#implied alcohol abuse

[st7arlights-side]

Theorizing Pt 1: repression

UP AHEAD: so much rambling about Orange. written very late at night and not the most coherent, sorry. (also, all uses of Thomas are referring to c!Thomas)

okay everyone talks about the dark sides being their opposites, opposing colors, colors on opposite ends of the wheel, but wanna know another term for it? complementary colors. I think the idea of "totally opposing, entirely contrasting, nothing alike" is not really accurate to the lore that we have been given? It's clear that it's important that all sides are accepted, and that there is no "solely good" or "solely bad" trait. Everything has complexities and different aspects to it, and the sides are no different.

I've never been particularly fond of the idea of wrath/anger/cruelty being orange because it seems like a scapegoat? I am more in favor of it representing regret (as most appearances of it are present in scenes or conversations with regret present) [forgot where i saw the theory first :sob:] and passion (impulsive acts based in emotions, a contrast to Logan's character while simultaneously rounding him out and forcing him and thomas to accept the parts that aren't all logical) [theory from @/dillydallydove] as these have more dimension and seem to fill out the gaps in the sides a bit more, especially considering the general theme going with remus, janus, and virgil. These are aspects that Thomas represses, and he knows them by names that aren't really accurate to their full purposes. He knows Janus as deceit, while he is more accurately described as self-preservation. He knows Remus as intrusive thoughts, when he is more accurately described as his repressed creativity. He knows Virgil as Anxiety (which is fairly accurate, though it still minimizes his functions) though he might be more accurately described as caution? fear? an aspect of self preservation? Regardless, perhaps orange could be known as wrath or anger because that's what he manifests as, but that doesn't mean that this is accurate to who he is as an aspect of Thomas. Remus is intrusive thoughts because that is the only way he can get recognized, the only way he breaks through the suppression. Janus is known as deceit because he has to manipulate the other sides to get them to prioritize Thomas's self-interest (as well as his personal responsibility to protect Thomas from what he can't handle at the moment; deceiving himself, sure, but at it's core, preserving his presently fragile mental state).

What emotion, what passion, does thomas repress the most? he's clearly open to expressing love and joy and, more recently, stress and anxiety, even some hints of sadness showing. but what has he been repressing the most? his anger! his frustration! his (and his sides') sense of inadequacy!! Orange is being seen in these contexts because that is what he isn't allowing himself (and the sides) to express as themselves.

Sanders Sides' whole thing is accepting the different parts of yourself, with underlying themes of c!thomas's upbringing causing him to repress, deny, or otherwise have an unhealthy relationship with "bad" aspects of himself (which, boy do i have some ideas for possible explorations of OCD in this, especially with the prevalence of intrusive thoughts- and the ways Thomas and the other sides change their language around Remus to prevent him from "getting ideas"-). Orange could be treated as a character foil to Logan, or Orange could be like Janus, but instead of protecting c!T from things he can't handle, Orange is the result of that suppression. Like how remus formed from thomas (patton) forbidding Roman from having "bad" ideas, orange could be formed from thomas (logan) pushing down "bad" feelings, feelings of passion that don't directly help other people.

Of course, this brings me to how Janus (a "gatekeeper" of sorts for Thomas) would interact with orange. this is reaching more into prediction territory. I suspect that Janus wants orange to emerge, as prolonged repression is harming Thomas (which i'm pretty sure he alluded to at least once, though i'm blanking on when). (also, an aside, is it not concerning that during the christmas special, Janus, c!T's self-preservation, was increasingly inebriated?? ooh and the occasional gags about Logan drinking wine too-) Notice how Janus has been watching Logan? this plus the general willingness to exclude Logan (further pushing his frustration and feelings of inadequacy) makes me suspect that he (as per usual) knows more than the rest.

I... don't really have a conclusion. I think Orange isn't an embodiment of aggression, moreso a result of repression? I guess? And I'm concerned about... yeah everyone involved, but especially Logan and Janus.

[missazurerose]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 9

Lend an ear

 “You know…if I had a single gil for every time a Scion was body snatched, I'd have two gil. Which is certainly not a lot but curious that it's happened twice.” 

“Let's hope we never make it to three gil.”

[goldenavenger02]

I reached for you, but you were gone

In fact, by the time the hands of the clock inched towards four in the morning, that was when he heard the creaky front door open which signaled the return of the youngest ninja from…wherever he had gone.

However, the last thing Cole expected when he walked toward the front door was to see red blood dripping down through the tears of Lloyd’s black gloves onto the hardwood floor.

Cole desperately wanted to go to bed and try to get some much-needed sleep.

This was the first time in weeks that he actually had access to a bed, thanks to his father letting them stay in his home, while construction finished on the monastery which they learned was something that Nya had arranged before they got mixed up with the Sons of Garmadon.

But despite the fact that he was tempted by the promise of sleep, he couldn’t lay down or relax; not after Lloyd had dipped almost as soon as they arrived at the house and hadn’t been seen in hours.

