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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

Text

I feel, and it sucks

Pairings | Damon Salvatore x reader. Eric Northman x reader

Summary | after moving away from Mystic Falls, you finally return, and Damon is prepared to see you again. The only problem is, that you aren’t alone...

Warnings | includes angst, mentions of a breakup, sorta lead up to smut and mentions of it, blood play/kink, tiny bit of violence

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

He cared not for the lack of logic that ran through his mind. Not as he went towards your home, you had returned from your year long departure. Mystic Falls had been left in your rear view as you went to a place called Bon Temps.

As much as Damon wished to chase after you, he’d have crawled if he could, he respected your desire to leave everything behind, and move on. And that included him, the man that you had loved, and the one that was profusely enamoured in you.

But now, he had the opportunity to whisk you back into his immortal embrace, and forever be by your side, to protect you, and spend every waking moment with you. Stefan would call him sappy for his advances, but his brother’s opinion simply did not matter. He was so close to being happy again, and he couldn’t deny he was reeled in by the prospect.

Damon was eager to make you pancakes every morning, waking you up with the aroma of breakfast on a tray that he greeted you with in bed. Or even the simple excitement of watching your various expressions whilst reading twilight; ugh, he hated that book, but he would willingly endure its presence if that meant he could become wrapped up in you once more.

But he had to see you first, and get past that progression again. Whilst you had been gone, and in that other town, he had become lost. No amount of bourbon drinking, or hanging out with Ric, could fix his settled mood. He felt like a sinking stone, drowning in the deep end, and remaining on the bottom of the bed, until he was washed away, back to shore.

And your return had done just that; grounded him. He wouldn’t feign to admit his immediate reaction when he first found out you were to come back to your original home. First, he had been in utter disbelief, hardly taking Bonnie’s statement seriously when she informed him of the ordeal.

But then, she showed him the messages that had transacted between the pair of you, and how you were eager to see her again. Nothing of him was mentioned in the conversation, although he was sure that the witch and you had spoken over call sometime after your surprise reveal.

The lack of voicing of your prior breakup gave him some hope; you were willing to take him back. And that was a possibility that he safely held onto, finding it to be a net for him to fall down onto. However, the prospect of a net was like that of a rocking boat, it had an inability stay still when it held a weight, and that mass of pounds was him.

And he knew, as you left, the thought of you had attempted to pull you back, and force you to stay with the selfish power. But as the past had played out, you had not let it, and so you left him all alone, in the claws of the Grill, which was somewhere he found himself to be often in general, but more so after your transcending departure.

The curtains to your room swayed with the evening wind, and he found himself to be enticed by the sight of the open window. It hadn’t been an unusual occurrence for him to climb through the ajar square, and talk about your day, and thus, make it better by his simple appearance.

But, he was deceived. What a fool he had been to think that you had not moved on from little old him, for there was a tall legged man over the top of you, both of your chests bare, and your mouth viscously devouring the inclination of the others. You were oblivious to his accidentally snooping presence, too distracted by the estranged blonde that was now teasing his lips down your throat.

The sight had him freeze, but he was incapable of interrupting whence he watched the man’s teeth sink into the parting of the bottom of your neck and your warm shoulder. It was no man, instead, he was much like him; a vampire. There was a ample difference though, he would never hurt you.

To Damon, you were a treasure, not an edible treat. And it sparked a pulse of fear through his entirety as he watched you be drained by this vile creature. Perhaps he were a hypocrite, he had done the same to many people countless times, and still continued to do so. But the food was not being extracted by anyone, it was being pulled from your veins, and making its way into this stranger’s awaiting mouth.

You shut up as something, a familiar blur, came crashing against Eric, sending his form flying off from your own, the intruder and him ending up on the floor. To cover up and show some surprised decency, you pulled the sheet upon yourself, stretching your red printed neck to view the scene below.

Eric was recomposing himself, shooting immortal daggers towards the reckless, who was... “Damon?” Seeing him once more was inevitable, but the scene of it was a dread of yours. And here he was, in your bedroom, the circumstances with much difference than from what they used to be.

At the sound of his name, both the strapping vampires turned towards you with fixed frowns, both worn for their own reasonable purposes. Damon was studying you, and understanding the scene, now seeing that you had been open to the removal of your blood, and this stranger was with you in some kind of way that he was not a fan of.

And Eric’s, well, it was a combined factor of fury, that was directed at the raven haired and uninvited visitor, and confusion, as he attempted to put together pieces of the puzzle that he was missing. He presumed correctly that the two of you had previously known each other, and thus, his intrusion could be explained, or so he hoped.

There was a longing wrenching in his dead gut, that there was something more than a friendship between you and this Damon. He was far too well adversed with the tell of history, that the looks the pair of you were silently exchanging were anything but friendly.

From the get go, there was a smouldering charm that reflected out of Damon’s blue eyes, and your own showed a conflict of interests. But nevertheless, you straightened your back up against the headboard of the bed, and questioned him. “What are you doing here?”

The interrogative underlining to your voice stung like a bee, but the younger of the two vampires refrained from wincing. That would only show a weakness towards the new vamp in town, and that was not the aim of his game.

“Bonnie told me that you were back.” He thought it would be a simple and trouble free resolution, however, the other immortal presence in the room now told him otherwise. “And I thought this guy here was going to drain you dry? What’d you expect me to do, let some stranger kill you before I even have a chance to see you?!”

A prominent eye roll swayed from your foresight, and you cast a look to the other guy, as though you were talking silently with the newcomer. “He’s not a stranger, he’s my boyfriend.”

“Eric Northman.” He extended his hand frankly to your previous partner, attempting to draw a hateful truce between them. But instead, Damon whence he took the offer, attempted to squeeze the bejesus out of ‘Eric’s’ hand, which only ended in the result of his own bones being crushed.

That much informed him that this Northman was older, and that information alone served as a factual repercussion of him in turn being more powerful. This vampire wasn’t one to mess with, but who knew what he would do, after all, he was Damon Salvatore.

“Damon Salvatore.” He begrudgingly spoke through his clenched teeth, taking his broken and healing back into the safety of his side. “So, the boyfriend. Y/n, I thought you were done with relationships, more specifically, with vampires.”

“You sound like Caroline, bitching about my relationship choices. And the only sense that she spoke to me was to get out of this town and-“

“Shag another one of me.” He quirked his brow, and Eric breathed heavily. One thing he had picked up on, was that he didn’t like the way that this vampire was speaking to you. He was making digs, and making contradictions to all of your past statements. “I believe you even said that I would be the last one, and that isn’t in the same context. You wanted to spend forever with me y/n, not someone like this.”

“Listen here.” Eric hissed, prowling half naked towards Damon, his fangs slipping out from beneath his top lip. “I can see what’s happening here, you want her back. But it appears that she has moved on, so that is something that you’re going to have to suck up.”

“Suck up.” Damon childishly snorted, finding the pun hilarious in his state of mixed delirium. He felt everything, a sense of urgency to win you back, and great pain that was sinking into his age old skeleton. “I feel, and it sucks. But it’s fine, completely fine.” He waved his hand off, staring past the slim brute and finding a painful solace in staring at you. “No, he’s allowed to suck your blood, and what, you suck his dick in return?”

A shove sent him flying into the furthest wall, Eric holding him against it. “She’s mine.” It was a common description of a companionship between human and vampire. He had thought Sookie and Bill’s bond had been a foolish one, however, he met you, and his whole perception changed.

There was something about the collaboration of weakness and strength that worked so perfectly together. It was a true love, in rare occurrences . But the sheriff could feel that the myth was blooming in his own consideration. And he would not allow a young (in comparison to him), selfish specimen of his kind, ruin his chance at keeping that peace.

“She’ll never let you turn her.” Damon gulped, trying to look over the giant’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of you, whom was avidly watching the scene. “If you want forever with her, it will only last a minute, and it’ll kill you when she goes, because if you really love her, then I know it would to me too. She deserves to see the world in all her short life, to be treated like a queen, because she is one.”

Damon gulped, feeling guilty, knowing that as much as he wanted to give you that all, he couldn’t. He would not leave Mystic Falls, and that was what had ended your run in the end. His first priority, as admirable as that was, was to always shadow Stefan, and look out for his little brother.

But that gave him no life, which was exactly what you wanted with him. It didn’t matter if you were to one day become pruned and shrunken, the moment that you lived in was all you wanted. There were memorable tears held in your eyes, but you refused to allow a single one slip.

“Y/n has already agreed that one day, she will go through the change, for me.” Biting your lip, you could only imagine the dispersed appearance that struck Damon’s face. He had wanted forever with you, and instead, you had given it to someone else.

Slinking out from the shirtless man’s grip, Damon cautiously pushed Eric’s hands off him, walking to the window, and casting you a cold look. “I hope you enjoy forever y/n.”

And with that, he was gone in the night, presumably fleeing to annoy Matt until he drank half the bar. And thus, he was the one this time that departed instead, abandoning you, and leaving you in Eric’s claim.

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muresetivoire · 3 years ago

Text

Moony × Reader

Word count: 3577 words

Genre/Warnings: Fluff/Angst

If you want you can check out some more on wattpad (:

As I ran along the corridor, late for class, I bumped into someone with a loud ouch. "I'm so sorry" "Hey its no problem, let me help you," a soft voice responded. As I reached for my potions home work, a hand brushed mine. Remus John Lupin, my rival. The only person who's intelligence rivaled mine. The person who makes my life living hell. The sweetest gum-drop to everyone, loved by all. However, I'm not "all."

"Y/N?" he asked, looking at you with those big brown eyes. "I'm fine Lupin," I respond as I grab my book from his hand. "At least let me-" "I said I'm fine." He slowly gets up, and offers me a hand. I huff and shove it as I stand. "You know I was only trying to help y-" "I'll see you in class Lupin," and with that I storm off, leaving a very confused boy.

Now you're probably wondering, what makes one hate Remus Lupin, the sweetest guy, the glory of the marauders. Well let me tell you, not much.

My mother and his were the very best of friends, there by, we became best friends. Every holiday, every weekend, every opportunity we got, we were at the Lupins. Remus and I grew close. He shared his love for reading with me, a love I always had but never felt so confidence to share with him. From fantasy to romance, I read it all, but I never shared it with him. The vulnerability I felt knowing he'd see what I enjoyed, what I loved, what I wanted, it was too much. His mum told my mum about his "illness." He thought himself a freak, a monster. He would cry about it, the pain he felt, the embarrassment of scars. To me, he was all but an angel sent from heaven, beautiful and pure.

Before we began Hogwarts, we made a promise to never leave each other's sides, to remain best of friends, no matter the houses or the circumstances. As it turned out, we weren't sorted in the same house. Everyone was shocked knowing that studious Remus was sorted in Gryffindor while me, odd-ball and awkward, was sorted in Ravenclaw. At first we were both shocked, but we kept the promise.

Until one faithful day.

Now while I never shared my love for reading with him, I did share everything else. My love for baking, knitting and potions, you name it, he knew. We shared our darkest secrets with each other. He shared his insecurities about his scars, and me my insecurity about being "fat." We made plans to open a book/tea shop, he would supply the books and I the tea, obviously. He knew everything about me, except for my reading and I knew everything about him. And for that, I loved him, but he never loved me.

In the beginning of the first year in Hogwarts, in the middle of a potions class, we were presented with amortentia. Why we were presented with such a complex potion at such a young age, I couldn't tell you. Perhaps Professor Slughorn was feeling cheeky. I smelt him in it. I smelt the soft worn out pages of the books that he read, I smelt the roses he always grew, his chocolate he always carried and something entirely him. After class, we met at the lake, our place where we'd meet and study. As I approached him, he seemed really tired, as usual, and something I thought I never imagined he would posses, anger, raw and bitter anger.

"Hey Rem, you alright?" He turned to me with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. "Rem oh Gods, whats wrong?" I rushed towards him and slowly wiped his tears away. "Talk to me, please," I asked softly while I wiped all evidence of tears. He looked up at me, those beautiful kind eyes, eyes that held so much emotion but always the best ones. "I don't want to talk about it," he said batting my hands away. I awkwardly fixed my glasses, "Okay well whenever you're ready, you want to start studying for our potions exam?" I began to unpack my bag when he got up, fuming. "You know what, yeah I do want to talk about it" I sat up, completely confused. "Remus?" "Y/N how is it, the one person, the one person who hates reading, detests it, passes every exam without fail? And not just passes, but tops every class. How?"

I sat there gaping, "Well I-" "Don't lie to me, don't you dare." I stood up, a feeling of anger consuming me. "What do you mean Remus? I study just like you, just like everyone." He grunted and groaned, "Stop lying to me," he screamed, "I read everyday, I study all the time, and yet you, you get all the awards, all the academic glory" I feel myself begin to heat up and tears begin to form, tears I begged not to fall. "What do you want me to say Remus? That I cheat? That- That I use spells to make me remember? Is that what you want to hear?" He stares at me, his gaze hardening. "I'll give you one chance, and one chance only, tell me the truth." I step back, gaping, confused. "I already told you Remus, I do the same as you, I study." He looks to me and says in a tone I never believed he could conjure, "Fine, if that's what you want to tell me, don't talk to me at all." "Remus you can't be serious." The tears I tried my best to hold, began to spill furiously as his words made me crumble. "Y/N, I don't ever want to talk to you, I don't want to see you, I don't want to study with you and I sure as hell-" "I smelt you in the amortentia today," I blurt surprising myself. "You what?" "I smelt you, the chocolate, the roses, your books," I say sniffling. He laughs, a cruel sarcastic laugh, "Oh really? Me? You must be joking?" I stare at him, confused and hurt. "You think I'd ever smell you, or like you. Y/N you're bloody lying to me, I could never like, or for that matter, love someone as hideous as you." My eyes begin to gush now. How dare he? The one person I trusted, my best friend. "Remus you don't-" "Oh but I do," he said while he picked up his bag and looked at me. "What about our plans?" He looks to the school, "I could never work with someone like you Y/N, I've never disliked someone as much I dislike you now." He begins to walk to the school, "Remus wait I-" "Leave me alone forever Y/N, and don't come here anymore, I have other plans here, plans that don't include you." With that, he walked away, leaving me, my tears streaming, my glasses foggy and my heart broken.

So you see, I never really hated him, but I obliged to his wishes. We never met again, he hung out with his friends, James and Sirius and Peter. As for me, I hung out with the first person I spoke to in Hogwarts, Andromeda Black. Now, Andromeda and I are two very different people, but we shared a love for potions . She knew of my love for reading, she saw me reading on my first night at Hogwarts. We became quick friends, and she soon became my best friend. She's like a sister to me, but I never did tell her about Remus.

After I left Remus on the corridor, I ran and met Andromeda in potions. "Hi dearie, saved me a seat?" She laughs and moves her bag. "Students, please note, today we will be brewing potions in pairs," the class sighs, "pairs that have already been chosen." I sigh loudly. "Cmon its not that bad, you could be paired with that cute Hufflepuff guy." We laugh softly. Remus and another guy run in and swiftly sit down. Professor Slughorn begins to call the list of pairs. "Andromeda Black and Xenophilus Lovegood," with that Andromeda groans and gets up. "Y/N Y/L/N and Remus Lupin," and my mouth fell open.

Remus came to my seat and we began to collect and prepare the potion. No one knew the potions name, only its ingredients. However, these ingredients seemed familiar but it never clicked. I felt his eyes stare through me. From the first year to the fifth year, my body didn't really change, I still remained a "fat girl" but hey I grew some boobs. Does he still think I'm hideous, I thought. I shake my head and we work in silence. "So how are you Y/N" he asks softly. Those beautiful innocent eyes stare right through me. Nope, not happening. "I'm fine Lupin" "Quite the tumble you took today, I-" "Let's just finish this okay?" He shakes his head and we work in silence. He seemed, nervous? Sad? Distressed was the word. After finishing the potion, we all gathered at the front. Dread began dawn on me as I fit the puzzle pieces together. "Now, who can tell me the name of this potion hmm?" "Amortentia , sir," I say in a soft voice.

"And Y/N can you tell me what happens when you smell this potion?" "You smell things that you like sir," I answer shakily. "Very good Miss Y/L/N, please, do us the honours of smelling the potion first." Dread fills me, but I still walk towards his desk. Please, I silently beg, please. "Well Y/N what do you smell?" I inhale the the aroma. "I smell- I," I gulp, "I smell roses, chocolate a-and books." Professor Slughorn applauded and awarded Ravenclaw 20 points and I return to my original place. I feel his eyes on me, but I only feel pain. After four years, how can I? As class is dismissed I begin to rush outside, but he grabs my hand. "Y/N please wa-" "Let go of me Lupin" "Y/N, please I-" "Lupin let go of me," I hear my voice break with emotion. He hears it too and let's me go.

Later that evening, at the brink of dusk, I sit in my room reading. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, a favourite of mine, and one of Remus' too. I sighed and stared out the window. Its been four years Y/N, pull yourself together. Those four years were one of the most brutal years. Thank goodness for Andromeda, without her I'd be so lost and defeated. After that day where Remus and I fought, he moved on well, he was constantly surrounded by his friends and well I, I was alone. I spent my time helping Madam Pomfrey. I learnt how to conjure spells to fix injuries and how to fix bones and so on. Although Remus and I stopped speaking, I never told anyone about his "illness," but I did help make the potion to control it, Madam Pomfrey taught me how to. He didn't know this either, not that he'd care or want to talk to me or- Pull yourself together Y/N, he forgot about you, he kept his promise and you did too. I sighed and began to turn in for the night, my mind racing.

To say I avoided Remus for the next week was an understatement, I ran from him. I spotted him the corridor, I ran the other way. Saw him in class? Sat away from him. Saw him in the library or lake? I'd be gone before he could say quiditch. It hurt, but I needed to do it, our last conversation played in my head over and over again. I couldn't bear his venom again, but I missed him, but could I manage without him? Hell yes.

On the Sunday that week, I walked down the stair well of my common room, wearing a fluffy sweater and cozy joggers. It was exactly midnight and I'd gone avoiding Remus perfectly. The heavy monsoon of October interrupted my sleep, but otherwise the school was sound. I crept down and checked for anyone. No one, lovely. Now I know what you're thinking, Y/N what on earth are you doing? Its bloody midnight. Well, I'll tell you. I was going to read. Due to my hectic schedule and lack of free periods, I spent most of the day working. But at night, it was the only time I read. I grabbed my wand and made my way to the library, my footsteps muffled by the pitter patter of the rain.

