#he's a god/individual and dare I say distressing

[royal-wren]

Years and years later but especially in the last three years, I think people focus way too much on Apollon/Apollo's physical appearance to an odd (and frankly intense/offputting) degree.

"Oh, Apollon's so pretty!!!!!" ...okay, but what about literally anything else about him? Is there really anything else about him that stands out in a positive cool way to you? Do you like that he has a connection to mice? to fertility? to archery? to disease? to people who are feeling out of place or in a new area? to the home? to the thriving of a city and its community? to war/battle(fighting)? to aid and protection?

[vickyvicarious]

RIGHT away, this is devastating. The vain determination to hold on to something in "I know there is sunrise because I am a sailor," - oof. Also, the fact that the fog is so thick he can't see the sunrise at all is awful.

Then, when he says "I dared not go below, I dared not leave the helm," all his uncertainty and just how lost and afraid he is truly comes out. I love how soft his voice gets.

"so here all night I stayed, and in" he's so good at using this little half chuckle to make me very distressed for him. Here he's laughing at himself once again, what a fool he was for not understanding, once again he was a fool to have any hope that he would be alone now and no more deaths would follow...

"in the dimness of the night I... saw... Him." CHILLS. soooooo creepy, sooooo well done.

The way he says "no man can object" just hits so hard, it feels somehow like an apology to the mate in a way even more than the line saying he was right did.

"But I am captain, and I must not leave my ship." ABSOLUTE BANGER OF A LINE. GOD. I knew it would be, but. Oh my god. He's choking up, how he almost fades away on captain, how his voice shakes somewhere between helpless laughter or tears but helpless either way. I love the long shaky breath before this line, building up his resolve. And then how he just sits with it for a couple seconds afterward, quiet, as the music grows stronger (I love the music)

And he comes back determined. He can do so little, but he will do it. He will baffle this monster in whatever way he can, he will protect his own soul though he couldn't protect any others, and he will keep his honor as well. He won't let this monster take what little he has left.

(I think part of the next line is missing, since it goes right to "-ight is coming on")

His determination holds strong, but his final lines show that this isn't a dramatic last stand, full of heroic vim and vigor. It's a long, aching, terrifying standoff, trapped alone with a monster who has killed everyone else, who has taken away the very sun, alone with only the God that the Captain already feared had abandoned him as any sort of comfort at all. He's scared and worn and he doesn't have any real hope left but he will cling to his role as captain, when nothing else is left. Dracula's laugh coming right after "God and the Blessed Virgin and the saints" and then echoing over "help a poor ignorant soul trying to do his duty...." makes it all even worse, because even as they are invoked the Count laughs about it, seemingly proves that they aren't here, they can't stop him. No one is going to help this poor, ignorant soul; and Dracula finds the idea of him trying to still do his duty hilarious.

(For now at least. If the Captain's theory on "what he may not touch" is correct then I'm sure that will annoy Dracula plenty when it stops him getting to the helm/his last victim.)

SEA SHANTY!!!!!!!! I knew it would come but!!!! So exciting. And the lyrics are so morbid. Here's a trick to catch a ___. Adding in the soft waves in the background, the way the "oo-ooh" gets more uneasy as it goes along, how they get less unified, how they start to fade away, individual voices become more distinct. And that ending is so good.

DRACULA SINGING AT THE END OMG, I HATE YOU SO MUCH SIRRRR (delighted)

[l1teraryangel]

In Another Life (Ch. 8)

Chapter Rating: M+

Chapter Warnings: Mild Sexual Content

--- --- --- --- ---

Ryou sat, speechless, unable to do anything other than stare at Bakura as he looked over his Ryou’s body for signs of life or distress. The story of how this Ryou, an innocent child, awakened a vengeful spirit who then possessed him and immediately killed a man left him uneasy. Yet, after hearing the story of Malik’s father and how Kek, who he knew as an individual, started off as an alter ego to cope with trauma and then killed said father…

“I said it before, but I have to say it again: how you people are more sane than the ones in my world… Blows my mind.”

Bakura tucked Ryou in before shrugging and rejoining the other Ryou. “We didn’t start off that way. Well, technically, Touzoku-Ou was perfectly sane prior to his… our?... trauma. Atem never went insane while he was alive, but I think being sealed in the Puzzle did a number on him. He bounced back faster than me, though.” His nose scrunched. “Ugh, don’t tell anyone I gave him a compliment, alright?”

“Alive… Right, I keep forgetting. Him and Touzoku-Ou lived three thousand years ago. How exactly are they here now?”

“Hah! I couldn’t tell you. It happened about three years ago. One day I was wandering the shadows alone, totally lost and shit, and then the next thing I know… BAM! I’m alive. And Touzoku-Ou’s with me. Which is weird when you consider he and I are the same person.”

“Um…”

“I mean, we are and we aren’t? As he eloquently puts it, I’m an amalgamation of him, Ryou, and a demon god. Actually, he says it much crasser.” Bakura glared at the doorway. “Where the fuck is he? It’s been forty minutes. I swear, if he went back to sleep…”

“Is it weird being in a relationship with yourself?”

His companion grunted. “Like I said, we’re not exactly the same. We look different, for starters. And he’s a bit more… Human, I suppose. He remembers things from back then that I can’t, and I have my own memories, like actually being inside the Ring… Meeting Ryou… Possessing Ryou…” A scowl scarred his face. “Hurting Ryou. Manipulating Ryou. Working with him to build our deck, our RPG world, all while lying to him.”

Other Ryou, seeing the shimmer forming over the mahogany irises, inhaled sharply. He’d never seen Bakura, the one from his world, cry before. He doubted he ever would, but seeing this Bakura tear up let his imagination go wild. 

Nevertheless, the sight hurt his heart, so he whispered, “Please don’t cry. It’s all in the past, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” The other shrugged, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his damp tear ducts. “The scars won’t ever fade, though. Mentally or physically.”

“Oh, puh-leasssse.”

Ryou glared at his own Bakura, who mockingly sniffled and dabbed at invisible tears. The Bakura across from Ryou turned to face his doppelganger, expression an emotionless mask.

“How dare you look like me while being such a pansy?” Other Bakura taunted, shouldering his partner who joined him in chuckling over the display. “Boo-fucking-hoo. Next you're gonna be sobbing about how much you miss your pet.”

“I do miss him.” The three other-realmers, not expecting the sudden confession, fell silent. “I miss the way he always smiles at me, like I’ve never done anything wrong to him. I miss the way he cooks our favorite foods. I miss the way he scolds us for stealing things. I miss the way he laughs when Touzoku-Ou and I fight. And want to know what I miss most about him?”

A smirk snuck onto Bakura’s lips, aimed directly for his and his boyfriend’s lookalikes. “I miss the way he chooses to be with us.”

 *** 

‘I’m a horrible person.’

A fair arm dragged him closer, sweat and heat binding his bare back to Bakura’s exposed chest.

‘They’re going to be mad, aren’t they?’

Dark lips grazed his nose, his lips, his jaw while a pair of steel-colored eyes sank into his soul, amorous and wanting.

‘This is wrong. I shouldn’t have come in here… They’re going to hate me.’

Moisture pooled in his tear ducts, but he blinked it away. He refused to confuse and hurt the Bakura and Touzoku-Ou sandwiching him, devoting nothing but passionate love, blind to the fact he wasn’t even their boyfriend.

Nails scratched tauntingly down his spine, and he arched, mewling at the familiar sensation. The lips behind his head whispered, “You look so beautiful, Ryou. Like a succubus coming to steal our souls away.”

“Steal?” Touzoku-Ou breathed, and the moist heat clung to Ryou’s neck. “He doesn’t need to steal. He can have my soul.”

Bakura’s hand dipped beneath Ryou’s tailbone, causing him to whimper. The nimble fingers pinched and teased his cheeks, and he felt the lips by his ear form a smirk with each gasp, pant, and whine.

“Mine, as well,” The man replied, tongue lazily stroking a stripe from clavicle to ear. “The question is… How does he want to take it? Sweetly? By force? Would you like me to feed it to you?”

His finger slipped upwards and prodded at Ryou’s entrance, pulling a moan from the man’s lips. “B-Bakura…”

Touzoku-Ou answered his wanton moan, cramming his tongue inside Ryou’s mouth, exploring hungrily. They moaned and writhed together while Bakura circled his finger around the sensitive hole. When Ryou broke away, lips swelling and breath heavy, Touzoku-Ou changed his target.

Sliding over their centerpiece, Touzoku-Ou pinned Bakura by the shoulders and crushed their mouths together. The explorative finger abandoned its teasing, which Ryou secretly appreciated. He knew he needed to put a stop to this. He couldn’t commit to this act, no matter how tempting and warm the other Bakura and Touzoku-Ou were.

‘Where’s Kek and his loud mouth when I need him?’

“Beautiful gem,” Touzoku-Ou drawled and gently redirected Ryou’s face towards him and Bakura. “Let me see your eyes, Ryou. Don’t be so shy.”

Ryou tried to look away — dammit, he was trying so hard — but the rocking bodies beside him kept his gaze frozen in place. Touzoku-Ou, stripped of his pants and boxers, straddled Bakura’s hips. Meanwhile, Bakura bucked and frotted right into him, his hands dragging over Ryou’s shoulders while Touzoku-Ou praised the action with moans.

“So… handsome...” Bakura panted, gaze torn between both of the men surrounding him. “Ryou, you’re too far away. Come closer.”

“I…”

Ryou forced his eyes closed, forced the images from the morning the chaos started to the front of the mind. He saw his Bakura, hair fuzzed out beneath his head, and felt his Touzoku-Ou’s lips beneath his own. But they were not with him right now. The Bakura and Touzoku-Ou showering him in love belonged to a different Ryou. It wasn’t right for anyone involved.

“I can’t.”

The words, strained and reluctant, escaped him as a whisper. Bakura heard, or so his puzzled look implied, but Touzoku-Ou reached out for him. Hurt flashed across his eyes when Ryou jerked back, dropping off the bed clumsily.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I just… I can’t. Not right now.”

He ran from the bed and into the RV bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he thudded his back against it and slid to the floor. Tears, no longer held back, dribbled down his cheeks.

‘Gods forgive me for whatever I did to deserve being locked away from my own world. Please, give me back my boys. I want to sit down and watch a horror movie together. I want to play Monster World and watch them argue as much in-character as out. I want to cuddle together under the blanket. I want…’

He choked on a sob.

“I want to go home…!”

 *** 

Bakura checked the clock for the umpteenth time. “Okay. It’s been an hour and a half since I woke up. I’m officially pissed, and he’s officially in trouble.”

Laughing a bit, Ryou asked, “Want me to go get him?”

Something in the question brought a mad grin to Bakura’s face. “That’s a great idea. And here’s one better: take this!”

Ryou fumbled with the piece of plastic thrown in his direction, confused eyes analyzing it. “The alarm…? Is that really a good idea?”

“For me? No. For you…?” Bakura snickered, canines poking out from his lips. “Oh, it’ll be hilarious. Just keep a meter or so from him, in case he thinks you’re me.”

“Uh…”

“No worries. He wakes up quick. Should realize you’re not me before he tries to strangle you.”

“‘Should’ doesn’t make me feel better…”

“Add an extra meter, then. Seriously, I wouldn’t suggest it if I thought it was dangerous for you. I’ve had Yanushi pull similar pranks.”

For a second or two, Ryou continued to hesitate, but he relented and scampered off, listening to the echoes of Bakura’s cackle with a small smile. When he snuck into the room shared by the two lovers, he followed Bakura’s instructions and hovered his thumb over the alarm, eyeing the snoring man curled under the sheets ignorant to the torment looming over him.

The reaction played out much how he and, certainly, Bakura expected. Touzoku-Ou jumped about a meter in the air, a furious “WHAT THE FUCK?!” bouncing from wall to wall, yet he landed on his feet, ready to fight off the ‘threat’ daring to disturb him. Also how Bakura expected, he did lunge for Ryou, but he stopped short upon seeing the (slightly frightened) big brown eyes.

“Did that bastard put you up to this?”

Ryou gaped like a fish. “By ‘that bastard’, you mean…?”

“Who am I kidding? Of course he did. I’m gonna wreck his pretty face.”

The boy pursued Touzoku-Ou, who spared no time to register he was only in his boxers (if he cared), as he stormed down the hall. Bakura’s lunatic laughter could be heard long before they entered the room where, completely at ease and cross-legged on the floor, he smirked up at them.

“Morning, sunshine. Rough wake-up call?”

Without responding, Touzoku-Ou tackled Bakura and wrestled him into a headlock. “You fucking asshole! Dirty son of a bitch! Fight your own battles!”

Each insult only added layers to Bakura’s laughs. “Oh, please, tell me more about what a vile person I am, oh saintly King of Thieves. Truly, you are far holier than I.”

Their struggles renewed, and Ryou watched their solid bodies roll around, taking in how alluring they were and wondering again how things might have played out if the Bakura and Touzoku-Ou he knew were like them.

He chewed his bottom lip as Bakura, either by cheating or by cashing in a miracle, pinned Touzoku-Ou’s bulkier frame to the floor. “I could hear your scream from all the way back here. It was worth it.”

Growling, Touzoku-Ou tore one wrist from Bakura’s grip and shoved him off. He relaunched himself onto the thinner male, stopped only by Bakura’s foot being shoved into his jaw. “I’ll get you back when you least expect it. And I won’t send in Ryou to do it.”

With a waggle of his eyebrows, Bakura tutted and waved off the threat. “You should know I prefer fighting smarter to harder.”

“Coward.”

“Bitch.”

“You must be feeling better today, if you’re picking fights with one another.”

Ryou glanced over his shoulder. Malik and Kek stood behind him, the latter lost in a fit of giggles while the former shook his head, disbelieving the scene they walked in on.

“Get a grip, thieves. You look like idiots.”

Bakura flashed his teeth in a sneer. “Pot to kettle, Blondie.”

Touzoku-Ou, huffing over the end of both their physical and verbal battle, offered an acknowledging nod towards the Ishtar pair. “It’s our turn to watch the troublemakers, so why are you two here?”

Through his twittering, Kek replied on Malik’s behalf, “We heard the ruckus, wanted to see what the drama was.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “Apparently, Kek, it was just their usual stupidity.” He nudged Ryou with his elbow. “In case you’re curious, yes. They are always like this. How Ryou puts up with it is beyond me.”

“The same way you put up with that.” Bakura gestured to Kek, who had already grown bored and was trying to goad Touzoku-Ou into a morning fistfight. The blonde glanced at him, pausing his aggressive tugs on the thief’s messy hair, and promptly blew a raspberry. 

Malik slapped his forehead. “Point taken. Ra help me.”

Kek perked up at the mention of their favorite god. “Hey, Albi, that’s not a bad idea!”

Everyone eyed him, expressions ranging from confused to incredulous. Touzoku-Ou, losing balance due to his shaking limbs, dropped to the floor, rolling as he howled.

“You did not just suggest what I think you did! That’s a fucking riot! The gods, help me? Help Bakura?”

