#him getting cut off before he could monologue about his brother was so funny to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elvenderelict · 11 months ago

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monologue: i don't even like the taste [ p.01 ] synopsis: local 22 year old lies about every aspect of his life to keep father from worrying content warning: i'm gonna tag homophobia for the unwanted engagement to be safe, but i want to make it clear that cyrion accepts his son. i think there's a real imperative to have children in city elf culture stemming from trauma surrounding purges and a fear of extinction, so it's acceptable to take on lovers outside your marriage as long as you have kids with the spouse the matchmaker picks for you.

Sunday morning in the spring of 9:30. This summer, the Blight will come.

You lay in bed under a short grey quilt, your extremities stinging with the damp, bone-deep cold of a Denerim Drakonis. You cannot summon the willpower to crawl out from under it. You're staring at a poor rendition of a dog. Interesting thing about the bottom bunk; the knot beneath a tack on the left side has twenty-nine rings, not twenty-seven. Either the tree the bed frame was cut from has grown postmortem, or you weren't nearly as observant as you thought you were at sixteen. Soris left a few weeks after you came home, claiming that there wasn’t enough space for three grown men and one Shianni here with a pointed statement about taking advantage of Cyrion’s kindness. This was months ago. He hasn’t forgiven you yet.

Your father, after ejecting your cousins from the house that first night to sit you down at the kitchen table and beg you, raggedly, to stop throwing yourself out with the bathwater, has been pretending that you never left and everything is normal. You expected this. He’s always been the fake it ‘til you make it sort, creating a life he prefers through patience and optimism.

And he’s afraid that if he brings up all the damage between you he’ll chase you off, and then he’ll never see you again. Before she was sent away that first night, Shianni lobbed everything in arm’s reach in your general direction and called you names. She yelled at you a little more the next morning, and when she’d said what she needed to say, you talked about it. It’s alright between you now. You like getting to know the woman she’s grown into; she only lords your half-decade absence over your head when it’s really funny, which is more gracious than what fourteen-year-old Shianni would have done.

Soris has been cordial. He talks sparingly to you and whenever you inch the conversation away from practical matters his shoulders tense and his jaw works. He doesn’t want to hear your apologies and you don’t know any other way to fix things with words, so you’ve backed off - you’re hoping the world will present an opportunity to prove that you’re back for good, but maybe he doesn’t want that either. Maybe he just wants to be angry about it for a while.

Case in point, he refused the money Cyrion offered him for the deposit on a new flat (that he’s sharing with his friend Taeodore and Taeodore’s three brothers, which kind of negates his excuse for leaving) because it came from you.

You hadn’t ignored their presence entirely during your time with Slim; most of your cut made it back to Cyrion, replenishing the wealth your family had lost after the last purge. Dad’s been careful not to spend too much at once and draw unwanted attention, but they all look healthier than you can remember them being. You really don’t see the point in refusing the money just because you’re physically present when you’d have to be an idiot to believe he wasn’t using it before, but it’s none of your business. You’ve stopped trying to push.

A shiver runs down your spine when your feet find the rugged floors - you can't feel much below your ankles, but sitting up means leaving behind what little body warmth was trapped beneath you. The chill seeps through the fleece lining of your undershirt. The household could technically afford more firewood and coal than what it's burning, but it's a faux pas to take more than a few bits' worth from Alarith's with the whole Alienage suffering the same weather, and purchasing it from the market district would invite unwanted questions.

Pulling the quilt around your shoulders like a shawl, you feel your way through the shelves, knocking a little wooden archer and a crumpled mailer copy of Threnodies onto the floor in your search for the tinderbox.

The candlelight exposes a claustrophobic room, off-white walls insulated with scrap rugs and unusable, moth-eaten blankets. It's tempting to dress in the dark so you don't have to look at the squalor.

As a kid, squatting in damp, abandoned buildings in those miserable weeks between leaving home and running into Slim, you convinced yourself that no matter how much time or distance existed between you and it, you'd never forget where you came from. Having returned, you realize you were full of shit about that, too; your sense for what's normal has changed drastically.

You didn't even need to leave the city. You just had to hole up with thieves for a few years to notice that your childhood home's a pretty dismal place from an outsider's perspective.

Funny. You remember it being warmer.

Considering everything that was working against your parents, you had it pretty good growing up. So you and your standards can tolerate this. It wouldn't kill you to be grateful, for once.

You pull on half the clothing you own and rub your hands together until your fingers return to the world of the living.

“M’rning,” you mumble as you duck under the partition.

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since he woke you up, but Cyrion’s already savoring the dried blackberries he separates from his gruel and saves for last. Rubbing your face, your impulse is to ask him how many times he’s choked inhaling his food like that, but catch yourself before you act the ass.

You're just full of nasty thoughts, aren't you?

“Good morning, son,” he returns brightly as you settle at the table. “Nippy, isn’t it?” He makes conversation as you pick at your own bowl of porridge, everything from inane, obvious comments about the weather to updates about local rumors and foreign news so recent that you wonder if he gets all his information through dreams. He’s stalling; once he’d caught wind that you pass off half eaten plates to the neighbors whenever he leaves before you finish, he started to hover around mealtimes. It’s not just because your palette has grown accustomed to pilfered imports. Even when you were with the Friends of Red Jenny, always flush with silver and stealing half your meals despite that, you didn’t eat much. You’ve been prone to fits of nausea since early childhood, but you think that may have progressed to some unidentified illness between the ages of eighteen and nineteen that you can’t shake off.

If you were to tell him this, he’d just worry. Pointlessly. You’re already taking tonics and there’s not many other avenues of treatment to pursue, so if you’re sick, you’ll just have to be sick.

You hum and nod at the appropriate times, eating slowly while he pretends not to watch you. You ask him if the sage seeds have germinated yet. He's pleased that you remembered. You do this little song and dance every morning on the weekends. That’s when Shianni gets up too early to supply the conversation. “Oh, I forgot to mention,” he starts, lightly. There’s some interesting tension in his frame. He laces his fingers over the table and studies the wall behind you, smiling gently at nothing. His effort to be the most pleasant thing in the room is a tangible one. “I discussed an arrangement with Lady Denril and we came to an agreement. You’re betrothed to a young craftswoman from Highever, now - very pretty. She’ll be coming to live with us in the summer.” You blink, sedate, before returning your attention to your breakfast.

“Alright.” You hesitate before taking another bite, certain that this is the one that brings the nausea back around. “Does she read? I ought write to her.”

Your father’s joints crack when he pops a bouncy shrug, the pleasant smile freezing on his face. A beat. The smile cracks, too.

[ He doesn’t know if Nesiara can read. You’ll end up writing that letter anyway, hoping someone in the Highever Alienage can read it to her if she can’t. You ask her if she’s alright with the move.

When she sends a letter back, it’s full of questions about Denerim and a densely written portrait of Highever. She’s curious but reluctant to talk about herself. She tells you she’s excited to live somewhere else, but the loving way she describes her alienage is what answers your question.

She tells you she likes your pretty handwriting.

You write back and forth to each other right up to the week of the wedding. Nesiara is blindingly intelligent. She has a bone dry sense of humor that sneaks into her writing and never fails to catch you off guard. By the time she arrives in Denerim, it hardly feels like a first meeting. In one of your letters, you admit that you’ll never be able to love her the way you would love a man, but you promise to take care of her and be her friend. Her reply is warm and understanding, and she asks if you’d like to negotiate an open marriage, but you can tell she’s a little disappointed. You hope you aren’t ruining her life.

You’re...hesitantly optimistic.

Most people don’t have what your parents had. Plenty of elves have walked the path you’re set on - not the gallivanting with thieves part, but the part where you had the great love of your life in your youth and then settle for something reliable and platonic to see you through to the end. You’ll be alright.

All you really want is to stay with your father, with Soris and Shianni. ]

“WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU?!”

He erupts into motion, dragging a hand through his fine grey hair and pulling up strands from his braid as he paces the meager space available. His abandoned chair tilts dangerously on its back feet, unbalanced by the abrupt motion. You sink low in your chair, eyes wide and ear splayed low. You can count on one hand the times your father has raised his voice at you. The temptation to leave the house has never been stronger. You hold your breath until the chair settles on all fours.

“I’m sorry, I’m - I’m sorry,” he says, bringing his tone down to the soothing, modulated timbre you’re used to as he turns his back to the door to face you. You remain wary, unconvinced by his characteristic composure now that you’ve seen what it hides.

It hasn’t escaped you that he’s blocking the only exit. That’s never good.

“I know you’re grown. I know that time changes people, and that there’s time we haven’t shared, now. I knew that things would be different when you came home, and you don’t have to - you don’t have to explain why, or where you’ve been, if you don’t want to. I’m alright with that.” Oh, this is happening now?

You’re really not prepared to have this conversation an hour before you’re scheduled to meet with Niobhan, but then, if it were left to you this conversation would happen . . . never.

You had thought Cyrion was of a similar bent, but it seems even his conflict-avoidant nature has a limit. You wish you at least understood what that limit was, because you have no idea what you’ve said to prompt this reaction, and you’re not sure you can respond appropriately when you’re not on the same chapter, let alone the same page. The dreaded conversation barrels on regardless.

“I just - I remember when you were nine -” “Dad, please don’t.” “It’s relevant! It was Midriel’s - or was it Aled’s? It was someone’s wedding, and we were standing by the tables sampling these.” He pauses, hands casting about like he can pull the correct adjective from the air. The memory of this dish is so rapturous that it eases the stress of the situation from his eyes for a count of five, so it has to be some kind of dessert. “Singular strawberry fritters, and you were fussing about how the ceremony dragged on. That’s the first time I told you that when you married, it would be in a trade with another city. You made this face at me.” He furrows his brows and twists his mouth to one side in a mask of disapproval and doubt. You choke on gruel. “Then you thanked me for my efforts, despite the fact that they weren’t necessary, because, for my information, you were going to court Arras. And when you were married, you were going to have a dun horse, and he was going to have a piebald horse, and you planned to ride them up and down the length of North Road every week, so I might as well leave the house to your cousins while I’m at it.”

You’re not sure what to say to that.

You’re not an overconfident guttersnipe anymore. You’re trying not to cause trouble for your father after a lifetime of doing nothing but. Arras died of consumption in 9:28. None of those things would go over well with him, were you to bring them up. “Yeah. That. Sounds like me.” You pinch your ear, fingers cold enough to quell a full body flush.

He exhales, muffled by the steeple of his hands over his mouth. “I just - yes, I want to see you married. I want grandchildren. I just always envisioned you being strongly opposed to it, and now that you’re not...” Cyrion trails off. He’s normally so adept at articulating an argument that you end up more frustrated by your inability to refute what he says than the opinion you disagree with. You feel a stab of empathy for his muteness.

You think you understand what’s bothering him; this submissive, subdued version of his son is one he’s unfamiliar with, and it’s been troubling him for months. He thought an arranged marriage was a trespass so grievous that it would reach the person he thinks you are at your core, that you’d resist the way you always have - the lack of a reaction is terrifying to him. He’s wondering if that fiery boy is dead. It dawns on you that he went to the trouble of oiling a matchmaker’s palms to get you a better bride than you’re worth for the express purpose of provoking you. It’s impressive, really. You have to respect the hustle. Having eaten as much as you can tolerate, you push the bowl aside. “Hey. I’m doing this new thing called full disclosure? I’m alright, Dad. I’ll tell you when that changes.”

#.motifs [ a storm with a six letter name. ]#.study #cw: homophobia

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makeste · 3 years ago

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BnHA 326: What’s up Kids, It’s Me, Your Old Pal Stain

Previously on BnHA: Ochako shamed the U.A. Clown Mob into letting Deku go back inside his own fucking school by giving them an hour-long speech about how not to be humongous dickheads. Kouta and Gigantic Fox Lady saved the manga by being the only ones brave enough to give Deku a hug. Shouto was all “man, all this togetherness sure does remind me of that promise you made that we would handle Touya together which you immediately bailed on, doesn’t it, Dad.” Aizawa was all, “for the one and a half people out there who thought that my losing an eye and a leg might actually make me less sexy, I’m very happy to prove you wrong.” All Might was all, “[standing outside the U.A. fortress alone in the rain talking to someone or something??].” Like seriously, what was up with that though.

Today on BnHA: All Might is all “here I am in Kamino having a belated mid-life crisis because Deku abandoned me and I’m a terrible mentor and everything sucks and I hate myself.” Stain is all, “don’t make me come over there and give you a ten page speech about why you’re still the goat while menacingly holding you at swordpoint the entire time” because idk if you knew this guys, but Stain is pretty crazy actually. Anyway so he does that, and then All Might gets all emotional, and then the lady from chapter 92 shows up and gives All Might’s statue an encouraging pep talk, and then Horikoshi is all “and it even stopped raining lol can you believe this shit I’m not even a little bit subtle,” and he really isn’t. But I still got emotional anyway, because seeing people reassure All Might that everything he’s struggled for his entire life hasn’t been in vain just got to me okay. Horikoshi knows I am weak to the All Might feels and he just goes for the jugular every time, that bastard.

lmao. “in the neverending downpour, All Might is...” yeah, thank you, glad we’re getting right to that then

“All Might is driving 95 mph in his busted ass car in the pouring rain, is what he’s doing.” huh

so basically a day or two after his adopted child refused to accept the handmade bento that he packed with love, my man is out here acting like he’s got nothing to live for anymore. this sure bodes well for certain prophecies on which the clock is still ominously ticking down

his fucking face though omg. is it weird that I’m kind of hoping more people ambush him just because I think it’d be funny to see them get their asses kicked like the last bunch

(ETA: or maybe he will just stand there openly not giving a fuck and basically daring them to stab him!! get it together please All Might.)

side note, “anti-hero supporters” is such a strange way of saying “people who hate heroes”, which I’m assuming is what they actually wanted to say?? this makes it sound like it’s a group that really loves antiheroes. “these Hannibal stans have been a real menace lately. time to go deal with them”

ha ha ha, fucking ouch

are you really gonna do it Horikoshi you bastard. are you really going to let that be the final encounter between the two characters whose relationship you once described as the vertical axis of the entire fucking story. are you really gonna?? huh??

huh

you’re telling me you were driving 112 mph and you still didn’t get there in time. you’re losing your touch old man. lol Todo’s ice is almost fully melted already, how late were you

(ETA: so apparently this is taking place after the end of chapter 325, meaning he went to U.A., hung out for a bit, saw the kids come back with his bedraggled half-dead protégé in tow, watched as they shamed the civilians into some long-overdue character development, and then was all “welp, time to go argue with the hero-hating faction or something because I’m feeling useless.” and Edge just let him go, just like that. though to be fair I have to imagine it’s pretty hard to say no to All Fucking Might.)

also belated lol at the fact that the kids were all “yeahhhhhhh we are definitely not gonna touch that thing, let’s just leave it here, he doesn’t need it anyway.” probably the right call to make since they couldn’t get a hazmat team on such short notice

fuck. ha ha ha fucking ouch part two

All Might please put that thing down before you get gangrene. also yeah, you dropped the ball, good for you to acknowledge it. nobody’s perfect and you did your best. but yeah you could have handled a lot of things completely differently. but I still love you

is Horikoshi really putting this flashback here. are you serious. what kind of fucking sadist

look, I swear I’m not one of those people that runs up and down the street shouting “DEATH FLAG!!” at every third panel lol. but this shit screamed Death Flag when we originally got it, and it’s screaming DEATH FLAG!!! even more now. like with the capital letters and exclamation marks and all. and that’s just a fact. I don’t like it but that’s how it is

ffkdjslk

“DID YOU READ THE SIGN??!” Horikoshi asks while zooming in maniacally because he thinks we’re blind or something. lol what

-- though actually, it only just occurred to me that this sign is actually written in English. I never really paid attention up until now and had been assuming it was written in Japanese and translated by the scanlators, but the writing here is clearly part of the original image. anyway so maybe that’s why he’s zooming in?? just to make sure everybody pays attention lol

okay fuck this

see, this is the whole problem right here. once again All Might is all on his own. Deku’s self-destructive angst spiral was fortunately brought to a grinding halt because he actually has support from his friends and family and teachers and classmates. but All Might never had that same kind of support, and it’s made all the difference between the two of them, and not in a good way. Katsuki wasn’t wrong when he said All Might and Deku were both cut from the same cloth. but now when it’s All Might’s turn to go all “I WALK A LONELY ROAD~~” once again, there’s nobody in sight

just, after forty plus years of him carrying this torch, I just wish someone would finally come along to let him know he doesn’t have to. all those things that he wanted to say to Deku are also things that he needs and deserves to hear himself. Aizawa was making a little progress there, but now he’s got his sad zombie cloud boyfriend situation to deal with, and we can’t expect him and his perfect hair to solve all our problems. someone else has gotta step up

oh my god

“you rang?” never mind I take it all back sob

omg why am I laughing. shit

this man truly has the best PR game in the series. we were truly convinced he was gonna suddenly become a good guy and defend All Might against the other villains or some nonsense. as if this wasn’t the same man who decided on a whim that Iida Tensei deserved to be paralyzed, and that his fifteen-year-old brother deserved to die for daring to be upset about it

lol even All Might is all “I genuinely never saw this coming” lmao

just want to say, for the record, I have always harbored a very sensible hatred toward Stain. feeling very vindicated right now. good job Past Me

adsfklwkfsdwgkj

ffffwefjslkg. ghsdlkg. dsfkkkslkjldwkjrg

STAIN: heard you talking shit old man

ME: smh that’s what I thought you’d say you dumb fucking Stain

STAIN: how dare you talk about All Might that way

ME: gljfljgk

(ETA: in hindsight I have no idea how I didn’t clue in sooner that he didn’t recognize him -- or, well, ~didn’t recognize~ him, to be more accurate lol. I think it was the whole “is that a slight against the heroes?” thing that threw me. Viz’s translation makes it much clearer that he’s offended on behalf of All Might specifically, not heroes in general. anyways.)

sob. so All Might is all “yeah I don’t blame you for not recognizing me in this sweet leather jacket”

good thing he still knows how to do this party trick

A+ reflexes on Stain’s part presumably pulling the sword back a few inches to keep this dumbass from impaling himself with his whole pufferfish routine. can you imagine if that was the gruesome death Nighteye foresaw. and he was just too embarrassed to say anything

lol anyways guess I was wrong about Stain everyone

way to fucking go, Past Me. you really biffed this one

oh wait

Stain sure is one wacky rollercoaster ride

oh fuck me lol I forgot how much I did not miss this

(ETA: “this here is the sacred ground where All Might gave up the last of his power and turned into a shriveled old man!! please ignore the part where I admit to knowing all about that, and yet pretend not to recognize said man when he’s standing two feet in front of me.”)

