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crunchywhitepaper · 1 year

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cw: self-hatred, self-blame, nausea, skipping meals (brief thought), inability to start tasks, insomnia, suicidal ideation, breakdown, sleep deprivation, anxiety (tell me if i forgot to tag something)

summary: jack morrison struggling from sep to overwatch to the fall of overwatch and its rise

hear me out

jack morrison had troubles with tasks when he entered the military. any paperwork that needed to be passed? laughed off until a day before he needs to submit it as he stays up on the verge of a breakdown typing the thing with lights out.

gabriel being his buddy at the time and always trying to get jack to do his deadlines early on but jack just cant do it. he tries for like an hour but never does anything substantial.

gabriel ends up offering to work with jack on their shit and jack slowly ends up having a semi decent work ethic.

until overwatch happened and the shitstorm that happened there

jack wakes up to a lot of tasks and gabriel isn't there. he goes back to staying up all night. the anxiety running through his veins, tears pouring down his face as he types whatever bullshit he can.

it's the only way he can do it.

he's thankful for the serum that it allows him to do this for weeks on end. he doesn't sleep he just passes out in his bed when he gets the chance to lie down from the exhaustion. he invests in eyedrops and ice packs just so the sleep deprivation isn't noticeable. makeup as well to hide his pallor face.

he does this just so the others don't worry.

when ana dies, when gabriel isn't looking for him anymore except for work, he stops doing that as well. no one will look anyway, why bother?

when overwatch falls and soldier 76 emerges in the ashes, he thought, 'that was the best sleep he'd had in years'

without the paperwork and now moving to action, a part of him thinks, he shouldn't be running on so little sleep.

a major part of him goes, you've spent years with no sleep, why stop now.

he goes without sleep. he continues the same habits, unable to fall asleep even if he wanted to anyway. unable to move without the tension running under his skin.

the days where he needed to rest for his wounds were the worst. he'd lie in whatever place he found himself in and just sleep, uncaring of the hours that pass. he wakes up hungry, remembers the nausea that followed him throughout the day and eats a ration bar

he remembers the past and he cries, wondering how much he didn't notice because he was always so tired. maybe if he did better. maybe if he would just sleep properly, maybe-

he finishes the bar and curls back to sleep, the voices screaming in his head.

when he first meets reaper, when he meets gabriel again as an enemy, he wonders just what happened. reaper blames him and 76 can only accept it, knowing its the truth.

when ana arrives, 76 is both filled with relief and dread. he doesn't join ana. he doesn't want her to know that he can't take care of himself. he makes up some bullshit reason they fight. ana wants to help him. 76 tells her he doesnt need it. it's a lie but he won't drag her to his issues.

ana sighs and offers him a way to contact her. he takes it and leaves.

he doesn't sleep that night as well.

he finds more information about overwatch. about talon. about reaper. it's faster with ana. he thinks of giving up. with every intel, he finds it harder and harder to fall asleep. his mind keeps screaming at him.

he remembers when overwatch first fell and he remembers how it felt to actually feel rested. his whole body stung with burns and cuts and his eyes were shot to shot but he could hear himself think. a decent tradeoff, honestly.

how hard would it be to do the same now? what does he need so he can finally sleep? he chases the thought in his mind, thinking it over and over and-

death was also sleep, wasn't it?

a hush settles over his thoughts and 76 closes his eyes and grips tightly on his weapon. don't think about it, he thinks. it continues to follow him.

he gets invited to overwatch. 76 only knows of suffering and pain during overwatch. he supposed it was nice early on but it didn't last. he denies the invitation.

he ends up fucked while chasing one of the leads. 76 ends up running more and more on gas. that one thought that visited him continued to haunt him.

he faces reaper and reaper gives him no mercy. under the barrel of a shotgun, 76 thinks, this is it but his consciousness fades with a sharp pain on the side of his head.

he's caught. talon wants dibs on a body that survived the soldier enhancement program.

funny enough, they put him through sleep deprivation. 76 laughs. he can do this anytime. he hasn't tested the limits of what his body can handle considering he always passed out on the two week mark at most, he wonders now.

overwatch ends up saving him on the first week. somehow, for some reason, reaper and sombra are in tow. he should care, he thinks. he doesn't. it's too tiring to care. too tiring to think.

he ends up sleeping days away as he heals. angela tells him the results of his checkup, he isnt surprised. she pinpoints his shit habits. he doesnt know himself if he can change it.

genji visits him. he holds a conversation. cole visits him. he does the same. ana visits him. he just nods as she scolds him.

he's actually doing this, the thought visits him. being a functional human being and talking! wow!

then reaper arrives and he doesnt take any of his bullshit. no, not reaper. gabriel, the mask he adorned is gone and what faces him, even as wispy as his body is, is gabriel.

"jack."

"ana already gave me the speech," he says, forcing his body to relax as he stretches.

"that's not what im here for." gabriek takes a seat and stays silent. jack leaves him be, leaning back and staring at the ceiling.

oh, he didn't think about his sleep. it didn't feel like one. not deep enough, maybe. one second, he was in that room and another, he wakes in the clinic.

"don't you have anything to ask me?" gabriel starts. when jack looks over at him, gabriel is frowning. ask? maybe, he thinks. maybe he could ask why he was with talon. maybe he could ask what happened with overwatch. maybe he could ask about them, what happened to them, what made them like this? maybe he could ask, but did it matter?

the ache in his chest is familiar and jack ignores it. did it matter if he had the answers? he can't do anything anyway. he went searching for answers because he couldn't do anything about it. he didn't do a single thing. his actions were always for answers but now, now when reaper, when gabriel is in front of him, did the answers really matter?

jack opens his mouth, closes them and stares at gabriel's eyes. it's black, unlike the red light that seemingly seeped out of his mask whenever he fought him as reaper. he could also ask him that, what made him reaper but-

"no," he shrugs, "i don't have anything. you?"

"what?"

"i don't have anything," he repeats, "is that all or?"

"you were searching for answers!" gabriel hisses, "about reaper? about talon? about overwatch?"

"i don't need to know," jack tells him. it feels like he's watching his body. it moves without input. "you're back here in overwatch, so you've finished what you need to do, right? so i don't need to know what happened."

"you-!" gabriel jerks, his teeth bared into a snarl before pulling himself back. he turns to the side, the light in his eyes have turned red. jack watches him as he stands up, the chair skidding back from the force and he says, "i'll-"

he takes a deep breath. jack notices wisps of black coming from his body. gabriel continues, "i'll come back later"

jack doesn't know what happened to gabriel. just that he became whatever he is because of him. because of what happened in overwatch.

maybe he should know about it. torture himself with the information as he doesn't sleep but exhaustion is already etched in his bones. what else can it do to him that he haven't already? kill him? he scoffed at the thought. his body won't accept it even as he tries.

he closes his eyes and lets his thoughts scream at him endlessly. since whatever he was searching for was useless considering gabriel and ana are back, he wonders what to do. help overwatch? he can't do it again. they need a better leader. be a soldier for overwatch? he's fucking useless as a soldier, barrelling through every fight with just willpower.

he'll just go lie down quietly, somewhere else. maybe then he can sleep. maybe then. he spends several long days in the clinic before he is discharged.

the others offer him a place in overwatch. he declines. ana and gabriel comes. he declines.

he'd love to say he slept great but he didn't. he's itching to leave and just get lost somewhere.

he doesn't get the chance. he wants to leave. he does! but he's assigned a room in the base until he recovers and he just, stays there. he sleeps. he thinks of his plans, of packing up, of leaving, of telling everyone else but he doesn't.

he doesn't sleep. that should be enough. usually it was enough. daybreak comes, noon comes and night comes. he's hungry and he's still thinking about it.

it's not enough. the panic is familiar. he pushes his body up, he wants to pack up. he doesn't. he sits on his bed, exhausted but doesn't move. he wants to leave. he needs to leave. why can't he move? it was always fixed when he didn't sleep.

a robotic voice speaks up in his room, "commander morrison, the others have left a meal in front of your room."

he moves towards the door, the motion is easy and he takes the chance, "can you tell them that i want to leave the base?"

"i shall relay your message."

there's no one outside and a meal sits there on the floor. he takes it and closes it again.

"the others wish to talk with you before you leave."

he sits back on the bed with the tray on his thighs. he stares at it. he can't eat it. he eyes the banana on the side and puts the tray down on the floor. he eats the banana and goes back to sleep. he doesn't reply to athena.

he wakes up and just leaves the base. a moment of clarity and he doesn't bring anything. he doesn't get far as he just stumbles through the forest with no idea where he is.

gabriel finds him.

jack is sitting next to a tree with his face buried in his arms and knees. he doesn't know what to do. he left and for what? he left with nothing. what did he expect?

maybe he should stay with overwatch. be a soldier. continue following orders. god knows where the fuck his life is right now.

"jack." gabriel calls out. jack grips tighter on his clothes and curls in. gabriel stares at him then sits down besides him. he sends a message to the others that he's found him and to leave it to him.

they sit in silence.

"why are you here?" jack's voice is a whisper that gabriel can barely hear over the forest.

"everyone was worried when you suddenly left. if you wanted to leave, we could help you."

"..."

"jack, please, say something, anything."

"do you remember back in sep?" jack starts. gabriel keeps quiet, listening. "no, nevermind."

"sep? what do you mean?"

"just leave me alone, ga-," jack's breath hitches, not gabe, gabriel, reaper, "gabriel. i'll be fine."

he will be. he thinks even as he's absolutely fucking lying. enough to function, be normal.

"jack. jack?"

jack doesn't want to be here. jack just wants to sleep. stop making them worry, you worthless piece of shit. stop being like this! STOP, JUST STOP! make them stop worrying. everything's fine. you're being a fucking big baby.

his fists tighten to a grip, the pain noticeable. there's a lump in his throat that he forces himself to swallow. his eyes are welling with tears. he takes a deep breath and stretches his lips to a smile. he repeats it again and again. smiling in the darkness. making it as genuine as he can.

he was just overwhelmed. it won't happen. show a hint of exhaustion. it's alright. i just wasn't used to this. sorry. thank you for this. it's... just been a while. let the smile fall.

he takes another deep breath and lifts his head.

"hey gabe," he remembers the nickname. he stares at his eyes. he doesn't want to, "sorry about that." casual is fine "i'm fine now." like that, perfect. "let's get back to base?"

gabriel is staring at him with a pinched expression. his mouth open and jack interrupts him with gritted teeth, "please."

they return back to the base in silence. jack's miserable as he faces the others, excuses lined with truths.

"it won't happen again."

"jack, it's alright," ana's understanding voice was the exact opposite of what he wanted. he didn't need it.

the other's voices went in one ear and to the other as jack spoke of nonsense platitudes, already knowing what he needed to work on, his own flaws and weaknesses. gabriel had only watched him from afar until jack was free to go back in his own room.

sleep did not come for him that day either.

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blacksunscorpio · 4 years

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Hello, really loving your posts and wish you could share more insights on composite. Anywho, what do you think about composite moon opposite venus?

Composite Chart in Astrology

The Composite is a mid-point method and shows how the relationship between the two will be, not in theory but in actuality. How they operate in practice. It is not a synastry chart where we place two charts together side by side/ or on top of one another and see the impact two people have on each other. Synastry is how two people’s planets get along. The composite chart is the energy of the relationship. It’s the final result of synastry. The biggest difference is that you have more control over a synastry aspect than a composite aspect. A composite chart basically becomes its own entity. The relationship itself has its own birth chart basically with a Sun, rising, moon etc. As a result, basic relationship dynamics can be seen in the composite chart.

Basics of the Composite/How to Read a Composite

Interpret planets by House and Aspect

Ascendant: How the relationship started & how others / environment see you + Degree + Ascendant ruler [=Area of focused expression]

Sun [houses and aspects]: Indicates what brought you together and what goal you have in life. [Aspects to Sun : Shows purpose of the relationship supported or not]

Moon : Emotional connection & the soul of the relationship

North node : Indicates in what direction you should grow as couple

Note Stelliums

Meaning of the Houses

1st House

Planets in 1st are directly and most immediately felt by the couple. This is how they operate with one another and how they are perceived immediately by others. How their relationship typically plays out/the energy of it.

2nd House

Deals with the possessions and values of the couple. Their ability to share with eachother and maybe even the income they make with each other. The sign this house is in van indicate how they demonstrate their values to each other.

3rd House

Is about communication, and how the couple thinks about their environment. They way they communicate and their intellectual understanding of each other and the relationship.

4th House

One of the core houses to observe in the composite [Davison or Midpoint]. This house can indicate whether the couple will last or whether they’ll settle down with one another. Moon here is fabulous. Uranus, which is an erratic and unstable planet is not the best.