Fueled by his lover’s contagious merriment, Bakura threw his head back and unleashed his signature laugh. “Kek, I know you are insane, but I thought you were smarter than that. If we asked the gods for help, they’d flip us the bird and throw our asses into the damned shadows.”

Kek crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, with that attitude, who can blame them?”

Malik rubbed his darker half’s head. “It’s not a bad idea. But Bakura and Touzoku-Ou are right. The gods are hardly fans of their past antics.”

“But they don’t hate Ryou,” Kek pouted and tugged Malik into his side, ignoring the rebellious squeak the other let out. “They’d help him.”

Silencing their laughter, Bakura and Touzoku-Ou sighed, in sync right down to the way they ran a hand through their hair. The more muscular of the two grumbled, “Sure, they might be willing to help Ryou, but he isn’t here. Who even knows if they’d hear him in whatever realm he’s in.”

Other Ryou frowned, unable to take his eyes off the pining pair. Seeing them so down, especially after having been in high spirits, caused a sadness to churn his stomach. “What about Atem? You said he was a pharaoh in his past life, right? Aren’t they supposed to be close with the gods?”

Now Malik took a turn to laugh. “That’s a clever workaround, but these two would never—”

Touzoku-Ou glomped Other Ryou, his eyes positively glowing as he spun him. “That’s brilliant! You’re so smart, little one!”

Under the approbatory gaze of the shorter, scantily-clad man and firmly held against his naked chest, Ryou’s cheeks blazed hues of red. “O-Oh, er… Thank you?”

Bakura nodded absently beside them. “Mr. King owes us, so he won’t even give us lip. Not that he would dare say no regardless. Yugi would put him in his place faster than you can say ‘whipped.’”

“You two are really going to ask the pharaoh for help?” Malik questioned, a skeptical scowl on his lips. “Like… Willingly? No coercion needed?”

The silver-haired pair studied him, eyes solemn and mouths neutral. Bakura replied after a beat, “I would suck the pharaoh’s cock if it were for Ryou’s sake.”

Likely picturing the scene, Kek sniggered. “Wish we were recording that. Would have made for great blackmail.”

While he and Malik chortled over the mental image, Ryou wiggled in Touzoku-Ou’s grasp. “U-Um, Touzoku-Ou? Would you let me go?”

“Hm?” Touzoku-Ou allowed Ryou to slowly slide out of his arms, smirking at the way Ryou’s face continued to burn red at the physical contact. “My bad. Sorry.”

Brow furrowing, Bakura sighed and shoved his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Go put some clothes on, you exhibitionist. Unless you want the pharaoh to see you half-naked?”

“Disgusting. Haven’t you done enough damage without making me sick on top of everything else?”

“Hey,” Malik interceded. “Even if you get dressed, don’t wake up Atem and Yugi. Let them get some rest. Atem definitely didn’t sleep much yesterday. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was up all night watching the two bastards to make sure they didn’t somehow break out of the circle.”

Kek bumped his forehead on Malik’s. “So thoughtful. I never knew you cared about Mr. King so much.”

His lighter half grunted. “Fuck no. He’s alright, for the most part, but Yugi is the one I worry about. He will be upset if we abuse the pharaoh too much.”

“Fine, whatever,” Touzoku-Ou groaned. “What should we do in the meantime then? Sit around and gossip like whores in a brothel?”

The words left his mouth and barely lingered in the air before Kek clapped his hands for everyone’s attention. “I know what we should do. Go get dressed, tomb-robber, so we can duel.”

Ryou, seeing the knowing grins on the four men’s faces, cocked an eyebrow. “Duel? Like… with swords?”

Bakura snorted, slapping his hand over his mouth before he could burst out laughing. “That might be fun, too, but I believe Kek meant Duel Monsters.”

“Oh.” Ryou nodded, brow furrowing. “...What’s that?”

 *** 

Tucked away in the bathroom, left to cry and mope, Ryou found himself thinking back on his past with Bakura and Touzoku-Ou. The memories equally comforted and depressed him, but at least they were his, unlike the world he was trapped in. 

/One last time… Humor me one last time, and if my presence displeases you, I’ll leave forever./

\There is no if, spirit. And as far as you leaving ‘forever’? I thought that last time, too. I was actually happy for a while.\

/…Please, Yad— …Ryou. /

He refused to move, less from stubbornness, more from shock. Yami Bakura never called him by name. Always Yadonushi, Yanushi, landlord, host. Occasionally a mocking “my dearest vessel."

\Fucking hell… Fine. I’ll come out. We’ll talk. But I’m telling Yugi first.\

/That’s isn’t… Okay, you know what? Go ahead. If you could keep the midget away, though…/

\Still pissed he beat you?\

/Yes, now that you mention it. But there is an actual other reason. For his… safety… Keep him out of sight./

Unsure if Bakura was threatening Yugi or not, Ryou huffed and shut out the mind link to the best of his ability. He ascended the stairs with fast, skittish steps, and he knocked lightly before letting himself into his friend’s room. Yugi was, surprisingly, still quite awake.

“Ryou? What’s up? Is everything alright?”

Ryou noticed through a brief glance that Yugi was shuffling through the deck he and Atem built so long ago. He tried not to dwell on the deck he and his own other half had built.

“He’s here, Yugi. Outside.” Yugi’s large violet eyes widened impossibly bigger. “I’m going to step out and talk to him, if only so he’ll leave me alone.”

“Ryou, that’s not a good idea…”

Shrugging, Ryou turned, fiddling with the doorknob. “I don’t think so either. That’s why I’m letting you know. I… Call me crazy, but something feels different. The way he’s talking… It’s not like before. He sounds genuinely tired… and sad.”

“Ry…”

“I know it’s probably a lie. I’m not gonna blindly throw myself at him. I’m just hearing him out so that maybe he’ll leave me alone.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Ryou shook his head. “No, he specifically requested you not. It was weird. It didn’t seem like he was trying to keep you away out of anger or anything… Almost like he was concerned what would happen if you came out?”

Yugi frowned. “That’s… not comforting.”

“You’re telling me. Anyways… I’m not planning to stay out there too long. Maybe ten minutes. If I’m not back in at least twenty, though…”

“Oh, I’ll kick his ass if he tries anything.”

They shared a half-hearted chuckle, and Ryou escaped down the hall and stairs without further to do. His heart jumped into his throat when he reached for the front door’s knob, but he braced himself and proceeded.

\Where are you? I’m out front.\

/Around the corner./

\I’m not going to venture too far. I’m definitely not going into an alley. Just come to the front of the game shop.\

/…Okay./

Yet another bout of shock rocked Ryou’s core. He never, never expected the spirit to give in, much less without a fight.

/Before I… Before you get confused or nervous… There’s someone else with me… I’m not sure how to explain./

\Someone else? Yami Malik?\

/What? No… Why would he…? Is he back?/

\Who’s with you, then?\

/You’ll recognize him, but… Let me just…/

His words were making Ryou regret his decision more and more. He expected a one-on-one meeting, which was bad enough, but now it seemed like he walked into an ambush. He inhaled, exhaled, inhaled repeatedly to steady his shaking body, reminding himself he was only half a meter from the game shop.

“Yan— …Ryou.”

There it was, only a couple of meters away, coming from his left. His heart skipped and pattered at the voice, similar to his but slightly deeper, louder, bolder. 

“...Spirit.”

It took a moment, but he managed to turn his body and fix his gaze on the creature wearing his face. Only it wasn’t his face anymore. The eyes, ruddy brown and narrow, the angular features, the extra volume in his wild hair… Yami Bakura still resembled him, of course, but the differences were more distinct than ever.

While he tried to keep a watchful eye on his untrustworthy doppelganger, Ryou’s gaze deviated, drawn by a shorter yet brawny figure idling behind. His brown eyes flashed over the smoky white, shaggy hair, the deep brown skin, the double-T scar. Finally, as the bombshell dropped, Ryou met the purple-blue eyes tucked beneath dense silver lashes.

“...That… He’s… How…?”

Yami Bakura shrugged and motioned for his company to come closer, whispering something in what Ryou presumed to be their shared ancient dialect. The King of Thieves walked a couple of extra steps, appraising Ryou cautiously, though a flicker of something more twinkled in his eyes.

“Your guess,” Yami Bakura responded, returning his attention to his former host, “is as good as mine. I’m not sure how either of us is here, and I definitely don’t know why we’re both here. Doesn’t seem possible, since we’re… Well, you know.”

“So is he the reason it was so important for us to talk?”

Another shrug. “I mean, he’s part of it. I… I don’t know. I wanted to see you. To talk to you, face-to-face. To talk about… everything.”

“I don’t want to talk about the past. Not tonight. Not with you.”

His doppelganger scowled. “I owe you an apology, don’t I?”

“Why would I want an empty apology, Spirit? What would that possibly do for me? I only came out here because you were insisting. And because you promised to leave me alone after.”

Scuffing the toe of his shoe, Yami Bakura visibly deflated. “...I will. That’s my final promise to you. I won’t bother you anymore.”

“That almost sounded sincere.”

“It is sincere. I still want to apologize, though. Maybe not for… everything… I can’t say I regret everything that happened.” He ignored Ryou’s scoff. “But for dragging you along, hurting you, making your life so hellish and betraying your trust time and time again.”

Ryou shook his head. “You expect me to believe two years of banishment is all it took for you to realize what an asshole you were?”

“Has it really only been two years? Time gets away from you in the shadows,” Bakura sighed, wistful and soft. “I don’t think it was just the banishment, though. Part of me… The part belonging to… It died along with Him, I think? I feel like I can breathe, like I can step back and see things clearly.”

Ryou noticed the former spirit swallowing a lump, saw the tiny tremors running down his gangly limbs. He waited, and sure enough, the other continued, “I understand now, at least partly, what I did to you. So… I want to apologize for that part of everything.”

The thief mumbled something to Yami Bakura, apparently losing interest in the dramatic scene unfolding. The man glared at him and muttered back a scalding reply.

Meanwhile, Ryou shakily cupped his face in his hands, absorbing the words his parasite threw at him. “...Does he not speak Japanese?”

Yami Bakura glanced back at him. “Why would he?”

Ryou dragged his hands down so he could glare at the doppelganger. “Watch the sarcasm. There’s nothing logical about any of this, so what’s the harm in fact-checking?”

Bakura looked away, almost appearing ashamed. “...Sorry. Not trying to be bitchy. I’m… I’m tired, okay? It’s been a long day.”

The thief beside him uttered something else, which Bakura rolled his eyes at. “He wants you to know you’re, and I quote, easy on the eyes.”

“...Uh, thank you?”

The thief smirked when Bakura translated the reply and added some more unknown words to the conversation. Bakura grumbled, unhappy to be playing translator. “He’s asking if you’re going to let us stay with you. His words, I promise. I’ll tell him no.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“I assumed the answer was obvious.”

“I assumed you would be asking the same.”

“Please, Yado— Shit, sorry… Ryou. I’m not stupid. I told you I only wanted to talk. I know you want me to leave. Even if you hadn’t made it clear earlier, I can see it on your face.”

Ryou gritted his teeth. “I do want you to leave. I don’t want you back in my life.”

“...Yeah, I know.”

“But…” Ryou continued and fingered his shirt, eyes trailing away from the pair of men in front of him. “...You don’t really have anywhere to go, and he has to be seriously lost, more so if he can’t speak or read Japanese.”

Notably bemused, Yami Bakura stared, furrowing his brows. “...I… guess that’s true.”

Nodding to himself more than the other men, Ryou let out one more sigh for good measure. “For now… If you agree to my rules and don’t cause problems… You can stay with me.”

“You’re… serious?”

“It would be irresponsible for me to leave two potentially dangerous individuals on the street. Besides…” Ryou side-eyed Yami Bakura. “Call me soft, but I don’t like the idea of forcing even you to sleep on the street.”

His doppelganger looked away, and Ryou swore he could see a tint of pink on his pale face. “You don’t have to… Ryou. You played landlord to me long enough.”

“Guess I’m a sucker for punishment.” Ryou ruffled his bangs away from his face, eyes falling to the sidewalk. “We’ll establish some rules in the morning… Let me go tell Yugi what’s happening so he doesn’t freak out too much, and then we can go home.”

Yami Bakura’s eyelids drooped as his expression morphed, dreamy and uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Home… Yeah… Let’s go home.”

 *** 

Two cautious knocks pulled Ryou out of his daydream, away from the past and the men who would become his boyfriends. He sniffed and dabbed his nose with the outside rim of his shirt. The knocker’s identity was semi-obvious since only two people were currently in the RV with him.

“G-Guys, I… I need a few minutes… Please.”

“Sure, no problem, just…” It was Bakura, voice trembling with melancholy, words broken up by hesitation. “When you feel like it… Could we talk? I’m… We’re worried about you, Ry.”

Touzoku-Ou’s voice, carrying the same forlorn tone, said, “Ryou, if we’ve done something, please let us know, alright? Or… Were we being too pushy?” Bakura whispered something, though Ryou couldn’t make out the words. “Right, we’ll… talk when you feel up to it. I’m gonna go check on some things.”

“Me, too. Come find us when you’re ready, okay?”

Knowing a simple nod wouldn’t work, Ryou uttered in a half-whisper, “Okay.”

They lingered outside the door, as if they were reluctant to leave him alone. Ryou held his breath, waiting for some noise to indicate they were no longer there, and after another minute or so, the RV’s only entrance and exit thumped open then closed.

‘They’re so sweet, just like my boys. I must have hurt them a lot by pulling that stunt… I need to apologize. It’s not their fault I stole their boyfriend’s body. It’s not their fault I’m a fucking mess right now.’

It wasn’t his fault, either, a tiny voice insisted. He certainly hadn’t stolen the other Ryou’s body intentionally, nor had he meant to lose control over his emotions. Too many things kept happening, back to back, leaving him not a spare second to breath or process.

Burying his face into his knees, Ryou gulped air into his lungs, desperately fighting the tears once again threatening to slip down his cheeks. He sought comfort in the interrupted memories from earlier, choosing to dwell on the past in place of the present.

That night, when he took Bakura and Touzoku-Ou back to his apartment, after a short-lived argument with Yugi about his safety, Ryou had collapsed on his bed. Bakura watched him from the doorway of his room, Touzoku-Ou peeking around the taller man to take in all the foreign sights.

“You remember where everything is, don’t you? There’s a sleeping bag in the hall closet. I figure one of you can sleep on the couch, and the other can take the fl—”

Once again driven by boredom, Touzoku-Ou shoved past Bakura and leapt onto the bed, landing beside Ryou with a cheeky grin. He said something, which caused Ryou to look to Bakura for assistance. His darker half glared at his Ancient Egyptian counterpart and stormed off without a word, leaving Ryou to fumble with what little of the language he recalled from his years in Egypt.

“Mmkay, guess he doesn’t want to translate anymore… Can you say that again? Slower?”

Touzoku-ou stared, seemingly mesmerized by Ryou’s lips while he spoke, and placed a casual thumb over the point of interest. He traced his thumb over Ryou’s supple flesh, eyes shining like the night sky despite, or perhaps because of, the dark. Wordless, the man caressed his hand backwards from Ryou’s mouth, never letting the contact be broken, until he clasped several wisps of white hair between his fingers. A single word finally drifted among them, and Ryou recognized it.