Past Me, I know we’ve had our ups and downs these past ninety seconds, but I’m really starting to think you were on to something. this dude has always been kind of insufferable. always acting like his high horse is a fucking giraffe when it’s actually a Shetland pony

dammit now he’s got All Might going off on a depressed monologue

oh my god my heart

shit

why the fuck does that hit so hard. he became a hero because he couldn’t bear to just sit back and let bad things happen to people who didn’t deserve it. I mean that’s basically the same as every hero ever, right? so why does it still hit so fucking hard every single time though. what is it about seeing someone so determined to stand up for other people and fight on their behalf. it just never loses its impact no matter how many times I see that determination mirrored in so many of my favorite characters

“I wanted to make the world a better place.” omg. but you did, though. like seriously, I feel like people are always dogging on him for not being 100% perfect, and fandom really doesn’t give him enough credit for everything he still managed to accomplish. this man came of age at a time when Japan was by all accounts a total shitshow, and singlehandedly managed to bring about an era of peace that lasted for four fucking decades. can you imagine having peace for that long?? that’s longer than I’ve been alive. shit

and he gave people hope. he inspired them and protected them and made them feel safe. and no, he couldn’t save everyone, because he’s only one fucking dude (and also because the whole time AFO was also out there desperately working to undermine him so that he could keep preaching his narrative of “heroes are bad actually”). but you know what he did do, is inspire multiple new generations of heroes who, if they can all manage to work together, will finally be able to accomplish everything he never could

so yeah. forty years of peace, and inspired the “that’s how we all became the greatest heroes” generation -- that’s a fucking win in my book. talk about having a net positive impact on the world. lol anyways now I’m all fired up and ready to fight anyone who tries to talk any shit about you, All Might

“but what if I talk shit about myself” okay listen up All Might I’m gonna need you to try just a little bit harder to work with me here okay. please calm down and stop blaming yourself for every single bad thing that’s ever happened in the world. do you remember that time Bakugou was blaming himself for Kamino, and you gave him a hug and told him it wasn’t his fault, and that he was only a boy, and that even though he was strong, even strong people can struggle with the burdens they place on themselves, and that you were sorry for not seeing that earlier? do you remember all of that? that’s what I want someone to tell you too, dammit. anyway please stop breaking my heart please and thanks

wtf

are you dead All Might

I don’t even have the slightest idea what’s happening lol

oh snap did he grab him so they could hide??

hold the fucking phone. don’t tell me this person in the background with the umbrella is here to actually do something decent??

oh my godddd

and here come the feels. oh boy. okay don’t mind me, I’m just gonna sit here sobbing over this fictional lady and her simple act of kindness in this weekly shounen manga that I care about way too much

FUCKING DAMMIT AND HERE’S A SECOND HELPING

DON’T MIND ME, I’M JUST GETTING DISPROPORTIONATELY EMOTIONAL OVER THIS WOMAN’S DETERMINATION TO HONOR A MAN WHO SACRIFICED EVERYTHING TO SAVE HER AND COUNTLESS OTHERS. I’M JUST HAVING SOME FEELS OVER HERE ABOUT HER HEARTFELT, DOESN’T-EVEN-KNOW-ANYONE-ELSE-IS-WATCHING FEELINGS OF GRATITUDE THAT COMPELLED HER TO COME OUT HERE AND MAKE THIS SMALL BUT POWERFUL GESTURE. I’M JUST OUT HERE GETTING ALL PROFOUNDLY WORKED UP ABOUT STATUE MAINTENANCE AND THE HUMAN RACE. NEVER MIND. JUST IGNORE ME AND CARRY ON

holy shit. I was not even remotely prepared. you can’t just do that to me. you can’t just leave all these death flags on my lawn and then suddenly shift gears to show me the best of humanity in a chapter where I was expecting the worst. that fucks a person up lol

OH ARE WE STILL GOING

my heart. you see that, All Might. your legacy is so much more powerful and meaningful than you think

...has. has Stain actually been giving All Might a pep talk this entire time

I give up lol. this dude is a fucking enigma

YAYYY

it may just be a metaphor panel, but I’ll take it lol. I missed them. nice to see the traffic light trio front and off-center. I know the whole “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes” thing had left some questioning whether certain characters would continue to play a central role in the narrative, and hopefully this will help to ease those concerns just a bit

anyway, so idk if it’s getting a bit chilly down there in hell, but damned if Stain didn’t just give an actual decent fucking speech

I have to say, earlier when I was whining about All Might not having a support squad, I really was not expecting Stain to be the one to come over and pat his head and reassure him that he made the world a better place

-- okay LISTEN

YOU CAN’T JUST COME INTO MY HOUSE AND HIT ME WITH THOSE ALL MIGHT TEARS AGAIN GODDAMMIT THIS ISN’T FAIR. my god. first 317 and now this

holy fucking shit

“I’m just gonna pretend like I haven’t been stalking him for two days and didn’t see the entire Deku bentogate thing go down, and then I’ll give him the whole big speech that I rehearsed, and then I’ll turn around and be all ‘BUT IF YOU’RE A TRUE HERO’, and then I’ll toss him the super-secret AFO wifi password that I stole from Tartarus. god I’m such a badass. fucking give myself chills”

so basically what you’re telling me is that this whole time my “what’s up kids” characterization of Stain from this shitpost has actually been 100% accurate. just want to make sure I’m understanding this right. okay then

“and then I’ll dramatically spin around and be all NOW COME KILL ME BITCH”

it must be so much fun to write Stain. drawing this coked-out maniac who talks like a chatbot that was trained to speak by reading Alan Moore monologues. that must be a trip

anyway so All Might is still crying, the awesome lady from chapter 92 is admiring her handiwork totally oblivious to the batshit insanity going on fifty meters to her right, and it’s finally stopped raining lol

“THE RAIN WAS A METAPHOR YOU SEE” yes, yes, we got it lol. thanks for that Horikoshi. don’t think we needed any help putting the pieces together on that one but I appreciate the effort

so that’s the end! and as I mentioned in another post, I had the count off by one chapter, but next week should be cliffhanger week! so break out your U.A. Traitor bingo cards, friends and fiends. either that or something else happens that I’m completely not expecting at all. which, based on my success rate with Stain predictions, I’d say is more than likely lol

mmm but anyway, so now that the Hug Deku 2021 campaign has finally come to an end, what’s it gonna take to get a hug for my struggling bento-preparing jacket-rocking world-weary death-flag-waving husband who is the worthiest man to ever live and deserves the fucking world, goddammit

#bnha 326 #all might #yagi toshinori #stain (bnha)#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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jeonjeonggukenergy · 5 years ago

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May 31

summary ~ on the last day of your senior year living together, you're still fighting your feelings for your roommate jungkook. before you can fully move out and move on, he makes a pretty significant scheduling error. #and there was only one bed

genre ~ fluff, smut / roommate!au, college!au, bit of crack/fake texts

wordcount ~ 5k

warnings ~ smut (18+), blowjob (oral: m receiving), nipple play, marking, penetrative sex, cumplay (sort of oral: f receiving), jungkook just goes hard as expected BUT IT'S SOFT? this is just super cheesy and cute with some hopefully hot smut

a/n ~ surprise oneshot! and they were roommates? and there was only one bed? this is all my fave tropes wrapped into one, i had a ton of fun writing it and i hope yall enjoy :')

~ read on ao3 ~

You walked up to your apartment door just as a boy from the class below you walked out—with a wave, a "see ya, Jungkook!" and what appeared to be the last piece of your roommate's bedframe.

"You...sold...your bed?"

"Well, sort of. I borrowed it from that guy for the year while he was studying abroad. So now I'm giving it back to him. Since I'm staying in the city for my new job, though, I wish I could have just kept it. Now I have to actually buy one," Jungkook lamented.

"I mean, okay, but why didn't you just wait to give it back tomorrow when we move out?"

"What do you mean? Today's move-out day. I was just waiting for my brother to get off work to help get all my stuff out of here. I was kind of wondering why you hadn't packed up more, but you've always waited til the last minute to pack for things." Jungkook grinned, recalling your friend group’s spring break trip.

Momentarily distracted by his dig, you defended yourself quickly before returning to the subject. "Hey! At least I always get it done in the end. Better than packing too soon and accidentally giving away your bed a day early. Your new lease doesn't let you move in til the first day of June, right? It's May 31st."

Jungkook's pretty doe eyes went comically wide. "31st? There is no May 31st. It's June 1st. Because yesterday was May 30th. Right?"

"Oh my gosh. You're joking. You have to be joking," you tried not to laugh as you pulled up your Google calendar. "Here, look," you turned the phone around to him. "May 31st."

"Shit," he breathed, pushing the soft shock of hair back from his frozen face. "What did I do?"

You took your phone back, already distracted by your texts as you reassured him. "Don't worry, it’s funny but it's no big deal, I'm just messing with you. You can sleep on the couch for tonight, you'll be fine."

Jungkook grabbed your wrist, making you look up from your screen in surprise. In sitcom-esque slow motion, he swiveled his head sideways and you followed his gaze to the living room, realizing—

"The couch was his too. I gave it back."

"Oh my gosh," you muttered, shaking your head down with a smile. Feeling a little braver on your last full day as roommates, you finally gave Jungkook the warning that had almost slipped out plenty of times over the year. "Jungkookie...you're really lucky you're so cute. Otherwise you wouldn't get away with nearly as much as you do in life.”

"I..." Jungkook dropped your hand, grinning at the usual nickname but unsure how to take the half-compliment. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I forgot about a whole day, I usually double-check my calendar. I can just take the floor for tonight, I guess? I'll go unpack my blanket again. Sorry, I don't want to be an inconvenience."

"No, no," you cut him off—against your better judgment, but determined to ignore your superficial attraction to him to be a good friend and roommate. "Don't be ridiculous, just sleep in my bed. I mean, if that's okay with you of course. It'll definitely be more comfortable than the floor." He nodded rapidly, eyes still wide but mouth perfectly flatlined like an emoji. "Okay then. No worries. Let's eat, I got us takeout for our last night but it's getting cold."

At the mention of food, Jungkook made a beeline for the plastic bags hanging on your arm, and soon you were back to normal—well, sort of. Eating slightly reheated noodles on the living room floor instead of the couch, you giggled over one last Friday night K-drama episode together and reminisced over all the best memories from your year as roommates. You missed the coziness of your couch more than you thought you might, or maybe you just missed the snuggles you'd shared in its corner on countless nights like this one.

Jungkook had always been cutely touchy with his close friends, but it had taken a while for you two to get comfortable. You had to admit you'd gotten spooked when you first met him, disappearing behind your door after a quick "hi, nice to meet you!" and furiously texting your friend and former roommate Jin in distress. He hadn't warned you the new guy he'd found for your apartment was, in your own words, "stupid hot." Jin had laughed you off, saying it hadn't even occurred to him because he just saw his former soccer teammate "JK" as a kid. To be fair, it probably truly had slipped Jin's notice—he barely believed anyone who told him how objectively attractive he was. But Jin was a good enough friend to both you and Jungkook that he took charge of dissolving the initial tension, immediately bringing y'all over for a "double housewarming" dinner party at the cute new place he now shared with his fiancée. (Thank goodness he'd finally listened when you'd told him she found him attractive. Even if it cost you a roommate of two years, you'd happily take credit for that relationship.) That first invitation had felt suspiciously like a double date, but Jin's cooking and hosting skills broke the ice nicely enough. After that, it only took a few more dinners and video game nights to initiate you into their casual rhythm of hair ruffles and backhugs.

Currently, Jungkook had his arm around you to offer a neck rub while you rested your head on his shoulder, hoping he couldn't feel your pulse beneath his fingers. "Ah, you're going so hard," you half-protested.

"I always go this hard! You never complain," he shot back with a teasing grin.

"Nah, come on, you're gonna leave a mark or something. At least check," you lifted your head, sweeping your hair aside. "Is it all red like Jin always gets?" you joked.

Facing away, you had no way of seeing it, but Jungkook's face had gone red too. "Uh...no, it's fine, it's fine." He glanced back to the TV and turned it off, noticing the episode had ended. "Sorry though, I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm gonna go shower and get ready for bed."

"Hey, no, it's okay!" You tugged on his shirt as he got up, wanting to reverse whatever you’d done to make him seem so uneasy. "I'm not actually hurt or mad at you or anything, I was just messing with you. Again." You smiled lightheartedly, and his face broke into a soft nose-scrunch at the reassurance.

"Okay, good. I was gonna shower anyway though—so uh, see you in bed I guess?"

"Yeah same, see you in bed," you laughed, trying to maintain the ease in your facial expression until the moment he left the room, upon which your internal monologue immediately turned into "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

You couldn't help thinking about Jungkook in the shower. And not even in the usual way that you couldn't help thinking about Jungkook, in the shower. As much as you hated to admit it, Jin was probably right about your feelings for your sweet, dorky roommate going beyond just physical attraction, or friendship. Jungkook was kind, respectful, smart, athletic, artistic, funny, really hot, and you already got along well enough to live together: he really was the ultimate boyfriend material. You were both pleasantly moderate introverts. He shared your same favorite dramas and brand of instant ramen. Even your parents loved him—wait, did they want you to date him too? A strict follower of every social rule that dictated not dating roommates, coworkers, best friends' exes, exes' best friends, etc., you had simply never allowed yourself to consider the possibility until now. You played back your conversations with Jin over the year and considered the sheer amount of the funny stories you told him, or situations where you asked for his advice, or surprises he'd helped you plan, or simply glowing, grinning descriptions of something new you'd noticed, that all ended up being about Jungkook. He'd never even had to bring him up. Damn Jin for being such a good listener.

Almost an hour later, when you were already in bed, Jungkook politely knocked on your door. He always took long showers, and tonight you couldn't decide whether you were thankful for the extra time to prepare yourself or even more stressed from the extra time to overthink.

"Come in," you called quietly. Jungkook shuffled into your room, toe-socked feet making their way to the side of the bed you'd rolled over to clear for him. Cautious, he climbed in, and you stayed safely facing away from each other for a while, winding down for the night on your phones like you both normally did in your separate rooms. So spaced out that you couldn't even detect Jungkook's additional body heat, you felt the chill of the air conditioning instead and kept adjusting the blankets to try and achieve maximum insulation.

Jungkook eventually spoke his first words since he'd entered. "Am I hogging the covers? I'm sorry."

"Oh no, you're totally fine, if anything I'm taking up more than you. I'm just always cold, so I usually sleep in, like, a three-layered burrito. But it's fine! Really, no worries."

To your surprise, Jungkook rolled over, propping his head up on an elbow to look at you. "Well...I...we could..." he started, swallowing when you turned to face him. "I mean, you could wear socks! Like I do!" He pulled a foot out from under the sheets and presented it to your face, cackling.

"I think the fuck not," you snorted, shoving the foot away and falling slightly on top of him as you both lost your balance in giggles. "You couldn't catch me dead in your weird-ass socks."

"That's the secret, though!" he insisted. "That's how I stay warm."

"You are warm," you realized. One of your hands had ended up on his chest, the other arm tucked in the side of his torso, and both were burning up. You supposed you'd settled into similar positions on the couch before but you'd never noticed just how much of a human furnace he was. Maybe it was because he hadn't been wearing his toe socks.

Neither of you said anything for a second. You could feel his heart beating at a slightly elevated but respectable rate, and while you wanted to pull away, if only to spare your own nerves, you also...didn't. You were too scared to stay like this, but too scared to move too. Jungkook seemed similarly stuck, blinking down at your hand on his chest, but eventually he unfroze to reach over it and drag you fully onto him by your shoulder. You simply let him handle you, not making any additional moves but silently enjoying the heat he seemed happy to provide. His hand spread over your back to press your torso to his, radiating heat through your thin t-shirt, and you suddenly grew self-conscious that you were braless. But of course you were, who wears a bra to bed? You were fine. This was fine.

"Are you okay? Is this warmer?" Jungkook asked, as gentle as his touch.

"Yeah! Yeah, this is fine," you responded, the answer muffled by your mouth's placement all too near to his neck. You could sense the heat coming off his skin from there too, but it contrasted with the mild coolness of his still-damp hair. It smelled faintly of floral shampoo, and the scent suddenly amplified all your nerves as the implications of how close he was hit you from head to toe. Even the soft fuzz of his socks brushed your bare legs, now intertwined with his. You weren't exactly small, but the warm solidity of Jungkook’s body under you made you feel fully enveloped by him. Though he'd shared a fair amount of skin with you through the course of your friendship, the intimacy of sharing your bed took every touch to another level, and being pressed so flush against him felt unbearable. You couldn't possibly process a whole year of pure pent-up physical attraction right now, much less any other feelings that may or may not have grown with it, especially when you knew he had no reason to feel anything back. And you were roommates. You just needed to sleep it off and then you could both move, and move on, in peace. Hopefully the odds of ever being stuck in a bed with Jungkook again would go way down after tonight.

Not bothering to get up and turn off the weak string of lights above your headboard, you just slowed your breathing and attempted to drift off to sleep. Pretending the deeper breaths weren't so you could get a better whiff of his soft, flowery hair, you laid still for several minutes, successfully ignoring your body's instinctual response.

Eventually, though, it became impossible to ignore his.

Jungkook wasn't that hard, okay. He wasn't a teenager; he thought he could control himself around you enough by now that he could just enjoy this last night without giving anything away. He almost felt bad when you invited him into your bed, sensing your reluctance and knowing it was his own fault that you'd had to offer in the first place. But he knew you wouldn't have asked if you weren't truly okay with it, and that confidence gave him the tiniest swell of hope that maybe you were a little bit more than okay. While Jin refused to give away any real insight into what you thought of him, he'd been teasing Jungkook for six months about his crush on you, eventually convincing him to try making your friendship into more once you both graduated and moved on to different roommates. He had just been planning to bring it up in a much better way than the semi that you could definitely feel against your thigh. You had both been silent about it for over five minutes, though, long enough that he could cross his fingers that you were already asleep. He probably didn't have to worry about a thing.

"Jungkook?"

You had finally worked up the courage to stop pretending you’d fallen asleep. You felt him freeze up under you—the defined abs that covered his tiny waist tightening, solid chest muscles contracting, and his thighs tensing to trap yours between them, all at once. You froze too, attempting to speak again but no sound coming out.

"_____, guess what!" he blurted to cut you off. Which was good, because you had absolutely zero plans for what to say after that.

"What?"

"It's after midnight," he said, jolting up to point to the digital clock on your side table. "It really is the first day of June now. So, according to the lease, we're officially no longer roommates. Crazy!"

"I mean...yeah," you affirmed, confused. "But also, we're literally sharing a bed right now. In the same room. So until that changes, I would probably still call us roommates." A little too amused by your own clapback, you raised your head to peek into his wide eyes and smiled, a big one that scrunched up your whole face.

And his dick twitched. Yeah, there was no way you could not notice that.

Before you could even finish your gasp, Jungkook spoke again. "I like you. I'm sorry. I like you. I didn't want to say anything while we were roommates because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, and I definitely didn't mean for this to happen, I'm sorry. You can totally not like me back and it's fine. I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to tell you like this, I just...I like you. A lot."