5th House

This has has to do with the fun and creativity a couple demonstrates with one another in the relationship. Kids, etc. An occupied 5th can indicate the couple may wish to have kids together. This can also indicate whether this will be more of a fling than a long term commitment. Like the 8th, sexual activity can be seen here. Saturn here can also restrict fun and creativity in the couples relationship or lack of kids. Well performing Saturn can make it a long lasting sexual connection.

6th House

Represents where the couple will be tested, in order to handle the outside world. It deals with the couples everyday work and routine.

7th House

Is the house of intimate lovers or open enemies. A Venus placed in 7th can display itself as two people beginning the relationship off as lovers but also where one can hurt each others [feelings[ enough for the relationship to devolve into arguments and at worst, enemies. Venus in the 7th on the other hands, can slo be one of the primary indicators of marriage/romance.

8th House

The couples ability for commitment and ownership together. 8th is death, sex, and other people’s resource. Joint accounts and possessions. An occupied 8th shows a profound bond between two people. deep intimacy and transformation. Deep sexuality.

9th House

Shows how the couple explores and thinks with the higher mind about the world together. Their beliefs. How they expand together.

10th House

Deals with the status and prestige of the couple, How they appear to the public. As a couple, it shows how they navigate the world in an outward manner. The serious approach to life and the relationship.

11th House

The social activities and social culture of the unit. Their peers, social circle/friends. How those in their environment see them. their relationship’s acceptance by society and also their social limitations. Pluto here can mean their relationship can be perceived as forbidden.

12th House

A full or occupied 12th house can be challenging in a composite chart, since it’s the house of the unconscious feelings and all things hidden. This can indicate mixed signals, confusion, miscommunication between the two people involved. Adversely, it can create a feeling of fatedness, soulmate binds, spiritual ties and even psychic connections.

Composite Ascendant/Sun

Type of couple, how your relationship appears to others. Ego/ Personality of couple Aries : Active, self-sufficient, confident, bold. Careful with impatience or bullying.

Taurus : Traditional, practical, Stable, security minded. Careful with rigidity or bull-headedness/possessiveness.

Gemini : Mental, instinctive, restless, adaptable, social. Careful with duplicity or inability to commit. Cancer : Emotional, Security, comfort. Careful with moodiness or neediness.

Leo : Confident, compassionate, popular, warm, dramatic Careful with arrogance or pride.

Virgo : Practical, detail-oriented, tidy/prim and proper, perfectionistic. Careful with criticism or letting anxiety overwhelm you/

Libra : Compromising, loving, sociable. Balanced compromising. Careful with too much passivity or superficiality.

Scorpio: Intense, transformative, sexual, probing, private. Careful with Possessiveness and jealousy.

Sagittarius : Adventurous, independent, bold, optimistic, careful with tactlessness and drama.

Capricorn Focused, structured, perhaps an age difference is there. Careful with lack of emotional demonstration or pessimism.

Aquarius : Independent, unconventional, quirky, philanthropic, brilliant. Careful with flightiness or inability to commit.

Pisces : Dreamy, spiritual, sacrificial, silent, creative, emotional. Careful with co-dependency or martyrdom.

Asteroids to Consider

Eros : Mutual passions, erotic connection, sex & obsessions.

Psyche : Intuitive connection. Psychic bond of two people/where it will display itself [look at sign and house].

Juno : “You and I” dynamic. Nature of commitment in marriage-like sense.

Ceres : Nurturing connection

Vesta : Dedication & Commitment

Chiron : Deepest wounds. Indicative of the struggles of the couple and where healing is needed between two people to make relationship function.

North node : Purpose of the relationship. Life goal of the relationship/trajectory.

Aspects

Conjunction : Binding force, depending on the planets combined. Be mindful of too much power exuded here as a conjunction is still a hard aspect/fusion of energy

Sextile : Harmonic union, comforting, pleasing.

Square : Challenging, however with understand break-ups are not as common

Trine : Harmonic union, cooperation is organic.

Opposition : prone to push pull and make u/break up themes, strong attraction.

Favorable Aspects for Compatibility

Sun conjunct Venus = Love union, warm mutual feelings. Like and love each other.

Sun conjunct Jupiter = Luck and growth. Prosperity, Optimism forgiveness and abundance. Pride of the couple.

Sun conjunct Moon = love that feels divine. People who like and love each other.

Sun trine Moon = Natural compatibility. Nurturing. Understanding

Sun conjunct Uranus = True unconditional love

5th ruler and 8th ruler conjunct = Very passionate, active sex life. Key to look at these houses and aspects.

Sun in 7th = Indicate lovers or enemies.

Moon in 4th or 7th = Excellent for a relationship or marriage

Venus in 4th or 7th = Excellent placement for relationship and marriage

Venus opposite ASC = Deep love.

Venus-Mars = Sexual attraction. Natural pairing.

Stellium in 8th = Very deep, intense bond. Transformative [look for harmonious aspects or conjunctions]

Venus-Moon = Emotional balance.

Jupiter conjunct DSC = Mutual understanding & support

Neptune conjunct Jupiter = Soulmates, spiritual

Sun-ASC or ASC ruler = Chance for survival

Juno in 1 or 7th = Fated

Juno conjunct DSC = Fated. Karmic. Met each other before.

Stellium in the 1st = relationship will be important part of the couple’s identity. Drama may be played out at face value so out so careful if you don’t want the world involved in your business.

Difficult Aspects [long term]

Multiple squares = Challenging relationship. Misunderstandings. Tensions.

5th ruler and 8th ruler square = Lifeless sex, strange uncomfortable vibe.

Planets in 12th house = Secrecy. Misunderstandings. Cheating.

Mars conjunct Saturn = Sexual distance. One is hot while the other is cold. Unnecessary formalities. Drive is impeded.

Nessus or Sado forming many squares = Abuse/ sadism masochism. Some might like it hot like this but if there is no balance it can get outta control.

Saturn square/opposite Mercury = Communication struggles. Restricted speech. Two people don’t express what they really want to say.

Lilith square Chiron = Lack of depth, conflicts of past wounds, particularly in the sexual realm. Couple that wounds each other.

Saturn square to the nodes = Bad indicator for long lasting relationship. Also an indicator of lack of support with goals [north node].

Jupiter or Venus square/opposite Uranus = Divorce/break-up aspect

Sun square/opposite Saturn = Something is missing. Power struggles.

Neptune in hard aspect = Beautiful beginning, sour endings, deception or rose colored classes come off

Neptune to Mars in hard aspect = sexual idealism. Disappointments in sex. Couple that cheats on each other.

Mars in hard aspect to Uranus = Sexual attraction, competitive & quarrelsome

Sun in hard aspect to Pluto/Mars = Power struggles. Intense and out of this world sex but can be an abusive or manipulative relationship.

Note: Aspects that appear in composite can be traced often back to the natal chart of either person. it will likely be a natal aspect and an astrologer can tell who will play out more of the theme in the relationship/or who will be more comfortable with the energy.

#Composite 101 #good q #hope this helps #composite charts #synastry #astrology #composite astrology #composite aspects #relationship astrology #astro tumblr #bruja tip #asteroid astrology

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cozymoko · 3 years

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Sasuke Uchiha with a really mysterious and almost “spirt like” Love Interest who looks out for him but also teases him? (They’re also a total powerhouse in their own right)

“Spirit like” sounds kinda vague but,,they’re the type to suddenly appear out of thin air and whisper news of oncoming enemies into Sasuke’s ears or leave a powerful/incredibly useful scroll on his bed that he didn’t even realize he wanted until he saw it.

But again, they are a flirty & possessive bastard and they do thoroughly enjoy distracting/flustering him while also subtly being like “He’s mine” There may have been a few incidents where Sasuke felt a few possessively nipping phantom bites whenever at his neck or chest or when he was trying to seduce someone for a mission-

MYSTERIOUS, SPIRIT-LIKE S/O

Synopsis: Posessive, spirit like s/o who loves to tease and fluster Sasuke

Pairing: Sasuke Uchiha x gn! reader

WARNING(S): slight possessiveness

🍙 Rather pissed to know that you possess so much power over him. Even as his hairs grow grey, his youth promptly reaching its end. There you are, as joyful as ever, somehow managing to make him feel like a teen again. All these pesky emotions seem to come at him in waves whenever he's with you. Denying his painfully evident pink face, turning away from you even if it does him no good.

"Pink is such a pretty color on you~" You cooed, cupping his cheek in your hand as you peer into his slim black eyes.

"No chance." He sighs, swatting at your hand.

🍙 Occasionally he ponders has he fallen through the thin line between his delusions and reality. Mostly because of how little he seems to know about you, no matter how many days he remains posted at your side. How light on your feet you appear, practically dancing on air without a care in the world. Presenting him small trinkets that sometimes leave him red in the face as he marvels over your being.

🍙 Quickly chalks up your strange disappearances as you being light on your feet. But his inability to sense you provokes him to think it's far more than that. You practically phase through walls and disappearing from the naked eye itself. Also tailing after him whenever he leaves for a long period on whatever adventure awaits.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Sasuke inquires, peering over his shoulder to gaze into your playful eyes.

"Hmm, whatever do you mean~? I'm here on strict orders actually!"

🍙 It's kind of unnerving how quickly he puts his trust in you. Though knowing little about you it was clear that your intentions were pure. Lending his body to you in battle, his life, into your hands. All while knowing you won't fail him. The whole scrolls ordeal makes him chuckle, murmuring something about how often you're thinking about him, wondering if you're in earshot.

🍙 Sasuke's a possessive man himself so hearing you acknowledge your relationship gives him an overwhelming sense of pride. No matter how much you say it, hearing you claim him is blissful in itself. Although you should expect some small flicks to your forehead out of embarrassment.

"You shouldn't say such things aloud, it's embarrassing."

🍙 Usually he would get somewhat agitated when you leave marks on his pale skin since it's relatively hard to rid himself of such dark colors. Having tendencies to hide his neck more though knowing it will do little to stop you. In a way, it feels nice to be valued, to be held to such a high honor that you feel the need to do something like this. Just so you know, he's secretly quite aroused but shh, that's a secret!

🍙 I would say you interrupting his missions is the key to him leaving you behind, but I cannot. Despite being the only one who can "see" you, your actions never seem to have repercussions. He would simply reassure you while hiding the small smile treating to pull at his lips. This would be his time to tease you for being too needy and possessive, reminding you that he's bound to you in the end.

"How subtle." Gazing in a direction that appeared to be a blank space, to the average eye that is. Waiting patiently for your response.

"Hmm? I was just making sure they knew you were M.I.N.E! After all, you know I love you sooo much~!"

#yandere x darling #x reader #yandere imagines #yandere naruto headcanons #yandere naruto imagines #naruto imagines #naruto headcanons #yandere naruto #yandere x reader #sasuke imagines #yandere sasuke x reader #sasuke x reader #yandere sasuke

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calaofnoldor · 3 years

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What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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#sam winchester x reader #mads300madones #333 badass followers #spnfluffbingo2021 #Girl Next Door's Make Me Feel Bingo #sam x reader #sam winchester x female!reader #sam winchester smut #enemies to lovers #sam winchester fluff #secret dating #sam winchester x you #sam x y/n #spn #supernatural fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #text

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ask-sunny-and-moony · 2 years

Note

To the 'adults', what was the biggest scare regressed Sun and Moon did to you? It is well known that babies give at least one big scare to their parents at least once.

Freddy

Greetings! This is Freddy. Although Sunny and Moony both seem to derive a fair bit of pleasure from giving the majority of us a scare, the worst one which we have experienced would doubtlessly be the situation which led to them discovering Bonnie. The trash compactor has always been rather dangerous, but the horror of knowing that they had gotten stuck and the inability to have circumvented the situation in general was... I do not believe my syntax trees have the capability of stringing together words to articulate just how horrid the experience was.

I am endlessly grateful to have saved Bonnie, and that all of the damage has been non-fatal. However the agony of holding Gregory as he cried, of knowing my children were harmed or worse... I would never wish that upon even my worst enemies.

I believe I have spoken enough. And so I shall pass it on the the remaining adults in our group.

Bonnie

Fredbear's account is pretty much the same. Worst scare? Definitely realizing that they were down there with me. As for the funniest scare, there was this one time that Moony impulsively shoved some sparkly beads in his mouth. While robots can't really choke, we can get stray pieces lodged between joints, internal mechanisms, all that horrible jazz. I lost my head, I won't lie. He wound up being fine, and I learned that they both were made with the capacity to covert actual food into fuel for their systems. Fascinating to learn, after the fact.

Monty

Y'all know Sun and Moon are my boos. I adore these gremlins, no matter how they feel. But True Fear is watching Moon, in a solidly toddler-esque headspace, manage to hook onto his chord and shoot to the ceiling. Had to run the catwalks and damn near lost my footing when the cable disconnected. Never been so scared in my life - even if the li'l goober gave the cutest laugh at my face afterwards.