As I reached the library, I sighed in relief. No hiccups on the way, thankfully. However, the scent of chocolate lingered in the air. I tensed but brushed it aside, he was here today Y/N, I said to myself. I shook my head and began to search for a new book. I gently tapped my wand against a lantern and held it. Tonight was a mellow night, I wanted some excitement, a bit of comfort. I sighed, laughing to myself as I grabbed Pride and Prejudice from the bookshelf. I made my way to my reading nook, a cozy little spot, very hard to find, between the ends of the furthest bookshelves. As I read, my eyes became droopy. Five minute won't kill me, I convinced myself. As my eyes grew heavy and began to shut, a loud crash jolted me awake.

Who on this bloody earth would be in the library at this hour, I thought to myself. I extinguished the lantern and hid between two bookshelves. I held my breath and counted silently as I heard footsteps approaching. I exhaled slowly as I heard them fade away slowly. I stood up and sighed, picking my book from the ground, making my way back to my nook. Or I would have, if it weren't for the hand that grabbed me.

I spun around and was promptly shoved against the bookshelf, a warm lean body pressing into my cold soft one. They covered my mouth but I saw no hand, their other hand trapping my hands above my head. They slowly removed their hand from my mouth, and removed their cloak. The warmest brown eyes, eyes filled with emotions I've only read about, met mine. "Remus," I exhaled in a mix of shock, hurt and relief.

He stared at me, those big thoughtful eyes watching my every move. He took his hand and fixed my glasses that slipped down. "Hi Y/N," he said softly. My heart caught in my chest and my throat felt thick with emotions. "Let go of me Lupin," despite me being a larger girl, Remus was still stronger, by a lot. "Cmon Lupin, let me go, I'll leave and you can have your private time," I begged looking into those beautiful hazel eyes. "If I let go," he whispered softly, his breath tickling my ear, as he leaned in,"will you let me talk for a minute?" My heart hammered, "Yes." He slowly let go of my hands and stepped back. I sighed with relief, and then shoved him and ran.

I ran out the library, down the hall. I heard him calling my name but my tears that streamed my face answered why I couldn't stay. After four years, I never did stop loving my- the big goof. I reached the end of the corridor and ran onto the lawn, a stitch forming in my right side. I gasped as I felt myself begin to freeze in the cold rainy night. Bloody twit used a hex on me. He approached me with a vigor and I stared at him, tears streaming, and my heart hurting.

"What the hell Remus, let me go," I gritted as I tried to move. He took my wand away and held it. "Look, I just want to talk, I'll let you go but please, please listen to me," he pleaded. How could I ever say no to that beautiful boy? I nodded as best as I could and he unfroze me, my wand still in his hand.

I stared at him, my tears flowing in torrents, just like the rain, "What do you want Remus? I did as you asked, I left you alone," I shout over the boom of thunder. He looks at me and I saw tears flowing down his face too, "Tell me the truth Y/N" "Remus I di-" "No Y/N, tell me why you wake up every night, why you sneak off to the library every night." "I-Remus b-" "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice cracking, "You made everyone believe you were uninterested, bored by reading. You lied to me," I sobbed. "I didn't want you to-" "To what Y/N to judge you?" he stepped closer to me as the rain and soaked our clothes. "To what, think you a nerd? Like me?" "No I-" "Y/N is that really what you think of me, well than-" "I lied because I couldn't let myself be vulnerable around you," I say as I sob looking away, "Remus, I- I didn't want you to see what I liked or what makes me cry, or angry or happy," I sniff as thunder booms, making us both jump. "Then why did you tell Andromeda?" I gape at him, "Yeah why?" I felt my anger build up, "She found me reading one day Lupin, I don't have to explain myself to you," I huffed as I began to walk away. "I smelt you, in the amortentia," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion.

"In our first year, I smelt you," he said, stepping closer to me,"I smelt green apples, like your perfume, cookies, like what we baked, and books. Books." I stand staring at him but he continued. "I smelt you but you never told me about how you read, why you'd come to class tired, or why you stayed up all night. I thought you trust me Y/N" "I did Remus and I do," I cried, "I just couldn't afford to be vulnerable around you." "Wh-" "Because I love you Remus," he stared his mouth ajar, "I've always loved you Remus, I love that you trust me, that you showed me everything, your likes, dislikes, loves, hates, the good and bad." The thunder boomed but I continued, "I didn't tell you because I was scared Remus, it felt like sharing a piece of my heart with you, and I didn't know if I wanted to share so much, knowing that you didn't love me." I sob miserably as tears flow slowly down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry Y/N, I never meant to hurt you," he cried stepping closer to me,"I know what I said that day, and I've never forgiven myself for it," he said as be wiped his eyes, the thunder rolling. "I'm sorry and I know I hurt you, I thought you hated me," "Remus I-" "I thought you hated me and preferred Andromeda to me." "Rem, you were my best friend, and I loved- I still love you," I admit, defeated, "I didn't want to show you everything, I didn't want you to hate me." He holds my hands and intertwined our fingers, "How could I hate you when you're my love?" he asked, as he crashed his lips to mine.

My eyes widened but I slowly melted into his embrace. He dropped my hands and pulled me in gasping softly. His hands wrapped around my waist and mine, tangled in his chocolate locks. I never felt such passion, such emotion, emotions I only read about. I felt tingling sensations stretch across my body but his touch soon soothed it. He pulled away slowly, both of us gasping for air. "I've always loved you Y/N," he said as he pulled me close, his hands wrapped around my waist,"I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm so-," I silence him kissing him softly, "It's okay Rem, I would have probably gotten mad too," I said sniffling. He chuckled stroking the small of my back. "Well, I think of a way I can make it up to you." "Oh?" I sniffle as I look at my beautiful boy. "Y/N, you are the love of my life, I love, love, love you," he holds my chin and and makes me look up at him. Raindrops and tears mixed and fell down both of our faces. "Be my girlfriend, and maybe one day-maybe one-," I kiss him and he sighs, relieved. "Yes Rem, I'll be your girlfriend."

He hugs me and kisses my forehead. We hold hands and walk in the rain, talking and laughing. "So how on earth did you know that I read in the night?" I ask him. He laughs and pulls us into the corridor, sopping. He shows me the marauders map and explains it. "I'm sorry I spied on you," he apologised blushing. He held my hand and led me back to my common room. When we reached, I turned to him. "Thank you for the walk Rem, I'll see you in class today?" He smiles his signature gorgeous grin, "How about we skip today?" I laugh and I kiss him, "Whatever you want Rem, Whatever you want."

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carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory · 4 years ago

Text

How I Became an Archaeologist

If you had told me when I was 15 that I would spend my life as an archaeologist, I probably would have been pretty surprised. I didn’t grow up knowing a great deal about archaeology or even being fascinated by arrowheads. At that time, I might well have asked what an archaeologist really is and what one actually does. I did get to visit the Parthenon and other ruins while on a trip with my aunt when I was sixteen. Even then, I don’t remember having more than a casual interest in what could be learned from these places. I was more interested in the living people and the new food dishes I encountered on that trip, which was my first trip outside the United States.

From talking to other archaeologists, I’ve learned that there are a lot of paths to deciding archaeology is going to be your life’s work. In my case, what led me to archaeology was anthropology, and specifically an elective course I took in the Fall of my senior year in high school that was taught by a Ph.D. student at the University of Massachusetts. Until then I had not been a serious student, although I did well enough in school. Perhaps I was slightly bored by most of my courses, but anthropology was anything but boring! It looked at people elsewhere in the world and over great periods of time. Many of these people lived different lives than my friends and I did, and they sometimes thought very differently about what was important in life than people here in the United States. I was fascinated, and, honestly, I particularly liked the fact that the conventions of American society, which to my teenage self were sometimes a little confining, weren’t after all the only sensible way to approach life. That year, as I chose a college to attend, I specifically looked for anthropology programs. I chose Beloit College in Wisconsin, which to this day has an excellent anthropology program.

Initially, I thought that I was most interested in cultural anthropology, but like most anthropology departments in the United States, Beloit required its anthropology majors to take courses in biological anthropology, linguistic anthropology, and archaeology as well as cultural anthropology. These are what are known as the four fields of American anthropology and together, they give us a more complete picture of humans in both the past and the present. Most people focus their careers in one subfield or another, though we recognize the importance of each one for understanding humans, and in most cases in North America our degrees are in anthropology not one of the subfields. In college, I found all these courses more fascinating than anything I had studied before, and I actually became a good student as I explored anthropology. I was learning so much neat stuff! I also did volunteer work in the Logan Museum at Beloit, which was founded at the end of the nineteenth century and holds some pretty amazing ethnographic and archaeological collections. It was there I first became interested in artifacts and learned to clean and care for them. After a college internship in cultural anthropology convinced me that cultural anthropology was not the most interesting part of anthropology after all, I began to focus on archaeology. I was most intrigued by my courses in Mesoamerican archaeology and North American archaeology, which before college had been completely unknown to me.

When I graduated from college, I still wasn’t sure what I would do with my life. I worked for about two years both in social work and as a tax auditor for the IRS, but decided in 1974 to try graduate school in archaeology because I still found what archaeology had taught me about past people compelling. I lived in Chicago, so I enrolled in the Ph.D. program in North American archaeology at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois.

My graduate self in the late 1970s. Photo credit: Phillip Neusius

The biggest shock of graduate school was my professors’ almost immediate insistence that I pick what research I wanted to do. They pushed me to develop an expertise or skill within North American archaeology through my research. It sounds obvious to me now, but I think many beginning graduate students are like I was, lovers of the discipline’s knowledge, but a bit daunted by becoming an independent researcher. Developing an area of focus and specialty skills is part of becoming a professional archaeologist. One reason for this is because contemporary archaeological undertakings rely on teams of researchers, each contributing special skills and knowledge to accomplish the many aspects of excavation, analysis, and interpretation. If you envision archaeology as the solitary pursuit of an elusive artifact or site, you don’t have the picture quite right. Think instead of archaeological fieldwork involving groups of scientists working together to discover and carefully record many different bits of evidence about what the world used to be like and what people did in it. Also think about the many hours these scientists and others will spend not only in the field, but in the laboratory after an excavation is completed cleaning finds, describing artifacts, and analyzing data in order to make meaningful interpretations.

For someone like myself, who loved all aspects of anthropology, not to mention archaeology, and who had only gradually settled on North America as my geographic focus, picking a focus on entering graduate school was a hard task. There was so much that would be interesting to study! However, I did remember especially enjoying a research paper I had done in college on the relatively new interdisciplinary field of zooarchaeology, so under pressure, I told my professors I wanted to pursue this subfield in graduate school. Amazingly, this turned out to be a good choice of specialization for me. I found that I really love to work with collections of animal bone. For me, opening a bag of bone refuse from a site still is exciting. Bone identification work is a little like doing a jigsaw puzzle without all the pieces. It is challenging, and it takes concentration and careful observation to piece together what you can. There is so much to figure out about any single piece of bone! What animal is it? How healthy was the animal? What part of the animal’s body is it? Has it been burned or cut? How was the bone buried and changed after the humans were done with it? Then you have to record this information so it can be combined with other observations on the assemblage of bone you are looking at. After identification, making sense of what a collection of the bones means and correlating these kinds of data with other information from a site and region requires careful analysis, but also insight and creativity. To me it is endlessly fascinating.

Besides finding that I liked the work, choosing zooarchaeology was also serendipitous since my professors were looking for a student to work with them on this aspect of a big project they were undertaking in west-central Illinois centered on the Koster site, which was first inhabited more than 9000 years ago and then reinhabited by people right up into modern times. Most importantly the poorly known Archaic Period levels were numerous, well-preserved, and distinct from each other so we could add a lot of new information through our work. For my dissertation I was able to look at the animal remains from levels of this site dated between approximately 8500 and 6000 years ago, which represent how people used animals at that time.

Koster site strata. All those dark layers are from Archaic period camps at the site. Photo credit: Del Bastian, Center for American Archaeology.

Graduate school was intense, but I continued to be fascinated by archaeology’s ability to tell the story of people lost to standard Western history. In those days I was excited to be part of this science that could do so much more than describe and take care of cool artifacts. It was a heady thing to learn that I could contribute to what was known about people who lived thousands of years ago. In later years, I’ve had to think more critically than I did then about what a privilege it is for an archaeologist to learn about the history and lives of other ethnicities. Today’s archaeologists recognize their responsibility to present information about past people for both scholarly and public use in ways that are sensitive to what is considered sacred and private by the descendants of those people. I think this is an important change in perspective, but in the 1970s most archaeologists just wanted to show that people’s stories from the past could be told using the techniques of archaeology. I certainly was happy, if a little naively so, to have found a way to contribute to telling the human story.

If I consider entering graduate school as the start of my professional career as an archaeologist, I have been pursuing this career for more than 45 years! Over the years I have done zooarchaeological and archaeological work in the American Midwest, Southwest, Southeast, and Northeast working on telling the story of people who lived as long as 9000 years ago and as recently as the Sixteenth century. I’ve worked at several universities, in a small museum, and on small and large archaeological projects in the field of Cultural Resource Management (CRM) doing archaeological survey, site excavation, and zooarchaeological identification and analysis. I’ve written scholarly papers and articles as well as a textbook on North American archaeology. However, beginning in the late 1980s, I spent more than 31 years doing research and teaching anthropology and archaeology here in Pennsylvania at Indiana University of Pennsylvania. In this job I taught both undergraduates and graduate students, but, as is typical of university professors, I also spent time doing fieldwork and analysis as part of my research while at IUP. Fortunately, because archaeology is a team undertaking, I’ve been able to involve many students in my research. Working with students in research as they discover what fascinates them has been a highlight of being an archaeologist for me. I’ve now retired from teaching but not archaeology. I’m still working with both physical and digital archaeological collections both through CMNH and elsewhere and writing about archaeology. Who knows what this career still will bring me!

Drawing a profile at the Johnston site with one of my students in 2008. Photo credit: Erica Ausel, IUP Archaeology.

Tracking down a bone identification with one of my students in the Zooarchaeology Lab at IUP. Photo credit: Beverly Chiarulli.

If you are reading this blog because you are thinking about archaeology as either a career or a hobby, I hope you realize that mine is just one story among the many that could be told. Because there are so many aspects of archaeology, people come into it from all sorts of backgrounds and because of all sorts of interests. I think that it is important to remember though that it really is about understanding people and telling their stories through the artifacts and other evidence we find. This is what interested me in archaeology in the first place. Discovering the details of the human story is a giant undertaking. There is no shortage of research problems or work to do, but solving the puzzles presented by sites and collections is both challenging and fun. I’m certainly glad I decided to become an archaeologist and zooarchaeologist so many years ago!

Sarah W. Neusius is a Research Associate in the Section of Anthropology at Carnegie Museum of Natural History and Professor Emeritus, Department of Anthropology, Indiana University of Pennsylvania. Museum employees are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

Definitions of Bolded Terms

anthropology -the study of humans including the physical, cultural and social aspects in the past and present.

cultural anthropology - the study of the cultural aspects of humans especially recent and contemporary social, technological, and ideological behavior observed among living people.

biological anthropology – the study of the biological or physical aspects of humans, including human biological evolution and past and present biological diversity.

linguistic anthropology - the study of the structure , history, and diversity of human languages as well as of the relationship between language and other aspects of culture.

archaeology - the study of past human behavior and culture through the analysis of material remains.

ethnographic – relating to the scientific description of people and cultures especially customs and beliefs.

Mesoamerican archaeology - the archaeology of the area from central Mexico southward through Belize, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, and northern Costa Rica.

North American archaeology - the archaeology of the area from central Mexico northward throughout the United States and Canada.

zooarchaeology – a subarea of archaeology involves the identification of animal remains from archaeological sites and investigates the ecology and cultural uses of the animals represented.

assemblage - a collection of artifacts from the same archaeological context.

Archaic Period - a time period from approximately 10,000 BP to 3000 BP that is recognized in most of North America.

Cultural Resource Management (CRM) – an applied form of archaeology undertaken in response to laws that require archaeological investigations.

archaeological survey – the systematic process archaeologists use to locate, identify, and record archaeological site distribution on the landscape.

#Carnegie Museum of Natural History #Archaeology #Zooarchaeology #Archaeologist

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softykooky · 4 years ago

Text

sanctuary: six

summary: leaving your father was easy. leaving them? well...that’s a different kind of strength. 7.9k words.

genre: mafia au, fluff, major angst

pairing: ot7 x reader

warnings: toxic and dysfunctional familial relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (physical and verbal), swearing, ptsd & trauma, poor mental health, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks, reader goes to therapy, hurt, argument/yelling, the boys are mean...

author’s note: i made you guys wait long enough hehe :) hope you like it, please let me know what you think! and please take notice of the warnings!! they are there for a reason <3

♡ series masterpost ♡

Your nightmares have gotten better...somewhat. Better in the sense that you don’t let them carry over as much to the next day. Better in the sense that now, there are seven smiling faces that greet you every morning to help the fear dissolve. But they still relent as strong as ever, and make you toss and turn every single night with no pity.

They’ve gotten more frequent since that meeting with your father. More vivid. Some nights, your nightmares are so bad that you just end up migrating over to Taehyung’s room right next to you and sleeping on the edge of the bed (though you just end up wrapped around each other in the morning). Taehyung never bats an eye. Only opens the side of his thick duvet for you to crawl into and flicks on a lamp because he knows you don’t like the dark after a nightmare.

Tonight is no different. From the other side of the wall, Taehyung can hear your pained whimpers and mumbles that he can barely make out. Your sheets rustle as your body protests the vivid dream, and he can’t help but to bolt out of his comfortable position to check up on you. You’re still deep in restless sleep when he opens the door and approaches your bed.

“Y/N, sweetheart, please wake up”, he soothes, caressing the side of your face with one hand. “It’s just a dream.”

The yellowing bruise on your cheek has begun to fade, but it still makes their blood boil every time they catch sight of it. Seeing it right now makes Taehyung want to burn the entire city down and your father along with it. But he is here for you. And Taehyung (and the other six) cannot be anything but soft towards you.

“Baby, wake up”, he says again, louder this time and it makes you begin to stir out of sleep. You quiet at the contact of his skin but your eyes remain closed and that fitful frown is still on your face. Taehyung doesn’t know that his mere presence brings you comfort. Even when you’re not conscious.

He takes the authority to nestle under the covers next to you and it’s as if your body just naturally gravitates to his, tucking yourself into his arms like a linking puzzle piece. It’s a selfish reason, and Taehyung doesn’t want to tell anyone, though he has a feeling the guys already know and also share his belief. But he secretly treasures the moments that he gets with you, even if it is for a heartbreaking reason such as nightmares.

He loves the feeling of your body next to his, and the blankets that get just a little too overheated because the both of you are human furnaces. He loves the gentle thud of your heartbeat on those nights that he holds you closer than normal, when you shake like a leaf through your dreams and he is your tether to the ground.