Family.

Despite his previous vacillation, Ryou felt his heart melt. The King of Thieves, Thief King Bakhura, orphaned by the destruction of Kul Elna and left to survive the harsh world of Ancient Egypt from a young age. He remembered what little the spirit told him while they worked on the RPG diorama, remembered how much sorrow and sympathy and anger had boiled up inside him.

Without thinking, Ryou grabbed Touzoku-Ou and hugged him, repeating the word into the ashen hair, promising and praying for it at the same time. The thief stiffened at the embrace before dubiously returning the affection.

“Be careful, Ya… Ryou,” Bakura’s half-amused, half-annoyed voice called, and Ryou caught a glimpse of him back in the doorway, sleeping bag tucked under his arm. “He’s not an innocent child. He’s still a murderer and a thief. And the thief part of him has eyes on you, from what I’ve heard.”

Mildly irritated, Ryou shook his head and pulled away from the embrace, smiling at the quizzical look Touzoku-Ou gave him. “You’re being a pervert. I don’t speak the language as well as you, but I know he called me family.”

“Mm, yes… Family. Family doesn’t stop at siblings and parents. A husband and, in your case, husband are still family, Ryou.” Bakura chuckled to himself and tossed the sleeping bag on the floor in front of Ryou’s bed. He ignored Ryou’s inquiring gaze, continuing, “But hey, if banging your ancestor from three thousand years ago is your fetish, don’t let me stop you. Go ahead, enjoy your family time.”

“You really can’t resist being a bastard, even when you’re supposedly trying to be better.”

“Blame him,” Bakura smirked, gesturing towards Touzoku-Ou. The thief raised an eyebrow. “What’s left of me is all him, you, and a pitiful fraction of darkness. So either he’s to blame or you are.”

Ryou pondered his words. “Does he know who you are? What you are?”

“I didn’t really dive deep into an explanation. I was trying to find you. He saw my hair, heard me speak the old language, and just sort of… stuck with me.”

“That’s good. Modern Japan would be pretty dangerous. He might get hit by a car or something.”

Bakura shrugged, but his attempt to respond paused when Touzoku-Ou grumbled. Barking a sharp retort at the thief, Bakura flopped down onto the sleeping bag. “He’s giving me a headache. I’m going to sleep.”

“You’re sleeping at the foot of my bed?”

“He’s determined he’s sleeping in your bed. Since you don’t seem particularly inclined to kick him onto the couch,  I’m staying here to make sure he doesn’t get handsy with you.” Pause. “Unless you want me to leave. Like I said, to each their own fetish. Wouldn’t want to cockblock you on your wedding night.”

“...I’m going to sleep.”

“Heh, that’s what I thought. Want me to tell your new husband goodnight for you?”

“Go to sleep, you arrogant prick.”

 ***

 When the tears ran dry and with his heart warmed by the recollections, Ryou splashed cool water on his face and exited the RV. The sun told him it was late afternoon, and the area around the RV bustled with activity. Nameless faces ran about, carrying merchandise or material for certain stands. He assumed they were background workers or local volunteers eager to help the circus settle in.

‘I don’t know where to begin looking for them… But for my other self’s sake, I need to make sure they understand they haven’t done anything wrong.’

A hiss drew his ear, and he beamed as the looming figure of Diabound poked over her fence, massive head and slit eyes angled to see him. The reptile seemed to beg for his attention, so he happily ambled over and stroked her down the scales. She began to wrap around his shoulders, her muscles constricting to root her in place and knocking a bit of air out of Ryou’s lungs.

“E-Easy, girl,” He gasped and pushed at her body. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to hold you by myself.”

Her nose bumped his ear and jawline, tongue tickling his cheek. She didn’t continue to climb the fence and force her weight onto him, thankfully, but she nuzzled insistently into his face. He scratched the groove centered on her skull, giggling as her tongue flickered over his skin more and more.

“That really tickles, Diabound. Hey, since we’re here together, can I tell you a secret?” She exhaled through her glottis. “You might not believe this, but I’m not the Ryou you know. I’m from another world, an alternate universe.”

Diabound inched forward, underbelly scales accordioning over Ryou’s clothing. She curled enough to look him in the eye, like she was trying to figure out what he was talking about. Ryou giggled to himself and rubbed her chin.

“Where I come from, you’re not a snake, at least not entirely. You actually have a masculine body for your upper half, and then you turn into a snake on your lower half? I don’t explain it well, but you look super cool.” Tongue flicks grazed his nose. “You’re also not a creature that just… exists. You’re Touzoku-Ou’s ka, which is like his spirit creature? Kinda hard to explain if you aren’t familiar with Ancient Egyptian culture… Which he is since that’s where he was born and grew up.

“So, you see, Touzoku-Ou was a kid whose village was slaughtered by the pharaoh… Or at least that’s what he thought. It was actually the pharaoh’s brother. But because of that, Touzoku-Ou grew up hating the pharaoh and… Well, it’s a long story.

“Bakura in my world is actually a person who was formed by a piece of Touzoku-Ou’s soul and a demon god. There’s another whole story there, and everything is convoluted. Should I make some notes for you?”

The snake gazed at him, no longer tongue flicking or moving. Ryou rubbed her chin some more. “Did you fall asleep? Sorry, I started rambling. You’re very easy to talk to.”

In a doglike fashion, the serpent cocked her head, lengthy tongue flicks absorbing Ryou’s smell. Knowing this snake represented his lover’s ka in this world, Ryou bravely bumped noses with her, secure enough to believe Diabound would never hurt him in any world. True to form, the snake allowed the odd affection, exhaling a sigh-type sound from her glottis.

Eventually, Diabound slithered off his body and back into her pen. Ryou continued to beam at her, admiring her solid body of pure muscle, marveling over the sheen of her scales. 

When she settled most of herself back on the ground and only rested her chin on the fence to watch him, he whispered to her, “The point of this was to tell you I’m not the Ryou you’re used to. I mean, this is his body, but I’m a different soul. Weird, right? Promise not to go blabbing, okay? I don’t want anyone else to be as confused and freaked out as I am.”

He chuckled and walked away, not noticing the snake had once again cocked her head to the side, studying him with calculating eyes.

--- --- --- --- ---

AO3 Link: In Another Life - Chapter 10 - LiteraryAngel - Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga) [Archive of Our Own]

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[arc-misadventures]

So seeing as Jeanne is the only girl and Papa Arc seems kind of dated when it comes to women does that mean he trained her so she could be better protected or is Jeanne still the helpless idiot who is way over her head?

D-Dated? The devil did you get that? I literally don’t even have him say anything that would give off that impression.

As for the second part.

///

Papa Didn’t Raise No Damsel

Neptune: Hey there, Pretty Lady~! Name’s. Neptune, Neptune Vasilias. What’s yours~?

Jeanne: Uhh…?

Neptune: Yeah, I know; my magnetic personality is too hard to turn away from, but that’s what the ladies like after-all. (Ting~!)

Jeanne: D-Did your tooth just sparkle?!

Neptune: Just the effects of having a winning smile, Beautiful~!

Jeanne: Do you often get girls with your ‘Smooth charm, and rugged looks…?’

Neptune: You tell me~?

Jeanne: Well, you struck out with three girls in like a minute, before you decided to come over to me. Your monkey faunas friend over there is looking highly embarrassed at your attempts at flirting. Of which don’t exist.

Neptune: Oh, baby why must you hurt me so~?

Jeanne: Because your acting like a prince coming in to rescue the damsel in distress, when your talking to a group of highly trained, and deadly huntresses-in-training who could easily beat the hell out of you for shits, and giggles…

Neptune: …

Neptune: Is it that bad…?

Jeanne: Oh way worse than that.

Neptune: Oh… Well then? How about I drop the act, and just be myself then, eh?

Jeanne: Clearly you fail to understand what can only be the incredibly obvious…

Neptune: So, why don’t we go someplace else, and have some fun. There are plenty of games we can try out at the fair there.

Jeanne: …

Neptune: We can even make a date of it if you’d like~?

Jeanne: It’s Nepture, right?

Neptune: Eh?! Ahem! It’s Neptune, Neptune Vasilias.

Jeanne: Alright, Neptune… On your left.

Neptune: Huw? What’s over…?!

The second, Neptune turned his head to the left, his body was sent flying as, Jeanne’s aura infused fist collided with the right-side of his face. He hit the floor with a soft groan as, Jeanne walked to stand over the wannabe playboy.

Jeanne: Alright, Neptune. Listen, and listen we… Uhh… Neptune?

Jeanne kicked his body only for him to softly groan in pain as he laid there.

Jeanne: Hmm… brittle aura…

Sun: Oh gods?! You killed him?!

Jeanne: Ehh… 50/50 on that.

Sun: Why did you do that?!

Jeanne: Because if I didn’t someone else would, trust me on that. Besides, no one likes a play boy. I’ll see you later, Sun. Hopefully without, Play Boy there.

Sun: Ohh… Nep! Neptune speak to me man!

Neptune: Oh hi, Sun how’s it going…?

Sun: It’s okay… How about you; Are you okay bud?

Neptune: That depends; since when were you a triplet, Sun?

Sun: Oh no…

(Thud)

Neptune: Owww…

Sun: Oh shit?!

Blake: All things considering he got off pretty easy…

Sun: He’s been knocked out cold, how is that easy?!

Blake: Well, we may have, Pyrrha Nikos here, but everyone agrees that, Jeanne’s the school’s, Angel. So…

The duo turn around to see dozens of individuals glaring daggers at, Neptune’s prone body. No doubt planning bloody vengeance upon the heretic who dare flirt with their, Angel.

And, badly at that.

Blake: Yeah… Best keep, Playboy on a short leash from now on.

Sun: Noted…

Blake: Alright then, see you later, Sun!

Sun: Bye…

Sun watched as, Blake left, looking behind her he saw the mob of Hunter’s slowly leave, all of them making threatening gestures at him, and Neptune in the process. Till only he, and his comatose buddy remained.

Sun: …

Sun: Well that was creepy, but they’re still pretty cool people though!

[fallenrepublick]

maul ransacking the palace after regaining memory of his s/o: where are my kisses from starlight?? where are my snuggles and cuddles that i crave so dearly

ANYWAY i love this whole idea. needy heartbroken maul is my JAM ok. and im v curious what maul’s internal process actually WOULD look like, either before savage jogs his memory or on the cruiser? 👉👈

Excellent question!

Prior to "waking up," so to speak, he's the Maul everyone knows. A harbinger of darkness, a fierce warrior, angry, vengeful, lonely, yet too wrapped up in his ways that he won't accept any different. His mind all but reverts back to the abandoned apprentice, bent on revenge and little else. Who you were, he was unclear, and if anything, it made him angry. You weren't a Mandalorian warrior, that was for certain. At first, you desperately tried to interact with him, to explain something, to make him remember something? Whatever it was, it all seemed like senseless muttering to him.

Savage seemed to know you... somehow. Yet he kept his distance.

The other zabrak, meanwhile, only caused more questions. Through the force, Maul sensed something off about him, something familiar, yet neither like him or his brother. Whatever this sense was, he hated the overwhelming sadness he was assaulted with whenever he was around the zabrak. Sometimes in fact, he would feel it by himself, a distant sense he knew could only have come from this stranger. Often, Maul would consider finding a way to be rid of Feral, one way or another. Although, the thought almost instantly left his mind, as its arrival managed to pull Feral's gaze upon him. Was this... a sense of fear? Fear of what? Even if it were... he'd never admit to it.

This version of Maul felt nothing short of relief when the two of you were gone. Something about the two of you was... wrong.

But the Maul you knew, waking up one morning as if all had been well the day before, was anything but relieved.

Never was his Starlight awake before him, he was so used to feeling you beside him in the morning. But the space beside him was cold, not even the remnants of an indentation where you usually slept. At this, he jolted upright, scanning the palace to the best of his ability for your presence, only to come up with nothing. A mental account of who was there.

Him. Savage. Saxon. Kast.

...You weren't there. And neither was Feral.

Forcing the bedroom door open hard enough to dent half the surface, he ran with horrifically heavy steps to Savage's room. Of course, his brother had been awake for hours already.

"Brother? What's-"

"Where is Starlight?!" Maul growled. It wasn't an accusation. Not to Savage, at least.

But his brother only stared. "What... do you mean?"

"Starlight is gone, where are they?!"

"They're... with Feral, of course. You remember, they left years ago..." He watched Maul's expression grow increasingly distressed. "Brother... how much... do you remember?"

Choosing not to answer, Maul instead orders the shuttle to be prepared, and a search conducted.

Hearing what's become of you and Feral, Maul isn't certain if it's more of a relief or a harsher pain. You were safe, at the very least. But there's more to it, isn't there?

Feral, the brother he once knew to be a grounding bridge, a peaceful support system, now someone whose name is known by even the most sheltered of individuals on some small nearby planet. Was this all on purpose? In Maul's absence, would Feral dare so flippantly to fill his twin's shoes? It was all Maul could think of on the way down, this small show of aggression. Come find me, it was like Feral was saying, try to take them from me.

And so Feral stood, rigid and tall as a false god, pretending to be someone he's not. He could try, try to be Maul. But something would always be missing, wouldn't it? This whole time, no doubt, you'd have felt that gap, the pieces of Maul you could never get from Feral. There would have been an inadequacy to his love, an element of strength to it that Feral simply could never provide. And Feral's "leadership"? Such a façade could only go on for so long. In time, you'd find the cracks, the weakness that Maul never suffered from.

Outside the home he made for himself, despite it feeling more like you, Maul watched his brother as the shuttle approached. Perhaps if things were different, he would have thanked his brother for keeping you safe. But the betrayal was not something he could take lightly. Feral was not merely keeping you safe, but practically took you from Maul, manipulating, altering your allegiance. Those mind games he played through the force were without a doubt having their affects on you.

"Starlight, it's time for us to leave."

Take my hand.

Take my hand.

Why aren't you moving?

Come to me. Come home.

"Starlight."

His hand stretches further. As does his feelings through the force. But all the sensations in his reach can feel is a wall, cold and solid. You were warm. You'd always been warm and safe. It can't have been that long... he couldn't have been that cruel to you...

Instead, he searches Feral, a glance to him to search for something on his mind for an answer. Any answer at all.

Against all odds, Maul comes up with... nothing. Feral's eyes narrow slightly in response. Don't.

What's Maul supposed to think? What's he meant to feel, when your back turns, when you take Feral's hand instead? It's been hours for Maul, years for you. To you... he's been all but dead that whole time.

He stretches out one last time through the force, holding on to the last bit hope that had long since abandoned him.

Please.

Please.

Nothing.

The strength in his connection wavers. And you're gone.

[kuvvydraws]

The real question

So, hello again darling, seems you have me in your laser sights, so I decided to give you the real question.

Let's say the skele boys have a human friend, a nice person, sweet, kind, a good listener, just a really nice person. You never seem em without long sleeves though, or a hat, and long pants. Even when its rather hot, but as they never complain and take the teasing with good grace, it doesn't alarm you.