Chica

Sunny and Moony, after their newer bodies were made, would sometimes follow me around in the kitchen. I love teaching them baking, and while it gets super messy, it's so rewarding to hear their giggles~ but anyway, this one time, we were making cupcakes, and Moony and Sunny were in their little booster seats. Sunny's a little escape artist, and he managed to undo his buckles before I caught him. Took a tumble like right on his little face. Didn't pop back up, and I thought I was going to die, I panicked so hard. He was fine, but his face plate had to be repaired and his nose was crooked for like a week, poor thing.

Roxy

Raceway accident. They were okay, but I thought the other's were going to kill me.

DJ MusicMan

I don't think I've had a proper scare with them, yet. Barrin' the trash compactor fiasco, none of the scare for the boys have been connected to them bein' Small. Ain't lookin' forward to the day they try it with me. Not exactly the fright type.

#long response #age regression #agere au fnaf #fnaf age regression #little sun #little moon #regressor sun #regressor moon #ask glamrock chica #ask monty #ask roxy #ask DJ MusicMan #ask gregory #ask sun and moon #ask glamrock freddy #ask glamrock bonnie

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 4 years

Text

Touch it for Real, Part 3

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Eventual Smut

Warnings: OMG they were roommates / slice of life / slow burn / mutual pining / crude humor / cursing / virgin!baek / enemies to lovers / bug gets meta

Characters: Baekhyun X You/Female Reader

Description: You teach Baekhyun how to date. (Basically the Get You Alone M/V)

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Mia.

Mia, Mia, Mia.

Oh she was lovely. You’d been chatting with her on Baekhyun’s phone for the better part of an hour and for a moment you forgot all about the man who now laid with his head on the other end of the sofa with his feet stretched over your lap and a phone held up to his face.

He was scrolling through something, giggling and typing.

The phone you had down in your lap vibrated with another incoming message.

Laughing emojis, a row of them. She was sharp. Wit and charm came through in her messages and you found yourself responding with an equally long string of laughing faces. The ones with tears leaking out their eyes. She felt so damn familiar and comfortable the moment you got past the awkward introductions and you really started talking to her; the jokes were easy and the topics were something you knew enough about to fake your way though thanks to Baekhyun’s many passions and his absolute inability to shut up about them. He’d held you hostage with so many video games and anime episodes, you knew exactly what she was talking about now. You felt like a complete pseudo pro. A well-read scammer. A faker but a weirdly genuine one.

You went back to her profile and dragged each of her pictures across the screen with the tip of your finger, switching between them all. She was pretty. She was smart. She was interesting to talk to. She was perfect. Just perfect. A steady warmth had seeped into your chest as you looked at her. It was welcome and actually felt nice at first; if not a little bit unexpected. But the longer you looked at her smile, the more intrusive that warmth felt. After too long, it was sticky and almost too warm. You struggled to breathe deeply. You were breathing normally, there was absolute nothing off about your breathing, but each breath you took suddenly failed to satiate. Why were your lungs suddenly missing oxygen? They were misbehaving without any reason to. You closed out her pictures and returned to the chat window.

She was asking about the latest episode of an anime. Something that was in its final season. Something you were sure Baekhyun would also be watching soon if he hadn’t seen it already. You could feel her excitement in her words. Something epic must have happened.

“Baek did you watch Attack on Colossatron last night — the latest episode?”

“Not yet—no spoilers, I’ll kill you.” His response was quick and you responded in a similar fashion in text to Mia; without the death threats. You weren’t quite that comfortable with her yet.

Baekhyun shifted and moved a foot behind you, digging it under your butt into the gap of the couch cushion. You ignored the intrusion because you were talking to Mia. His soon to be brand new girlfriend by the looks of the conversation. You caught what you were certain was subtle flirting just below the contexts. Then outright flirting. She was sending you a picture from the dating profile you’d set up for Baekhyun. She had to have saved the picture to send it. It would now be saved on the camera roll of her phone where she would likely look at it again and again, admiring how good Baekhyun looked in it.

She was commenting on how unexpectedly handsome you were and how most of the men who shared interests with her did not look like you.

She was asking for a picture of you—err, of Baekhyun. She was having trouble believing such an attractive man like you was real and she actually used the word catfishing, careful to insist that she wasn't accusing you of anything; just that she was sure you looked just like some celebrity she saw on twitter and one couldn’t be too careful.

But you were quick to cooperate and to agree with her need for assuredness. As a woman, yourself, you understood her suspicions instantly. Yes, Baekhyun did look shockingly attractive in the profile pictures you posted of him. You could see how someone might doubt that he was real and he lived only 5 miles away and was now sweeping her off her feet with his engaging conversations and hilarious jokes. You’d be sure and make him thank you well for this later.

The pictures of him were surprising, even to you, and you lived with the guy. You saw him every single day. Yet something about seeing him in these pictures, dressed in that black button up shirt and jeans and looking at the camera with a breathtaking natural smile; one he gave you so easily that night when you told him just how good he looked all dressed up.

“Peanut, look at you! You look so fancy.”

“Wow, I cant believe how handsome you are.”

It only took a couple of sincere compliments for the man to unfold before you and the results on camera pulled you into an uncomfortable and unwelcome thoughtfulness when you looked at them alone later. Of course you knew he was handsome. You just hadn’t been prepared for how very attractive he would look on camera.

You got all his best angles and the man had taken you off guard when you’d bravely asked him to give you a sexy look.

It happened just at the end of your little makeshift photo-shoot. You were both a little tired, you could tell with the way he slowed down with his talking and his movements. You could always tell when Baekhyun was tired. Sometimes before even he knew it.

The sun had gone down and you’d pulled him from your room into the living room where the lights from the city shone through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, creating a soft glow on his face. The moon was full outside. It was a chilly winter night and snowflakes drifted down to the street below. You were feeling perhaps a bit romantic. Perhaps you were a little bit grateful to be inside and warm and spending your time capturing the pretty face of your annoying best friend.

You’d gotten a bit bold with the pictures and he’d been behaving so well, not even complaining when you asked him to lay down on the floor so you could capture the beautiful city-scape in the background of the shot. He’d gone still while you set up; moving furniture and turning on a lamp in the corner for more lighting on his features — you wondered briefly if maybe he had fallen asleep.

You laid down beside him holding your camera up in the right spot to get something nice. His eyes had closed up and his breathing was even and slow and when you’d softly called his name with your camera acting as a barrier in between your faces, you’d expected it to act as more of a buffer than it did.

“Baekhyun?”

When he heard you call him, his eyes opened and he turned his head toward the sound of your voice; the shift in his eyes was stark and breathtaking and he blinked them closed and then very slowly he opened his eyes again for you.

“Hmm?” His lips stayed closed when he hummed a response.

What exactly were you going for here? The mood was set. The lighting and the scenery were in place. Hell, even the position of him was set —him laying beside you on the floor in the middle of the night like this when everyone knew it was much too late to be entertaining any of this nonsense. The longer you looked at him the more shades of pink you saw in his cheeks. The pinkness matched his lips and the lighting made every bit of warm flush on his face tell such a romantic story. He looked so very warm and inviting.

You took a shot and you said it. If the picture came out well, that would be rewarding enough.

But, you didn't actually expect a real sexy look. Not really. You’d expected something silly, or something goofy or something with an awkward smile. Maybe it was the nighttime, or the way he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and just let it hang open with the clear smoothness of his chest visible, but when he pulled his chin down and ran a hand through his styled hair, bringing it down just a little bit; giving it a messy and tousled look, you had to grip the camera tighter to keep from doing something dumb like accidentally dropping it. You could not understand the flash of nervousness you felt run through you.

He lifted a single eyebrow. You had called him and it was clear from the inactivity in the camera that you weren’t taking any pictures of him.

“Hmm?” He repeated the hum that came from the back of his throat. His eyebrow danced and it was the only movement on his face.

You inhaled a breath and you did it.

“You look incredibly sexy right now.”

Despite the camera, despite the props you’d placed around him just so, his eyes seemed to seek out yours with purpose; one hand on the floor was within touching distance and the other hand rested over his forehead from when he’d ran it through his hair, the tips of his fingers landed over one of his eyes and it was so perfect. You felt goosebumps all over your skin.

The moment his eyes locked into yours you gripped the camera as if your life depended on it. When his lips slowly parted with a gentle exhale and the tip of his tongue appeared between his parted lips and slowly touched against the corner of his bottom lip a surge of heat rose up the back of your throat.

“I do?” He said with his eyes on yours as if he was looking directly at you; as if the camera did not even exist.

You hit the button and you heard the shutter click.

You allowed yourself a moment to look at the picture Mia had sent you. Only a moment though because she was talking again. She was instructing you to send a new picture right now, with your left hand holding your right earlobe. It was the kind of specific sort of picture that would prove that you really did exist.

“Peanut,” you reached down and tapped his leg three times quickly, “Peanut, our new girlfriend wants a picture of you right now with your,” you held up your hands in front of your face, figuring out which was the left one, “left hand holding your right earlobe.” You held up your left hand for him to see and he pulled the phone down from his face to look at you. After a second his opposite hand was raised and he gripped his earlobe with his fingertips.

“Is that your left hand?” You raised your left hand higher and lifted your eyebrows as you shook your head once. You felt a sense of urgency in getting this picture to Mia as fast as possible to calm her doubts.

“It’s my left. My left is your right, stupid. Why do I have to do this?”

You snapped the picture close enough that it would look like a selfie and sent the image to Mia. She was satisfied enough to send an emoji with heart eyes and you could feel victory at your fingertips. You could hardly believe this was working.

“She thought you weren’t real.” You said in between messages and Baekhyun’s leg was shaking behind your back. He’d been sitting still for too long here and the nervous energy was building, you could feel it trying to escape from his limbs. He probably needed to go for a run or something or you were in for a long and noisy night of singing or dancing or whatever other shenanigans he thought you needed to suffer though. He hummed a non-response to your answer, clearly so distracted by what was happening on his screen that he couldn’t be bothered to give you any more of his attention right now.

Baekhyun was not so quietly giggling under his breath and you looked up caught by that very particular sound of it. Something felt familiar in the sound of that giggle; more, the intentions behind it. The particular sneakiness of it maybe made you look up and it took you another second of listening to the way he stifled himself, tried to control the sounds of his laughter before a realization dawned and recognition struck you on the head.

Baekhyun couldn’t have been giggling, laughing, texting, having a grand ol’ time on his phone because you had his phone in your hands. You had been talking to Mia for a whole damn hour, who in the hell was Baekhyun talking to and was that your phone he was using?

“Baekhyun who are you talking to on my phone?”

His stomach bounced with stifled laugher below his shirt and he was typing again. His eyes secured on the screen of your phone and not at all looking at you.

“Baek, who is that. What are you doing?” It wasn’t that you didn't trust him with your private conversations. He knew more about you than probably any other human being on the planet. It wasn't the problem with him knowing it. The problem was with that laughter. The problem was with what Byun Baekhyun might do with all of the things he knew about you and with whoever the hell had the misfortune of texting you at the exact moment when he had your phone.

“Ben,” Baekhyun said after a long pause and you searched through your recent memory for a person who had that name. You’d matched with some guys last week but you were certain there was no one with that name.

“Ben? Who the hell is Ben? I don't know a Ben” You were leaning now and Baekhyun bent his legs up as soon as you moved, blocking your lean with his knobby knees. You leaned on the other side of them and he moved them to block again.

The maneuver brought out the panic in you. He was blocking you from your own phone. He was up to something and he was now blocking you from reaching for your phone and you had just nearly murdered him in the kitchen over cheese, did he really want to do this again?

“Give me my phone. Baek, who the shit is Ben?”

“I don't know. Some guy named Ben. Said he was some lady’s nephew or cousin or something. He knew your number and he knew your name, and wow he is—”

Oh god. Your co-worker Susie had done it. The son-of-a-bitch had actually given your phone number out this time even though you had successfully, you’d thought, dodged their high pressure tactics to set you up with some eligible bachelor who would probably be 10 years too old for you, balding, with bad teeth, or bad habits, or would be obsessed with his car or his muscles or some sports team and you’d have to make nice small talk with someone who’s interests, frankly, bored you to death until you could politely let the man down.

And now, what was Baekhyun telling him? What kinds of horrific lies was this little gremlin giggling about over there. You tilted and reached for him again and he moved his knees again.

“Bug, how- how do you spell hemorrhoids? Hem—hem—er—roids, no that’s not right. Let me look it up. It’s important that I represent you well. A strong, intelligent woman who can talk about her hemorrhoids.”