And to think, just a while ago he was yelling at you from the other side of the wall, complaining about your loud crying. He wants to go back in time and kick himself. Taehyung’s scared. He’s never really cared for someone like this before.

You are already safely stowed away in his wide chest when a shadow walks by the room. Taehyung is not surprised when Yoongi creaks the bedroom door open, and not surprised when he sees Jimin in tow.

“We heard her all the way from upstairs.” Yoongi mutters through a yawn. Jimin just sighs and looks at your sleeping figure with concern and longing. The two men shuffle into the room and as Jimin lifts up the blanket to flank your other side, Yoongi sets himself at the foot of the bed. Not that any of them lacked space, of course. The boys made sure your room was properly equipped with a large California king.

“It’s been getting worse. I don’t know what to do. I want to help her, but I-”

Taehyung finds himself getting choked up through his words. They all feel the same way. It’s just that there’s been too many nights where he’s had to hold your broken pieces together while you scream out the ghosts of what has happened to you. If it’s too much to bear for the seven of them, looking from the outside, they can’t imagine how it must feel for you.

Jimin reaches over, your body nestled between the two of them, and inserts his hand inside Taehyung’s, caressing the thumb back and forth of his skin.

“I guess all we can do is be here on the nights that are difficult.” Yoongi tilts his head so that he’s looking at you, still drifting off in your dream with a pained expression on your face.

“She’ll get through this. She’s strong.”

The words that Yoongi whispers into the night air of your bedroom are hopeful. Uncharacteristic for a man like him, but when it comes to you, optimism is the only choice. He’ll allow himself to have hope if it’s for you.

The four of you fall back into shallow sleep, and time passes by differently when it’s night time and your bones cry for rest. They fall in and out of consciousness for a minute or a couple hours, none of them are sure. All they can focus on is their worry, and you continue to battle through your war of bad dreams. Jimin and Taehyung awaken again when you begin to stir.

You quiver like you’re cold, even when you’re sandwiched in between two warm bodies and they both snuggle in to hold you even closer. But you remain lost to your nightmare and begin to cry tears that drip down and dampen the fabric of Taehyung’s pajama shirt. He knows you’ll apologize profusely for that in the morning, but he couldn’t give less of a damn about his shirt. The feeling of you crying in his arms makes him feel like an utter failure.

Jimin wipes away the wet trail that the tear left behind on your skin, and wants to cry himself. He doesn’t know how to take your pain away, and wants to scream because sleep is the only time where you can truly rest and the universe deprives you of even that.

“I’m so sorry, princess. We’re here.” He whispers to your unhearing ears. “We’ll be here.”

When your cries begin to get loud and your muttering becomes pained, the door is softly opened again. This time, it reveals a wide-awake Jungkook and a not so awake Hoseok. Yoongi rolls his eyes but can’t help the fond smile that paints his lips.

“Jungkook, I told you to stop staying up so late playing video games.” he whisper-scolds, and Jungkook looks sheepish in the lowlight of your bedroom. They’re not surprised by his late night antics by any means, and they’re also not surprised that he abandoned them to check up on you. They all know Jungkook has an unreasonably tender spot for you.

“Is it her dreams again?”, Hoseok says, pure worry leaking out of every word and staring at your impossibly small self in Taehyung’s hold. There’s no annoyedness in his tone. They’re all just deathly concerned about you.

Pushing Hoseok inside the room and quietly closing the door behind him, Jungkook situates himself on the loveseat next to the bed, while Hoseok just plops on the plush rug, snatching a throw pillow and tucking it under his head. Jimin sweeps a stray hair away that had fallen into your face.

Though they’re all trying to close their eyes and sleep, they all know that tonight will be a restless one. If you are not peacefully sleeping, they won’t be able to either. And it seems that that statement applies to all of them, when not even 10 minutes pass until Namjoon and Seokjin make their way to your bedroom, for the same reason as the other five. They wordlessly set out pillows and blankets on the floor beside your bed, nestling into each other for warmth and hoping that you can feel their sincerity even in sleep. And if anyone could see them now: big, bad mafia bosses cuddling together to help you through a night of bad dreams, Bangtan would force them to sign non-disclosure agreements. For you though, they could do this for hundreds of nights.

When all seven are there, you miraculously slumber peacefully through the night. For the first time since Taehyung crept into your room, you are resting comfortably, quiet and undisturbed. And when you start snoring, Taehyung wants to cry with sheer relief. It was as if your subconscious vied for the presence of all the boys, and now that you have it, they finally allow themselves to drift off as well.

The last thing you expected when you woke up this morning was to be dripping in sweat and much too aware of the extra three bodies on the bed with you. Ones you don’t remember going to sleep with last night. You have no recollection, just remembered that you went to sleep alone and now the seven men you’ve grown far too fond of were in the room with you, still snoozing the day away.

At the foot of your bed, Yoongi stretches his limbs and groans when the sunlight peaks through the curtains into his eyes. He squints away the sleep and smiles dopily at you from under a blanket. Hopefully he doesn’t notice the way you practically melt at just his gaze.

“Morning, sweetheart.” His throaty morning voice makes you blush two shades of red.

“Good morning”, you whisper back, not wanting to wake any of them up. They just look so adorable and so completely exhausted. Yoongi bets that all of them would rather forfeit their positions as mafia bosses before telling you it’s because they stayed up all night worrying about you. “Um…”, you murmur, eyes darting around the room, “why are you all in here?”

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to admit how whipped they actually are for you.

“You were...having bad nightmares. So we wanted to come make sure you were okay.”

Your eyes widen at Yoongi’s confession, and it reminds you of when Namjoon had done the same for you all those nights ago. It makes your heart ache and bloom at the same time because well..no one’s really cared enough to do something like this for you. Something so simple yet significant. You blink away the mistiness in your eyes, looking around the room once again.

Three of them are on your bed. The rest are distributed across the floor and Jungkook’s slung uncomfortably on a chair. When you look back at Yoongi, it seems like he already knows all the thoughts running through your head. He already knows the words you want to say, but don’t know how to articulate.

“We’ll do this every night if we have to, Y/N. For as long as it takes.”

You leap from your spot under the blankets to wrap Yoongi in a bear hug, burying your face in his shoulder as he buries his in your hair. Though you are overheated from the cuddling and still dazed from sleep, you hold him with as much sincerity as you can muster. You have a feeling he can tell when he holds you back just as warmly.

The movement makes Jimin and Taehyung wake in unison and as they rub the fatigue from their eyes and land on the sight of you perfectly swathed in Yoongi’s arms, the two of them think it’s a sight they could get used to waking up to. They wonder if you feel the same way.

“Thank you.” Your words are airy and light in his ear, but Yoongi knows their true weight. He doesn’t say anything. Just plants a soft kiss on the side of your temple and relishes in the scent of your shampoo.

When he stares past your shoulders, he meets the gaze of Jimin and Taehyung, who are fondly peering at the two of you. Years of being with each other, they’ve learned to communicate certain things without having to say anything. And right now, in the gentle morning light, the realization is beginning to seep in.

Perhaps the way they care about you is more what they had expected.

Living with the seven of them is an adjustment. Getting accustomed to a rhythm and routine in a house that’s the headquarters of an underground powerhouse is easier said than done. You were constantly surrounded with uncertainty and tiptoeing danger but you had never felt unsafe. They were there. And as long as you had them, this house was sanctuary.

You’re not in any immediate danger. Your father had basically agreed to leave you alone for the foreseeable future and the media had begun to calm down. However, when the tides have settled, the boys are able to see you up close and personal and at all the ugly scares you’ve tried to hide from everyone. They’re able to see what those years of trauma has done to you.

Whenever someone’s voice booms too loudly across the mansion, yelling orders at subordinates or for any other reason, you start to quiver like a leaf in the wind. When one of them reaches towards you too quickly, for simple things like a wave or to hold your hand, you can’t help but to flinch in anticipation. And you try to hide it, but it’s impossible not to notice.

They notice everything.

They always do, when it comes to you.

With every mannerism and survival instinct that has been involuntarily drilled into your subconscious, they all grow angrier that you’ve been subjected to this pain. Hoseok has had to talk Namjoon down from sending their entire fleet to dismantle the ambassador a couple too many times as they continue to learn how deep the trauma with your father truly runs.

“Y/N…”, Jin hesitantly mutters, fiddling with the food on his plate nervously, “have you ever thought about...going to therapy?”

You freeze in between a chew and swallow, eyes staring into his with an innocent deer-in-the-headlights expression. You look like you might have a panic attack, and Jin is quick to cut the tension.

“N-not that we’re forcing you to do it, my love. It’s only a suggestion. It’s just that..maybe it would be good for you. To talk about things and get professional help.” By the way he says it, and the way the other boys are staring at you expectantly, you realize this is something they’ve probably been discussing for a while now. And though it’s heartwarming to know that they care about your health, the idea of going to therapy is deathly daunting.

“I don’t know, guys…” You twist your hands in your lap, a nervous habit to show your discomfort and they all instantly regret bringing this up at all. You keep your gaze glued downwards. You’re afraid that if you look up, you’ll just see disappointment from the ones that you’ve grown to care about so much. You don’t think you could handle it.

“Could you look at us, Y/N?” Namjoon’s voice is soothing and there is no single trace of anger or frustration. You slowly tilt your head upwards and meet his eyes.

“At the end of the day, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you don’t want therapy, then fuck therapy, princess.”

Namjoon feels gratification when his statement makes you smile, and his heart suspiciously flutters in his chest.

“But we just want the best for you. We all want you to heal because…”, Namjoon looks around and makes eye contact with the rest of the boys, whom he knows share his same feelings.

“You’re so important to us.”

You’ve known this. You know that they care about you even when your mind forces you to doubt that anyone does. But when you hear it like this, so raw and unfiltered with sincerity leaking in every letter, it ignites something that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

You take a glance next to you at Jungkook, whose warm smile makes your lungs feel like molten honey. At Yoongi, who looks back at you with gentle eyes. At Hoseok, who is impossibly soft with you. At them all. It makes you realize something:

You don’t want to go to therapy. It’s scary and you’re not really sure if you want to talk about your father or your family or anything that happened before you met Bangtan. But you have people who care about you now. And if you didn’t want to do this for yourself, then, well... you would do it for them.

“You don’t have to decide now, but-”

“I’ll do it.” Your voice slices through Taehyung’s words. “I’ll go to therapy.”

“Are you sure, Y/N?”, Hoseok questions. Though he wants you to very badly, he wants you to do it on your own terms. And though your statement is strong, he can see the doubt and uncertainty swimming in your irises.

“No, not really.” you whisper, and they practically deflate so you are quick to remedy their dejection.

“But...I know that I want to get better. I know it’s going to be hard, but I want to get better.” You take a deep breath.

“For you. All of you.”

The room falls silent, and the noise of clinking cutlery against porcelain plates stills. They could only look at you and wonder what country they have saved in their past lifetime to deserve to stumble upon someone like you. Someone so wonderful, and so damaged but so determined to heal. For them. For all of them.

Jungkook scoops your hand in his, and when you look in his eyes, you are stunned to see that there are unshed tears pooling at his waterline. He looks at you and there’s something in his gaze that you can’t place. Something lovely that makes you feel like all this hurt has been worth it. Jungkook looks at you like there is something worth looking at.

“We love…” From your other side, Jimin starts speaking, but cuts himself off halfway through and suspiciously glances around the table, meeting the gaze of the six other boys who already know how he wants to finish that sentence. But he doesn’t.

“W-We love that you want to do that for us”, he coughs, and you return it with a smile.

Did a part of you want him to say something different? Something deeper? You’re not sure, but the tinge of disappointment in your stomach that follows his words is a sign.

Could you allow yourself to think that someone could actually genuinely like you past platonicity? Much less seven powerful men? After years of your father telling you the complete opposite, accompanying each scathing word with a bruise, it’s difficult to believe anything different.

Therapy was, in a word, completely exhausting. It was tiring dancing around the subject of your father’s abuse, your mother’s neglect, Soyeon’s blatant denial and just the complete package of being the eldest daughter to Ambassador Yoo. When they all had scheduled you for 4 sessions a week, you immediately wanted to decline and opt for one. But their eyes had all looked so hopeful. So excited for you to get professional help, and there was no possible way you could have turned them down.

Progress is frustratingly slow, though. Some days you just want to quit.

You plop unceremoniously on the large plush sofa, grabbing the nearest throw pillow and cradling it to your chest. The boys are all in the other room, but are now fully aware of your presence after you slammed the front door and huffed your way to the comforting couch. They can practically feel the rays of stress emanating from you.

“Y/N? Baby? What’s wrong?” Jimin is the one that first approaches, and the rest stare on with concern leaking out of every pore. And when you reply with a sniffle and hiccup, their hearts all collectively break.

You feel a dip in the couch and crane your neck to lock your teary eyes with Jimin’s, whose brows are deeply furrowed. You involuntarily launch into his arms, tucking your face into his neck, and inhaling his cologne that always manages to calm you down. You hear them all shuffle around you.

“It’s just..”, your voice pitifully cracks, “hard.” From your position, they are thankful you cannot see the heartbreak in their expression. It’s so hard for them to see you as anything but happy.

“I don’t know if I can do it”, you breathe out, feeling a new wave of tears begin to rise. You want to cry even more at the thought that they would be more disappointed in you. .

But there is a warmth from your other side, and you don’t know who it belongs to as it sits next to you.

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N”, Namjoon whispers oh-so-softly. They are such simple words. Arguably mundane and ordinary. Then why does it knock the wind right out of your chest? Why does it light up your dark tunnel? He’s proud of you. They all are. Even when you are an emotional mess with low mental energy, Namjoon is sitting next to you and telling you that he’s proud.

You erupt into heart wrenching sobs that won’t seem to stop no matter what you do. It’s the kind of cry that feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest. A cry that comes straight from your core and it sounds painful but truthfully, it’s just relieving. You know that all of them are worried out of their minds. You can feel it in the way Jimin shakily holds you as tight as he can, as if you are delicate chipped porcelain in his arms.

But this is how you rebuild. With the seven of them by your side. You tell Namjoon to cancel your future therapy sessions the next day. Your psychologist was far short of revolutionary, and when they all asked you why, you admit that it’s not the therapy that’s helping you get better.

It was just them. Being around them. Talking to them.

It was Seokjin carding his hands through your hair and rubbing out the tension that always inevitably develops in your temples. It was Namjoon letting you lounge quietly in his office as he goes through paperwork, enjoying your presence as much as you enjoy his. It was Yoongi and Hoseok rambling to you about their adventures on the field (leaving out the gory details, of course. They wanted to keep you innocent and soft). It was Taehyung sneakily replacing your pink peonies as soon as the first petal began to wilt, even after the infinite amount of times you told him it was unnecessary. It was Jungkook and Jimin making excuses to spend the afternoon snuggled up on your bed when you all knew it was simply because they wanted to hold you.

It was all of them tiptoeing around affection, craftily sneaking in spare kisses and touches on the skin. Holding you a little longer than necessary, a little more tenderly. Intertwining your hands under the dinner table, or when their subordinates weren’t looking.

You notice the way they blush more often, if you let your touch linger for too long, or if you brush past them and make skin contact. You notice how pet names are easier to spill from their lips; ones like: my love, honey, sweetheart, baby...and you can’t help but to completely indulge in the way it is addressed only for you. Little ways to subliminally tell you that perhaps you meant more to them than they were ready to admit. And you would be lying if you said your feelings for the seven of them were completely platonic. You would be lying if you said love wasn’t on the brain.

Perhaps you are the missing piece to a puzzle they hadn’t realized was unfinished.

“Hyung...I think I love her.” Jungkook is unsurprisingly the first one to voice it. The six others don’t even bat an eye.

“No, Jungkook. I know you love her”, Hoseok whispers back in the tense silence of their meeting room. You are fast asleep on the floor above, but their hearts call out to you through the short distance.

“I am too. We all are.” It is a truth they’ve known for a while. Sooner than they’re proud to admit.

“I guess now all we have to do is figure out how to tell her.”

They did want to. Tell you, that is. They wanted to shout it from the rooftops and make it known to the world that you are the angel that has snatched their hearts without even realizing it herself. If it hadn’t been for the disaster that suddenly struck their mafia, the boys would have already bared their souls to you. But timing was never kind.

Bangtan were not known to be gullible. Not known to be easily fooled. So when Taehyung ran into their meeting room, red-faced and clenching his fists so hard they turned white, the Judas in their gang had come as a scathing surprise.

One of their inner circle. Someone they had poured their trust and faith into, who had learned the system of their syndicate, had been a mole the entire time. Of course, they had disposed of him quickly, but the damage had already been done to their business. Allies and affiliates were backing away from collaboration in fear that Bangtan had been breached by law enforcement. Shipments were going missing more frequently, and even the lower hierarchies of their gang were beginning to become doubtful. To say the least, the seven of them were under debilitating stress and frustration.

Nowadays, things were different than before. You were mostly kept in the dark about their business but you knew that something had happened. Something to make them so wound up, and it worried you to no end. It’s impossible not to notice how tense the house had become.

Taehyung no longer stops by your room late at night, and in the early hours of the morning, you can still hear the frustrated clacking of his keyboard from next door. Not that you needed him to help you through your nightmares, but...you’ve gotten used to his comforting presence next to you.

Jungkook doesn’t seek you out for random conversations, and Namjoon just completely disappears in his office most days, not sparing you a single glance when he does manage to show his face outside. He locks the door now. You take it as a strong message that you are no longer welcome, and it upsets you, but you understand they are going through a rough patch. Your job is to be the least bothersome person you could possibly be.

But Yoongi just flat out ignores you now, and you know Hoseok pretends to care about whatever topic of conversation you bring up. You can see right through his empty affirmations and nods. The kitchen is completely void of Jin, and there are no more clanging pots and pans when you try to cook for yourself. And Jimin is just like the rest of them: absent and indifferent to your presence.

You know that it’s not you. The problem on their plate is bigger than you, but it still feels like you are a walking, breathing burden. You know that it’s not you, but your mind tells you they don’t want you here anymore. They’re sick of you.

Two weeks pass by, and they’re still so cold even after all your attempts at trying to be calming comfort in their chaotic lives. They still talk to you, but it’s strictly refrained to small talk that feels obligatory and like they have better things to do than spend time with you. They’re so busy that you often find yourself hanging out alone in the garden or making light conversation with the maids, or gang rookies that hang around the mansion.

