#i dont know how to explain what inspired this but. something something grief of the past bleeding into a relief from the future (present) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mandalhoerian · 2 months ago

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i think this is the absolute best caleb and overall lads fic i've ever read. i was fully lying on my side in bed when i started this, and by the end, i'd SAT THE FUCK UP and was doubled over with my faced glued to the damn phone. the sheer physical reaction i had to this fic has been like nothing else!!!!!

i stared out at nothing for a while after i finished it and like. scrolled down the notes for any explanation and then got to your profile and THANK GOD you made a q&a, but even before that i was like. playing ping pong in my head about so many theories -- but i was like full on panicking. PANICKING. IM GONNA BE THINKING ABOUT THIS FIC FOR LIKE A MONTH. ITS GONNA BE MY ROMAN EMPIRE.

PEOPLE WHO WANT TO READ IT DO NOT. I MEAN ABSOLUTELY DO NOT OPEN THE *READ MORE* IT HAS SPOILERS I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SAY THIS BEFORE BUT YOU NEED TO GO READ THE FIC OKAY. EXPERIENCE THAT SHIT. DONT READ THE SPOILERS. DONT . I PROMISE ITS WORTH IT SHUSH I NEED TO YAP I CANT CONTAIN IT

okay? OKAY. GET OUTTTTTTTT

first of all, you have unmatched mastery of the craft. like, *showing* the grief, and the internal hoops the reader goes through and her inner world. you never once forget her character and what she's going through, her motivations and driving force shows in everything she does and how she reacts. be right back is one of my favorites in black mirror and despite being inspired by it and borrowing some themes, i felt like i was experiencing the first watch of this episode all over again, you really made it your own!!! the reader just accepting her fate when not-caleb started isolating her and staying in that bubble with him despite being very-well aware at the back of her mind was just. you really showed what escapism was. i understood her so well even though i had sinking dread towards her downward spiral. this entire fic is just a portrait of grief done so very well, you never half-assed anything and the beautiful prose just took this to godly levels. it just has so much heart, and all of that passed through the screen to me, i don't know if this is because i relate so much.

the way not-caleb was perfectly caleb and not out of character to her up until the point he started expressing desire for her and she thought "yep. found it" was just. it was CHEF'S KISS GODDDDDDD ARGH along with so many little missable moments. the way she's guilty and regretful about something, the brief mention of how she hurt caleb before he passed, how not-caleb's eyes keep flashing, the way HE SMASHED THROUGH A DOOR LIKE NOTHING AND I ALMOST MISSED IT THAT'S HOW THE PUPPY EYES WERE EFFECTIVE EVEN IN HER POV, the not red flag-inducing way you weaved how gideon and caleb were working for EVER's robotics department, like. i am. i just can't express how the execution of EVERYTHING was so perfect in my eyes.

not-caleb is still a mystery to me, even though the reveal at the end explained SO MUCH about his behavior. i'd like to believe him going sentient was out of caleb's control. being aware of his purpose and his maker (and perhaps the intentions), it was no wonder he started going beyond paranoid after a long period of uncontrollable anxiety paralleling his falling in love process. but i really really wonder when he differentiated *himself* from *caleb's feelings*. i imagine he already came into existence loving the reader, so "i've wanted to do this for so long" is up to interpretation for me and i like the idea of this. but AGAIN, monopolizing the reader and keeping her away from caleb (which. is futile imo...) happening simultaneously with him gaining autonomy thus bringing in negative, anxious feelings he wasn't even supposed to have in the first place is so fascinating to me. does he want to be perceived different from caleb? or does he like it because the reader loves caleb? does he have opinions about being loved *as himself*? AGHHHHHHHH SO MANY THOUGHTS !!! SO MANY!!!!!

but he's painfully *caleb* in his ways of trying to keep her away from what he thinks is harm, by the way. which is. HIMSELF. this literalization of the metaphor took me into orbit i'm telling you. all he can do is keep her away from the outside world. but it's not sustainable. caleb is going to come down from skyhaven eventually to come fetch the reader perhaps, or take away this "faulty" robot. in a way, his plan backfiring so bad that it gained sentience is so fucking funny to me. thats what you get for being a SUPERVILLAIN and BABY TRAPPING THE POOR GIRL. i absolutely love where the fic left off but i want to see what happens SO BAD. i mean, he still does see through not-caleb's eyes, does he know he's going rogue kinda? IM GOING CRAZYYYYYYY IS THIS WHY HE REVEALED HIMSELF? HE'S GONNA BE CRASHING DOWN ON THEM FROM SKYHAVEN LIKE THIS

god, i really thought for a second "oh my god this isnt a random android this is literally caleb. they robot-ified him????" when i breezed through the last paragraphs, my heart was BEATING. i was like this makes so much sense why she got pregnant OMG OMG OMG. but then i re-read and "oh he's in skyhaven. what????" your q&a was so helpful in that regard i was so lost 😭😭😭 the title "trojan horse" is GENIUS . JUST GENIUS. IT LITERALLY GIVES AWAY THE ENTIRE PLOT I WANT TO KISS YOUR BRAIN IM GONNA TWEAK. WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKK

anyway, thank you so much for this fic. you've gained a loyal follower and fan!!!!! this was an insane work, i'm still sure there are so many things i'm missing and that i'll be doing so many re-reads. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SHARING THIS MASTERPIECE WITH THIS FANDOM !!!!!

ps: this is my rendering of the reader in shock after she had sex with not-caleb for the first time, just awake, staring at the ceiling and questioning the decisions she's made

big girls don’t cry

𓍯𓂃 self aware robot! caleb x female reader

(wc: 9.5k) ✦ summary: after your brother passes, consumed by grief, you take to the internet to order a synthetic version of him. afterward, it’s impossible to throw him out. (or: alternatively titled the trojan horse)

✦ content robot! caleb, past engineer! caleb, au where EVER deals in robotics, non-evol au, 18+ nsfw/smut, mildly dubious consent, angst, grief, mental instability, bad coping mechanisms, robot pseudocest?? robot sex, mind games, moral grayness all around, dark/yandere undertones; this fic can have multiple interpretations, pregnancy

✦ sidenote have yall ever seen that episode of black mirror? ‘be right back’? basically this: the girl’s boyfriend dies so she orders an incredibly realistic, intelligent robot to replace him. they’re identical in personality and appearance, and yet… 👀 ANYWAYS ( ⸍ɞ̴̶̷ ·̫ ɞ̴̶̷⸌ ) i have a set plot for this in my head, but i left it a lil vague so ur allowed to think of it in ur own way 🤎 if u wanna know the ‘canon’ tho.. u can absolutely ask me. the lore is so deep its traumatizing :,) anyways hope u enjoy <3 ty for 1k btw!! take this as a lil celebration treat 🥳 it took so much out of me but i think i really vibe with it heheh

He’s perfect. Nigh on.

For the first few days since his arrival, since hauling him off the foot of your porch and into your living room to unpack him- heart tickering in your chest all the while, trepidatious- you’ve just stared. Reached out your hands to hover, ghosting over the broad blade of his shoulder, his chapped lips, the slight jut of his cheekbone.

His hands, as big and weathered as you remember them (but gentle, always gentle), hang limply by his sides.

You don’t dare slip your smaller ones in them.

All of the theatrics, yet you don’t press his- its- button, either.

No, you don’t even touch it after the initial unpacking, wrenching your fingers away as soon as they get too close. As soon as they get too tempted by hope and the wish that this hunk of metal was more than just a replica of your late brother. Half of you thinks it might burn if you get too comfortable; and you won’t get comfortable— underneath the solidified layers of grief and- you have trouble saying it aloud, but bitterness- there’s still just enough common sense to keep you from taking the leap. The leap from mourning to insanity.

It’s hollow. You know that much. A nothingness enwrapped in a steely chassis full of wiring and code too technological for you to understand, all covered by a synthetic skin suit as the pretty bow on top.

And you know- what with your emotional state- that if you could peer inside, strip it down to the framework and just… take a moment to look, that you’d vomit. It’d be too much to bear, being forced to reconcile with the fact that he really is gone— and in response to it all, you’ve blown your savings on an eerily-realistic, glorified doll of him with wires for veins.

You’re trembling when you stiffly prop him against the far wall, limiting contact as much as possible, and step away, keeping your eyes on him all the while. It. Not him. Not Caleb- that’s not your fucking brother, just a disgusting, soulless fascimile of him—

But as you stand back on your feet (with the coffee table in between, just in case) to get a good look at him, like a real, proper look, your breath is taken.

The thing: He’s not just a passable carbon copy, you realize. Admittedly, he’s…

Identical.

(He’s Caleb.)

All the oxygen gusts out of you in a breeze.

You lift a shaking hand over your open mouth and choke as silent tears spill from your lashline, blurring your eyes on the way down. Wetting your knuckles as they shake wildly.

You’re crying. Of course you’re crying. This is- you can’t do this. You just can’t.

Racing upstairs, retreating to your bedroom to slam the door as if the devil himself was on your tail, only then do you drop your hand and fully sob.

It’s pitiful, really. Wretched noises that resonate from deep in your throat, your spirit wrecked as you curl up on the floor and make yourself into a ball.

Darkness comes outside, the space around you muting itself in grey colors. The puddle beneath your cheek is moonlit. You sniffle and relocate, but you don’t even bother to tuck the not-Caleb robot in its special container, no- you just settle beneath your blankets and pray it’s all a bad dream you’ll awake from come tomorrow.

Tomorrow: you’ll send him off. Return him.

You don’t care how much money it costs- for all you care, it’s paltry, it’s replaceable. And it is replaceable, that’s the bleak truth: that android stood motionless by your couch, despite having a face so familiar it’s painful, has no emotional value whatsoever. There’s no depth to it. No substance.

A skeleton built by rods. Artificial flesh modeled around thin, colorful cables and circuit boards.

I mean- he’s no better than the stapler on your desk, or the toaster on your kitchen counter. Better yet, a crumb on the floor.

A nothingness, you think again. Prettily encased in smooth, sun-speckled skin and that cottony loungewear (that still retains his smell) you could hardly part with when the online form requested his attire.

He’s perfect, nigh on, you’ll give the company who forged him that much credit, because they sure followed his pictures to a T. It looks just like him; so much so you couldn’t even bear to look at him for more than ten minutes before bolting, the emotional response so violent.

But the problem is that he’s not real. He’s not your Caleb.

✦

It’s hard to throw him away when he looks like that. When he bears the likeness of your late, beloved older brother.

Yes, you want to stuff him back in his box and return to sender, but when it comes to courage, you lack the backbone necessary to carry out your decisions.

You tiptoe down the stairs to see him again and sputter.

He’s too real, you decide in a heartbeat. Too real.

Shutting your eyes as tears begin to pour anew, lunging forward with blind intent to cache him away in the elaborate box he came in, you get to work. And you get to work quickly. You can only bear to look at it- that heartless caricature of your gege- for so long until you feel something in you, your last fragile piece, begin to fracture.

After the explosion, all you had left of him were the memories. Not an explanation, not a goodbye, not even a body. What remained of the boy you were fostered with was ash and a puerile, yet no less beloved locket with its edges burnt copper.

Now, you have something exponentially more physical and intact, unsullied by the reality of what was.

So for a moment, yes- sue you and your heart for hesitating- but it’s a hard task to seal him away.

Agonizing, really.

His arms are stiff by his sides but you feel the skin; the lump of muscle in his forearm, the bump of his elbow. The only thing that keeps you from giving into the puffed-up illusion of his being real and alive is the coolness beneath your fingertips. The unnatural, icy feel to his otherwise mortal skin that reminds in a voice, condescending like all things out of reach, see? that’s not Caleb. And you’re insulting him by thinking that it could be.

You’re halfway done nudging him towards the box (careful, despite your frenzied, fluttering heart; afraid to damage his likeness) when you trip over your own feet navigating the narrow space between your table and the couch.

It’s unthinking, the way you grab him- arms flying out to steady yourself with his broad shoulders.

In all your scrambling- something clicks. Gives under your fingerpad.

A button.

With mute horror, you watch his eyes light.

…And you can see it too, you know, registering in his gaze as it settles over you and takes you in— a blip of mirth that quickly warps into worry at the look you give him. You must appear no different than a deer in headlights.

For several seconds, you simply stand there, your palms clamming up where they dig into his shoulders, and gawk as Caleb— not-Caleb’s— expression turns to one ready to comfort.

Familiar, painfully.

The stiff hands at his side are spurred into motion, lifting to cradle your cheek while the other helps ground you by the small of your back.

“Meimei?”

No, no- don’t say that, don’t say that, internally, you have to shoehorn down all your grief as it bubbles up, and harden your face to keep from crying all over again.

…Although it’s more or less obvious you had been. The puffy eyes rimmed in red, the certain wisp of defeat to your brow and the exhaustion written all over you is clear as day. It leaves nothing to ponder.

He sounds disturbed by it all, the sadness about you that lies thick as a coating of paint. Commiserative to a fault. Lassoing you to his firm chest as he burrows your head below the dip of his chin.

He goes, “What’s wrong?” Then, “It’s okay, I’m here. I got you. Just let it all out.”

And the world around you staggers to a fall.

✦

It was very difficult to get rid of him as he stood still; when you could convince yourself he was just a startlingly realistic statue.

It’s all but impossible when he begins to move, and speak, and smile at you.

You don’t get close enough to press his button. You’re not quite strong enough to apply the distance you probably should, though, so when he takes a step forward, you take one back- but you never run.

It’s a weird limbo you’re caught in. Do you leap into his arms? Do you… Do you toss him out the door, after all? Leave him to the elements to chip away at his body; the rain to erode his fleshy outer shell?

But no. How could you do that? He-

He fucking looks like Caleb. It feels more sinful to rid yourself of him, now that he’s… on, than to indulge a little bit in the idea that he’s still alive and breathing.

If Caleb was still alive, you wonder silently one morning with no small amount of hurt, would he hate you? For whatever the hell it is you’re doing now?

You can’t even blame Gideon, not really. Without his persistent messages, and all the links he sent you of articles revolving androids and how they can help the user cope with grief, you’d have been none the wiser to the concept, sure- but at the end of the day, you made the choice to get one.

A chunk of your savings and an unprompted, fat check from Caleb’s best buddy— you decided to throw that at some futuristic company (well, not ‘some’: both men worked there- albeit they always kept their work very hush (you did catch whispers of a promotion, though, before the accident)) and one of the many services they provide.

Gideon, over the course of some months, was all but pointing you at their website, promising it would help. He’d be there to clear any confusion, in any case; hey, how neat did a walkthrough of the site from a bonafide EVER engineer sound?: Just one of his probes.

It was only two weeks back, however, when he paid an unsolicited house call, wordlessly wrapping you into his broad chest, that you caved to them.

You think about the scene while you sit at the counter and sip from your mug.

Your home smells richly of coffee, just brewed, and bacon as it sizzles. Eyeing not-Caleb with a pang of unease— not fully able to snuff out that feeling of uncanniness even as some days pass peacefully— you offer a small smile when he glances up at you.

Beaming just as he was the day before. Beaming like nothing is terribly wrong.

(To be clear, something is.)

You… can’t help but feel like you’re being monitored when he stares.

Yes, it’s a silly fear, you know that. The company your late brother worked for wasn’t exactly open with all the scientific grounds they made breakthroughs on, but he always promised that their means were lawful. Caleb wasn’t one for lies- so your doubts were soothed. So as hush-hush as EVER is sometimes, you’re fairly confident they wouldn’t ship out mass batches of faulty or otherwise rigged products.

Anyway- you suppose the weird intensity in its eyes isn’t all that off-putting when you take into account the very real personality it was formulated from.

When the pancakes (your favorite: banana chocolate chip; information he apparently already knew) turn an appetizing shade of gold, he shimmies them off the pan with a spatula and onto a plate.

That plate- loaded tastefully with bacon, a scoop of rice, and eggs with a ketchup smile painted over its face- slides before you. But though your belly growls, you don’t eat. Not right away. Wherever the culinary arts are concerned, your older brother has always excelled. Growing up, maybe you even exploited him a little for it- but he never did anything he didn’t want to; sometimes it even seemed like Caleb enjoyed sticking his neck out for you.

He pats his hands over his too-small apron (not that he minds it), frowning.

“What’s wrong, Pipsqueak? Does… Does the food look alright? I haven’t made somethin’ for you in a while, huh…?”

Oh no, the food looks fine.

It’s just that you’re the only one eating it.

And maybe it’d be better to keep that thought to yourself: part of you is just over the moon to have him standing in your kitchen with you after months apart— but it doesn’t matter that you keep your mouth shut, because Caleb reads your mind anyway.

He’s at your side in a blink, hushing away the tears that bead at your eyes out of nowhere.

“Hey, hey… No cryin’, okay? I’m just not hungry this morning, Meimei- but that doesn’t mean I won’t sit with you and talk while you eat. C’mon,” he squeezes your hand where it lies on the counter, smiling lightly.

It takes everything in you not to flinch away from the touch.

“Wouldn’t want your breakfast goin’ cold now, would we?” Pulling out the barstool beside you, he sits.

You don’t ask him to, but Caleb picks up your fork and embodies one of the several memories you have of him spoonfeeding you as a child.

“I can feed you. Just like the good ol’ times. Here, you gotta open your mouth first,” His smile strengthens when your lips, as if by habit, part. Your lashes flutter shut when that first bite touches your tongue- syrupy hotcakes and fluffy scrambled eggs- and for that you’re glad because you don’t have to see the way he marvels at you as you eat.

It’s not good for your heart.

“So? What does Pipsqueak the number one food critic have to say about my dish?” He shines, “Does it taste as good as it looks?” You can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes- the scene too nostalgic to simply idle away with indifference. You wear all your emotions on your face, anyway; you’re not fooling anybody, least of all Caleb.

“Even better,” you murmur with the barest of smiles. He presses another spoonful to your lips and you giggle.

Violet hues glitter with delight. You’ve said practically nothing to him this whole time, and he’s been patient- weirdly patient, almost- but the joy in his gaze is palpable now.

Sometimes, though, you can almost swear you see something in his gaze shift. Tuning itself like a lens. He blinks and it disappears.