Shocked into silence for a second, but galvanized by his unnecessary apology, you responded without thinking for once. "Don't say sorry. You don't need to apologize, it's okay. Oh my gosh, I had no idea. I really had no idea. I, uh, I think I like you too? Shit, okay, I thought you were really hot from, like, the day you moved in, and eventually it became more than that but I didn't want to make anything weird because, yeah, we’re roommates, so I pretty much tried to ignore it all year. But then Jin made me realize that you're basically all I think about—or talk to him about, shit, I must have been so annoying��"

"Jin? JIN?" Jungkook grabbed his phone from the side table and wasted no time in blasting off the last meme in his camera roll. You propped yourself up in his arms, both giggling at Jin's quick shot back.

Looking at him now, a big cheesy smile on his face even as he stirred under you, still a little hard, you nodded as if fully understanding for the first time. "Yeah. I like you too."

As he set down his phone and brought his hand around your back again, his smile faded into a smirk. "Wow."

"Yeah...wow," you echoed, nervous and awkward again. You felt your face grow warmer as he looked slowly to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes.

"Can I kiss you?"

Blinking, you shifted your weight back down onto him, bringing your face close enough to hear his intake of breath as your hips brushed his dick. "Can you do more than that?"

"Fuck," he whispered. "Yes."

Jungkook snaked one arm down to your ass and one arm up your back to the nape of your neck, holding you close as he kissed you for the first time, fiercely. He didn't waste another minute hesitating now that he knew you had both wanted this for a year. Passionate but not aggressive, he teased the seam of your mouth with the tip of his tongue and you instantly opened for him, gliding your tongue over his smooth bottom lip as his flicked up to the sensitive roof of your mouth. Squeezing your ass to guide your hips down in small circles against him, he tensed his other hand slightly into your hair and you moaned at the competing sensations. Jungkook broke away to absorb every beautiful noise you made as he discovered you, heavy eyes finding yours before he rolled over to pin you to the bed and bury his face in your neck. He smiled into your skin when you moaned again from the satisfying pressure of his full body over you, and carefully rolled his hips into yours as he covered your jawline in tender kisses. One of your hands carved through his thick hair. As you dug the fingertips of your other hand into his prominent back muscles, you suddenly realized you were both still fully clothed and you really, really did not want him to be. Tugging his t-shirt over his head and throwing it aside, you paused before letting him do the same.

"Wait. Take off your socks. I can't believe I didn't make you do that before any of this. I really just almost had sex with someone wearing toe socks. Kill me," you whined over-dramatically.

"Come on, that would have been hilarious. What a first-time story!" Jungkook said earnestly. "Sure you don't want me to leave them on?"

"Please take them off. Please," you only half-jokingly begged.

"You wanna take 'em off for me?" he teased, wiggling a foot in front of you.

"Fine, whatever it takes!" You flung his sock across the room, reaching for his other foot below the covers to get rid of the other one.

He fell on top of you, giggling again, but as soon as you shut him up with your lips he snapped out of it, eagerly deepening the kiss while his warm hands traveled up under your shirt. Smoothing over the curves of your torso and reaching up to firmly grasp your breasts, he moaned into you and you whined back as his thumbs brushed your hardening nipples. He was incredibly physically precise, each movement graceful yet sharp and intentional. You felt deeply lucky to experience this dimension of him, the most perfect and natural expression of his contradictory nature. Equally loving, giving, overachieving, and sensual—with a side of weird socks and Gen Z meme literacy—that was your Jungkook.

"I can't believe this is happening," Jungkook murmured as he pulled your shirt over your head. "I can't believe I get to see you like this. You're so—ohhh." He trailed off, taking in the fully naked glory of your top half for the first time. His head immediately ducked to your chest, sucking dark bruises into the low-lit hollow of your breasts. You squirmed under his hold on the dip of your waist, whimpering, but the grip of your hands in his shiny black locks let him know you didn't really want him to stop. Grinding against his now rock-hard dick, you eventually couldn't take the friction anymore and reached down to try and pull off both of your pajama pants at the same time. Jungkook just laughed.

He paused to help you out, rolling off of you to take care of his own sweatpants, and you kicked off your pajama pants and underwear as Jungkook slowly let his erection spring free above his waistband. You'd never thought a dick could be pretty before, but it honestly made sense that his would be as perfect as the rest of his body. "Fuck," you swore softly, mouth watering. Jungkook raised an eyebrow at you, and you scrambled to lick the tip as if on instinct, eliciting a much more emphatic "Fuuuuuck!" from him. He spread his legs to let you crawl between them, holding tenuous eye contact as you smirked at his sensitivity. Teasing a single finger up his shaft, you followed its path with your tongue and he let out a deliciously high, shaky moan.

"Please," Jungkook choked out when you approached him, lips pursed. He praised you breathlessly as you tightened a hand around his length and began to sink down. "You feel so good already. Fuck." Closing your eyes, you hollowed your cheeks to accommodate his generous size and dipped your head, sucking him in as far as you could go. He was so responsive, you learned what he liked quickly, and savored each whimper as you stroked his balls gently or swirled your tongue over his slit. You licked all the way from his head to the base and he cried out. Bringing a hand to the back of your head, he didn't quite hold you down, leaving enough slack for you to move if you wanted to, but you submitted to his touch and stayed a second with nearly his whole length in your mouth. And then you swallowed.

"Stop! Stop, please, or I'll cum." He pulled you off by your hair, bringing your forehead to his as you realigned your bodies. "You're so good for me," he professed warmly. "I wanna be good for you."

"Then fuck me," you surprised him by answering bluntly. "Please, I want you so bad."

Jungkook groaned, arching his hips up against you and coating his dick in your wetness. Bringing himself back under control, he pinned you under his thighs and reached down to open you up with a finger. You felt so much more relaxed with him than you had with any previous boyfriend or hookup, and he slid into your entrance fairly easily. You moaned right away when he brushed his thumb over your clit, and he responded with a muttered "Fuck it, you’re so wet already," pulling his finger out and stroking it up your folds as he lined up.

"You're on the pill, right? For your periods," he confirmed.

"Yeah, of course. You really think I'd let you hit it raw otherwise?" you shot back teasingly, trying to hide how touched you were that he remembered from a few months ago, when he'd driven you to pick up your prescription since your car was in the shop. That was your Jungkook.

"No," he said sheepishly. "You're smart."

You smiled up at him fondly, ruffling his hair. "You're smart too. And sweet. And hot. And your dick is enormous. It's kind of unfair."

"Unfair!" he protested. "How can I be unfair when you're perfect?"

"Perfect? Shut up," you dismissed him. "Now I know you're lying. You cheeseball."

"I'm not lying! You're perfect for me."

"Oh, so you're just a hopeless romantic. Where did that come from? What am I getting into?" you fussed playfully.

"Okay, we can make fun of each other later, like always, but right now can I just get into you?" Jungkook pleaded, directing you back to the task at hand.

"Oh my gosh. I can't believe this, you're worse than Jin. That was actually pretty impressive—" Surprised, you half-laughed, half-admired his wordplay, but were silenced by both his lips and his first few inches gliding into you.

Not yet breaking your kiss, just absorbing your moans into his mouth as he stretched you out, Jungkook eased himself all the way in. He drank in every detail of your body's response to keep careful track of your comfort. You tilted your ass up against him, absorbing the fullness of his big dick immersed in your walls, and he froze. "Pretty impressive?" he whispered.

"Jungkook," you breathed back in pure pleasure, too overwhelmed to sass back.

"Can I move?" he asked sweetly.

"Fuck. Yes."

Jungkook's brows narrowed as his eyes turned darker, and he snapped his hips up into yours once, twice, before setting a fierce pace that had you crying out with each stroke. He hadn't lost touch on your clit the whole time, and he began to circle his fingers to pleasure you there too, building up an almost unbearable tension throughout your whole body.

"Fuck...fuck! Jungkook!" you chanted. His eyes overcame their fluttering to meet yours. Jungkook stilled, then ground down on you in one big, slow, circle, drinking in your blissed-out expression.

"Harder?" he whispered. Jungkook loved a challenge.

"Sure, harder. Why the fuck not," you keened, high-pitched and desperate. He could split you in half at this point, leave you unable to walk for days, and you'd love it.

Jungkook made a small, delighted noise at your eagerness, kissing you quickly before flipping you over and positioning you on all fours, sheathing himself in you again. He ran his hands along your torso to clutch your breasts from underneath, holding himself up against you with solely the strength of his thighs and his core. Pulsing his hips into you carefully, slowly, to let you get used to the deeper angle, his fingertips skimmed your nipples tantalizingly, warming you further. He dropped one hand to prop himself up and slowly traveled the other down to your center. The lustful, elated exhale you let out when he rubbed your clit made him snap his hips forward, tilting you into the bed before you could engage your thighs to push back against his. Your continuous moans encouraged him that you were enjoying this just as much as him, loving how he remained fully attentive to your pleasure while pounding into you to pursue his own high. He fucked you like a high-intensity workout, pushing his unreasonably built body to its limits of speed and strength. You couldn't help wishing you'd taken him up on more of his offers to hit the gym together, but he seemed to get off on your breathlessness, wanting to give you his all and push you past your limits too. His fingers working as quickly as his hips, heat swelled up inside you, and when you felt sure that the tension in your core was about to break, you turned your head to cry out to him.

"Jungkookie, Jungkook—nhngh, I'm gonna cum."

"Ahhhh," he moaned. "Me too, _____. You feel so amazing, ahh—you're so perfect for me." The praise warmed your heart and your core, and soon you came around him with a long, drawn-out whine. He fucked you deep through each spasm, sending you into hot, heady overstimulation as he shuddered and emptied himself into you. When you finally collapsed under him, legs sore and shaking, he pulled out of you gently and lowered his lips to your lower lips with great care. Jungkook meticulously kissed from your swollen clit to your entrance, soft as a whisper, and you breathed out in overwhelmed bliss as his tongue emerged to tenderly nudge every drop of his cum into your opening. The gesture of aftercare, just as soothing as it was inexplicably hot, bloomed an affection within you that almost made your heart hurt. You rolled over, stretching your legs out, and he looked up at you from between them. His hair was a beautifully sweaty mess, and he smiled in sweet satisfaction with your wetness adorning his chin. That was your Jungkook.

"Don't go anywhere," he said softly, kneading your thighs with his hands.

"Well, I have to do the whole pee-after-sex thing. But after that, where would I go? There's only one bed in this apartment now," you couldn't help teasing.

"Hey! If I hadn't given away my bed, none of this would have happened," he complained cutely, pulling himself up to big-spoon you. “Just stay with me.”

"I will. I know," you murmured back. "And I'm so happy you did." You shifted back, closer against him, and he buried his face in your neck.

"You know, I was gonna miss being roommates so much," he said thoughtfully. "But I'm so okay with not being your roommate now if I get to be your...your..." He grinned into your shoulder, suddenly too shy to say it.

You turned to face him, holding his pink cheeks in both of your hands and kissing his nose. Knowing this would be just the first intimate moment of many made you both flush with an easy, sweet joy.

"My Jungkook. You're my Jungkook."

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theeslytherinslut · 4 years ago

Text

12 Grimmauld Place (2/?)

Pairings: Sirius Black x reader, Remus Lupin x reader’s brother

Word Count: 2,272

Warnings: injury, implied smut, cursing

Part 1 | Part 3 |

“I suppose I should clean up,” you gestured to your wrecked state. Trying to get up on your own, however, was laughable, and you fell back against the chair quite quickly.

“Would you like some help?” Sirius asked, knocking over his chair in his angst to help you.

“That might be nice. If you could just, maybe...” you trailed off, trying to think of a good way to get up. But every time you tried to straighten your back, the pain made your vision fuzz around the edges.

“Perhaps I’ll just...lie here,” you resigned to spending the night in your own filth after several attempts.

“Hang on,” Sirius said, and then he was gone.

With an enormous creak and shuddering sensation, as the water protested greatly after years of no use, you heard water being run somewhere in the house. A couple seconds later, Sirius returned to the doorway, sleeves rolled up. You tried not to linger too long on his hands as they glistened with water. No matter how long the two of you had known each other, you’d never get over his hands—something about them made it near impossible to look away.

“I’m going to carry you,” he declared, striding into the room.

“What? No! Sirius...no, I’m much too heavy. I’ll be alright until tomorrow, it’s fine,” you shrugged off, cheeks burning fiery hot at the thought of Sirius carrying you and placing you in the bath.

“Y/N, you are covered in dirt, sweat, dust, and your own blood. I know you well enough to know it is most certainly not alright. Also, your lack of faith in my strength is rather insulting; you’re tiny. Azkaban didn’t do that much damage.” Sirius waved off, an annoyed look painting his features.

“Oh, alright. But if I can’t even stand, how the ruddy hell am I supposed to bathe myself?” you asked, stating the obvious.

“Oh, hmm. Excellent point.” Sirius said, hand coming thoughtfully to his chin. “Well, there’s no one here but me and good old Kreacher. The kids, Molly, and Arthur won’t be here for weeks.”

It was at that moment Kreacher had chosen to poke his bulbous head into the room, no doubt curious as to all the noise in his otherwise quite empty house.

“Ooh, Master has brought home a lady friend....a bloody, filthy lady friend...oh, but could it be...yes, it is so...Kreacher knows her blood runs pure...Mistress would be most pleased,” Kreacher began monologuing. You looked to Sirius, who wore a most tired look on his face.

“Yes, you wretched thing, she’s a pureblood. You and Mother can get positively tingly with excitement about having another one in the house later. For now, go fetch a towel--a clean towel Kreacher.” Sirius commanded him.

“Of course, Master...nothing but the best for the pureblood...” Kreacher bowed, disappearing from the room.

“My mother has positively ruined that poor creature,” Sirius pondered before turning back to you. “So, what’ll it be?”

You weighed your options, but it seemed there was only one. Feeling vaguely as if you were in some cheesy movie, you acquiesced.

“Oh, alright.” you lifted your arms, signaling for Sirius to come pick you up. “But no funny business, Mister. And when I say close your eyes, I better not see them peaking.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Miss.” Sirius bantered back, snaking an arm under your knees and behind your back.

Looking at him now, he looked much better than you’d seen him recently. That light that always lit his face back at school was just beginning to reach his eyes now.

You’d attended Hogwarts with James, Sirius, Remus, and Lily—though you weren’t quite as close as the group of them. Just a little sibling on the outskirts. You were several years younger, and what’s more, is you’d been placed in Slytherin. Despite this--and much to the dismay of both of your housemates--Remus always came over to chat in the halls, but people years apart in separate houses rarely saw each other. Especially in Gryffindor and Slytherin, no less.

You were fine with things, however, contenting yourself with your housemates--though finding those worthy of friendship was hard. Many of them seemed to make it their mission to further Slytherin’s bad reputation and were assholes just for the sake of being assholes.

Naturally, every time Remus was in the hallways, he was flanked by his friends, James, Sirius, and Peter. James was always friendly, but you saw the way his eyes followed Lily Evans around and knew he was smitten. Sirius, however, well Sirius was different.

Though you weren’t exactly friends, your eyes often trailed after him as he swaggered through the halls with James by his side. Remus seemed to be a touch embarrassed on how the crowds would split for them, but James and Sirius ate it up like candy.

James looked above the crowds, happy to be on top, only coming down to find the redhead he so loved, grinning at her boyishly. Sirius’ eyes raked through the crowds just as much as their eyes raked over him. Always finding one set in particular to smirk or wink at, likely loving the way the blush rose to their cheeks, and they turned to giggle with their friends. Sirius seemed to exude sex appeal, and you weren’t impervious to it.

Your brother’s best friend. You were such a cliche.

When you were younger, he always gave you a boyish smile and even a wave sometimes, the other girls in your grade giggling madly and asking you how you knew him--that always felt good--but as you got older, he began to look at you less. Or at least he wanted you to think so. You could swear you could feel him looking at you, but turn to find his eyes quickly flitting away. Then, when Remus would come up to say hello, his eyes would be on anyone but you. Glaring at passing Slytherins, sneering at others, or looking contemptuous but slightly interested at some of the older girls. And so eventually, you stop letting him catch you looking too. You began dating around just before they left, but it never turned out well as the group of them were suddenly all your older brothers and who wanted to snog a girl with four older brothers--the Marauders, no less.

So instead, you just resigned to watching that last year, drinking in every moment before you’d never see Sirius’ smug smile lighting up the corridors, James never a step too far behind. Their faces were always lit with excitement, some mischievous plan developing behind one of their eyes. Even after Hogwarts, that life never left their eyes. Not as the two entered the Order, not as James settled down with Lily, not even when Harry came along...but you saw it almost go out entirely when James was taken from Sirius, and then you saw it truly die the day he was sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Upon his return, some life was breathed back into him but whatever was there was quickly being snuffed out during his house arrest to a place he detested so much, no one but Kreacher and Buckbeak for company.

Suddenly, interrupting your thoughts, Sirius changed direction and stopped in the doorway of what you saw to be the bathroom.

Sirius’ POV

“How do you want to do this?” I asked, pausing as her brows furrowed in thought. My heart raced with fury as I looked down at her broken frame.

Fenrir Greyback. I’d had a bone to pick with him since Moony told me he was the one responsible for his furry little problem, but now, looking at her grimy face, the wild look in her eyes...I had half a mind to call Remus anyway and run out right along with him.

“Hmm, well, let’s see. Set me down on the edge of the tub; as long as I don’t straighten my back too much, I should be able to undress,” she thought out loud. Following her command, I set her gingerly on the edge, wincing with her as I did so.

Why the hell were they after her anyway? She was merely a mole—each side had plenty, and we certainly didn’t sicc our nuttiest killers on each we suspected...but then again, I guess we were the good side. Perhaps it had something to do with Remus? But I couldn’t think of anything he was doing that would result in this.

“I’m just going to try slipping in. If I yell out or something...just keep your eyes shut for a moment,” she said, hissing as her cut up skin hit the hot water.

“Is it too hot?” I asked nervously. Like a bloody teenager, my heart beat wildly in my chest at the thought of her naked body in the tub just behind me.

‘Stop, it’s Moony’s sister,’ I thought to myself--just as I’d done all those years at school.

“Fuck...It’s fine, Sirius, thanks,” she breathed out. “Alright, you can open.”

She sat in a ball, her knees brought up tight to her chest, her Y/H/C hair slicked back against her scalp, sopping wet. Kicking myself before I could let my thoughts wander, I took my shoes off and padded over to her.

Gingerly I worked through her hair until it was free of glass, clean, and soft. Dragging a soft rag across her cut up skin, I cleaned off every bit of grime from her. Enraged once more, I saw the beginnings of dozens of nasty bruises peppered all across her body. I’d kill that bloody wolf if it was the very last thing I did.

As my eyes danced along her wet figure, I had to tear my eyes away several times from how her knees pushed on her breasts, cursing myself for my inappropriate timing. However, it wasn’t every day I got to bathe the potty-mouthed, absolutely breathtaking Slytherin I’d been watching for years...even if she was Remus’ sister.

She kept to herself in school, only really talking to her friend group, but I swore I caught her eyes on me quite a few times, but she’d always turn scarlet and look away before I could be sure.