Staying up and waiting on Lloyd was usually something Kai would do, but between Skylor still recovering from using Garmadon’s powers and Nya’s dislocated shoulder, the fire ninja was preoccupied. 

After all, he probably was just getting fresh air and taking a break from being the green ninja; that wasn’t something anyone would blame him for after the hell he had been through, but something in Cole’s gut kept him awake and watched as the analog clock that he grew up watching ticked closer and closer toward morning.

In fact, by the time the hands of the clock inched towards four in the morning, that was when he heard the creaky front door open which signaled the return of the youngest ninja from…wherever he had gone.

However, the last thing Cole expected when he walked toward the front door was to see red blood dripping down through the tears of Lloyd’s black gloves onto the hardwood floor; the red of the drips contrasted harshly against the paleness of his face as their eyes met, the water instantly filling the teen’s softly glowing green eyes.

“Lloyd?,” Cole approached slowly with his hand outstretched toward him, trying to keep him calm and swallowing down his thoughts of how much he could see his younger self in those green eyes, “can I help you get cleaned up?”

He wasn’t shocked when all Lloyd did was nod, allowing Cole to put his hand on his upper back and lead him toward the bathroom; in fact, as the earth ninja turned on the lights and guided Lloyd to sit down on the closed toilet seat before rummaging through the medicine cabinet for the first aid kit, Lloyd didn’t make a single noise despite the tears running down his face.

Cole knew better than to pry; when he would find himself in similar situations where he would shut down as his palms continued to ooze bright red blood from the abrasions that occurred as he climbed mountains, he always hated when someone would ask the dreaded questions of “why did you do this?” and “we can get you help”. 

Not from the fact that doctors, nurses, and even Master Wu cared, but the implications of what they thought was going on and the fact that despite everyone else’s concern, he could never get that one specific person to care.

When he finally found the first aid kit and slowly maneuvered the tattered gloves off of Lloyd’s mangled hands, he was admittedly relieved that the markings were indeed those that he recognized from moving stone and not ones that he would have to discuss with the others in private.

“Lloyd?” Cole asked after dousing a gauze pad in antiseptic and waiting until the still teary eyes looked up at him with a look that he couldn’t describe as anything other than distant, “Do you have anything in the wounds? Like glass?”

It was then when Lloyd spoke for the first time that night, but it wasn’t the answer Cole had been seeking at that moment, rather, it filled in the gap of just where Lloyd had been when this had happened.

“I-I couldn’t save her,” his voice came out eerily quiet, with a hollow sound to it, and it was only then that Cole noticed the blood streaks in his bright blonde hair as well as on his pale face, “s-she was right there a-and I…I was powerless.”

“Hand,” Cole spoke first, waiting until he was able to start wiping down Lloyd’s hand before responding, “I know that any of what I say isn’t going to fix it. I’m not going to pretend I know what you’re going through either because I don’t know.”

Cole finished wiping down his left hand and moved onto his right, watching as he looked at him with confusion as well as zero signs of flinching from the sting of the antiseptic.

“What I am going to say is this. I could see how much she meant to you, even after she betrayed you in Prime Evil’s Eye,” Cole stopped to throw away the blood-stained gauze pad and moved on to wrapping up Lloyd’s hand, “I wasn’t here to help with the resistance, but from what PIXAL was telling Zane and I, she didn’t do anything to give you a reason to think she had changed.”

“I saw her face…” Lloyd swallowed harshly, “She was s-scared, her p-parents died the same way when the Great Devourer-”

“Lloyd, what is this really about to you?” Cole questioned as he finished wrapping his hands and moved on to try and get some of the grime and dried blood, “you cared for Harumi, but after what she did-”

“I don’t know much of Ninjago is dead because of me!” Lloyd shouted with a force that made Cole take a step back from him before reaching under the sink to grab a hand towel and regret just how much he was pushing, “The Devourer, the Overlord, Morro…and now this,” Lloyd’s voice was shaky as he was hit with a violent shudder, “I-I wanted to prove her wrong, okay?”

Cole swallowed as he turned on the cold water and let the fabric absorb the water, but he knew that he couldn’t stop talking now, not when he was so close to finally learning what caused him to be in a bathroom at what was now for sure four-thirty in the morning. “Prove her wrong?”

“S-she said that I was naive. That I was f-foolish to believe that no one died that day, that no one h-has died because of me,” Lloyd explained, which brought Cole back to the brief flash of being sixteen and watching helplessly as the city was destroyed all because of a freakishly large purple snake.

He remembered when he and the others would indeed blame Lloyd for their troubles with the Serpentine until that fateful day when he was swung over Jay’s shoulder and brought aboard The Bounty. 

“I-if I could h-have saved her,” Lloyd’s shaky voice brought Cole’s mind back to the present which meant he was turning off the cold water and wringing out the excess before pressing it to Lloyd’s cheek and starting to try and gently wipe away the blood and dust, “t-then she’d be living proof that n-not everyone dies.”