“…But I will say your presentation could use some work. It’s a 7 out of 10.”

Caleb, still holding the utensil out, uses his other hand to prop his chin up. He smiles fondly as he regards you. As you’ve gotten older, it’s like every time you see the brunet, he looks at you like he’s taking you in for the first time all over again.

“Yeah?” He encourages. “Enlighten me, oh Pipsqueak- what must I do to earn those three extra points?”

“The ketchup smiley face was all lopsided,” you explain in a quiet voice, having a hard time fully immersing in this lie unraveling before you; beautiful as it is. As much as you might ache to.

This isn’t a good idea. You know that.

Still…

Maybe… maybe just a couple of conversations with him can’t be too bad, right? I mean, it’s only a fraction of what Gideon was expecting of you (lounging around together to chat, game nights, and even public outings), but to him, it’d be a start. For you, though, it’s a stretch. An exception.

You should limit interaction with not-Caleb.

You know this, and yet—

Glancing back to him, you try and fail to hide a coy smile with a napkin. “Next time, keep a steady hand, and you’ll be a perfect chef in no time. Maybe not as good as me, but, y’know…”

He chuckles, brows lifting. “Oh yeah? Then expect surgical precision from me tomorrow morning. Chef Caleb won’t let you down again!”

An intense sadness slips through the momentary happiness you were allowed. It nags at your chest.

You blink rapidly, giving a feeble, light sound before looking away.

You’ve never let me down, Gege, you don’t say, taking your fork from the clasp of his big hand (much to his dismay) to prod at your plate.

It was me who failed you.

✦

Not-Caleb looks like Caleb, yes.

He acts like him, too.

You spend the span of the next few weeks trying to scrutinize him; hours spent on the couch, his hand in yours while you grill him. You treat him like a bug under a microscope. Prodding for answers to questions you’re sure his programming must miss- interrogations built on memories so old they’re near ancient. Just blurry wisps in your mind.

Not-Caleb remembers some better than you.

Puts you to shame with his mechanical replies detailing scenarios you’re missing fragments of.

What’s Caleb’s favorite fruit?

I like apples, Pipsqueak.

And what’s my favorite food he’d make for me?

Easy-peasy. You still love those boneless chicken wings, don’t you? Although, that braised pork I make for you comes as a close second, doesn’t it?

Am I your real sister?

And you’d never ask the real Caleb such a thing. You’re only doing it now because it’s one of the most personal things you could possibly make a query of. His response would be very telling.

Life before you met him all those years ago is no more than a fuzzy glimpse, and you never minded all that much: so long as you had Caleb, nothing else, nothing before, mattered. All throughout your childhood, people didn’t know the difference anyway.

Far as they knew, you were family.

Which… isn’t wrong, per se— but it’s not biological. ‘Real.’

You, Caleb, and Gran were obviously aware of that. To you it was always a beautiful thing: a tale of rebirth, in a way, or a second chance, as a young girl found a new place to call home with a warm guardian and a brotherly figure. They’d stabilize her and bring warmth to an otherwise cold beginning.

Caleb was never spoken for on that front.

You… didn’t see eye to eye on all things. Oh, that much is true.

Sometimes you were convinced that he wanted nothing to do with the assumption that you were his little sister (albeit, you were never sure why). At others, it was like he was furious you were only bound to him in name and not blood. He saw it as an attack on your close bond.

…But Not-Caleb surely doesn’t know all his nuances. Not like you came to.

So you’re expecting a pause. A minor glitch or even a malfunction as the robot scours his database.

Got him, you almost think to yourself— then swiftly take it back.

The face of the android sat at your side falls, much to your surprise, into a small frown.

And the truth must be coded deep in the bulwarks of not-Caleb’s artificial brain: your and Caleb’s respective origins. The answer is no. No, you’re not his real sister.

…But your real Gege would lie and say yes, absolutely you are—

“‘Course you are,” Not-Caleb goes. And he does it with as much passion behind it as you’d expect.

You’re startled into silence.

He scoots impossibly closer and loops an arm over your shoulder, tucking your head to his jaw. Seamlessly, he pecks your hairline, saying, “You’re my sweet little Meimei. You’re priceless to me. Now no more pickin’ at me, okay?” He suggests in a light tone, rubbing your shoulder. “You’ve been questioning me all evening- look, it even got dark out. Let’s get you to bed-“

“I- I didn’t say I was tired-“

“You didn’t have to. I could tell you were startin’ to get sleepy, Pipsqueak,” he looks down at you and smiles- a reassuring, yet no less playful smile- and for one moment you cant breathe because fuck it’s him. It’s really, really him. “Your drooping eyes were a dead giveaway. Hm... I guess that big dinner we had put you in a food coma, huh?” He chuckles.

We. Funny, that. You recall the feast being one-sided.

Nonetheless.

Without prompting, he sweeps you off the couch and walks you up the wooden stairway. The old steps creak underfoot. He does it all effortlessly, though, arms as strong and capable as you remember.

You loop your slimmer ones around his neck.

With great hesitance, you lend a part of yourself to this illusion.

This beautiful, near unbelievable, oh-so fragile illusion that Caleb is not dead.

When you reach your bedroom, you don’t send him off to the guest room like all the nights before. No, when he carefully sets you down, you watch him, motionlessly, as he tucks you in and plants a chaste kiss to your forehead. When he turns to go- “don’t let the bed bugs bite”- you snatch his hand, half terrified you’ll blink and he’ll be gone, and flash him a look that silently pleads.

Stay.

The brunet’s lashes flutter, brushing over his cheekbones where the lamplight makes them shine.

He opens his mouth.

Pauses, then closes it.

“Stay. Please, Gege,” you breathe, on the cusp of shattering all over again. It’s become more manageable over recent days, this unresolved cluster of emotion inside you, but it’s times like these that make you feel blindsided by it.

You innocently add, “Like when we were kids.”

Oh, you’d go back to then if you could.

His long fingers, loose in your hold, flip to swallow up your hand. He stoops over to turn off the light.

His voice shakes ever so slightly, “Okay.”

Then, he clambers into bed with you and reminds you of just how small it is, how much he does not belong, but you’ve never felt more at home when he pulls you to his chest and- dutifully ignoring the quiet beneath your ear, the absence of a pulse- you cling to him.

Maybe it’d be a little weird, the proximity, what with your grown age and the fact that you were no longer children cuddling during thunderstorms…

It’s not like you’re hanging off him like he’s your lifeline for any nefarious reason, though- and it’s not like he can hold any judgment anyway. He’s… He’s not really Caleb. He’s not even a person. Just a sentient robot that resembles him to a shocking degree and soothes that ache in your chest- just by a smidge.

…And yet when he looks at you, suddenly, tilting your jaw up so he can admire what he sees in the darkness- your stunned expression lit faintly by the moon- it’s like he’s reading this in his own way.

His interpretation? you realize in a shaking breath?

He’s no longer holding his little sister, but a woman.

It’s in his eyes, rippling as he exhales deeply (all artificial, albeit you don’t dwell on that for long) and thumbs over your lip.

A boyish kind of wonder lifts his brow as he stares, cheeks slightly flushed.

Your heart bangs in your chest. Like gunshots punctuating the silence. It grows to be unbearable. This is weird, and wrong- the way he’s looking at you. But you quickly chalk it up to a malfunction.

It’s all a fluke, technology fucking up in a way that reminds you of humanity’s shortcomings and how far they can only go.

Finally, you’ve found the fault in its design. The place where Caleb and not-Caleb differ.

You know your beloved older brother like the back of your own hand, so when his eyes flutter (flash, almost) and he lurches forward to clumsily press his lips to yours— you label the action for what it really is.

An inaccuracy.

Perhaps, you think as you close your bleared eyes and let him, the only. Because the rest of his program is perfect. Infallible.

The scene unfurling is foreign- his big hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you like his life depends on it- but as he shifts you beneath him and hovers atop, that signature softness remains. Really, as his fingertips reach for your shorts—

(A blip of something mechanical in its fiery gaze, almost as if it’s trying to rectify itself; the shortest of pauses—)

It’s all that grounds you.

“Caleb,” you moan, or cry. You don’t know. Just that when he helps you out of your panties to go down on you, digits delving inside your tight hole after he wets it with his tongue, your heart sings for him.

You don’t push him away. No, even as the humanoid sullies your late brother’s image with all his sinful hungering, you can’t break yourself free. Never find it in you to.

Because it doesn’t matter what he treats you as. You realize belatedly, with no small amount of horror, that you don’t even care how many flaws Not-Caleb has. He could have a million for all you care, you’re already too far gone- writhing underneath him as he holds your legs open and feasts- to pretend you have any right to feel offended.

And if the real Caleb was here, he’d hate you: an echo in your skull, sneering. He should, but-

“There, Meimei, ngh…” a hot tongue (no longer as cold as he was in stasis) laves along your folds. Mauve eyes look up to you with reverence, glittering in the dark.

“Just like that. Moan, say my name- I’ve been waiting for this for so long…”

You wear ignorance like a blindfold. Shutting your eyes and ears.

A fluke. His hardware stalling.

His hair woven in your fingers feels like velvet. Soft, silky; hanging over his brow as he eats you out- skillfully, might you add. Albeit his passion wins out by just a touch against his expertise, clumsily plunging his two middle fingers into your pussy.

“You taste so good, so sweet- mmph- I’ll take care of you, okay?” He mumbles in between lewd squelches.

In both physical and moral terms, there is not one thing about this that isn’t filthy.

Y-You know that, but…

“Don’t worry. I’ll- ah- I’ll make sure you feel real nice. I’ll make you come as many times as you want. I’ve been… dreamin’ of this for years now… I won’t mess this up, okay? I’ll do whatever it takes until you’re shaking.”

-but this is all you have left of him.

Hazily, you glance down to him, cheeks aflame, and barely succeed in asking, “C-Caleb- h-how are you even gonna-? You-“ you choke on the words you need to say. With a mite of dry humor, you think right then that you’re short-circuiting just as bad as him (because he is).

“Are you capable of it?”

Of fucking you? Of pinning you down and throwing your ankles over his shoulders to better plow you into your creaking, old mattress?

His brow twitches slightly. Voice ragged, he makes an agreeable sound, pressing a kiss to your clit so adoring it’s almost funny when his finger bends sensually inside you. “Are you doubting my abilities, Meimei? I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing this moment in my head for—“

No. You slam your eyes shut and drown it all out.

His words become a white noise. No different than the steady whir of the air conditioning as a cool breeze gusts beneath your door, cooling your forehead where it beads with sweat.

A- A glitch, you quietly decide. Even long after he’s made you cum thrice (twice on his fingers and tongue, once on his thick, flushed cock), you hold staunch to that.

It’s all just a fluke.

✦

When the sun rises, you wake with a start to a phone ringing- yours- and swallow a lump of unease at the figure lying beside you (your Gege, a voice in your head reminds: you silence it).

Prying off the solid arm around your waist to gingerly exit the room- still half-naked- you piously ignore the cum caked to the inside of your thighs. Yours, it must be. You don’t focus on the confusion, either, the ask of just how the hell last night was possible and why you let your emotions get ahold of you.

(Because you love him. And maybe, just maybe- in your own weird, admittedly morally-grey way- you can cobble together a sense of normalcy with him. At least just for a little bit...)

As you head to the living room downstairs, you tap your phone and lift it to your ear.

“G-Gran,” you say as greeting, smoothing your hair back, still quite ruffled over… recent events. Ruffled and ashamed.

Very.

But- while he looks like Caleb, he’s not in reality. That… malfunction last night is a blatant proof of that. You only got on your back and let him have his way with you because you’ve missed his touch so much that you’d quite literally accept it in any form.

If sex or his lips battling against yours- his whispered vows, as seemingly heartfelt as they were errant to Caleb’s true character- is all you’ll get of him, then so be it.

In your own way, messed up as it is, it’s almost like with his android, you get a chance to reconcile with the loss.

To say goodbye.

Because before that package arrived at your doorstep, you didn’t have the luxury of one.

A familiar, aged voice sounds over the line. “Hey, dearie, oh- I didn’t wake you, did I? You sound tired.” She’s one to talk, you think to yourself- but not with malice. Truth be told you’ve worried for her as of late.

It’s been lonely for you both, you’re sure, but even though she only lives on the other end of Linkon, you have trouble making the drive. You haven’t dropped by in a couple weeks.

There’s a few different reasons.

It’s hard to pretend you’re fine when you’re not, for one, that what happened with Caleb- the abruptness and lack of conclusion, the confusing aftermath of it all- never did. You try your best to plaster on a smile and be strong in your grandmother’s presence, but that’s easier said than done. Especially when that old house of hers is jam-packed with photos and tokens of your past with him— painful reminders whenever you do visit.

The newest excuse for not is guilt.

Frankly, Gideon is the only one who knows what’s going on. Hah- no surprise, being he was the main reason for your even ordering not-Caleb.

But Gran doesn’t know.

You haven’t told her about him. And after last night, what with your own release still dried to your legs (which wobble slightly; he was every bit passionate and then some), you don’t think you ever will.

She might actually slap you across the face, taking your willingness to believe in such a lie as an offense against her grandson’s vibrant character.

…If she found out what happened- that you opened your legs for him and moaned- she might go into cardiac arrest.

You didn’t… want that to happen, definitely not- I mean, you didn’t even have the time to prepare. But yes, you did let it.

And curse yourself for wanting your brother back, but—

“No, it’s fine, Gran,” you glance over your shoulder to the staircase. Finding it empty, you let out a breath. “Is something wrong? It’s… It’s early.”

—you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little fucking blissful to wake up to his face again, just like back when you were inseparable kids.

She sighs on the other end, “no, no,” she starts. You think you hear a TV in the background; something to fill the silence you leave her to sit in. “Nothing’s wrong, my dear. I just… I haven’t seen you in a bit. I miss your face, Y/n. How are you doing?”

Like a dart to a board, guilt lands its mark.

You shouldn’t fluster at such a simple question, but you do. Not just because it’s so direct and genuine, but because a big hand rests over your shoulder and suddenly Caleb is there, standing behind you.

You straighten up from where you’re propped against the wall and quickly lift a hand to silence any words he may speak.

“I-I’m well, Gran. Sorry, just- I’ll visit soon, I promise.”

“I’d like that,” she murmurs. You’re aware of how much she means it and close your eyes with a wince. A broad palm, as if sensing your inner turmoil, rubs your shoulder soothingly.

You rub the bridge of your nose and don’t look.

“What’s… What’s been keeping you?” She broaches after a beat. Laughter from the television fades in and out over the speaker.

For a second, you freeze. You freeze because you fear she might know.

All for naught: “You’re getting enough sleep, right? I don’t want you overworking yourself. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind, sweetie- oh, God knows we’ve both suffered all these months without Caleb, but that’s no reason for us to fall apart either-”

You sigh shakily and bite down on a cry.

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve been better, Gran, okay? I…” Shiftily, you wet your bottom lip and give a half truth- as if that can relieve you of this weight. “I was talking with Gideon a little; he’s…. he helped me.”

She sounds pleasantly surprised. “Oh? Good, good. What about?”

Nosy as ever. Not that you’re complaining. It’s good to know someone cares- someone… real.

You swallow your unease. “He was just talking to me about his job and stuff. EVER... He told me he was finally getting that raise or whatever, so he’s doing well... I- I was prying per usual,” you joke to lighten the mood, “He, uh… he tells me more than Caleb ever did, so…” (And when his name started to feel like a sin to say, you don’t know.) “So, you know. I was just curious. He was checking in on me, too…”

Warm breath fans at your ear, fingers closing around your shoulder as he peppers kisses at your neck insistently- and you shudder. Clasping the phone tighter (because it suddenly feels unstable in your hands), you shrug off (not)Caleb for just long enough to say,

“Gran- I- I gotta go. Uh- someone else is calling me,” and to preclude any probing on her end- or extra guilt on yours- you add, “I’ll visit tomorrow, okay? I promise. I’ll- I’ll be there. I love you.”

A voice timidly mirrors it back, and then a big set of hands is taking the phone from you and ending the call.

You turn to him with a notch in your brow as he pockets it in the sweats he must’ve hastily thrown on after finding the bed empty.

“Caleb-“

You start, and his lips press to yours.

With some encouragement- hushing you between kisses, knuckling down your cheek affectionately- he shepherds you back upstairs, to your room.

“Nuh-uh, just let me take care of you, pretty girl, ‘kay?” He murmurs, smiling. You could die in peace to it, you think hazily as he lies you down— because the last mental screenshot you took of him before the accident was his handsome face crestfallen after you’d said something scathing.

To your defense, at the time, you thought he’d deserved it. Maybe he did. It’s hard to remember, but whatever the argument was about, it must’ve been stupid. Not worth it.

And… he’s not Caleb, he’s not, you know that, but…

“Lie back. It’s… It’s just you and me here. I want you to know that. And everyone else-“

(Gran, you realize he must mean; Gideon and all the other familiar and unfamiliar faces both at EVER.)

“None of it matters now. Just focus on me. On Caleb.”

(And how eerie is that? You muse with a whit of your rationale. The rest, as it withers, perhaps only does so for the sake of your own sanity.)

The whole world as it stands: nudged away to oblivion at his behest.

“O-Okay,” you give.

He’s not Caleb. But if this is your best- only- shot at reconciliation, then you’ll take him with arms open.

…

When he’s done priming you, he clambers on top and you experience a repeat of last night.

Deja vu, as fresh as a wound reopened, makes your mind lag a few increments behind reality. But when he starts to slow down, thrusts growing sloppy- it feels oddly real, and, head a bit clearer than last night, you register that.

…But it’s your release that stains the sheets. Steadily trickling from your hole, slicking his hips. It only makes sense that way; he might fuck like a human, but that’s all inherent to his program, you’re sure, built to please- and ultimately, he’s made of metal. Rods. You think you can feel them when you grab too tight, that hardness.

He leads you to the proverbial end of the cliff, and you survey the bottom one last time before- geronimo- you make that final leap.

When not-Caleb comes, he shudders in your arms.

Yet you swear… You swear something inside him, behind his lidded eyes, deeper in-

It’s like it shutters.