“Hang on,” she said, and I held my breath as she straightened out a leg and placed it down. Not wanting to look like a pervert, I averted my eyes away from her now exposed chest.

“It’s alright, I’ve covered them with my arm,” she said, her cheeks bright red as her hand dove into the water to cover the spot I fantasized about most.

Closing my eyes and willing myself to stop, I picked up the rag again and brushed the rag gingerly against her thighs, this time being unable to tear my thoughts away from her creamy skin. Just a stroke or two farther...and I could make her forget all about the events of the night.

I cut myself off once again as I felt a stirring in my stomach, but it was too late. I could already feel the blood rushing quickly as the image of her splayed out, cheeks red this time from pleasure, gasping my name as she clenched around fingers.

“Sirius?” She asked, snatching me from my thoughts. Cursing quietly, I looked down to find a definite tent in my pants.

Y/N’s POV

“Sorry, what?” he asked, his cheeks a more red shade than normal, his pupils all blown.

“I said I think that’s as good as I’m gonna get. Close your eyes and give me your hand so I can stand,” you said, gingerly reaching for the white, fluffy towel Kreacher had placed on the toilet. Though this bathroom was a right sight better than the rest of the house, the towel practically gleamed comparatively.

“Alright,” you said after a moment, wrapping the towel around you. “I feel a bit better after my bath. Perhaps I could try walking again.”

“Alright, but I’ll be right here,” Sirius said, standing steadfastly at your side. It seemed he was taking Madam Pomfrey’s words to heart.

Gingerly straightening, you made it a fair bit higher before your back protested, and you started walking slowly towards the door.

“Where should I go?” I asked. I’d only been in the kitchen of the old house a handful of times.

“I’m afraid I only have the one room cleaned up thus far. Molly said she was going to give me a hand on that...” Sirius trailed off, looking embarrassed. “It’s just down the hall here.”

He led you down the quiet hallway, various paintings muttering mutinously underneath their sheet drapings.

“Not too friendly, then?” you asked, gesturing to one who was hissing faintly.

“Meet my family,” Sirius grimaced.

“These are...this is your house?” you asked him. Thinking back to your childhood years, you’d often pondered where Remus’ friends lived, but never did you dream of a place like this for Sirius.

“The Noble House of Black,” he muttered in a funny voice.

“Was that a Kreacher impression?” you asked, a smile coming to your face for the first time that night.

“It was good, then?” Sirius said, smiling at you playfully. The sight took your breath away; it took you a second to reply.

“Dead awful, love,” you laughed. Not two hours after having been almost killed and Sirius had you laughing.

“Ah, just as well. Don’t want to be anything like the cretin.” he shuddered as the two of you came to a doorway opening up to a spacious, light room.

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twstinginthewind · 2 years ago

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✍ + Joker + earrings.

✍️ send a word, get a story!

"Knock knooock!" A tall, slim boy with longish strawberry-blond hair stood in the doorway of the freshman girls' dorm room, a small package in one hand. "Mail call, freshies. Which one of you was Joker, again?"

Joker looked around the room, and found herself alone. Funny, she could have sworn she didn't hear her roommate leave. "That's me, I'm Joker. Hi, Diamond-sempai. Do you usually take the mail right up to the rooms like this?" She pushed her chair back from her desk and met him at the doorway.

"Just call me Cater, okay? Or Cay-Cay, my friends call me that. It's too formal the other way, oof." The boy laughed, waving the package slightly. "And no, I don't usually, but I was curious to see which of our little newbies was already getting care packages on their second day on campus. Did you forget something, or do your folks miss you that badly already?"

"Possibly both," she admitted, catching the padded mailer as he tossed it to her. "But I can't remember what it is I forgot, if that's the case. Which I guess is part of the point of it." She looked at the return address and smiled. "Aw, it's from Pops. My father was so excited for me and my brother to come here. We're kind of a legacy family for Heartslabyul, he says. Except..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Sorry, Dia—CATER. Cater. I'm monologuing, aren't I?"

"A little," he responded cheerily, leaning against the doorframe. "I'm a little curious about what's in the package, though. Is it ok if I see the unboxing?"

"Oh, sure. Yeah, c'mon in. Leave the door open, though." She brought the mailer over to her desk, and pulled the tab to open it. "A little box, and a card. Awwww, Pops is feeling sappy, I guess? Let's see, what'd he write."

Cater stood casually, holding his phone in one hand as she opened the card. He nodded to her as his thumb danced across the phone's screen. "Nothing too cringey?"

"Well, it's my Pops. Of course it'll be a little," Joker laughed. "Okay. 'Dear Jo, I would have packed this with your stuff but your mother insisted we wait to hear your assignments before I sent anything. Tell your brother to expect his next week; I'm gonna have to change things out a little, haha. Oh and if anyone asks, no, those aren't stolen from the old light fixtures and repurposed' oh em SEVEN what is he talking about??"

"Does he go into detail?" Cater leaned in, curiously. "Because that's some weird goss."

"Nah. But he does go on to say, 'Welcome to Heartslabyul, cookie. Show everyone you're proud to be there. Love, Pops'. Huh." She picked up the little box, and shook it gently. There was only the tiniest noise from inside.

"Well, let's unveil. If it's from Dad, it's gotta be good."

"Right!" Joker nodded at the upperclassman, and opened the box. She gasped, sitting up straighter. The small box was lined with soft white velvet, and resting inside were two bright red, tiny, crystalline roses. She picked one up, noting the "stem" was an earring post, and twirled it between her fingers, letting the light reflect from the cut-glass surface. "Wow," she breathed.

"Ain't those cute!" Joker heard a little click, and realized that Cater was taking a photo of her as he fussed over the gift. "And a perfect Queen's Red, too. They'll match your dorm uniform perfectly!"

"They really will," she said, dreamily. "I gotta put them on. Can... can you send me that pic, Cater? I wanna show Pops."

"Absolutely. Can I put it on MagiCam? Folks love to see heartwarming stuff like this."

She paused, her hands already busy removing her old hoops. "Yeah, but after he sees it, all right?"

Cater placed his hand on his heart. "On my honor, little lady. You choose the time for the reveal, and I'll post it up. What's your name on there, I'll tag you!"

"I don't have one yet."

"GIRL. Okay. Get those on and your new favorite upperclassfriend is gonna give you the rundown, okay? Let's get you started."

Joker laughed, and put the earrings on. She looked at the mirror next to her desk, tilting her head to admire the view of her new accessories. "I really feel like I belong here, and this just seals it. Wow."

"Of course you do. You're one of us, little card soldier, haha!"

#twisted wonderland #cater diamond #twisted wonderland oc #joker carder #heartslabyul feelings #punch was gonna get matching cufflinks but Wild didn't wanna rub it in so he's getting a pocket watch instead #anyway that's the story of the little earrings I try to draw on her every time :-3 #story

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mellometal · 3 years ago

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Is it time to tear ANOTHER Dhar Mann video to shreds? YOU BET.

I've been sitting on this one for a bit because I wanted to make sure I talk about this tactfully. The subject of parents abandoning their disabled children is a very touchy one.

Parents abandoning their disabled children simply for being disabled is way too common. Like, I understand that not everyone has the resources to care for a disabled child (which is why you reach out for help, and why people like me, who work with disabled people, exist), but it doesn't mean you just walk out of their life. There are exceptions, like if you truly didn't want children or something like that, but just flat-out walking out of your kid's life BECAUSE they're disabled is fucked up.

I know someone personally whose biological mother abandoned her when she was born. Why? Because she's disabled. Physically, and mentally, to a point. I work with this woman on a daily basis. I don't really know WHY exactly her biological mother abandoned her, but I do know that her being disabled was part of it. It's sad. It doesn't affect her, thankfully. I'm happy that she's got her biological dad, her brother, and another maternal figure in her life, at least.

ANYWAYS. Before we get to the topic at hand, I need to put an obligatory trigger warning, like I do with EVERY Dhar Mann post:

This post will be talking about parents abandoning their disabled children simply for being disabled, treating disabilities like they're tragedies (in this case, we're talking about autism...again), divorce, and some SPICY ableist bullshit from an allistic (nonautistic) PIECE OF SHIT.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable in any way, you don't have to read this post. This isn't worth putting yourself in a bad state mentally. I would never ask for any of you to put yourselves in that position all for a post. Put your mental health and well-being first. Consume media that sparks joy for you.

As far as my response goes, it's definitely more calm than normal. Funny....since this video is about autism spectrum disorder again. (Third time's the charm, huh, Dhar Mann? NOT.)

LET'S FUCKING GET IT.

The video starts off with these two parents (Gwen and Allen) in a psychologist's office. The psychologist tells the parents that their son (Chance) is autistic, and she tries to explain what autism is to the parents, but Allen cuts her off. Why? Because he teaches at a prestigious university, so he AUTOMATICALLY knows what autism is from that fact alone.

Um, excuse me? Just because you're a teacher at a prestigious university, it doesn't mean you're an expert in everything. It doesn't make you an expert in ASD or anything like that. Unless you SPECIALIZE in that area. Even then, shut the fuck up. The people who know about being autistic are AUTISTIC PEOPLE THEMSELVES! SHOCKER.

Hey, Dhar Mann! QUIT WITH THE VIDEOS ABOUT AUTISTIC LITTLE WHITE BOYS AND YOUNG WHITE AUTISTIC CISHET MEN! I'M SICK AND TIRED OF IT. It's annoying, ignorant, and it feels like you're doing this on purpose at this point to piss people off. If you're so uninformed about autism in women and girls, FUCKING ASK AUTISTIC WOMEN AND GIRLS! DO BETTER RESEARCH THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE AUTISM SPEAKS. The Autism Self Advocacy Network (ASAN) and the Autistic Women and Nonbinary People Network (AWN) are great organizations to go to for any kind of research on ASD in women and girls. STOP GOING OFF OF THE BRAINS OF AUTISTIC WHITE BOYS AND AUTISTIC WHITE MEN.

I don't feel I need to go too deep into the fact that autistic women, autistic girls, autistic nonbinary people, autistic BIPOC, autistic AAPI, autistic LGBT people, autistic teenagers, and autistic adults exist. Y'all already know.

Gwen asks the psychologist if that means Chance isn't healthy. (I understand not knowing about autism, but don't treat it like it's a terminal illness. Please.) The psychologist tells her that Chance is fine, but he just learns differently and might need more support compared to his peers.

Yeah, autism can affect how you learn about certain things (limited and repetitive patterns), but there are other disabilities that can affect learning as well. Like how dyslexia can affect your ability to read, dyspraxia can affect your ability to do math, and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) can affect your ability to focus or on impulse control. Autism affects how your brain is developed, it affects you socially, behaviorally, and how you communicate.

Allen is upset, says that he can't have a son "with a learning disability" (ASD is a neurological disability, not necessarily a learning disability), and treats Chance like he's stupid for being autistic. Gwen tells her husband that autism doesn't make you any less intelligent, WHICH IS SO FUCKING TRUE. ABSOLUTE FACTS. I was totally with her until she began that little monologue with "Just because a person HAS autism". SAY "JUST BECAUSE A PERSON'S AUTISTIC" INSTEAD! IT'S NOT HARD. PERSON FIRST LANGUAGE ISN'T WHAT EVERY DISABLED PERSON PREFERS. Allen says that "they could have another kid" and "put Chance up for adoption". Gwen obviously wasn't down with that. Allen gives his wife an ultimatum that it's either HIM or their son Chance. Gwen says that she can't choose between the two, but she will stand by her autistic son. Allen gets up and leaves the office, saying he wants a divorce.

Years pass by, Gwen is single and taking care of her autistic son Chance, and Allen has a new life with a ✨perfect son✨ (Samuel). He never mentions the son HE abandoned (Chance). He's completely forgotten about Gwen and Chance. (YOU OWE SO MUCH CHILD SUPPORT, ALLEN.)

Hey, Allen, how much do you wanna bet that your ✨perfect son✨ Samuel is autistic too?

There's the SATs, they're announcing a winner, and guess who it is? IT'S OBVIOUSLY CHANCE, OF COURSE. He's got the highest score in the country, with Samuel in second place. Allen is PISSED.

Chance gives a speech about how his mom really helped him, he struggled with autism, how Allen LITERALLY ABANDONED HIM, and THE CROWD GOES FUCKING WILD. Samuel, instead of being a sore loser, APPLAUDS FOR CHANCE. Stay humble, Sam.

My thoughts on the video? If you cannot tell by my tone throughout this post, IT WAS DOG SHIT. This video was insensitive to the true reality of parents abandoning their disabled children just because they're disabled. What do I expect from Dhar Mann at this point?

Here's my response to his video below. Don't worry, I will fully type out my response soon for anyone who cannot read the screenshots easily. It's a lot easier for me to do that on the desktop site than it is for me to do it on my phone.

For anyone who can’t read my response, I’m typing it out for you. Like I said, it’s easier for me to type it out on the desktop site than it is for me to type it out on my phone. It’s a real royal pain in the ass. But because I’m trying to make my posts easier to read for people, I’m doing this anyway. /lighthearted

First, second, and third screenshots (broken up into paragraphs):

Hey, listen, I appreciate the message you’re trying to go for, but can you please stop putting autistic people into a box? Can you stop treating being autistic like it’s a tragedy? Not every single autistic person is a little white boy in elementary school who’s considered “wild and unruly” or “super quiet and makes no friends”, nor are they a young white cishet man who’s a super genius or is how Chris Chan was before she came out as trans. (For anyone who doesn’t know about Chris Chan, there are many documentaries people have made on YouTube, and I highly recommend Geno Samuel’s docuseries, if you’re really interested in learning about Chris Chan.)

Autistic women, girls, nonbinary people, BIPOC, APPI, LGBT people, teenagers, and adults all exist too.

It’s very apparent now that you get your resources from Autism $peaks, a hate group that spends the vast majority of their money on funding eugenics instead of helping autistic people like they claim, claims that only little white boys and young white cishet men are autistic and ignores all other autistic people who don’t fit that description, have no autistic people on their leader board or on any board for that matter, have members who have actually fantasized about k1lling their autistic children, treat autism like it’s a tragedy or a disease someone can catch (completely false), act like autism should be cured (there is no cure, and ABA therapy is a total shit show in itself), and treats autistic people like they’re broken and need to be fixed. Also, not every autistic person is a Super Genius(tm). That’s so demeaning to autistic people who aren’t seen as intelligent in any way. I’m autistic and seen as smart; however, there are subjects I’m stronger in than others.

If you can’t handle the possibility of having autistic children, or just disabled children in general, DON’T HAVE CHILDREN. If you can’t handle working with or alongside disabled people, including autistic people, maybe find a different profession. Even if you do that, you’ll never get away from disabled people. Disabled people aren’t a disease. We’re human beings just like neurotypical and able-bodied people.

Fourth and fifth screenshots (broken up into paragraphs):

I would highly suggest getting resources from reputable organizations for ASD, such as the Autism Self Advocacy Network (ASAN) and the Autistic Women and Nonbinary People Network (AWN). Talk to any autistic person who isn’t a little white boy or a young white cishet man.

Instead of using the puzzle piece, which is a symbol that many autistic people, myself included, are offended by (because of Autism $peaks and other organizations before them using it, plus it symbolizes that only autistic children exist and that we’re “missing a piece” like we’re broken), use the rainbow infinity sign (for all neurodivergent people) or the red and gold infinity sign (just for autistic people). Instead of “lighting it up blue”, light it up red or gold. Do both if you want.

I’m actually really sick and tired of seeing just autistic little white boys and young autistic white cishet men being represented in the media, and y’all manage to fuck that up too.

Before anyone mentions Sia’s movie “Music”, that’s also very poor representation of autistic girls. Besides, the actress who played the autistic girl isn’t even autistic. She MOCKED autistic people. I know she’s a kid, but that’s still super fucked up. I hope she’s able to turn that around.

If anyone would like to discuss this topic with me or ask any questions, feel free to. I’ll answer as best as I can. Thank you and have a good night.

Before I get attacked for mentioning Chris Chan in my response, I bring up Chris Chan because allistic people think that every autistic person is like her (especially before she came out as trans). That person is part of why I wasn't open about being autistic or talking about my diagnosis until this year. I didn't want to be grouped up with Chris Chan because I do have very similar interests to her, I've been seen as cringey for having said interests, and just the way Chris treated autistic people who were formerly diagnosed with A$p3rg3r$ $yndr0m3 (like I was) really made me feel even more alienated.

Also, S1a supports A$ (Autism $p3aks). She's not a very good person to support. Some of her music is good, but her as a person....no. Her movie "Music" was gross, from what I've read about it and seen pictures of.

If you've read this far, thank you so much!

#mello speaks #dhar mann #dhar mann talk #dhar mann will live to regret his decision to make these fucked up cringe videos #dhar mann will live to regret his decision uwu #dhar mann is a piece of human garbage #please stop supporting dhar mann #autism isn't a tragedy #we need better representation for autistic people who aren't little white boys or young white cishet men #dhar mann is a cringe ass nae nae baby #tw abandonment #tw ableism #cw sia mention #cw chris chan mention #tw dhar mann

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bluebuckstallion · 3 years ago

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the sun will rise again - mlp fic

part two this is part one! part two and so on will be updated/reblogged when they are out! contents: aj and big mac are like. 13 and 15. big mac realizes she is a trans woman, and is guided by applejack, but there is much more to it than just that lol. its also a little hard for her. sappy, feel-good, tough internal conflict but overall happy fic. paragraph one is previewed here, the rest is below the cut! (note: i am aware my blog makes posts a little hard to read bc of a glitch, i am trying to fix it at the moment, i apologize D: i rec reading it on tumblr mobile or highlighting the words as you read, im sorry!)

