yet it still hurt when you found out they were so willing to throw you away, as if you were dust on their shelves, only serving as a nuisance. You desperately yearned for their validation, but deep down inside, you knew you’d never get it.

After finding the copy of the order, you knew you had to run, if not for you, then for your siblings. They didn’t deserve to watch as the Juvey-cops took away their sibling or the struggle that would come with it. So, you ran, ran as far as your feet would take you, as far as your siblings would want you to. You didn’t stop unless it was for necessities, until you knew you were a safe distance, and even then, you still had to keep going.

You were in a gas station when you met him, looking only to buy water after a long day of trying to stay unspotted. Roland knew you were an AWOL from the second he saw you. After all, he was no stranger to one himself, he could recognize an AWOL from miles away. He wasn’t sure why, but he approached you. Maybe he was curious about who you were, or maybe he wanted company after feeling so alone for a long time.

Regardless of Roland’s reasoning for approaching you, the pair of you grew close, closer than any of you had been to anyone else. It felt comforting, as if you had finally found home, in his arms. Many nights were spent wrapped in each other’s warmth when you found no place to stay. Those nights you cherished and held the closest to your heart, as they were the only moments he allowed himself to melt in your arms, to be soft.

Soon enough, you found Sonia’s shop, a refuge you both so desperately needed. It would finally allow for a moment of rest without needing to wonder how you’d survive everyday, and you could spend more time focused on Roland, or so you thought. Immediately upon arrival, Roland established himself as the leader and above everyone. You could no longer spend time with him, and instead had to beg for a speck of his attention. It seemed like he no longer cared as he was a king ruling over his kingdom, and you? Well, you were just another for him to assert his dominance over.

Things only started changing when a new group arrived: a girl who held a baby in her arms, and a boy who looked angry and guarded.

You could tell Roland already despised them, and they hadn’t even said a word. The boy, whose name you learned was Connor, and Roland often clashed. They always had tension festering whenever they interacted, waiting for a moment to release it. As much as you had tried to stop it from exploding in everyone’s face, you couldn’t, or rather, Roland wouldn’t let you, pushing you farther and farther, until it finally blew up.

You could see the look in Roland’s eye: the calculating look of a plan forming in his mind. You tried to stop him from doing something dumb, especially with so many around, you really did, but Roland was his own person, and took orders from nobody but himself.

You heard it, next: the struggle, the look Roland gave Risa, the words he said, Connor’s calm demeanor. You heard it all, yet you couldn’t believe your ears. You couldn’t or wouldn’t believe Roland was capable of doing such thing or even saying it.

Roland saw you on his way out, not even giving a reaction apart from a smirk thrown in your direction. Connor came out after, only offering you an apology for hearing that.

You confronted Roland soon after that, no longer willing to be quiet after what you had witnessed.

“Are we going to acknowledge what you just did?” you said to Roland, who was sitting by his lackeys.

Roland stood up, then taking your hand, dragged you to an empty corner with no one around.

“What do you want, now?” He says. “I don’t have time for this.”

“On the contrary, you certainly have time to go and frighten a girl who did nothing to you just to infuriate Connor, yet not for me.”

“What’s your point?”

“I want to go back to the way we were, Roland. I don’t want to continue fighting for crumbs of your attention, yet some guy gets it all. I want to go back to how we used to be in love.”

“Can’t you just let it go? I don’t love you like I once did. I’m done with you, I’ve washed my hands of you,” Roland said. “I don’t know how else you want me to say it to you. Besides, I’ve already found someone else: someone better than you ever could have been.”

He then turned around and left you to ponder what came of you both.

Then you understood, Roland never loved you like he said he did. He only kept you around because he was so in need of someone to understand him, to nurture him. You just so happened to be the unfortunate one to do so. And now, he'd found someone else to take your spot.

You had a habit of taking in strays: strays loyal enough to the first person who showed them kindness. Maybe now, you took in the wrong stray, one willing to bite the hand that fed him.

You’d make sure he regretted it for as long as he lived.

[anthonybialy]

Victim Blaming

Coping with awfulness inflicted by federal intruders isn’t punishment enough for doing nothing wrong.  Blaming others is as intrinsic to Democrats at presuming nobody else will help those in need voluntarily, either.  Pointing fingers to distract from the flaming toxic disasters they create as policy is central to a most loopy ideology.  It makes sense even if it’s the opposite of sensible.

Selling humans energy which they both need and enjoy gets disciplined in a way crime doesn’t.  I sure hope those who offer food for trade decide the transaction still worth it, as I think I’d get pretty hungry right after dining on lawn clipping stew.  Yelling at restaurants while scolding supermarkets as they charge a lot for not a lot of food is a nice touch from lecturers about America’s collective obesity.

A ridiculously high starting wage teaches new hires that nothing needs to be earned.  Getting paid a lot before doing anything is quite a profitable scheme unless potential employees never find work in the first place.

Work is nothing but a trade just like the products an enterprise sells.  Man, these shifts are a drag.  Determining how much value is created by labor is a discussion between the involved parties, which you may note does not include the government.  Presuming a job should automatically pay a large sum makes it harder to ever get started.  The difficulty of finding work when it automatically pays more is not as uncanny as it seems.  A rather high percentage of policy influencers contribute nothing but bitching about those who actually complete worthwhile tasks.

Scold gas stations for having the nerve to go above breaking even with customers who have the energy to drive away.  It’s bad enough convenience marts with attached pumps are selling fuel that works.  Motorists are supposed to pay nothing for the outlet energy generated by karma.