A flash. Brief and jarring, for a moment so bright it’s like your eyes have been virginal to light all along.

Just a malfunction, you decide with a spent sigh, sweaty in his solid arms as they make a cage around you, eager to sleep until noon.

Maybe you’ll mention it to Gideon next time he drops by.

Maybe he would know how to fix it.

✦

The days that follow after are foggy and empty. Like a moratorium of everything that once breathed in your life.

You wreathe not-Caleb’s neck with that beloved apple-shaped locket like he’s earned it.

Knowing nobody ever could.

✦

Gideon knocks, one afternoon.

You send him away. Or- Caleb does.

At that, you feel the need to remind him of who he is: the people he cares for, his career path, how he operated as a person before the incident in his suite in Skyhaven.

Caleb stops you short, a palm dwarfing the back of your own, and says I know. I just don’t want my buddy interrupting our time together, Pipsqueak. Can you blame me for wantin’ it to be just you and me?

You stop going out.

He doesn’t let you- not really. I mean, he doesn’t explicitly declare these rules over you, but it’s in the strange glint in his eye- the one that makes you shut your mouth and purse your lips- when he stops you at the door and suggests you stay.

Says it’s better that way. Says he worries whenever you go. Says to take him with you instead if you really must.

Progressively, you’re drifting farther and farther out from shore. Mentally-speaking, you’re going off the deep end. But exiting your house hand-in-hand with your brother- the man the town declared dead in an email you couldn’t bear to finish reading- as he stares at you like a lover, is, no matter the ache, something you can’t quite bring yourself to do.

It’d make this illusion just a smidgen realer. You’d never wake from this dream if other people saw it- saw him- and therefore made his presence more solid in your mind. (Not to mention the disgusting assumptions they’d make- none exactly wrong.)

You’ve been so consumed by grief lately, though, that the knowing of your imminent breakdown can’t stop you from making other bad choices.

So when the brunet altogether bars you from going out in public for the fear that something bad will happen to you (nonsensical; not that he sees the flaws in his arguments), insisting that groceries can be bought online, Gran can be checked up on over the phone, etcetera—

Yeah, you bend to it, alright? Sue you. Of course you bend. It’s all you know what to do anymore.

Gradually, though, the unexpected charm of not-Caleb begins to fade, and you’re left with a possessive form of the brother you once knew. A man desperately clawing at straws, hellbent to keep you at his side, clingy and insecure and, frankly, sometimes scary.

As the inaccuracies build, you’re not sure for how much longer you can overlook them.

The only reason you even tolerated him originally was because he was passable. More than that, even- he was perfect. A dead-ringer for Caleb in both appearance and personality.

But this-

This isn’t Caleb. No longer. It never was.

You don’t believe it for a second.

You heave a soft sigh. Anything louder than a breath brings the chance that he’ll overhear from where he stands in the kitchen and come zipping over, no doubt ready to fret and question you. If you value your time alone- rare as it is these days- then you’ll stay silent.

It’s a near impossible task to separate yourself from him. It was a small miracle in itself that you managed to break away for half an hour or so- but even that was begat by a lie. It seems the only real way to rid yourself of the overly doting, obsessive older brother (even if just for a few minutes) is to give him another demand. This time, it was an ‘I’m hungry’ that finally earned you some peace and quiet.

It’s a little sad, but lately you treat him more or less like a jacket after entering a warm home: you’re eager to shrug him off because the climate has changed.

The climate has changed.

He- He’s changed.

He’s growingly insane and yes, while the irony of that observation isn’t lost on you (considering you’re the mad woman who bought a human-like robot as a replacement in the first place), you still can’t help but feel alarmed as the signs of wrongness don’t cease but worsen.

You think about pressing the button. Turning him off, sending him away.

Hell, maybe you’d just dump him in the communal trash receptacles out back. Leave him there in a human-shaped bag for the garbage men to come and squint at before hauling away like junk.

…Because he is junk, right? No different than a crumb on the floor, you’d once said.

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

The section of your brain responsible for caring must’ve shut off, though, because it’s currently hard to feel much of anything.

…But there, like a soft stirring (or the voice of God as it whispered to Elijah)- you can sense it. That feeling is reminiscent of a survival instinct, or a watered-down version of it to tired nerves, breathing down the back of your neck where hackles rise—

What are you doing here?

The dream begins to fissure in real-time when Caleb (not-Caleb, you harshly remind yourself) cheerfully patters into the living room where you sit, helpful as ever, and his eye flashes as it settles on you. No different than a camera would.

The food looks delicious, per usual- you’d expect nothing less of your brother or even the robotic copy of him- but as nausea churns in your belly and you jolt upright, slapping a hand over your mouth as you run to the bathroom, nothing can save your appetite.

You shakily lock the door- but he’s knocking in an instant, worried.

You always did melt at his bleeding heart. Too often, men, especially the bigger of them, fell under the persuasion of apathy. Yet your gege was always different, always sweet, always gentle and patient and- yeah, okay, sometimes he was a touch mean, teasing to a fault- sometimes to the point of tears on your end as he quickly tried to right his wrongs- but he was preciously yours.

And he was real.

Dammit, he was fucking real-

He was alive and emotionally tangible in a way that this awful fucking hunk of metal is not and never will be—

“Pipsqueak-? Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Let me in. A-Are you not feeling well?” His words crack when you say nothing, dutifully ignoring him.

“Y/n… Let me in. Please-! don’t leave me alone, don’t go.” His voice becomes ragged, raw, the longer you don’t answer. Boyish in its vulnerability. “Stay- Stay here with me.”

By God your soul splinters down the middle. But you don’t answer. You- You can’t.

You throw your lunch up in the toilet and then your back against the wall, sliding down it with your hands over your ears like a child.

You don’t care, if he’s shouting and beating at the door, on the brink of hysteria like you’ve heard only once or twice when he was a boy too soft for his own good- you don’t care- you don’t care—

You sit there until he short-circuits out and thuds to the floor.

You flinch when he does.

Only then, however, do you tiptoe out- careful lest you trigger some internal response from him- to quickly pull on a hoodie and put your hair up, locking the front door behind you.

You don’t know for how long he’ll be conked out, but if luck is on your side, it’ll be for long enough to run to the local corner store and buy a pregnancy test.

You know you’re losing it, the little sanity you had left after your brother passed— misreading a common cold for a veritable child swelling in your womb.

It’s laughable: using your sleeve (another old piece of his clothing you ‘borrowed’, never to be returned) to dot away the tears at your lashline, you do laugh on the short trek to the convenience store.

But if not a reminder that you really are going crazy, losing control, then at least it’s just an opportunity to get some fresh air for a bit, right?

(…You also know that the first step to regaining back said control is to say goodbye to not-Caleb.

As it stands, though, you’re just-

You were never ready.)

✦

Two pink lines.

The thing clatters to the bathroom floor, and you along with it.

You sink to your knees and the white walls surrounding you feel more like an asylum than a space in your own house- because yes, you must be delusional. This is the final nail in the coffin.

But this- this can’t be right. It’s impossible. In the strictest sense of the word it’s impossible!

Heavy feet traipse in the kitchen; the livingroom; the hall, searching for you with faint, candied beckons of your name.

You rub your face as if to feel the color as it seeps from your complexion, and tell yourself that you’ve positively lost it as you thoughtlessly choose one of the corners to slump into, hyperventilating.

You’ll- you’ll send it back to EVER... You’ll send it back and forget and move on. You’ll move on. You’ll stop grieving, you’ll squirrel away your fraying, final memories of Caleb like you did all those precious photos in that old shoebox in your closet.

You’ll-…

A breath. The fan whirs.

The faucet, going full-blast, sputters, effectively drowning out the sounds you make as air becomes a tricky thing to intake; thick enough to choke on.

You’ll throw yourself into the fifth stage of grief then crawl out the other side of it if that’s what it takes to undo this fucking reality you’re lost in-

“Pipsqueak?” A hand on your shoulder.

Broad, big. A little weathered.

But gentle always. Gentle always. Just like you remember. Just like when Caleb meant Caleb; not the big glorified toy that walks and acts like him as an admittedly convincing, yet ultimately faux locum.

Your heart stills, hanging pendant in your chest. You swing from that uncertainty. By God you’d beat that handsome face in- oh, but by God would you kiss it, too.

The door sways on its hinge by splintered fragments, creaking behind the brunet.

Timidly, you lift your head over your shoulder to meet his eye where he towers behind you, violet hues softening with concern. They drift lower, honing in on the little item by your knee, wayward.

He coos immediately, enveloping you in his strong arms.

The feeling- it’s not exactly like that of the one you’d get while swimming in a hot tub, engulfed in its steaming waters, but it’s not too far off either. You let him hold you, unseeing as he all but sings in your ear, and restore the warmth to your bones.

Like a dead thing, or prey, you hang limp in his firm grasp. Terribly uncertain.

“Shh…” he croons, and you only realize a belated moment later that you’re crying. Hard and ugly.

He pets down your hair, ever the comforter, and as you press your head against his barrel chest it’s almost like you can hear a faint whirring in lieu of a heartbeat- speedy but low.

Unreal. Unreal. But then how-?

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

“We’ll figure it out together, honey,” you think it’s a barely concealed smile you register at the crown of your head, pasting down a kiss. “But no more cryin’, okay? I can’t stand to see you like this… Let me draw you a bath, hm? I’ll light some candles and we can talk about it. But don’t be scared. This is… such good news,” and then he laughs- a boyish, marveling little laugh that digs deep into your heart and twists.

The button, between his breastbone, just out of reach, glows faintly through his shirt.

For a moment you’re ready to press it like a player would on a game show— with urgency— but you blink and see those two pink lines searing themselves into your conscience.

Defeatedly, you shut your eyes. But you don’t shut him off.

✦

With Caleb preparing dinner, you’re able to slip away one evening for long enough to call Gran.

For worried friends and relatives, your voicemail box is becoming quite the hotbed- but among them, your grandmother is the priority.

Propping yourself by the sliding glass door, you brush back the curtain and look out to the small, cookie-cutter yard as you accept the call. Not without a shaky breath to prepare you, though; it’s been over a month since your last visit, and while your calls haven’t been quite as behind, you still wince a bit every time her contact pops up.

You want to tell her.

If not about Caleb, then at least the small bump forming beneath your oversized lounge shirt. There’s excuses for it- ones to be frowned upon, yes, but they’d be believable nonetheless. Obviously, a pregnancy is not something as simple to hide as a robot you can turn on and off and, if needed, stuff in the coat closet until the coast is clear.

You want to tell her. But-

You purse your lips, answering, “Hey Gran.”

The tone of her voice, frazzled and barely holding together, sends a chill down your spine.

“Y/n- where have you been? Is everything okay? I’ve been- I’ve been calling all afternoon.”

You digest that information with a quirk of your brow, scanning across the lawn outside, and a thick swallow.

There’s the voicemails, sure; it was only two nights ago you were poring over them all and holding back tears of guilt. But this afternoon? It was quiet- almost blissfully so, spent curled up to Caleb’s chest on the sofa as you watched an old favorite movie and he happily fed you fruit-flavored candies from his hand every so often.

Nobody called, let alone multiple times. You’re sure of it.

“Gran- what? No, I’m fine. What’s wrong?” You start, tossing a nervous glance behind you, internally grateful that Caleb’s absent humming while he chopped veggies was too distant for the phone to pick up.

She blusters out, apropos of nothing, “Is he there with you?”

Something in you stills.

“Y/n- is he there with you?”

An abnormal rush of blood to your ears and a murmur of your heart as you stand confused. The fingers curled around your phone case jitter.

You hold it closer to your ear.

“What? What are you talking about? I-Is who here with me?”

Does she- There’s no fucking chance- does she know?

How?

Chest thumping, your pulse fluttering in the column of your throat as it bobs uncertainly, you begin to wonder to yourself if this is the time you come clean, lay all your sins out like cards on a table. Make the confession.

Push has come to shove, you think. And fuck if you know where all this is coming from on her end, if Gideon told her or she just miraculously put two and two together or-

An exhale on her end, shaking on its way out.

“Were you not told? Dear-“ she broaches, louder, more firm— and this is just milliseconds before the world as you know it- the one you freed of your hands and let reshape itself around a delicate delusion- buckles at the knees. It’s right before you do, too.

“They found him. They found Caleb.”

That breath, right afterward of her telling you, is like the first one after drowning.

Your eyes widen as you break the surface.

His- His body. The tinny footage they dredged up from the area showed he entered his home, but after the explosion, there was no sign of him, no ash no corpse no nothing— So you don’t know how the hell they managed to recover his pieces, let alone after they already ran clean-up crews through the charred infrastructure and hosed it down- but you’re hysterical at the news.

You were cruelly forced, all along, to just assume he’d been burned to nothingness.

So you don’t even care about the how. How it’s possible or how this is happening after several months of white noise and hurting on your end— you don’t care.

You were made to come to terms with his death, and you did, at most, acknowledge it- but evidently, you could never quite accept it.

…If this is your final chance to say goodbye- even if it just means peering over a metal table in the morgue as he lies disheveled, hardly recognizable under a sheet- so fucking be it.

You’ll say goodbye if it kills you.

“What-? Where- where?” Your tone reflects as much, urgent as you stagger over to the sofa, nearly tripping as you reach for the jacket slung over the arm.

“I-Im coming,” you croak out, words failing you as the velvety carpet feels like mud beneath your bare feet- hard to walk across, every step making you feel like a baby taking its first ones.

One second you’re navigating a truth so unbelievable it’s near violent as it barrels into you; in the next, you’re collapsing under the weight of it, too caught up in your own scrambling for your keys and the door to even think of not-Caleb.

Gran goes to timidly say something, but your ears are shot and you quickly interject, “Let me get dressed- I-I’ll be there! Is he at the morgue?”

“Oh, no, honey,” she quavers out, “He’s alive. The town just messaged me; they made a mistake with his death certificate- they’re revoking it as we speak. He’s in Skyhaven.”

The phone drops to the floor.

And then that, too, gives way beneath you.

…It’s good a helping hand is there for you, then. Shouldering your weight without prompting- fretful as he confiscates the device, no different than a teacher with an unruly student, swiftly disconnecting the call.

It tuts in your ear, but- more sober than you’ve ever been- you can only note the sympathy practically dripping from its tone for what it really is: the upshot of its near immaculate programming as it mimics your considerate gege to a T.

Not-Caleb noses against your nape and sighs.

Mutely, you wind a hand, tottering, uncoordinated fingers and all, behind your back to grope along his chest—

He easily gathers both your wrists in his palm, “hey now,” turning you around. He lifts your knuckles up for a chaste kiss, watching you intently all the while.

A cold weight settles over you, soaking you through like meat left overnight to marinate. From the kitchen, stirfry sizzles in the pan. A few moments more of it and the smoke detectors will fire off.

…He just leans in to peck your forehead though, deaf to the sirens you hear wailing in your head, having mastered the art of playing dumb long ago.

He murmurs, as cloying as cake frosting, “C’mon, Pipsqueak, let’s go eat. Dinner’ll be done in just a sec. I made one of your favorites. After that, we can sit around the couch and brainstorm some more names for the baby- what d’you think?”

Flukes, malfunctions, glitches— no; Not-Caleb, you realize right then, ceasing to blink as you stare at its prototype through the shifting lens head-on, was never flawed.

“…But you’re not leavin’, not to him.”

The real one was.

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

#shai's fic recs

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breadboylovin · 4 years ago

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NEW POST FOR MY 95060 PLAYLIST!!! complete with explanations of every song choice under the cut because i love explaining my own creative decisions for some reason (PLEASE DO NOT FEEL COMPELLED TO READ ALL OF IT IF YOU DONT WANT TO ITS VERY LONG LOL). i may add a few songs here and there later on, or more likely rearrange what i've already put in slightly, but for now i consider it done.

alright now heres a look into my twisted mind

PART 1: TEMPTATION

Franz Ferdinand - Michael: It's a song about seducing someone named Michael. What more can I ask for (serious explanation is that it’s also very homosexually charged like you just have to listen to it… also feels taunting in a way where it’s like ‘oooooh you want me so bad’ and he’s RIGHT Michael DOES want him so bad). Also credit to this post for letting me know this song existed and inspiring me to make this playlist in the first place :-3

Mystery Skulls - Paralyzed: Just another song about how Michael is awestruck by David and feels compelled to follow him for whatever reason (the reason is that he wants him so bad)

TAEMIN - WANT: This is one of three Taemin songs on here because I think if David survived until present day he would fucking LOVE Taemin. Anyways this is a song about knowing you’re hot shit and everyone wants you and I think after seducing Michael through fucking?? Fatal motorcycle races and evil noodle mind tricks??? David deserves to feel that

Glass Animals - Gooey: OHGHGHGHFH THIS SONG… the vibes are impeccable on this one, Dave Bayley’s alluring voice feels like a slight remix of what David is going for and the way it feels like the singer is trying to convince the listener of something (even though it’s purposely vague) just FEELS like David with Michael. The line “I can’t take this place, I can’t take this place/I just need to go where I can get some space” especially fits when imagining how Michael is new to Santa Carla and may want a place to belong that David and the boys are happy to provide

TAEMIN - Impressionable: I see this as the moment that Michael downs the bottle of “wine”, where this song is David’s internal monologue reveling in how easy it was to charm Michael and get him to join. I always thought this sounded like a taunting villain song so it just fits. Also it’s like ridiculously horny which is a plus

PART 2: THE RELATIONSHIP ITSELF

MGMT - Me and Michael: In my head this is directly after Michael drinks the “wine”, and if it were an actual song in the movie, it’d play instead of Cry Little Sister in that scene. I already made art related to this but I really just love the juxtaposition between something that Michael will later see as horrible (becoming a half-vampire) and David seeing it as a perfect slow-dance moment. Also “Me and Michael, it’s not a question now” because the blood drinking has now linked them together… mmmmm. Credit to this post again for making me find this song!!