But they have a curious habit; every time they are outside, at least semi constantly they would stare at the sky, gazing at the clouds and such. Sometimes nothing would come of it, other times, they would leave in a quick hurry.

Still that's pretty basic right? Until the first time they are out with you guys inside somewhere, and when you look to leave...its raining, not heavily, but a good rain is falling. 

And they don't move. They freeze up just looking outside, and it takes a good moment to snap them out of it. They brush it off as just thinking, but you notice they always have the entrance and the rain in their field of view the entire time you guys wait for it to stop raining.

And when it does, they leave so quickly its immediately apparent something is wrong.

It really comes to a head when they are over by you, helping Ash in his garden, and over the radio, a thunderstorm warning goes out for the area.

Its the first time since the rain incident you've ever seen them so panicked..no

terrified.

Their own area is already under the thunderstorm, so all they can do is stay by the skele boys, and wait. And boy they are being weird. 

Constantly checking for weather updates, checking the sky, checking, double checking and triple checking if you guys have everything in case electricity goes out, food stuff, the works.

Then the rain comes, and they go quiet. Incredibly quiet, cause its heavy, pounding rain, and wind that seems to shake the windows, and they are as silent as a grave. Some of the boys, Blue and Red, Poplar even, try to be distractions for their clearly distressed guest and friend, and it works, for a time. They start speaking, helping play some games.

Then the first flash of lightning lights the sky. It's the first time the skele's have seen it, its beautiful as it arcs through the clouds. Poplar is giving an explanation of how lightning works, the thunder that followed and the why, and everyone is listening.

Then Blue turns to talk to the friend about it....but they are gone. Or rather, not where they were before. A cursory look over the couch finds them, curled up, tight, shivering, and they flinch, genuinely flinch the moment any of them touch them.

Their eyes, when they look up, are pinpricks of terror and fear and as another flash of lightning strikes, it only gets worse.

How do the skele boys react to this sudden change, this drastic change in their friend, and how would they try to help them through whatever this is?

(Once the Thunderstorm is over, and for an hour afterwards they would be in this state, and would quietly ask to stay over for the night, refusing to leave the house, and even begging Ash and the others to not go out until tomorrow. Tears and soft begging are used.

And to think...I haven't given you the why they are petrified of thunderstorms yet. I'll save that reveal for later!)

Hope you enjoy this darling, its one of two plot bunny's that took my mind recently. 

———

My! This is def one clear scenario and now I'm intrigued! How dare you leave me at the end with no closure!!! 🔪🔪🔪

I think you can separate the boys into categories (and I'm being biased absolutely here but 😈):

The sweet ones: mainly the og and swap!Sans, and I'm counting the horror brothers here as well. These guys would go for close comfort based on what they know about their friend, and it might be a bit of a mess but they're trying their hardest and it's hard, no matter how troubled they are and how bad they feel, to not notice Papyrus keeps hitting his head on the doorway, or how Poplar or Blue ramble loudly, or how Sans and Ash are sitting as close as possible to them, their bones digging on their side a solid relief.

Team Anxiety™: that would be swap! and swapfell! Papyrus and underfell!sans. Goofs to the marrow and quite useless queen it comes to using their brains during an emotional compromise, these guys are so nervous to fuck up the situation even worse they just sit by you and rattle away. They're there, ready to keep you company and refusing to leave their friend alone, even if that means their fidgeting brings them to hear a hole in their jacket or hoodie.

"I'll fistfight Zeus for you" Squad: this is swapfell!Sans and underfell!Papyrus in a nutshell. Of course they rationally know they can't just take a really big leap and help the mighty god swallow his teeth, but that's the very first thing that comes to mind. The second one is, based on their emotional constipation, to go full pragmatic –it keeps them busy, it's familiar, and they keep themselves in check about not crowding their friend with something they're not ready to share yet. Expect comfort items and food and, depending on the mood, a very warm and equally awkward pat on the back. They might get up to patrol the room from time to time, not used to the stillness and inactivity, but they keep a watchful eyelight in case their friend calls for them; they know they're not the most approachable individuals, but you'll never find anyone as serviceable and ready to assist anywhere else.

———

Hiya, @he-who-writes-pretentious-i-know! I hope you don't mind my own addition, I'm really looking forward to what you'll develop from this situation and inspiration just came 😂 👋🏻

[igottiny]

Ateez: Individual member: Playing Seven Minutes in Heaven with you, their crush. Female reader.

It was just supposed to be a relaxing night with you hanging out in the dorms with the boys before the next round of promotions started. But innocent games eventually turned in Never Have I Ever, and Truth or Dare. Currently it was a game of Truth or Dare. You were called on by the previous victim to choose between these given two options. Feeling brave you picked dare. What you weren't expecting was the smirk and being told that you had to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with, of all people in the room, your crush.

San - He doesn’t know why he is so nervous. It’s not like the two of you don’t flirt with each other all the time. It doesn’t matter what it was you were doing together, the flirting just happened naturally. No one really paid any mind to it as it was just the way the two of you were. However, he only really let on to Wooyoung that the flirting on his end at least was real. He was over the moon for you. You had grown up playing volleyball as well and also shared a love for reading, though you did have fundamental disagreements on which Stephen King novel was his best work.

Whenever you were around you were practically attached at the hip, and even when apart you were constantly texting each other. He’s not quite sure when his flirting turned serious for him but he was about at the end of his rope. Honestly, he was glad that you had chosen the dare and Wooyoung chose him to go with you and not one of the other members. You had basically been locked in the laundry room with him so he might as well come clean with his feelings. He would have liked this to be more romantic but if he had to risk someone else getting dared to do something filthy with you instead of him for one more round of the game he was going to lose his mind.

“Y/N,” he started as he squared his shoulders, “I know this might just be a game, but to be honest, all the time I spend with you is time spent in heaven.”

“That one was cheesy Sannie.”

“I mean it Y/N. Drop dead serious. Cross my heart and hope to die. I drop Wooyoung like a sack of potatoes if I know I get to spend time with you instead. You never get out of my head. You’ve become my partner in crime.” He drags his hands down his face when you just stare at him like a deer caught in headlights.  “Y/N, what I’m trying to say is that I like you as way more than friends. I hate the time we spend apart. It feels like an important part of me is missing. I get to have conversations with you that the others won’t hold. And no one else will pass a volleyball back and forth with me. You mean the world to me. You are my heaven on earth.”

In reality, it couldn’t have been more than a minute that had passed. But it was like days drawn out for him as you just stared at him, expression unreadable. No sooner had his shoulders slumped in defeat and he hung his head did he have your arms wrapped around his neck and you in his arms. He was thrilled but soon distress settled in as he felt you shake and a sniffle reach his ears. He quickly pulled your arms from around him and held you by the arms far enough away to get a good look at you.

“I’m sorry Sannie. I just never thought in a million years that all your flirting would actually mean something. You tend to just flirt without realizing you are doing so. It’s like second nature to you. I learned it hurt less that you were flirting with everyone if I just played along and flirted back too.” You were trying so hard not to cry as you confessed to liking him back, even if they were happy tears.

“Oh Y/N,” he breathed out before closing the distance between you and kissing you like he had wanted to for so long. It took seconds for it to turn heated as the pent up feelings and sexual tension were finally let out like an opened dam. Neither of you noticed you were moving until your lower back collided with the dryer as your hands explored each other in ways you both had only dreamed of before.

It was the moan that you released when his right hands trailed down the side of your body and to the front of your pants that caused the kiss to break. Both of you were panting as you rolled your hips into his touch. You both had wanted for so long. He dove in for another kiss which soon moved your neck as you ran your hands over him as well. You changed your stance to allow him more room and the zipper on your pants was soon undone. His hands were strong and nimble.

Time had flown faster than either of you had thought possible and Wooyoung was opening the door to the laundry room without a second thought. You didn’t even have time to pull away from each other before you heard Wooyoung’s blaring voice.

“Oh my God,” he screamed, quickly backing back out. “Use a condom,” he yelled as he slammed the door shut.

___________________________________

MASTER LIST

[angst-fairygodmother]

Kiss #5 with Sonny x reader

A/N: What a perfect setup for ♫Angst♫ with a happy ending. Word Count:��1107 Warnings: Canon-typical violence, references to human trafficking, language, blood Prompt: Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips. Tagging: @writefasttalkevenfaster  @caracalwithchips @laneygthememequeen (tagging the three of you because you’ve expressed previous excited interest in my SVU fics. Let me know if you’d like to be removed from this list in the future, or if you are not one of said three and would like to be added 😉)

You hated undercover work, especially when it ended up in a long game and kept you away from home. You hated sleeping in sketchy apartments or motels, the condition of which you didn’t dare to consider closer for fear of what you might uncover. You hated having to dress in clothes fitting the part instead of your own taste. You hated having to interact with marks and perps and other smarmy, skin-crawling individuals.

But most of all, you hated being apart from Sonny.

The two of you had been together for almost a year when a deep-cover sting on a trafficking ring took you away for going on three weeks now. You couldn’t wait for it to be over, and luckily, if your intel was right, tonight was the night.

Of course, you worked with Manhattan SVU and nothing ever quite seemed to go your way.

~

Someone had tipped off someone and word had gotten back around to the leader of the ring. The bust had turned into a hostage situation, with you and three girls held at gunpoint while he raged and spit, demanding to know which of you was the cop so he could “blow their whore head off.”

You thought about giving yourself up, to protect the victims, but you also didn’t believe he was the sort of man to just accept your word. Sure he would probably follow through on his threat and kill you if you admitted that you were an undercover detective, but he would probably also kill the others, either before you to make a point or after you just in case you were lying.

So you huddled with them, cowered in a corner, making sure that you were positioned in front so that if the gun he was waving around went off, it would be likely to hit you and not them, and you waited, praying like hell that Olivia and the rest of the squad would come in time, praying that you would get to see Sonny’s face again.

~

It was getting too risky. The longer the standoff went on, the more likely it was he would snap, someone would get hurt. Or, just as likely, one of the other girls would cave and rat you out, hoping to save her own skin. You had to say something while you still had at least a chance of talking him down.

You summoned Sonny’s face in your mind, his dusty blue eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He was always smiling. You wondered if after tonight he would still smile. You shook the thought away and tried to imagine him by your side, telling you that you had this, that you were going to be fine and then he’d have his mother’s zeppole waiting for you when you walked through the door. You smiled at the thought, in spite of yourself.

“Promise you won’t hurt us, if we tell you?” one of the girls asked, voice trembling with fear, cutting through your mental pep-talk.

You turned to her wide-eyed and tried to hold in the swear that you ended up muttering under your breath. There went your control of the situation.

“Of course not, beautiful. I’m only looking to hurt the ones trying to screw me over. You’re my girls.”

“Okay. It’s…” she hesitated, looking at you apologetically before pointing to you, tears spilling down her cheeks.

It all happened fast after that. You weren’t really sure the sequence of events, but the door kicked in, shots were fired, and then you were sitting in the back of an ambulance with a blanket over your shoulders and blood, his blood not yours, spattered across your face.

“You alright, Y/N?” Kat asked, leaning against the door of the bus beside you.

You frowned, trying to decide what your answer was to the question. You weren’t hurt, but you were dazed, maybe even in shock.

“I…” you hesitated, mouth open, waiting for words that wouldn’t come.

She raised a concerned eyebrow. “Maybe we should have the EMTs check you out after all…”

“No, I’m alright,” you said finally, shaking yourself off. “Just…tired. And I could use the world’s longest, hottest shower.”

Before she could respond with more than a chuckle, you heard your name shouted through the crowd of personnel gathered around in a voice like music to your ears even with the distressed note to it.

“Y/N, there you are!” Sonny said, pushing his way past several officers to get to you, his long tan coat flapping in the breeze he generated.

“When they said shots were fired…I was so…don’t scare me like that doll.”

“Sonny,” you sighed, heart overflowing with relief at the sight of his blue eyes and the sound of his stupid Staten Island drawl.

He paused, finally taking in where you were seated and the marks on your face.

“Is that blood? Oh my god, doll are you hurt?” his voice rose an octave, cracking with panic as his eyes roved over you, searching for the source.

“Not mine,” you croaked, barely getting the words out before you were crushed to him in a hug that you swore made your ribs creak. Not that you cared, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him close and hold him just as tightly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Kat shake her head and walk away, blessedly giving the two of you a moment alone.

“For a second there, I was scared I wouldn’t ever see you again,” you admitted, whispering your confession into his ear.

His grip on you tightened, if that were even possible. “Don’t…don’t even say that. Don’t ever…I couldn’t live if that happened Y/N.”

He pulled back just long enough to look you in the eye before his lips were on yours. The kiss was like none you’d shared before, desperate, needy, both of you pouring all of the love and fear in equal measure that you felt into it. You breath escaped you in a groan as you clung to each other.

“Carisi,” Fin said, voice making you jump apart like two teenagers caught on the bed by your parents. “We’re done for the night. Why don’t you take Y/N home. Y/N, Liv says to take a few days off and then have your report done by Monday.”

You nodded.

“Thanks Fin,” Sonny said, clapping the older man on the shoulder and wrapping his free arm around your waist.

“And hey, Y/N. Even if we’re not going to show it like he did,” Fin smirked. “We’re all just as glad you’re okay.”

[empressarcana]

Heyy hi! Hope you're doing well.💞

I've been wanting to ask you about a dream I had few nights ago but I was hesitating as it might sound made up or something, but I swear to god it's not. So please bear with me.

In my dream I saw Armie (who looks a bit aged, like in 40s) who is talking to a very young boy (who looks 90% like Timothée) on a big dining table. He addresses the boy as his "son" & laments before him about why he left Timothée. (So I assume the boy is their son maybe? Idk ) . He says to him that Timothée stopped loving him the way he used to, & he wasn't the same boy anymore who he fell in love with many years ago & their love was no longer the same , so that's why he left Timothée. It literally broke my heart 🥺🥺 it's like I was right there 😭 Even the boy who he was talking to was also sobbing 😭

Then I saw a flashback or something, where I saw Timmy & Armie ( who's looking so young & handsome) playing with a little dark haired boy. The little boy keeps on clinging on to Timmy, which kind of upsets Armie. So he asks the little that why he loves Timmy more than him & he tells him that he loves him more than Timmy does. And then I was wondering why was Armie being a collosal asshole? Why was he so jealous? Then I woke up & I was already mad at Armie for this stupid dream of mine. 😒

I know it doesn't sound credible but I swear on my life, I literally saw this in my dream. And I don't know what it means. I hope it's not as bad as it seemed in the dream. Please help.

Oh hello my dear, Anon! 👋

I am doing okay, just keeping myself busy, the usual. ❤️ Also, oh goodness, I hope you’re doing okay! 🥺 Please, no need to hesitate and no need to worry. From the distress in the tone of your message, I feel you’re being genuine. Even so, please don’t worry about what other people think. I am glad you reached out and I will try to assist the best way I can.

Okay, wow that is a lot to take in! 😭 I first want to say, maybe this is a bit much, and I haven’t dived into their past lives in detail but this dream could be from a past life. It could be many things. I will say that dreams can also manifest from our fears and blend it all together from other subconscious thoughts.