Big Mac shuffled his hooves awkwardly. Racing thoughts fought furiously, cluttering his hurting head, and he put a weary hoof against his temple in an attempt to clear the fog. No avail. It was as strong as ever, the rushing current of rip tide sweeping him in the more he struggled. He insisted he'd never felt this way before, trying violently to shake away the thought, it made him shudder. But deep down somewhere he knew, he couldn't hide this strong feeling he'd become so familiar with. It felt like home, but he was trapped inside with the windows boarded and the floorboards were so old they were making him fall through with every step, and there were thick dusty cobwebs everywhere he tried to rest his burdened hooves. He couldn't leave. Outside of his overflowing head, there was a faint knocking at his door, though he had tuned it out completely. His thoughts whirled, and everything was making *so* much noise, the ceiling fan, the electricity in the walls, the birds outside, even the trees being rustled by the evening wind. Everything was so loud, and so muffled and far away, so close and inside his ears, they twitched eagerly trying to bat the harsh noise away, all collected into one horrid ear-piercing amalgamation of staticy sound. His fur was disturbed by his blankets, and his teeth felt uncomfortable as they grit desperately in an attempt to relax, his eyes were dry despite how much and how hard he was blinking, it felt like even the smallest thing would throw him overboard in this thundering storm of unsettlement. -

The knocking got louder. "Big Mac!" The sound was lost in the chaos of it all, but it prevailed. "Big Mac!" There it was again. It didn't quite reach him yet, though. But my, was it there. Incessant. Pounding. Oh, the headache of it all. Just adding to the pile. It hesitated. "Big Mac." The gentle coo reached him, piercing through the overwhelmingly loud silence in the air, he felt this odd choking sensation in his throat when he registered the voice, so familiar and so loving. But would it continue to be after this? The thought scared him. Fear struck his spine in striking bolts, waves of dread sulked, creeping in and making their nest in his aching body. He was so tired of coming back to this again and again, but it plagued his mind like a cold. He realized his internal monologue had been ongoing - even though it hadn't really spoke - but alas he had been lost in his own downward spiral of paranoia again, and had forgotten to respond. "Yu- uh- eeyup?" he stuttered out like he was drowning, he felt and sounded like a silly foal learning to walk for the first time again. He pushed his hoof lightly against his throat, shocked at his own lack of voice. Usually he was calm and confident, knowing what he wanted to say, despite how little it ever was. However he feared this would give way to his sister finding out, that she would know something was awry with him. "Can I, uh, come in?" the voice questioned. He nodded, then processed he had forgotten to use his words, and managed a sheepish "Yup." "Uh, okay." She responded equally as softly, her voice leaving a tinge of confusion to be interpreted. Applejack trotted in, her hooves making the wood beneath her creak as the old house settled. She nudged the door shut behind her nonchalantly with her back hoof, not taking her gaze off of what was ahead of her. She made a gesture towards Big Mac's bed and tilted her head, knowing he was a horse of few words, moreso when he got this way. And goodness, how he could manage to get into his own head. Applejack understood the feeling, more than he was letting on. Applejack got up and sat down awkwardly, glancing at her hooves as they, too, dragged over one another slowly, she never did like eye contact. Big Mac was more fidgety - he was straight-up restless, as he clapped his hooves together ceaselessly, clicking them atop one another with a hard "Clink." The silence was substantial, but it wasn't like it bothered them, usually. It drove Big Mac up the wall, he was sweating buckets thinking about what Applejack could possibly say. *Did she find out? Does she know? Does she hate me? She hates you. She knows and she hates you. She'll never forgive you. She'll never see you the same-* his thoughts were cut off abruptly. "So, big brother," she chuckled stiffly, "what's on your mind?" Blunt and to the point. She looked upward briefly, catching a glimpse of his face, caught in an uncomfortable twist as his mouth hung downward and his eyes sunk, staring blankly ahead. Neither of them looked at the other, but this again, was not unusual. When she said 'brother,' the word stung like a mosquito bite. It was barely there, but just enough to irritate him. And it grew bigger the more he picked away at it and gave it the time of day. Maybe if he just ignored it it'd heal itself, he thought. Her words in general hung high above his head, and he had forgotten to respond with the way he was over-analyzing it a million different ways inside. What was on his mind, besides this scary, burning question gnawing him alive? He gave a lackluster response to divert any inkling of anxiety, "Oh, nothing," and with that he kicked his back hooves loosely up, and they swung back down heavily in the empty air. What else could he say? The silence sat for a couple of seconds. Too long for Applejack's liking, she was growing a bit impatient with his lack of answers. She looked up and moved her head upward in tune with her eyes, rolling her head from one shoulder to the other as her lips pouted and she let out a quick exhale. She looked down at her teetering hooves again. "Nothing..." she repeated, tapping her hooves together about three times, give or take, she wasn't paying attention. "Oookay.." she said in a quiet tone, and the cadence in her voice had shifted after this minute or two of waiting. She scratched the back of her ear. "Well, if you won't tell me, I'll figure it out myself." She looked up and beamed what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, which came out rather awkward. It fell just as awkwardly. She wasn't the best at conveying emotion, but neither was Big Mac. They had that in common. "Ok, I'll spit it out, rapid-fire," she said funnily, holding her hooves up and moving one in front of the other and back again in tune with the quirky enunciation of the last word. If nothing else, she was making an attempt to lift his low spirit. She inhaled, "Is it about me? About Ma or Pa? *Granny?* Baby Bloom?" and with that she exhaled overexaggeratedly. It took a second, but the half-smile she had faded from her face as he stood there saying nothing, simply folding one hoof over his other arm, rubbing it rigidly and looking away, and what she hoped was not true, had hit her. It was about himself. "Oh.. brother," she whispered to him, "You can tell me anything," she reached her hoof up toward him, pulling it back when it was halfway there as she winced at his lack of response, not even a lean-in to her gesture, but she continued anyway. She gingerly put her hoof on his shoulder. Becoming more confident with her comforting, she rubbed his back gently. "So it's about you?" He took a second, and nodded somberly. "Hey, that's alright. Tell me what's on your mind for real now, when you're ready. If, you're ready." AJ's voice, he found, was quite calming. Big Mac shot a glance at her timidly, then down at her hooves, and back up at her, but he couldn't look too long in order to stop the waterworks from coming. He gulped dryly and looked at the wall, and after the ceiling. He watched the fan dodder decrepitly, but so sure of itself, it's purpose, rotating on it's axis, again, and again, and again. He wished he could be so sure of himself, he wasn't sure if he ever could be, though. And here, he found himself envying the rotating of a ceiling fan. What an interesting moment, he thought sarcastically to himself. Was this really where he was at? He zoned out briefly, watching the blades go in circles, and then snapped himself back to reality with a hard blink, a downward motion of his head, and a squeezing of his hooves. "I..." he started softly and then trailed off. He sighed in dejection. "I- Well, I am me. But... I'm not. I look in the mirror, and it's not me looking back. I know that sounds... stupid, but it's not me. It's not like it isn't who I am, it's just not me. And I, don't know why. I mean I think I do, but I don't - sometimes-" He took a second to collect himself and inhaled, exhaling sharply after, he put his hoof firmly against his chest, as if almost trying to coax the words out. "I'm me, but I'm not. I'm not who I'm meant to be, I, I was born wrong. My body is wrong," he shook his head, like trying to shake the bad thoughts away. "It's not mine. I was born with something wrong about me, outside, inside I'm me, but outside I'm not. But - I'm not bad or anything, it's just that there was something different. And, you know that funny feeling of those butterflies in your tummy when someone you like says your name? I'll get that, but I won't recognize my name as mine, but I do get that feeling when...ponies accidentally call me what they call fillies, even though they don't mean to and fix 'emselves right after, and they act like it's so wrong, but I still get that funny feeling of, goodness. It catches me off guard in the best way... my heart skips a beat. And I know I'm s'posed to like girls, but there was something wrong about me lovin' 'em... it feels like. I feel real guilty-like when I start getting all lovey about one. It feels like I'm not allowed, like there's somethin'.." he teared up, "different. About me." He emphasized the last word quite significantly. He began to finish, not wordvomitting as much as he was before, instead saying it slowly, as if he was really trying hard to get his thoughts out. "I- I think, I think if I were born in the right body I'd be happier, but I don't want to change me, I just...want to change how people *see me."* Applejack raised her eyebrows and looked down, pushing her hooves together. She couldn't move, and she didn't. Big Mac's welling up had turned to a tear, gently rolling down his cheek. He held his breath, eyes darting back and forth from his sister's gaze - or lack thereof. Applejack held her breath as well. "Big mac, well - gosh." she let out staggeredly, anxiously chuckling, raising her hoof to her chest as she exhaled bluntly. Big Mac felt it coming, Roaring and Crashing. The water was surrounding him still, no matter how subtle it was before, it had been growing this whole time. Internal dread multiplying like a bilious bacteria, out to get him and cover him in it's killing spores. It must've been at least neck-high now. AJ chuckled, "Big Mac, I love you no matter what. You're my family." She looked him in the eyes, "It's gonna be ok." And there was the straw that broke the camel's back. It came through gently, like a soft breeze through his hair in summer, but it broke him so, so ruthlessly. He bit at his bottom lip and released, his mouth turning to a shaky U-shaped frown, and he bawled. Oh, how he bawled. He lunged for his sister's arms, which quickly opened for him to land in. Applejack huffed as the wind left her with his impact, but she regained control of herself and softly smiled, tenderly hugging him back. His head rested on hers, as hers on his. "It's alright big guy," she laughed. "In fact, I think I know exactly what's up." She pushed him off cautiously, and held her hoof against his shoulder. His tears subsided slightly, he wiped them with a trembling hoof. "Have you ever thought that maybe you feel like you're in the wrong body, because you're really a mare? I know nobody sees you that way right now, but I could start if that's who you really are." Big mac's pupils constricted, and he felt a leap in his chest. A mare? He tried so hard to push it out, but he couldn't. A mare. A mare! He let out a small smile, "A mare..." he then promptly shook his head. "But, I can't be. I wish it was that easy, that I could just be a mare, oh I wish so bad AJ," he put his hooves together and shook them, like he was pleading. He pushed her hoof off of him, sighing and speaking again, his voice cracking from the tears and raw emotion, "But I never could. I couldn't. I wish I could, but I'm not allowed to." he sighed defeatedly. Applejack chuckled, "Says who? All it takes is you saying you can. And I'll be honest, I feel like a lot of people don't give it much thought whether they want to be a mare or not - they just are." It all clicked. They, just are. He processed it for a second, and thought, and the thoughts slipped into words, "I'm a mare," he whispered. He smiled, the most genuine smile he'd ever shown. "I'm, a mare." He laughed, looking at Applejack. "A mare! I'm a mare!" His smile faded slightly, "But Applejack, am I still allowed to like other fillies? I figure now I'll have to like colts, that's what I've heard at least, and I really don't want to-" despite his concerns, he still looked quite euphoric. Applejack laughed again, "No, Big Mac, you can still like mares. It doesn't work that way I'm pretty sure." She rubbed the back of her head, "If it's any help, you can do whatever you want... What feels right." She closed her mouth and grinned, waving her hoof in the air dismissively of any negativity, her eyes in the other direction. Stopping, she looked at the ground and fiddled her hooves, "I, I actually know a lot about how you're feeling," she spoke nervously, cautiously, dancing around her words like she had something she didn't want to admit to herself as well. "I, know how you feel - about liking mares and, and the wrong body an' stuff. Feeling like your body isn't yours, it doesn't belong to you and never will, unless you make a big change, or somethin'. I get it. I feel wrong when people say I'm a girl, but I don't reckon I'd feel right with them callin' me a boy or something either - I don't think I really feel like either." She paused, cutting herself off, "I don't expect that to make sense to you, I know it's kind of weird and all." Big Mac thought for a bit, and then nodded, "No, I get it. I mean - I don't, but, I know you're you, no matter what, and I don't care who you are, you're still my sibling." Big Mac smiled nervously, trying to make sure he was doing the right thing. "And you're my sister, Big Mac," Applejack smiled back at him. "Now, how do you feel about me calling you by girl terms? Like, sayin' she, and stuff..." she struggled to think of an example. "Oh! Like, if I meet someone, I'll tell 'em "Oh Big Mac? She's my big sister!" Applejack let out a wide twinkling grin, feeling confident and proud with supporting her sister's feelings. "I, I like that." Big Mac said shyly, and she did. "Wait, how do I do the same for you?" she questioned. Applejack stalled, she really didn't think she'd get this far. "I think... I really like being called he, and brother and such. Although to be honest I'm not your sister and I'm not really your brother, and I still like other fillies - but I'm not one of them, or not in the same way, and - I don't know, it's a little confusing. I think the only way that I'm a filly is in the sense that I'm a mare who likes other mares. I don't really know what any of this is called," he voiced embarrassedly. "I wish I did." Big Mac smirked, "It's okay you don't, I don't know either. And we can learn together, little brother." She fluffed Applejack's hair playfully and her smirk became a toothy smile. Applejack laughed and joined her smiling. "Thanks," he said, quite gratefully. "To be honest, I've known this for a really long time, I just didn't know how to say it," he looked out the window longingly, "I wish I knew how to tell Ma and Pa, or Granny," he laughed a little, "and I don't even know how to tell a baby," he uttered, trying to lighten the mood a little after bringing it back down. Big mac grinned, "Why don't we go out to the orchard, little brother?"

#applejack mlp #big mac mlp #mlp fanfic #mlp fic #mlp writing #mlp au #mlp #applejack #big mac #trans applejack #trans big mac #my little pony #lesbian applejack #lesbian big mac #orchard blossom #trans au #the sun will rise again

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square-blunt · 3 years ago

Text

You're in my heart, in my heart, in my head.

The normal empires fic in which shit goes from 0 to -100 to 100 and back to -100 in like, 2000 words. Scott ruins shit bc he's a dumbass in love. Jimmy watches him die. Y'know, the normal fic you'd see on the empires tag. This is a Minecraft Roleplay.

TW- MCD (major character death), Gore, (blood. and like, big knife mention). Angst. there is so much angst- emotional mental physical, it's all that shit. Sacrifice, screaming, crying, and they kiss so that's fun but y'know.

WC: 2009

Ao3: :) Second Chapter: :)

Scott knows something is wrong. He feels that pit in his stomach- familiar emptiness that clouds his vision and his mind. His feet start to move forward. He knows- he knows something's happening.

He knows Jimmy is in trouble.

He hasn't been in Mythland much- but somehow he cuts through trees and knocks over stands almost like he knows exactly where he's going and nothing was gonna stop him from getting there. It's getting dark- that's weird it was just noon-

Scott looks up to see where the sun is. 'This can't get any worse,' he thinks. You're never supposed to fight a demon when there's a solar eclipse, everyone knows that-

Scott hears a scream. It sends his heart up into his throat- that's Jimmy. Scott sprints forward and bursts through the treeline and he's at Sausage's summoning circle- no- no no no-

The sight is terrible. Sausage- his body is practically decaying under the weight of corruption- of possession. Xornoth's possessed the man he once saw as a friend. And Joey's by his side, a book in hand, chanting in elvish. They've crafted an obsidian altar- and writhing in chains, desperately trying to free himself is Jimmy. Tears are streaking down his face, his terror radiating off of him in waves.

Xornoth raises something above their head as the moon fully covers the sun- its last light gleaming off the object- it's a ritual knife.

They're going to sacrifice you- I don't want to lose you. He can hear Jimmy’s voice as clear as day.

Scott screams out a time-shattering “Stop” before he can get a hold of himself.

Everything does stop. Time, space, reality- it feels like Scott’s heart has stopped, too. Sausage looks at him with eyes that aren’t his own; Joey looks at him as well, but his eyes hold no rage or fear, only smugness. His eyes are drawn away as he catches Jimmy’s face. It goes from happiness to confusion, to heartbreak, back to confusion, and then to pure fear.

“Stop,” Scott says it a little quieter this time. His voice rings out against the stilled breeze. There are no birds, no nature, everything around them is either dead or too terrified to make a sound. Xornoth tilts his head, slowly and concerningly calmly. “Step away from him.” Scott’s hand finds itself on the hilt of his sword. Not like there’s much that could do, but he has to do something.

Xornoth laughs. It sounds like Sausage.

“Scott-” Jimmy says, and immediately cries out in pain. Scott looks up- Joey was the one to twist his arm. Under any other circumstances, Scott would have lunged forward and sunk his sword into Joey’s skull, but since Xornoth is still holding a very painful-looking ritual knife, Scott stays put.

“Jimmy, don’t say anything-” Scott begins, his voice tight with panic. Xornoth speaks up before he can continue, Scott’s heart dropping in his chest. His voice sounds like Sausage, too.

“Brother, have you come to replace your lover from another life?” Xornoth’s voice is suffocatingly rich with sarcasm and fake pity.

Scott can’t answer. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He doesn’t- he can’t look at Jimmy.

“I know you remember, great champion of Aeor, I know you do.” Xornoth grins, their face contorting.

“I do, and I have,” Scott says, finally getting over the lump in his throat. The lump comes back tenfold as Xornoth’s grin grows impossibly wider.

“Scott- no- what-” Jimmy begins to say, but Joey quiets him with another yank on his restraints. Xornoth puts a hand out, and Joey drops the ropes.

“You know what I need, brother,” Xornoth says, their voice eerily emotionless.

“Scott- don’t do this-”

“Jimmy, please,” Scott says, closing his eyes to keep the tears at bay, he can’t give Xornoth his own humanity.

“Scott-” Scott winces as Jimmy’s voice breaks. Jimmy doesn’t know, he can’t remember-

Scott takes a deep breath, and once again, speaks before he can tell himself to stop.

“I, Ellinair, take the place of this man so that he might live free of pain or suffering for the rest of his life.” Scott needs to make sure that Jimmy gets off free, with no strings attached. So Xornoth can’t hurt him after he’s gone.

“No- Scott, what have you done- why-” Jimmy sits up, some of the ropes have disappeared but he still can’t leave the altar.

Xornoth laughs- it doesn’t sound like Sausage anymore.

“A great elf with a great future who was stolen in the night and thrown into an arena for the devil’s delight. And you fell in love. How cute!” they snarl, “Unfortunately, as you died, you were whisked away from our grasp. I had to find you again, and wasn’t I lucky that I found your husband instead? And, better yet, without your protection! It was so easy, brother, to just come in and take him. To use him. Sweet, dopey, stupid Jimmy. Why would he be the one tied to that dragon? I kill him, and nothing will happen other than a shortage of slimeballs and a few tears. The only use for him was that he was close to you. He’s nothing but a pawn to get to you. And you, in your blind devotion, played right into my hand. I was never going to kill him, it would honestly be too much effort to do so. I was never going to kill him. I was only threatening to kill him so you would change places with him, so Exor could finally triumph over his brother. You are weak, Ellinair, in your love, in your loyalty- or lack thereof. You always were weak. And now I’ve won. Exor has won because you fell for a mortal. Because of a flower. It’s sickeningly amusing, I must say. But unfortunately, it seems that your time is drawing to a close. Lesser, you may release the ‘bait’.” Xornoth ends their monologue with a direction Scott takes a moment to realize is for Joey, who follows it immediately. Jimmy, now free, lurches off the altar like it was burning him alive. He rushes over to Scott, questions bubbling up and out of him. His hands move to hold Scott’s, but Scott isn’t exactly... present. But he can still hear Jimmy. How he wishes he couldn’t.

“Scott- Scott what’s going on- I thought you- what’s going on? Why did you- Scott- why did you take- what-” Jimmy asks, clutching at Scott’s hands. Scott hangs his head, Jimmy immediately stops and lets him talk.

“Jimmy... you don’t know what you mean to me,” Scott says, tears threatening to fall, he can’t make eye contact with Jimmy.

“I think I can guess, at least,” Jimmy says, voice tight, cupping Scott’s face. Scott still can’t look at him.

“They’re right-” Scott begins to say- before Jimmy tilts Scott’s head to face him and kisses him. It takes Scott a second for his heart and his head to catch up to it- but Jimmy’s kissing him. Finally, after what feels like eons apart, he’s kissing him again. Scott kisses him back like he’s the air he’s gone without breathing for so long- Scott’s been without him for so long- and just when he’s got him back... he quite literally sold his soul for this. Time stops again- this has happened way too many times for it to be normal but Scott wishes it would stop forever. Seconds turn into minutes and it’s like the gods have finally taken pity on him and given him time to give everything he can. He’s sold his soul for Jimmy, and he’s never gonna get to see him again. The tears become too much, and they fall- but Scott would rather die now than break the kiss, so Scott’s tears stain both their cheeks. The kiss tastes the same it always did, like Jimmy, and it was heart-achingly familiar.