ALI - DESPERADO: This one is less about David and Michael specifically and more about how the night in the cave went down for everyone there, starting with a soft slowness as they ate and then descending into chaos as Michael downs the wine and they celebrate a new addition to the pack. The bacchanal energy is off the charts

Dorian Electra - Man to Man: This song is just one that I attribute to all of the boys because I think they do a lot of homoerotic sparring. Also the part of the movie where Michael punches David in the face and David just goes >:-3 back at him

Chase Atlantic - Friends: I don't know what it is about this one but it just Hits… The chorus kinda sounds like David and the boys trying to convince Michael to stay with them instead of coming back to human society after drinking the blood, in the same sort of taunting manner that they had when David (presumably?) made Michael hallucinate the bike lights and sounds outside of his house

Taking Back Sunday - You're So Last Summer: THIS SONG IS JUST REALLY GOOD. I don't know what it is about this one either… I guess the “Maybe I should hate you for this/Never really did ever quite get that far” part could represent the first glimpse of Michael’s more conflicted feelings about David. Also the second half of verse 2 not only fucks so hard but could also be indicative of Michael’s repressed gay feelings, lying to himself about how he wanted to be around David because he’s cool or whatever but he actually just has the hots for him and would let him do anything if he asked to

MGMT - Little Dark Age: Mostly here just for vibes. Have y’all seen that one edit set to this song? Yeah

The Neighborhood - Prey: I feel like this song captures the general unease that Michael feels right before he sees the boys kill for the first time, knowing that he’s probably turning into a vampire and something horrible is happening… especially with “Something is wrong, I feel like prey” just generally describing what it must feel like to be a human among vampires (though he’s not fully human anymore at this point)

PART 3: REALIZATION + FIGHTING BACK

TAEMIN - Criminal: YET ANOTHER TAEMIN SONG!!!! It’s all about realizing you're with someone who’s like, an evil manipulative villain and genuinely bad for you but you can’t escape just yet because you’re kinda into it. I don't think David is THAT bad of a guy, but Michael could be like “I need to get out of this situation because this man is a vampire but I feel attracted to him and it’s hard to really get away”. Also the line “My hands holding yours that stabbed me are not clean either” just HITS cus Michael hates David’s vampirism but HE’S a half-vampire now so it’s not like he’s innocent either. This is just a really good 95060 song AND a good song in general, listen to it even if you don't normally like K-pop cus it slaps

Glass Animals - Wyrd: This would be the moment where Michael snaps out of it and just starts running away, but to no avail, because he’s still a half-vampire (“You can’t run so you must hide” meaning that he can’t outrun his new monstrous nature, the best he can do is hide it until it eats him alive). Meanwhile David laments over how this is a stupid decision from his perspective (“So, my friend, our time is done/You and I could’ve had so much”)

Moonface - Minotaur Forgiving Theseus: This is a very veeeeery bitter song from Michael’s perspective about David being a vampire… with the “You’re just a hitman” repetition referencing how David. Y’know. Eats people. And the “I heard you're coming for me now” references both how David first approached him and the impending confrontation

The Neighborhood - The Beach: This song goes from the bitterness of the previous one to a pseudo-acceptance of the end of their brief friendship and what’s inevitably going to happen next. However, I think the bridge of the song illustrates the little bit of Michael that doesn’t want this to happen, that wants this relationship to somehow work out because he cares about David even if he is a vampire (unfortunately he ends up repressing this because he feels a duty to kill David now)

Gorillaz - Rhinestone Eyes: This is mostly in here because of the music video, the buildup to a battle just echoes in my head whenever I hear this song now. In the context of this playlist it makes me imagine David looking up at the Emerson’s house from the hotel (and Michael doing the opposite) knowing that something’s about to happen and it’s going to be horrible

Glass Animals - JDNT: This entire song feels like the climax of the movie. Verse 1 feels like the Emersons and Frogs getting ready to attack the cave (“I’m all armored up”) with “I feel that final poke” being when Marko gets staked, and the chorus right after is a tinge of regret that Michael feels once the plan starts to take shape. Verse 2 is the other boys waking up to see that Marko is dead + them dying themselves (“Where my funny friends gone?”) and the bridge is Michael and David’s fight before Michael finally gores David on the antlers. The outro of “You can’t breathe without me” VERY much feels like David taunting Michael from beyond the grave, knowing how much Michael loved him and how horrible what he’s just done is

PART 4: GRIEF

The Brazen Youth - Burn Slowly/I Love You: Ooooooghghgh the conflicted feelings about their relationship is STRONG in this one… The “Burn Slowly” part being him trying to convince himself that he did the right thing by killing David while the “I Love You” part is him realizing that he really did love David and it fucking hurts

Sufjan Stevens - The Predatory Wasp Of The Palisades Is Out To Get Us: MAN. MAN… Everything past “I can’t explain the state that I'm in” is just so… it’s Michael realizing what he had even more and just how much it hurts that he’s lost it. He knows he was in love now and it fucking hurts SO MUCH!!!!!

Sufjan Stevens - The Only Thing: [head in my fucking hands] Michael moping around Santa Carla because it feels empty without David. All the “should I tear my eyes out now?/Should I tear my heart out now?” parts oh my GOOOOOOOOD sufjan stevens i'm going to slap you on the head.

Paramore - Tell Me How: THIS SONG HURTS SO MUCH ITS SO. It’s another one about conflicting feelings so theoretically it should be earlier in the story but I always envision something very morbid when listening to this (and have now written a fic about it so check that out)… Michael going back to the hotel where he put David’s body and musing to no one, asking how he’s supposed to feel now, the “And always coming to your defenses” where Michael keeps defending David and their relationship to his family who all think David was a horrible monster… this song fucking hurts. Also I unintentionally drew a parallel between JDNT’s “You can’t breathe without me” and this song’s “Do I suffocate or let go?” and now that I’ve realized that it hurts even more. Fuck this song

#the lost boys #michael emerson #the lost boys david #95060 #michael x david #david x michael #text #Spotify #i have thought sooooo hard about this playlist fr and theres so many individual lyrics and bits that i want to make art for #if i had all the time in the world i would #but. for now. enjoy :-3

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genocidersyodr · 4 years ago

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TBHK CH 71 SPOILERS

My theories!! This is gonna be a long one folks😉

Ch 71 spoilers!!

*TW contains spoilers, abuse, suicide, murder and psychotic breaks

Although all the supernaturals disappeared

They arent nonexistent ,, they're still there

The tie that let humans see the supernaturals was severed, they just have no known way (as far as we know) to contact each other and interact with each other ,, the supernaturals, are kinda like ghosts now (ik that they´re all dead but they were more ´solid´ than ghosts, that might be hard to understand but i hope someone does) and how sometimes we can see them and sometimes we cant or how people say that dogs can see things that humans cant ,, the supernaturals are still there but they cant interact with each other and arent visible at the moment

Although now that I think about it, i dont think they ever mentioned if Tsuchigomori is dead or not, but he was most likely in his early twenties in the 1960´s, (we landed on the moon in 1969) when he was Amane´s homeroom teacher ,, and he seems to have not aged at all ,, but his appearance has changed, but other than that, nothing else has. But the time frame that TBHK is set in is probably 2020 or 2019 (cause it came out in 2020 & cause they have smartphones) meaning that Tsuchigomori would have to be in his late 40´s or early 50´s but he looks just as young as he did in the 60´s

And he´s visible to everyone at the school including the teachers, but he also might not be dead, because of Akane Aoi´s circumstance, hes alive and well and is still a supernatural, which means he and Tsuchigomori might be the only two living supernaturals. But when all the supernaturals disappear we dont see Tsuchigomori (he might've still been around but i dont remember so correct me if im wrong) but we see Akane Aoi

Also the Red House has something to do with Amane (Hanako) and Tsukasa (in my opinion) ,, if i remember correctly, they said that a whole family committed suicide in that house, my theory is that both Amane and Tsukasa were abused by both their mother and father ,, the marks on Amane´s arms when we see the memories inside Tsuchigomori´s yorshiro look like rope marks/burns and on the covers of the manga's (especially on the third one) we see red rope around Hanako´s neck, waist and arms

My theory is that both Amane and Tsukasa were influenced by their parents that violence was normal ,, I think that Tsukasa took inspiration from the violence and abuse and mirrored it onto Amane and ¨experimented¨ on him, which would also explain the rope marks (heres a link to what im talking about https://64.media.tumblr.com/735e6b9112f492447c0824c1ca43721e/afb23ff0d6206d4b-fe/s500x750/47ab096974f8727fb8551a7dea99f782888b90ec.jpg )At some point I think that Amane snapped and out of frustration, brutally murdered Tsukasa ,, then when he realized what he had done, he killed himself ,, then like the butterfly effect his parents discovered their bodies and then also committed suicide out of shame and grief and i think the reason he haunts the school bathroom instead of the house is because as Tsuchigomori mentioned, he was bullied, which leads me to believe that the bathroom was where he would hide and spend most of his time alone (why the girls bathroom, idk lol)

And that he haunts/protects the school because Tsuchigomori was the first person to say that he cared about Amane and he wanted to be close to him even in death

oml that was a lot to read im so sorry!! but what do ya´ll think!?

here´s some funny tbhk moments as a thank you! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zhO7rUGMj1Y&t=34s

#tbhk #jibaku shounen hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #tbhk theory #amane #tsukasa amane #yugi amane #theory #anime

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matoitech · 5 years ago

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this is for when you wake up tomorrow, but can you please talk about galos superb emotional awareness?? he's got some serious emotional skills!

yeah of course!! i think its important to mention first and foremost that promare is built around compassion and willingness to listen and understand people you think are different from you just bc you dont have the exact same experiences. but in the words of nexus, we’re not so different. galo represents that! him and lio are literally the bridge of understanding and empathy. and because of this, both their characters hinge on love! love for other people and love for the earth. that’s why people misinterpreting characters like lio to be mean is so upsetting, because its missing the point of the movie. but anyway we’re talking about galo and his epic emotional intelligence so lets DO THAT.

so we gotta start with the obligatory “people think galos an idiot BUT ACTUALLY-” because its true! he may be oblivious about some things but he has an ability to look at a situation and know what to say and do to fix it; he’s passionate and has a solid belief in himself so whether or not he’s wording something perfectly people FEEL that hes being genuine. when you’re unapologetically yourself, people respond to that!

more than any other character it was galo that was the one who knew that lio needed help and was the only one who knew how to help him. and galo proves this isnt lio-exclusive (tho it definitely shows a lot with lio, and that’s for a reason lol). he knows what to say to reassure aina at the lake, he knows what to say to get heris to question her decision with helping kray, he knows what to do to get his teammates on his side to help, he saves lio and inspires him to save the earth. you could write an entire essay on any scene he surprises people and gets them thinking, he does this so much! i dont think this is something he’s totally aware of and uses to his advantage as much as its just people responding to how earnest he is about wanting to help others.

the scene with lio as a dragon is brought up a lot when talking abt galo because its through his pov that the movie tells us that galo noticed lio was crying. we, the viewer, know what happened at the burnish camp. we saw lio lose his people and his best friends to freeze force, we know why he feels he’s lost everything. WE know why it isnt just rage, but its grief and pain as well thats fueling him, but galo doesnt know that. he sees the dragon, he knows its lio, and he notices right away that hes crying. he met lio a couple times and he’s kept in mind what lio’s said about burnish not killing- so he knows something is very wrong. something must have spurred lio to react like this. something must be hurting him. so now he knows that lio’s hurting and he has to do something to help, both for lio and to stop the fire in the city. no one else noticed or cared that lio was in pain. but galo’s whole thing is figuring out what people need and saving them! so of course he noticed.

galo and lio save each other, MULTIPLE times. its through their differences they find strength! galo and lio are both passionate, emotional people, though they show that in different ways. its really lucky that galo and lio found each other; they work so well together, well enough to save the world! they’re both written with each other in mind, to draw out the best in each other and do together what they can’t do alone. they find strength through each other. that’s really important.

to get back on track cuz i kinda went off on a side note there, i think it’s important to mention that galo being emotionally perceptive goes both ways. he notices whats going on with other people and notices how they feel and what he can do to help, but that also means he notices how people feel about him. people tend to assume galo just doesn’t notice when people get frustrated with him or when they’re rude to him, but i dont think thats true. its not that he doesnt notice, its that he’s used to it. he chooses to let a lot go. but when he snaps at lio for calling the matoi stupid, its from a buildup from ppl, whether jokingly or not, calling him or his interests stupid. u cant talk abt how galo perceives how ppl feel and acts accordingly without acknowledging that that also means he is aware of how ppl feel about HIM. another reason why him and lio work well together, with lio listening to him and taking what he says seriously, just like galo does for him.

anyway, the movie itself is all such a good example of galo showing rly good emotional awareness, and part of that also comes from him being open to trying to do better when he messes up. he apologizes when he does something wrong, he LISTENS, and he CARES about making things right. he cares about how lio feels and he cares about how the burnish feel. he cares a lot about making sure people are safe and happy, that they know he’s listening and is trying to help.

there’s a small line that i’ve always appreciated when galo is explaining the spaceship to lio. he says that the ship is human powered first, only adding that its the burnish specifically powering it afterward. this is an important line because its galo showing lio that he listened to lio earlier when he said the burnish were human beings just as much as galo. that small word choice means a lot, bringing the interaction in the cave back- galo said something insensitive, lio told him why that was wrong, and galo apologized and learned from it. the movie does a good job of showing you that galo has no problem with owning up to his mistakes and learning from them. that’s pretty good emotional awareness lol

also, at the end i will mention that galo’s pretty good at understanding his own emotions and knowing what to do about them, like when he goes to the lake to clear his head and work out his emotions bc he knows him being in the public eye and ppl associated him w the governor means he needs to be in control for his sake. he has trouble with this sometimes, not always making smart moves bc he is so emotionally driven, but he does acknowledge his emotions and try to deal with them in the best way he can. he could do this better if he went to THERAPY which he NEEDS -_- but that. is another topic. promare 2: everyone gets therapy

this got very all over the place, there’s so much you can talk about with it, but!! galo is a really good character thats a lot smarter- and more importantly, kinder- than people give him credit for, and i like talking about him :]

#SRY THIS IS SO LONG I WOULDVE PUT IT UNDER A READMORE BUT THOSE DONT LIKE.. STAY IF UR BLOG KICKS THE BUCKET..#anon #fess replies #long post #promare

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msjr0119 · 5 years ago

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A Second Chance

Prologue

Book: The Royal Romance

Series Pairings: Liam x Riley (Flashbacks), Drake x Hana (Flashbacks), Drake x Riley (Present Time- Friendship?).

*All characters belong to Pixelberry apart from Bethany Hughes-Rhys*

Please do not read this series if you are under 18 or if you are affected by any of the below trigger warnings. By doing so, you are consenting that you are over 18.

Warnings: Mention of suicide (past tense), Grief, Depression, Mention of two characters death. Slight adult language.

A/N: So this is a follow up to my ‘Hold On’ series. I was really confused when @kacie-0156 requested for me to do this as she is a Liam Stan. I still don’t understand 🤷‍♀️ but I’ll try my best! Thank you Kacie for the moodboard that you have provided. 💕❤️ The series takes part over two decades after ‘Hold On’ finished.

Song Inspiration: One Sweet Day, Mariah Carey Ft Boyz II Men

Word Count: 3,200

Tags, off the top of my head- as always if you want to be removed/added don’t hestitate in asking me: @pedudley @kacie-0156 @annekebbphotography @yukinagato2012 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @kimmiedoo5 @bascmve01 @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @lodberg @cmestrella @axwalker @hopefulmoonobject @notoriouscs @rafasgirl23415 @walker7519 @drakewalker04

*****

It had been six months since that day. The day that the Queen of Cordonia realised that her fairytale life had been snatched away from her in an instant. Today was the first day in which she had made an effort with her appearance. Upon her arrival she could sense that all her friends were eager to pounce on her, demanding to know that she was okay. Interrogate her. Keeping that stoic expression, she avoided conversations with her close friends- instead just remained civil with her children and people such as Francesco. Keeping a speech minimal, she thanked everyone for coming before returning to her quarters. Alone. This had been a common occurrence- keeping herself guarded. Not allowing anyone to break down the walls that she had built up.

Jackson noticed that his Auntie had been specifically quiet since that day six months ago. Walking over towards Princess Ayah and Prince Louis, they both smiled softly - however provided sorrow in their eyes.

“Is your Mom okay?” Ayah shook her head. Not really knowing how to explain the mask that Riley was wearing to hide her true feelings.

“She’s not coping, Jackson. I’m scared that she’s going to do something stupid. Before we existed, she tried to end her life in New York. My Father didn’t want to tell us about it, but he did one night to explain how much of a fighter our Mom is. She isn’t talking to anyone apart from us and her Godchildren. Whenever any of her friends try to talk to her, she shuns them away. Maybe Uncle Drake could try and talk to her again? Because you know....” Jackson didn’t need Ayah to continue that sentence, he knew full well what she was about to say.

“I’ll go and mention it to him. Don’t worry about Aunt Ri. She has everyone here, supporting her.” Kissing the Princess on the cheek, he scrutinised the room for his father. Jackson Walker adored his ‘cousins’ and ‘Auntie’- even though they wasn’t blood, he felt as if they were.

******

“Brooks....” Feeling like this was a waste of time, Drake decided that the best option was to walk away, as she wasn’t responding. Jackson placed a comforting hand onto his father’s shoulder, suggesting that Drake should leave. Feeling like a failure, to Ayah who believed that they would get her Mom to open up to them- Jackson decided to try himself. Listening to his son’s advise, Drake left in a swift motion- frustrated that he couldn’t persuade her to come out of her hovel and just talk.

“Aunt Ri?” Jackson said softly as he knocked on the door. Riley knew she was being stubborn whenever a visitor would knock on the door- but for some reason she could never ignore her children, or her friends children.

“Jackson.” Smiling at his Auntie, he pulled her in for a tight hug. “What can I do for you?”

“Have a walk? Or just a little talk with me? We all miss you, and we want to help you through it. Dad just wants to help too. You could help each other?”