Cole swallowed as he tried to find the words to slow the tears that spilled down onto the washcloth; they had all experienced survivor’s guilt at some point, he had been the same age as Lloyd when they found out Zane was still alive and all he remembered before that was just how much of a spiral he had found himself and the others in.

Kai had nearly drunk himself into an addiction that was only stopped by his addiction to fighting and while he hadn’t been talking to Jay at the time, he could tell based on the glimpses of the shiny game show that he hadn’t been coping well either just based on his mannerisms on stage.

In fact, it had been Lloyd who pulled them out of their individual unhealthy coping mechanisms. It had been Lloyd who wanted to bring the others back together, to try and revive their team without Zane. In a weird way, Cole had been somewhat thankful that Chen’s henchmen had pointed them in the direction of bringing him home.

He finished wiping Lloyd’s face, having removed enough of the blood and grime that it wouldn’t transfer on the pillows as he slept, and started to put the first aid kit away.

“It’s hard to focus on the good when you lose someone who was important to you,” Cole started, his voice threatening to waver as a brief flash of his mother appeared in his mind, “but, you stopped your father. The colossus was destroyed. And we evacuated the majority of the city in time. So, that has to mean something.”

“I just wish I could have…” Lloyd’s voice was still shaky, but the flow of tears had definitely settled, at least for now, which was as good of a signal as any.

“Come on, punk,” Cole spoke softly, offering his hand for Lloyd to pull himself onto his feet, “let’s get you in bed. After all, someone who shall remain nameless,” he stopped to give Lloyd a pointed look, “told the commissioner that we’d help clean up tomorrow.”

“We did break it.” He shrugged while taking Cole’s outstretched hand, allowing him to lead Lloyd toward the air mattress in the main room where he had told everyone that he was fine with sleeping on.

“You’re right,” Cole surrendered, waiting to watch Lloyd get comfortable before pulling the throw blanket over him and gently resting a hand on his shoulder to assure him that he was indeed safe and it was finally over, “but, we’re going to help rebuild it.”

[agrumina]

[Fullis, Athria and Phae are my Skykids OCs]

Fullis loves the Performance troupe. 

Contrary to all expectations, her favorite is the Musician. Especially considering how badly Athria talked about them. A small part of Fullis wonders if being friends with this Spirit is a way for her to “rebel” against someone she once looked up to.

The Musician seems to take things TOO calmly and the moments they get into some trouble are not uncommon. Fullis has lost count of how many times she has heard the Performance Guide scold them. 

Yet, Fullis likes their company.

They were among the firsts with whom she first experimented with her “new self”, Musician always greets her and always asks her if she wants to practice with them, Musician sometimes starts dancing seemingly at random but it makes Fullis smiles when they do that.

Furthermore, it seems that almost nothing worries Musician. She sometimes envies how much chill they can be. 

But one day, after yet another nightmare about Dark Dragons and the Wasteland and having thought a little too much about the Eye of Eden and Phae’s ramblings about history, Fullis can’t hold back a question.

“Musician, you are dead, aren’t you?” 

She asks them one afternoon, in a (rare) moment where the Hall is empty apart from them and the rest of the crew. 

“Yes?” Musician replies, not hiding their perplexity at this obvious but sudden observation. 

“A bit of a strange question... if I may ask… do you remember how?” 

Musician at first blinks, then chuckles. But it’s not the light chuckle they give when something funny happens in Hall or when they try to hold their laughter while looking at the Guide and Stagehead’s antics.

“Who remembers?” Musician answers, between a nervous? chuckle and another. “I had drank so much I noticed in the very last moment that-“ 

Musician stops suddenly. They frantically look around, like a child who just did something bad and is afraid someone might have seen them, before looking at Fullis back again.

“Um. That’s it. I don’t remember. That is all. Really. Actually, why do you ask such a gloomy question?” 

Fullis doesn’t know how to answer them. She doesn’t even know if she wants to continue the conversation, even if she started it.

[shattered-system]

I’ve seen some art with the line “the future is plural!”

I hope it isn’t.

More systems means more abused kids.

[muzgozjeb]

[motleyfam]

Mocktail

It’s just an act.

The staggering around, the boisterous laughter, the flirtatious comments at passing servers… none of it is real. Bruce is just working the crowd, leaning into that stupid billionaire playboy persona to try and shmooze some information out of one of the other rich bastards here. It’s for a case that he and Robin have been working on—he’d even briefed Jason on the plan prior to their arrival. He’s not actually drunk.

Jason knows that.

Which is why Jason is so pissed at himself that he can’t keep his muscles from tensing up at the familiar boozy scent on his guardian’s breath when he leans in to whisper something in Jason’s ear, can’t stop his hands from instinctively balling into fists at his sides, can’t keep his eyes from darting around, searching desperately for an escape.

Bruce isn’t drunk. Jason knows that.

He knows that.

...So why can’t his body get the goddamn memo?

Bruce must have said something funny because the semicircle of businessmen surrounding him bursts into laughter. One man slaps Bruce jovially on the back, causing Bruce to stumble forwards, sloshing half his drink down the front of his suit and eliciting even more laughter from the group.