In this case though, after pulling out some cards in reference to your dream, I got the Lovers and the Strength card. (Seriously I was talking about the Strength card for Timmy earlier today, watttt 🤯) I feel this could very well be a past life, Anon. Again, this is just my intuitive opinion (with pretty cards 😉) but this is beautiful, really. Yes, the energy you picked up on from your dream might have been confusing and it hurt to see, but I feel this might have been a past life where their souls didn’t get to live their desired outcome.

I have mentioned this before, too, I strongly feel their souls have been trying to stay in union for quite a couple of lifetimes, and I feel this one is so close. Dare I say, I feel this will be the one, but again this is just what I feel.

Little bit about the cards: The Lovers is a card, not just about relationships but the choices being taken toward them, or a choice about a path in life you want to take. It is ruled by Gemini for those reason. Communication, duality, connecting and decided upon the direction you want to go down. With Strength, again, there is a lion and an individual holding the lion. There were parts of self that weren’t tamed enough to make this relationship successful in the past (life). Perhaps, this is a reminder, in fact the infinity symbol on top of the person’s head, the cycle continues infinitely. I am interpreting this as for Timmy and Armie, their soul cycle will continue until their soul lessons are learned. Then, they can come into union without anymore challenges in the way.

Please don’t fret, Anon. I want to thank you so much for sharing your dream with me. You can stop by any time! I’ve got pastries in the oven, so please do come again. ❤️ Sending love and feel good vibes your way! ❤️

[the-patrex]

The Master bit back a frustrated growl as he weaved his way through the crowd of partying humans as he made his way to the refreshment booth. He needed a drink if he were to get through this night. Sniffing, he tried to gag at the sharp scent of alcohol and individual humans. Despite the strong odor, however, he caught the hint of something different. This one was lighter, more enticing than the others and had a hint of lavender perfume to it. Theta. He scanned the crowd but was unable to spot her. What was she doing here? Didn’t she have better things to do than stalk him 24/7? Irritated, he stood at the table and poured himself a cup of whatever drink was in the giant bowl. He wasn’t going to give any information on the Timeless Child if that’s what she wanted. In fact, he didn’t even want to see her anymore. The damn Matrix was enough to make him hate her, or so he’d thought before seeing her new face for the first time.

He clenched his teeth around the rim of the foam cup as he sipped, remembering her holy, angelic features. As if her spliced DNA being inside him wasn’t enough. He’d been awestruck seeing her new regeneration for the first time in person. The way the sunlight had made her hair burn like the early rays of morning and her smooth, perfectly crafted from seemingly God Himself(so different from the old, wrinkled face and bushy eyebrows he’d grown accustomed to as Missy!) made his hearts ache with an intensity he’d never felt before. “What are you doing here sulking about like that?” Speak of the devil, he thought bitterly, turning to face her. “Hello, sweetie.”

“Come to give me a check up, Doctor?” he asked sarcastically, smirking devilishly. She arched her brows, seemingly amused at the response.

“You missed your last appointment so yes.” He scoffed. “Enjoying the party?” His brows furrowed. There was something…off about her stance. She seemed a bit wibbly and sour smelling underneath the perfume. It was definitely not the smell of a rotting corpse or garbage but it made him faintly queasy. He decided to ignore it for now.

“What are you doing here? Don't  you have to babysit your little human friends like you always do?” She chuckled, baring her milk white teeth like a feral creature. Hell, she probably was under that humanoid guise. Or maybe she was a creature whose true form was so incomprehensible to the mortal eye, it had to take the form of a Shobogan once it fell through the portal above that monument so it wouldn’t cause a ruckus. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t died in the Kassavin realm. Maybe they’d seen her other form and decided to let her go easily because of it. The Master took a sip of his drink which was probably some sort of fruit cocktail by the taste of it. Her other form was probably to beautiful to look at if she looked this blinding in the body of a Time Lord. Blinding like the suns of Gallifrey. The Doctor poured herself a glass of wine.

“Your thoughts are too loud,” she grumbled, taking a sip.

“No one told you to read my mind,” he retorted, moving away to the garden behind the ballroom. He could feel her piercing gaze on him as he pushed the back door open and headed toward the gazebo. “Where are they anyway? That trio of yours?”

“Sheffield,” she responded, picking a flower that complimented her blue dress quite nicely. “You have quite the imagination, we’ll tell you that. Your speculations are wrong. Probably.” Probably?

“You found out?” The Master turned to face her. That wasn’t right. She wouldn’t go looking for the truth unless he’d forced her to. She was a runner not a seeker. He searched her eerily serene expression for some sort of clue. A clue to what, he didn’t know. She was a mystery that he intended to unravel but not in the way her adopted mother had. The Doctor’s eyes bore holes into his own, analyzing every twitch and muscle movement on his face. He didn’t like that look of hers. It reminded him too much of Tecteun the explorer and exploiter. She smiled knowingly and placed the plant in his suit pocket. Who are you? he wanted to ask. Why are you here? What do you want? “Did it hurt?” he asked instead, ignoring the gut instinct to fear this person(thing?) he’d known since childhood. “I bet it did because it definitely hurt me.” He stepped closer to her(it? Them?), wishing she’d show some sort of weakness instead of the serenity he privately yearned for during the late hours.

“Of course it hurt you,” she murmured, cupping his face in her hands. “Everything hurts, doesn’t it? We can see it, all that pain hiding behind the rage in your eyes.” We? When did she start referring to herself as we? She stared sympathetically at him. “Do you want it leave? We can make the hurt go away. Would you like us to quell the rage and pain in your hearts?” Her voice was more soothing than ever and her eyes were so hypnotic, he could barely look away. Their foreheads touched lightly. “Please, Koschei. Let us help you.” He frowned, mulling over her words. Us? Why would she use the word “us” to refer to herself? The strange trance broke and he sharply pulled away, feeling disgustingly exposed and violated. What had just happened?

“How dare you,” he growled, lunging for her throat. She dodged out of the way and placed a hand on his temple while making a sound in her throat that, judging by her expression, was one of disapproval. The Master suddenly felt weak and crumpled to the floor. Time seemed to swirl and wobble around him, causing his brain to spin. When she released her touch, he felt nauseous and puked a bit on the grass. “What the fuck did you do?!” he snarled, wiping the mess from his mouth and glaring at her. The Doctor, or whatever the fuck she was, looked down at him with mild dissatisfaction.

“We opened you up to the influences,” she responded simply, turning away. The Master’s head was still reeling but he struggled to his feet to catch up with her.

“What influences? Who the fuck are you?” The creature didn’t even turn to face him as it- no, they answered his questions.

“We are Legion. Unfortunately, you’re not getting your friend back any time soon.”

“Wh- you’re possessing her?!”

“No, it’s a progressive alteration of the host’s brain to better fit the needs of the parasite.” A parasite, the Master thought bitterly. Of course. So that was where the smell was coming from. He watched as they plucked a rose from its bush and examined it thoughtfully in their hands. “This is perfectly normal for her kind, as I’ve explained to her.” Today was just full of surprises.

“You talk to her?” He didn’t know if he should be horrified, impressed, or enraged at the thing. What has it been telling her?

“Yes, we have tea together.” Legion looked at him. “Would you like an invitation to our next tea party? You seem…what’s the word? Distressed? No, that’s not it.”

“I’m going to kill you,” the Master snarled, getting in their face. They didn’t even flinch which was quite impressive. “You think I’d be okay with a parasite talking to my best enemy like that?”

“Ooh. Careful, Koschei. She’s listening to everything you say right now. Don’t want her getting the idea that you care about her or anything now do we?” They smiled, tapping his nose mischievously with the flower. He wanted to bite them.

“Fuck you,” he spat, storming off to the direction of the ballroom.

“Was that meant for us or your girlfriend?” They called.

“Both!” He paused, realizing the implication of their word choice. Motherf- “And you’re not my girlfriend!”

[Okay, Kos. Sure,] Legion said telepathically. [We’re greatly flattered.]

“Piss off,” he growled through gritted teeth, feeling their amusement roll off him like waves.

A/N: He kept the flower in his coat pocket by the way if y'all are wondering.

[willofcausality-a]

Reconnect

@mediioxumate sent:  Trick or Treat! 🎃 :3

I told you I’d do it. Eventually. Let’s just pretend it’s still Halloween. Anyway this got way longer than I meant it to and I made myself sad with it, but I hope you like it!! And as always I hope I did your boy justice!!

Hajime only notices him at first because the hot pink of his hair is bright in the dimly lit, late night cafe. He only pays closer attention because of the bruises on his face. And he approaches because, finally, recognition strikes home.

‘Kazuichi?’

Kazuichi gives him only a cursory glance before returning to staring into the bottom of his cup. ‘I’m really not in the mood to be made fun of right now, so don’t even bother,’ he mumbles.

Kazuichi doesn’t recognise him. Hajime supposes this isn’t surprising. He’s changed a lot since they were children. So has Kazuichi, judging by the hair and coloured contacts. But, despite Hajime’s often hazy memory, he’s good with people. He often thinks it may be because of his bad memory, rather than in spite of it, so used to having to search through some kind of distortion to get to the real thing. And he can see it in Kazuichi. The way he worries at his lower lip with his teeth. The way one leg bounces anxiously. The way his eyes flit around the room and his shoulders hunch, anticipating some kind of threat.

Hajime sits down opposite him.

‘I said—’ Kazuichi begins, finally looking Hajime in the eye, and then he pauses.

Hajime can see Kazuichi’s mind working. It’s his eyes, he knows. Even if everything else about him is different, he still has very distinctive eyes, and they’re stirring something in Kazuichi’s memory even if he can’t quite place it.

‘It’s Hajime,’ Hajime says. ‘Hajime Hinata. We... We were friends when we were kids.’

‘Wait... Hajime?’ Kazuichi almost stammers in his disbelief as realisation finally dawns. His gaze sweeps over Hajime again, and Hajime fights the urge to wrap his arms around himself. To shield himself. Kazuichi is just in disbelief, trying to reconcile memories of his childhood friend with this stranger sitting opposite him.

Instead, Hajime flashes a small smile and gives a small wave. ‘Hello.’

‘Hey!’ All trace of anxiety or distress has temporarily left Kazuichi, and his face lights up in a smile. If Hajime had seen that smile before anything else, he would have recongised him instantly. ‘God, Hajime, you’re so—I can’t believe you—’

He doesn’t seem to know how to finish the sentence, for which Hajime is grateful. Even if Kazuichi is reaching for a compliment, he knows it’s not something he’s going to be comfortable hearing. So he intervenes before Kazuichi can finally pull out a complete sentence.

‘I like your hair.’

Kazuichi’s hand goes to his hair, twisting a lock of it around his finger. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. It suits you.’

Kazuichi smiles for a moment, and then his expression drops again and he sighs. ‘My dad didn’t think so.’

Hajime hesitates, eyes lingering on the purple bruise ringing Kazuichi’s eye, on his swollen lip and the dried blood crusted in the corner of his mouth. He’d always feared Kazuichi’s father would go too far one day and lash out at his son with his fists instead of his words. It looks like that day finally came.

‘That’s... sorta why I’m here.’ Kazuichi looks down into his cup again. ‘Mom’s kickin’ him out finally and she said I should probably... y’know. Stay outta the way until he’s gone.’

Hajime wonders if the advice was to protect Kazuichi from getting hurt again, or to protect him from seeing her getting hurt.

Possibly both.

His heart breaks for both of them. Kazuichi’s mother was always good to him, better to him even than his own. He remembers wishing she was his real mother and then feeling an almost crippling guilt for daring to think something so ungrateful.

And Kazuichi... Well. He’s never had a friend like Kazuichi since they drifted apart after starting different highschools. Someone he could tell anything to. Someone who did not look at him like he was some delicate flower that had to be preserved under glass, or throw him leering, lecherous glances when he looked at him at all.

He thought about Kazuichi less as he grew up, his childhood friend slowly being buried along with everything else from those more innocent times, but it wouldn’t be true to say he forgot him altogether. He still thought about him fondly, almost wistfully, from time to time as was normal with distant friendships. Especially when he found himself in situations where he felt he had no one to turn to for help or comfort.

‘Are you planning on just staying here until it’s safe to go home?’ Hajime asks.

Kazuichi shrugs. ‘Guess so. Ain’t got anywhere else to go.’

‘Come home with me.’ Hajime makes the offer almost before he’s aware he’s going to, but he persists with it anyway. ‘You might as well wait somewhere more—somewhere warmer.’

He was about to say somewhere more comfortable, but his home is anything but comfortable. If Kazuichi remembers anything about him from their youth, he’d know that too.

After a moment, Kazuichi nods. ‘Yeah, okay. Thanks.’ He downs the rest of the contents of his cup and makes a face; it’s probably cold by now.

Hajime gets to his feet, automatically straightening out the creases in his skirt. He catches Kazuichi giving him an amused look, and blushes. He remembers all the fights he had with his parents as a child, insisting he was not going to wear a skirt or a dress, he was not. All the times he purposely put ladders in his tights to spite them, or played around in the mud in his best clothes with Kazuichi. And now here he is, clothes smart and immaculate, hair teased into loose, elegant curls and pulled into a neat ponytail.

He feels a sensation of doubling, like stepping outside of his body and looking back at himself. A wave of dizziness washes over him as his surroundings seem to blur, and he closes his eyes, holding onto the table to keep himself upright.

‘Hey, you okay, dude?’ Concern in Kazuichi’s voice.

Hajime takes a deep, slow breath, and opens his eyes again. There’s a distorted shimmer over everything, like heat, but the dizziness is gone.

He forces a smile. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Come on.’

He leaves the cafe without waiting for a response, and Kazuichi falls into step beside him. He tries to focus on the sound of Kazuichi’s boots as he walks, rather than the clicking of his own sensible low heels.

****

The house is dark and the driveway is empty, as Hajime knew it would be. His parents won’t be back for another few hours yet. He lets himself and Kazuichi into the large entryway, closing the door behind them with a dull thud. It’s a claustrophobic sound to Hajime.

‘Never thought I’d be here again,’ Kazuichi says. He looks uncomfortable as he glances around the room. He looks very out of place here, and Hajime envies him that. Kazuichi’s father may not have reacted well, but Kazuichi is still grasping at his own individuality, becoming the kind of person he wants everyone to see him as, while Hajime has just retreated further and further and into his parents’ ideal image of a daughter, sacrificing everything that makes him feel like him.

He leads Kazuichi through the house and to his room, feeling at least a small sliver of relief when he closes the door behind him. While he’ll never be completely comfortable anywhere inside his parents’ house, his bedroom is the closest he’ll get. It’s his sanctuary.

Kazuichi stares around, no doubt pulling up what he remembers of this room from childhood and overlaying it with what he’s seeing now. Hajime leaves him to it, kicking off his shoes and going into the en suite bathroom. He changes out of his stifling skirt and blouse and into a plain t-shirt three sizes too big and pyjama shorts. Pulls out the ponytail and reties his hair into a loose, messy bun. Scrubs the makeup off his face.

When he reemerges, Kazuichi has sat down on the edge of the bed, and he grins when he sees him. ‘Now you look a lot more like you.’