“You’re only twenty one Jackson, you should be out with your friends- enjoying life. Don’t take a minute for granted. You should be living each day as if it’s your last.” Listening to her words, he knew what she was referring to. His heart sunk, the usual poised Queen stood in front of him was absolutely broken even if she tried to conceal it. “I miss him so much Jackson, and I miss your Mom too. Each day that goes by, doesn’t get any easier. I need to be strong for Ayah, Louis and Ellie but truth be told- they are so much stronger than I am.”

“Aunt Ri, everything will get better in time. Uncle Liam loved you- as did my Mom. They would both want you to be happy, being the strong woman that you are. Please don’t stay up here on your own. If you need anything, dont hesistate to let anyone know. Whether that’s to watch a film, or to go for a cronut, a walk in the maze? It’s Dad’s birthday party tomorrow night- fifty. The old fart. It would be good to see you there. Ayah is going with Louis, El, Uncle Leo and Aunt Beth.”

“I’ll see how I feel. Thank you for the talk Jackson. You remind me so much of your Mom, caring- thinking about everyone.”

“Shame I look like my Dad then.” Riley laughed as the young man winked at her. “I love you, Aunt Ri.”

*****

Drake woke up the following morning, not really in the mood to celebrate his fiftieth birthday. However he knew that he needed to make the effort. Mainly due to the blood, sweat and guts that Maxwell had put in to organising it. It had been six months since he had said goodbye to his wife and best friend- the King. The traumatic events from that night still haunted him- the grief was still lingering every second of each day that went by. But what was also breaking his heart was how Riley was coping with the loss of her husband and her friend. Ever since the funeral, the Queen had ignored her friends, barely acknowledged their existence- keeping herself to herself.

Making himself look presentable, he headed over to Ramsford with Jackson.

*****

“Speech, speech, speech....” Maxwell shouted, peer pressuring Drake to make a speech. The last speech was the eulogy he spoke at Hana’s funeral. He wasn’t confident when it came to speaking in front of crowds, but he believed the sooner he did it the sooner it would be over and done with.

“Well what can I say? I’m an old man now. I’d like to thank you all for coming today, drinking whiskey in honour of me... you all know me too well. I know it’s been six months, they say that time gets easier but it really doesn’t. I wish that three other people could be here by my side celebrating this milestone with me; my wife Hana, my best friend Liam and our Queen.” Lifting his tumbler of whiskey up into the air, the others followed suit. Drake closed his eyes for a brief second, imagining the happier times with Liam, Riley and Hana- imagining that this was just some awful nightmare that he couldn’t escape or wake up from. But no this was reality. He had lost his best friend and wife to a successful assassination. Opening his eyes, the room was mute- all eyes focusing towards the doorway.

“Brooks?” Riley raised her drink in to the air as she smiled softly towards him. Placing the empty glass on the table next to her, she turned around and headed towards the balcony needing a bit of fresh air. Following her, he just wanted to make sure that she was okay- that she was coping. Even though he knew that she wasn’t. He never imagined that she would turn up, due to her personality recently.

“Hey.” Drake nervously said, as he watched her staring up to the starry sky- her eyes fixated on the brightest one.

“Hey, old man. Happy birthday!”

“Less with the old man cheeky... you’ll be catching up soon...”

“Maybe, but you’ll still be older than me. I got you a present, I wasn’t sure if I was coming or not- it’s too predictable but I’m sure you’ll make use of it.” Handing him the bag, he shook his head whilst laughing. “I’m far too predictable, I’m going to be turning into whiskey with the amount that people have bought me. Thank you, Riley.”

“No need to thank me. Enjoy the rest of your party.”

“Are you leaving?”

“I’m going to mingle with everyone, I’ve not been myself- hiding away from everyone. Seen as though I’ve made the effort, I may as well make the most of it.” Drake smiled at her. Their past was complicated to say the least- but they had put that behind them. But now he felt the need to protect her, something that he didn’t do when they was together- he owed it to himself as well as to Liam.

“It’s good to see you out and about. If you need anything- just let me know.”

“I just need my friends and children. Which I already have. I needed my husband. I still do. I miss him so much.”

“So do I. You’re not alone. I miss Hana, I know you do too. You have myself and Jackson, your children- who aren’t children anymore. You know what I mean. Leo, Beth, the Beaumont’s, Liv.”

*****

Jackson, Ayah, Louis and Ellie all walked towards the balcony- Jackson put his arm in front of them all to prevent them going any further, noticing that his Dad and Aunt was too close.

“And what are you all doing?”

“Aunt Liv! You made us jump.” Ayah said, as she tried to catch her breath.

“Oh hell no.” Leo commented as he joined in spying on Drake and Riley. “Do you think they are going to grieve together and do more?”

“Uncle Leo! That’s our Mom and our Uncle that you’re talking about.”

“Oh kids, they were together well before they married their spouses. They were even due to have a baby until this jerk called Nate beat myself and Riley to a pulp.” Shrugging his shoulders, the young adults looked at other confused as to why this was such a big secret kept from them.

*****

“I know I have you all. I am grateful for that.” Pulling her closer to him, he held her in his embrace. Hearing her whimpers, and feeling the tears drip onto him- his grip became tight. Not in a hurtful way, more of a protective type of way.

“You are an amazing Queen, you are doing a fabulous job.”

“I’m stepping down, Drake. Louis is taking over from me.”

“Louis? Ayah is the Crown Princess. She’s the eldest.”

“History is repeating itself. She abdicated from her duties last week. Louis’s social season begins at the end of the week.”

“You’re putting him through a social season. Jesus Brooks why?”

“He decided it, not me. I didn’t want my children to go through what Liam- What we all went through. I can’t rule without Liam, and I’m not remarrying. Don’t tell anyone that I told you, I’m going to do a statement. I can trust you, right? You’re one of my closest friends.” What we went through. The social season of hell.

“Of course you can trust me.” Cupping her cheeks, he said this with sincerity surrounding his eyes.

“I.. I should go.” Kissing her softly on the cheek, she inhaled sharply. Her heart began to flutter, Drake wasn’t Liam- but having someone this close to her for the first time in months felt unusual. Someone who she loved once upon a time.

“Look after yourself, Brooks. We are all here for you. Always.”

****

Riley did Drake’s usual trick throughout the party- ‘people watching’. She had some conversations with her friends but kept it minimal. The common questions and phrases spoken in these conversations included Liam. Deep down she knew that it was good to talk about him, but for her it was still so raw.

Maxwell bounded up towards her, very intoxicated. “Your majesty. You look absolutely beautiful. I’ve missed you.”

“Thank you. I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry.”

“Blossom, don’t apologise.”

“I have to. I haven’t been myself since I - we lost Liam. And Hana.”

“Come on, lets get out of here for a bit...” Holding his hand out towards her, she remained standing dormant.

“I’m actually going to head to Valtoria.”

“Stay here. You still have a room here. It’s yours...” Pausing for a second, she couldn’t help but smile at the man stood in front of her with the goofy smile. “How is Drake coping?” Maxwell was unsure as to why she asked this.

“Erm, he has a few quiet days. The therapy is helping him though. He blames himself for what happened that night... but you know Drake, he always wears that scowl to cover his true emotions. I know you’ve probably heard this a million times, but Liam and Hana wouldn’t want either of you to be unhappy. A little birdy told me that Louis is beginning a social season. Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have supported you!”

“DRAKE TOLD YOU?” Not realising how loud she was, Drake made his way over to them. Wondering why his name was mentioned. Wondering why Riley’s quiet tone of voice had raised all of a sudden.

“No, Louis did. Drake knew?”

“I knew what? Brooks, are you okay?”

“About Louis becoming King... I assumed you told Max. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” The two men pulled her in for a hug, as she eventually broke down uncontrollably crying. “Don’t apologise blossom. For anything.” Maxwell whispered.

“I’m going to go to my room. Thank you for inviting me, both of you.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” After Maxwell asked this, Drake decided to leave the two of them. Before he could escape, Riley grabbed his hand- forcing him to turn to face her.

“Drake?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we talk upstairs? Alone. I have realised that I should talk to someone. Someone who is going through the same emotions... I won’t keep you for too long, it’s your party. I just feel if I don’t do this now, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do it.”

“Of course we can talk. For as long as you need to.” The friends all overheard Riley’s request including her children. All smiling softly, knowing that this was the first step she was taking to get out of the depression. To grieve with some support. To move on from her husbands death but to keep his memory alive. Baby steps.

****

Drake sat down on the edge of the bed as Riley poured him a whiskey.

“Who’d have imagined we’d have been here, in this situation. Didn’t Kiara and Nate put us through enough shit?” Laughing nervously, she wasn’t sure how to begin this difficult conversation.

“But that shit, led us both to begin families with our loved ones. You have to think of it that way..”

“True.” There was an awkward silence due to Riley’s lack of response.

“Why have you been avoiding us all?” Not wanting to sound harsh, but he needed to know. Deep down he had an inkling as to why. He just needed this confirmation, so everybody could help in the best possible way.

“I couldn’t cope. I lost the love of my life unexpectedly. Seeing you all reminded me of him. I’d go to bed, holding my wedding photo- snuggling into Liam’s clothes. It still hasn’t sunk in. I’m so sorry that I’ve ignored you all...”

“We understand, we had just hoped that you would have let us help you. I’ve been the same. If it wasn’t for those morons downstairs, I think I’d have drunk whiskey all day every day to blank the pain.. we both loved Liam and Hana, and they both loved us dearly.” In sync, the two of them briefly closed their eyes- images of their spouses flashing through their mind.

“Louis suggested starting the social season to keep my mind off of things. But it’s just going to bring memories back. Of us. Of everybody.”

“It may be a good thing? We are all going to support you both.” Snuggling close to him, she felt his arm go around her waist. “Why did Ayah abdicate?”

“She’s... she’s... oh god, Drake... this is so embarrassing...”

“What?”

“She’s her father’s double. Insisting that she doesn’t want a political marriage, that she wants to marry for love. Ayah started a relationship with.....” Drake’s brain began functioning. His first thought was his son, Jackson. If it was Jackson, he knew that people would criticise her choice- due to his commoner blood that ran through his veins.

“Who?” He eventually questioned, not quite knowing if he wanted to hear the answer or not.

“Theo...” Riley shrugged her shoulders as his jaw practically hit the floor.

“You’re having me on... aren’t you?”

“No. I wish I was... honestly... I’m hoping it’s just a fling. But you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Looking down towards the floor, she bit her lip as she was referring to him. Referring to their past. Hoping that he wouldn’t realise.

“No you can’t help who you fall in love with..” Pausing, he decided to make a joke out of it. “You know if he hurts her- her Uncle’s won’t hold back. I’m pretty sure Liam’s spirit won’t either.”

“None of you will touch him. I’ll beat you all to it!” Providing that infamous cocky smirk, Drake shook his head- he hadn’t seen it painted on her face in what seemed like an eternity. Caressing her cheek, they both locked eyes.

“Of course you will... it’s good to see you smile.”

“I agree. Thank you. I should let you get back to your party.”

“I’m ready for bed, I can’t hack it anymore. I’m not a spring chicken anymore.” Standing up, he mimicked walking with an invisible walking stick- causing her to throw her head back laughing.

“No, you’re an old grumpy marshmallow now.”

“Queen bossy pants. Night, Brooks.” Turning to leave, it was a brief conversation- a conversation that everyone had wanted to start with all those months ago. Finally she had opened up, even if it wasn’t much. Hoping that this was the first move to gaining closure on Liam’s death.

“Drake, wait!”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Thank you for the talk.”

“No worries. You know where to find me or any of us for that matter. I love you, Ri.”

“I love you, too.”

****

Once Drake had left, she got under the duvet- making a quick phone call. As soon as the voicemail message began, tears ran down her cheek like a waterfall. Unable to stop.

Hello. You have reached Liam, but I am unavailable at the moment. Sorry for my beautiful wife, my Queen- giggling in the background. If you need me, leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon.

Even though she was crying, she still managed to let out a little laugh- this was his personal phone for his friends, but now it was a regular call she made on a daily basis.

“Hey, handsome. It’s me again. The giggling wife. I’ve actually laughed for the first time today, Drake the old man turned fifty. Of course he was drinking whiskey. I know I say this everytime I ring you, but I miss you so fucking much Li. I love you so much. My biggest regret was not telling you that the day you left us. So I’m making up for it now. Now it's too late to hold you 'Cause you've flown away. But that doesn’t stop my imagination from believing that you are here. Never had I imagined living without your smile, and I know you're shining down on me from heaven. I hope you and Hana are celebrating up there. I know eventually we'll be together. One sweet day. Until we meet again. I love you, my King.”

#tw: death #tw: grief #tw: adult language #tw: depression #liam x riley #drake x riley #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis #leo rhys #trr #trr hold on #trr a second chance

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bellamyblake · 5 years ago

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Hi Iva! First of all I would like to say - thank you for loving Bellamy so much, it means so much to me to read your posts and feel the same love I have for him. The way I wholheartedly with your every word... about his tragic life, his immense love, everything. On the other hand, you must hurt a lot judging by myself - I honestly cannot stop crying multiple times a day. I do not know how to make the pain stop. I dont know how much more I can handle, its not getting better but actually worse p1

P2 when I think about in details about his life like you did – his life had no happy beginning, or middle, and certainly not the end. Maybe only as a baby boy before O was born. I don’t know how to deal with the fact the character that I genuinely believe had it the worst ended up with the worst possible ending as a reward for honestly trying to do better. Like if he at least experienced love and understanding from O or SOMETHING… but she never got to tell him sorry for beating him up,

P3 that now she understands what he did for her… I am gonna go crazy over this, honestly. I wanna stop crying and enjoy fanfiction with much better ending for him. Where should I find solace? Was his death at least quick, maybe he did not have time to think about what happened? Is there an afterlife where Aurora waited for him? Was that what I can hope for when Aurora was NEVER explained, she was not an alien so what was she? But he also sow Cadogan in the same scene and he was alive then?

P4 Should I watch 5x13 on loop to get in my head this was the ending? Should I teach myself to edit and do some manip for the ending? My only way of coping is seeing other people, blogs like yours that love him just as much. But I keep crying and feeling utterly miserable ☹I am 27 I never spend so much time loving any character (fun fact, It must be around 3 500 hours for me reading ff, watching the show and fan edits and tumblr posts). I know Bellamy will always and forever be the one beloved

P5 one beloved character of mine and no one will ever come close. Bellarke, the same – they were my OTP. The only one. I need to do something about this cause I am loosing my damn mind… I could handle almost anything, I would cry, yes, but I was absolutely sure of one thing - no matter their ending, sad or happy, in some sense they would do it together… and we got THAT. Does anything help you? I am so sorry for dumping this on you but reading your posts - its like hearing my soul.

Hello!

First of all thank you for the kind words and for enjoying my blog so much.

I really do love Bellamy Blake a whole damn LOT. Like a damn LOT hah. I think that’s pretty obvious by the posts I make even if they’re not as many lately because I’m mentally not doing well right now. But that same love you feel, I feel it too and I’m glad I’m not alone in this.

I also get angry too and I cry a lot still about the way things ended. I also have not spent that much time in my life invested in a fictional character before so this is a lot for me as well and I get how you feel.

You asked me if something helps and for me it helps a lot to write you know? Be it meta or fanfiction, I indulge myself a lot in writing.

It’s funny that even when I write fics I don’t write happy fics, you’d think that I’d make him absolutely happy in what I write but I don’t. But indulging yourself in a world of your creation with this character helps a lot. And it’s fun too, to do this, to build a world for him, a different one-be it with Clarke or with a family of his own or Idk just with anyone. Giving him love that he never had and joy he never felt. I think that helps me a lot and it helps me forget how he died and how much it hurts (I wanna say that even typing this makes me cry hah, so...).

I also like to rewatch some episodes that were more about him as a character and then meta in my head. That usually gets me sad too but it’s also exciting to think about some of the stuff that happened and dive in the psychologity of his character (which I do a lot) LOL. But that’s mostly painful. I don’t get many asks about him and meta stuff so I mostly do it in my head on my own and dive into the world of direction and how things were done and love making sense of them.

Headcanons are something I love doing too though I haven’t written (or posted) much lately. In fact I haven’t posted anything lately because Idk...I’m not sure that sharing everything you create is good these days. people got so judgemental over time, the way actors and cast are threated is horrible but it extends to the entire fandom and its participants so it’s ugly and dark and horrible and I think stops a lot of people from posting gifs or fics or anything at all. But that’s another subject.

So yes writing helps me a lot. Reading fics helps me a lot. I’m not sure what the recipe is here because honestly I am in the same boat as you. I love this character more than anything and any other that I’ve loved and been in a fandom before so...this is hard for me too. And it’s fucked up.

I also love making gifs for him though I don’t make anything good or special. Gifs I think can be lots of fun but also pain too-fun cause when you go to gif a moment you can rewatch half the episode (at least I do) and sad cause it can bring you some pain but at the end giffing is really Idk..rewarding. Except when people don’t reblog shit so that’s discouraging too hah.

I’m sorry I don’t mean to be a debbie downer.

To tell you the truth after years of being on here and in fandoms I realized this-I can create to soothe my soul from the pain, like from losing Bellamy but I don’t have to seek validation from people and post it. I can do it just to heal myself and not share it. When you share it what? You just get disappointed. That’s why I have 230 drafts. Half of them are unpublished headcanons. some of them are published fics with few readers or readers who yelled at me for writing sad stuff. the other half is stories i’ll never post. So I guess my advice is-

find something to get your hands on, to create, be it editing, giffing, writing, something to let the grief out, to soothe the wound inside you. and then you can decide if you want to share it or not. and even if you don’t it was inspired by the best character ever.

He was loved, he deserved more, he did. But you can create worlds where he has more.

He can be held by his mom as a baby, he can be tucked in, he can be climbing up her leg and reaching for her arms, he can be cranky when he had his first tooth, or sad when he had to go to day care, he can be scared before his first exam and anxious as he grew up. He can be having nightmares and not sleeping when O was born, he can be terrified and feeling alone. He can have friends and be hugged and loved and have a first kiss, he can live in a house by the ocean with clarke with two beautiful kids and a dog and a cat for her cause she loves cats. Or he can be alone curled up in his bed just crying his grief away.

He can be anything that you wished for him, anywhere you wished for.

Hope I helped some!