Scott can’t live without it.

Funny.

He won’t live much longer anyway.

He is hyper-aware of Jimmy’s grip on him, on his face, in his hair, holding him close like they would melt together if they could.

Maybe Jimmy needs him as much as Scott.

And fuck, he needed Jimmy.

He needs to feel as much of Jimmy as he can before all he feels is a knife through his chest.

But right now all he cares about are the hands on his chest where the knife will go- the hands that are gonna be gone soon- Scott hasn’t been counting the seconds how long has it been- how long has Jimmy been kissing him- how long has he been kissing back- how long do they have left? Scott wraps his arms around Jimmy, trying to become inseparable- and Jimmy just holds onto him tighter. One of them sobs into the other- and all Scott can think is I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you- and he hopes Jimmy can hear him.

They both can hear a sickening crunch, instead.

As time crashes back into Scott's reality like a freight train, a number of things happen in rapid succession.

Jimmy is torn away, crying out in pain. It's familiar. Scott's tears break their dam and his vision is blurred- but he can still see Jimmy, sweet, dopey, beautiful Jimmy.

As Jimmy gets jerked backward, his and Scott's grip tightens on each other, and Jimmy's screams of agony make Scott want to throw up.

It takes everything Scott has to stay in place and keep Jimmy with him.

"'Scott something's on my back- something's hooked into me-"

"Jimmy- don't let go- please, please don't let go- I love you, please-"

"I won't- Scott- don't- I love you, too, I love you, too-"

Something cold sinks into Scott's shoulder, sending searing hot pain across his body- and making his arm go limp.

Scott and Jimmy are ripped apart from each other.

Scott screams for Jimmy and thrashes around, trying desperately to free himself, sobs ringing in his skull and fear and pain and regret raking through his body- but he refuses to stop looking at Jimmy, and Jimmy still looks at him. He catches a glimpse of what’s hooked onto Jimmy's back- it’s a massive tendril of corruption, and now it's holding Jimmy suspended in the middle of the air- it looks like it hurts him to breathe, much less call out Scott's name, but it's all in vain.

Scott knows he's going to die.

He gave his word.

But that doesn't mean he's not going to try and get away.

He needs to get away.

He needs to scream and cry and writhe and brace himself against the altar that whatever's hooked into his shoulder is trying to drag him onto.

He needs Jimmy to know how sorry he was because he’s gone and fucked it all up now. He thought he’d be able to play it off to Jimmy as ‘you don't deserve to die in my place' but when Jimmy looked at him with pure heartbreak and fear in his eyes he knew that he was doing it to save him.

Not the world.

Jimmy was his world.

Scott loses the fight and is dragged up onto the altar, where tendrils of dark crimson threaten to bury him alive, and one-handed he tries to swat them off. He can feel his power draining, he knows Joey's probably chanting again, but all he hears is Jimmy. He looks back, and Jimmy is still struggling and sobbing and Scott has to keep fighting to stay alive as long as possible just to be able to see Jimmy for as long as possible.

But the tendrils are growing in number, and Scott can’t keep all of them at bay and slowly he’s overtaken and restrained. The metal hook still sits painfully in his shoulder as his energy drains with his blood, he’s lost the power to scream.

Jimmy hasn’t.

Scott hangs onto that.

Scott hangs onto Jimmy’s screams, his sobs, his ‘Please stop’s, his ‘why him’s, Scott hangs onto the feeling of rage- at his brother and their tool hurting Jimmy like this- but the rage stays heavy on his chest. Rage and fear and pain swirl in his mind and every other emotion drains out of him.

All he knows is terror.

All he knows is Jimmy’s sobs.

He knows that he has seconds left- Xornoth’s probably already gotten the knife back up above his head.

All Scott can offer to Jimmy, all that he has left, is a weak smile of comfort before every sense he has cuts out.

Scott can’t see Jimmy.

He can’t hear Jimmy.

He’s failed everyone he’s ever known.

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rosy-cheekx · 4 years ago

Note

Aesthetic prompt- song: "in hell i'll be in good company" by the dead south; vibe: steam off a warm drink, heavy rain on windows; color: cool gray, bronze, red :)

Took me long enough! This fic is months in the making, but I am so excited to finally be able to answer this prompt. This is chapter 1 of probably 3!

A Phoenix Razed

Chapter 1- Rebirth

---

3 days since Great Yarmouth

Tim’s hands encircled the paper cup in his lap. The cup was small, he noted; he could clasp his fingers together easily. Or maybe his hands were just big. The tea was dark, way over-steeped, and the herbal scent bloomed out in waves alongside the rising steam. There was no sugar, no milk, none of the usual accoutrement Tim used to take tea. Just harsh, bitter, black.

It’s what you deserve.

Tim rolled his eyes at his internal monologue, drama queen, and sipped the beverage. Agh, still hot? He sucked in air through his teeth, startling Martin, who he’d forgotten was beside him.

“Tim?” He snapped his eyes up from where they had been resting on the book, lips moving to form words Tim hadn’t been listening to. “You alright?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, burnt my tongue.” Tim’s words sounded like a shrug, slumped and uninterested, now out of his reverie.

Silence stretched between him and Martin. Or, Tim wished it was silence. The only sound was the low static of the EEG, a rainbow of wires between the machine and Jonathan Sims’ scalp, shaved to accommodate the electrodes. What Tim wouldn’t give for any level of sound other than what they experienced right now. Any less, and there would be an answer to the question, “Will Jon ever wake up?”, and more would mean his heart was working, or lungs, or any other number of body parts to which machines were attached, waiting for any sign of response.

It’s your fault he’s like this.

It should have been you.

Tim exhaled and sipped the tea again, more careful this time. It was still hot—he was pretty sure the burn on his tongue made it feel even hotter—but he tempered his expectations and swallowed a sip of the bitter liquid, letting the raw flavor coat his throat.

“-there’s not much point to this, huh?” Martin asked, slipping a tattered bookmark between the pages of the book he had been reading—he was hoping to annoy Jon with poetry into waking up with Tennyson’s Ulysses—and letting it slip from his lap to the bed, green cover stark against the yellowish-white of the thin blanket.

“I don’t know, Marto, doctors said he might be able to hear us. Maybe dear Alfie will bore Jon back to life,” but Tim’s words lacked the bite and humor that was meant to be there.

“Don’t-” Martin warned softly, shaking his head and pushing his reading glasses through his fringe of curls. “He’s not…he’s still alive. He’s just lost.”

“You’re right,” Tim nodded, placing a hand on Martin’s shoulder lightly before pulling it away as he felt the round of Martin’s shoulder twinge under his touch. “You know what I mean.” He rubbed at the bandages that wound around his abdomen, letting himself indulge in the ache of raw skin and muscle and fat, the hiss of pain atonement for his sins.

Martin sighed, a slow, burdensome sound. “Yeah, I do.” At his words, Martin’s phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID before shoving the phone deep in his pocket, ignoring the call as he did so. “Listen, Tim, you know I’d stay longer if I could-”

“No, I get it, Martin.” Tim stood as Martin did, grabbing the IV bag by his chair for support. “Duty calls. I must away, my love.”

Martin scoffed, the pale sound muffled and diminished by the emptiness of the room. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to go on without me.” His voice dropped the light in it as he placed a hand on Tim’s. His hands were freezing, Jesus. “Seriously, Tim, if you need me…”

“I’ll call.” Tim waggled the phone in the pockets of the linen pants the hospital had provided. “Promise.”

“I hear the Great Grimaldi’s in town.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I know.”

He wished the moments after were fuzzy. He wished he could chalk his memories up to delirium or carbon monoxide poisoning. There was the detonator, small and squat in his hands. There was Grimaldi, or Nikola, or whatever that thing was. And there was Jon, kneeling, eyes piercing him in a way he had never experienced before. A moment of true lucidity amongst the madness of the Unknowing.

Tim had pressed the button, resigning this to be his final image, his final memory. The things in the world he hated most, all splayed out in front of him, with the promise of all the things he loved waiting for him. A win-win, really. Go out with a bang, leave a mark on the Stranger, cause some errant destruction, and finally see Danny again. The Stranger would never forget the Stoker brothers, that would have been for sure.

But the combustion and the flames had swept over him like a hot wind. He felt the flames lick the sides of his face, felt smoke choke his lungs, felt impossibly hot ash and air swirl around him in a tango. The building had crumbled around him and Tim had been unable to move, forced to witness every last nanosecond of the chaos he had caused.

And he reveled in it. He had won; he had beaten the Stranger. To know he had avenged the deaths of Danny and Sasha was prize enough.

None of it made any sense. He shouldn’t have survived.

How had he survived?

5 Days After Great Yarmouth

“Tim.”

Basira was in Tim’s room, wheelchair parked in the corner and sitting in a visitor’s chair. Her body was tense and still, reminiscent of a panther in some documentary he had watched with Jon. Ready to strike? Or run?

“Basira.” Tim’s voice was careful. “Martin said you weren’t up for visitors today. Glad to see you’re okay.”

“Save it.” Basira’s hands were fisted in her robe, the white and yellow one matching Tim’s, declaring them both as patients under observation. Tim frowned, pulling his IV behind him to sit on his bed, wincing as he bent and adjusted himself. “Daisy’s gone, Jon is…whatever he is. I survived because I was smart.”

Her voice was low and sharp, accusing him of…something. Tim felt blood boiling under his skin, as he waffled somewhere between furious and confused. “Excuse me?” He said pointedly, voice measured, squeezing tight the paper cup of tea in his hand.

“Tim, how are you not dead?” Basira gestured with her hand. “Your burns were all superficial. You broke your arm in the collapse, but you managed to survive the fire.” She shook her head and smoothed the fabric that lay there with her hand. “You and I both know you shouldn’t be alive right now.”

Tim took a steadying breath, though it did little to conceal his frustration. “So what, you think I’m fucking magical or something?” He could feel the heat and pitch rise in his voice. “You think I’m like...like those freaks we read about in the statements? Like-like Jon or Elias or like fucking Nikola?”

Basira opened her mouth to speak but Tim cut her off. “You know why I was there, Basira. For Danny. For Sasha. You bloody well know none of this was supposed to happen.” He gestured in the general direction of where Jon lay, dead to the world. “The audacity to assume I-”

“Tim!” Basira cut in, interrupting his increasingly desperate tone. “Look!” She pointed down. Following her gaze, Tim saw the paper cup he was holding. The cup of tea was steaming. No, it was boiling. He could hear the roil of the water, see the bubbles blossoming on the surface. On instinct, he yelped, tossing the cup of bitter black tea across the room, hitting the sink on the far side of the wall squarely. He winced as the liquid splashed across the mirror, the cup rolling to a stop in the basin.

“What the fuck?” He wiped his hands on his robe. “How the hell did that happen?”

“Did it burn you?” Basira asked, eyes passing over him studiously.

“Ah…” Tim turned his right hand over, checking for any splash marks or blisters on his palm. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Basira asked, raising her eyebrow. At Tim’s irritated roll of his eyes, she folded her fingers together.

“You know that’s not normal, right?” It wasn’t a question.

Tim nodded, voice stolen from him as he processed her words. “Are you trying to say I’m fireproof or something?”

Basira shrugged. “I dunno. Sounds weird enough to be right. I’d say ask Jon about it, but obviously…that’s not happening quite yet.”

“This is so fucked,” Tim mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face in exhaustion. “I hate this job.”

Tim was walking in a black room. Kind of. It wasn’t black, really, nor a room—just the concept of space, devoid of color or light.

Tim was somewhere and it was dark.

He picked a direction and walked. The space he was in was hot, a dry stale heat pressing in on him from all sides. It was like that prickling heat from being too close to a campfire, where the heat should singe your leg hairs. It should have been painful. He should have been sweating. But he felt…good. Great, even. He felt alive and awake and ready.

He walked for what felt like hours in this dreamscape, not knowing where he was going. He had realized he was dreaming around the point where he noticed he was more floating than walking, being guided like a character in a low-res video game. There was something in the back of his mind nudging him forward, coaxing him along some predetermined route.

Suddenly, he stopped. There was something in front of him, maybe four meters away. He couldn’t see it, but he could sense it. This spot in space was the source of all the heat in this room, the warmth surrounding him that was more accosting than comforting. The feeling surrounding him was all-consuming and it made him feel…all sorts of things. Righteousness, anger, betrayal, pain. They were all the emotions he had been feeling at Great Yarmouth, built up upon each other, each idolized in their own way. They were the feelings he had chosen to worship when Jon had stopped being his friend and started being his enemy, when Sasha had been discovered to have never been, when he had looked Nikola in its eyeless face and pressed the detonator. It all felt good to feel.

All of a sudden Tim was struck with a sudden knowledge. If he accepted this heat, this painful destruction, he would never need to worry about being hurt again. He could protect himself, the loved ones he had left (if he still had any), and burn the hearts out of anyone who dared hurt him or his ilk. No one would ever leave him again except on his terms. He understood what the Lightless Flame meant, what it promised, what it could give him in return. He would be able to live on the destruction of those he deemed unworthy of the love of the pyre, those who had so much to lose. Like he had had, once. Like Danny had had. Like Sasha. They had had the world before them, and it was stripped away. The Stranger had the potential to take over the world and he had destroyed every last bit of success it had. And it felt good. He could chase that feeling again and again and again with a family that knew what it was like to love and lose and destroy.

All he had to do was take it in.

7 Days After Great Yarmouth

Tim woke up gasping for air. He could feel an icy hand on the back of his neck, colder than anything he knew, dragging him back into reality. He opened his eyes, wincing at the harsh light of his hospital room and yes, he was in his hospital room, not a great expanse of nothing nothing nothing, searching for answers. He reached a hand to the back of his head and felt a frozen rag, dripping icy water down the back of his neck, down his spine.

A nurse was at his bedside, a thin woman with dark blonde hair, checking his vitals with a delicate hand. “Welcome back, Mr. Stoker. You gave us a scare, there.”

“Wha-”

“Your monitor was beeping like mad last night. Said you had a fever of 42, but the machine was probably broken. Thermometer put you more at 40, but still, concerningly high. Gave you some fever reducers and a cool rag, kept an eye on you. Are you feeling any better?”

Tim rolled his neck, hearing his joints crack as he did so. “Uh-” He took stock of his faculties. He felt great, actually. No pain, no stiffness, just a tingling warmth spread throughout his body. Something about that felt...right. But he wasn’t sure why. “Yeah, fine.” He pulled the rag out from under his neck and noticed, for the first time, he was naked.

“Sorry,” she smiled apologetically at the flush that spread across his face and neck. “First rule of fevers: tight clothing comes off. It seemed to have done its job though. You were out for a whole day. According to our thermometers, your temperature’s gone back to normal, but we’d like to keep an eye on you a bit longer, especially with your injuries. They don't seem to be infected, so the fever might have been a latent trauma response to the explosion.” The woman shrugged, her smile light. “Our bodies do crazy things to keep us safe. Even when it hurts.”

“A-apparently so,” Tim nodded softly, squeezing his hands into fists, feeling the nails dig into his palms. At least this wasn’t a dream. He rested his head against the pillows propped behind him and sighed heavily.

The nurse left eventually, when there were no more monitors to check and Tim had promised eight ways to Sunday to press his call button if he needed anything. He settled back into his pillow, listening to the steady beep of his heart amplified on the monitor. The TV droned low in the background, newscasters revisiting today’s tragedies. Had they been on the news when it happened? Tim huffed and shook his head. Not if Elias had a say in it. Probably chalked it up to a gas main.

He grabbed the remote strapped to his bed, and flipped through the channels aimlessly, looking for something interesting…or at least to lull him back to sleep. Kids programming, soap operas, more news, interior design—wait. Tim flipped back to the news channel. Demolition of an old primary school. The reporter spoke to a heated young woman, round cheeks framed by wild curls, who spoke to the camera about the memories and traditions the school represented, how unfair it was to lose such an important monument to the history of her town.

“A shame, isn’t it?”

Tim started at the voice, whipping his head to the door, gripping the remote tight in his hand. The woman standing in the doorway of his room was short and wide, hair cropped close. She wore a grey tank top and black shorts, revealing tattoos of flames licking up the backs and sides of her calves. Something about her face was odd. A little too smooth? The grin on her face seemed wider than normal smiles were meant to be, drooping a little too low.

“Pardon?” Tim managed, grip on the call button tight, even if there was…something keeping him from pressing it.

“About the school.” She pointed to the television as she crossed the threshold, crossing her legs as she sat in the cushy visitor’s chair next to his bed. “So many childhood memories, so many job opportunities, so many opportunities for self-improvement-” She spat the word with malice. “Truly some of my favorite forms of destruction.”

Tim stared at her dumbly. “Do…am I supposed to know who you are?” Her returned chuckle burned him from the inside.

“Oh,” she crooned, more to herself than to Tim. “For keepers of the Eye, you are all so stupid. I am Jude Perry and I serve the Lightless Flame. And, if I’m right, you do too.”

#fanfic to a tea #tim stoker #martin blackwood #desolation tim #lonely martin #jude perry #the desolation #the unknowing #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fic #tma season 3

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so--many-fandoms · 5 years ago

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I saw a post that got me thinking about Percy being a more constant figure in camp once he’s semi retired from all the prophecy nonsense/world saving drama and like. He’s definitely a big fan of younger kids, he loves helping newcomers get over all the confusion of finding out the gods exist and the often traumatic experience of being brought to camp and missing their family/friends, making them feel at home, basically being what Luke was to him in TLT but without the betrayal. He’s experienced enough not to need any of the basic skills classes newer campers spend all day in and old enough to be trusted to fill his own time and not need constant supervision, so he spends a lot of time hanging out with the newbies to answer their questions & tell really toned down stories about his past experiences (ex: talking about That Time He Was A Literal Guinea Pig but making it sound less scary and more hilarious). (They’re always super shocked when they end up hearing about all the world saving he did and realizing that those little stories were actually dangerous parts of such Deadly & Important quests.)