And it hurts to admit, but they don’t notice when you begin to regress to your old behavior. They don’t notice when you begin to flinch at anything that moves too quickly again, or the way you begin spacing out more than usual when you delve too far into your thoughts. They don’t notice when your nightmares start worsening again, too busy in their pooling stress to hear you toss and turn late at night and emerge from your bedroom with red, sunken eyes in the morning. You are relapsing into the learned behavior from your father, and you are terrified to admit it to yourself. But after a particularly bad day of anxiety and panic attacks, you put your fear aside to talk to the boys again about going back to therapy. It was virtually pointless, but you won’t let the seven of them take the brunt of your mental health when they had so much going on already.

You timidly make your way down to the lower level of the mansion, slow footsteps leading you to their meeting room, where they’re all engrossed in their work and you can feel the tension choking the air. None of them notice your presence at first, until you cough to get their attention. They all snap their heads up and stare.

“Hey, could I um..talk to you guys for a couple minutes?”

You feel like a specimen under a microscope. You used to be so comfortable talking to them. Now it just feels unnatural.

“Can it wait, Y/N? We’ve just lost another shipment, and it’s a big one”, Yoongi grumbles from his seat, rifling through a tall stack of papers with a permanent crease in his brows.

“Okay, then when can we-”

“We’re just really busy right now.”

Jungkook doesn’t mean for his voice to be so loud. He probably didn’t even pay attention to it, but it makes you flinch and stumble backwards. Makes you melt more into the girl you used to be. The one who stayed quiet out of survival, diminishing under the authority of a loud voice with cruel intentions. You know he doesn’t mean to do it. But you can’t help but see the face of your father again, and those long-healed scars seem to re-flicker with pain.

Still, these were your boys. So you push on.

A deep breath. “I was just thinking that maybe I could go back to-”

“Y/N, please. We don’t even have enough time to breathe. I’m sure whatever you need can be addressed later.”

The room falls into silence. Their message is loud and clear. And though it's painful to hear, it’s your own fault for exaggerating your place in their lives. He was right, it could be addressed later...you were just being a bother.

“Right. Sorry.” Your halfhearted mutter falls deaf on their ears. They haven’t spared you a single ounce of attention, eyes still glued onto their work. You swallow down the heavy feeling in your throat and force the tears away. Why does your chest feel like someone’s twisted up your heart?

You’re always so sensitive, Y/N. Such a crybaby. You can’t even take care of yourself.

The tread upstairs back to your bedroom feels like an arduous journey as you try to hold yourself together and pretend like their actions hadn’t hurt you. But they weren’t responsible for your trauma. Your problems. You couldn’t blame them for not making it a priority, when their empire was threatened.

They don’t hear you that night when you hold a goose-feather pillow to your chest and sob out the fear of being unwanted again. They don’t show up at your bedroom door when you wake yourself up from crying through a nightmare.

You’ll figure it out yourself, with or without a therapist and with or without depending on them. From now on, you decide to make yourself invisible, focusing all your energy on dragging yourself out of the dark place you’re stuck in once again. So if you have to suffer in silence for their sake, so that they don’t have another insignificant loose end to worry about, you’ll do it. It’s the least you can do.

But you’d come to learn that those words are easier said than done.

“Miss Y/N?” There is a light knock at your door, and the soft voice of the maid barely penetrates through the thick wood. You remember her name was Jun. The noise goes through in one ear and out of the other, and you can’t even find it in yourself to reply.

“You haven’t left your room in two days. I was just...making sure you’re okay.”

Her statement shocks you out of your dazed stupor, and you hadn’t even realized the amount of time you spent staring into space, limp on your mattress.

It was getting harder. To just function and drag yourself out of your bedroom so you didn’t, and two days unknowingly passed. But to you, they only felt like hours. Time passes by differently when you’re blindly navigating through trauma.

It’s hard to sit up and slowly tread to the door, and your bones ache after not moving for so long. When you open it, guilt pools in your stomach to see her worried expression. Though you can guess why she looks so concerned. You’re a complete disaster.

“Oh, honey…”, she sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “here. Let’s get you into some fresh clothes.”

You mindlessly let her help you out of your days old T-shirt and sweats, mindlessly let her guide you into the shower and turn on the water, mindlessly let her rub shampoo into your scalp. You don’t even have the energy to open your mouth and tell her the water’s too cold. You’re still stuck inside your own thoughts, and you can only hear your father’s voice in your ear as he repeatedly affirms how worthless you are. Useless Y/N, that’s what he would say. Good-for-nothing Y/N.

You’ve somehow gotten it into your head that the reason why they’ve been so absent with you is because they don’t know to tell you they want you to leave. After all, staying in the Bangtan mansion was only supposed to be a temporary solution. Maybe this is how they kick you out.

When Jun wraps you in a fluffy towel and drags you out from underneath the showerhead, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks are sunken, and the dark circles under your eyes look almost painful. And somewhere along with that reflection is the image of your father. His angry face, glaring at you and screaming why you let yourself get like this.

“Jun, have they…are they still busy?” Her eyes widen at the first words she’s heard from you, but there is sad sympathy on her face in a split second and you’ve already gotten your answer before she can say anything.

“Yes, dear. The bosses are very occupied. But they can always make time for you, hm? They care about you a lot, you know.” Jun’s statement makes you frown, but you don’t retort. Maybe you used to think that they cared, but now it just felt like their kindness was out of obligation. They felt guilty for sending you back to your father. Or perhaps they used to care for you. But now...you weren’t so sure.

When she manages to get you downstairs, in the kitchen, and set you in front of a bowl of soup, the boys are nowhere to be found. Jun tells you they’re out doing business and you tell yourself you’re not hurt that they hadn’t even noticed your absence for the past two days.

They’re just roped up in other things, that’s all.

After your shower and meal, Jun insisted that you take a stroll around the garden, and specifically instructed you to check out the new peony bush she had just planted. She mentioned it was per request of the seven bosses, but you had a hard time believing any of them would be concerned with something like that during this time. They hadn’t even made the time to talk to you.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed to be outside and breathe in fresh air until you stepped out into the grassy space. Even though the solitude was getting to be too much, you were experiencing a newfound peace that you wanted to keep for as long as possible. Jun was right, and the peony bush was absolutely gorgeous. You actually feel like an alive and functioning human being. It was surprising that you were so dependent on the boys that without them, falling apart was inevitable. But now you were coherent and not so drowned in your toxic mentality (you’ll have to thank Jun profusely later), and you feel determined to talk to them again. About going back to therapy, no matter how useless it felt back then, and try to get on your own two feet. Now that you had seen and felt how serious it was, you wouldn’t be so complicit if they tried to silence you.

From over the tall hedges, the sounds of wheels rolling on gravel could be heard before the tense slams of car doors. The sound of Jungkook and Namjoon’s low muttering falls on your ears and though it sparks excitement inside you, you’re also fearful of what they might say. You don’t think you can handle another swift rejection like last time. Their indecipherable conversation ceases when you hear the entrance doors close, and seal them inside while you are still out here in your own world.

The white peony that’s cupped in your hand feels so fragile and soft that you don’t want to touch it anymore. It makes you think of them. Of how delicate it feels recently and how you’re so deathly afraid of them changing their minds one day and kicking you out with nowhere to go. Maybe you’ll just wander around again. There’s a distant cousin in the states also, but you’d have to figure out how to get out of the country without alerting your father. You shake yourself out of your intrusive thoughts.

No way your boys would do that to you.

Right?

The way back from the garden to the house is brief, but your anxiety about talking to them lengthens the trips and the feet feel like miles. You are wrapped up in your thoughts the entire way, and when you make your way into the house, you almost don’t notice the angry voices that are bouncing off the walls. It sounds like Taehyung is yelling, and the sound curdles your stomach. You hate it when people yell. It just reminds you of your father.

You follow the commotion to the kitchen, extra cautious and apprehensive. The sheer volume of their reprimanding seems to shake the house and your hands begin to quiver as you get closer. Peeking out from behind a wall, their backs are to you but you can see the face of a sheepish boy who hangs his head, gaze glued to the floor as the seven men continue to berate him. You recognize him as one of the newer members that was initiated a couple weeks ago; you’ve talked to him a couple times and he was never anything but courteous. He looks like he’s about to cry and it makes your heart ache.

Your attention pans back to the seven out of shock. The only time you’ve seen them this angry was at the meeting with your father, so you can only imagine what that young boy has done to land himself in this position.

“I told you a fucking million times too many, Lee. I told you to check in with the shipments as soon as they arrived in Myeongdong. So imagine my fucking surprise when I get a call notifying me that they’re all missing. Stolen.” Namjoon’s voice cuts straight through the room. His fists are clenched and even from the back, you can tell the expression on his face is one of scalding fury.

A shipment? They’re this infuriated over a shipment?

“I-I’m sorry, Boss. Please, I...please forgive me. I know it’s no excuse but I’m new here, a-and I swear this will not happen again.” He shrinks into himself and you quietly whimper in sympathy.

Yoongi humorlessly chuckles. “You swear? The only valuable thing you have to swear on is your life. And even that’s not worth much.”

It’s moments like these that you forget how cruel and ruthless they can be. They’ve always been so soft and gentle with you before, you forget they are mafia bosses overseeing an entire empire. That they’ve gotten here for a reason. You forget that people fear them. But you remember now.

Lee stays silent and still refuses to look up, but you can see the way his knees shake uncontrollably. He is one person standing up against 7 huffing bulls, so angry they can’t see straight so if you - tiny and meek you - has to be the one to come to his defense, so be it.

Because you’ve been that person going head to head with a bull. You see yourself, terrified and regretful, in Lee. And you’ll be damned if you have to watch and not do anything about it. Your heart beats thunderously in your chest but you push past the fear.

Their heads all snap up in surprise when you march into the kitchen and stand in between them and the boy, who looks even more painfully young up close and sporting that deer-in-the-headlights expression. You lock gazes with each of them, swallowing your nerves before speaking.

“Is it really that big of a deal to yell at him like this? Look at him”, you gesture to the cowering person behind you, “don’t you think he’s had enough?” Your voice is still soft, and such a contrast to their angry ones. But it seems like your gentle tone just makes them even angrier, and snaps them out of their initial shock.

“A big deal? He cost us thousands in shipments! I’d say that’s a pretty big fucking deal to me, Y/N.” Jungkook bursts out, exasperatedly running his hands through his hair and looking at you with an angry frown. You flinch at his volume. The stress on their shoulders is more apparent than ever.

“Why are you defending him, Y/N? You don’t even know who he is”, Jimin spits, growing even more irritated. There’s a hint of jealousy in his words and it’s so subtle that you don’t even notice it.

“I know that he doesn’t deserve to be yelled at like this for a little mistake. One that I’m sure he is regretful of making.” It suddenly feels daunting when you realize that you’re going up against all of them, and now, they’re all staring at you with the same anger that was meant for the one that messed up their shipments.

“And what if that mistake is a sign that he’s traitorous? Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised. Seems like that’s a trend going around here.” From behind you, Lee is quick to open his mouth and begin to protest, but you interrupt and speak strongly. It seems this disciplining session has morphed into a full blown argument between you and them.

“It was one person. I get that it’s shitty, and I’m sorry it happened. I understand that you have to be on watch now and extra cautious. I do.” You sigh, a pleading look in your eyes but they remain stone cold.

“But one person did that. Are you going to treat everyone like they betrayed you? Are you going to treat me like I betrayed you?”

“I don’t know Y/N, you were so quick to defend him. Maybe you did. I wouldn't put it past you.”

Taehyung’s words run through you like a hot knife to butter. You almost stagger back at the shock. You’re no stranger to hurtful words but when they are coming out of his mouth, it hurts tenfold. How could they think you would betray them?

They promised to trust you, didn’t they? They promise they’d believe you after they failed to the first time. Now it just feels like you’re that spoiled little rich girl again in their eyes, standing in front of them and pleading your innocence.

“W-what? No, I-”

“You know nothing about our world, Y/N. You can’t possibly understand.” Jin’s silver voice is colder than you’re ever heard it.

“I know that, but could you just please-”

“As a matter of fact, this is a mafia business matter”, Yoongi shoots, poisoned words designed to hurt.

“I’m not sure why you’re here at all, Y/N. Just leave.”

Gone is the strong persona that you had put up to protect this young boy. Gone is the confident woman who thought she had the will to stand up for herself, much less someone else. You can only keep your eyes glued to Yoongi, and hope that he doesn’t see your heart crumbling right in front of him. How had he aimed mindlessly at your insecurities, and shot a bullseye into the biggest one?

Maybe you did, Y/N. I wouldn’t put it past you.

Blame it on the blurriness through your tears or the sheer shock running through your veins, but you can’t find one smidgen of regret or guilt in his expression. On any of their faces. Just anger and annoyance, aimed directly at you. And suddenly the spacious mansion feels all too suffocating.

You know nothing about our world Y/N.

The words you plan to say die on the tip of your tongue, as quickly as they came. There is nothing that comes out and in the aching silence of it all, the way you maintain eye contact with each of them speaks volumes. Yet they are blind to the way you are ripping at the seams, and oblivious to the turmoil they are putting you through. The coldness of their gaze and words shoot through your core, like a blade of ice piercing through your heart.

I’m not sure why you’re here at all.

Just leave.

In short, right at this moment, they look like strangers. Strangers who know what scares you, what foods you don’t like, your favorite flowers, your favorite color. Strangers who have seen your heart, welcomed it, and who were now crushing it in front of you.

What a fool you were to think that they could reciprocate your feelings.

What a fool you were to think that they wanted you as much as you wanted them.

Your pained chuckle is a discordant sound in the tense quiet. Their stares burn on your skin and though you are trying so hard to now show how utterly broken you feel, you wonder if they even notice. when you look back into the eyes of the boy directly in front of you, he is still so angry and red you find it hard to believe anything but your alleged cold, hard truth:

The seven boys you have fallen in love with utterly despise you. Perhaps they always have.

“Yeah”, you whisper brokenly. “Maybe I will.”

taglist: @pinkyhim, @deolly, @loveyoongles, @drunkzseok, @hope122598, @uwunamjoon, @nomimits7, @bubblebunnylia, @aquaalanah, @juliie-ocha, @daydreambrliever, @btsbabby, @blank-et-noir, @myheartstaysinkorea, @rosiethefairy, @tiredjedi, @lovemyself-persona, @jeoncookie-bts, @annoyingpessimist, @beach-bitch-bitch-beach, @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh, @btstxtgenre, @taesugaar, @hxsxxk-180294, @bubbletae7, @uglyratlmao, @hopetookmysoul, @supertweetycherry, @missseoulite, @barbikatherine, @jamesfrickingbuchananbarnes, @sunsetsnsirens-blog, @vanilla-smash, @lmaosani, @onionhaseyeo, @i-dumb-bitch, @euphxriajoon, @justpeachyjoon, @dabbingangels, @h5naaa, @parkmaeri, @softescapism, @bena-baby, @myjiminmychimchim , @moments-of-melancholy, @krystle1990, @chatsgotmytongue, @vi-hoshi, @unlikelylittlemiss, @rosey-roseau, @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag, @kookiebbyxx,

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kiranatrix · 4 years ago

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This is entirely self indulgent but can I ask how you think whammy’s house celebrates pi day, every year I make a ton of pies and I bet the whammy’s kids would be just as dorky. I know in my bones that Mello gets at least 2 chocolate pies a year and god help anyone who dares to steal a slice.

Oh thank you! I needed a cute ask after some heavy ones <3 (not that I mind those kind). That’s so fun that you celebrate Pi Day and I’d love to see your pies! As for how it might go down at Wammy’s House:

- The Pi Day tradition started out academically where their math professor held a contest to see who can remember the most digits of pi. Wammy’s House does love their tests and rankings, and the winner can request a pie of their choice no matter how decadent. Of course, the current record-holder is L himself who, when presented with such supreme motivation, typed out 120,00 digits with his left hand while working on solving cases with his right. It’s become a legend around Wammy’s and not all the kids believe it (mostly Beyond because he couldn’t beat him).

- The tradition soon shifted from the digit contest (which took too long) to a bake-off! At first Wammy and Roger figured it would give them a break in the kitchen but they didn’t anticipate the messes and kitchen disasters and fires. But it remained so popular with the kids they didn’t have the heart to stop it. There’s a ‘mystery judge’ (it’s L lol) who taste-tests each one and gives it a rating. The winner doesn’t get much more than bragging rights but everyone gets to eat a lot of pie.

- You’re absolutely right that Mello MUST have chocolate pies (Chocolate Cream!), and I think the reason he needs a minimum of two is that one is for eating and one is for throwing at Near lol. It becomes an annual cat-and-mouse game where Near tries to avoid Mello for the whole day while Mello frantically searches for him, pie in hand and ready to hurl it at any moment. That’s probably the only way he’d ‘give’ some of his pie away. “WHERE IS HE?!” is often heard ringing through the halls of Wammy’s House on that day. I headcanon him as a really good baker-- he’s trying hard to beat whatever pie Near makes. “If I can make a bomb, I can bake a pie.” *clenches fist*

- Matt never gets very far in the baking process because he eats all the ingredients, either from munchies or distraction when he gets a notification on his game. He assembles whatever’s left (apples cores and raw crust) with a shrug and calls it ‘avant garde.’ He could definitely do it but he knows Mello and Linda will make awesome ones anyway and he just doesn’t care that much. He eventually remembers Mello never shares, oops.

- Beyond....sigh, Beyond. Is an entire pie tin filled with jam really a pie? He’s ready and willing to debate this point until detractors give up and go away. If he suspects L is really the secret taste-tester he might stuff the pie with all kinds of horrendous stuff, spiders, toenail clippings, boogers, and sneeze on it for good measure. He probably spends as much time looking over the other kids shoulders and making ‘helpful suggestions’ (spoiler: not so helpful) as he does making his own cursed pies. “This? Oh it’s a mud pie.” Except with real mud.

- Near spends most of Pi Day hiding from Mello but arranges to use the kitchen in Roger’s cottage to bake in peace and quiet. I see him having less of a sweet tooth and putting more focus on (overly) intricate presentation. Maybe he tries to make his pie crust look like dozens of puzzle pieces, only to despair when the baking process smooshed them all back together. I think he’d end up making a Banoffee Pie (given Wammy’s is in England).

- Linda’s pies are a work of art and she pretty much always wins, having a good balance between flavors and creative presentation. Because she’s familiar with how most of the other student’s pies are going to go--hoarded/splatted/gross-- she makes a bunch and all different kinds. Her crust is the flakiest, fillings homemade and completely protected from Beyond’s ‘help.’ L is completely enthralled with her pies, to the point Wammy has to pull her aside and ask her for the recipes (he’s not thrilled about that).