#answered #bellamy blake #the 100 #im sorry if i wasn't as helpful #i tried #hah #i think about him every day #and cry too #alwaysdreamingofmiracles

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thisstableground · 5 years ago

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hey! what was your first experience with in the heights/how did you discover it & how did you become so thoroughly overtaken by it? i hope you feel better soon

ooh, i like this question!

so i got into hamilton around november 2016 and thats what lead me to it. first listened to in the heights must’ve been early january 2017, because i remember it was the day before i went back to my home in brighton from my mum’s where i had spent christmas break, and i was laying on the couch in mum’s living room and eating grapes the first time i listened. i don’t remember much of my emotions towards it that first time, other than enjoying it but finding the story harder to keep track of (it was only the second musical soundtrack i’d ever listened to, after hamilton, which is a lot easier to follow because it’s sung through). i can remember unexpectedly laughing out loud at usnavi in the club and going “wait what” when abuela died and that’s about it. but i vividly remember my second listen to it the day after. i’d gone and read all the story summary on the Genius lyrics page so i understood it more, and i can remember getting on the train back home just as i was listening to It Won’t Be Long Now on headphones and getting such shivers that I nearly cried (and then i did cry on the train later, at Alabanza), and it entered frequent rotation between my near-constant relistens of hamilton.

so i really liked it from the start but i think it didn’t completely take over my heart until i started writing fic for it. fic for me is about learning who the characters are and it really took no time at all of writing some character study and dialogue for usnavi and vanessa before they just grabbed something in my heart and made a permanent home there, now that i understood them a little more.

i love the music and the originality and the skill that is in it, but i think that something that made it really stick emotionally and become my favourite is that it was about such ordinary people. it was about people who struggle and who aren’t necessarily doing anything that will make them go down in history but aren’t any less valuable or lovable for that, and it was a revelation for me at that point in my life, where i still only defined myself by my grades and intelligence and was really struggling with the fact that i could just barely get through a day functionally, never mind do anything world-changing to establish a legacy, which at the time felt very important to me and is part of what drew me to hamilton. it’s hard to explain, but in the heights just made me feel like it’s okay for your legacy to be that you work hard in the ways you are able to and support the people around you and look for help from them when you need it. it felt like permission to live an ordinary life and reassurance that you can find happiness doing that.

it’s funny because with all of that, i would’ve thought that nina would’ve been my favourite – i’m a former gifted kid university dropout who put way too much pressure on myself with grades. and i do love her but somehow it’s usnavi who i relate to most. the getting stuck, the way that his past and his grief have given him sort of tunnel vision for what he wants from his future and how he needs to think more about what he wants now, and what he wants outside of what other people think he wants. the big ADHD vibes, the nervous chatter. and relating to him in some ways made me want to be more like him in others – the positivity and kindness, which i’m 100% sure is something that i developed more in myself the more i listened to his parts in the musical and wrote stories about him. i talk a lot more now than i used to, because i’m not so self-conscious about the fact that i talk very quickly and excitably, and that sometimes i make an idiot of myself by babbling. i like who i am much more now that i lean way more towards an usnavi than an alexander.

it also came along like, when i wasn’t exactly mental health recovered but i had been living in brighton a while and gotten past the worst parts and even with all the problems i was still having i felt like i was in the place i was supposed to be, for the first time in my life. i remember when i was younger i used to be in my own bedroom just sobbing and thinking “i wanna go home” and not knowing what i meant because i was in the only place that i could technically consider home but still didn’t feel like it, and always feeling torn between different parts of my identities and not knowing where i belonged within those identities and communities that i’m a part of. i’d never want to claim that this means i understand what it means to be latino or an immigrant because i dont and i know i never will, but even though ITH is not my identity narrative, it comforts me to hear it anyway. it felt and still does feel so, so good to listen to finale where usnavi says i’m home and think yeah, me too, and to know that he’d been looking for so long for that certainty and finally found it just like i had.

its been the fuel for so much of my creativity, alongside other LMM fandoms. i think part of it is because of an interview i read with lin once, where he said he wrote ITH because nobody was writing the roles he wanted to play so he had to do it himself. that attitude but turned towards my own areas of neurodiversity and mental health has since been the centre of most of my academic work and the foundation of what i did for most of my creative writing degree: the idea that if the story you want doesn’t exist it’s not because it’s not worth telling, it’s because maybe you need to write it yourself. i’d never had enough of a sense of purpose before to sustain any creativity.

before i started writing fic and doing art prompts back in december 2016 i hadn’t made or written anything much for years and years, and even before that i’d never really done more than write a few poems and some essays and doodled some abstract art at very sporadic intervals like once or twice a year. and i started that creative journey off with hamilton but it’s ITH that stuck with me and that i’ve stuck with (and DNH, but like, i’m into that for the opposite reasons i am into ITH, where ITH is a beautiful thing that inspires me want to make more beautiful things, and DNH is a trash fire that i’m frantically trying to put out and then weave a nice rug to cover all the damage).

GOD this gave me all my big ITH feelings again. i can remember writing fic after nightmares when my PTSD was still bad. i can remember being in the phase where i was still surprised whenever i woke up and felt good about life and i’d put ITH on with headphones and turn the corner out of the street i lived on at the top of a hill and could see all the brightly coloured houses leading down to the sea and felt safe. i have such a strong memory of a day when i had been in the middle of undergraduate dissertation panic where i just went outside and went to the park which was empty because it was pouring with rain and i went on the swings and played ITH loudly and sang along because nobody was there to hear. the people i’ve met through fandom are some of my favourite people ever. i just love this show so, so much and it has a really important place in my life and my memories.

#marveling-under-many-skies

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 10 months ago

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Tim - Travle

by Thefrogcouncilsitsinjudgment bruce has just died. like you know how all other major characters "die". Tim knows he obviously isn't dead. to bad that his family sucks at grief management. the time travel is inspired by interstellar - if you want to watch the movie than watch Neil explain the 3 dimensions firstly. thats a game changer with not so many options left of, ignore Bruces probably not dead status or safe the idiot by teaming up with rather questionable co-workers he takes the secret third option. time travel. as one does. traveling back its only natural to go back before Jason dies. well he miscalculated and Jason is already six feet under; and sadly not already zombified but still getting eaten by fungi. so what now? stranded in way back Tim runs through Gotham, helps bruce with his problematic bachelor life and gets his family some peace and quite that they deserve. choosing the name of "cardinal" acting as the family's personal guardian angle from the shadows of Gothams helping hands. Words: 6849, Chapters: 4/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Tim Drake (DCU), Tim Drake's Parents, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd Relationships: Tim Drake/Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Batfamily Members & Tim Drake (DCU), Janet Drake & Tim Drake Additional Tags: the women of the batfamily get mentioned but I dont know them to well, Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Dimension Travel, Tim Drake-centric (DCU), Baby Tim Drake, minor character death both canonical and not canonical, im not to familiar with all of the canon so "canon divergencies", Hurt/Comfort, Tim drake is loyal af, is it homicide if you kill your alternative self?, unternet suit-inspired, authors native language isn't English-deal with it, bruce Waynes copying mechanisms suck, nobody in this family is mentally well, but they are trying, Character Study, so no complaints because something isn't right, Gotham is alive in a phantom way, soul companions (animal shape your soul can turn into because I like the concept), Tim Drake is Bad at Feelings, Unreliable Narrator Tim Drake, its probably gonna turn out okay in the end (its 50 / 50), I wrote this while procrastinating dont expect to much, I also wrote this for my self y'all only got invites to enjoy the show alongside via https://ift.tt/uvAi4k0

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the caped crusader #gotham #dcu #dc #ao3 #ao3feed

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thegoldenavenger · 5 years ago

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While i work out the logistics of the naruto au, i offer this. Sorry if you dont know kimetsu no yaiba, I did my best. 3000 ish words. Mobile beware of cut. Unbetad we die like mne.

Content Warning for violence, gore, blood, at the beginning. If youve seen/read demon slayer then canon typical, if youre a marvel only fan then it’s more like iron man 1 or winter soldier levels of violence vs the bloodless avengers films.

Tony Stark wants to be a Demon Slayer. But, born into the Sword Smith Village's head family, he was supposed to craft the finest nichirin demon slaying swords there were, and while Tony likes sword smithing he chafes under his father's strict parenting.

He admires the demon slayers he makes swords for and, quietly, teaches himself the Way of Iron, hoping if he excels his father will let him join the Demon Slayer corp. Unfortunately, his father is not amenable to this, and the two fight until Tony runs off in a huff.

When he makes his way back to the hidden village, he smells blood. In the time he was away a demon had found the sword smith's village. He pulls his sword and joins the fight, trying to evacuate those he can while making his way deeper into the village.

It gets quiet the closer to his home he gets, and the door stands wrenched out of its frame. He can hear his heart beat as he crosses the threshold.

The first thing he notices are the carefully sculpted masks usually displayed on the walls are littering the floor carelessly.

The second thing he notices is the thick trail of blood. His eyes unwillingly trace the blood to the crumpled figures of his mother and father, demon slaying swords shattered on the ground. Standing over them is a demon, the moonlight glinting on the number 5 in his right iris.

Tony's grip on his sword tightens and his inhales, too sharp to be disciplined. It sends a pain through his chest but he sets back into the first form of the Breath of Iron naturally. The demon smiles and Tony throws himself forward, his left foot leading as he pushes as much force as he can into the piercing jab.

The demon's eyes betray a hint of surprise, it could never have encountered a style like this before. Iron Breathing First Form: Piercing Ray is a thrusting move and demons are more used to the graceful arcs of slashing forms designed to take a demon's head off.

Tony's sword hits the demon's collarbone and he can feel it slide home. Blood slicks down the blade and Tony imagines he can feel a heart beat through it. He flexes his wrists but the sword doesn't twitch. The demon scoffs, low and ugly, "You missed."

"Not quite," Tony says, flicking the little hammer in the hilt of his sword. It causes a spark, and Tony is quick to abandon his sword for a few feet of distance as the spark ignites the black powder in the sword's hilt.

The demon grabs the smoking sword, then, through a sharp boom, screeches as the gunpowder propelled blade rips it's way the demon's toughened flesh.

Tony squints after the flash of bright light, the demon's body torn in half and crumpling. Tony has a moment to think: he wasn't much for a twelve moon demon. And then he's kneeling next to his parents, hands flickering over their bodies. He hadn't noticed, but his mother is still breathing, gasping under wounds. He presses his hands to her, trying to stop further blood loss but her skin is already ice cold.

He feels tears well up in his eyes, he's so stricken. He'd talked to her this morning. She chokes on something, but Tony keeps shaking his head. No, don't speak, stay quiet until the clean up crew arrives. There's no way the Demon Slayers aren't here already, there's no way they wouldn't send a doctor to the sword smith's head family.

His mother will be okay.

"Tony, oh, please--" she gurgles as he tries to shush her. Her speech is indecipherable. Through his pleas and the blood in her lungs he can barely make out syllables, but he thinks he hears shield, fury, heart. He shakes his head.

His mother makes a mournful, bleating noise and her eyes widen in fear and it's the last thing he hears from her as a high pitched, shrill siren pierces his ears. He'd wince but he's frozen, and then his chest feels open and cold and hollow.

He can't look down, but he knows there's claws in him. Through him. Whatever.

Behind him the demon laughs, affably, like someone seeing the punchline of a well set up joke. "You should've made sure I was finished. What a shame the Starks end here, I really was hoping one of you would show some promise. But really what can one expect of such worthless beings. Too much trouble in the end."

Tony's vision starts to blank. It's not that black creeps into his peripherals, it's simply that he stops being able to comprehend pieces of vision. Like a blind spot slowly encroaching on his whole field of perception, there is just nothing there.

The shrilling noise quiets and Tony's body reflexively fights for breath. It burns and freezes all at once. He can hear a whistling noise.

Then, footsteps thundering on the floor, he can hear because he's lying down now, somehow. He can hear the singing sound of nichirin steel drawn against sheath, and shouting. The demon slayers are here.

A shape hunches over him, as his vision narrows. Maybe it's the demon, or a doctor. No, he thinks, if it was a doctor it would be reaching for his mother.

He ceases to be able to see, but he hears the shape anyway.

"Breathe. You are not finished, today."

Tony wakes up at the Wysteria Estate, in what looks like a hospital. Dr. Yinsen is by his side.

He explains: you parents are dead, your home destroyed, the demon that attacked you escaped.

He says: The demon used a Blood Art on you, you're lucky to be alive.

He says: the damage was extensive and your insides are scarred irreparably.

Tony yells at him.

"She was alive! Why didn't you help her, you could've helped her!"

Dr. Yinsen's eyes are sad, but his voice is not gentle when he says, "You and the demon were the only living things in that room."

After Tony is done shouting and screaming and then coughing because something in his chest feels like breaking, the doctor sets him back against some pillows. He pulls at the bandages on Tony's chest, and Tony lies there, unresistant.

"Do you understand what I mean when I say the damage was extensive?" He asks as he unwinds the bandages. They stick to Tony's skin, but Tony doesn't flinch.

"I mean, your lung's capacity is down by 12%. The scarring in your chest means you cannot breathe well, if at all."

At this Tony blinks. He's breathing right now, isn't he?

"No, no, young man. Any sword techniques you know that are supported by Breaths. It would cause too much strain on your body. You'd be cough up blood before you could breathe your first kata."

"That's--" Tony starts, then starts coughing. The doctor tips Tony's head back and rubs a cool ointment over the scars on his chest.

"Your heart is in a similar condition. Any activity too strenuous will cause it to fail. At best you'll get light headed and wheezy, at worst you'll tear something inside, you're heart will stop and you'll die."

Tony narrows his eyes at the doctor. "Then what can I do?"

"Heal, for now."

"Will I be able to slay demons, again?"

"It's not likely."

"Then why did you save me!" Tony lashes out again, hissing in grief. "If there's nothing I can do but sit here, and try not to breathe too deeply!"

Dr. Yinsen lets Tony have his moment, before firmly grabbing his shoulder. Tony automatically turns his head to look him in the eye. The hand on Tony's chest feels warm now, almost hot.

"You shouldn't have lived through that attack." Dr. Yinsen says. "I shouldn't have been able to stabilize you. You shouldn't have woken. Yet, here you are anyway.

"Stark, who am I to tell you what can happen in the face of that defiance. You are the one who made it here to today. You are the one who will determine where you will be tomorrow."

His village, though beaten, lives on. Evacuated to a safer area, Tony has heard his kin have started to rebuild. He has not returned.

The Wysteria Estate has acknowledged him, and after he healed enough, allowed him to join the ranks of novice Demon Slayers. Nicolas Fury, a retired Pillar of the Demon Slayers, vouches for him even when Tony struggled to maintain a grip on his sword.

Speaking of his sword, it's a poor excuse for a weapon. Nichirin steel it may be, it's nothing like the blades Tony made. Use to make. He uses it reluctantly, as Fury bullies him into training.

Tony's lungs ache whenever he wakes, like they forget how to breathe during his sleep and they're stretching anew. Sometimes he is so cursedly aware of his own heart, each pulsing beat it like a vice squeezing him tighter and tighter.

He forges on.

Fury is the retired Mist Pillar of the Demon Slayers, and thus, Tony starts to learn the forms of the Breath of Mist. He doesn't take to it well. Even after strengthening his lungs to the point where he can Breathe again, even just a little, most of the Mist Breathing forms eludes his mastery.

He's never been one to fade into the background.

But the training isn't for nothing. Even if he is limited, he can use Breathing techniques again, and his heart doesn't feel like exploding quite so early in exercises. He starts training with his own Iron Style again, wondering if he could add a third form inspired by the Breath of Mist Sixth Form: Moonlit Mist.

Deemed healthy enough, he meets other Demon Slayers. Because Fury is nominally his mentor, he is introduced to the current Pillars as well.

He gets on particularly well with the Rock and Flame Pillars: James Rhodes and Pepper Potts respectively, both of which whole heartedly teach him their techniques.

Tony loves the solid forms of the Breath of Rock, especially the third form: Stone Skin, though he is much better suited towards the nine forms of the Breath of Flames style. Pepper is an efficient teacher.

Natasha Romanoff, the current Mist Pillar is more stand offish, but when she does speak it is with a tongue sharp with wit.

Thor is the Pillar of Thunder, but he also Mastered the Breath of Wind style. Watching him fight, even just to spar, is thrilling.

Clint Barton is the Flower Pillar. He seems like the quiet type, but only because he speaks through his hands. Once Tony picks up the language he is consistently delighted by Clint's keen observation and even keener sense of humor. He's unique among the Pillars for his preferred choice of weapon: a bow.

Bruce Banner insists he is not a pillar. He says he's barely a demon slayer. He studies pharmaceuticals, he's working on something to help curb demon blood lust, he's a gentle soul. He doesn't have the strength to lop off a demon's head anyways, he says, he practices Insect Breathing only as a last resort, he says.

An ill-mannered low rank rookie makes the mistake of using a squirrel for target practice and the twisting, barreling movement Tony sees Bruce slip into before Thor sweeps him off his feet do not look like the gentle piercing forms of the Breath of Insects.

Janet van Dyne, the Insect Pillar, pulls Tony into a hug and thanks him for her custom sword request. He grins because her designs for The Stingers were brilliant when he had first seen them and brilliant now, watching her dart around with them, slickly coated in Wysteria Poison.

T'challa, the Panther Pillar, carries himself with a regality Tony half falls in love with. His Breathing style is self made and his successor, Shuri, is the only other who knows it.

Sam Wilson is the Wind Pillar, he's gentle but firm, yet Tony knows he and Clint and Natasha goof off when no one is looking. He doesn't have proof, but he'd bet on it.

Finally there's Peter Parker; younger then them all he's the newest, most eager Water Pillar Tony is sure there ever was. He's bright eyed and takes a liking to Tony pretty quickly.

There's an empty Pillar, Tony realizes. There should be twelve, to reflect the twelve moons of the demons, yet even including Bruce in the count there are only ten.

Tony is idly curious about this, but he lets it sit in the back of his mind as he pesters the pillars to help train him. He worms his way under their skin, whether it's Rhodey and Pepper always grabbing him for lunch, or Natasha flyting with him in their spare time.