It’s the last straw.

Heart hammering, Jason ducks out of the crowd, head down, feet aiming for anywhere that isn’t here. It’s stupid, it’s so fucking stupid because he’s fine, nothing is wrong, Bruce isn’t even drunk. And even if he were, so what? People get drunk all the fucking time and the vast majority of them manage to keep their fists to themselves, their family’s bank accounts from zeroing out, their tongues from cutting lashes into everyone they love.

He ends up sitting at one of the empty tables near the back of the ballroom, stabbing angrily at a piece of raspberry white chocolate cake with his dessert fork, because he’s Robin for god’s sake, he interacts with drunk people practically every night. Why the fuck is he freaking out now?

“So how’s baby’s first gala?”

Jason glances up, then immediately scowls. “What do you want, Dickhead.”

Dick lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That bad, huh?”

Jason gives him a withering look. “Fuck off.”

“Why?” Dick snorts. “So you can mutilate more raspberries?”

“I’ll mutilate your face…” Jason grumbles, raking his fork through the frosting like some kind of crappy zen garden.

Dick’s grin falters. “Jay,” he says seriously. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No,” Jason snaps. “Go away.”

“Because if someone’s being inappropriate—”

“Nothing fucking happened, okay?!”

“Okay, okay!” He holds his hands up placatingly. “Don’t have to bite my head off.”

“I’m fine,” Jason growls, stabbing at the cake again.

“I can see that,” Dick deadpans.

Jason glares back.

Dick lets out a sigh. “Look, you don’t have to talk to me—”

“No shit.”

“—but there’s a 24-hour froyo place two blocks away.”

Jason blinks. “What.”

“Wanna get out of here?”

There’s a beat.

“...Fine," Jason relents. "But you’re buying.”

[wistfullywaiting2]

Odasaku, Sasaki, and the orphanage headmaster are all buried in the same cemetery.

So Kunikida, Atsushi, and Dazai all run into each other grave visiting regularly and politely pretend they don’t. They never acknowledge the meaning behind the bouquets brought, even if all of them know the others know flower language. They never acknowledge the tear streaks down Atsushi’s face, or the solemn look on Kunikida’s. Atsushi never points out how the scent of whiskey is always a bit stronger on Dazai’s coat. They never acknowledge the location of their accidental meetings.

Sometimes Kunikida might offer to take them to get food, or Atsushi will offer a random hard candy from his pocket, on colder days Dazai might lend his coat. None of them are really themselves when faced with grief, and none of them will to hold it against each other.

[karamazovposting]

Dostoevsky never mentioned it but I just know Ivan was chain smoking through that whole shitshow

[devilboycomic]

The prettiest sinner 🌼

[aftgficrec]

Anonymous asked: Is there any new Nicky and or/twinyard centred fics or any Kevin wymack bonding ones?

Or wymack parenting the other foxes?

Here’s part 2, Kevin bonding with Wymack under various circumstances! - S

NB: Nicky/twinyards centered fics here, parental Wymack here

also see…

Kevin & Wymack bonding here

changes by ParkeRose [Rated M, 15588 words, incomplete, last updated July 2024]

After Tetsuji Moriyama gives him up at the age of fourteen, Kevin Day goes to his father with one letter in his pocket and infinite hope in his heart.

dreams fall hard by cloudberrysoda [Rated T, 1979 words, complete, 2024]

Part 2 of human behavior (do as you please)

"You look like shit, kid." Kevin talks to his dad (and accidentally reveals too much). Set during vanilla baby. Read that first

tw: implied/referenced alcohol abuse

These Green Eyes (Hers, Yours) by maydaykevin [Rated G, 1649 words, complete, 2024]

Kevin and David share a quiet moment.

tw: implied/referenced abuse

stamps by mostly_micro (mostly_maudlin) [Rated G, 100 words, complete, 2024]

The first arrives a week after Wymack gets home.

a lot's gonna change by neverlyxox [Rated T, 7347 words, complete, 2023]

Kevin started going to therapy at the beginning of the fall semester. It hadn’t been his idea, nor was he particularly happy about it. He could barely talk to the Foxes about his issues– and when he did, he definitely wasn’t sober– so how was he supposed to talk to a total stranger about it?

tw: alcohol abuse

boiling alive (at least it's what it feels like) by redinmyveins [Rated G, 1031 words, complete, 2023]

Part 2 of by the end of the day, we only have ourselves

Kevin Day is the best, but unfortunately his immunity system isn't and he ends up with the worst flu he ever had. By the way, that's also the first time David Wymack has to deal with the feeling of caring about someone of his kids sick. More specifically, his kid. His son. Or the first time David Wymack experiences one of the first experiences of being a parent: Having to take care of your kid when he's sick.

tw: negative self talk

one is chance, two is coincidence, and three's a pattern, (but let’s stop at two, okay?) by mistyrie [Rated M, 11396 words, complete, 2023]

It's the summer after winning championships when David Wymack gets a rude wake-up call. Apparently, an old acquaintance of his has passed and left behind a son in her wake — a son who may turn out to be David's... Another Kevin, so to say - and just as he and David are starting to figure it out together. – Because if it happened once, then why wouldn't it a second time?