- Food fight? Food fight! All those kids getting hopped up on sugar and its bound to happen! Mello gets Banoffee Pie to the face and no one has any peace

#death note #l lawliet #mihael keehl #nate river #beyond birthday #mail jeevas #wammy's house #linda #matt #near #mello #anon #asks #headcanons #pi day #imagines

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zosonils · 4 years ago

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what are some random papyrus headcanons you currently have?

ooughwhhghgh anon you know the EXACT way to my heart. got a map to it and everything. a real good and fancy map. the ones with sea monsters in the corners

autistic adhd papyrus real

he tends to think of anything he doesn’t understand [and even some things he does!] in terms of puzzles, since they’re a lifelong special interest and they help him contextualise things! for instance if he’s navigating someplace he’s never been before it’s easier for him to visualise things as an incomplete map that he has to find the pieces [landmarks] of than it is to just wander until he finds his way or go up to someone and ask for directions [talking to people he doesn’t know very well is also a puzzle and he has more trouble solving that one because sometimes the clues lie to you]. this approach to things makes him astoundingly good at working through things logically, although between the difficulties applying this sort of thinking to unpredictable social situations and his occasional penchant for insane troll logic he doesn’t have a 100% success rate

in addition to this he’s a really visual thinker and can understand almost anything really quickly if he has a way to visualise it, whether it’s explicitly given to him or he thinks of one himself and suddenly goes OH I GET IT NOW. anything that doesn’t come with a coherent visual metaphor is borderline impossible for him to grasp, though. dude needs his diagrams

he likes playing video games, at least when he isn’t hyperfocused on his duties as a royal guard in training, and he tends to get an insane amount of mileage out of them because once he beats whatever objective the game explicitly gives him he’ll start making up his own self-imposed challenges or ‘puzzles’ instead. like if you gave him tetris he’d be super into the standard a-type and b-type modes, but once he gets tired of those he’ll start doing stuff like trying to play in time with the music, or without rotating any pieces, or painstakingly arranging incomplete lines so that the empty spaces form some kind of intricate pattern

gloves and especially scarves are a comfort accessory for him! even before/after the battle body is a thing and he’s wearing different clothes from one day to another pretty much every outfit he wears includes those accessories. if it’s too hot for a huge warm tightly-wrapped scarf he just grits his teeth and wears it anyway

the reason pap hates grease so much is that it sets off literally every single sensory issue he has. it sticks to you when you touch it just a little, it feels just as gross through your gloves, it’s hard to wash off, it stains your favourite scarf so you have to put it through the washing machine twice to make absolutely sure it doesn’t smell weird later and stress you out again, it has a gross taste that stays in your mouth for ages, it’s just the worst! how his brother stomachs the stuff he’ll never know [and it’s not because he doesn’t have a stomach, that doesn’t mean he can’t have standards either]

papyrus knows that sans suffers from depression, and he understands what that actually means as opposed to just having a surface-level grasp on ‘sans isn’t happy as often as he should be’. the issue isn’t that he doesn’t understand or desperately want to help, he does, but the sheer magnitude of sans’ issues is just substantially more than papyrus has any frame of reference for. the best he knows how to do is to be as blisteringly positive as possible in hopes that some of it will rub off on sans, while also refusing to enable any of the lazy or blatantly self-destructive habits sans has that papyrus can tell aren’t making him feel any better. short motherfucker needs a trained therapist and/or antidepressants more than anything but papyrus is doing everything he can, and while papyrus being papyrus is already enough to keep sans going he’s helping as much as he does specifically because of the deliberate effort he makes to beat sans’ depression over the head with a bone until it runs off hissing

wow that one got long lmao sorry i just really hate when people portray papyrus as completely oblivious to sans’ problems when he’s pretty strongly hinted to understand them to at least some degree and 1. it literally makes for such a better story on both the heartwarming and crushingly tragic ends of the spectrum if pap knows and is doing his best to help 2. even if it didn’t people are still deliberately ignoring huge chunks of papyrus’ characterisation in favour of portraying him as the smol little innocent cinnamon roll uwu bean who doesn’t understand anything and y’all have got to realise the implications of forcing this personality on the most heavily autistic coded character in the game :|

on a more lighthearted note, papyrus can reluctantly but wholeheartedly appreciate a good pun or cleverly-planned prank, he just knows that sans likes getting a rise out of people with them and goes with his instinct to groan over his instinct to laugh because it makes sans happy. sans is completely aware that papyrus is doing this, so there’s an unspoken self-aware undertone to their whole routine lmao

whenever papyrus, sans, and undyne are together they have this wacky dynamic where they’re all constantly tossing the straight man role around like a hot potato and i want a dumb sitcom about the three of them living in the skeleton household that goes absolutely mental with this wacky dynamic and god damn it i’ll write it myself if i have to

papyrus gets to kin me for this one, there’s like a single phineas and ferb dvd that fell into the underground a few years ago that made its way to him in one way or another [sans probably gave it to him with no way of predicting the special interest hell [positive] he was about to unleash] and he immediately became obsessed. he can recite entire episodes from memory because he watched them so many times the audio got burned into his brain. his favourite character is doof and he considers the annoying dog his personal perry the platypus. when he gets to the surface and finds out that there’s like 200 more episodes he cries with happiness

aroace papyrus also real

it’s getting late so i’m going to leave this here but i am always down to talk about papyrus. i fuckin love papyrus so much guys

#thank you anon [mouth kisses you but very platonically and only via psychic power rather than my actual mouth]#thirteen year old papyrus in a lab coat he stole from his dad acting out doofenshmirtz scenes in a fit of goofy excitement #sans sits in a cardboard box helpfully labelled 'TRAP' and listens and occasionally says 'gkrgkgkrk'#they proceed to get in trouble for playfighting #sonic forces me to answer questions #just fucking whatever #anon

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bre-meister · 4 years ago

Note

I need some pre married/family angst

this is early relationship so pre-family and pre-married Cleon. I hope it’s angsty enough I kind of got distracted while writing to fight a huge ass hornet in my room ( I was super terrified ngl). This was such a journey for me to write that I don’t even have an official title for it like I normally try to do lol. This has also taught me that I need to work on angst that is not “person A and Person B fight”. Sorry for the rant here's the actual work:

Claire was mad. No, Claire was beyond mad. Claire Redfield was absolutely furious. Her rage was so blinding that she couldn’t even be bothered to apologize to the nice looking doorman as she barreled through the lobby of the apartment building of the object of said anger. She was sorry - felt the apology in her bones as soon as the smaller man began to cringe and cower slightly in her presence - but again, her anger prevented it from passing her lips.

Secretly, she did take a little pride in the fact that, as she entered the elevator, a young-looking couple decided to “wait for the next one” instead of sharing with her. It gave her a little more time to stew in her anger - pulling from the depths of her soul, every time that she had said it was okay even when it wasn’t - before she came face to face with him.

“What the hell Leon!”

The door to his apartment opened with such force that if circumstances had been different, she would have been worried about possibly putting a hole in the wall. Alas, her attention was not on the wall, but instead on the man lying on the couch in front of her. Leon was clearly either drunk or hungover. Although considering what she’d heard from both her brother - half the reason she was here in the first place - there was a distinct possibility it could be both. Claire wasn’t sure that could actually happen, but if anyone could make it a thing it would most definitely be Leon S. Kennedy.

All that came out of his mouth was unintelligible garble mixed in with a few pained groans. Claire took pleasure in that for a moment and allowed it to further stoke the flames inside of her. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was about to do. She’d kind of just gone on autopilot after getting. Chris’s concerned texts. Apparently, Leon had been ghosting everyone over the last week. So, there she stood, upset and silent until Leon made the mistake of finally speaking real words.

“Red,”

Claire didn’t let him finish. She exploded,

“No! You don’t get to do that, you hear me? You don’t!”

Claire moved towards the couch and yanked off the blanket covering Leon with more force than was probably necessary. The blanket had apparently been completely wrapped around him and, in his current state, that was enough to cause him to tumble to the floor. He let out another grunt of pain as he landed but Claire didn’t care.

“Get your ass up.” Her voice had calmed, steadied to an even tone. Her anger no longer manifested itself in yelling, but instead as a low growl behind her words.

When he didn’t make any effort to move, she said it again,

“I’m not asking Leon. Get up.”

He finally did as told. Standing he slowly moved to the small kitchen behind the couch. There he found a glass that looked somewhat cleaned and began to fill it with water.

This wasn’t the first time that Claire had been there to pick up the pieces whenever Leon fell apart. Safe to say, those instances had never quite played out like this one and Leon was a little jarred and, admittedly, a little afraid of what the red-headed woman might do.

They stared at each other as Claire gave Leon a moment to swallow the little bit of water that was left in his glass. When he sat it in the sink and she remained silent he let his impaired brain convince him that meant he should speak.

“What’s your problem? Chris piss in your Wheaties this morning?”

The look on her face caused concern. The laugh that followed chilled him to the core. Leon S. Kennedy had faced down and won so many B.O.Ws that he had lost count but at that moment as he looked across the room at a laughing Claire Redfield, he knew that he had quite possibly signed his death warrant. He also knew that if this truly were how he died, several people would help her cover it up, and frankly, he couldn’t blame them.

“My problem?” she continued to laugh, “What’s my problem?”

Leon was getting a little nervous. In yet another mistake, he even let out a few nerve filled chuckles himself.

“No, you don’t get to laugh! This isn’t funny,” and yet she was still laughing.

Leon was not.

“Do you know why this isn’t funny? Because I don’t think you do.”

He couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to - Claire cut him off as soon as he opened his mouth to fumble through some bullshit excuse.

“You don’t. I know you don’t because if you did you would have had your ass at the restaurant last week, Leon!”

Leon felt his stomach drop. Oh no. He really had fucked up this time.

“Sherry’s birthday.” He felt more than heard the mumbled words slip past his lips.

“Ya, Sherry’s birthday,” Claire turned around to finally close the door and Leon took the opportunity to sit down in one of the few chairs at his tiny kitchen table.

“You know, I was okay with this when it was only me you were fucking over. I know I shouldn’t have been, but I was. I told myself over and over that it was fine, you needed this time, you needed me and I was more than happy to give it to you - everything. I give you everything! But it was okay because you were always there for me too. Most of the time at least. And I get it, Leon, hell I get it more than probably anyone else. What we went through was hell, no one should have to go through that once let alone as many times as you do. But I was there too, I have to deal with that shit too. Sherry has to deal with that shit. She was Twelve Leon.”

“I know -”

“Then where the fuck were you? This was all she wanted! All she asked for for her birthday was for all three of us to be there, together and you couldn’t even get your shit together enough to give that to her. No call, no text, not even a half-assed excuse just nothing. The hurt and disappointment on her face - I’ll never forget that Leon. And to top it off, I had to cover for you and as much as I love you,” she saw that way his whole body seized up at her words, “I’m tired. I refuse to do that anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

Claire pulled at her hair which, for once, wasn’t in its usual ponytail.

“Stop! It’s always sorry with you. For once could you just stop!”

“Stop what? Tell me what I have to do to fix this.” He was desperate. He didn’t want to lose her or Sherry. The idea of that - of finally being completely and utterly alone - was almost too much to bear.

“For starters stop making promises if you know you can’t keep them. Stop overcommitting yourself. Stop overworking yourself because that’s always how you get this way in the first place. And stop looking like that.”

“Like what?” he was a little puzzled. He may have also been on the verge of tears but, if anyone asked later he would deny it vehemently.

“Like...like I just killed your puppy or - or like I’m taking away everything from you - it’s making it really hard to stay mad!”

In any other situation, he might have laughed at that but he had sobered up enough between when Claire had burst through his door and now. Now, he really did feel that Claire leaving here like this, Sherry being disappointed with him - that truly was as if everything were being taken away from him.

“I’m sorry. I - I don’t know how to make you believe that I am, but I truly am sorry. I would never hurt you, Claire. I would never hurt Sherry.” He was pleading at his point. He didn’t know what else to do.

“But you did. You hurt us Leon, and I’m not saying that I won’t forgive you, but it’s going to take some time. You fucked up and your usual ‘sorry’ isn’t going to fix it when we always end up in the same cycle again.” She sighed and as the air left her body she could feel all of her anger leaving as well only to be replaced with immense sadness and disappointment.

Claire turned and walked towards the door. A small clang echoed through the silent room and, although Leon couldn’t see from his spot in the kitchen, he knew that Claire had dropped her spare key on the table next to the door.

“Wait! Claire, please, don’t.”

“Don’t what Leon?” She didn’t turn around, she knew she wouldn’t be able to leave if she did. So, head down she gathered her strength and continued,

“Don’t leave? Give me a reason to stay then.”

“ I love you.” It came out in a soft whisper.

Those three simple words - the first time he had ever said them to her in a non-platonic way. They made her heart soar and ache, both at the same time. She’d imagined this moment a lot but never like this. Never at the end of a fight that had been building for a long time. Never with her back to him, preparing to leave. Never with him sitting in his kitchen, a mess, crying in a way she’d never seen from him. Never like this. And, as much as she wanted to stay…

“ I love you too Leon. But that’s not what this is about. Call Sherry, she deserves to hear from you why you couldn’t do this one thing for her.”

With that, she left. With her, Leon felt a part of him leave as well.

The tears turned to outright sobs as he collapsed on his kitchen floor - dirty. The floor was dirty. He was dirty. He hadn’t cleaned or showered in a while but it was kind of fitting. His apartment was dirty, his clothes were dirty, his body was dirty but he was dirty in a way that was deeper than just the physical sense.

He’d let them down. The only two people in this world that he still gave a damn about. The only two people he would try for.

Then why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he pushed himself harder? In the same sense, why hadn’t he taken a break when he had pushed too hard. Why hadn’t he tried harder to stop her? Why hadn’t he?

There were too many questions. If he left himself to ponder them for too long he’d never get up from this dirty kitchen floor and he couldn’t afford to stay here forever. He had business to attend to, phone calls to make.

First, to his job. Claire was right, he needed to stop overworking himself and he’s acquired more than enough hours to take some time off. Then, to Sherry, because he owed her an apology in more than just words. He only hoped she would allow him to make it up to her.

He wanted to call Claire - show her he was trying, that she was right and he would do better. However, he knew that would probably only make things worse. She always gave him the time he needed, now it was time for him to do the same.

But before anything, he had to get up off the floor. The floor was dirty. He was dirty. Leon was tired of the blood and grime that seemed to fill almost all of his waking hours as D.S.O Agent Kennedy. He decided he wouldn’t let it follow him home anymore. So, Leon got up.

On his way to the bathroom he passed by the bowl he kept on his front table by the door. It was a housewarming gift from Claire who knew he was always misplacing his keys and yet never making an effort to get more organized. Always looking out for him, his Claire.

Leon wouldn’t even let himself question if there even was a ‘his Claire’. Not that he owned her, no one could ever own Claire Redfield. But, looking at the two keys laying together in the bowl, Leon couldn’t help but think they were the same - a matching set. One complementing the other in a way that, while they were separate, they were still part of the same.

Yes, Leon Kennedy got up and as he looked at his dirty face in the mirror, he turned the faucet on because he was tired of being dirty. He was ready to get clean.

#Cleon #Cleon fic #Leon Kennedy #Claire Redfield #claire x leon #Claire/Leon #angst #resident evil #i wanna make my angst better so please hang with me until i do #sry for the long wait #sry again for the long ass rant at the beginning im super tired and it's kinda late but I wanted to post anyway #lol i'm doing it again

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jesbelle-writes · 4 years ago

Text

The Gift

After his failed attempt to reach kohlinar, Spock found that the rhythms of life aboard the Enterprise were somehow different. He had reached a hard-won détente between his Human emotions and his Vulcan logic, and it cast a new light on even the most familiar of rituals – such as the one now playing out in Kirk’s quarters.

“So Bones – your birthday’s coming up...” Kirk opened this conversation just as he had every year about this time.

“I don’t want a big fuss,” said McCoy, with the same frown as usual.

“How about a little fuss then?” asked Kirk, the customary amused smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I suppose I could tolerate it, if I had to,” came the reply.

And so some small celebration would be agreed upon. A place and time would be chosen for a quiet round of drinks; Scotty, Chapel, Uhura, Sulu, and (now that was no longer “the kid”) Chekov would be invited; and they’d all spend a quiet evening getting mildly inebriated and swapping reminiscences. Spock would attend, of course. McCoy was his friend, after all.

But this year, Spock couldn’t shake the feeling that something special was in order – something to acknowlege the shift he sensed in his relationship with McCoy. He couldn’t really name the nature of that shift – it was different somehow to the way his other relationships had changed – but he felt a need to take some kind of action nonetheless.

He wanted to give McCoy a birthday present.

His mother had explained gift-giving to him when he was a child. She had provided him with an exhaustive lesson on the rituals and obligations involved, including a list of the types of gifts that would be considered appropriate to each occasion.

“But sometimes,” she said, “a person wants to give a gift from the heart – something that shows how much regard they have for another person. The best gifts on these occasions are something the recipient can experience. A happy memory is worth a thousand objects.”

Spock understood that these “little fusses” that Jim put together were exactly that – another in a collection of happy memories for McCoy. Spock wanted to give McCoy something like that.

The bulk of his meditation time was dedicated to solving the puzzle of how to do that.

He considered the activities that McCoy engaged in during his rare breaks from work. He spent the bulk of his time simply “hanging out” with Spock or Jim or Christine. He enjoyed reading a genre of books he called “dimestore trash” that Spock had no idea how to even begin to obtain. And he enjoyed music.

Music seemed promising. McCoy’s tastes were eclectic, but Spock had a good ear and he was reasonably certain that he could find something that would please McCoy.

It was in this frame of mind that he noticed the humming.

There was a little snippet of a tune that McCoy hummed when he was trying to unravel any particularly thorny problem. Spock had heard it hundreds of times when sharing laboratory space with McCoy. It had long ago been relegated to the background noises of the lab.

It was a pretty tune, and obviously a favorite. He asked Dr. Chapel about it that afternoon.

“You mean the one that goes hum de dum dum dum hum de dum dum dum?” She mangled it completely, but it was still recognizable as the same tune, if only barely.

“Yes,” said Spock. “Do you know the title of the piece?”

“Sorry, no. I asked him about it once. He got really self-conscious and said it was just something his mother used to sing. Then I didn’t hear it for about a month.”

Jim was no help. “I don’t spend much time in the lab,” he pointed out. “And his mom was some kind of music historian, so she probably knew a lot of obscure songs.”

Spock made a recording of himself playing the tune on his lyre and fed it into the ship’s computer, but it matched nothing in the database. Finally, he sent the recording to the library at Memory Alpha and waited.

The answer came almost fourteen hours later – a song from the mid-twentieth century, lost for nearly 200 years before it was discovered in an archive on the North American continent at a place called Muscle Shoals.