It takes him wholly by surprise when they tell him he's being nominated to the eleventh pillar position.

He can't in good conscious say yes. He can barely Breathe properly. A good knock to the chest might take him out. He isn't a master of any style. There are too many reasons to shake his head, and it takes Rhodey and Pepper both before he even listens to the offer.

"You're worried you're not good enough," Pepper says.

"Of course I am,"

"Take a breath," Rhodey instructs.

"I am breathing! If I breathe anymore I'll tear a lung!"

"Have you tried?" Pepper asks.

"Have you even noticed?" Rhodey asks.

Tony blinks, caught off guard. He's not sure what they mean, but he focuses anyways. On the breath in his lungs, the taught feeling of them expanded. The way the air flows through him.

"You've been Breathing this whole time." Pepper sounds smug.

"And you're fine training on top of that." Rhodey says.

Tony takes a second to blink up at them, for the first time in a long time confused.

"I keep forgetting you weren't trained properly," Pepper says, "You pick up on things so fast. Full Focus Breathing is the very fundamental basis of Breathing Styles, but it's difficult to master. It's a full concentration breath, and Pillars are as strong as we are because we use this technique for every breath we take."

"It's what helps us be on par with upper level demons. You must have picked up on us doing it and copied it without instruction."

"That sounds... plausible."

"It's more than plausible. Listen, you've gotten training from all of us Pillars already. Fury is in your corner! It doesn't really matter if you say yes or no, you're pretty much our acting eleventh pillar anyways." Pepper assures him.

It takes Tony some time for this to sink in, but his friends are right. Dr. Yinsen was right. He shouldn't have been able to get this far but here he was. He was in a place where he could help people again, he'd be a fool to run away now.

He found that low level demons were nothing to him, any longer. He developed his own Breathing Style, quietly taking the information his friends taught him, and applying them in the field with his own twists.

He learns that the scars in his chest can still give him trouble, if he's too hard on himself, but he stops worrying about it. Everyone dies at some point. As long as his body holds together long enough to help people that's good enough for him.

Traces of the Demon King, the father of all Demons, had been sighted in the middle of some patch of nowhere. Though Tony has never seen the Demon King he knows him well enough.

His blood is what creates new demons, he is who founded the Twelve Moons, the high ranking demons that often cause the Demon Slayers trouble. The demon that killed Tony's parents was a Demon Moon.

No one is expecting Tony to run into the Demon King, just clean up any messes and find as much information as he can. That's all he's expecting out of this. But as he steps through the snowy night he hears heavy snarling.

As he draws closer he can smell blood and hear panicked words.

He draws his sword and approaches.

There's a demon attacking a human in the woods and Tony leaps forward.

He follows the ninth form of flame breathing, using it's speed and force to bulldoze into the demon, dragging it away from its prey. There is no blood in the snow, it hadn't gotten a chance to feast yet.

He changes his grip on his sword, to the second form of Flame Breathing. Enough strength to decapitate this demon without losing hold of its struggling form.

He's stopped by a desperate shout.

"Stop! What are you doing?!"

He looks at the human.

"This demon was attacking you." Tony says, as the blond man pushes himself up out of the snow.

"He's not a demon! He's my friend!"

A string of sympathy pulls through him. Still, Tony must do his job. He looks at the snarling creature in his grip. "He's not your friend anymore, look at him." He shakes his wrist and demon jerks at him his blue eyes piercing.

"Stop, please, I know him! He's just scared. He wouldn't hurt me."

"Listen, I know it's rough but you don't know him any more. He is a demon. Demons eat people. It's not complicated."

The man scrunches his face up, and Tony is worried he's going to cry before something is flying straight at him.

He dodges on automatic, frowns when he sees it was just a book, then hisses in alarm as the man runs straight for the demon.

Tony lunges into the sixth form of Rock Breathing, Arcs of Justice, as the human sprints forward. He is ready to throw his sword in desperate hope to pin the demon before it can attack the stupid guy throwing himself at it, when something altogether strange happens.

The demon stands as the man reaches him, lunging forward. But instead of tearing into soft human flesh the demon spins the man around and behind the demon.

Drool slips down the demon's chin. Tony didn't notice it before but the demon's left arm is missing and the tax on it's healing must be doubling or tripling its newborn hunger.

Yet it's still protecting the stupid guy instead of taking a chunk out of him.

He keeps his sword drawn, because he's not dumb, but he lowers it.

"Bucky, stop!" The man hisses, gripping onto the demon's sleeve.

"What's your name?" Tony asks.

"Steve. Steve Rogers. And this is my best friend, Bucky. He hasn't killed anyone, he might-- he might be a demon but he's still good! He, this happened because he was trying to protect us from the real demon that attacked our family!"

Tony's grip on his sword shifted.

He's never encountered a demon who didn't relish at eating humans at the very least. Tony's experience with them started with one standing over his dead parents and didn't improve from there.

But all demons were humans, once, and even Tony had gotten a second chance. He sheathed his sword.

"You cannot let him eat a human." He says.

"Of course he wouldn't!" Steve says, disgusted.

"Shut up. You can't let him eat a human, and if you want him around for any length of time make sure he doesn't get exposed to sunlight."

Steve's furious expression shifts into confusion, then wonder.

"What do you want Steve?"

"I--I want Bucky to be okay. I want the demon who did this to not be able to do it anymore."

"You don't want revenge?"

"I don't like bullies."

Tony huffs a small laugh. He thinks about Nicolas Fury, who had moved out of the Wysteria Estate to a mountain nearby. He thinks about Bruce's research and his mother's last words, and examines the way the demon... Bucky. How Bucky is still anchored, inexorably, in front of Steve's body.

"I'll take you to someone who can help you." Tony says.

The growling from Bucky has died down, now that the threat has passed. Steve's blue eyes bore into Tony as sharply as any knife.

"Thank you," Steve finally says.

Tony laughs. "Sure," he says, "You might be taking that back when you meet him."

Tony wonders if maybe seeing this, seeing a demon who chose not to give in, seeing a human save his friend, if this was why he was still alive. If, maybe Tony couldn’t save his family but he can help someone else save theirs.

He walks past Bucky and Steve, away from the upturned snow of their aborted battle. As he passes he notes the surety of Steve's grip on Bucky and something in him hems and haws.

Tony thinks, instead of a sword, he'll try making a shield.

Read Everything | Read Chapter 2

#kamaeteWRITES #tony stark #bucky barns #steve rogers #mostly tony tho lets be real #demon slayer au

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chlobenet · 6 years ago

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VIOLENT DELIGHTS ASK DROP 💀🖤

I’ve not been online for a hot minute and I’ve come back to 50+ Gennie asks so lets just get straight into another ask drop under the cut ♡

I need some inspiration on what to write next so I will definitely add this to the maybe list - open to more suggestions as well!

Ooooh Polly 10000% has a soft spot for Gennie, and Gen looks up to Poll so so so much, honestly she lowkey idolises her. I do think some earlier season Gen could be fun to write so i’ll definitely keep these ideas in mind!

The only specific scene that comes to mind at the minute is the scene with the italian that tommy kills in the kitchen when the chef is like “my hands have blood” and tom says “so have mine.” I think gennie would be pretty shocked by this side of thomas that she has absolutely never seen before. For the most part though, I do think that the boys successfully keep gen away from the gory truth of the peaky blinders - but she does hear about it a lot of the time, and sometimes it makes them feel lowkey bad because they never want gen to be disappointed in them, or even worse...scared of them.

Gen and tom aren’t even a romantic coupling at this point but I can 100% get behind thomas standing up and even physically shielding her from the police with his own body - blocking them from getting to her. At the time gen wouldn’t even realise what he’s doing because she is just so shocked by the events that are unfolding infront of her. After a while they’re the only ones in the room and she would just be blinking at him, confused, upset, hurt. He’ll just stare back at her for a long time “dont look at me like that Gennie...”

listen buddy, pal, my guy...i love her too sm and I love that you love her and that means that I love you! As for this scene, it’s definitely one i’ll hopefully be able to incorporate into a chapter of violent delights because the way gen and tom are together compared to tom and ada for example is extremely different and it would be a fun contrast to see.

same so much...gen is... baby🥺

now I’M crying at the thought of tommy introducing gen as his wife to people and oh GOSH.

Listen Gen mad or upset is the absolute worst because she doesn’t scream and shout at you, she doesn’t throw things around the room or show any kind of emotional at all really. When gen is mad, she gets real real quiet and she probably wont speak to you for a while and she’ll be damned if she looks at you because honestly looking at you when you’ve hurt gen physically hurts her heart. There’s no greater pain in gennie locks eyes than betrayal or someone doing something knowing that it is going to hurt you - so yeah she doesn’t get into a slanging match with tommy and in some ways he thinks it’s so much worse. She will talk things through though, after she’s had time to collect her thoughts and sort of...evaluate how she’s feeling about situations.

Tommy knows that gen wants kids and he knows with every fibre of his being that she would make the most amazing mother. I don’t think gen would ever really talk about it because she knows tommy already has children and she doesn’t ever want him to think she expects things of him but yes she wants kids more than anything on earth. It’s just sort of an unspoken thing between them, they know it’s going to happen - but they’re not rushing it, when it happens it happens and it will be magical.

Honestly I dont actually think gennie does realise just how much tom does love her, even though he does tell her. She just can’t fathom that someone could possibly love her, little gennie lock, that much. But he does.

Gennie, John and Archie are all the same age. A lot of people thought Gen and Arch were twins in school but nope, just cousins!

Gen worries about Arthur, she really does. I think that she would maybe try and discuss it with tommy but he would explain that arthur is the kind of man that needs to have a purpose and sometimes arthurs only purpose in life is doing business for the peaky blinders. If he wasn’t given something like that to focus on then he would be left to his own devices and even gennie herself knows that has the potential to be so much more dangerous.

Oh my goodness I love this. I do love the idea that gennie is so gracious that she gives off this air of sort of...not importance but you understand what I’m trying to say. I love the idea of the line you’ve come up with for tom and lowkey might steal it. I think the only thing that would ever give gennie away is the fact that although she is well spoken, and extremely intelligent she does still have her birmingham accent - and that’s just a dead giveaway right there.

I think I’ve answered something similar to this previously but basically alfie and gen have this strange sort of ~respect~ for one another. Gennie appreciates that he’s a dangerous man, but she also feels fairly safe in his presence. He makes it very clear early on that she has absolutely nothing to fear from him and she believes him when he says it. That doesn’t necessarily mean she likes him (initially at least) nor does she really trust him, but...yeah she respects him.

Tom would definitely be the one out of the pair of them to admit his feelings first, but he’s also got a whole world of respect for both gennie and his brother so it would be a bit troubling for him when he realises that wow he’s in love with little gennie lock from down the lane. I think he would tell her, but not exactly openly it would be more of a “please, stay...” kind of moment, where he reaches out and takes her hand. They’d both look down and their hands, and then back up at one another and gennie would just nod “okay.”

Hmmm good question, I’m undecided. There may well be a “its you, little gennie lock it’s always been you.” sort of line, maybe on their wedding day but I’m not sure. I’m not even entirely sure thomas knows that’s how he’s always felt so WHO KNOWS - what do you think??

I don’t think so you know! Not through lack of suitors, because lets be honest gennie lock is an absolute catch. But she’s also extremely sentimental and loyal and she is pretty sure that john shelby is the love of her life and even though she’s resigned herself to the fact that they will never be together because of esme and her respect for their relationship - that doesn’t mean that she stops loving him, or that she can look at anyone else in that way. We love one (1) loyal princess.

Listen, tom and gennie talk. They talk a lot more than he talks to anyone else and he’s told her about the war and he’s told her about the dreams he has and sometimes he doesn’t even know why he’s telling her but she’s just so easy to tell and god is she an excellent listener. She doesn’t judge him. She understands that sometimes tommy needs to forget and he needs to sleep and she wants nothing more than for him to feel happy and safe and comfortable so if that’s what he needs then so be it.

I think if I wrote a scene where tom was having one of his grace moments and gennie entered then I’d write it as though grace sort of ... evaporated or disappeared the second gennie enters the room. Even if grace is midway through saying something, gennie is enough to push the thoughts or the hallucinations away and tom might stare dumbfounded at the wall for a hot minute in astonishment but then he’ll look at his wife and he’s just like #of course.

hahah i love this headcanon and I also think that gen would love to watch tom be around/talking about horses because he’s just so in his element and so...at peace?

I think after tommy refuses to go and see lizzie then polly would suggest to gennie that she go and see thomas. I think she’d consider sending lizzie, but then deep down polly knows that tom needs a sort of emotional support that lizzie isn’t capable of providing. You have to remember as well that gennie has lost archie who was the most important person in her life, she knows grief and she recognises that in thomas but there’s more to it than just grief. I think initially tom would try and push her away but..she’s not having any of that!

honestly idk if hair dye was actually a thing then?? so either gen darkens her hair as the seasons go on or...it’s more of a metaphorical thing. S1 gennie is brilliantly blonde, this wide eyes innocent little girl from birmingham who has absolutely no idea what she’s in for. By s5 gen has dark hair and it’s reflective of how her innocence has been tarnished by the peaky blinders as the years have gone on. She’s still an inherently good person, but s5 gen and s1 gen are two very different women.

#gennie asks #violent delights #gennie lock #thomas shelby #john shelby #grace shelby #ok i didn't answer all 50 because i am TIRED but you get the idea #i will do another drop soon :)

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little-wintry · 6 years ago

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So. This is Different.

((I’ll cut to the chase. I’m absolutely sick as a dog, but somehow I have enough inspiration to write something for my big WIP. Like, the big one, the series, the one I wrote three books for. Am I gonna write book 4 today? Probably not, but hopefully sometime soon. But, I really really really wanted to post this here [so maybe I can get a tad bit of validation] before going into a cough medicine induced coma and binging [bingeing? binge-ing? don’t fucking know man] buzzfeed unsolved. I will explain a few things below, since obviously context will be needed for this sad 3 1/2 page passage, but just know this isn’t your average Destiny Shit(tm).))

Before we begin, know that this is from my main WIP, Paladins, both a well-fleshed out fantasy series and a bit of a plot-mess sci-fi series. The character this is written in the perspective of, Jacklyn, is the Champion of a goddess, Mirsith. Unfortunately, said goddess also has an evil counterpart, Minsar, which recently was able to corrupt Jacklyn enough after the death of her brother. This lead Kata, Jacklyn’s wife, to go after her. This whole thing is the battle from Jacklyn’s point of view. Yes, it’s a little whack, yes, I’m crazy, but I’m throwing this out into the void for some validation and also im sick, have mercy on a poor dumb soul. And like, this is gonna sound weird, but spoilers I guess? I dont fucking know man maybe i’ll publish this someday and if someone somehow manages to come across this i don’t wanna be a dick.

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

There was a burning pain the back of her head.

It had been there for what felt like hours, now. Pulsing, biting, sending spikes of pain through her skull. She flinched with every wave of it, white spots dancing in her eyes.

Her body ached. It was as if she was stumbling through a dream, a dream heavy with smoke and heat and blood, less of a dream and more of an all-too-real nightmare. She was a whirl of blades, and anger burned hot in her chest.

Who was she angry at? She couldn’t remember. Her own sense of self was beginning to crumble, she was now nothing but a name that escaped her. Grief ran in her blood, grief for a face that was… close? Someone she knew, right?

She couldn’t remember them. Why was she grieving?

She was fighting a shadow. Not a Shadow, capital-S, the mindless servants that plagued this realm otherwise. But… a shadow, a memory, a faint silhouette against the web of storm clouds in the sky, and words, scattered and fragmented, filled the air.

She pinned the shadow down. Something about their figure, the subtle feeling of the way they fought and the way they almost seemed to try to calm her, it was… familiar.

Her dagger hovered above the figures chest. For a moment, it was all silent.

DO IT, a voice hissed in the back of her mind. She flinched. SHE IS AT YOUR MERCY, STRIKE DEEPLY INTO HER HEART.

She paused. The grief was beginning to vanish, the hot anger solidifying into a chunk of ice within her chest. Her mouth was dry, her muscles aching, and her heart, her heart was beating softly, as if it was beginning to… remember.

“N-No,” She whispered.

DO IT, YOU INSOLENT CHILD. SHE TOOK AWAY YOUR BROTHER, YOUR HOME, YOUR LIFE YOU ONCE WERE HAPPY WITH. SHE DESERVES TO DIE IN AGONY.

Lies. This voice, this consistent presence she was feeling, was lying to her, had been lying to her, this whole time. She could feel it now - the figure she had pinned was beginning to solidify, the words becoming clearer and clearer.

“Because I love you, and I always will-”

“No,” She said again, stronger. “She, she loves me. She cares about me, she’s my home-”

NO! SHE’S A VILE DEMON, A BLIGHT ON THIS WORLD-

“It doesn’t matter how much you hurt me because I know this isn’t the real you-”

Her hands were trembling now, and though she couldn’t see the figures face, she could picture it, perfectly in her mind. Warm, coffee brown eyes, onyx-dark hair. A smile that could chase away the worst nightmares.

“Kata-” She said, the name finally finding its way into her mouth. “Kata, I-”

STOP! The voice boomed. Her limbs screamed in pain, and her violence solidified, taking her over again. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the knife, but her eyes screamed with hot tears.

The figure - Kata, her wife - was still speaking, the words still echoing in her mind.

“I know for a fact, that when this is over, when we’re sitting at home and you’re back safe in my arms, you’re going to regret this. And I won’t even be mad, because I know you love me back, Jackie.”

Jackie, that was her, her name.

The world around her came into view. Desaturated, crumbling buildings, a treeline in the distance, and Kata, pinned to the ground, bloody and bruised, with tears drawing lines down her cheeks.

But her mind was not her own. She couldn’t move a muscle.

With every ounce of her being, every ounce of this newfound self and love, she stood. The knife vanished in her grasp. Opposite of Kata, there was a woman, black ram horns and a blood-red gown, scowling and furious.

You are Jacklyn Storm, a Paladin, a protector, a wife and a friend-

You are a queen, not a pawn.