'Shut up,’ Hajime says, making a face. But Kazuichi’s words cause a spark of warmth inside him.

He sits on the bed beside Kazuichi. He brought a dish of warm water and a washcloth from the bathroom with him, and he hesitates for a moment before reaching out to gently touch Kazuichi’s cheek, tilting his head a little to get a better look at his injuries. Kazuichi does not meet his eye as he does it, choosing to look down and fidget instead.

Hajime soaks the washcloth in water and then gently dabs it over the corner of Kazuichi’s mouth, removing the blood. Kazuichi gives a small hiss of pain despite the lightness of Hajime’s touch, but allows Hajime to clean him up.

When he’s finished, Hajime returns to the en suite, dumps out the water, now tinged a faint pink with blood. He refills the dish with cold water and grabs a clean washcloth, bringing both back to Kazuichi to put over his bruised eye.

‘You can stay here tonight if you don’t wanna go home yet,’ Hajime says. ‘My parents won’t know you’re here, but you’ll have to go out the window in the morning.’

The matter of fact way he says this causes Kazuichi to quirk an eyebrow at him. ‘You sound like you’ve done this before.’

‘Yeah, I like to bring injured boys home with me and soothe them back to health,’ Hajime jokes, artfully dodging an actual answer.

‘Awww, and here I thought I was special.’

Hajime snorts. ‘You’re the only one who’s been here before, if that helps.’ The words stir up a memory in him, and he gets to his feet.

He stands before his dresser for a moment, before gripping one end of it and shoving. It scrapes across the polished wood floor, but doesn’t go far. He tries again, arms straining.

‘What are you doing?’ Kazuichi asks. He approaches nevertheless and Hajime moves aside as Kazuichi shoves the dresser aside with much less effort. Then he turns to Hajime, expression questioning, and Hajime simply smiles and inclines his head towards the now exposed wall.

It’s the same spotless shade of cream as the rest of the room, except for one small patch at the very bottom. This is a faded pink colour, old paint that was skirted around instead of being painted over in the intervening years of redecorating between then and now.

On this small patch of old paintwork is a clumsy drawing of a car, done in marker pen. Beside it are two stick figures. One with black hair, one with brown. One wears glasses, and one has two different coloured eyes. Neither of them are wearing a dress.

Kazuichi lets out a snort of surprised mirth. ‘I remember that! Man, you freaked out so much when you realised how pissed your mom was gonna be.’ He turns shining eyes on Hajime. ‘Why is it still here?’

Hajime shrugs. He doesn’t really know why he refused to paint over the childish drawings put there by himself and Kazuichi when they were no older than ten. His mother never saw it, because he made sure to always keep it covered. After a while, it sort of became his own little secret. Something that was all his and that she knew nothing about. He didn’t want her to take it away from him, to impose her will on this tiny section of wall the same way she did on every other aspect of his life.

This was his.

Kazuichi keeps looking at the drawing for a while, smiling. At last, he returns to sit on the bed, soaks the washcloth in the cold water and places it back over his eye.

Hajime sits beside him. His eyes are on the drawing, but his mind is in the past.

He would never say his childhood was happy, but it was certainly freer. Back when there were less expectations on him. When he was allowed to run around climb trees and play in garages and only received scoldings for causing a mess and not for being unladylike or causing embarrassment. Back when no one cared that the child of a wealthy and powerful family was best friends with the child of a simple mechanic with a habit of drinking too much and raising his voice.

The Hajime of his childhood was a much truer version of the Hajime that exists now, and he can trace all of his growing unhappiness right down to the moment his parents enrolled him in private school while Kazuichi went to a public school, and it was no longer viewed as acceptable for them to be friends.

‘I missed you,’ Hajime says at last.

‘Yeah.’ Kazuichi’s voice is almost a whisper, the sound of tears lurking beneath it. ‘I missed you too.’

Hajime turns to face him, concerned. There are tears swimming in Kazuichi’s eyes and he’s wringing the washcloth out in his lap, not seeming to care that drops of cold water are running down his arms and splattering onto his legs.

‘Kaz? What’s wrong?’

‘I have this—’ He stops. Swallows. Continues. ‘Had. I had this friend. In school. He was my best friend. Only he didn’t... He didn’t really care about me. He was just using me. He was the only real friend I had and he did that to me and now I’ve got no one.’

Fury rises up in Hajime’s chest. He’s had his fair share of mistreatment in school, but how anyone could take advantage of someone like Kazuichi, someone so kind and sweet, so willing to sacrifice anything for someone he cares about. He can’t understand it.

Hajime shakes his head. ‘That’s not true.’ He reaches between them to wipe tears from Kazuichi’s cheek with his thumb, and then pulls Kazuichi into a hug. He wraps his arms tight around him, feels the way Kazuichi’s chest hitches with his sobs, muffled now against Hajime’s shoulder.

Hajime rubs Kazuichi’s back. His eyes are on the drawing, one moment of friendship preserved in time, unable to let go of it. He’s not letting go of Kazuichi this time, no matter what. ‘ You’ve got me. You’ll always have me.’

[awkward-tension-art]

Gossip

Alpha!bakugou x beta!reader

Fr give some betas some love y’all

Warnings: swearing, that’s all

@bakugouscentedcaramel

“Young hero Ground Zero has settled for a simple beta-“

“Ground Zero, most desirable bachelor, has been wasted on a-“

“can a beta and alpha work? How can pro hero Ground Zero truly be happy if-“

You turned off the TV. It had finally gotten out. Your relationship to Katsuki Bakugou. He wanted you out of the media’s eye, not out of shame but fear for your safety.

Villains had targeted him before, no telling if they would try for his love.

Someone must have taken a picture or video of you two together and sold it to every tabloid in Japan. In a span of hours you have been targeted, shot down and insulted.

All for being a beta.

It was a fact you used to wear with pride. Your presence alone could calm even the wildest of people.

It was how you and Katsuki had gotten together and worked so well. You’d be there to calm him down during his worst days, and he’d be there to protect you on yours.

You and him were so careful. How did they know?

Once they did, your name, quirk and beta status had been known to everyone.

And to everyone, you weren’t good enough.

You wouldn’t let it get to you. Your ballistic lover already had to much to worry about. You’d wear a smile, ignore the media’s cruel words, and let the storm pass.

But god, it was going to be a strong storm.

Even now, days later, you flipped through the news channels, and your lover came up.

“Do you think Ground Zero didn’t go public because he’s ashamed?” A pink haired woman asked the other 3 she was with.

“Of course, an alpha and beta together is nothing to celebrate.” A man with gray hair and mouse ears spoke, the rest of the individuals nodded.

“Maybe the reason that He has an explosive personality is that the beta isn’t enough for him.” Blondie piped up again.

All 4 of them began to agree over eachother, voices melting into one big insult, “yes, they aren’t good enough.”

The T.V was shut off and you jumped. Swiftly you turned around to see a very unhappy boyfriend with the remote in hand.

“The fact that you even listen to them pisses me off.” Bakugou growled.

You reached out to him, and instinctively he grabbed your hand, the contact calming him.

“I try not to,” You said, and the blonde hero sat next to you on the black couch, “but sometimes....I don’t know.” You sighed and put your head in your hands, “how are you handling this?”

He scoffed, “by making sure no one goes after you.”

Ah, of course he wouldn’t focus on the gossip. He didn’t care what anyone said. He was a top hero, what would words do to him that villains couldn’t?

Both could target you, but only one could kill you.

Still, you loved your alpha boyfriend. Not for his status, not for his looks or quirk. You loved him for him.

“You’re smiling at me again.”

You snapped out of your thoughts. You didn’t realize that you focused on him when you zoned out, “Sorry, think about how amazing you are.”

He turned his face away, a small blush at his cheeks, “shut it dumbass. You’re the amazing one, putting up with me and stuff.”

You giggled and leaned forward, pecking his cheek innocently.

There was still a question gnawing at you.

“Am...are you...,” you cut yourself off when you pulled away, “i....are you-.”

Before you finished, bakugou pushed you over cutting you off, “don’t you dare finish that question.” He growled over you, red eyes filled with so much emotion, “You are good enough. Fuck, you’re perfect. You make me so unbelievably happy (Y/N), I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here.”

You were speechless. Even more so when he bent his head down to nuzzle your neck, scenting you.

“Katsuki-.” You gasped, overwhelmed by his presence.

“I’m going to tell the whole world that you’re mine. They can shove it if they think you aren’t perfect for me.”

Your hands found his shoulders and push him up to look at you. Distress flashed across his crimson eyes. Had he made you uncomfortable?

“I love you Katsuki. With all my heart. But I belong to no one.” Your voice was clear and strong, for a beta, you could easily assert your dominance if need be.

Bakugou licked his lips at your words and smiled devilishly.

“Damn straight, and your not going to listen to what anyone has to say.” He lowered his head, lips only centimeters from yours, “because you’re perfect, and amazing.”

Happiness flooded your being. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled him in for a searing kiss.

“Fuck what the gossip says.” You broke away to say, “you and I are perfect.”

Bakugou snorted, “hell yea we are.”

At one point, the both of you fell off the couch, hitting the floor with a thump. Your body ended up on top of his.

Without thinking you laughed, the situation getting to you. Your boyfriend laughed below you, a genuine smile on his face.

The gossip was ridiculous.

You were fine, just the way you were.

[bleedingthirium]

Everything I Love Becomes Everything I’ve Lost (Reed900)

Title: Everything I Love becomes everything I’ve Lost. Words: 2740 Genre: Angst. Hurt-Comfort. Grief. Characters: Reed900 Warnings: Death of pet and litter. Authors Note: Not sure why I wrote this. Just wanted Gavin to suffer like the sadistic lil shit I am. Who doesn’t love a quietly supportive and comforting Nines? No one? Just me then? Okay, I’ll yeet myself out. Also, sorry if its all out of character.

 It was funny, no, horrible, how someone can lose so much within the space of just a few hours, and almost lose themselves in the process. Nines witnessed it happen to Gavin. 

At the beginning, Nines was only meant to be there to watch what is considered the most beautiful humanitarian act on the planet; giving birth to life.

The cat Gavin rescued 2-3 months ago had been abandoned because it was pregnant and the owners couldn’t deal with more cats. Gavin took the Mama Cat in, literally renaming her ‘Mama’ and had told Nines about her. Nines seemed curious about the pregnancy and how it excited Gavin, and as something similar to an educational experience in the role of humanity, Gavin offered for Nines to watch the birth. 

Being on call wasn’t new to Nines, however, he couldn’t deny the very vague mix of nervousness and excitement that lingered in his system at awaiting the phone call any moment. 9:23pm, Nines received the call from Gavin, who had barely managed to form a structured sentence as he breathed out in a singular incoherent sentence, “She’sherethey’recominggetyourassoverherenow!” It was lucky that Nines was fluent in the language of Gavin Reed; able to decipher when the man was being sarcastic, covering up emotions or when his brain was working faster than his mouth – such as this particular instance. Arriving at Gavin’s 15 minutes later due to roadworks hindering him from arriving earlier, he expected to be greeted by an excited Gavin. However when he knocked on the door, it flung upon to see a panicked Gavin on the phone to someone. Gavin walked away from the door, focusing on the conversation on the other end of the phone while Nines stepped in. Immediately those cold, calculating blue eyes of his began to scan the room – blood, towels, half-full bowl of water tinged pink, and a cat loudly panting and mewling. Nines LED began to swirl to a bright yellow. Something didn’t feel right. His attention was brought to the conversation Gavin was having, and he noted how Gavin held the phone tightly to his ear as though he feared he’d miss a single word from what was being said. “Yes… about two hours… No, no…no… There’s blood…A lot…Okay, yep…yep… Okay, okay, thank you. Bye.” Gavin dropped to his knees with a curse (“Phk!”) that held heavier emotions that even Nines wasn’t used to dealing with from the Detective. “Detective Reed? What’s the problem?” Nines inquired, slowly stepping over to where Gavin was crouched on the floor with Mama. “Gavin?” Nines voice dropped to a more gentler tone as he knelt down on one knee beside Gavin. Gavin’s shoulders hunched over, phone slipped from his fingers as he sat helplessly by Mama’s side, unable to do much more but physically be there for her. Nines opened his mouth to try and gain the Detective’s “She’s uh… she’s not gonna make it. Four kittens were stillborn. She’s struggling to push the last one out.” “Is there anything I can do to help?” Nines asked, a hand reached out to place upon Gavin’s shoulder in physical reassurance but his original program conflicted with his newly found deviancy and he retracted his hand back to himself before Gavin saw the odd gesture. Gavin was silent. He knew if he spoke, he would break down. He had been fighting that panic in his chest since the beginning, the panic caused an intense fluttering which he knew if he opened his mouth, his chest would constrict tightly and instead of words forming, it would be god knows what kind of sound he was currently pushing down. A shaky breath in that did not go unnoticed by Nines, Gavin tried his best to keep it steady, “There’s uh… the kittens…in…in the….kitch…the table…Can you just, can you just…” Fuck. How to explain to a fucking android how to take care of the deceased as though they need a comfortable place to lay when it was a comfort to Gavin’s soul knowing they’re resting comfortably. “…wrap them up nicely or something?” “Of course.” Nines LED still swirled yellow, but not out of incompetence at the request given, but at Gavin’s levels of emotions. He was distraught but wasn’t showing it. However, if this small request would help ease Gavin’s internal struggle with his emotions, Nines was more than happy to oblige. He found the deceased kittens wrapped up loosely in a blanket, no doubt in a rush with everything being handled by one person, so Nines began looking for something more suitable to place them in. He found a small empty box and lined it with some tea-towels before placing each individual kitten in the box, next to each other, and then placing a final tea-towel over the kittens. Nines made a mental note to replace Gavin’s tea-towels since they were the only linen available that would fit in the box. Nines came back and quietly knelt down beside Gavin. He swore he felt Gavin lean just a centimeter or two towards Nines but he didn’t overanalyze anymore than this situation being out of the emotional norm for Gavin. “This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.” Gavin mumbled as he stroked Mama’s forehead, trying to offer any type of reassurance he could to the cat who was quickly becoming exhausted. She was refusing water, even milk. She hadn’t had any liquids since Gavin got home. The veterinarian he was on the phone to earlier had said that it sounded like her organs were shutting down. They needed to get the last kitten out, even then, the chances of survival were slim. “This was not something you had any control over, Detective.” “I should have stayed home. Maybe seen that something was wrong earlier. I could’ve taken her to the vets. I could’ve done more than just sitting here waiting for her to fucking die.” Nines remained quiet. He could throw facts and statistics at Gavin, but the Detective would likely refuse to take them into consideration and would probably further upset Gavin, which was something he had no desire to do. Silence past by for a moments longer until Nines broke it with another question, “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?” As with every question he’s asked, he’s met with a moment’s silence before Gavin finally whispered one request. “Stay?” Nines watched as Gavin’s head dropped down in defeat before bloodshot eyes lifted to actually see Nines for the first time since opening the front door to him. “Please?” In all the history of ever knowing Gavin, Nines has never ever heard him use the word ‘please’.  If this didn’t send software instability errors his way, he didn’t know what will. “Of course, Detective.” Nines firmly stated, being the rock of reassurance that Gavin needed even though this was completely out of his depth of emotional response to this type of situation. He would have suggested calling Lieutenant Anderson over despite the Lieutenant owning a dog, he might still have far more of an insight to animal companions than Nines did. However, there were several factors to take into consideration, 1. Lieutenant Anderson was drinking himself into a stupor and would be of no help to them whatsoever. 2. There was a risk that Lieutenant Anderson would say the wrong thing and further upset Gavin. The night quietly dragged on. Nines fetching whatever Gavin needed without question or hesitation. The only sounds were the distressed mewling coming from Mama, and Gavin softly cooing to her, gently trying to hush her with reassurances. The mewling’s became louder and more distressed as the final kitten arrived and Mama took her last breath. “No.” Gavin’s whispered plea went ignored by whatever high power was out there as Mama Cat passed away from the blood loss and organ failure. However, the squeaky cry of a newborn kitten pulled Gavin out of his grief as he quickly scooped up the tiny being. Nines sprang into action as he grabbed the syringe that was filled with formula for the surviving kitten in place of its mothers milk, passing it over to Gavin who had the kitten wrapped in the last tea-towel he had (courtesy of Nines retrieving it earlier), Nines placed a towel over Mama in respect as Gavin tended to the kitten; who was the current priority despite all the tragedy that occurred. Not much transpired between Nines and Gavin. Gavin was more focused on the surviving kitten than anything, Nines was just the grounding support Gavin needed. Because, honestly, if Nines wasn’t here, Gavin wouldn’t have kept himself together as well as he did. For now, Nines sat down and watched in curiosity as Gavin attentively helped the kitten. He tried to coax it with the syringe to give it the nutrients it needs, he comforted the squeaky little cries, immediately hushing them with the softness of his voice. It’s amazing what a complete douche-head he is at the Precinct, yet he’s soft as a plush teddy bear right now. No doubt if anyone dared even breathe the wrong way towards the kitten, they’d find themselves staring down the barrel of a gun drawn by Gavin.