The tune was sweet, and the song was short. But the lyrics...

If Spock had searched for years, he couldn’t have found a song more suitable. He decided that the piece should be performed live.

“It’s beautiful, Spock. Where did you find it?” asked Uhura. “It’s just so… Dr. McCoy, isn’t it?”

“I believe it is a favorite of his,” said Spock. “I would like to play it at his birthday. I was hoping that you would agree to sing it.”

“I’d love to, but I think you should do it. It would fit your range.”

“My musical range, perhaps. It is a very emotional piece,” said Spock.

They practiced the song every night.

McCoy’s birthday was in the forward observation lounge. It was busy tonight, and when Spock picked up his lyre and Uhura stood next to him a hush fell over the crowd.

“If I needed you Would you come to me, Would you come to me, And ease my pain?” sang Uhura.

“If you needed me, I would come to you, I’d swim the seas For to ease your pain.”

“In the night forlorn The morning’s born And the morning shines With the lights of love.”

Spock spared a glance toward McCoy, but Jim was seated between them, blocking his line of sight.

“You will miss sunrise If you close your eyes And that would break My heart in two.”

Spock tried twice more to catch a glimpse of McCoy to no avail. It wasn’t until the final chorus that he saw him.

McCoy looked stunned, overcome, but with what emotion, Spock couldn’t tell. There were, however, most definitely tears in his eyes.

The song ended to enthusiastic applause and several people came to pay their compliments – mostly to Uhura. McCoy was among them. He took Uhura’s hand in his and said, “Thank you so much, Nyota. That was lovely.” He nodded toward Spock. “You played that… very well – as usual, Spock.” He raised his glass toward the others. “I want to thank y’all for coming tonight. I know the night’s still young, but I’m not so much, and I’ve just had a week and a half of long shifts. So if y’all’ll excuse me, I’m going to head on out and get some shut-eye before I have to deal with the next torn rotator cuff or targ bite or what-have-you.”

There followed the usual well-wishing and congratulations as McCoy left. Spock, feeling unsettled and having no desire to feel unsettled in public, picked up his lyre and retired to his own quarters…

… where he was surprised to find Dr. McCoy leaning against his desk.

“I used my medical code,” said McCoy. “I hope you don’t mind. I promise I’m not planning to make a habit of it.”

Spock nodded. “I apolo--”

“I’m sor--” McCoy shook his head. “You got nothing to be sorry for. Just… let me say my piece and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” McCoy took a deep breath. “I… what you did tonight, Spock – that was the nicest, most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten. I couldn’t say this with a bunch of people around, but I need you to know what it meant to me.

“My mama used to sing me that song when I’d have bad dreams. She’d come sit on my bed and… stroke my hair… and sing that song. And it worked every time.

“She sang a lot of songs. She had a beautiful voice and she played guitar. She made a lot of recordings of those songs, and after she died, I’d play them all and pretend she was still there – just in the other room, singing. Well, I was just kid...

“Anyway she never got around to recording that one. So I’d sing it to myself when the bad dreams woke me up. I forgot most of the lyrics. I forgot what it sounded like when she sang it. I forgot what her fingers felt like in my hair. But it always made me feel better.

“I guess I got used to singing it. It was the tune I’d whistle in the dark, and it became the thing I turned to whenever the going got even a little rough.

“That’s what you gave me tonight. You gave me back her song. I don’t have words for that.” McCoy swiped at the tear that had fallen onto his cheek. “If you weren’t a Vulcan I’d hug you.”

Spock didn’t know what to say. He was experiencing a rush of emotions too powerful and too complex for him to even name, let alone express, not that he wished to express them. He didn’t even want to experience them.

Did he?

“And on that note,” said McCoy, standing up, “I’ll just see myself out.”

“Leonard.”

McCoy had nearly reached the door when Spock put out his hand to stop him. He took him by the wrist, his fingers curling around the warm, soft skin above McCoy’s pulse.

The sensation cut through some of the turmoil in Spock’s mind. This was… good? It was… fitting.

It was right because Spock had wanted to touch McCoy, hadn’t he? He’d wanted to give a gift that would touch McCoy’s heart.

And now he was touching his skin and that was also what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

He pulled McCoy closer, put his arms around him, held him. And holding was also what he’d wanted.

And then McCoy’s arms wrapped around his waist…

...and there. This is what it is to fit, thought Spock. This is what it is to be exactly where he belonged.

McCoy drew back a little, enough to look Spock in the eye. “You sure?”

Spock nodded. “I am now.”

And then he kissed him.

Just a little note -- the song is “If I Needed You” by Townes Van Zandt. I’ve used it in fics before because it gives me serious Bones vibes. I actually had this scene in mind for one of those fics, but ended up using something else, so now you get it here.

#12daysofspones #spones #star trek #prompt: giving #yes i'm obsessed with this song

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tooti-fruiti · 8 months ago

Text

WHAT A COOL GUY (CHAPTER SIX)

More Puzzles

After leaving the puzzle behind, you found a station selling ice cream called "Nice Cream".

It's an ice cream popsicle with a compliment written on the stick.

Then you pushed a snowball into a hole.

Then you saw Sans and Papyrus again, standing behind a piece of paper.

"HUMAN! I HOPE YOU'RE READY FOR-"

Papyrus cut himself off when he saw the paper.

"SANS!!! WHERE'S THE PUZZLE!?"

"it's right there, on the ground. trust me, there's no way she'll get past this."

You stared at them for a few seconds before picking up the paper and looking at it.

It was a monster cross word.

Since you didn't have anything to write it with, you put it back down on the ground and stepped over it.

"SANS! THAT DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"

"whoops. I knew I should have used today's crossword instead."

"WHAT?! CROSSWORD?! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU SAID THAT! IN MY OPINION, JUNIOR JUMBLE IS EASILY THE HARDEST."

"what? really, dude? that easy-peasy word scramble? that's for baby bones."

"UN. BELIEVABLE. HUMAN! SOLVE OUR DISPUTE!"

"Uhhh, I guess Junior Jumbles are harder?"

"HA! HA! YES! YOU MUSY HAVE INCREDIBLE TASTE HUMAN. FOR YOU MIST ALSO BE EXTREMELY INTELLIGENT TO FIND JUNIOR JUMBLE SO DIFFICULT!"

Papyrus laughed and ran away again.

Sans smiled. "Thanks for saying Junior Jumble just to make him feel better."

Before you could say anything to him, Sans teleported away.

You continued walking forward and found some spaghetti.

Frozen spaghetti left by Papyrus.

Then you met more dogs, and you were happy to pet them.

You saw Papyrus standing in front of a puzzle with his back turned to you.

There was a sign explaining the rules of the puzzle, and after you solved it, Papyrus turned around.

"WHAT THE-?! HOW DID YOU AVOID MY TRAP?! AND MORE IMPORTANTLY, IS THERE ANY LEFT FOR ME???"

You were confused about what Papyrus was talking about until you remembered his spaghetti.

"I, uh. I ate it. I-"

"REALLY? ALL OF IT?! WOWIE! NO ONE'S EVER ENJOYED MY COOKING LIKE THAT BEFORE!"

Papyrus smiled and sighed. "FRET NOT HUMAN! I, MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS, WILL MAKE YOU ALL THE PASTA YOU COULD EVER WANT!"

Papyrus laughed and smiled at you. "COME ALONG HUMAM, THE NEXT PUZZLE IS JUST UP AHEAD."

You two walked together and stopped in front of the puzzle.

"THIS WAS THE PUZZLE, BUT... HOW DO I EXPLAIN THIS, YOU TOOK A LONG TIME TO ARRIVE SO I REARRANGED THE PUZZLE TO LOOK MORE LIKE MY FACE!"

"HOWEVER THAT MEANS THE SOLUTION IS DIFFERENT. BUT WORRY NOT! I KNOW THE ANSWER!" Papyrus said, proudly putting a hand on his chest.

He lowered his hand and looked down at you. "FEEL FREE TO TRY IT OUT ON YOUR OWN HOWEVER."

You stared at the puzzle, trying to figure it out.

It did look like Papyrus.

Kind of.

After thinking about it, you came up with a solution to the puzzle and solved it.

"WOWIE! YOU SOLVED IT! AND WITHOUT MY HELP! INCREDIBLE! I'M IMPRESSED!"

"Thank you." You said, smiling.

"OH YOU'RE GOING LOVE THE NEXT ONE! I CAN'T WAIT!"

Papyrus laughed and ran away again.

You soon caught up with him again and Sans was beside him as well.

"HELLO HUMAN!" Papyrus said. "YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE THIS PUZZLE, IT WAS MADE BY THE GREAT DOCTOR ALPHYS!"

"YOU SEE THESE TILES?"

You nodded.

"ONCE I THROW THE SWITCH, THEY WILL BEGIN TO CHANGE COLOR!"

Papyrus explained what each color did, but he went too fast for you to understand him.

"OKAY, UNDERSTAND?"

"Uh no-"

"GOOD!" Papyrus said as he threw the switch.

The tiles began to rapidly change colors before they stopped to make a path.

Papyrus didn't say anything, he just turned around and left.

Once he was far away enough, Sans laughed and teleported away.

(Hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned for more and have a good day)

<-Chapter Five

Chapter Seven->

#undertale #undertale papyrus #papyrus #papyrus x reader #x reader #self insert #female reader #love #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction

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writinginthedarkwood · 5 years ago

Text

Kitsune Todoroki: A Mischievous Encounter

Your village is starving, you make the journey to the abandoned shrine to plead with the god that may or may not be there...

~Some supernatural smut for ya (also kind of fluffy? idk)~

Kinks for Kinktober! - Master/ Slave

Shoto Todoroki x Reader Halloween special!

My feet are exhausted, I’ve been walking for too long today. A day’s journey seemed like such an easy task before I actually started the path through this over grown wood. I sighed and tightened my boots, the sole has been wearing thin for months now, but they’re holding up okay. I took a sip from my leather pouch, the tangy flavor of the leather tainted the fresh water, but I couldn’t restrain myself and gulped it down anyway. The tree’s are blowing gently, the sun is shining threw the tree’s and hitting the banks of the river, reflecting off of the exposed stones of the low water. “The drought is effecting the forest all this way west too...” I mumbled into my pouch before taking one last sip.

Something loud moved through the bush behind me, I snapped around and stared at the foliage line. Was something hunting me this whole time? I don’t have a blade to protect me, the biggest predators on this side of the mountain are supposed to be the foxes. My heart pounded in my chest, but nothing appeared. The sound was gone before I fully turned around. I guess I should keep moving, no use sitting around waiting to lose sunlight. I brushed some dirt off of my pants, brother won’t miss these, and besides how would I make this journey in anything else? My family is one of the richest in town, to be caught in these clothes would be embarrassing for my grandparents.

The sun started to die down, it’s that time of day right before sunset. The sky is turning golden, soon it will turn pink and then all of the light will disappear. Panic set in my chest, I took a deep breath. I need to keep my head, I should have reached the shrine an hour ago. The plan was to find the shrine, make the offering, sleep until early morning and head home. “This was so stupid...” I started to curse myself. What made me think I could actually make a difference? I tried everything to help, even learning how to work the fields much to my families disapproval. People are hungry, tired. Live stock are dropping like flies. Even the inn keepers cat got sick and died this week, the gods have forgotten about us.

Tears gathered in my eyes. I swept one off of my cheek, I feel helpless. I walked for what felt like another hour, but judging by the sun its only been a few more minutes. Something peered through the tree’s just up ahead. Is that it? I pulled back a low hanging tree branch and stepped into a clearing. An old, older than anything in our village, building sat run down and falling apart. It was made of crumbling stone. The sloped roof was falling to the ground, the whole place barely standing. I carefully stepped through the doorway, there it was. The shrine! Compared to the building, this fountain looked untouched. It was smooth, made of a stone I didn’t recognize. It might have once flowed with water, the smooth stone was bone dry. A little bonzai tree sat on a pedestal, its roots grew out of its pot, the clay container close to bursting. It was overgrown, but healthy. Is someone taking care of this place? I looked around. Cobwebs and rotting wood indicated nobody had been here for a long time, the tree sat happily here, all alone. I pulled out the tiny statue from your napsack. My families most precious heirloom. A porcelain statue of a bowing dog, my families symbol. My grandmother will be devastated that its gone, but it will be worth it. I laid the statue down in front of the fountain and closed my eyes. I bowed down and took a deep breath. Please, please help my village. I pleaded silently, the sound of trickling water made me pry my head up off of the floor. It’s much brighter in here now, the floor is less cold. The fountain was running, gently, a stream flowed out of the bonzai’s pedestal. I gasped is a god listening? I shut my eyes tight and clasped my hands in front of me. “I’ll do anything to save our home, I’m pleading to anyone that’s listening!”

“Deal.” A low, calm voice answered me from behind. I screamed and twisted myself around and fell on my backside. The shrine was lovely now, the walls fixed, the roof hanging in place where it should be. Lanterns hung on the wall, burning with a low red flame. A young man was relaxing at a kotatsu, he wore a white robe, red flowers danced on one side, the other had blue split down the middle. He was lovely, his hair was also split down the middle, red on one side, white on the other. His face is flawless, an angular jaw, clear skin. You noticed a deep scar over his right eye, but it didn’t take away from his impossible beauty. He took a sip of tea, he wasn’t looking up at you. “Who... who are you?” I gathered myself and relaxed on my knee’s, trying to mask how scared I am. How did everything change?

“I should be asking you that question.” He set his cup down and poured himself another drink. “You are the one barging into my home uninvited.” He said plainly. He pointed to the spot beside him at his blanketed table. “Please, have a seat.” I obeyed, standing up and joining him at his tea table. My hands shook slightly as he handed me a cup. It was freezing cold, the tea was barely steeping. The glass had frost along the rim. “Oh, uhm, thank you.” I set the cup down. “My name is “Y/N, of the Y/L/N family. I live in the village at the base of this mountain.” He took a long sip of his tea and then set it down. “This tea is terrible.” He exclaimed, setting the cup down sort of hard. I’m not quite sure how to respond. “Oh no its deliciou-” I grabbed my own cup and took a sip. I swallowed hard and tried to mask my look of disgust. This tea is awful, I’ve never tasted anything so rancid. Besides the fact that its freezing cold. He sighed and shook his head. “Well, hopefully you can make a better cup than I.” You noticed as he bowed his head down slightly, he had two pointed ears atop his head. They were the same color as his hair. His eyes are heterochromic, he peered into yours curiously. “Can you make a decent cup of tea?” He asked.

“My mother and father never complain when I make them a cup. I’ve been known to do well in the kitchen.” I held my hands in my lap, his stare is piercing. A small smile turned the corners of his mouth upward, his teeth were pointed behind his beautiful mouth. “Oh wonderful, you’ll make a perfect servant.” Suddenly fear coursed through every bone in my body, I fell back on my wrist and placed another over my mouth, muffling a scream. He leaned forward, his smile fading. “Where are you going?” He reached for my ankle to pull me back to the table. I pulled myself away, trying to stand up and flee. He moved quicker than me, grabbing my leg and pulling me to him. He hovered over me, his hair falling in his face as he studied mine. “Are you alright, you look a little pale.” One of his ears twitched, and he blinked quickly a few times. “You’re not a human.” I spilled out, my voice shaking. “Ah, I guess that could be intimidating for some. Don’t worry Y/N. You’ll get used to it.” His face stayed serious, but his tone was light. He moved himself off of me and helped me sit up. “My name is Shoto. You may address me as Master.” He thought for a moment. “Or Shoto.” I couldn’t help but crack a smile. He seemed regal, like a prince, but very down to earth at the same time. “I apologize, I’ve never had a servant before.”

I thought for a moment. Putting pieces together that I haven’t quite grasped from our conversation so far. “Wait, I’m not your servant.” I said as light hearted as possible, not wanting to make him upset. He cocked his head at me puzzled. “Did you not just say that you would do anything to save your home, for anyone that was listening?”

I nodded my head yes, not liking where this is going. “Well I was listening. I took you on that deal.” He paused for a moment. “It should be raining now, nothing too harsh.” I stood up and opened the screen door, it was drizzling. The sound of the water hitting the roof with little ‘pings’ was music to my ears. “You did this?” I asked, sticking my hand out to gather some of the drops. It was real, it was really raining after months of harsh sun. “Yes, I can call on rains in times of joy.” He stood up and joined me in the doorway, he’s so much taller than I could tell before. His body is strong, his chest slightly exposed from his robe. “It’s been so long sense I’ve had a visitor. It’s not like I could just let you slip away.” He put a hand on my shoulder, his fingers freezing cold. “Such a lovely face, we’ll have to put you in more fitting attire.” He played with the strings on my tunic. “I can’t be your servant.” I said looking outside and not at him. “My family doesn’t know where I am, I left without telling them.”

“Ah, I understand.” He said sweetly. He snapped his fingers and the rain stopped, the moon shone through the dissipating storm clouds. “Wait! That wasn’t enough rain.”

“I’ve named my price. Your village will prosper, healthy children will be born. Rains will fall, crops will grow. Your village will be taken care of for generations if you just...” He cupped my face with both of his hands so that I was looking him in the eyes. “Stay with me, please.” His voice was so deep and raspy, my heart fluttered. “What kind of responsibilities will I have?” I felt hypnotized by his beautiful eyes, so old and wise. “You’re to take care of all of the shrines needs.” He spoke softer. “Along with all of my needs as well.” He closed any space between us. His chest pressed gently on mine, his right hand traveled to the back of my neck and held me there, the other still resting on my cheek. “I can train you to be my shrine maiden, my mystical woman of the wood.” His breath tickled your face, he spoke so closely to your mouth. “If you just stay here with me... forever.” I closed my eyes, my eyelids heavy and drunk with his seductive words. He spoke warm honey into my ears, I drank him in. “I’ll... I’ll do it.... Master...” I sighed into his kiss. He placed his lips onto mine gently, pressing down and sliding around my mouth. I kissed him back, hungry for more. He hesitated, he started reaching for my tunic, tempted to pull it off of me. He resisted and pulled away, out of breath he staggered further back into the shrine. “I deeply apologize.” He straightened himself out and I stepped away from the door frame and shut it behind me. “I don’t want to hurt you, I just haven’t ever seen anyone so-” He took a deep breath, calming his voice. “So beautiful.” My face burned. “Any other spirit will be feverishly jealous of me, I’ll do everything I can to protect you from any unwanted advances.” He bowed his head slightly, sealing his promise. “You don’t have to be sorry Master Shoto.” I feel lightly embarrassed, losing control of myself and my urges. “I didn’t mind...” I gulped, trying not to seem any less lady like than I already appeared. He put his hand behind his neck and let out a breathy chuckle. “Oh, that makes me feel less monstrous. I try not to be like some of the other more... animalistic creatures of these forests.”