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced alcohol abuse/alcoholism

loveless is no way to live by orphan_account [Rated T, 5934 words, complete, 2021]

just kevin crying, really (+ wymack trying to be a good dad)

tw: anxiety, tw: emotional isolation, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: emotional abuse, tw: ptsd, tw: nervous breakdown

i’m so sorry, dad by grievingfortheliving [Not Rated, 1215 words, complete, 2021, locked]

The missing scene where Wymack learns he has a son

Tapes by Marmeladeskies [Rated G, 781 words, complete, 2019]

Wymack declutters and finds an old VHS tape.

Kevin’s call to Wymack at thanksgiving by @ninyard [tumblr, 2024]

it’s such a good reason as to why i could put him on the stand. like perfect kevin day trying to explain why he’d seen a dead body and called wymack before anything else? and how that phone call went as well? what if they played it?

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced murder

When team USA wins Olympic Gold for the first time… by @exy-shmexy [tumblr, 2023]

Art

like father, like son 🫶 by @deklo

wymack and lil kevin 🫶 by @deklo

Wymack and Kevin’s first Christmas by @jojen-hewitt

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Hunter (Corporate AU)

- one of Rex's personal bodyguards

- chronically lonely

- slightly more socially adjusted but still treated like shit

(more lore under the cut, cw for themes of drug use/addiction)

- Hunter's childhood years/teens are mostly unchanged here, but instead of bouncing directly to organized crime after gang #3, he ends up alone for some time

- no friends, plenty of enemies, and in a really bad mental place, Hunter started taking one-off jobs as a drug mule to stay afloat. One job resulted in him getting paid with the product he was running, and at that point he was close enough to rock bottom that he said what the hell

- this started a destructive eleven-month cycle of him saying "never again", fighting with himself about it, and then having a shit day and cracking. The periods of self-argument got shorter and shorter with each time he caved

- he met Rex outside a bar purely coincidentally. They wound up having a one-night-stand (Hunter just wanted to sleep somewhere warm)

- later, Rex found him passed out in an alley and called an ambulance for him. In the hospital, he offered to pay the bill if Hunter came to work for him

- he made him get clean before officially taking the job (one of the only decent things he's done). Since then, Hunter's taken up nicotine and drinking as a legal substitution

- Rex isn't the most moral CEO. His bodyguards are there to protect him, yes, but they also act as enforcers and collectors

- he saved Hunter mostly for selfish reasons. He got rebuffed during their first encounter and liked the idea of taking back that control. Plus, having a guard dog who owed him everything sounded very appealing

- anyways my skrunkly boy looks cute all dressed up

[paingoes]

Destroyer Bonus - Glow

something lighter after the last update 

@pumpkin-spice-whump sent an ask game about “best memories” w paris and delta and it made me sad because yeah there arent many! but there are a few. heres one of the softer ones. ft. drunk!Delta

(Content: living weapon whumpee, dehumanization, touch starved, implied physical abuse, alcohol, power imbalances, war mention, passing drugs mention)

“What do you mean they surrendered?” Paris’s phone charms clicked together as he paced up and down the hall. “When? Just now?”

Delta listened at the other end of the hall, taking careful notice of the silent pauses that marked it as a phone argument, not a normal argument. The former always disappointed him. He liked hearing both sides so he could figure out who to root for.

“Well what the fuck did I come here for then?” Paris’s voice was more whiny than angry this time. “We already unpacked!”

Most of the ship’s cargo had been emptied to set up a new base camp, most of the soldiers already occupied with its assembly. The relative vacancy of the ship made all sound echo within it.

He heard Paris curse, the call ending abruptly, and the footsteps approaching. Delta peeked out of the alcove he’d been hiding out in.

“Not on?” He mouthed.

Paris jumped back in surprise, but recovered quickly. He rolled his eyes.

“No, we’re not on,” he said. “I didn’t call you, did I?” 

Paris shooed him away, even though he’d been there first. He was barely looking at him, all his attention still absorbed in the broken screen.

“Go to your room.”

He went to his room.

~

That was fine. He was never unhappy about cancellations. Even before his little moral doubts had started nagging at him, the work was hard on his body, even harder on his brain. He didn’t mind going back to his room. It meant he wouldn’t have to do anything today — and he was always so grateful for any rest.

He stared at the book he’d been reading until the room had grown so dark he could not see the pages. When he finally came to, it was pitch black outside the windows. He didn’t know how much time had passed. There came a knocking from out in the hallway.

The only light that came through to him was a thin line of orange beneath the door. Shadows crossed over it. He heard giggling, faintly. He didn’t bother to turn the lamp on before he opened it.

Sierra stood in the doorway, one hand flying to her mouth coyly as if to conceal her smile. She was flanked by her other handmaidens. Without the standard coifs and corsets, they were almost unrecognizable. They were dressed all in white, though the fabric of the gowns was frayed and torn at the edges. Their hair was undone in loose, messy curls.