You leaped then, over the stupid knees you flew and you landed hard — seated across his belly and the pained grunt he let out was satisfying to hear. He doubled up in pain while simultaneously shoving your phone underneath himself into the softness of the couch cushions and you watched it disappear somewhere below his butt where he assumed you would not dare to reach.

“Baekhyun,” you said in as calm a voice as you could pry from your lips. Your teeth gritted together as you spoke and much of the sweetness was lost in the delivery.

Your hands were feeling the softness of the cushions that he laid on. You followed an arm that went down and disappeared behind his back and your fingers traveled to the end where you felt no phone at all, only his empty hand that you pulled up. You did the same on the other side, moving to the other hand and bringing it back empty too. On his face he wore a smug, self-satisfied smile.

“Peanut,” your next attempt at a compromise pulled his name out in a sweeter tone and his lips turned up into a mischievous grin with teeth bared and all. To your own ears though, you really laid it on thick. This was your darling Peanut. You let your whine come through and you pulled your lips into a pouty frown.

“Bug,” he said, mimicking your overly saccharine tone with a tiny lift of an eyebrow on his face and a fake frown that didn’t touch the rabid joy in his eyes.

“Give me back my phone,” you said and your hands dug into his ribs hard as he reached for your wrists and quickly grabbed to hold you still with both of his free hands before you could do any actual damage to him.

You struggled against his strong hands, reaching with out-stretched fingers despite his hold on you for a few more tickles before he tightened the grip and you could not connect any more attacks.

“Give me back my phone,” he giggled back, again mocking your ineffective attempts to overpower him. You simply couldn’t do it. He was much stronger than you were.

The childishness of this brat! You closed your eyes up tight as you forced yourself to take a deep calming breath. You could feel close to the edge again. Close to losing control. How many murder attempts did you need to commit today? Maybe you needed to enroll in anger management classes. You tried to count to ten again but gave up halfway through to threaten him again.

“I’m going to get mad, give me my phone.” The friendly tone you had forced was gone and you could hear the actual anger in your voice now. Any reasonable person would concede. Any normal human adult would laugh it off playfully, say ‘okay, okay, I was only kidding’ and hand the thing over. A normal person would even apologize for taking it in the first place.

Baekhyun was not a normal person.

“Ohhh, I’m going to get mad,” you heard him say in that same mocking voice and no amount of calming breaths could touch it. You could count to ten thousand and still want to destroy him. You squirmed all over and pulled at your wrists that he held in his grip and his hold tightened the more you moved until you could only lean, you could only fight back with one thing. The more you fought him, the tighter his muscles constricted and it became evident that you simply could not win this way. Your hands were useless to you. Only your head was free. You’d have to use it to your advantage, but how?

You could headbutt him; break his nose. Break your head. Make both of you take a trip to the hospital during a global pandemic. Catch the dreaded disease. Lose your sense of taste and smell and potentially infect someone vulnerable that you loved.

He was like a cat. Only interested in playing with something until it was dead and then losing interest after he couldn’t torture it anymore. You couldn't simply play dead. He had you trapped and you needed that phone back.

You could bite him. Break the skin. Mean business for real. Make him bleed and make him cry. Make him pay for all of it. Give him a nasty scar on his hand, or on his neck or on his chest, maybe rip off his earlobe like Tyson did to Holyfield. Send him to the hospital during a global pandemic. Go to prison for assault charges. Get a nasty infection from a prison tattoo. Die.

Your struggle for a plan made you go physically still and you looked at his face; into his eyes and in those eyes sat all the usual bullshit and toddler behavior that you usually saw when he had latched on to something to tease you with, something he could play with and have fun with at your expense. Something he could exploit.

You could use your mouth.

You could use your lips.

You could use your tongue.

What is this? Some sort of trashy rom-com? Would you really stoop so low, so early in the story? Kiss him to distract him, become a walking, talking, kissing cliché and an unoriginal failure of a human being? Get scolded and told to leave his home. Become homeless during a global pandemic. Without high speed internet access, lose your easy breezy data entry job. Get hungry and get cold. Possibly end up selling a kidney on the black market to make ends meet. Get a nasty infection from the shady surgery. Die.

No. This wasn’t a cheesy romance story. This was your life. You’d have to live with the consequences of your choices and there was no way you would steal his first kiss just to get petty revenge.

This wasn’t enemies-to-lovers, this a violent revenge plot and you were pissed off god-dammit. How dare this idiot get you into such a compromising, such an undignified, such a frustratingly suggestive position and hold you captive like this.

How dare he still be smiling through your entire inner monologue?

Didn't he know anything at all about women and the powers they possessed in their bodies?

He flinched visibly when you dropped down; lowered your chest to his chest and you were face to face with the man. Your quick movement startled him and he loosened the grip around your wrists enough for you to rotate them before he tightened his hold again and watched you with wide eyes. That grin finally, finally fell from his mouth. His lips sat down-turned and pink. He’d gone positively pink with your quick movement. Your plan to move into him instead of struggling to get away clearly startled him. You felt the advantage at once.

When you moved again it was only your eyeballs and it was to look pointedly at his lips before you pulled your eyes back up to look into his eyes. The slow movement made a bold statement, even to someone as clueless as he was. You were on top of him. He could most definitely feel the entirety of your weight on his body and your breasts were flush against his chest. And now, you had just looked down at his pink lips.

Whatever steady and in-control breathing he had, stuttered and his body below yours went rigid with his eyes wide; obviously unsure of what you were about to do and much too on edge to take his eyes off of you.

What became clear as you stared at his flushed face up close was that he had not thought this far ahead in his plan.

He probably didn't even have one to begin with.

You moved closer to him and his hands released their hold on you again. You heard a gasp for air when his hand let go. You weren’t convinced he let go on purpose. There seemed to be a disconnected look inside his eyes right now.

Instead of going straight for his earlobe and squeezing the shit out of it to teach him a lesson, you kept this going. You could not help it. You felt drunk on your own power and you didn't actually want to hurt him. You just wanted the damn phone so you could see what damage he had already done and begin cleaning up the messes.

He swallowed and his lips opened to speak.

“W-What are you doing?”

Nervous and trembling and uncertain; oh he was all of the above. Your free hand was moving now, traveling down the length of his arm to his flank when he moved again, this move felt much more frantic than the last. He grabbed your wrist more gently than before when you got close enough to touch him and he pulled your hand back. A feeble attempt it seemed, made by a man who had just come to his senses again after being in a daze.

You leaned in. “Peanut,” you said directly into the space below his ear. You could smell him here. He smelled nice. Clean, and vaguely familiar. You remembered your shampoo that he still had and made a mental note to get it back from him. The scent of it on him was different than on you. The breath you took at his neck definitely smelled different.

He was frozen stiff and when you pulled up to look at his face, his eyes were closed. He swallowed again and you reveled in the realization that you had not heard a single peep out of him since you began your counter-attack. Not a giggle, not a mocking laugh. Not a silly impression of what your voice sounded like to him. He was as quiet as a mouse. It paid to be pro-active. You felt free, as if you’d just been armed with some new very effective weapon that you had no idea would work so well.

He had your hand again and was pulling — keeping you from reaching below his body to reach where you were certain your phone was stashed. Right here below his left butt cheek. Maybe even inside his back pocket. Either way it was there and you were centimeters away from it.

So you went in again. This time it was a whisper. This time you went too far. You felt the softness of his neck brush against your bottom lip.

“Give it to me, while I am still being nice.”

It was the exhale from your lips after you spoke that seemed to do it. The puff of air from your parted lips that drifted over his ear and warmed his neck, you felt him squirm below you and his hands moved releasing you all over and all at once.

He was going now. He was leaving. You felt it happening below you.

It was a tactic you’d used before when he tried to grab a hold of you and throw you onto your bed, or when he tried to wrestle something away from you in the kitchen.

He went boneless. When you did it he would shout and laugh and lose his grip on you and you’d use the distraction to drop to the floor and roll out of his grip in one motion. It was much more difficult for him to do right now, being directly under you on the couch like this, but somehow he was vanishing fast.

He moved so quickly it was like he melted from beneath you and he was pushing you off at the same time as he rolled, simply rolled from the sofa down onto the floor below in a single motion of retreat.

You know that was where he went because you heard the rough thump of his body hitting the floor hard and you heard the grunt as he vocalized the pain of gravity having it’s final say. You were pushed with a force that made you roll onto your butt and below your legs you felt the rectangle of plastic and glass of your cell phone.

He was moving fast. But he was also talking as he did it.

“You are mean,” was what he said and he was halfway through the living room by the time you registered his complaint.

Something about his fit irked you though. Was it such a big deal — so out of the question? Did he hate the idea of you kissing him, even if on accident that he had to overreact like this.

“Oh settle down, It’s not like I was going to actually kiss you, Baekhyun.”

You’d expected to hear his bedroom door slam shut but he’d stopped with his hand on his door and turned his face in your direction. His expression was odd.

Baekhyun was rarely upset with you, so you had very little experience with what he looked like when he was. He had been upset with others around you, but it wasn’t ever directed at you.

“I know you weren’t.”

You could see it from where you sat and it made you stand up. Wait, was he really upset? At you? Because you pretended like you were going to steal his first kiss? Because you took something so precious to him and weaponized it against him?

He was breathing hard and you took a step in his direction.

“Baek, I was just—”

“—trying to get your phone, I know.” His voice was cold and his words were short.

You suddenly felt like absolute shit. It moved fast and it overwhelmed you. You’d made a mistake and Baekhyun was upset at you. You’d acted carelessly and thoughtlessly and you’d hurt him.

“We...we were playing around, I was just playing around, I didn’t mean it, Peanut. I’m sorry.” You could not help the thickness in your voice. You could not help how your voice cracked as you spoke up quickly, needing to get the apology out into the air before he could misunderstand any further.

Before he could wake up and realize how low of a person you could be when you really set your mind to it. Before he could understand that maybe you didn't deserve so many chances to get your life together and get a better job, or be a better roommate, or make more money and pay more rent, or delete your facebook, or create better passwords.

You realized you were crying when the wetness dripped down your chin and landed on your arm and as soon as you noticed you lifted both of your hands up to cover your face — before he saw, before he noticed or heard. You held your breath to keep from hiccupping or making any sort of sound at all and you closed your eyes and tried to stop the quiet gasps.

You succeeded for the most part.

It was the smell of him though. You did not notice that he moved, but you smelled him again, only this time it came with a warmth that enveloped you where you stood.

“I’m not mad at you,” he whispered over your head and you inhaled through the snot that filled your nose, unable to get any air through. You gasped through your mouth instead and hiccupped through the breath.

“You seemed mad at me,” you said into his shirt, the same shirt you’d cried into hours ago. This shirt would have so much of your messes on it by the end of the day. What in the world had gotten into you today? Maybe you were going to start your period soon. This was getting ridiculous.

His hands rubbed slow and steady circles over your back and until the gasping stopped enough for you to lift your head and look into his face.

“I’m not,” he said with more conviction the second time and you almost believed it. Had it not been for the strange way his eyes dropped yours so easily you would have.

You didn't say that though.

His lips parted once and his eyes grasped yours in that flimsy way again and his lips closed up again as he swallowed it away and didn’t say what he was about to say.

You shook your head. He had to tell you. Whatever it was, you could work on it, do some self reflecting, or read some self help books.

“What is it? Tell me.” Your insistence was desperate and his damn eyes refused to stick. It was making you crazy the more you noticed it.

His mouth opened again and this time he inhaled deep enough to speak for hours and hours.

“Peanut, what?”

“Don't—” he began and you closed your mouth and looked into his face, dipping to catch them when his eyes dropped again and again. He noticed the dance you did and you saw the light dance inside his eyes.

“Don't what? I’ll do it. Or I won’t do it. Whatever, just tell me.” If there was one thing you were good at, it was talking to this man. You could always pull it out. Whatever he had been sitting on, keeping from you, whatever he had deep down inside that was begging to be let out. You could talk to him. He could talk to you. It’s as part of the magic you shared with him.

“Peanut,” you said again, refusing to let him close up again, refusing to let this go. He had to say his piece for the upset to move behind you both, so you could get past it.

“Don't use your beauty as a weapon against me.”

As soon as the words left so did his eyes, but that did not matter because you could not look into his face anymore after he said it either.

Your…beauty?

Baekhyun didn’t look at you and see beauty. Impossible. You were a mess. Some days you showered. Some days you did your hair. These two events rarely happened on the same day.

Outside you could pull off some-what put-together and even downright attractive when you wore the miracle bust enhancing bra you bought off some shady website he definitely told you not to enter any credit card info into, but inside you felt like a circus clown wearing a respectable young woman suit. Every day you worked to stuff the oversized shoes into your feet and struggled to zip them up. Every day you painted over your honking red nose with concealer in the hopes that it wouldn’t rain today and give you away.