“What’s the matter?” Nines suddenly asked as he noticed Gavin frantically began looking around for something. “My phone. I can’t find it.” Nines had moved it from where Gavin had dropped it on the floor, to rest it upon the coffee table. Reaching over, Nines handed the phone over and he saw the distress resting back on Gavin’s features. “What is it Detective?” “She’s not eating anything.” Gavin said, holding the toweled bundle closer to his chest in protectiveness as his other hand was preoccupied in find the veterinarian’s number, luckily there was an afterhours number he could call for emergencies; it was the same number he called earlier when Nines showed up on his front door. Nines stood helplessly by as Gavin was frantic on the phone, the veterinarian managed to calm him down but Gavin steel repeated a few questions in hopes that something would change. “Fuck!” Nines LED flickered to red at the violent response as Gavin threw his phone in the corner, almost shattering the screen entirely. “Is there nothing more we can do for her?” Nines enquired, his LED spinning back down to yellow. “…No…Phk! Why is this happening?!” Nines didn’t have a logical answer to provide Gavin with, at least, none that would be comforting enough to the Detective. The next few hours wore on. Gavin switched between sitting down and trying to coax the kitten into taking some of the formula, to standing up and slowly pacing around the room, gently cooing to the small being that was still protectively wrapped up in a bundle. Nines offered to take over, give Gavin a break, but the Detective refused. It wasn’t until 6:30am, where the sky outside the window began lighting up and Gavin moved to stand by it, watching the sun rise. Nines eyes snapped up from staring at the table trying to figure out a way to entice the kitten to eat to beat the low survival percentile, when Gavin’s voice began a quiet melody. He swayed ever so softly with the kitten huddled close to his chest, softly singing an old song, “Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo Here comes the sun, and I say …It’s alright.” And then he stopped swaying. He stopped singing. Nines quietly unfolded his legs that had been crossed over, and stood up, eyes trained on Gavin who hadn’t made a single move or sound. He slowly and quietly made his way over to the Detective and stood by him. He didn’t say a word as Gavin pulled the kitten from his chest, not saying a word but his quiet volumes spoke loudly to Nines. Slender fingers brushed over Gavin’s as he took the now deceased kitten from Gavin, allowing Gavin the time he needed to fully let go. A quick glance up at Gavin’s face allowed Nines to observe him momentarily. Gavin was broken. He was also the type that didn’t handle his emotions well. Especially when they were too raw for him to be able to hide behind his asshole sense of humor. So, when Nines finally held the bundle of towel with his own two hands, the breathy gasp emitted from Gavin didn’t escape Nines’ attention. “I’ll put her with her brothers.” Nines said quietly as he walked away to do just that. Gavin stood there; arms dropped to his sides as he glanced around the dimly lit room. It was quiet. Too quiet. No cats mewling, no cats walking around his ankles causing him to trip over into an unceremonious heap… within the space of a few hours, everything had been ripped from him. Torn from him. What did he do to deserve this?! Why him? Why!? Better yet, why did the universe decide to take Mama?! The pregnant cat, abandoned by her owners for bringing life into this world!? Why punish her!? And the innocent kittens who clearly weren’t even given a goddamn chance!? WHY!? “FUCK!!” The cry ripped through the deadly silence, yanking Nines back to reality as he just finished tucking the towel-come-makeshift-blanket around the last kitten. He strode back into the living room to see Gavin crouched in the middle of the living room, fists gripping his hair as his lungs struggled to breathe against the painful twist of the knife that seemed to enjoy repeatedly stabbing him in the heart where it hurts. LED flashing a dangerous red, Nines quickly found himself kneeling down on the ground once more, this time, in front of Gavin. Two strong hands wrapped themselves around the two fists that were gripping the head of brown hair. A sob tore from Gavin’s lips as he allowed Nines to pull his hands away. It was a heartbreaking scene that unfolded right before Nines’ eyes; it was something he never wanted to witness. The whimper that tore from Gavin before he screamed in such emotional agony that Nines stress levels peaked. A slender hand found the back of Gavin’s head and he pulled the Detective into his shoulder, the other hand holding Gavin protectively around the back of his shoulders. Body trembled beneath his embrace but it wasn’t rejected. Instead, Gavin’s hands swapped from gripping his own hair to gripping the front of Nines’ white jacket. His face buried in his shoulder after scream after scream of grief-filled pain spilled from his lips. Despite it being muffled against the material, it was still a sound Nines never wanted to hear. Nines barely spoke a word since first arriving at Gavin’s but he figured his colder tone was something Gavin didn’t need right now, nor his inept response to providing the correct source of verbal comfort in situations like this. Eventually, those screams had quietened down to sobs that violently engulfed Gavin’s body, but Nines continued to hold onto him since Gavin had no intention of letting him go. Nines is still understanding a lot of things, but he knew how important Mama was to Gavin. The day Gavin rescued Mama, he told Nines all about her and continued to update Nines on the progress Mama was making… “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” “I know.” “It’s not fair.” “… I know.” Nines' voice had softened a great deal to the point where it was barely recognizable as Nines. However, his hold on Gavin still remained. Fingers cupped the back of Gavin’s head, lacing his fingers through the brown locks as he continued to hold Gavin for as long as he needed the physical comfort. Nines had to admit, even he wasn’t prepared for the turn of events tonight. He wasn’t even prepared to see Gavin in such emotional distress. In fact, he never took it into consideration whether the Detective could even be broken like that. “Stay. Please? God, just stay. Don’t… Don’t leave. Don’t fucking leave me too.” “I had no intention of leaving.” Gavin had lost a lot within the past few hours. Nines had no intention of leaving him alone. He had fully intended to stay until Gavin was alright. If that took hours, days, weeks even… Feeling Gavin shift slightly beneath him, ever so slightly relaxing against Nines’ frame, Nines’ slender fingers gripped Gavin just a little bit more protectively. He'll stay.  

[qhostqizmo]

Promises to Keep

This is sorta the alternative to Something to come. I avoided putting Too Much in this but, it’s sorta the less chatty, less openly emotionally charged, more internal dialogue version of feelsies I have in mind.

Still love it tho I’ll be damned this made me tear up lmao

- - - - - - - - - -

What changed?

He could see it; feel it, smell it like rain before a storm. It was in her posture, and in her eyes. There was nothing to compare it to. Even when he had first met her; gutsy, defensive, and yet warm, she never gave off the impression she was now. It was like she had given up. A barricade between them. An aching loneliness in her gaze; a mysterious aura of isolation, a sense that he was at sea, and she was slowly drifting further and further out of his reach.

What had he done? How could he fix this?

He missed the way Essätha’s fingers remained on his for longer then necessary. Or how she stood so close to him, he could smell the bouquet of fresh cut flowers on her skin. His chest ached; missing her arms around him, her eyes, her smile that felt like it punctured through his walls and lit him up from the inside. He bathed in fire, and found his strength.

With every ounce of that might, he would fight for her. He had very little worthy of holding on to; a manor, honor, pride, things in his name not earned but thrust and given to him by birth. Now, with Abernathy gone, it felt like more and more was unraveling by the day. There was less and less to cling to; less and less to trust.

Try as Amon might, he could not recover from the ancient gates that had been opened. His heart was vulnerable now. They had pried him open,;a stubborn shell, to reveal the ugly, and the beautiful (or so Essie had called it). He was just a man with his sins upon the floor, and a bunch of loud, obnoxious, frankly weird village of idiots he found he liked and appreciated more and more each day, with two very exceptional and very close individuals in particular.

One was gone. One remained, but felt less and less with him by the day.

He had lost enough in his life.

He would not lose her friendship, too.

For the first time in days, he thought he saw a glimpse of something that she tried to hide from him. Not the hurt, which was more obvious then ever truthfully, but the light. The magnificence of her, shining through.

Relief. Relief shining through her expression; eyes closed, the smallest smile tugging on her lips. Pelor mocked him with the perfect faded lighting behind her silhouette, and she was softly aglow.

Her eyes opened as she exhaled a deep breath. The world stopped moving as her butterscotch regard rested on him. The nobleman’s every thought became disoriented; thrown off his axis, his brain a mash of scrambled eggs.

She was an angelic vision. A guardian angel, watching over him.

As quickly as his entire world had unfolded in her soft eyes, it vanished. The creeping tendrils of fear and sorrow latched on to her face once more. Her posture slumped. The light in her gaze faltered, and died out like campfire embers. The hurt had returned, and she tore her face away to stare into the distance.

What are you searching for?

Gods, he would give up everything he had just to wrap her up in a tender embrace, and feel her hold him, too. He would promise her the world and is majesties, and swear that whatever was making her hurt, he would fix it. He would fix it; he would pledge, he would take an oath, he would fight all of her wars, bring her everything to make her smile and spark that joy inside of her. Whatever it took. Just please, he wanted to beg, please don’t throw me aside. Please don’t leave me; don’t forget me, don’t leave me behind.

Please be you again. Soft and sweet and bold, daring and wild and funny. Charming as a snake (hah), and witty with your banter. Be chaotic, and gentle, and feisty. Challenge the world; challenge me. Be the Essätha I know you are. Be you. Just be you, and nobody else. No walls, no doubts. Trust in me.

I’ll be me, and you’ll be you, and let’s be us, together.

Fearful as he was of her rejection, Amon swallowed his terror and stepped closer to her her side. She grew more tense, and more rigid in his approach.

He reached for her hand. She did not swat him away, as he worried she might.

Lacing his fingers through hers, he gave her a gentle squeeze.

Essie returned the gesture tightly; desperately… before letting her hand go slack in his.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice unnecessary husky, and holding an embarrassing tremble at the end.

She looked to him. Her golden eyes were sketched with too many emotions to count, but all of them rounded back to the same conclusion: pain.

“… I…” She swallowed deeply, offering him a ghostly thin smile. “Yes, why do you ask?”

Because you aren’t fine, and I can tell. Because you’re holding something back from me. Because I know you, and this is not the Essätha Meduza I love.

He bit the inside of his cheek to restrain the words, before commenting with soft concern, “You’ve just been acting… different. Avoiding me. Quiet. Detached. Did… Did I do something; say something-”

Her eyes brimmed with alarm, and she moved to tug her hand free. “I-I’m sorry-”

“Essie-”

“It’s not you, it’s me-”

“Essätha, please,” he choked, tightening his grasp on her hand to halt her escape. His breathing escalated; not nearly as sharply as hers, but loud, and gasping. Her eyes were like saucers upon him; a deer caught beneath the sight of a bow.

“Please.” He ran his tongue nervously over his lips. “Please don’t run from me.” His grip loosened, allowing her the freedom to leave him, if she wished it.

“Please don’t… don’t leave me,” the nobleman murmured hoarsely. “You can talk to me. You can always talk to me. Nothing you say to me is going to turn me away. Not now, not ever. I am here for you… If you choose me to be worthy enough to listen.”

She appeared more distressed then ever. Tearing her eyes off his, her breathing hitched. She was shaking. The pain in her eyes increased by the thousands.

“You are worthy of a great many things, m’lord Amon,” Essätha breathed in a small voice, “but this is not about being worthy. It’s not about you. It’s… about me.” She bites her lower lip, an act that is usually quite alluring on her, but right now it’s just agonizing; matching the anguish in her eyes.

“Tell me,” he implored, holding her hand close.

Sighing heavily, she tugged her hand free of his. The rejection left him cold. The barrier between them felt like a rift cutting through the planet itself.

“It’s nothing,” she replies flatly. A pause. “Maybe you’re worthy but… I’m not worth much,” she mumbles, her shoulders sagging.

“You’re worth everything to me.”

The words fall out of the nobleman before he can reel them in, or bite his tongue. Amon’s face instantly takes on a pinkish glow, mouth hanging open at his own idiocy.

Essätha whips her head around to face him. She, too, is flush.

“I… I…” She blinks, her hands fidgeting together. “I… I-I-”

Oh Gods, she was beautiful.

Still tripping over her whimpered words, the nobleman offered himself, arms open, and took a step forward.

She did not run from him. She turned her head away, just enough. Shy. Fragile. Insecure. Scared.

He wanted to rip that feeling away from her, forever. She had nothing to fear; not from him. He’d never hurt her; not intentionally, and if he ever did he would do everything in his power to make it right.

With a sniffle, Essätha allowed him to fold her into his embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Just like she did to him. He rubbed his hands over her back; mirrored learned behavior, remembering how wonderful it felt to have her do this to him.

A broken gasp escaped her, and she clung to him; arms suddenly gripping to him with all their strength.

“Shhh… it’s going to be alright,” Amon whispered, cradling her close.

A muffled sob escaped her, clutching to him even tighter with her trembling grasp.

Lifting his head, the nobleman rested his chin on top of her head, shushing her in a soft lull as he held her close.

“It’s going to be alright, Essie.”

I promise.