I played with my thumb nail, tempted to picking it off. “What kind of things live out here Master Shoto?” I asked, my curiosity killing me. He’s unlike anything I have ever seen, could other people like him really be out here? “Lot’s of spirits, some a little less wicked than others. We get together for festivities quite a bit... hopefully you’re a good hostess.” My heart pounded at the thought of more spirits coming here. “They’ll be coming here...?” He sat back down with the tea and I joined him. “Of course, this is a regular hot spot for all manners of spirits. tengu, Oni. Other kitsune.” He put a hand on my lap and rubbed my knuckles. “I wonder how they’ll react when they smell you...” He trailed off in thought for a moment. “What do you mean?” Do I smell bad? I take special attention to my hygiene, I suppose I have been hiking all day. “Well your scent is very intoxicating. I’ve never smelled a human so alluring.” My cheeks flushed again, he compliments so sincerely. “Will they try and hurt me?”

He took no time to think about that. “Oh most definitely, most of the lot takes no consideration for their primal urges.” He said bluntly. “Your scent combined with your raw beauty, I’ll have to beat them off with a broom.” I let out a light squeak, my heart sinking into my stomach. “What should I do to make myself less... desirable?” I never thought I was particularly prettier than any of the other women in the village, just from different status. I’m not callused from hard work, wrinkled from sunshine or bloated from bad food. My mother always calls me beautiful... and my parents had many suitors in line for my marriage. I look in the mirror often, and sometimes I feel insecure.

“There’s nothing you can do, especially sense you’ve never been taken by a man.” He spoke matter of factually. I blushed wildly, completely flustered. “What would you know about that!” I raised my voice and the fox spirit chuckled. “No need to get embarrassed, I can smell it on you.” He leaned toward me and took a deep breath through his nose. He placed a hand on the floor beside me, I leaned back on my hands as he invaded my personal space. He placed his nose along just below my jaw line and took another deep breath. “I missed the only logical solution to all of our troubles.” He purred, his voice right in my ear. “I’ll just make you smell like me, so that no lusty tengu will try and touch you...” I froze, his entire demeanor changed. His breath grew heavier, he touched my side and used his legs to pry mine open and place himself between my hips. I tried to speak, but my voice came out shaky. “I- I thought that you didn’t want to succumb to your primal... uhm, urges.” He laid me down on my back and pressed his hips firmly onto mine. “Oh don’t worry darling, I’ve thought this over very thoroughly.” He placed soft kisses on my neck, one after the other. His lips just barely touching my skin. “This isn’t just for me... for my needs.” He crooned in my ear. I let out a small moan and clamped a hand over my mouth, horrified. I’ve never made a sound like that before. He pulled my hand off of my mouth and pinned it about my head. He traced his finger tips down my arm and gripped my other hand, forcing both of my wrists into one of his strong hands. “I need to keep my sweet servant girl safe.” He used his free hand to hold himself up off of the floor. He stared down at me, his face held some type of sincere innocence, like taking advantage of me isn’t his intention. “I’ll just mark you as mine.” He pulled my cloth pants down and my breath caught in my throat. His eyes rolled partly back into his head, he looked overwhelmed by me. He let go of my hands and fell on his elbow, smashing his lips onto mine. His hands ran over my body, he ripped my tunic over my head and threw it away from us. Looking down at me with a crazed look in his eye. “How are you this magnificent?” He pulled at the tie around his robe. He exposed himself, his body incredibly toned and hard. I reached out and ran a finger over his abs. I blushed, but I couldn’t look away. “You’ve never seen a man in this state.” He grinned. “What do you think?” He was kneeling, but he was still looming so tall over me. “What do you mean?” I stammered out, partially breathless. “Tell me how much you enjoy looking at my body.” He oozed with confidence now. “My slave.” His sharp teeth flashed, enjoying every moment of this. “I like looking at your body-” He gripped my chin and forced me to look in his eyes. “Say it again.” He spoke almost in a whisper. “I love looking at your body Master Shoto.” I tried to drip my words with as much sweetness as possible. Shoto reacted, pleased with me. He let go of my chin and touched me on the outside of my heat. He swirled his finger around, I whimpered pathetically. My slit grew wetter, I tried to cover my face in embarrassment again. “Stop that, I want to see every look on your face as I claim you.” He took his finger away and put it in his mouth, tasting me. “Tell me what you want Y/N.” I stuttered, not answering him fast enough. He placed two fingers on the most sensitive part of my body. He pressed down on my clit and rubbed up and down, his fingers grew colder. I gasped, his touch so drastic compared to my warmth. My stomach felt nauseous, I craved something. Anything other than this torture. “Master Shoto, I want-” I gasped again, he gathered some of my moisture on the tips of his finger to lubricate his touch. He rubbed even slower, letting the temperature gradient do most of the work. “Tell me what you want or I’ll stop.” It was an empty threat, his want was worse than mine, his member dripping in anticipation. “I want you to claim me Master!” I pleaded gripping onto my own hair and squirming underneath him. “As you wish, Y/N.”

I cried out, his staff’s tip punctured through my innocence. He pressed himself close to me, he held my face close to his, keeping his lips on my cheek for comfort. He moved his hips slowly, gently working his way in through my resistant walls. “You need to breathe Y/N. If you relax it will hurt less...” He whispered so sweetly in my ear. I took a shaky deep breath. “Just like that darling, I can feel you getting wetter...” He moved more of himself in, his whole length filling my entire body. I moaned, every second he’s in me gets better and better. “What a good girl, getting so wet for her master.” He gripped onto my hair at the base of my neck and thrusted in me harder, starting to get an even pace. He couldn’t help himself, groaning in my ear, repeating how much of a good girl I am. My body started to heat up even further, the pressure in my core building up to an unbearable point. “Master... I-” I screamed out, my mouth releasing a lewd sound. This made Shoto smile and chuckle. “You finished on me-” He groaned softly in my ear. “I’m flattered.” My body is shaking, my breath falling out of me in whiny gasps. “Want me to make you do it again?” He said mischievously, his tone almost feeling like he was mocking me. Teasing me for being so inexperienced, or for needing more like a greedy beggar. “Yes master.” I said through chattering teeth. “Beg me...” He kissed my jaw right under my ear. He slowed down, holding his cock in my body completely still. I squirmed, my hips rocking. He gripped my pelvis and pinned me down, forcing me to hold still. “If I sit here still long enough I’ll eventually climax...” He grinned wolfishly, I could feel him twitch. “I want more Master...” I whined like a child begging for more dessert. “Be specific.” He was toying with me, his eyes glazed with pleasure. “I want to feel like that again, please do it again Master Shoto.” I couldn’t care how unlady like it might sound to beg. He pulled himself mostly out, and slammed back into me hard. The sound of our bodies mashing together was almost as loud as my moans. He pounded into me, his hips flailing wildly. I scraped my nails down his back and hid my face on his shoulder. His neck bringing me comfort as I felt my bodies tension build back up again. He effortlessly kept his pace, barely seeming winded. I hadn’t noticed how long it was before he finally came close to his own release. My voice grew hoarse, crying out over and over again every time he brought me to the edge and let me go. My entrance is getting sore, I’m still slick but I’m using muscles I’m not used too. “Can you take anymore of me slave?” Sweat had started to pool on his forehead, just the slightest hint of his stamina dying down. “Y-yes” I said slightly unsure. I can hardly move, my head flat on the floor and my mouth dripping with drool. My clit throbbed, my thigh muscles ached. Tears had been running from my eyes for a bit now, my climax bringing the salty streams out to run down my face. “I think you’re lying my darling...” His voice was shaky, he kissed my forehead and I buried my face in his chest. “I’ve about given you everything I have.” He slammed his hips into me one more time and let out a heavy sigh. He pulsed in my body, he let his weight go onto me. Pressing us flat onto the floor. He held me like that for a moment before pulling out. I closed my shaking legs and my groin muscles thanked me. Being stuck in that position for so long caused my whole body to cramp. “You’re such a good girl, you took me for hours.” He helped sit me up. “Was it really that long?” I leaned onto his shoulder and he rubbed my back. “Time moves a little strange here, but yes its been awhile.” He played with my hair and traced along my spine. I started to doze off in his arms. “Don’t worry I’ll train you to last even longer.” He said sweetly. I couldn’t even respond. “Sleep now love, tomorrow you’ll have to learn all of the shrines duties.” He chuckled at my groan of protest. “Goodnight Y/N...” He talked into my hair. “My darling...”

HEY YOU READING! Hi you should follow me if you liked this story! I’m planning on building other characters in the same world and possibly even doing a part 2 for this one? I think Kaminari Denki is going to be a Tengu... it should be shocking~ (I’ll see myself out for that stupid pun)

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jossielrs · 3 years ago

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Tomatoes

-Shane Koyczan

People always ask me, "How do you memorize all that?" And the truth is, the first girl I ever kissed tasted like tomatoes. I know this because the second girl I ever kissed tasted like pepper. It wasn't unpleasant, it was just, I was expecting tomatoes. When I was a kid, I learned that time slows near a black hole. Inside a black hole time stops all together. Whether or not this theory will ever be proved, I am moved to believe, this would be the perfect place to love someone. In grade four my gym teacher gave me the nickname half ton. It was a name that stuck. I remember it because it was the first time I ever told someone, "Go fuck yourself," and meant it. He quit calling me the name after he called my house trying to get me in trouble for what I'd said, to which my grandmother replied, "Mr Shithead, I told him to say it!" I remember my grandfather's blue toolkit, where he hid a secret stash of raisins. I recall thinking, "My granddad has the worst taste in candy." But he did teach me how to tie a tie. My first opportunity to apply this knowledge was my first date. A seventh grade classmate who showed up wearing acid washed jeans and a death leopard t-shirt; I wore a suit and tie. When she asked why I was all dressed I had to think quickly and told her, "I thought it'd be funny." I don't wanna say it ended badly but she wound up leaving me for a boy who could make farting noises with his armpit. I'm forced to admit, it was pretty cool. In fourth grade my teacher had a rule about speaking out of turn. Failure to learn and practice this lesson would result in having to sit outside. I know this because I tried it once. When she finally came out to check on me she asked, "What was so important that it couldn't wait?" Knowing that it's rude to point but needing to illustrate my position, I gestured to her chest and said, "Your boob is hanging out." She quickly covered up and corrected me, "Breast." She was a good teacher. When I was twelve I was given an academic diagnostics test. The instructor later informed me I had an aptitude for history. He looked puzzled when I replied, "Yeah, but that was yesterday and today I'm more interested in tomorrow." I remember it because the next day I asked a girl if I could borrow a pen. When I offered it back she said, "You should write me a letter with it first." So I did, I wrote her a note which the teacher then intercepted and read to the class. It was something we'd learned in science that day. About how the way gravity affects mass and weight in relation to how quickly something will fall. Example: A crumpled ball of paper will fall at the same speed as a chunk of granite. It doesn't matter how much something weighs, it stays the same until you consider surface area and resistance, at which point the persistence of gravity loses force. Example: Crumple a piece of paper into a ball, it'll fall more quickly than a loose sheet. They're both composed of the same mass and weight so you'd think that the rate of velocity measured by the force of gravity would fall each to fall at the same speed. But that's when you need to consider the greater surface area of the loose sheet adds resistance, so the crumpled ball will fall quickly and the loose sheet will slowly float. I wrote a note, saying that "When two people fall in love, they do so at the same speed." There's no need to factor in the physics. Explanations are something we can make no use of. Einstein once wrote, "Gravity will not be held responsible for people falling in love." I wrote a note saying, "If I fall in love with you, no one will ever be able to explain it," and I think that's beautiful. Despite the class laughing, and she did as well. Which is how I can tell you that I then knew and now still know, she tasted like tomatoes. I don't remember the way every song goes, I can't recall every person I've ever met, I get names mixed up all the time, I'm terrible with birthdays. But I remember all the ways people have affected me; how our stories became memories; and if you're brazen enough to make one with me, you're

in there somewhere. Maybe it was a truth or dare kiss, or a simple act of kindness, one that reminded me to remember the moment and mark it as a memory so I could have it to look back on. From this life, I've drawn conclusions so big that you can't fit into the tiny comic book boxes. Because I don't wanna risk losing the details just so I can make the story fit.

It's not a trick. I remember how things felt, which in turn makes me remember how things happened. Like my first attempt at skateboarding, when I received a down to the bone skinned knee. I remember a tree that looked like a man with huge arms trying to hold up the sky. I used to try and climb to the top until one day I did and couldn't get down. I remember the man with the brown car who tried to convince me he was sent to pick me up by my mom. Number one: I lived with my grandparents. Number two: You didn't know the safety word. I recall when it finally occurred to me, I'm pretty fantastic. It's not magic. I remember because I make comparisons, and not in terms of better or worse, just different. And not all of these memories are great, but they're mine. Which lends weight to the belief that none are our lives are put together on an assembly line. We're not prepackaged with emotions or programmed with stories, we have to make our own. And they all come batteries not included. Amid the endless opportunities we have daily, seldom do we take the time necessary to pause; to stop; to record, rewind, and press play. In our own way we are all ghetto blasters at top volume. We consume silence with noise. Speakers pounding at our heartbeats as we write refund receipts for the broken eardrums of people that could hear us live. We give of ourselves time, precious because it's quality is limited only by your ability to live within it. Put yourself into every second of every minute and you will have a life worth remembering. Just because we don't have forever, doesn't mean we have to move towards the end as if we're on a conveyor belt. I feel nothing short of astonished when people ask me, "How do you memorize all that?" The fact is, it's not a trick. There's no fake curtain you need to pull away. No little old man making it all work from behind a locked door. You yourself probably remember when I told you before that near a black hole, time slows. Inside a black hole, is where I wanted to grow tomatoes.

#poem #poetry #slam poetry

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occassionalfanficwriter · 5 years ago

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Unyieldingly Yours,

Summary: Mammon had always been used to having pacts masters that never treated him kindly. He figured that the new human exchange student was the same except he's been recieving gifts for no reason at all and his new master treats him like he's the favorite among his less troublesome brothers. And now there's another ring on his finger and suddenly his master isn't his master anymore.

Or a love story that happens out of sequence.

A/N: The story is told in medias res. I wish the keep reading option was fucking available on mobile.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Fake Relationship, Slow burn only because Mammon and Mammorons are two halves of a whole pining idiota, local oblivious insecure demon in love with his sugar guardian human who pampers him to spite the world, Pretend Marriage up until it becomes the real deal, Hurt before Comfort, Intimacy disguised as helpfulness that would make Jane Austen proud, Love Words are: praise kink and acts of service, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence e.g. we went back to the orginal timeline, Through Love Miracles Happen

Rated: E for explicit descriptions of cock sucking (and emotions)

The facts of the matter are this:

He, the Avatar of Greed, is the first demon to get married.

His spouse is the human exchange student.

They are married in Devildom, the Human World, and the Celestial Realm.

His marriage is a sham.

Of the four facts about his current life, the fourth one is the one that bothers him the least. He knows his worth and it isn't much. He's happy enough that his Human was sparing his pride and dignity. That he doesn't have to worry that one day he'd go home and see someone else with them or have to go and stake his claim loudly and over and over again.

Everything was still the same as before they married. He invests and it fails, his Master/ Spouse/ Human bails him out. He has no money to spend and Blackie is out of the wallet and in his hand to use. His brothers gang up on him and his Human/Master/Spouse is there to save him even if sometimes he did whatever crime he was being accused of.

Mammon is used to being treated unkindly because that's what you get when you failed a rebellion. What he isn't used to was this:

"Mammon, can you get my book from the table?" accompanied by a sweet, pleading smile he couldn't resist.

"Darling, come with me to check out this new café?" said with a loving look and an arm hooked to his.

"Hello Love, your tie is as crooked as always!" a complaint without any bitterness or dislike and was instead said with great care as hands slid to his neck to redo the tie interspersed with quick and short kisses to his exposed collar bones, neck and finally his lips.

In short Mammon isn't used to you or your tender affections or your niceness or you being kind to him. Because it isn't really real when you have this gleam in your eyes that he knows all too well. It's defiance of what is expected and he knows it won't end well if he really goes and let himself believe. Defiance is what led to him being a demon. Love was what made him Fall and he doesn't want to do it a second time.

Except...

Except that he was greedy for the things no one could have easily.

Except that you were the exception to his rule and you had made him the exception to yours.

You'd made yourself a home in his heart in a place where their Father once was, branded him as yours in a way no one would ever be able to do. Your love was not a finite source and you forgave him for his sins far more easily in a way Father never would.

You had made him better...good in a way that a demon shouldn't be and you had accepted all of him, flaws and all and still proclaimed him beautiful, eyes shining as if you were seeing who he was before the Fall, before the Celestial War and it makes it harder for him to resist.

To believe that this marriage meant more than a way to spite Lord Diavolo and his schemes, to spite his brothers, to spite their Father, and to spite every human that called him as he was a Greedy Bastard.

He muses all of this as he watched you putter around your home in the human world. One that both of you had bought and registered as shared property. He looks at the homey but extravagant decorations at the wide windows that let the sun in and how it reminds him of his former home.

"Mammon! Where did we put the liquid polish?!" You whined and turned to him.

He moves away from his place on the wall and guides you to the cabinet tools and teasingly said,

"Jeez, what would you do without me?"

"Well, good thing we'd never have to found out!" You retorted as you pulled him towards the loveseat and instead of the sensible option of the L-section.

His traitorous heart stutters.

And he knew that he was destined to Fall again. As you gently removed your wedding bands, hands tenderly holding his, and with your lips kissing the spot where his wedding ring would have been resting...he wishes that you'd catch him if he did Fall again. That his lungs would not hurt from the impact of landing on the cold hard ground, that he wouldn't be left to remake himself once more stained with mud and dirt.

He kisses you softly, tenderly in a way that he once used to before the War. When softness was not a death sentence and a crime. He holds you close and tight in an embrace that demons aren't supposed to do.

Here are the things Mammon doesn't know:

That somewhere between forming a pact with him and late movie nights you had seen him.

That you had never meant for things to end up like this, a complicated mess of emotions.

That Love was a choice and you had chosen him.

You had arrived in Devildom not knowing what to expect beyond the worse and Mammon on your first meeting had done nothing to prove you wrong.

Until that moment in the classroom. When he had told his story about helping that child in the hospital. You had taken one look at him and you knew he was telling the truth even when Levi said differently.

You knew best on how to make a truth sound like a lie afterall.