“It’s really shitty and really unfair to do to me.” He kept talking and you felt like maybe the ceiling had caved in on you. “I know who I am. I know my place and I know what league I am in.”

He said the word league with a whisper and you stared at his mouth as he spoke such nonsense words you hardly had any thoughts that made any sense inside of your own head.

League? He was such an amazing person, but league? You’d heard some serious bullshit come out of his mouth in the past, but this? Seriously?

He was a genius. He was beautiful inside and out and he was such a good person, a good person to you, a good person to his grandmother, a good person to his online friends. He was so good at whatever he wanted to do and he was really fucking sweet when he wasn’t being ridiculous. And even when he was being ridiculous it was so funny you usually didn't mind the ear deafening noise involved. He was a great dancer and an even better singer and he had so much to offer.

He was shy. He was terribly embarrassed and debilitatingly nervous at the mere idea of talking to any other girl that wasn’t you and he took a whole lot of warming up to until he opened up to you even, but when he finally did, after tiptoeing around him for 4 months after you’d moved in and he finally grabbed a bowl of popcorn and sat beside you on the couch to watch lifetime movies with you, making fun of the writing and the acting the entire time until he was making fun of you for crying at the happy ending.

He was reliable too. He refused to even entertain the idea of you moving out just because you could no longer afford the previously agreed upon rent after you lost your job. He searched for something to hold you over until you could get back on your feet and while the data entry thing was mind numbing, it was genuinely saving your life most days. You could at least pay your bills. You could at least force him to accept the much lower rent you started paying him again after you got your first paycheck.

Oh god. League?

You could feel it building again. The burning in your eyes peaked and you felt your face frowning down dramatically and the tears were flowing more freely than before.

“You’re such an idiot.” You cried openly and his face changed at once into one of extreme concern. His hands waved over you uselessly, occasionally connecting to pat over your back in some attempt to stop this.

“You are such a catch, you stupid idiot!” You were wailing very loudly. You could not help it. He was such an idiot. And he was such a catch.

“Oh my god, are you yelling at me right now? After everything you’ve done to me today, now you are yelling at me and calling me names. Great. Just Great. Here, my face doesn’t hurt, why don't you punch me in the face too.”

The sarcasm made you half laugh half choke in the middle of a particularly strong sob and you coughed with your mouth open to be able to breathe. Your nose was still useless.

“Jesus,” he said to himself, “my mouth was open.”

You were being steered. Your eyes were still closed and you were pushed now. You didn't really want to move but your stubborn legs saved you by taking a step instead of letting you fall flat on your face. You opened your eyes when you felt a fresh cold breeze against the wet surface of your cheeks and you saw in front of you the contents of the freezer.

There were some frozen veggies. Some ice in a bin. Something meat-like in a freezer bag. And about six different boxes of various ice creams. Most of them chocolate.

“Get one,” he said and his hand was pushing your elbow up and steering your hand toward the open box of chocolate popsicles.

You grabbed with your open hand and he pulled your elbow back like you were a claw machine and he was working the lever.

You grasped the popsicle between both of your hands with a small smile building against your will.

“Eat it,” he said from behind your head and you were already ripping at the plastic wrapper. You didn’t even have a chance to throw away the wrapper when his hand was pushing at your elbow again. It bent upward and the chocolate plopped right into your open mouth.

“Bite,” he said.

You bit. He didn't have to tell you to chew and swallow. You knew how to do the rest.

After the ice cream you were seated on the sofa next to him and he pulled out a portable game system to keep him entertained while he pressed play on the movie he’d put on the big tv on the wall.

It was Bridget Jones's Diary. You had seen it enough times to know the entire movie by heart and still, still you laughed at every joke, swooned at every steamy look, and squealed like a piglet at every kiss scene. It literally did not get old. You could fall asleep and wake up watching this movie for the rest of your life and be as happy as ever.

After he’d felt you’d been babied enough for him to trust you not to dissolve into a fit of disaster without him, he left you alone to finish your movie. He said something about a bug he was working on fixing and you could hear him working from behind his closed door in his room.

He had been quiet as he worked. He usually was, save for the occasional song he sang along to, or work sounding phone call he took.

The credits were rolling on your happy ending and you could feel the beginnings of the first few period cramps twinging inside of your abdomen.

Everything made sense now, as it usually did whenever your period began.

You’d just stood to head toward the kitchen for some pain medicine when Baekhyun’s bedroom door was abruptly pulled open.

He bolted through the doorway and his phone was in his hands, his eyes were wide. Panic was written all over his face as he searched the room for you and finally made eye contact with you in the kitchen.

You had a bottle of pain reliever in one hand and another popsicle in your other and you were trying to figure out the logistics of getting the bottle of medicine open without having to put the sticky melty treat down anywhere and things weren’t going so well. Things were getting drippy.

Baekhyun arrived then and you beamed a wide and genuinely happy to see him smile. He would help you. He would open the pills. He would stuff you full of them to stop the pain.

At this point you didn't even care how many. You’d take however many the Gods decided to shake free from their plastic prison.

“Help,” he said, walking by the medicine you held out to him with his phone displayed in his hands. “Help me, she...our girlfriend, Maya, she—”

You gasped at his mispronunciation and you lifted your popsicle hand toward his face as you made the sounds with your mouth, “Mia. Like Mee-uh.”

“Mia, Maya, Moira, She is — she is talking to me.” His eyes were wide and they were crazed.

“She’s saying things and she’s really fucking smart and clever and she’s saying things to me, Bug. She’s, oh god, -the fuck didn't you tell me she was cute. Fuck. You have to help me. She thinks I’m cute too. Oh God. What do I do? What’s next?”

He was breathless when he was done and both of your hands were still full. Your popsicle was beginning to drip down your wrist. You would have to clean it up before you got ants. You still had some medicine to take too.

He was pacing. He thought she was cute too, it wasn’t just you who thought so. He said it himself. Although he reacted this way with nearly every girl you had seen him interact with. Hell, just last week he made you answer the door for the delivery chicken because the girl was cute and he wasn’t about to scribble his signature all over her hand by accident.

“Baekhyun, I already laid the groundwork for you.” Maybe the day was finally catching up to you but you felt suddenly very tired and in no mood to play make-believe with him right now.

“What does that mean?” His face betrayed his utter cluelessness and you sighed deeply, feeling much of the same melancholy mood return to you despite the chocolate and your favorite movie still fresh on your tongue. “What does that mean? I don't know what to do. You were going to help me.”

He was right. You shouldn’t just abandon a friend in need like you’d abandoned the popsicle in the trash can just now.

“You have a new episode of your show to watch. She also likes that show. Why don't you stream it together?”

His eyes lit up and his smile was wide and beautiful. Then he was spinning on his heels without even so much as a glance back. He typed into his phone and had nearly reached the door of his bedroom without even acknowledging your help when at the last minute you caught the look he shot you. It was a bright smile. He was excited and his smile reached his eyes.

“She said yes,” he said, “thanks, Bug.”

His door closed and you reached for the bottle of pills. Grabbing just two today, you downed them quickly and retreated to your room with a gloomy, lonely, little storm cloud floating stubbornly over your head.

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Tag list: @j-pping @blahblahblah-boo @his-mochi-cheeks @amyeonzing@littleflowercrown13 @baekinmylife @insta1010 @nana-banana @f4ncyvelvet@bbhbeth @totallynerdstuff @byunbabybaek @beg0neth0t420

#Baekhyun #Baekhyun fic #exo #exo fic #baekhyun series #exo series #baekyun au #exo au #baekhyun exo #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun smut #exo smut #baekhyun fiction #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun ff #baekhyun fanfiction

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appleflavoredkitkats · 3 years

Text

Who Are the Four Horsemen of the Dream SMP Apocalypse?

Art by: Viktor Vasnetsov

[TW’s: torture, death, murder, manipulation, alcohol, substance abuse, discussions about the end of the world, religion, starvation, violence, implied gambling, blood, alcoholism]

Word Count: 3.5k

INTRODUCTION

Hopefully I finish this before I feel too sleep-deprived, but I’ve been thinking about the presence of horsemen in Quackity’s “My Enemies” stream. These mysterious, hooded figures are quite odd to say the least, and their involvement with Las Nevadas still remains unknown. There has been a debate on whether there were three horsemen or four, and in my opinion, I believe that there are four horsemen present.

Why four? In the first scene, three horsemen arrive at the Dream SMP on a dark and stormy night. They seem to have come from the south, entering Eret’s castle from the back. As they stop to pull their Netherite swords out, air raid sirens are heard from the distance.

Similarly, in the last scene, Quackity is seen placing a book in Wilbur’s memorial before leaving, riding his skeleton horse, Ossium. The scene cuts from first person POV to third, and we see a hooded figure, presumably Quackity because of how both came from the same direction. Additionally, air raid sirens are also heard from a distance.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT!]

I theorize that these two scenes take place at the same time. The prequel scenes only began after we see the sequence of Quackity torturing Dream, and it ends after the flashbacks of Wilbur. We can synthesize that both these scenes are set at the same time, and that these horsemen are going to meet at a certain point on the prime path.

What may suggest that these four horsemen are supposed to be parallels to the biblical four horsemen?

Firstly, seeing the bits they do, Quackity and Schlatt do know a lot of biblical references. Schlatt has compared Tubbo to Jesus once, and Quackity has said many prayers as jokes in the Dream SMP. It’s just… easy to take inspiration from biblical symbols and references, and also, the four horsemen are just very popular figures in history, so you know, why not?

Also, this may also sound RIDICULOUS, but the fact that this stream establishes that Tommy got resurrected three days after he got killed is actually very reminiscent of, well, you guessed it, Jesus Christ. 72 hours is oddly specific, and I don’t think the cc’s made it that way for no reason. Tommy’s parallels to Jesus—which is a VERY funny phrase—could imply that the Dream SMP might draw more parallels to Christianity, and the four horsemen could be another one of these references.

Also, Quackity mentioned how in Las Nevadas, he made four casinos for him and the rest of El Rapids. So, we know four is a number we can associate with Las Nevadas, and there’s a chance Quackity gave these casinos to three other people. Four casinos, four horsemen.

What is the purpose of the four horsemen in the Dream SMP? When the air raid sirens went off, we can think of these four horsemen as the bringer of chaos or danger into the Dream SMP, very reminiscent of the purpose of the original four horsemen in Christianity. We can also connect it to the end of the world, as these four only appear when the world begins to end. This can imply that these four, who are most likely allies of Quackity in Las Nevadas, are somewhat connected to how the Dream SMP will end.

Now, who is who? Admittedly, it is difficult to find a definitive answer on which member represents what horseman, so I’ll try my best considering all the possibilities for each. I’ll add my own ranks on how probable I think they are, but I have to specify that these are subjective- I am not a beacon of truth, y’all.

So let’s get started.

Firstly, I want to discuss who might NOT be a horseman to narrow it down a bit:

Any minors might not be involved. In Sam’s face reveal stream, aka the first stream mentioning Las Nevadas, Quackity and Sam agree they don’t want Tubbo and Tommy to participate in underage gambling. Don’t know if this applies to Ranboo and Fundy (since he might be canonically a child? Who knows), so they get more of a pass, but the clingy duo might not.

The Syndicate. I’d like to think that the Syndicate, as well as Dream, are Quackity’s main foils of the server. As they are the richest and also the most skilled in PVP, Quackity stands no chance against them even with his sharp tongue. As these people are foils against Quackity, and also probably hate his guts, Quackity might not hire them at Las Nevadas. I theorize he’d probably use Dream as a watchdog against the Syndicate, but that’s a theory for another time.

Additional point about Dream: he’s in prison.

Anyone from Kinoko Kingdom because it’s clear Quackity severed all ties with them.

The Eggpire is half-half. They can possibly join, but also can’t, Quackity can manipulate them into joining only for their inevitable demise, or Quackity wouldn’t wanna associate with them after the explosion incident. They’ll at least get a few passes in some categories, but again, not entirely sure.

CONQUEST

Also known as Plague, Pestilence, and in some occasions, both Jesus Christ and the Antichrist, Conquest is shown to be riding on a white horse, donning a victor’s crown and a bow. There are many interpretations of Conquest, especially with their ambiguous morality. Some people can perceive them as bad, representing the origin of many wars. Some people claim that they represent pestilence and plague as their arrows are slathered with the infections they want to spread. In some cases, they can also be interpreted as good, as their description is heavily reminiscent of Jesus Christ himself. Others would rebut that there is also a possibility that they might be a fake replica of Jesus created by Satan, thus making them the antichrist.