Liquid power outlets suddenly have little to sell.  The price to get to stores to pay too much for stuff skyrocketed by chance just as soon as Joe Biden got to impose his kind and wise vision.  We need a congressional committee to find the devilish CEOs who discovered greed in January 2021.  Acting as if they’re diving into cash vats will surely make products we need to survive more affordable.

If it makes class warfare guerrilla insurgents feel better, there’s an asterisk attached to record money left over.  Making profits worth less even as they climb may not have been the goal even if it’s the result.  Inflation only seems like voodoo.  Supply and demand applies to money itself, as well.  Liberals could learn about economics by watching the woeful results of Democratic impositions.  

Dealing with burdens imposed by cloddishly pushy governments is merely step one.  Imposers then scold those who they victimize.  What else would they do: not create conditions where blame is necessary?  It’s amazing what one can get away with by possessing the aura of legality and utter lack of conscience paired with wholesale ineptness.  Many office-filling practitioners think the fact they keep getting re-elected serves as evidence they’re succeeding at something other than suckering enough voters.

A force-based ideology isn’t about to adapt to circumstances.  Orders are as intrinsic to liberalism as mandates.  You’re not about to be allowed to use anything as dangerous as autonomy.  Dedication to coercion manifested itself most notoriously during an insurance scheme that required participation as a condition of living.  That term is not nearly as long thanks to alleged care that’s as costly as it is crummy.

It’s tough to think of anything crueler than creating misery for which those dealing get blamed.  The worst part is I am almost certain they aren’t trying.  Capricious burden generators think running a business is not only the easiest task possible but also the most lucrative.

Exploiting labor means totally not paying employees what they’re worth.  Conglomerate owners base pay on heartless aspects like productivity, competition, and negotiation.  Those elitist capitalist notions all irk liberals, which means they must be banned.

Government freaks selflessly refuse to sell out and actually manage a commercial outfit.  Telling others how to do so comes easily to those who know so well that they don’t even bother.  Starting a company would just be ripping off decent people and not creating something useful customers are willing to buy, at least according to their very sophisticated ideology.

Inflicting struggles is a necessary evil that’s not the former.  Restrictions that exacerbate outcomes should serve as a rather strong signal.  The fact meddlesome ideas spur woe should tell them something.  Sadly, reflexive regulators hear that they should keep demonizing those figuring how to exist despite added aggravations.

Both companies and those who commercially interact with them can never be forgiven.  All this inconvenient purchasing could be discarded if only we submitted to the glorious cessation of free will.  There is indeed a catch to prosperity without federal supervision.  To the regret of control junkies who want to keep us all on the dole, it involves working.

[gollldrush]

Leo scoffs at the mention of her hair. “Yeah, decided I’d try something new.” She chews the inside of her cheek. “Turns out blondes don’t have more fun.” What a stupid fucking joke.

I don’t have anyone.

She nods at that, a quiet understanding of it. There was nobody she had to lean on, either. Her mom was useless, her dad six feet deep – all connections that could lead her back to Eric had been severed immediately. Alone. They both were… except,

“You have me.” It mostly blurts out without much thought. They hadn’t spoken in so long. And yet Sami had chosen to call her – and she had chosen to come get them. Her fingers drum on the wheel as they come to a halt at a red light. “I mean, I hope that’s not weird but… you’re the first person I’ve talked to in a while.” Unless motel clerks and gas station attendees counted.

A right turn is made, taking them towards the highway. She had no idea where to go – there had never been a plan in mind when she left Eric. Only to get the fuck out and go as far away as she could. Hide and hide and pray that one day he would forget about her.

“Here-“ Leo fishes her phone out from beneath her leg. She always kept it there while driving, just in case. A survival measure. “… look up somewhere, anywhere, and we will go there, okay? I don’t, um.” Another awkward shift in the seat, a visible wince this time. “I don’t really have a place to stay right now. So, we can go wherever.”

A reassuring smile is given to Sami – followed up by a lame excuse. “I’m on a journey of… uh, self discovery.”

Sam flinches again when Leo reaches over to flip on the light for him—as if afraid he annoyed her with asking. His finger curls back into his fist, hands shoving deep into the pockets of his hoodie. He swallows, mumbling an apology and closing his eyes for a second.

When he turns back to her again, it’s easier to see her and she’s shifted enough that the shadows aren’t obscuring his vision either. Internally, he appreciates it, but externally he just seems quiet—shy. Like their childhood friendship suddenly meant nothing when face to face with this strange woman he hardly knew anymore. He cleared his throat lightly as he tried to find words, a way to make casual conversation. A tight-lipped smile.

“You dyed your hair,” he pointed out, glancing at the bleach-blonde locks. “Looks…good.” Another gulp, feeling stupid for even trying.

“I don’t have anyone.”

The words come out quickly and without emotion. They didn’t want to elaborate. No phone calls would be needed. They weren’t ever going to be seeing their parents again, they knew. If they found out—when they found out that they’d left camp they’d be furious, but likely more than happy to be rid of their issues. They use their hoodie sleeve to rub at their red-rimmed eyes a little, the light probably giving way to the fact that they had been pushing back tears. They gave a small sniffle, looking away again briefly.

When xe looks back, xe’s met with her stare and it makes xem jump slightly. A thin hand presses to xyr chest, breathing out a slow sigh. “Uhh…” Xe clenches xyr teeth, glancing out the windshield again as xe considers the statement—their options.

“I don’t…” Xe cleared xyr throat. “Anywhere but here. Far away.” A beat. “And not my parents’ place.”