Also, all the older teens probably trade off watching over the younger kids &leading activities/lessons, but he really enjoys it and so probably spends a lot more time on it than the others. I know it is (or used to be) common fanon that he taught sword fighting, and while I’m sure he sometimes makes guest-lecturer style appearances, I feel like he’d like leading less necessary-for-survival activities; he’s definitely got some lasting trauma from Tartarus and all the other shit he went through as a Literal Child, he probably doesn’t really like the thought that he’s helping prepare other kids that age to go through the same stuff. So, what does he teach instead? Horse/Pegasus riding! Especially for the really young kids, he’s able to talk to the horses so he can explain “hey this kid’s never seen a horse before so they might be a bit rough, no need to panic just let me know if they’re holding the reins too tight or anything and I can get them to fix it”, which I feel like would make the whole thing a lot easier and less stressful for everyone involved. If there’s a kid in class who’s really upset about something, he’ll put them on Blackjack or another horse/Pegasi he has a particularly good relationship with and ask them to take the kid flying/running around camp to help distract him. He’s definitely 100% willing to supervise and play translator for any kid that particularly enjoys riding and wants to build a relationship with their horse, so he spends several hours a week hanging out with little 10 year olds translating anything from questions about ribbon color preference to angsty tween monologues to “oooh the new brush feels nice, wait, my shoulder itches, a little to the left...” and becomes a confident for half of the camp because they can pretend they’re just talking to the horse but sometimes he’ll cut in with his own advice or commentary on the horse’s, and everyone knows he’ll never gossip about it; it also helps that he’s easy going and funny and never afraid to offer an embarrassing story about himself to distract a kid from something or offer solidarity (yeah, I might be good at the lava wall now, but I too was terrible at it at first, here’s this hilarious story of the time I accidentally got my shirt burned off while trying to show off for my crush, etc.) and just. Everyone loves him. He doesn’t have a cabin full of siblings like most campers so he adopted ALL the campers and now he’s everyone’s big brother.

Naturally, he also supervises recreational swim time (he’s the best lifeguard and he can make sure the ocean stays calm and dangerous/painful creatures stay away) and leads pretty much all of the water-based activities like sailing and canoeing and anything like that. He teaches swim lessons for anyone who comes to camp not knowing how, and pretends not to notice the small group of campers in the class who pretend not to be capable swimmers to spend more time around him in a swimsuit (listen, they know he’s taken, but he’s also extremely hot and they know how to appreciate art when they see it, okay?). Sometimes he’ll take some of the youngest campers to the lake when they have free time and spend a few hours ‘practicing his powers’ by taking them all down in bubbles, letting them walk on water or lifting them into the air, and basically going along with any game or trick they can think of. (One time they got him to make a literal waterslide that was so y’all they could see all of camp and beyond it in several directions. It took a lot of his energy to hold it but he managed for long enough that practically every camper got a turn.)

I also imagine that he’d be totally down to help any camper get over any kind of ocean/water related phobia. No need to fear drowning when you’re swimming with a guy who can literally control the water and let you breathe under it! Scared of sharks? He’ll let you hang out with him in the water with a promise that he’ll keep all the sharks away, let you know if anything bigger than a sardine is nearby, tell them they’re not allowed to bite you, and/or he can even introduce you to one if you want! He notices a kid sitting on the sand while the rest of their cabin/friends are splashing around in the waves and learns that they’re afraid of riptides? Don’t worry, he’ll make sure the only riptide at this beach is his pen-sword!

Basically Percy was made to be the perfect cross between Chill Counselor and Protective Older Brother and also never do anything stressful ever again because he’s Done Enough and he deserves better, godsdammit.

#percy jackson #pjo #Percy: meets a new demigod #Percy: youre my child now

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lyeekha · 3 years ago

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for the fic commentary, anything about double edged, but this part in particular is my favorite – “I’m a treasonous deserter, my defining quality is that I betray my blood and station. Uncertainty is my very essence. I have no side. According to everyone I could turn at any time. I could be a different person, or even be a different person! Who, exactly, is left to trust me?”

(Pick a passage or comic chapter of mine for commentary)

Oh boy! This was a very fun section to write. villainous melodrama! It's nearly too much but E is a very dramatic soul with an overdramatic inner monologue and L lampshades it immediately so its good and funny and allowed and also totally sincere as well.

In a nice reflection of the previous commentary, you have picked out the other edge of the double edged manoeuvre! It cuts both ways, you see. After finally making an overt move on Lemony, Ernest is thrown off guard by Lem saying something that genuinely surprises him - and falters as a result, which he did not plan to be seen to be doing.

Ernest slumped back away from him and laughed. Actually laughed. Lemony wasn’t sure what was funny but took careful note for later analysis. He’d not heard the man falter before.

Also, Lemony doesn't initially understand this reaction, and that's another way he knows it's important. He thought he understood better than that. Ernest also thought Lemony understood better than that, and is actually more hurt than surprised that he apparently doesn't, which he kind of says outright shortly after.

Anyway. This little speech. It reference in pattern a quote from Boethius's The Consolation Of Philosophy, not as close as to be a direct pull, but closely enough to be something Ernest clearly knows and has thought about. I'm pretty sure that in a future chapter he will perform it in full, but just in case, it goes:

"It is my belief that history is a wheel. 'Inconstancy is my very essence,' says the wheel. Rise up on my spokes if you like, but don't complain when you are cast back down into the depths. Good times pass away, but then so do the bad. Mutability is our tragedy, but it is also our hope. The worst of time, like the best, are always passing away."

This is only partially relevant to Ernest's point. It is also not a true translation, it is a version popularised by being often said by Tony Wilson, the legendary owner of the Factory Records label, which was then further popularised by Chris Eccleston speaking it in the film about the life of Tony Wilson. This fourth-handed self-mythologising kind of nonsense is perfect for Ernest. He would insist that if a truth is self-evident or a concept is clear then the method of communicating it, even falsehoods, don't matter. Much like Tony Wilson might say. Or Melvil Dui, arguing about spelling.

The point is. Ernest is defined by the fact that he betrayed, and continues to betray, his family (his blood) and misuses his un-fire-able position in the organisation (his station) to betray that organisation. Nomatter what the truth actually is, the image of Ernest and the role he plays now is someone who will turn. The Volunteers can't trust him because of his actions. And the Firestarters can't trust him because of his family. When talking to him, there's every chance he could be a different person - you are actually talking to his brother - or even be a different person - he has changed in himself significantly enough to not condone you any more.

The reason he gets so bitter and performative about it is that this image of himself is a role he is now forced to play for survival. What started as a bid for his own opinions has turned into a similarly empty role.

That… was closer to the melodramatic villainous monologue he’d been waiting for. Lemony gathered his fuzzy nerves and prepared to ask the question, the real question, the one that hid behind all the others. It seemed unlikely he would ever get another chance.

“So why do it? Why do you keep this up?”

Ernest became placid again, and fiddled with his sleeve, rolling it back into place. For the longest time Lemony thought he wasn’t going to answer. When he did speak, he sounded clipped and strange.

“Some things are more important than personal gain. I’d have thought, of all people, you would definitely understand that.”

He justifies it as self-sacrifice. His own role is irrelevant. He justifies it as a noble, unselfish act, with mysterious parameters that we don't quite know yet. And this, most crucially of all, directly contradicts Lemony's earlier reasoning -

under the circumstances it just seemed too... selfish. Surely that kind of selfishness was what marked out the enemy in the first place. It was their weakness. Not ours.

Over the course of the fic, Ernest has subtly upset a few cornerstones of the logic that Lemony was using to tell himself that things are ok. And thus, captivated him, because there's nothing that draws Lemony more strongly than the idea of a destructive truth that proves himself wrong.

The kicker is that this was not the plan. The plan was only to distract Lemony while he got hold of the macguffin, but a couple of sincere words got out. Not by accident exactly, Ernest is too controlled for that, but in an improvisation that took him by surprise as he realised what he was doing.

anyway shout out to the classic double meaning of 'taking care' of someone

#whoslaurapalmer #any more for any more? if its on my ao3 i have enough thoughts to expand on #my fic #asoue #ernest denouement #lemony snicket #lemzest

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shirtlesssammy · 4 years ago

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3x14: Long-Distance Call

Guys! We have a special surprise next week!! (Hint: We finally get to recap the gay angel episodes again!) Until then, enjoy our last episode for season 3...

Then:

Sam’s saving his brother no matter what

Now:

On a stormy night, a man drinks alone, contemplating life. His phone rings. It’s Linda. Ben tells her he can’t. “My wife.” He hangs up the phone. It rings again. Linda pleads with him. She loves him. He hangs up again. The phone rings AGAIN. He slams it down repeatedly and tears it from the wall. IT RINGS AGAIN! Damn, Linda, you are persistent. To stop the ringing, Ben pulls out a gun and shoots himself.

Dean tells Sam they have a case. Sam tells Dean that they’re on a case --his. Dean balks at that because they’ve got nothing. Bela’s gone, the Colt’s gone, and Dean would rather work a case they can solve than wallow in his imminent death.

They head to Milan, Ohio. They head right to the dead guy’s house and interview his widow. She’s a little belligerent but tells them that there was blood everywhere (Oh, that’s why she’s belligerent), favorite scotch was out, and the phone was ripped from the wall.

Sam asks to look at the crime scene. He goes through the caller ID. Dean asks about strange phone calls. She admits that a couple weeks prior she picked up on a call that Ben was on. It was static. No one was there.

Research time!

Dean finds out that “Linda” was Ben’s high school sweetheart --and she died in a car accident. On top of that, she was cremated. On top on top of that, Sam discovered that the caller ID on the phone traces back to a phone number used a century ago! (I presume Sam did all that research while he stared out the window.)

They head to the bowels of the phone company to find fly infested, porn addicted Stewie. I’m going to skip over all this but will laugh at the ad that said “Order now & receive a bone-us gift!” Sam asks Stewie to trace the old-time number. (Natasha: flames on the side of my face at this damn offensive porn franchise.)

Dean pulls out the threat level 5 on the guy and the guy finds some results. There’s different houses that all received a call from that number.

Sam heads to investigate one house. He poses as a phone company employee. He asks about strange phone activity. The man that answers the phone says that they haven’t had any issues. Sam notices the daughter looking concerned in the background.

She pops outside to call his bluff. She wants to know why he was asking about the phones. He gives her a little give and she admits that she’s been talking on the phone with her mom --who’s dead.

Dean checks in with similar stories. Then he gets a call. It’s the static-y voice of John Winchester.

Later at the motel, Sam wants to know more about Dean’s call. Dean gets all nervous boy about it possibly really being their dad, and what they should do about it. What should Dean say? Sam, ever the pragmatist, suggests, “hello.” It’s funny, but I guess not really because Dean walks out on his brother.

Dean comes back with a reason why things are happening here. It’s the birthplace of Thomas Edison, and there’s a museum with Edison’s spirit phone.

They take a tour but the phone doesn’t have any EMF. They’re stumped as to what’s happening.

Later that night, while Sam slumbers, Dean stays awake to answer his phone. John calls again. He asks Dean how he could sell his soul. “I was looking after Sammy like you told me to.” (Boris screams into the void) John tells Dean that the demon that holds Dean’s contract is in Ohio.

Meanwhile, the daughter from earlier is IMing a friend when she gets a message from her dead mom. The mom says she wants to see her. The girl is scared but her mom reassures her that she’s with her. Then the girl’s computer flickers out and in the reflection of the monitor, we see the girl and her mom.

The next morning, Sam returns from interviewing Lanie, the haunted daughter, to find Dean obsessing over demon omens. He shares his intel with Sam.

Dean’s pretty sure the demon who owns his contract is following him. I pull a Dean voice to say, “Why are you so obsessed with me?” only Dean’s actual line in the show is “My ass is too sweet to let out of sight.” God. This show. Sam tries to tell him that the demon-killing exorcism that John gave Dean over the phone might not be as advertised. Dean’s a believer, though. He’s got faith in John! (Just gonna take a li’l writing break to tear at my hair.)

Sam heads back to watch over Lanie, but before he goes the Winchesters hold an emotional shouting match. Dean’s ready to stop the demon from coming after him once and for all and thinks that Sam’s reticence is just more head-butting with their (now dead) dad. Sam accuses Dean of having “blind faith” towards his father and I weep. Sam leaves with one request: that Dean stay put until he returns from seeing Lanie. So. That’s going to go well.

Lanie explains to Sam what’s been going on - that her mom’s requests have extended beyond the normal grieving cemetery visit. We cut to a young kid playing in his room. His toy phone rings. “Hi, mommy!” he chirps.

Cut to Dean “Single Man Tear” Winchester sitting dramatically by his phone. It rings.

Lanie reveals to Sam that her mother’s ghost told her to kill herself. When Sam hears the ghost’s catchphrase, “come to me,” he realizes that they’re dealing with something else entirely.

While Sam experiences revelation, Dean heads off alone following his dad’s orders. f r o w n y f a c e. He ends up in a quiet, suburban home.

Meanwhile, Lanie’s brother Simon (of the toy phone fame) has gone missing. Sam saves him just in time from getting pancaked by a truck. As soon as the kids are buttoned up back home, Sam calls Dean. He tells him that a crocatta is after the people of the town. It’s a scavenger that lures grieving people and eats their souls. It tends to dwell in filth. Dean recalls the flies at the phone company, so Sam heads out on a hunt. (Meanwhile, YES, Dean’s off having his own questionable adventures, setting demon traps in a nearby house.)

Sam calls Dean for backup before assaulting Stewie, the phone guy. “I know what you are and I know how to kill you,” Sam says to the terrified guy. Someone looms behind Sam with a baseball bat. It’s Clark, the manager! He takes out poor soft-headed Sammy. Unfortunately, Clark takes out Stewie too.

They both wake up tied to chairs inside the building. Clark kills Stewie and then fangs out. He unhinges his jaw and sucks out Stewie’s soul. Yummy? Clark then lays his hands on the phone console...because it’s time to kill Dean!

Elsewhere, in a police locker room, a man’s phone rings. It’s his daughter. “I know who killed me, daddy,” she says. The girl’s voice tells him that her killer is at their house right now.

Clark explains to Sam that spoofing John Winchester was incredibly easy. All he had to do was find their phone numbers, then John’s old numbers. That let him listen to voicemails, read emails, and easily find the weak links that led him to target Dean. Oof. (Side note: a crocatta would make a seriously amazing private detective in an alternate Supernatural where monsters have better meal restraint.)

Dean stands ready at the suburban house - ready to kill a demon. The grieving officer heads home, ready to kill his daughter’s murderer.

Dean’s jug of holy water is met with an angry father with a shotgun, so things start out really well. They quickly devolve into a dirty fist fight.

Meanwhile, the crocatta continues to villain-monologue at Sam.

Technology, Clark says, makes it so much easier to target people. They’re connected - yet isolated and easier to pick off. (I scoff at this overdone oversimplification of the role of “technology” in society. I hate when people try to pretend the past was trouble-free.) Sam finds his argument weak as well, and punctuates that by breaking free of his bonds and attacking Clark.

At the house, Dean disarms the grieving cop and reveals the demon trap below the carpet. He starts reading out the exorcism. To his horror, the guy walks right out of the demon trap. When the guy accuses him of killing his daughter, the pieces click for Dean.

Sam kills Clark by jabbing his head into a retail hook suspended off the wall. OH I SEE, this show has always been obsessed with death by hook. >:|

Dean and the officer avoid killing each other. Instead, they despair in beaten silence together, before we cut to Dean holding a compress to his forehead back at the motel.

Sam and Dean go over the case back in the motel, but talk quickly switches to EMOTIONS. Sam apologizes to Dean. Dean admits he was wrong. “I wanted to believe so badly,” he says. STORY OF HIS LIFE DAMN IT. He admits that he’s terrified of dying. Terrified of Hell.

Sam gives him sad puppy eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with having hope.”

“Hope doesn’t get you jack squat,” Dean tells him.

For Sad Boys with Poor Coping Mechanisms Science:

Call Me By Your Quote:

I just talked to an 84 year old grandmother who's having phone sex with her husband, who died in Korea! It redefined my understanding of the word 'Necrophilia'

That’s what happens when you mess with the phone company, dillweed

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 3x14 #long distance call #supernatural season 3

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cruddyborderlandstheories · 4 years ago

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I like the implication that, in what is basically Gearbox's own Bl3 AU, Tyreen respects Amara more than she respects her own twin brother. Like. For some reason Tyreen suddenly values the loyalty of a single cultist (those things she eats and views as disposable) more than gaining another set of Siren powers and ascending further to Godhood. It's really funny to me

She absorbs her brother and steals Lilith's powers and attempts to absorb the Destroyer in order to become a God, but no she draws the line at Amara because Amara had [checks notes] "loyalty and usefulness on the battlefield". Sorry, didn't realize those were things Tyreen values given she bleeds a shitton of her loyal battle forces dry like she's sucking down smoothies, but yeah OK.

Like. I KNOW. That this is just for the new body customizations. I GET IT. I know they needed to write up SOMETHING. but God damn it this made me laugh so hard like. They did the main story again. They did it fuckin AGAIN and they did it WORSE.

Because yeah in the actual game Amara is on our team and we can just kinda half hand-wave away the twins not going for her powers as a sort of "oh they never saw an opportunity they didn't wanna risk their plans" (totally ignoring Jakobs Manor with Troy because if you play as Amara, uh, Troy's got some self esteem issues picking monologuing over obtaining more siren powers given we know he can absorb the people in his phaselock cuz he does it to Tyreen) but now AMARA IS LITERALLY IN THE CULT, ON THEIR TEAM. If her loyalty is that goddamn notable that she becomes a holy avatar of Tyreen maybe just be like "hey, wanna do something cool for ur God Queen? Lemme have your powers to get to the Great Vault and you'll stand next to me when I open it". Boom loyal cultist has been SUCKERED into giving up her powers FOR FREE. And if Amara would've been like "oh hell no" and left after Tyreen asked for her powers why is Amara okay with Tyreen and Troy stealing OTHER Sirens powers. Not to mention that Tyreen would not even need to ask for the powers, just sneak up behind Amara n take them, it's not like she'd be on guard 24/7 because she joined the CoV OF HER OWN VOLITION.

But nah we just uh let her keep her powers because um. She's loyal and strong. Like all of our other cultists. Yeahhhh. LMAO. Ah God. It's so bad. The others aren't great either (Zane swaps from trying to hide in the CoV to being a bandit leader solely because his relatives were bandit leaders like can I get a yikes from all my siblings with shitty relatives), but Amara's really got to me as I was thinking it through.

The other 3 don't need 'divine intervention' from the twins when they join the cult so they can slip under their radar, but Amara definitely fucking does as a God damn SIREN and that's where it went wrong. Like, again, I know it's just so we can have these new cosmetics and shouldn't be taken that seriously but ahhhhh it's so laughable fhhagshdkdhhfk like yeah you'll be our... Uh... holy... avatar..? Yeah sure that. You'll survive if you stay with us, Siren [wink wink]

They could've just said something like 'the twins are letting Amara keep her powers for now to lull her into a false sense of security until they need/yoink them later' or some shit and idve been like oh sick boom case closed this cosmetic is just from before they take them. But instead they say Tyreen allows Amara to keep her powers because she's loyal and good at fighting. Bitch you'd be good at fighting too if you took Amara's powers and added them to your own set.

In fact now I'm just disappointed we never heard of Tyreen or Troy when they had their powers going down with the masses of cultists to fight. No vlog footage of them livestreaming combat from their perspective like Maya does in a video call from Athenas.