Sam (8/10)

Sam is my first choice when it comes to Conquest because, firstly, he fits the appearance. He is one of the only people in the Dream SMP who dons a crown, and they also possess a bow which they frequently use. I’d say that Sam as Conquest matches with his ambitions as a member of the Badlands, Pestilence or Plague match with his possible crimson infection, and Antichrist matches with his inability to keep Tommy, the possible Jesus figure on the SMP, alive or safe.

My only issue is: would Sam be one of the three who arrived at the Dream SMP in the beginning? Sam is very strict with his job as warden, so it is unlikely that he would be seen far from it.

Any of the Eggpire (7/10)

As Conquest is heavily depicted with pestilence or plague, any of the Eggpire may fit under this category. As their goal as the Eggpire is meant to conquer the Dream SMP, this also matches with the goal of Conquest. Additionally, one of the Egg’s weaknesses is Church Prime, something heavily resembling Christianity, so if the Egg is its opposite, we can view the Egg as somewhat of an antichrist.

I say Punz, Bad, Ponk, and Hannah have a higher chance of being Conquest, while Ant is a solid ‘maybe’. Punz could’ve been the one who blew up the Egg, Bad can be easily persuaded by Quackity, Ponk is one of the only capitalists of the server that may participate in Las Nevadas, and Hannah’s character heavily fits the theme of pestilence when it comes to nature. Additionally, I like to believe that Conquest was the horseman on the skeleton horse (that isn’t Quackity’s), especially since they were holding a dandelion in one shot, something that could be attributed to “pestilence” because a dandelion is a weed. This may imply that Hannah could be part, but because they haven’t interacted much beforehand, we wouldn’t be sure. More insight on Punz: he once mentioned he upholds his duties as mercenary more than he might love the Egg, so there’s a chance Quackity bribed him to join Las Nevadas.

The main con to this is that: why would the Eggpire willingly join Quackity, or why would the Egg allow them to join Quackity? I can see that Quackity might break their brainwashed states because he has a good way with words, but people like Bad, Ant, and Punz have stated that they’ve been fully controlled by the Egg. Also, Quackity makes it clear he wants to eradicate his enemies, so he might not want any members of the Eggpire to join Las Nevadas… unless there’s a traitor?

Schlatt, Mexican Dream, or Wilbur (6/10)

Heavily connected with winning if you take Manberg, Mexican L’Manberg, or L’Manberg into mind.

Wilbur also has a memorable crossbow, but I don’t know if that counts as a bow.

Any dead characters have a high chance of joining Las Nevadas because of its possible connections to death and the revival system of the SMP.

Other possibilities with short explanations and low but possible odds:

Eret: Has a crown, his betrayal can be seen as a “win”, has Tommy’s bow from the duel. Can be seen as an antichrist figure.

Jack: As he is against Tommy, he can be seen as an antichrist figure. Might be working with Las Nevadas because of his deal with Quackity.

Ranboo: He’s a minor, but he also has a crown and a bow so, maybe? He’s not much of a conqueror or winner, though.

Connor: Didn’t really conquer much, didn’t really win much, he’s just here because of Schlatt, honestly.

WAR

War is depicted to be holding a raised sword as they ride atop a red horse. After conquest, war is expected to follow, and War is tasked to break any type of peace on earth. He is tasked to kill, or make humans kill each other. The prominence of red symbolizes bloodshed or immense anger, something very present in war. Multiple depictions of War show him with his sword raised upwards, signifying the start of a battle.

Schlatt (9/10)

The man’s literally torn the Dream SMP apart (/lh). This man is always keen on fulfilling his goals, and if it means he’ll have to fulfill them in the most twisted of ways, he will do it. Him winning the Election brought immense conflict in the Dream SMP, and many people were torn apart on which side was the right or wrong side. One of Schlatt’s prominent colors besides blue would be red, as it is the color of his tie and the color of his ghost form’s horns. Red could represent the bloodshed of those who died during the Manberg-Pogtopia conflict, or red can signify the anger Schlatt had for his own cabinet.

Schlatt was also gifted a sword by Dream called “Shclatt”. The sword only holds heavy significance because of how Fundy treasured it like an heirloom.

Wilbur (8/10)

Another good possibility too as Ghostbur was recently seen to admire red a lot more than blue in one of Tommy’s streams. We can also view the creation of L’Manberg as a place that broke the peace in the Dream SMP as they didn’t really NEED to create L’Manberg and declare war, yet, he did. Red can also resemble his anger for what has been done to L’Manberg- everything is pretty self-explanatory, honestly.

My only qualm with Wilbur being one of the horsemen is how we can’t really… tell if he’s in the Dream SMP? He seems to be very clear on the fact that he does NOT want to return, so he might not even be there when the four horsemen became a thing.

Any of the Eggpire (7/10)

Honestly? Same reasoning as the first explanation for the Eggpire. This also applies for why they might not be one of the horsemen.

Do I even need to explain the red part, or do we just all understand that red is literally their brand.

The Eggpire practically breaks peace in the server and is keen on taking control of the entirety of the Dream SMP. The Egg is shown to be ruthless towards anyone, and will even let some of its followers kill people if needed.

I see Bad as someone who might qualify for this position more because he initiates a lot of the activity in the Eggpire. Same goes for Ant, Punz, and Ponk, but they don’t really take initiative most of the time.

Jack Manifold (4/10)

The only reason I kind of added him here was that he wanted to kill Tommy, but Jack isn’t entirely selfish or peace-breaking. I do think he might play a role in Las Nevadas, especially since if Quackity has access to the nukes, only Jack and Ranboo might be the only two who helped him gain access.

Jack is also… very angry at Tommy. Rightfully so, because he basically surrounded a good portion of his life trying to kill Tommy only for him to realize that that might not be his purpose in life. He blames Tommy for a lot of the loss in the server, so he has a lot of anger, but he has no one to vent it all out to.

Other possibilities with short explanations and low but possible odds:

Eret: Did the first betrayal, but that’s about it. He’s also participated in several wars against others who disagreed with him being the king.

Ranboo: Participated in wars, but is a peacemaker so, y’know.

Fundy: While he does possess Schlatt’s sword, he isn’t much of an initiator of wars as much as he is merely a follower. He has shown that he is quite angry at those who have used him, but the anger has dissipated lately into some sort of sadness/denial.

Connor: He’s mournful that Schlatt, a close friend, has died, but he isn’t really one to be angry. He tried living far away to make his own independent nation, but it didn’t impact much of the story. He also one possessed “Ghostbur’s Stabbing Knife”, which could represent the sword.

FAMINE

Famine is seen to be holding a scale (presumably for food) as they ride atop a horse. Famine is also denoted to be the only one speaking, saying “A quart of wheat for a denarius! And three quarts of barley for a denarius! But don’t ruin the oil and the wine!”. This statement basically means that we have to pay a full day’s worth of earnings for a bit of wheat and barley but oil and the wine, something not considered human necessities, can have the same prices. This shows an unfairness when it comes to acquiring basic human necessities. This is especially damaging to the poor as Famine’s statement can possibly make the poor poorer, while the rich remain the same. It is implied that the wider the gap between the poor and the rich, the closer we are to the end of the world.

Fundy (9/10)

This may be a long answer because I am biased towards Fundy, but Niki once stated that Manberg was in some sort of a famine because of the destruction of farms. Because of this, certain citizens have resorted into eating spider eyes from the EXP farm, but it was notable that she was practically calling out Fundy, someone who literally advertised spider eyes to any person he talked to in the Dream SMP.

Fundy is also hinted to be heavily connected to these hooded figures somehow. In his dream, he was chased by one until he slept in a black bed, the color of Famine.

Additionally, in his dream, he held baked potatoes (food) which could be related…? He’s also a libra so… scales…?

He is also a notorious prankster in the Dream SMP and will bargain for anything as long as he profits from it. He’s not the richest by any means, but he loves doing pranks that involve stealing belongings from other people.

Schlatt (8/10)

Similar reason to Fundy as he was the president of Manberg responsible for these famines. Additional note for this is that he also taxed Niki, one of their only food sources in Manberg.

Schlatt also likes to joke around about being rich, earning money, or being a businessman often, especially with the entire Schlatt coin joke. Connected to Famine’s trait of making the rich richer, possibly?

Famine’s statement can also apply here as it is implied that if humanity doesn’t possess the basic of necessities, they might at least have wine which won’t provide any solutions to humanity’s starvation at all, but it will distract you from your starvation by making you heavily drunk until you finally die. This is very reminiscent of how Schlatt died.

Sam (6/10)

Sam is one of the richest people on the server, matching Famine’s want to keep the rich rich. Only problem here is that Sam is at least very generous and provides a lot of people with resources when needed.

Sam could possibly be connected to Famine because of how he treats Dream in prison. In an attempt to torture Dream, he starves him, cutting his food supply.

Same problem remains with Sam not being able to join whatever the hell the four horsemen are because of his duties as warden.

Any of the Syndicate (1/10)

Only giving an exception here because the Syndicate is exceptionally rich and is more selfish about it than others. Low chances, but Ranboo… might? But it’s still a bit iffy for me. Niki might as well because of her connections to the Manbergian famine, but still on the fence with this one too.

DEATH

Death is often depicted riding a pale horse, but some variations have called the horse light green. Death does not don a weapon themselves, but they are always accompanied by Hades. Hades in Christianity is the place or state of the departed spirits, meaning Death has contact with those who have died. Sometimes, Death is depicted with a scythe similar to the Grim Reaper, but some say Death has no weapon at all as Death themself is the weapon. Death is not only meant to collect souls and end lives, but they can also represent the end of an era of humanity.

Quackity (10/10)

I would say Quackity can fit any other category, but I am so sure that Quackity is death because of how death and toying with death seems to be one of Quackity’s main themes in the Dream SMP. Quackity, once hesitant about killing others, has been shown to now impulsively want to kill others: first with Techno, then Ranboo, then Dream.

Quackity will also most likely acquire information about revival on the Dream SMP, so he is in close proximity with Hades, or in the Dream SMP, the Void. This also heavily ties in with the idea that he will make others gamble away their canon lives only for him to resurrect or return their canon lives if they ever successfully gamble it back.

Quackity is also known to be very powerless in terms of PVP and battle, but you know what he succeeds in? His own words. He is his own weapon that can get him whatever he wants as long as the person he’s up against is in a vulnerable position.

He is also confirmed to be one to have a skeleton horse, and some depictions of Death’s horse show that it is very corpse-like.

A bloody scythe can also be seen in Quackity’s first lore teaser, and that can be attributed to Death.

Other possibilities with short explanations and low but possible odds:

Schlatt: First owned the revival book but he literally does not know its contents. Fits the “they are their own weapon” trait.

Dream: The only exception I can give. But again, he is literally in prison…?

Wilbur & Mexican Dream: Only putting these two here because they have experienced death. These two fit the “they are their own weapon” category too.

Connor: Wants to revive Schlatt, but that’s it.

CONCLUSION

Honestly, my first conclusion for the four horsemen were Sam/Conquest, Schlatt/War, Fundy/Famine, and Quackity/Death, but I only see Quackity as Death to be something that is HIGHLY possible. For Conquest, I shift between Sam and one of the Eggpire, for War, I shift between Wilbur and Schlatt, and for Famine, I shift between Fundy and Schlatt. Again, no definitive answer, but I’d love to hear your own thoughts on this.

I am very tired, but also remember to reblog if you do enjoy this! Again, would love to hear your own insights, and would appreciate any type of discussion! :D

#dream smp #dream smp analysis #mcyt #quackity #fundy #wilbur soot #jschlatt #connoreatspants #badboyhalo #long post

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caffeinatedseri · 4 years

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Dazai and No Longer Human’s Yozo

It’s no secret that BSD’s Dazai draws heavily from his real life counterpart, especially from his semi-autobiographical work: No Longer Human. To preface, No Longer Human is written from the perspective of the main character Yozo, with the book itself being a documentation of Yozo’s notebooks (essentially his journals) throughout his life.

As you progress through the novel, it becomes increasingly clear that Yozo lives an extremely two-sided life; his foolish personality acts as a facade to others in attempts to hide the darker nature within him.

Dazai shares that obvious similarity with Yozo, but Dazai is characterized in a somewhat vague and mysterious way that leaves a lot of his inner thoughts up to interpretation and inferences. Thus, I’ll be going through some of my favorite quotes from No Longer Human and analyzing Dazai’s character through his similarities to Yozo.

(For the sake of readability, excerpts from No Longer Human will be in pictures, and quotes from the light novel will be in regular block quotes).

Dazai and Yozo’s Participation in Clownery

To start off, Dazai noticeably participates in the same “clowning” as Yozo, which in particular stands out with PM Dazai.