Not a pawn in someone else’s game.

The woman with the horns - Minsar, a name she remembered, a name that filled her mouth with venom - still held some control, still tainted her words, but Jacklyn found just enough independence to speak.

“Maybe being a Paladin did teach me a thing or two,” Jacklyn said, turning. Her mind ran quickly, thinking of how to purge the influence in her blood.

As a Champion of Mirsith, Minsar can influence you as well. As long as Minsar’s magic is within you, Minsar will always be there. You know what you must do.

Jacklyn did. But the very thought of it made her feel sick.

She turned her back to Kata for a moment. “I’m sorry, love.” She looked down at her hand, bloodstained, but through that blood a faint light began to pulse on her right palm, a tattoo of a snake.

She turned, and watched as Kata sat up, and called her name.

Jacklyn could not listen. Her own power began to pulse inside of her, in time with her heartbeat. Somewhere, far from this realm, she felt a flicker of hope. And a flicker of fear.

She felt like, at any moment, the world could go out from under her, like her very consciousness could collapse. Her heart kept beating, faster, more and more energy surging within her like a thunderstorm.

You are Jacklyn Storm-

She remembered the first time she touched that Shrine.

A Paladin-

She remembered running into the midst of battle for her friends’ sake.

A protector-

She remembered her wedding and long, late night talks with Atalanta and Lupa, with the rest of her team sitting by her side.

A wife and a friend-

Her coronation. The tall white spires of Neptune and the throne with an amethyst inset into the headrest and her own crown, which she was sure sat on her dresser back home.

You are a queen-

Minsar’s rage was tangible now. The rage of an immortal, an insane one at that, who was now having all of her delicate plans thrown away in an instant.

Kata was standing now, trying to make her voice heard over the maelstrom of magic.

Far away, her friends were fighting a battle they could loose.

Far away, eight immortals were locked in cells.

But here, and now?

You are not a pawn in someone else's game.

A mortal, a single mortal, is writing upon the currents of time and doing what dozens of others before her could not.

Minsar ran towards her, a fistful of destructive magic in one hand. Kata screamed her name again, and Jacklyn had to ignore them all. Her entire body now, was alight with magic, and Jacklyn sent all of it out in one final shockwave.

#ho boy #yknow i might take this down later #i'll probably get embarrased #also yeah i wanna publish this #wip #not destiny #personal #writing

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priincesspacificaarchive · 6 years ago

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ntiitaniumxwill replied to your post “40) things you said when you met my parents crime au”

*kicks door down* oKAY SO i finally got around to reading this and my eyes teared up????? like for real?????????? i love this world and this AU has a special place in my heart and ive never even thought of dip's parents and i am............... Aghast at myself but u, my lovely and incredible wife, you are so AHEAD of me?????? i dont even know where to start. all of this is so beautiful, so detailed, the emotions , the atmosphere. i might be SCREAMING

*cue me flinching at the idea of a door being kicked down near me even tho i love this “meme”* i remember feeling almost numb writing it bc i was so worried about how i was going to write major’s parents. i didn’t want him to be too distant from them, but i wanted it to be obvious they were unaware of the situation. i wanted them to be unaware of everything that had happened after stan’s death. i wanted that awkwardness of meeting your bf/husband/whatever’s parents for the first time. i wanted there to be an obvious strain, an obvious change that no one was going to talk about bc “at least our boy came back”. i wasnt sure what i was going to do with them, everyone sees them so differently, i think. so i took a kind of middle-road approach, with them having instilled certain things in their children. i really was unsure of how i was going to handle the “killing blow” scene. i knew it was what i wanted to do w why they were visiting, but i wasnt sure how i was going to have their parents react. i’ve never lost a child, i’ve barely lost a loved one. i’m not very familiar w grief personally, so i was unsure how to paint these characters w it, especially since they’re still v static i think in general. women are p much biologically coded to be more willing to show emotions and to cry than men (it’s testosterone okay) so i knew i was going to have the mom cry. most of the men in my family go into some form of shutdown when they get overly-emotional so that’s what i went w for him. also i pulled the names out of my butt and didn’t realize the “ma” part of maggie, mabel, and mason until i was in the middle of that scene and had written it like five times. so that was completely on the fly. but this is honestly something i could’ve seen easily being tens of thousands of words one-shot material. i am so so so honored you loved them, bc i was so so unsure of them the whole time i was writing them. this whole drabble was new territory. i’d never written a “meet-the-parents” scene and have barely experienced any irl so i wanted to make sure it was the right amount of awkward/heart-warming/strained-bc-of-their-life-choices thing. i wanted so desperately for it to feel like major and lioness are almost emotionally detached from the whole thing, but i knew that even if major wasn’t dipper anymore, his parents would still inspire a small piece of what might be left in major. and lioness would be nervous for so many reasons and one of them would certainly be if they’d like her. if they’d think she’s the reason he hadn’t come home in so long.

again, i always see my writing in my head like a movie, and do my best to put that movie into words. the scene at the end, w them in major’s old room, i fought w the wording and pacing w it. i wanted it to feel like a time machine and a nostalgia trip and a little bit like a funeral all at once. i wanted it to feel like what a parent must feel to walk into their child’s room when they’re no longer there. i wanted it to be a mourning period, especially for pacifica, who mourns the loss of dipper more than almost anyone else. she loves major more than anyone in the universe, more than herself, but she will always, always miss the opportunity to know dipper. to fall in love with dipper. it’s not hers to regret, but she wishes so hard she could’ve known who that boy could grow up to be. what kind of man he could’ve become.

pls never worry about thinking about the parents. i almost never think about characters parents unless they’re important for plot reasons (like paz’s). i literally made them up as i went. i tried to take into account how old they’d be and then like, compared it to my own parents and grandparents and tried to hit an idea of what they’d do w their time. watching wheel of fortune and game shows like that is something we often do in the evenings at my one set of grandparents’ house so that’s where that came from. and then someone had give mabel even the idea of knitting so i thought her mother would be a good place (plus my grandma knits so. jacked that from her too).

also also also the whole “they can’t stay here” line of thought came from a fic i’d re-read recently and i knew that was the tone i was going for.

thank you so much for reading this and also babe i LOVE YOU and ALL THE SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT YOU’VE GIVEN ME OVER THE YEARS!!! YOU’RE ONE REASON I KEEP COMING BACK AND WRITING. THANK YOU!!!

as i mentioned i remember feeling numb writing it, and now when i read over it i feel distanced, like i’m watching from afar. i might revisit this and extend it or something bc as much as they’re static-feeling i love how i portrayed their parents and would love another opportunity to expand on them. it felt like such a big thing to tackle, bc i knew there needed to be so much written to even cover why they’d go back to california. at one point i thought maybe i’d put them in their teens and they’d be there for the tradition of introducing your partner to your parents. maybe it would be after they’re married and it’s a stop on a short honeymoon. i had a handful of ideas why, but i knew this one was the right pick as many times as i wanted to make it something else.

the “opening scene” of them in the car, in my head there’s no background muisc, maybe the rushing of the wind through open windows, but no music. i can hear something soft and melancholy and aching when they’re in major’s old room, when they look at mabel’s door is when it’d start probs. that sad full house violin music when major’s trying to tell them mabel’s gone. when he’s explaining why. (literally that track makes me cry every time) something soft but ultimately happy plays when they reunion begins, hitting a crescendo when maggie throws herself down the stairs to her son. a sort of sinister music when lioness and major are telepathically talking about what major’s done to his father’s mind.

gosh i might have to do more parts bc i can see them staying for at least a weekend if not an entire week just talking to the parents and helping them understand and cope.

i’m so glad u love it, wife, and i’m so thankful that you see the details, but ultimately i think i could’ve given even more and extended it even further. this is definitely a thing i’m open to writing more of.]

[edit: the scene where they tell them about mabel, paz mentions her empathy spiking. i’ve lowkey decided that she’s so connected to major that some of what’s given him his telepathy has sort of flowed into her, and because she’s taken on being major’s humanity, she’s extremely empathic, and the supernatural just enhanced it. so she actually feels what others are feeling. this allows her to be more aware of major’s emotional state, but also can be used to manipulate enemies and lackeys alike. she can’t manipulate their emotions, but she can use what she’s feeling from them to sway them one way or another. touching mr. pines in the scene where her body is screaming at her to be comforting could’ve been disastrous bc his emotions are running so high from less than a foot away that she already felt like she was grieving as hard as he was. she might’ve completely lost herself in his emotions if she’d touched him. it was kinda a last-minute decision in that scene but it’s an idea i like a lot. she probably wouldn’t start to develop it until she’s been with major for years.

so yeah that was supposed to be a subtle thing but idk how subtle it was so i’m explaining it all now.]

#tiitaniumxwill #[out of diamonds][ooc]

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freerebelmentality · 8 years ago

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For the love of music pt3 (final)

Word Count: 2,380

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“Yeah, I did and he told me you were out” You tell him looking away from the folk lore books

“Ye have quite the collection” He says while looking around and getting up from the chair to get a better look at the books.

“Thank you. Some of them once belonged to my brother” You tell him

Chibs saw that as an opening to ask about your family or just about your brothers anyway.

“He come around to visit often?” He asks in hopes you will answer him.

“No, they havent because uh they passed away a couple of years ago” You tell him while feeling the ache in your chest

“Sorry to hear that. How did they pass?” He asks while looking to you and feeling the hurt you have suffered. He has great understanding when it comes to loosing people you love.

You are about to answer him is when a book comes flying off the shelf and stops at a page, a quote by Leo Tolstoy.

“Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them” You pick up the book from the floor and read out the quote.

You go teary eyed and thank Sam for the inspiration. You see Chibs looking at you with great sorrow but you smile to him even though it doesnt look happy. You always remembered Franks quote about smiling after they passed and kept doing it ever since.

“I know this is going to sound crazy to you but um how they passed is. They saved the world from utter chaos with an end result of them dying while closing the gates of hell. Sam was originally suppose to do that but Dean got in the middle of it all and he died as well. We didnt know it was really going to end us but they did it while they told me to go and finally live the apple pie life. That they did it all for me and every single person on this earth” You say while remembering the things Dean had said before he took his last breath.

It was to late for you to say good bye to Sam because his injuries were so severe that he went quickly.

Chibs stood there getting teary eyed watching you tell him the dying last moments between you and the only family you had.

“I am truly sorry for your loss and really grateful at that” He says as he reaches over to place his hand on yours to give a gentle yet loving squeeze.

“I went down to Tacoma earlier today because after the things Juice has told me. He looked into your back ground” He admits while breaking the silence

“What did you find out” You ask while wiping the tears away.

“I have a brother in the Charter, he tells me he used to be a hunter until your brothers closed the gates of hell” He says while he hopes you wouldnt kick him out for going behind your back.

“His name is Jesse Cuevas, his husband is Caesar. Hes told me they have hunted with ye and your brothers. Supernatural beings. At first I thought he was crazy but made sense” He says while looking to you.

“Yeah, I remember him. We worked on a case together. He is a member now?” You reply while asking quickly

“Hes been a member for a couple years now. Most likely around the time your brothers passed” He says while getting up from the chair.

“Any more ex hunters who have joined the charter?” You ask out of curiosity

“No just him” He answers

“I’ve had enough of this chick flick moment. How about we go to the party thats happening at the club?” You ask while feeling better about opening up to him.

“Aye, feel like my balls turned into some fucked up looking pussy” The both of you laugh while you head up the stairs to change into something more suitable for a party.

“How do you know there is a party going on at TM?” He asks once you come down the stairs.

He loved how you looked in your outfit, showed all the right curves and how you hair just accented your face perfectly

“A friend of mine told me when she dropped me off to pick up the car” You answer him while grabbing his hand and leading him out the door.

He got on his bike and handed you a helmet. Once the bike came to life and roared down the street is when you loved everything about the motorcycle and now wondering if you should get one for yourself.

Once the both of you got to the club house is when you let loose right away. You didnt need to worry about anyone hitting on you because everyone knew who you came with. Juice looks to you and doesnt like that you are there. You walk up to him after downing the last of your Scotch.

“Its Juice right?” You ask while Chibs keeps an eye on you.

“Yeah” Is all he says and continues to drink his beer and ignore you.

“Dude what is wrong with you? You not like me or something?” You ask while you feel the Scotch burn your stomach knowing you are feeling a bit tipsy.

“Something like that” Juice says while turning his back on you.

“Well then, lets settle this once and for all. I saw a ring out there. Lets solve our problems the right way” You tell him while the guys look between you and Juice.

“I dont think that would be such great idea” Bobby says to you

“I can take care of myself” You tell him while walking away

“You wanna belt it out with me? In the ring? Sweet heart you dont stand a chance” He says looking to you with a serious expression on his face

“Lets see then” You tell him while leading the way outside.

Everyone around is in complete shock by the invitation but Tig couldnt help but pull together a pool.

He throws the first punch but that doesnt knock you down. You fight back, how Dean taught you to fight over the years and Sam always said you reminded him of Dean while fighting.

Juice got you a few times but not bad enough to leave your face puffy. You spit out the blood and fight back once more but never back down. You kept punching him left and right until you hit him really hard and he fell to the ground.

“Chibby I am getting incredibly turned on by your old lady” Tig says while his hand is against his belt buckle

You kept punching him until he wasnt able to fight back anymore. You kept going until someone pulled you off of Juice and you looked and it was Chibs. Everyone cheered as you won the fighting match. Everyone cleared out of the club house and went to their dorms to finish off the party and then some. All that was left in the bar area were you, Chibs, Bobby, Tig, Happy and Juice.

“Do I have your approval now?” You ask Juice while he is getting patched up by Chibs.

“Yeah. Where did you learn to fight like that?” He asks while spitting out blood from his mouth.

“My older brother taught me and when I went in well I had to fend for myself” You tell him while you did some time

“Oh my god, you hear that Chibby? She did time” Tig says while trying to contain himself from taking you to his dorm

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You ask looking to Tig

“Tiggy” Chibs basically growls out his name while he walks away and grabs a crow eater and to his dorm.

“Ye alright love?” Chibs asks as he places his hand under your chin to get a better look at your face

“I am ok now but wait till tomorrow when everything kicks in. I mean Im still pretty drunk and I know Im hurting but tomorrow is going to be a pain in my ass” You tell him while you take the cup of Scotch from Chibs hand and down the rest and handed him back the cup.

You downed the drink no problem while Chibs looks to you in complete amazement that you can handle your drinks. Another thing you got from Dean while growing up with him or just until you were old enough to drink on your own. You would dig into his stash from time to time and left enough for him not to notice anything is gone.

“How about that dinner you owe me?” You ask looking to Chibs

“Ye hungry?” He raises his eye brow

“I could eat” You reply with a smile

“I know a place that opens all night” He says while he helps you to his bike.

“Y/n?” Juice yells before the both of you walk out the door. You turn to see what he wants.

“Take care of my brother, hes a good man and he deserves the best” He says while Happy helps him to his dorm.

“Shouldn’t ye be saying that to me about er?” Chibs asks looking to Juice

“I know she can take care of herself but man you fight for shit at times” Juice says while everyone laughs and you share a chuckle as well.

You and Chibs park in front of a diner and walked in together. He led you to a booth by the window, he slid in while you did the same across from him. The waitress came by to take the drink order and meal order. You ordered a bacon cheese burger with fries along with a salad.

“The food I get because I dont want my brothers missing out on the things they liked” You tell him while explaining the food you have ordered. He looks to you with a puzzled expression.

“My brother Dean always got bacon cheese burgers and fries. Sam well he was the health nut and always got something with salad and all that other crap” You tell him while chuckling. He smiles while you love how his dimples show when he does.

“Understandable. Before Charming. Where did ye move from?” He asks while the waitress serves our drinks and coffee.

“Kansas, we had lived in this place that people forgot about. We were given the place by my late grandpa but we didnt know exactly where it was. Until we went to visit his friend that knew the place well” You tell him and tell the story about the men of letter bunker.

“So no one knows about this place?” He asks looking to you.

“No, not even the government. Only way you can find the place is coordinates” You tell him while the waitress comes back with food.

“Enjoy your meal” The waitress says and walks away back into the kitchen.

He got the stake and eggs. You looked to his plate and really wanted to pick from it.

“Ye have your own food” He says trying to swat your hand out of the way.

“Your food looks so good so I couldnt help it” You tell him while he chuckles.

He doesnt know when the last time he had this much fun, well during a meal course and he was feeling really comfortable with you and you made it easy. You and Chibs eat in harmony and you like the some what domestics that come along with eating at a table with another person.

“Is that everything?” The waitress comes back.

“Pie please, cherry would be good” You tell her while Chibs smiles to you and you knew Dean was very happy about that.

“Im guessing your brother likes pie too?” He asks after taking a sip from his coffee.

“Yeah he did and I always loved em to” You smile to him.

Chibs took you home while you grabbed his hand for him to come inside as well. He followed into the house and led him up the stairs. He hesitated for a while until you reassured him it was to sleep and nothing else. You liked the fact he is very respectable. In some ways he reminded you of Dean. In others reminded you of Sam and another that was very Chibs. He knew how to be vulnerable with you and thats the most incredible thing you have seen in a man.

Your brothers always hid their vulnerability because they always had this mentality to always be strong for one another, well Dean anyway. Sam on the other hand was more open with his feelings but at times he would hide too but you would know something would be there. You knew he would say something once you asked.

They always had to have this stoic and strong mentality around each other. And thats all you were used to. But with Chibs it was different and thats what you loved about the man. You knew something special is within Chibs and you wanted to find out what it was. You found it and you wanted to cherish it and be that person who he needs to lean on. You wanted to be his rock when shit hit the fan and you want him to be your rock as well.

Chibs couldnt believe how much you can handle yourself but living the life you have for so long. It made sense for you to learn how to defend for yourself, especially with the things you used to hunt. He understood the look in your eye of seeing nightmares. He thought it was crazy at first but remembering back to all those Scottish folk lore he has heard growing up made him believe that those stories were always told for a reason. Now that all the supernatural beings are gone, demons gone and now you finally get to live that apple pie life your brothers wanted for you. He is happy you wanted to live that life with him. He wants love you forever. You are his forever.

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