Somehow from that point you paid a closer attention to Mammon. Silently observing him and noting what he likes and dislikes. Piecing together who he was beyond the Avatar of Greed, beyond being the Second Brother, beyond the demon who you had a pact with.

It was a like a puzzle whose entire picture was discordant. He was a demon capable of ruthlessness, and yet he was an emotional mess. A demon that empathizes deeply. He was smart and yet he could be an idiot sometimes.

He was perhaps the most humanlike among them, in a way that never ceased to surprise you.

"Oi! Why are you staring at me like that?" Mammon complained.

And you kept your smile before looking away from him.

"!"

"You-you've been hanging out too much with Lucifer and Satan!"

"Oh? Have I?" You teased him.

"Yeah! You've got the same evil smile as them now!"

You laughed softly and beckoned him to come close. And Mammon, never one to deny himself of a chance to plaster himself unto you, leaned over. Your voice softly whispering unto his ear,

"I just wanted to look at my favorite demon."

And then a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth which Levi saw as he entered the Common Area. And it started from there, tender touches whenever one of the other brothers were present.

A hand on his shoulder, or using his body to lean on, a gentle tug of his hair to keep him quiet during a marathon sometimes with a kiss to his head to pacify him.

If you were feeling bold and particularly touch starved you'd watch a horror movie with him and be the big spoon just so he can hide his face on your chest and you'd kiss the crown of his head until the scary moments passed.

And if you were lucky you'd get to sleep with him. (If you were extra lucky he'd sleep naked and let himself be held and then you'd wake up in a tangle of limbs ,and Mammon would take your breath away with the way the moon shines on his sleeping visage.)

In rare moments, when it was just you and him, you'd look at him and try to see past who he was now to catch a glimpse of the Angel that was. And you like to think that you do see what he was as an Angel.

It was in the gentle way he'd somehow look when lost in his thoughts, a private moment within his mind that he'd let you see sometimes. It was in the way he'd touch you on the days were being a human was hard. It was the way he'd look at you when you'd give small trinkets that now decorated his room.

In the way his face lightened up when you'd place a spare toothbrush on your bathroom for him to use.

It was in this small moments where the two of you integrate each other into a routine that was slowly being shared between you two. Sometimes you loved him too much that it hurts.

In between the small gifts that reminded you of him, in the stolen glances, and pretending like everything wasn't a calculated dance between the two of you...foolishly you realized that you had already loved him. There was no grand epiphany or the feeling of time stopping.

There had only been you and him, in the music room. Teaching him how to play Tchaikovsky, laughing along and smiling at his antics. He was talented at it and you had wondered if it was inherent or it was due to his long lived life.

As quick as the notes that the two of you began to play, you realized you had fallen in love and you continued to do so, following his lead and not regretting it for a single moment.

"You're just like this piece" You thought as the tempo changes from fast and playful into slowing down into a gentle playful beat, and as the piece ended and the notes lingered in the air you knew in the very depths of your heart, you would never be able to love anyone the way you came to love Mammon.

"Mammon, marry me?"

You asked, impulsive but certain.

"I'm a demon!" He blurts out, cheeks red.

"And I'm a human."

"I'm drowning in debts—"

"I'm rich."

"Well I'm poor!"

"How can you be poor when my assets are yours to spend?"

"Yo-you can't just do that! What if a real scum emptied out your bank account?!"

"Don't be ridiculous, you're the only one who'll get this treatment."

He chokes on air and flails about.

"Those aren't good enough reasons!"

"Then what about this: I love you."

He stops and blinks and covers his face with his hands, "That's not fair..."

You smile and kiss him softly on his forehead.

"I love you," You repeat "in ten thousand realities I'd choose you and love you."

"Just me?" He asked with a small voice, vulnerable and yet filled with uncertain hope.

"Just you."

And he smiled at you so brightly it felt like seeing the sun for the first time. He never stopped surprising you.

"Mammon, be my only man."

"Okay."

The thing is that its easy to forget that love was a choice. That no matter how many times you've used a spear as a walking stick it didn't change the fact that it was still a spear. That in the euphoria of love, of being human, you forgot that they had to shed what made them an Angel.

The thing is its easy to get wrapped up in your hurt and drown yourself in it to avoid the uncomfortable truth of the matter:

You were just a blip in his long life, and yet he would have loved you with the entirety of his being.

Loved you without leaving some for himself. And you had selfishly decided to carve out his last remaining hope because you had made your decision long ago.

Your Mammon over everything else. Not even a version of him could compare to the one you held on the palm of your hands. So you had closed your eyes and turned around, went back and ignored the pleas of staying and heart broken sobs as he begged you.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't leave me, please..."

"You have questions." You state, as you cleaned your wedding ring.

The light catching the engraved words inside the ring.

"Why me?" He asked and hugged you tighter, clinging and drowning himself into the sweet scent of your shampoo.

You stayed silent, unsure with how much of your heart you wanted to bear. Afraid of being known and found wanting.

"Sometimes...I dream of him...the one you didn't choose..."

"The one I abandoned" You thought bitterly.

"He...he just went and lived in the human world...in the place you used to lived in..."

You kept silent and played with the ring in your hand.

"Did you know that he had planned on confessing...? He wanted to give her one of his rings..."

"Mammon..." You begged him.

"Tell me...why come back when the outcome would have been the same?"

"Because he wasn't you. He isn't my Mammon, I had no presence in his life!" You turned and glared at him, unwilling to shed tears, and reveal how the thought of losing him hurt more than leaving a version of him behind.

You didn't want him to know how you've grown used to him in your life that even if you had stayed back there you'd end up searching for the traces of him in that Mammon.

"I love you, this you that married me! I'm in love with you! Beyond reason! Beyond everything the world can offer me!" You cried at the unfairness of him asking this of you as if your love that was blatant to the world was not real.

"How am I supposed to believe you?" He asked.

Hurt and fear etched in his blue and gold flecked eyes.

"With the way that I am here, in this moment with you, in your embrace, cleaning our wedding rings together." You answered as you cupped his face and looked at him in the eye and let him see the depths of your love for him.

"This is real" You say kissing his forehead, the gap between his eyes and then his lips, softly and sweetly as if he was the most precious treasure on all three realms.

And he was.

"I am in love with you, the angel that fell, the demon that rose from the ashes of who you used to be. I am in love with the you who trips over his words, the you who loves your siblings. I am in love with you who is more human than me."

You confessed, "How can I not come back to you? When you are my home? Mammon, we could divorce and undo our pact and even so I would still love you and no one else would be able to fill the hole you'll leave in me if our love fades..."

"I'm scared that one day I'll have nothing left of you. That I wouldn't have any way to prove to myself that you were real."

He whimpered.

"Then let's find a way."

"What if we fail?"

"What if we succeed?"

He looked at you, tears in his eyes and it reminded you of that Mammon you had hurt so cruelly for the sake of the one you held carefully on the palm of your hands.

"The truth is that I have loved you from the start, in that classroom as you confessed your kindness."

"That long?!"

You smiled through your tears, "Do you understand now? I'm only kind because you are, you can be greedy of me, covet all of me. You can want all of my kindness because it was all for you."

You wiped his tears and kissed the corners of his eyes. Kissed his lips deeply and tasted him.

He held you closer to him, chest to chest as his hands moved to your hips. You rutted against him lost in the sensations of his lips against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses from your neck to your now bare open chest.

He presses harder against you, giving you the friction to heat up your insides and you moan when his fingers enter you and he begins his ministrations. You miss his lips against yours even if your hands had traversed his chest and was now fumbling to unzip his pants.

The sex this time would be different.

"Let me worship you" You asked with a dazed look in your eyes from the love and lust you felt for him.

He laughs softly as if he had never known you were not the most devout of believers.

"Turning away from your God now?"

You smile enticingly, kissing him on his cheek, resting your entire weight on him.

"One cannot serve both God and Mammon," you whispered in his ear "Therefore I will serve you."

And Mammon feels the heavy weight of your words, clutches you tighter as your words settle between the two of you and lingers in the air.

"You can't," He paused to exhale "you can't take that back."

"I'd never."

He takes you into the bedroom and you worship him. You leave a trail of kisses across his muscular and toned chest, leading downwards to his thick cock standing at attention.

You paused for a moment to admire him.

"Why did you stop?" He whined.

"I think I am starting to understand what Theresa was on about."

And Mammon snorts and looked smug up until you take his whole cock into your mouth and start blowing him.

"Fuck!" He curses hands curled into your hair as he thrusts into your mouth. You take more of him in letting him fuck your mouth while your hand teased his balls.

He looked at you and saw you look so smug even when your mouth was getting fucked.

"Why did I ever—" He moaned "think that you were innocent—"

You take him deeper and as your gag reflex went away and Mammon comes down in your throat and you let out a pleased hum that made him come harder.

"Because I'm good at being a real hedonist~"You teased him and you pushed him back down gently on the bed and climbed on top of him.

His hands rests on your hips

You think back on all the names and endearment you've called him as you idly traced upon the white markings on his skin. His cock was already twitching in interest.

"What are you thinking?" He asked, gasping as your right hand played with his nipple.

"What I would I name a painting of you" You replied before sucking on his other nipple and lightly biting it.

"And?"

You looked at him and smirked,

"Chamahel."

There is power in naming things.

He had fallen for so long that he had forgotten what he used to be before being Mammon. Before turning a word into a name and owning it.

In the place in his heart where their Father's Grace used to dwell, in that place in his mind where the name he had been bestowed was forcibly crossed off, becoming unutterable in his tongue something had changed. He had been redeemed.

And it had come in slow and almost unnoticeable small increments with each passing moment he had shared with you. Briefly, he wondered if it was because of your love.

And then he discarded that thought because nothing was more important than knowing that he was—is loved by you.

Here are the things that both of you have come to know:

That through love a demon, even an Avatar of Sin, can be redeemed.

That long lasting love exists only because both of you kept on choosing each other.

That a marriage can last through several lifetimes because the soul never forgets.

And that Paradise was not where Heaven was but instead in the time shared with your lover.

#obey me #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #mammon x mc #R-18 #im on mobile so forgive me for the mistakes #will crosspost this on ao3 once i get an access to a laptop #one shot #might expand later on but who knows #not me definitely #fanfic

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kyidyl · 4 years ago

Text

Kyidyl Explains Bones Part 5

(These are under the KyidylBones tag.)

How to dig up dead people.

So, in my Kyidyl Does Archaeology series I talked a bunch about how digging up places was different than digging up people. And you don’t have to read that to understand this, but it might be a little easier for you because I’m not going to re-address the same basics I covered there.

Ethical Stuff: So is digging up dead people ethical? I mean, I think so if strict rules are followed, but honestly the POVs here are as different as people themselves are. Some cultures routinely dig up their own dead and do all kinds of things with the remains. I wish they wouldn’t but, hey, that’s just me. I respect that their culture and choices aren’t the ones I’d make. It’s part of being an anthropologist of any flavor. And, like that one post implies, there really isn’t much of a different between grave robbing and archaeology. The biggest difference is the care we take, the respect we try our best to show, and the purposes to which we put the remains. However, there is a difference between exhumation and archaeology. General rule of thumb: if there’s someone living still that would have first-hand experience of them or if they still exist strongly in cultural memory, it’s exhumation. There’s no hard and fast number of years where it moves from exhumation to archaeology. Sometimes it’s the context that makes the difference. For example, Richard the 3rd’s bones were excavated from that carpark. If they were removed from where they were reinterred, then they’d be exhumed. But the TL;DR of it is that digging up people is incredibly ethically complex and you have to do your best to be respectful. If you aren’t the type of person who can really put yourself in someone else’s shoes and be ok with respecting the desires of a specific culture regarding their own dead...then archaeology is not the right area for you, and that goes double for bioarch. These people had lives and were loved and valued by those around them, and you need to be sensitive.

The legality of digging up human remains also varies wildly from country to country. In the US, we adhere to NAGPRA. If you want a primer on what NAGPRA is and how it works, you can check out this post that I made.

Also a quick reminder that we don’t name the individuals. They had names and you don’t get to give them a new one.

Beyond this cut there be pictures of human remains.

How do you know where to dig? Sometimes, honestly....we don’t. We’re just making educated guesses based on migration patterns and known settlements and research into local history. Generally, if there’s a group of people who lived somewhere, they also did something with their dead. So if you have a settlement, you’ll probably find bodies in it or near it at some point. Sometimes people find remains and are like “uuuuuhhhhh....” and we come and dig ‘em up. This is especially true on private property. Farmers are notorious for this. Construction, too, obviously. Sometimes we look in caves, because very old caves have lots of dirt on the floors and a lot of times if it’s a good cave there’ll be bones in it. Sometimes people threw their dead in bogs and now we have stuff that isn’t skeletons but is really old.

(Source)

That is a whole ass human dude. He’s around 2000 years old. You can still see his facial hair.

So there’s a lot of science behind how and why different environments preserve bodies differently, and I couldn’t possibly get into the detail of that here, but it’s definitely a factor we consider. A swamp in Florida isn’t a good place to expect to find remains, you know? General rule of thumb is: more water = less body, unless there water isn’t standard water (it’s very alkaline, very acidic, or very frozen.). Dry, cold landscapes like the Andes are great for preserving bodies.

So what you find when you go looking is going to vary wildly depending on the environment. My personal experience, though, is in graveyards. Graveyards are an easy thing to dig because it’s not uncommon to just like...know where one was. But graveyards aren’t the orderly things you’d expect them to be, not even modern graveyards. People bury their loved ones on top of other people, graves intersect, and sometimes people would sneak bodies into the consecrated part of the graveyard when the priests/monks/etc. said they couldn’t be buried there. So you can have bodies mixed with other bodies or under other bodies or just like random parts of people that were dug up, someone said “oops”, and then they were re-buried in a different spot. So when we dig a graveyard, we keep complex records of where all of the remains were found, including in-depth drawings. This is one way in which it’s similar to digging up a settlement. It’s...pretty much the only way in which it’s similar. Because part of the reason we do this is so we don’t mix up peoples’ body parts. Graveyards aren’t what you expect - when I was digging in one we thought we’d gotten most of the bodies out so we were using a mattock to make sure and the site director missed cracking the skull of an intact child by about a centimeter. Luckily the swing tore up a little bit of dirt and exposed it, but if it hadn’t? The next swing would have gone right through and inflicted heavy damage. So you have to be careful even in a graveyard.

Another thing about graves is that it doesn’t take long for the wood of a coffin to decay, so when you dig them up you will often just find the body and sometimes some nails. The nails are good, because they show you the outline of where you can expect to find parts of the same individual. This is one of the ways we show respect - we do everything in our power to NOT mix up the remains of different individuals and to separate them when we can.

Let me sidebar here for a minute to explain. See, your bones fit together. I don’t meant “ah yes, everyone’s shin bone connects to their thigh bone”. No, I mean that those bones have grown together in the same space for YEARS and they fit exactly. They have the same texture and thickness, they go together like puzzle pieces....at the spots where the bones touch. Or, as we say, articulate with each other. See, if I were to take, say, my cuboid and try to trade it with someone else’s, it wouldn’t articulate right. But something big like a tibia and femur will not be as easy to piece back together. That, and we don’t always have complete bodies. So we have something called “MNI” meaning “Minimum Number of Individuals”, and the maximum. So...three left femurs mean at least three people. Four right humeruses mean at least four people, so the minimum is 4. However! We don’t know if any of those left femurs or right humeruses belonged to the same person because they don’t articulate with each other. So the maximum is seven people. We have between 4 and 7 people in that set of remains. This becomes really important when you’re dealing with intersecting graves, mass graves, etc. Any time the remains are what we call comingled (mixed). This is what we’re really meticulous when recording where we found a given bone or set of bones.

Ok, back to the main thing. So...how DO we dig up dead people, anyway? It’s generally done in three stages:

Exposing - This is where we dig down just enough to cleanly expose what we believe to be the margins of the grave. We dig to the edges of the grave, not to a set square size like you would with a settlement. This is where we dig really cleanly, expose any grave goods, take pictures, etc. And it looks like this:

(Source. Was super frustrating searching for this bc I have several of these pics on my phone of the graves we dug and can’t use them for privacy/ethical reasons.)

Pedestaling/Cleaning - This is when we dig down around the skeleton and the grave goods, and then we start digging under the bones in preparation for the last stage. This is time consuming, detailed work. When I was doing this with the child we found, I used a mini trowel the size of my thumbnail and a dental pick. It’s *especially* important with juveniles because their bones aren’t fused and those unfused pieces are *tiny*. They literally look like clods of dirt. Most archs - rightfully - can’t stomach the idea of throwing pieces of a human body into the spoil heap, so we’re as careful as we can be. This part, when done right, takes days. It’s a difficult thing to get a picture of, but this one is close:

(Source)

The tags aren’t something I was taught needed to be done, but I can see why someone would. They’re basically just grave goods and features of the grave. They’ll be used to make a map of what’s what later on when the writeup is being done.

Lifting - We never just pull a bone out of the ground because it damages them. So we dig around them until they’re ready to come out on their own (and in the case of a large set of broken bones like you see above in that person’s skull, we’d just take the whole pile - dirt and all - for processing in the lab later. And no, it’s not normal to have the skull glued back together. We don’t glue remains together.). If one piece comes out before the others, it is bagged and tagged. We try not to have them come out separately, but it’s better to do that then to lose one. When we’ve cleared all the dirt out, we “lift” the skeleton, IE, remove it from the grave. If I included a pic of this it would just be an empty grave. :P

We make sure to take all of the grave goods and any soil samples with us, all carefully labeled. Fun fact about soil samples BTW. The soil around the bones and especially in the abdominal cavity can retain molecular traces and bacterial from the flesh that tell us about their gut flora and diet or about any parasites they had (parasites were super common back in the day.). It’s....really cool. So a sometimes, if we suspect that there might be money for that kind of analysis, we’ll take soil samples of the gut region.

We are...well, we’re very ritualistic about all of this. It is, of course, for scientific rigour. But part of it is that we’re systematically dismantling these peoples’ final resting places. They had lives and loves and spiritual beliefs that we are disturbing. This is sacred ground for so many cultures. So it always feels a bit like we’re doing these things in a specific way to show respect to the resting dead. That’s why in my 4 types of anthropologists post awhile back I said that archs are chaotic outside the pit but anal inside it. We want to learn from the dead, and it all feels a bit ritualistic if I’m being honest. And there’s this juxtaposition of digging in the dirt, in the chaos of earth and time, in a very structured, clean, orderly way.

Aaaannnyway I think that’s it for this installment. Ask box is open, I check comments and tags and whatnot. Tomorrow I think I’m gonna do age determination. How old were they when they died? Hmmmmm...

#science #archaeology #death #death mention #skeleton #excavation #graves #KyidylBones

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