““How did your leg get hurt?” I pointed to the bandages, thinking that it must be the result of some violent fight. “I was reading a book titled ‘How to Prevent Accidental Injuries’ while walking when I accidentally fell into a ditch.” I wasn’t expecting such an abnormal response.” — LN 2, Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era (Oda’s POV)

This is pretty standard Dazai behavior, but the interesting part is how Yozo specifically used the word “deceiving.” If we were to assume Yozo’s true thoughts are Dazai’s as well, then it would imply that Dazai feels as if he’s manipulating people with his absurd claims (such as the above). However, in actuality, his clownish behaviors sound more like a joke, or some type of self-deflection, rather than an attempt to manipulate people. (Yozo also states that he would often incriminate himself by overexaggerating certain things, but I don’t think Dazai does that).

The second statement Yozo makes implies that he doesn’t care about ethics, morality, or the supposed “right way” of living life that’s described as “righteousness.”

Yozo’s statement on “righteousness” parallels Dazai’s in Dark Era, but Dazai’s statement carries a slightly different sentiment. Rather than being indifferent to the likes of morality, Dazai says that he’s “hated” by the concept of morality.

I’ll be speculating a bit here → It’s heavily implied that Dazai had some sort of dark past that led him to joining the mafia, since he was already suicidal prior to doing so. This suggests that something affected his life so drastically to the point where he could no longer trust in such things as “righteousness,” because righteousness has wronged him in the past.

First, Yozo expresses his fear of people discovering his true nature under the mask of clownery, which would then lead to them pestering him for further inquiry. However, his real fear is that people would mistake his true nature as another part of his typical clownery.

More so than before, this attitude reminds me more of Dazai in the agency, rather than him in the mafia. Even though Dazai danced around darker topics in his conversations with Oda, he was still able to talk about them without much conflict. However, in the agency, Dazai doesn’t talk much about himself or any of his personal issues at all.

Although this scene has comedic overtones, it’s interesting to see that no one would help Dazai if he was actually dying. Still, it could be argued that the other agency members knew it was just Dazai’s regular antics. (or that Dazai wouldn’t die in the first place).

This scenario repeats itself another time when Dazai gets kidnapped by the mafia, and the other agency members kind of just brush it aside. As much as they may trust Dazai to take care of himself (which I’m sure he can do), it’s worrying that the other members may not be open to Dazai’s possible attempts at reaching out for help, if he were ever to make one.

In LN 4, 55 Minutes, Atsushi addresses this issue by asking Dazai why he wants to kill himself, but the answer is left open-ended, with Atsushi himself not remembering the answer (or if Dazai even did answer). You could interpret Dazai’s change from his time in the PM as an improvement of his mental state — which I have no doubt that has happened — but Dazai needs to face his issues head-on if he truly wanted to reconcile with his past.

“Perhaps someone should persistently tie Dazai up, open the lid over his chest and stuff the head of a vacuum cleaner in. They have to let Dazai, who should be screaming in pain and resisting, settle down. Following which, the difficult things in his heart must all be dragged out under the sun and stepped on mercilessly.“ — LN 2, Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era

Oda, the man who understood Dazai more than anyone else could at the time, even specifically stated that the pain in Dazai’s heart must be forcefully dragged out, because he knew that this would ultimately be the most beneficial for Dazai’s sanity.

Throughout No Longer Human, Yozo is often misunderstood by others, or other people simply don’t care about him.

When Dazai goes to visit Oda’s grave in Dead Apple, Atsushi finds him and assumes that he’s visiting the grave of someone important to him, as an act of respect or remembrance, something of the sort. However, Dazai makes the automatic assumption that his “clownish words of deceit” (as stated by Yozo) will always be prioritized over the truth, which is why he chooses to brush off his actions as a joke.

Although I made the point earlier that the agency members don’t give Dazai opportunities to open up about himself, Atsushi is notably different, similarly to Oda, because he’s able to take Dazai seriously and persist even through his antics.

Atsushi takes Dazai’s act of visiting a grave seriously, even when Dazai plays it off, because he knows Dazai is a person just like anyone else. This understanding between them leads to Dazai telling Atsushi about Oda, thereby allowing Dazai to divulge a crucial part of his past.

Dazai and Yozo’s Friendships

Similarly to Yozo, Dazai’s attempt at “disentangling” himself from these relationships only serves to wear him out in the end. However, they also slightly differ in a way: Yozo is unable to form any friendships for his whole life, but Dazai had Oda. I would argue that Oda was Dazai’s only friend, mostly because of this quote:

“Odasaku understood him far beyond what Dazai had ever thought. He had already reached close to his heart, the place near the center of his heart. Before this, Dazai had never noticed there was someone who understood him so well. For the first time in his life, Dazai wanted to know something from the depths of his heart.” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Oda was special to Dazai because Oda was able to understand him — maybe even more than Dazai could understand himself — which is why Oda is the only person that Dazai asks for advice from.

However, Dazai does the same thing as Yozo when he “plays the clown” as a form of self-protection from such valuable friendships. (which is probably preventing him from becoming closer to the rest of the agency).

“Things that we don’t want to lose will definitely be lost. Now that it has come to this, I have no more feelings anymore. Things worth pursuing will always disappear the moment before you get them. Nothing is worth prolonging a painful life to pursue.” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Interestingly enough, Dazai says this when Ango is revealed to be a spy — before Oda dies. If Dazai was in this state of distress from Ango’s betrayal, you could only imagine how devastating Oda’s death was.

Dazai speaks as if he’s speaking from experience, which suggests that he’s faced a similar loss in the past. Despite this implied experience, he still became friends with Oda (and Ango to an extent), fully knowing that it would only bring him pain in the end. Dazai's statement here acts more as a front that makes him sound cold and detached from the situation, only to hide how he truly feels about losing one of his only friends.

To give some context to this passage, Yozo’s partner, Yoshiko, had been sexually assaulted by a coworker, of which Yozo attributes the cause to her overly trusting nature. Thus, this leads to Yozo’s belief that trustfulness is inherently wrong or creates weakness.

Dazai’s hesitance to form friendships most likely stems from this same inability to trust others like Yozo, but Dazai does trust a few people, namely Chuuya, Oda, and Atsushi.

With Chuuya, there’s a different type of trust between him and Dazai. Their impeccable trust is obviously a key factor in their partnership as SKK, but there’s a certain limit with this trust. They certainly trust each other in battle, but I’d argue that this trust doesn’t extend to their personal business.

As of now, we don’t know a lot about how SKK interacted with each other during their time in the mafia (which could change with the new LN), but I doubt PM Dazai would feel comfortable with confiding in Chuuya with anything because they (kind of) hated each other. The level of trust required for a friendship would involve a mutual understanding between two people, but Chuuya and Dazai haven’t necessarily shown us that they were able to do that.

Dazai essentially broke his trust with Chuuya by leaving the mafia on a whim, but he also intentionally antagonized himself to try to make Chuuya hate him.

This scene also has comedic overtones, but it suggests something a bit sadder about Dazai. There are possibly two motivations as to why Dazai chose to do this: (or a mix of the two)

1. Dazai didn’t want Chuuya to be incriminated as his accomplice when he became an enemy of the mafia.

2. Dazai wanted to push Chuuya away because Oda — Dazai’s most trusted friend — had just died. As a form of self-protection, Dazai broke whatever semblance of friendship he shared with Chuuya in order to prevent the same pain that came with Oda’s death.

It’s also important to consider that trust is a 2-way street; both parties have to have the same level of trust in each other. Just like Yozo, if Dazai is unable to trust anyone, then he may have cut Chuuya off to protect him (since Chuuya may have trusted Dazai more than Dazai was able to reciprocate).

In contrast, Oda and Dazai have a level of unspoken trust that basically motivates Dazai to change his entire life.

“Odasaku’s eyes radiate with conviction. The words are clearly said with some sort of strong basis. Is it past experience? Or perhaps someone’s suggestion? — He is trying to show Dazai the path he once walked. Dazai understands this. Dazai can trust it.“ — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

Returning to Yozo’s question — “Is trustfulness a sin?” — Dazai answers it by showing us the strength of trust in this moment. Trust insinuates blind faith in another person, the willingness to believe someone else without logical reasoning, which makes it all the more important when PM Dazai — the genius prodigy who operates on a solely logical basis — is able to trust Oda and change his path in life.

Atsushi is most likely the one that Dazai trusts the most in the agency, due to the aforementioned issues with the other members. However, it seems more like a budding trust that’s growing to become like Oda and Dazai, but it still requires Dazai to take that step forward to further their trust.

Dazai and Yozo’s View of the World

In this scene, Yozo had made a decision for immediate gratification, but that choice caused him insufferable pain afterwards — supporting his belief that the world was a “place of bottomless horror.”

This parallels two of Dazai’s statements: one from Dark Era and one from Dead Apple.

“Please, take me with you. Wake me up from this rotten world of a dream. Come on, come on, come on!” — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

(Dazai wasn’t talking about himself here, but the allusion sets up a situation where he can talk about himself indirectly — I talk about it more in my other post here)

We don’t really get a reason for why Dazai is suicidal, but from this we can infer that it’s something more complex than he makes it out to be — something like an issue deeply rooted within the world, with no easy solution.

One could guess that this was the result of an unfortunate decision (like Yozo), or the realization that the world was simply a terrible place (possibly because no one cared for him as a kid and he had Mori as a “parental” figure instead).

Yozo expresses his lack of understanding in the compassion of human nature, but Dazai (as we know) seems to understand other people perfectly, as least enough to manipulate them.

However, this forms somewhat of a paradox: Dazai understands people so well to the point that he can’t understand them.

Dazai understands every flawed aspect of a human being — the tendency to manipulate, lie, kill, etc. — most likely because of his past as a young child. “Human beings never did teach” him the hopeful aspect of human nature — the ability to love and cherish others.

Shibusawa in Dead Apple reflects this mindset, but take note of what Dazai says: “You wouldn’t be saying that if you actually had friends” — clearly a reflection of Dazai’s personal experience, by knowing how important friends are.

Yozo’s deathly fear of society tames itself when he comes to the realization that society is really just made up of a bunch of individuals working for their individual benefit, so he has no reason to fear society as a whole.

I don’t believe Dazai has this same fear of society, but he does reflect this individualistic mindset in the way he acts. Often enough, Dazai doesn’t tell anyone about his plans and would rather manipulate people into following such plans, even when it would be easier to cooperate. He always takes care of conflicts by himself, and by his standard.

Yozo’s fear of society possibly manifested into Dazai’s ostracization from society. More speculation here, but → My guess is that Dazai was alienated not only as a genius isolated for his intelligence, but also for his ability. There seems to be some division between regular society and ability-users’ society, but I can see Dazai being rejected by both because he’s the antithesis to all abilities.

Regular society would either shun him like other users or attempt to exploit him for their personal gain (possibly for his intelligence AND his ability), or ability-users would see him as a threat and/or menace to their safety.

When Yozo considers a double suicide with his partner, he comes to this unsure conclusion of whether or not he actually wants to go through with it.

This reflects what Oda believes about Dazai:

“I thought you and Dazai were very similar, unable to see the value of your life, hoping for death, hence jumping into a world of violence and fighting. But that’s not the case. That guy is just a child who’s too smart. Just a crying child who’s been left alone in the darkness, a world of nothingness far emptier than the world we can see.“ — LN 2, “Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era”

At the end of the story, Gide and Oda are different from Dazai because they face an inevitable hopelessness. However, Dazai has a small spark of hope to live on that persists beyond the other two.

This is represented in Dazai’s own statement to Oda, when Oda is set on walking to his death: “Go and rely on something, hope for something good to happen next, that something will definitely happen.”

If anything, this sounds more like a plea to himself than to Oda, but it establishes an important point: hope is built upon the assumption that the future will treat your present desires well. Vice versa, hopelessness is built upon the expectation that the future will neglect your present desires.

It’s a bit wordy, so I’ll elaborate on. Right after Dazai says this line, they proceed to talk about their desires → Dazai wants to find a reason to live, so he joined the mafia; Oda wanted to become a novelist, so he didn’t kill anyone.

Now, the difference between hope and hopelessness:

Oda feels hopeless because he expects that his present desire (to become a novelist) won’t be fulfilled in the future. By losing the one qualification that he felt he had to follow (not killing anyone), he no longer believes that he can become a novelist.

Dazai has hope because he assumes that his present desire (to find a reason to live) will be fulfilled in the future. He doesn’t know that for sure, but he persists onwards regardless of having full assurance or not.

Dazai’s hope and trust in Oda brings him to where he is in the present, and takes him one step closer towards discovering his reason to live.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd meta #bsd analysis #bsd dazai #dazai analysis #no longer human #bsd oda #surprisingly more oda than i expected #very ramble-y i apologize in advance

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thed4rkhand · 3 years

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So today we’re doing Yoongi’s chart and my analysis of it. Let me make it clear right off the bat, that since I’m not a professional astrologer, some things may not match up, further since we’re not super sure of his birth time, it’ll definitely affect the reading. What I can be sure of is that I’ll do my best and I’m completely open to constructive criticism from you all!