“Hi Delta,” Sierra waved, then covered her mouth again in faux shyness. “We’re having a party, cause like, there’s nothing else to do here. We were wondering if you wanted to come out?”

He blinked, his head still foggy as he was emerging from the fantasy novel. He stared back at her tiredly and did not even consider the offer.

“I’m not allowed to leave the ship,” he said.

Sierra shook her head, smiling wider.

“Already asked. His Majesty said it’s alright.”

She slipped on the title, or she was being mean. Delta wasn’t convinced either way.

“He wouldn’t say that.”

She held up a small slip of paper.

𝒮𝒾𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒹𝑜 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓈.

                                       𝒫𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓈 ♡

~

He went to tell Simon he was leaving, just to cover all his bases, but found his office empty. It was a total ghost ship. The girls hadn’t been lying. It seemed like everyone onboard had gone out to the encampment. 

There seemed no better use for it, if they weren’t going to be fighting, if they weren’t leaving until tomorrow. 

He followed them down the ramp, dressed more casually than he usually did for any “party” occasion, but still done up in the way they had liked. He didn’t argue.

He began to regret the easiness with which he had followed them as they walked past the groups of soldiers. He did not actually want to be near any of them if they were getting loaded, or even if they weren’t. They were too rough, too entitled. They thought he had to answer to them — and though he didn’t, he did not have the boldness to correct them. Not that they would’ve listened anyway.

But Sierra did not stop at the main camp, though some of the girls did peel off to see all the commotion. She led Delta and the others out on the knoll. 

There was a crop of trees surrounding a stone pit. He watched her struggle to start a fire there before finally offering to do it himself, igniting the wood with electricity until it caught flame. He blushed at the cheers he got for that. It was nothing.

They had only taken him out as a toy. He had no misconceptions about that. He sat down in the spot where they’d indicated, keeping his posture straight so as not to throw off their machinations.

They talked amongst themselves while they worked. He caught the edges of their conversations, found none of it especially relevant but entertaining enough. It was more entertaining the more drinks they slipped into his hand. The girls seemed to get the same rebellious thrill out of his drunkenness that he got out of being drunk. Martino would’ve killed him if he knew. He drank in spite of, or maybe because of this.

He liked the way the night air felt against his skin. He was grateful to have experienced it before they made the return trip. As large as the ship was, it could easily become claustrophobic after enough time spent in deep space. It made him crazy, sometimes.

He flinched at the abruptness of the contact, then gradually relaxed underneath it. He was so unused to gentle touch. As the maid’s hand moved through his hair and down along his neck, he had to stop himself from leaning into it. It was hard for him to recognize anything as want, but in this, he came close. The touch was fleeting. It never lasted long.

They braided flowers into his hair, stopping every few minutes to check their progress. 

He hadn’t realized Sierra had left until she reappeared. In the dark, their silhouettes all looked the same. She came back over the promenade. Paris tread casually beside her.

Delta tensed a bit, fearing Sierra’s permit had not actually been all-inclusive, that he was not actually supposed to be outside. But Paris didn’t look very shocked to see him. He tousled his hair absently as he passed behind him, made no other acknowledgment.

As usual, he followed Paris’s voice before any other sound. He couldn’t keep himself from listening in on their conversation, even if he wanted to. 

“-not like it’s real. You’d know if it was.”

“It isn’t, though. I’ve always known it’s not real, that doesn’t make it any-“

“My brother used to get those. They gave him Ativan for it.”

“I tried that already.”

Another flower was braided into Delta’s hair. All the stars were out. The music carried over from the main camp, not deafening the way it must have been at its source, but pleasantly muted by the distance. 

~

Paris held the bottle in his periphery, shaking it gently, like a lure. Delta took it. The prince’s attention immediately left him, did not wait to see his reaction. An offer, then, not an order. Delta drank it anyway.

It was only when Paris sat down by the other side of the fire that Delta noticed the laurel wreath woven into his hair. He’d never seen it before, did not know where he had found it. 

“Hi,” Delta said, already very drunk.

“Hey,” Paris shrugged, more sober than he normally was this time of night. 

Sierra was laying down on the other side of them, playing on her phone. There was no way she had a signal out here. She was feeding a virtual cat with blue pellets, watching the status bar go up.

“Do you remember when the Emperor first got you?” 

He said the Emperor, instead of my father. Delta tried to remember if he’d ever said the word dad. At most, he would call him the old man, but it was stark and without any playfulness. It was accurate. The Emperor had been old, even when the two of them were just children. Too old not to have a succession plan.

Before Delta could respond, one of the maids snapped her fingers by his face. He turned around.

“Stay like that,” she said before blinding him with the camera’s flash. He stayed like that, holding still as she took a few more. The only experience he’d had with cameras was in clinical settings. He held the same indifferent expression he’d been coached to wear, which to be fair, was not very different from how he normally looked.

“Delete those,” Paris said without much passion. It was against protocol, but it was clear he didn’t really care either way. He turned his attention back to Delta. “That trick with the dragon. Can you still do it?”