[dweemeister]

Emitaï (1971, Senegal)

In 1963, Borom Sarret became the first African film to be directed a black African. I imagine many people reading that last sentence are thinking to themselves, “what took so long?” Simple: colonial governments forbade film productions by native Africans. With Senegal becoming independent from France in 1960, this allowed Ousmane Sembène to be the first black African director on a short (Borom Sarret) and a feature-length film (1966’s Black Girl). Before Borom Sarret, Sembène was primarily an author residing in France (he smuggled himself to Paris in 1947) – his literary works commented on colonialism, racism, identity, and tribal relations. Around 1960, Sembène found himself fascinated with films and wished to experiment in how to express his ideas through a visual medium. Studying filmmaking for a year in Moscow gave him the skill needed to return to Senegal, intent on crafting films for his fellow Senegalese (Senegal recorded a 51.9% literacy rate in 2017, so Sembène’s writing was inaccessible to many), to help them see and understand the lives and cultures similar or dissimilar to their own.

Sembène, born to a Lebou family among fellow tribespersons, turns his focus to the Diola – an ethnic minority also known as Jola – people for Emitaï (sometimes translated to “God of Thunder”, but it refers to a supreme, remote being). The Diola have a language quite different from Wolof, Senegal’s lingua franca, and the Diola language has several dialects. While directing Emitaï, Sembène learned the specific dialect used by the villagers used as extras in this film. That local dialect is the language used in the film, not Wolof as many websites and film databases online claim. Here, we learn how – through the Diola’s culture – they comprehend and react to the dilemma they contend with in this film. Soon enough, the audience learns of the spiritual richness of the tribe depicted and witnesses the French characters’ contempt towards the Diola’s way of life. Emitaï is a remarkable film, paced to the tempo of life in a rural village, and deeply attuned to storytelling traditions not often honored in film.

Somewhere in the Casamance region of Senegal, black Vichy French soldiers are abducting several Diola tribesman, forcibly conscripting them into service. Vichy France fought with the Axis powers, as it was a puppet state of Nazi Germany. Back in the village, the tribal elders are discussing if they should respond, given that these abductions are interfering with the rice harvest. No action is taken and the film progresses one year. It is the summer of 1944. French colonial officers – Robert Fontaine (“Monsieur” in Black Girl) as the Commandant, Michel Remaudeau the Lieutenant (as well as cinematographer), Pierre Blanchard the Colonel – follow orders to enforce a severe rice tax on tribal villages. They dispatch a detachment of black troops to that Diola village to levy said tax (this detachment includes the men abducted the prior year). As the conscripts round up the locals, the tribal leaders consult their animistic gods and the women rebel against the French officers and the tribesmen-turned-soldiers.

Emitaï tells its story at its own pace. The camera is kept apart from tribespersons and French soldiers alike, keeping them in a full or medium shot, rarely employing close-ups. The surrounding nature is depicted to suggest the villagers’ relationship with nature. Winds sigh through the trees and tall grasses, the nearby marshes (maybe unclaimed by agriculture) form the background for the rice harvesting scenes, and we hear nothing but the sloshes of water during a boating scene. Conversations between individuals, a group, or antagonistic groups develop, intensify, and subside without a cut taking the viewer to someplace else. The conversations are self-contained within the seconds or minutes they occur between characters or groups; the effectiveness of these scene is thanks to the fact that the characters believably are without certain knowledge about what is happening in other parts of the village. There are no knowing winks to others (or the audience), no clever asides that would feel inappropriate in a tale of colonial oppression. Yet, Sembène’s film never putters in philosophical circles nor feels plodding. Less patient filmmakers or those who too stubbornly subscribe to postmodernism might feel unsettled here, wishing to whisk the audience from a scene before a Major Plot Reveal (this might be culturally compatible with Sembène’s or the Diola’s understanding of how they share stories) with their itchy fingers. Sembène uses this time to help viewers learn about the Diola. Whether one might be a non-Diola from Senegal or from the other side of the Earth, we learn basic aspects about Diola culture that amplifies how we feel when we see the villagers being rounded up and young, able-bodied men who just happened to evade French capture taking arms against African-wielded, European-engineered munitions.

The Diola worship and fear their gods, and the rice they harvest is not only for themselves, but used as an offering to their gods. And as the tribal elders communicate with the gods, the quality of their rice harvest may impact how their gods converse with them – there is one fantastical sequence where this occurs. Some viewers might see the dialogue with the gods as a delusion, an unnecessary detour in an allegedly straightforward colonizer-versus-colonized narrative. But recall that Sembène wanted to make films so that his fellow Senegalese – no matter their ethnicity, linguistic skills, or religion – could empathize or see their histories onscreen. The Diola believe in these animistic gods to keep their families and villages at peace (although – though not portrayed in the film – some Christian and Islamic influences have been introduced), to guide them when an enemy is bearing down on them. Who are we to say they are wrong for doing so? Sembène, who also wrote the screenplay, may not have been Diola himself, but he clearly showed enough respect and attention to them that he would allow their gods have a presence in Emitaï. A Diola did not write Emitaï, but those moments with the gods – a daring decision that I am unaware has any such parallels in a colonizer-versus-colonized film – and the inclusion of a few funeral ceremony scenes complement the “voice” of the Diola. Traditions of African folk stories and religions are prevalent in how Emitaï is shot and how its story unfolds – including, as a pervasive convention in these traditions, a tree that connects humans to a spiritual plane.

The tribal leaders in Emitaï appear to be all men. The women of the village are mostly seen as tending to the children, as well as performing the bulk of the rice harvest. They are the first to be detained by the forcibly conscripted soldiers, but not in a position of distress. After a skirmish between some of the young, uncaptured men and the French forces, the women arrange an impromptu funeral procession for one of the fallen tribal leaders. They sing what sound like celebratory, not mournful, songs – perhaps for a life well lived, bravery in defending the Diola way of life. What should be uncontroversial becomes rebellion. With forcible conscription may result in further encroachments on Diola culture. Already their sacred harvest is disrupted, so what might be next? In Black Girl, Sembène’s feminist arguments circulated around personal discontent and racial subjugation. Though not nearly as intimately portrayed here, Emitaï expands on those themes – showing us the solidarity of the oppressed women. None of the black characters in Emitaï are professional actors and none of the women are given character names. Nameless though they may be (perhaps this was an attempt to “universalize” the film to the tribal peoples of Senegal), the village’s women seldom appear helpless as the conscripted soldiers force them into position by the sides of their rifles or the French officers barking at them about the location of hidden rice. Unarmed and forced to sit in the baking sun, they are stronger that anyone might guess.

Their understanding of “the white man’s war” is limited and the Diola feel little responsibility in helping the French officers fight it. A message delivered in the final minutes reveals that Marshal Philippe Pétain (Vichy France’s leader) has been deposed by Charles de Gaulle, meaning that the Allies have liberated France from the Axis (Sembène – who himself was drafted into France’s colonial infantry and later served among the Free French Forces – makes a cameo appearance here as the soldier ridiculing de Gaulle for being ranked lower than Pétain). Leadership has changed thousands of miles away, but the situation for all the native Africans – soldiers and civilians alike – is unchanged. Allied victory has brought not liberation, but a new poster of some mustachioed, uptight Frenchman who just happens to now be in charge. The casual cruelty and cultural ignorance on display by the French – as they complain of the backwardness of where they are stationed and how the most consequential decisions are being made by military bureaucracy – is rather restrained. Though it would be difficult to recall any nobility among the French soldiers, they do possess a cartoonish, outward malice. Sembène castigates the French characters and colonialism not through soliloquies, but their escalations and actions. Emitaï’s most violent moment is never shown on-camera, yet it was enough to provoke French censors to scrub the scene (among others). Ironically, despite Senegal’s independence from France eleven years prior, this meant the film could not be released in its entirety in France or French-speaking Africa until 1976 – five years after its debut at the Moscow International Film Festival.

Nor did Sembène catch a break from Senegalese censors. President Léopold Senghor’s regime censored Sembène’s films regularly: Sembène’s next feature, Xala (1975), excoriated colonialist institutions that remained in Senegal post-independence and its lead actor was chosen partly due to his resemblance to President Senghor (it doesn’t help that the plot revolves around the lead character looking for a cure for his sudden impotence). In the case of Emitaï, the reasons are not readily available, but the censorship most likely was targeted towards how the forcibly conscripted soldiers are depicted. The dynamic that the Senegalese censors singled out in Emitaï would be multiplied and inflamed by Sembène’s Ceddo (1977) – that film is set shortly after France establishes a colonial government in Senegal; there, Sembène draws parallels between that film’s tribal leaders and future Africans who would conspire with European slave traders (the Senegalese government’s perceptions that the film criticized Senegal’s political leadership and bourgeoisie was accurate, but that is a story to be told when I review Ceddo).

An unofficial sequel to Emitaï was released in 1988, Camp de Thiaroye. That film touched upon many of the themes Sembène remarks upon in Emitaï: the destruction of identity among African soldiers in the French military, violence in the name of colonialism, and structures of racial supremacy. It, too, was censored in France and Senegal upon release. But by Emitaï, Sembène’s cinematic style – freed from the constraints of speech and linguistic barriers – had become crystallized. Like his prior works, Emitaï is uncompromising in its depiction of human cruelty and how that is manifested in colonial or neocolonial paradigms. He criticizes so effectively by juxtaposing behavior, not through rhetoric – it matters not if the oppressor is white (as they almost always are in his films) or black. Away from urban settings, his pacing adapts to the surrounding environment, the slow and seasonal life of the Diola village. Many who see Emitaï will not recognize much of the life and culture of the Diola. It is a testament to Sembène that he makes this biting film so empathic and compelling.

My rating: 9/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

[sunrisedriven]

May 24, 2020

I really wished I didn’t have to waste my time.

But if I hadn’t set my foot in those two groups, I wouldn’t have learned so much about myself, how people receive me, and how I packaged myself to fit in. It would’ve been better if I had just decided to hate people and have the opportunities to grow on my own without having to build attachment and relationships. Why do I have to be in the group consistently? Why do I have to be a member or leader of something to feel the slightest bit of value?

But my situation, now that I see it clearly, is not as simple as I wanted it to be.

At first,

I thought I was disliked for my skin color...

then my aloofness

then my zero social skills

then maybe my diction

my scar

my weight

my poor background

maybe bad breath

maybe my crooked teeth

then maybe it was because everyone thought i lost weight to seduce someone

maybe because I lost weight drastically

maybe it was my prudeness

maybe it was my anxiety

maybe how I walk

maybe my thoughts

my paranoia over what people knew

the way they think my words escape my mouth intentionally

my singleness

my faith, which to my surprise, they found overbearing

Would it have been better for me to stay alone?

With what I’ve experienced...yes

Not in the sense i regard myself as unnecessary burden to others, no, not at all

Not in the sense of never fitting in, even if that’s my reality

I have a pompous personality, I like quality things, quality future, quality people, I’m picky, but there’s nothing wrong with that except for the fact that its because those were decisions made by someone like me

The contradiction is that I also try to place everyone on a pedestal, or seriously underestimate them, all the while striving to be a person with a good heart, and if I had good intentions, why are your feelings halved in comparison? why are you so lukewarm?

I lived my life for so long thinking I was so, so wrong. Weird. Strange, not enough. Hypocritical, and if that’s not the case, careless, selfish. I hate to say this, and I beg for forgiveness from above, I have my own flaws, yes, but I’ve been mirroring some of you all too. If I’m so unnerving that my absence finally let you breathe, you are all overbearing hypocrites. What’s wrong with living a life of kindness, with some faults, mistakes, but still passionate, still human open to correction? Why do I have to feel this alone?

God...these people who said so easily that they would follow you, if you asked them tomorrow, would they really drop everything for you? Was I wrong for doubting myself? For thinking about my mom? For thinking about my present mission...did you send me there to stop my schooling? did you send me there to find You? If that’s the case, I found You, I know that very well. When I asked you to use me, I was not worthy of it at all. When I told you I’d follow you, I also needed to do well in my studies to survive. Why do I feel like I’m having this dialogue with you by myself? I asked you about this emptiness I felt- it’s because I worry about whether I’m truly living according to Your will. Tonight, my will looks like I am to be forgotten, but I linger in some places and it makes me feel so distressed. If I needed to disappear in these people’s lives for failing to confidently tell you yes, I would drop everything and follow You, why do they still know me? Wouldn’t it have been fair to wipe me out of their memories?

You know this well, God. I want to be remembered. To be recognized, to be acknowledged, that is a wish I’ve always had. But it felt so strange to be acknowledged by my own father. It feels so strange for these people to include me in pictures, to ask me how I’m doing, to notice my absence.

I bore my own cross by never making it to nursing and losing sight of my purpose. I wander aimlessly in hopes that you would pull me towards something, a direction to follow you somewhere, but here I am, fixing my future, trying to graduate. BUT you did give me something, a story, three stars, and a lot of pain. Is this, in itself, what it means to follow you, God? To feel so ostracized and forgotten, is that the will you have intended for me?

To live a life of no chill, I tell my witnesses- how dare you downsize my passion for self-advancement and ingenuity. I want to grow, to develop, to find myself in a better place, that’s all.

To stay alone was something I thought I did for them. But that was wrong, it was for my sake. If I stayed just a second longer, I would have gone insane. If I stayed longer, they would have hated me much more. I understand the door slam now, it’s a ‘format’ moment, a “let’s relieve ourselves from this tension, but I’m pressing the red button because I need some sense of control to recover from this” moment.

But the struggle for some artists like me...is that we are fascinating individuals, there’s no doubt about that, but we are hard to crack at times, mysterious, prone to misunderstanding, but that’s usually what everyone feeds on as they view their idols, their role models, bigs- right? There is an allure, but this allure may only be activated if someone takes an interest and witnesses their rich inner works and talents. Otherwise, we are weird individuals who have no place in society.

Would they have loved an author without reading her billion dollar series? Would they have loved a boy band without hearing their music? Would they have loved Picasso without knowing he painted his paintings? No, they would have been outcasts, on the outskirts, mocked, belittled, ignored.

I am in so much pain right now. But I am also angry. I thought I’d get my peace from my absence being finally acknowledged, but I feel angry instead. Sometimes, I feel indifferent. A little cynical. I feel like I did lose everything in terms of what I’ve been praying for to You. Friends, meaningful long term relationship, visibility, appreciation, care, freedom, nursing, graduation....forgiveness.

In sum, I wonder why I feel so banished for being honest with You. Would I have been better off being hypocritical? Maybe?

But I think again. My thoughts I’ve learned to just have and never lean on. But here perhaps comes Your grace upon me.

You’ve been graceful by giving me worthwhile friends who I can have for a long time, you gave me visibility in the eyes of these groups and my father, despite them being centered in the concept of absence, my presence, though silent, is roaring loud in my creation, words, songs, and images, I am graduating to work towards freedom, and nursing is not too out of reach.

In this case, I’m glad to have been honest with You because truly, this is a testament to how I fear You and my desire to pursue You. I just hope that my life becomes more than what it is right now for Your kingdom. Today I’m less, much less, so God, please, increase, let me feel Your presence, for the wrongs inflicted on me, God avenge me, for the grace and mercy You’ve given me, God may you also give that to those who have pained me.

Thank you, God. For answering my prayers through this. Now it is time. I’ll write the story. Help me write it. Let me make my songs. Equip me, lead me. Please, I pray. Please.