It kinda makes them seem like they can't do anything by themselves (all we see them do is sneakily steal vault monsters after we do all the hard work, kill Maya completely by accident and intimidate a 12 year old, surprise attack us but only to monologue and get shot by an old man they can't even catch, then sneakily yoink Tannis. I guess they also steal Lilith's powers at the start of the game but that's... Well it's Lilith, the queen of shitty decisions who 100% could have teleported with the Vault Map instead of fighting, and the twins still had the element of surprise on their side to get the upper hand) which really undermines the whole thing they're trying to build up with Sirens being stupid powerful and them being the Main Villains of a shooter video game.

At least with Jack we were told up front that he was a coward and wouldn't fight fair or directly if he could help it by angel herself. The start of the game he tries to blow us up on a train with a cocky sign, not fight us head on. Meanwhile the twins are all like "nooo we're unkillable gods" and everyone we meet is like "noooo they're terrifying cult leaders" and they go after Lilith to take her powers by surprising her with Troy being a Siren (?) and then we don't ever see them actually, really FIGHTING again until their final boss fights where we kill them. Making it come across like they probably only ever got lucky in combat instead of using their skill sets.

They don't even have to be on the battlefield when the VHs are fighting, but imagine calling ahead to another planet and instead of seeing yet another bunch of nameless cultists killing people, you saw Tyreen and Troy doing their own thing with their Siren abilities while the CoV took care of stragglers. Literally anything to make them feel intimidating instead of noise machines. Like damn. Imagine if they showed Troy doing his orb sword rock attacks in-game to kill a bunch of civilians with guns before we fought him. Or wait was him actually getting that power cut along with the explanation for the Vault of the Architects 😩

Idk I'd like to imagine instead of their shitty meme videos that play on repeat on eden-6 even though they're both dead god damn it turn the fucking videos OFF there are compilations of kills by Tyreen having both Phaseleech and Phasewalk on the battlefield. Troy with Phaselock executing people with his giant sword while cultists cheer him on while swarming other people. Let them have mlg pro sound effects and editing and shitty dubstep if you must BUT AT LEAST WE'D HAVE REASON TO BE LIKE "oh shit, we're about to fight these guys how will we survive against those attacks" instead of "oh, finally, I get to shut them the hell up". It'd be terrifying, but so cool to see and would really build up the boss fights at the end of the game in general. Especially Tyreen's, seeing all her sweet Abilities and combos, teleporting behind people and insta killing them anime style, maybe gaining new ones by combining Phaseleech and Phasewalk together into some twisted amalgamation of powers. Wow. That'd be great.

[remembers the disappointment of Tyreen the Destroyer and her not even absorbing thrown grenades to kill us with them as she previously showed she was 100% capable of that] sigh. [wipes it from his memories] like it's so sad Tyreen just spontaneously combusts at the end of Bl3, imagine the awesomeness of fighting a Siren with 2 sets of siren powers at once who then, out of desperation in the final phase of her fight, absorbs a space abomination and becomes one herself because she's not giving up her dream that easily. Wow.

I'm rambling now lol. This whole "Amara is definitely still a Siren but don't think about it" situation just makes me laugh and I wanted to talk about it because it's borderlands why else. Just imagining Amara showing up immediately after Tyreen takes Lilith's powers and Tyreen going like "yup not taking those powers she's chill I like her" and then turning around and absorbing her brother instead is just. Comedic gold.

#No but fr bro WHAT #Tyreen would have sniped those powers as soon as they appeared and she had a clean shot #She `fights` Lilith for hers and it was more of a beat down but she GOES FOR THEM *knowing* that Lilith was the Firehawk (strong)#Imagine if Amara joined the cult and was completely chill around Tyreen she'd go for those powers in an instant like. HELLO #Godhood is calling my good b!tch!!!#It took me 2 days to read this because I genuinely dislike these customizations solely bc the VHs as characters would NEVER #I can see them not becoming VHs #Understandable. But joining the CoV? Nah Im drawing the gatdam line #Borderlands #Borderlands 3 #Cruddy rambles

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danteinthedevildom · 3 years ago

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A Royal Pajama Party “Analysis” - Part 6 (of 7)

We’re almost at the end (hooray - these posts have absolutely killed me to finish), so time to go onto the “platonic” route.

Unfortunately the Devilgram’s ending isn’t 100% perfect if you want a fully platonic route. I may be wrong here - it’s been a while since I actually read the Devilgram at this point, so my memories are a little hazy - but I believe the only way to really end it prior to the screenshots I’m about to show you involve responses that are a little more dismissive (from what I can remember, it essentially requires turning down everything, even the content that could be read as purely platonic). Which means, unfortunately, your options are generally “somewhere between romantic and platonic” and “no interest at all”.

That said, this route is much easier to read as platonic, and I think is meant to cover ground for players who fall into one of two categories:

- Have no interest in Diavolo romantically

- Don’t want to end on a more suggestive note (since the kiss route leads to implied NSFW)

So you can read romance into it as much as you can ignore it. I like being able to focus on both sides, however, since sometimes you want the Devilgrams to explore more of the friendship between yourself and the brothers rather than an inherent romance - ergo, “platonic” route.

That’s a much longer intro than usual, so I’ll cut it off there. As usual, this post covers content locked behind Story Keys, so here’s your cursory spoiler warning!

As I mentioned last post, you’re given an option to end the Devilgram in one of two ways: with a kiss (leading you down the more romantic route), or with a hug (by claiming you don’t want any funny business, to which he admits he just wants to hold you). We’re following the hug route.

I can likely guaratee you, after everything we’ve seen so far, Diavolo’s never had the chance to hold someone at night. No-one’s stayed long enough for him to spend time doing “nothing at all” with them, so it’s immediately clear that physical affection likely isn’t something he’s afforded often, let alone for the duration of a night - particularly considering the concept of a sleepover is new to him (as we saw in the first two posts) and just how generally awed he is by your continued presence and happiness being there.

In other words, the changes of anyone having let him close enough to hold them before this point for this long are extremely slim.

Which means, in turn, he’s almost definitely never been held.

(There is, after all, a difference between holding someone who’s just putting up with it and actually being hugged back).

The only person who might have done would be his father, when he was younger; I’m not wholly sure how close Diavolo is with the Demon King, but considering how overprotective he was, I’d assume he’d have given a little baby Diavolo at least a reasonable amount of hugs. Whether he did or not, however, that’s really it. That’s Diavolo’s list of “people who have held him for an extended period of time”.

Even more likely, that’s his complete list of “people who have felt comfortable, happy, and content enough around him to let him fall asleep with them”.

We already know that for a majority of his lifetime, it was just him, his father, and Barbatos - and before that, just him and his father. There really aren’t a lot of people he can put on that list, especially considering his status (and age) when the Demon King went to sleep. When the last of his restrictions were finally released.

No wonder he’s so desperate for affection. No wonder he’s so horrifically touch- and love-starved. His entire life, he’s had practically no-one. Moreover, his only dedicated friends are:

- His butler (who tends to his duties with utmost professionalism, and with whom it wouldn’t be appropriate to form the sort of friendship and attachment he wants)

- Lucifer (who for centuries has been bitter over the oath, and takes his duties seriously out of pride and gratitude/servitude rather than affection - and has, in several situations, been genuinely put out/underwhelmed by Diavolo’s attempts to deepen their friendship)

- Queen Rose (who we’ve seen relegated to all of one visit per year, with an unknown connection and attachment to Diavolo, and who clearly isn’t important enough to have been given much of a story beyond the one event)

Demons he has no deep connection with, and is granted little to no physical affection from.

Even the brothers have each other. Even at their very worst - with the issues between Satan and Lucifer, and the treatment they give Mammon - we’ve seen several images of them being physically affectionate. And that really does range from slumping over each other in sleep, to being used as weights for Beel’s training, to diving in close for group selfies.

It doesn’t seem like much - and honestly, I do enjoy the headcanon that maybe as a species they just don’t tend to be as touchy-feely as humans - but it’s significantly more than we see (and hear) Diavolo get. It’s still physical contact that’s comfortable and affectionate; a physical show of care.

Diavolo has even said in Chats before (specifically in the one shared between you, him, and Barbatos) that he wants to stay at the House of Lamentation because they’re noisy and active. Because he’s used to silence and isolation and he wants to experience a place full of sound and activity and interconnecting relationships. Because he wants to be involved in something he doesn’t have.

What you’ve afforded Diavolo in this moment is something so rare for him, it’s either happened very little in his life or never at all.

This normal show of affection - something we can all get simply by turning to a friend, or a partner, or a family member; something we use as greetings and as comfort and often without a thought - is completely outside his typical experience.

So, it’s bliss; by literal definition, “a state of perfect happiness, oblivious to everything else”. It’s not just warm, or happy, or perfect - it’s a feeling so outside of what he knows, it transcends all positive emotion.

Your affection narrows down his focus away from the Devildom - from his worries, from his fears, from his unhappiness and his insecurities and his loneliness - and centres it entirely on you.

There’s a reason he wants to spend more time with you. A reason you’re his greatest person; a reason this night is so special to him.

You give him everything he’s never had, but always wanted - and you do it as easily and thoughtlessly as drawing breath.

For someone who’s struggled just to keep his desired friends by his side, that likely means the world to him.

As his monologue continues on, we reach a sort of... wavering point.

This is the part that makes it a little blurry between the lines of romance and platonic feeling. You can clearly see how this dialogue is meant to be vague enough to appeal to both sides; by only lightly mentioning that he’s “feeling” something, you can read it as either romantic feeling or platonic feeling, albeit the second line tips it, initially, in favour of a romantic reading.

However, I think this scene can still be fairly platonic when you consider that you are the only person to have ever made him feel this happy.

Diavolo is a demon. He’s a royal demon. He’s the stand-in leader of an entire Realm, with hundreds of thousands of subjects under his command. He’s been alive for a relatively unknown but doubtlessly extensive amount of time. His concerns and worries far exceed that of anything a single human on Earth could fret over - because he’s not just fretting over a kingdom, or a nationality, but an entire race of beings that he holds direct responsibility for.

A single human life, in contrast to that, is likely nothing more than a split-second blip on a radar. There and gone before he could even have seen it.

Whatever he expected from the Exchange Programme, the importance of a single human likely wasn’t something he had in mind. Your importance as a whole for the future he wanted, yes; for what you represented, and what you could achieve, almost definitely. But for you, as a person? You, for all the good and the bad, the experiences and memories, the thoughts and feelings, that make you who you are?

In the grand scheme of things, that doesn’t matter. That you are human and alive and perform well in the Programme to ensure peace between the Realms does.

Because you will fade away in less than a second. Because you will be gone before long, and your existence to him is like fruit fly to us. Short. Uneventful. Insignificant.

His infatuation with humanity doesn’t necessarily mean an infatuation with individual humans. You can be enamoured with rabbits and set up a sanctuary for them, but that doesn’t mean you’ll see the inherent nature and personal significance of any single one.

He likely never would have thought that one of the Exchange Students would become this important to him.

He likely never would have thought that a human, plain and simple as you are, would open up this many feelings, experiences, possibilities.

(He likely never would have thought that you could change his life as drastically as you have.)

Why would he? After all, you’re just human. Your life is so fragile, it could end with the barest twitch of his finger. How could something so frail possibly have such an impact on him - do things that no demon has ever been able to do?

And yet, you’ve done so much. In a few years at most, you’ve changed his life in ways he’s always struggled with. You’ve given him all the things he wanted; all the things he’s missed.

You. A human. A tiny, fragile, impossible little human. You’ve done things greater beings have been incapable of. Things even he - with all his power and wisdom and life experience - couldn’t do.

How could he have possibly expected that?

(He might have hoped for it. Hoped that something good would come from the Exchange Programme; hoped that he’d be able to experience those things he’d never been able to with someone new and fresh in his life. But he still can’t have imagined that it would happen so soon, so easily, so naturally. That it would have been entirely because of you.)

As a slight aside, though a very related one, I’m deeply interested by Diavolo’s second line: “Oh, but your humanity only makes you even more captivating”

Here’s an English Lit tip for all of you: if a character says “oh” like this, the utterance is almost always used to emphasise an already-intense emotion. It’s the little oh you see in fanfic; that single sound to release everything a person feels in one breath. It’s used a lot in epics, and especially in 19th centuary texts, when the narrator is lamenting or expressing woe.

Here, it sounds wistful. Longing. Amazed. Dreamy. Awed. Reverent. This isn’t something he’s saying intentionally.

These utterances are almost always kept to narration; to the depths of a character’s thoughts, where they can express themself the most in its truest form. They’re used to incite a reader’s emotion, their empathy, and to highlight the sheer emotive weight of a scene. It’s very rarely verbal, unless they’re utterly overcome with feeling.

The fact that Diavolo’s saying it out loud, therefore, means it’s not intentional. These are his deepest thoughts said aloud, so intense and true it’s impossible for him to keep it locked inside his mind.

That’s simple fact. He’s purely, utterly enraptured by you.

The analysis on that sentence could end there. The admittance, unwittingly, that you are captivating as an example of how significant you are to him. However...

While it does highlight that he already finds you awing, it also notes that it’s your humanity that makes you even more enchanting. Not just the fact that you’re you, or that you’re human and he finds the depth of his feeling surprising - but that the very notion of your humanity enthralls him.

We’ve already seen his interest in humanity span decades before your arrival, if not centuries. We therefore know that the fragility of your life and the existence of your humanity means something to him in a way it doesn’t - or wouldn’t - to other demons.

He’s fascinated by the concept of humans, and you are human. Naturally, he’s going to be awed that a human is important to him by default; simultaneously, he’s thrilled by the fact that you’re representative of the World he adores.

Moving on from that focus, the next scene. It’s the conclusion of this route, and thus the final shot in the Devilgram if you decide to end it this way.

This, is mostly just sweet. I couldn’t avoid adding this in.

It’s a callback to the start of this post - the fact that Diavolo has likely never been able to hold someone for the night, and that he’s thoroughly excited for the chance to do so with you.

Diavolo wants to cherish holding you. He wants to savour having you in his arms as you go to rest.

He knows it’s something that won’t happen often, if it ever happens again. So he wants to make the most of it. He wants to ingrain it in his mind, lock it up tight with the memories he holds closest to his heart.

There’s a little more I have to say about the concept of sleep and especially willingness and comfort sleeping around another person, but there’s a better way to present that in another screenshot - one we’ll see in the next post. It deserves more space than I have left here, so I’ll relegate that to a few screenshots I wasn’t able to fit in elsewhere.

It’s a bit of a topic change, but a good one. Do you recall the post wherein Diavolo reads his favourite poem to you? In that post, I went over the fact that he reveals you to be - in no uncertain terms - his greatest person.

I also noted in the post that he doesn’t say this by default. You have to choose for him to say that by picking the option along the lines of, “Who’s your greatest person?”. The devs kindly allow you to decide just how close to Diavolo you want to be, and whether or not he’s comfortable admitting in such open terms how important you are to him.

In the screenshots below, then, I’ve shown the other route; the one wherein you asked if Barbatos was his greatest person.

Diavolo’s response?

It’s much more vague. He doesn’t even vaguely state that his greatest person is you. In fact, it sounds very much like he still doesn’t know who his greatest person is.

At least until you consider that final line.

“Should that day come, you’ll be the first to know”.

This comment speaks volumes. In a very subtle way, it’s Diavolo showing you that he trusts you most; that, out of everyone he knows, he’d go to you first to tell you who his most important person is.

This could be because he believes you’d be excited to know. Maybe he thinks you’d be happy for him, and you’d celebrate the fact that he’s found his greatest person. Maybe it’s simply him acknowledging that he’s told you about the concept of a greatest person, and thus, you’d be the only one with the knowledge to care whether or not he’s found someone who fits that bill.

It might even be him saying you’re just the first person on his mind beyond his greatest person. That when he has important news, the first thing he wants to do is tell you.

But it’s also, I think, a hint.

You could read it as dismissive; “I’ve not yet found someone better than Barbatos, but when I do, I’ll tell you.” It’s certainly one interpretation of the line, and what the above covers. Another, however, would be, “I’m not ready yet to confirm my feelings/I’ve lost my confidence since you mistakenly assumed it to be someone it’s not. When I’m ready, I’ll tell you - and you’ll know I meant you.”

It’s a perfectly valid reading to believe he already suspects his greatest person is you. That he’s implying you’ll know who his greatest person is before anyone else because he’ll be saying to you, directly, it’s you.

It’s a sweet moment, either way. Whether he’s being coy about who his greatest person is or he genuinely doesn’t know yet, the fact remins that you’re important enough to him - that he believes you care enough about him and his happiness to want to know - that he’ll tell you before anyone else.

You’re his priority, regardless.

Another fact, one you might have thought I’d cover first, is the surprise of his prior comment: “the greatest person in my life would overshadow even him”.

Barbatos isn’t Diavolo’s greatest person. From the previous scene - that alternate timeline where he’s more obvious about who his greatest person is - it’s clear that Barbatos doesn’t fill a lot of the requirements. He supports Diavolo, yes; he’s by his side, always, and he can’t leave - but he’s not there for him. Not the same way you are.

Emotionally, mentally, physically, Barbatos doesn’t click with Diavolo the way he needs his greatest person to. Barbatos doesn’t spend time with him happily and freely; doesn’t let him get close and affectionate. Diavolo can’t be his true self around Barbatos and feel wholly, perfectly accepted. The butler-master divide makes that an impossibility, as does the origin of their friendship.

Barbatos is still important to him, of course; there’s no denying that. After all, the greatest person in his life at the moment is Barbatos. That’s who Diavolo is using to gauge his greatest person against; whether or not they mean more to him than Barbatos, and he connects with them better than with his closest companion.

Diavolo’s just not fooling himself into thinking Barbatos is that person.

There is, however, something... a little more amazing to think about, knowing Diavolo’s requirements for his greatest person.

They have to be better than Barbatos.

Barbatos, the demon who helped raise him in the absence of his mother.

Barbatos, the demon who’s been by his side since youth, patiently feeding him stories of the Realms he never got to see.

Barbatos, the only demon who ever stayed, who wasn’t directly related to him.

Barbatos, the demon Diavolo knows best, the demon he’s known the longest.

And in the timeline he confirms, openly, overtly, that you’re his greatest person,

You exceed that.

+++

And thus concludes part 6. I hope this has been enjoyable to read, because in parts, it was not enjoyable to write- I got a bit too picky and ended up editing this twice to add in more because I didn’t like how I’d worded it before, so guess how much time that’s eaten up OTL

Still, with this post done, we’ve only got one more! Finally. It’s the concluding part, so it’s mostly going to be bitty details that didn’t perfectly fit elsewhere, as well as a better focus on another facet of the reading route - because, yes, not only do you get to decide whether or not you eat fruit or read, you also get to decide whether Diavolo reads to you or you read to him.

I really wasn’t joking when I said this Devilgram was spoilt for choice, before. I’m absolutely not used to these stories containing anything more than a “good reaction”/”bad reaction” response, or maybe a “platonic route”/”romantic route” divide. This Devilgram, though - damn. You end up replaying it like ten times just to see everything. And it’s all voice acted, too - it’s kind of amazing.

So, if you’d like, please continue on to part 7! And thank you so much for making it through all this wordy babbling.

#obey me analysis #obey me diavolo #obey me

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