He couldn’t believe he even remembered that. Delta had found it insanely gaudy at the time, even more so as his tastes had developed. He realized, a bit sadly, that the purchase anniversary was coming up. He wondered if they’d send a card. 

“No.” Delta shook his head. It’d been a party trick, never repeated. “I couldn’t do it in the dark, anyway.”

At that same instant, the fireworks went off in the distance. Paris flinched, moving both hands protectively to the back of his skull like he anticipated an attack from behind. When none came, and there was only red and purple across the sky, his expression changed from embarrassment to annoyance and then eventually relief. The fireworks weren’t from their camp. They’d come from across the river. Not his responsibility.

Nobody else seemed to see him flinch, so Delta pretended not to either. His attention drifted back to the fireworks alone. 

They were impressive for what they were. Nothing compared to the sheer shock and awe of the campaigns that could have just as easily lit up the sky that night. He could have spent all night trying to stop the bleeding from his mouth, the numb static in his hands. He was glad they’d surrendered. He knew that this was how he was meant to be used, what the Emperor had intended. The threat of destruction was almost more powerful than the carnage itself. He wished it could play out this way more often, without anyone actually having to die.

The case clanked noisily to the ground. Sierra knelt over top of it with her hands on her hips, before giddily prying off the lid.

The interior was bright with all the different paints held inside of it. They were some algae derivative, bioluminescent, glow-in-the-dark.

Sierra licked the tip of her paint brush. Her other hand moved to take Paris’s. He offered it without resistance, about as used to being handled by her as Delta was. Well, not quite as much.

In thin lines, she traced shapes over the back of his hand and along his wrists. She scooted closer to him to drag the brush along his cheekbone.

Delta hadn’t realized until then just how much the two of them resembled each other. Pale skin, light gold hair. But she looked more alive than he did. Paris took the brush from her.

As he watched Paris paint the dahlia in careful strokes along her cheek, Delta was overcome with the sense that none of them belonged here. 

It passed quickly, the way it always did. It had to.

He startled a bit as Paris caught him looking. He couldn’t exactly hide his staring in the dark, both his eyes shining like headlights. He hadn’t meant to stare.

Paris quirked one eyebrow at him. He uncurled his hand, waiting a second. When he was met with no resistance, he finished the gesture, curling the fingers back inward. Here.

Delta arranged himself carefully in front of him, offering his wrist. Paris took it, readjusting his arm to have a better angle at the canvas. Like before, he was almost overwhelmed by the touch, so unused to any softness that he thought he might’ve just lost sensation.

The paint was more cool than he’d been expecting, like river clay. Pale green. Paris made the first marks with his fingers. They were loose ferns and vines. Soon after he switched back to the brush. It moved in smooth, tickling arcs. The old lines were cleaned up. New ones were drawn on more precisely.

Sierra had marked Paris in the traditional style, mostly roses and spirals along his veins. He’d done hers in the same way. The marks Paris left on Delta’s skin were different. He did not understand why they looked so familiar. After a few drunken seconds, he recognized them. He’d seen them scrawled out along the columns of the Imperial churches. They were bind runes. Protective sigils.

He flinched as his chin was tilted back up. 

“Not gonna hurt you,” Paris said.

He was embarrassed that his flinch reflex had gotten so overactive, though frankly it was Paris’s fault. He didn’t sound annoyed though, or even particularly surprised. He had to have known it just as well.

Delta closed his eyes. The brush tip was slick against his face and not altogether unpleasant. Oddly gentle.

After a few strokes, Paris clicked his tongue in disappointment, “You’re already glowing.”

It was true. The glow wouldn’t stand out on him the way it would on the others. If anything, the paint might’ve blotted out the light from his freckles. But the color would show. He still wanted it.

Paris painted a few more lines beneath his eyes. His eyebrows were knit in concentration; he was taking this more seriously than he needed to. Even without seeing them, Delta could feel just how tight and tidy the lines were. It was a collection of five point stars.

While they’d been working, the other maids had done themselves up just the same, their practiced hands moving much quicker. The patterns they had drawn along their arms seemed to come to life as they moved amongst the flickering shadows.

Delta settled back against the tree. He finished out the last of the bottle. His skin felt strange and newly exposed, like the brush had cut him open. It’d still felt nice at the time.

He was drifting off. Everything was fading out into a pleasant haze. All he could focus on were the golden embers and the way they drifted upwards into the black sky.

“You kept him up past his bedtime,” he heard Paris chiding. It sounded like it was coming from very far away. Sierra giggled a bit in response, not unkindly.

“Can I…?” His own voice faded out. He asked out of politeness, but he did not feel it was something he had much control over anymore.

“You’re good.”

Delta fell asleep right there on the grass, wrapped up in the strange glow of night.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @dietofwormsofficial @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

[ashdoeswhump]

Tws: abuse, implied noncon, non-sexual nudity, blood mention, restraints, alcohol

Some summer whump ideas for you:

Whumpee is forced to lie out in the sun for hours without sunscreen or even clothes as punishment. Their skin burns and peels. Maybe they were tied down, so they have stark white lines cutting through the red.

Whumpee is made to wear a long sleeved shirt and long jeans while working. They're covered in sweat, and whumper tells them how gross they are, how filthy and smelly and sticky.

Whumpee is the guest of honour at whumper's pool party, wearing a revealing bikini/speedo for the guests to coo over and stare at. Whumper's friends force them to drink alcohol on an empty stomach, to dance for them, to go in the water where no one can see the guests' straying hands.

Whumpee's cell has awful insulation, so all the sweltering heat comes in. Salty sweat mixing in with the tears and blood. Maybe they're in a stress position, their muscles already burning from exertion, the heat just making everything worse.

[jokerislandgirl32]

Ziolet Songs: Day Four

October 4th - Sparks Fly

Get me with those green eyes, baby As the lights go down Gimme something that'll haunt me when you're not around 'Cause I see sparks fly, whenever you smile

My mind forgets to remind me you're a bad idea You touch me once and it's really something You find I'm even better than you imagined I would be I'm on my guard for the rest of the world But with you, I know it's no good And I could wait patiently But I really wish you would

Posting this a day late, but oh well!

Since yesterday was my birthday I decided to include a fic excerpt from one of Violet’s birthdays! It’s either her 19th or 20th birthday, I haven’t decided yet. But I hope you all enjoy it! Putting it below the cut due to length and mentions of alcohol consumption, a few crude comments, and references to a toxic relationship.

I had barely opened the menu when the sound of people singing happy birthday caught my attention. I looked into the restaurant, and saw the girl I was looking for: my Violet. 

Violet’s long hair was pulled back in a braid, and she was dressed in a simple off-the-shoulder, lilac sundress with a black apron around her waist. She smiled and blushed as her family and the patrons of the restaurant sang happy birthday to her.

The waitress in front of me huffed and rolled her eyes. I sensed she did not like Violet very much, and I was more than ready to get rid of her, “I know what I want,” I announced. 

She pulled out a notepad and looked at me expectantly, I fished out my wallet and produced a $20 bill, “I want the birthday girl to serve me, here’s something for your time.”

The girl’s brown eyes widened, and she stuffed the bill into her apron pocket, “of course, thank you, I’ll go get her!”

VvvvvvVvvvvvV

I was busy thanking everyone for the impromptu birthday song when Nicole ran up to me out of breath, “I’ve got a customer for you, he’s a very good tipper, he just gave me 20 dollars to seat him, and he requested you!”

Nicole usually did not speak to me because she claimed I’d stolen Travis from her, which was far from the truth. I figured she was setting me up for embarrassment, but part of me was hopeful that there really was a customer who wanted me to be their waitress. 

I smiled and said, “okay, here’s to hoping he tips me well too!”

“Yeah, you can treat yourself to a nice birthday present,” my cousin Paige winked at me, having overheard the conversation. 

“I guess,” I whispered, fixing my hair and going to the table where the gentleman was seated. 

When I arrived he sat holding the menu up, covering his face, “good evening sir, can I start you off with something to drink?”

He responded in a gruff, hateful sounding voice, “do you recommend anything? I usually prefer alcohol, but there’s none listed. What type of an island restaurant is this if you can’t get alcohol?”

I felt taken aback by his comment, “I apologize sir, but it is the preference of the owner of the restaurant to not serve alcohol.”

“Why’s that? Is she a prude?” He snickered and something about his voice was oddly familiar. I stood on my toes to peer over the menu covering his face, but he held it closer to him and raised it slightly.

I tried to bite my tongue, but it was no use, I would not stand for whoever this was insulting the aunt who had practically raised me, “Sir, I respectfully disagree with you, the owner is my aunt, and she prefers to host a restaurant where good food and fun can be had without the negative impacts that result from alcoholic consumption. If that is a problem with you, you can go to a neighboring restaurant or bar that does serve alcohol.”

“Ohhh, that’s a bold statement, but I should expect it coming from a sexy little minx such as yourself,” I could hear the laugh in his voice, and I’d had enough. It was one thing for Travis to make crude comments about me, but this man was a stranger, this was unexceptable. 

“Sir, I am sorry, but I do not appreciate your comments. They are making me very uncomfortable. If you cannot refrain from saying such things, I will have to ask you to leave.”

“Awww, come on, you can’t ask your friend to leave,” he pouted, lowering the menu enough for me to see jet black hair. 

The gears in my mind started turning, who did I know with black hair? And before I could stop myself, I asked, “who are you?”

The man lowered the menu and took off a pair of triangular sunglasses at the same time, his voice returning to normal, to a voice I'd wanted to hear for so long, “happy birthday, Vi.”

I felt a few tears fall from my eyes as I looked at his smiling face. I approached him and he stood up quickly, gathering me into a hug without me initiating it. I threw my arms around his neck as his head fell to the crook of my neck, “I’m so happy to see you, Zach,” I whispered.

[muzgozjeb]