Now lets get on with some basic stuff, for those who have not yet read the post with Namjoon’s moon analysis, I’ll again reiterate some principles of Vedic astrology! In the scenario that you’re still confused with all this jargon, feel free to reach out and I’ll be more than happy to help you out.

Starting out, we have to note that while western astrology is usually more advisory in nature, Vedic astrology’s main purpose is to predict. Also, we usually go a sign back from western astrology (24’ back to be more precise) in Vedic astrology, so according to that for example, if you’re a libra rising, you become a virgo rising in Vedic astrology and so on and so forth. All planets will also shift back a sign, so a Capricorn Mercury will become a Sagittarius Mercury.

Now let’s be aware that the chart may be a bit different, but given the main d1 (Lagna) chart remains the same for about 2 hours, let’s focus on that and the moon chart (rashi chart) for this reading. We can also just look at d9 for strength but not house placements as that can be time sensitive. So, we can take a two hour margin of time discrepancy and still predict accurately.

For this reading, we have taken 9th March 1993 as the day and 7:30am as the time of birth, with the location set to Daegu.

OTHER THAN THIS, LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ME TO DO A BIRTH TIME RECTIFICATION FOR YOONGI LATER ON SO WE CAN GET MORE ACCURATE PREDICTIONS.

Since this is a general chart analysis, we shall be covering topics briefly and discussing the moon, ascendant and sun. For an in depth reading, do pick a smaller and focussed topic as we can honestly keep going on and on about a chart.

THIS READING WILL BE DONE IN SEVERAL 4 PARTS, FOLLOWING THE ASCENDANT, MOON, SUN AND MISCELLANEOUS.

Lets get started then-

Right off the bat, we can see that Yoongi is born into Pisces, with his ascendant at 10’35’, within the Nakshatra of Uttarabhadprada, within the 3rd quadrant or pada. He has venus situated in the lagna itself, in Pisces, thus exalted. His lagna lord, Jupiter, is in the 7th house, conjuct with the Moon, in the sign of virgo, where jupiter gains the upper hand despite mercury (lord of virgo) being enemies. The lord is directly aspected by mars in the fourth house. The lord of the birth Nakshatra is Saturn here, which sits in the 12th house, conjunct sun and mercury (dispositer of the ascendant lord). Lastly, moon, jupiter and rahu aspect the lagna of this chart. Of course there is so so much more here, but we’ve got a whole chart to cover!

(p.s I can already see this is such a fun chart to read)

Getting on with the reading, we firstly see that he’s born under Pisces lagna, this makes the native calm and collected, as well as fond of philosophy and psychology. What we often forget is, people born under Pisces are said to have been born under all the other signs in their past life, and cumulatively they use their skills and knowledge from those lives in their current one. Remember how on Bon Voyage trips and just about every RunBts, saga seems like the ‘dad’ of the bunch? cooking, cleaning, fixing stuff Joon broke, producing music and the stuff? And all those times that he is so very understanding of other? He doesn’t scold Jungkook, let alone anyone else? These are typical Pisces traits. They’re very domestic and understanding by nature, because they’ve been there before in a past life, and enjoy taking care of people.

The downside to this? They can be extremely manipulative if they want to be, they know exactly what to say, when to say, to whom to say and so on. They have an alarming grip on people’s emotions, and have a magnetic quality to them. Further, this is mostly an observation, you’ll often notice that most pisces natives are fond of alcohol (could be because they exist in a water sign? Could be because its the natural 12th house ruler of addictions too?)

Coming to the Nakshatra here, we have UttaraBhadrapada, the second last Nakshatra of the series. This Nakshatra is ruled by Saturn, and the presiding deity being Ananta or Ahir Budhyana, the deep ocean serpent in hindu mythology. The deity Ananta represents boundless expansion, be it of fortune, goodwill or knowledge. Ahir Budhyana, is a sattvic (sacred or untainted) form of lord Shiv, and resides at he bottom of the ocean. He represents the liberation from illusions and attainment of spiritual enlightenment and knowledge. The natives of this Nakshatra here embody these qualities of their deities. We see them as philanthropic and reserved beings, who enjoy learning about a variety of subjects and spirituality. Such people are extremely progressive in their thinking patterns, and often a magnetic pull like the deep ocean serpent has.

They’re extremely controlled and calculating in their approach, and think more than speak. This by no means is to say that they don’t speak, because such people are great orators by nature. They stand up for the underdogs and have a unique approach to topics. They are extremely interested in occult and metaphysical practices and theories. They however commonly don’t obtain higher education or do well in fields of fine arts, even their primary education is not something they excel at. (i once read that yoongi really likes reading about a variety of subjects, and also Paulo Coelho, definitely his UttaraBhadrapada here)

The bad side to this Nakshatra? They’re very critical and over-analyze everything and everyone. Sometimes, even unconsciously, they manipulate people to suit their needs and whims. They get side tracked too often and have difficulty focussing on one task at hand, often amounting to laziness in other people’s eyes, even if the native is extremely hardworking in reality. However when in comes to personal care, they tend to do things in a very half-hearted manner. These people are also prone to isolating themselves from others, especially when things get hard. Due to the sign falling in pisces here, people also tend to have many different mental burdens and disorders, which arise from their constant scatter-brained self and inability to make out between the spiritual and real realms.

They can also be heavy drinkers and abuse substances in such a Nakshatra, or enjoy partaking in occult practices while under influences. They might’ve also faced a very rough childhood with such a Nakshatra, neglected and misunderstood by people around him. The natives could also have moved away from their parents during their early adulthood for education or job purposes. Such people can have health issues like hemorrhoids, stomach ailments and hernias. Usually they lead a stable period full of health and success in the latter part of life, say about after 48 years(since the south node Ketu matures as 48).

Since Suga’s Nakshatra falls into the third pada or quadrant, its ruled by libra here. Libra here focusses on balance and cooperation. Such people may make a living working with other people, or in industries related to entertainment. They may make great debaters, and think excessively about what other think of them as. They’re very conscious of other’s opinion, even if they don’t show it, so we often find such people wearing extremely covered up and baggy clothes for example, or keeping a low profile. They may have a very practical and unbiased approach to most things in life. Such people are intensely into spiritual practices and often times fully devote themselves at hours at a time to worship of gods, angel or other beings. They may be the type to attract people very easily, or even be the kind to fall in love extremely easily.

The second placement we come to, is Venus in the first house, in Pisces. Venus here is naturally exalted (most powerful). Sure ill give you the generic explanation in a bit but, do you know which type of people usually have this placement? Actual saints and famed occultists. Sure many people within the entertainment industry too, but this placement can hands down be one of the most spiritual and divine placements of Venus in the chart. First ill go ahead and give the normal meaning and effect, and then lets dive into the crazy stuff (istg his chart is so goooood). Such people usually have really magnetic personalities, and given Venus is in Uttarabhadrapa, these are the people who you don’t notice at first, but then its like a whirlpool of being invested in them, as opposed to being in Revati Nakshatra (another Piscean nakshatra) which would be a more dramatic pull, based off an extroverted personality. These people can be very good looking, more feminine looking, could definitely look like their mothers with this position. Brilliant luck in fields of arts and entertainment and also genius level of creativity and talent. Here, people can have brilliant luck too, like god’s hand on their head kind. Accumulation of wealth and property can also be seen here.

Now onto the really fun stuff. These people are actually rarely concerned with someone’s exterior, because often times such people have such good intuition and spiritual powers (some are literally called mystics because of this), they can literally see through someone. For this reason, they actually don’t like associating with too many people, despite having a very charming personality. These are the kind of people that keep searching for ‘the one’. These people often give up everything and go ahead and become priests. The calling to god with such a placement is very strong. They also don’t like collecting too many material possessions, as they feel its redundancy in this very changing world. These people hold the few people they’re close to, very very tightly to themselves. These people also may have a very low sexual drive actually, (i know, I know, how can a strong Venus do this?) because an exalted Venus is about devotion to god, to one person, and leaving sensory pleasures behind in life. A debilitated Venus on the other hand (eg. Jungkook has one) might make someone very invested in worldly matters. These people are happy with being alone and single for a long time, they’re very satisfied with their own company. Such placements can make someone practice magick or astral projection too. (Venus in 12th sign of liberation, liberation from physical body)

Given that in this chart, Venus is his 3rd and 8th lord, we can make further deductions. Firstly, since 3rd lord is going 11 houses away, its an extremely auspicious placement here. Self made person, making wealth through communication, can also have very witty and intelligent responses to things. Since the third house also represents courage and valor, this can make someone very fearless and say whats on their mind bluntly. Since the 3rd house is part of the Kama Trikon houses (houses of desire), this going into the 1st house, which is a part of the Dharma Trikon houses (houses of morality), gives interesting results here. Firstly, such people are fiercely independent, and hate to be disrupted when there pursuing their goals and working towards them. They hate to take help from anyone, and as a result are extremely competent. secondly, such people have a moral high ground, to which they religiously abide. They’re extremely righteous and stand up for those who wouldn’t be able to for themselves. Since from here, it aspects the 7th house of agreements, such people are great at understanding and signing contracts for work.

Now with the 8th house, we have a bit of a conundrum here honestly. It belongs to 2 types of houses, the moksha trikona houses (houses of salvation) as well as the Dushtana houses (evil houses). While this placement isn’t all that bad, it isn’t he best either. firstly though, this is a placement where the native always wins over their enemies (8th lord 6 houses away from itself), be it enemies as in people, or simply obstacles in their life. This also confers a long lifespan to people, given that his 8th lord is also exalted here. However such people are prone to accidents, given that the 1st house is the body, 8th house is sudden events and the natural 8th ruler mars is a karka or signifactor of vehicles. Such people are also against organized forms of religions, since the Dushtana lord is sitting in a dharma house. The native is also extremely private and secretive given the 1st house of self has the 8th lord of secrets sitting in it. Since it also aspects the 7th house of other people, this person has that aura of mystery about them because of this. Such people are deeply critical in nature but can have extreme wisdom in cases of hidden objects or matters of the occult.

Now coming to his aspects. His Venus is aspected by moon, Jupiter and Rahu. The first two are benefic in nature and the latter is malefic. Moon-Venus and Jupiter-Venus are also mutually aspecting each other in pairs here. Moon here gives Venus the property of being constantly cynical of themselves regards to what others may perceive them as, given moon is emotion and the 7th house here is other people. Their thoughts here are deeply influenced by other people, they may always keep serving other people too, through acts of service. This also makes someone who falls in love very easily, but it is important to engage this person’s mind in a relationship, they just cant do without an emotional bond here. Since Moon also represents fame in a chart, this makes a person very famous, as they receive attention from many people, and people want to analyze them, and enjoy their work and presence.

Jupiter here, makes the person level headed and practical. The person wouldn’t be all touchy feely with people they like, because they would like to remain more in control of the situation here. They’d rather engage in a full blown debate with someone, than hold hands. This also makes them very worldly and teacher like, while also being attracted to very worldly people themselves.

Rahu’s aspect on the other hand, makes someone stand out in a crowd (Rahu signifies an outcast), they may have a rough and cold exterior due to this. They may also have had issues with body image (1st house is self), or mental health here. These people are enamored by all things foreign, and love exploring the other cultures. They may have issues identifying with their own community at large, and may identify with the downtrodden of the society.

Now going to Jupiter and moon conjunction in the 7th house. I wont go very deep into this, as its a super interesting concept, and it’ll be better covered in the second part of the reading regarding the moon itself, so ill keep it short and related to the ascendant. Also the mutual aspect part will be explained in more detail in the miscellaneous section later. Plus this is getting far too long for even me now.

Getting on with the reading for now, moon and Jupiter here are in virgo, in a loose conjunction (one is at approximately 2’ and the other at 18’). This is actually one of the not very yogas (combinations)in a chart, about 15% of people have these. Its called the Gaj-Kesari yoga (the elephant and lion combination), because people with this are so extremely lucky, its like the kings of the jungle are together to support it. They have the wisdom of the elephant and the courage of a lion. This is a raj yoga (royal combination). a native born with Gaj-Kesari Yoga is intelligent, strong, and prosperous. Gaj or Elephant possesses immense strength and is devoid of pride and the Lion is known for his foresight and skillful intelligence as well as his strength, quickness, skillful leadership, ability and courage. Thus, when Gaj-Kesari Yoga is formed then that person is extremely successful. They will be a kind and philanthropic person, who will always have sympathy for others. They will be quite humble regarding work, would like to talk nicely to people and aim to attain spiritual progress in life. Many people will recognize them as their mentor or guide and will act according to their instructions or advice. They may have a tendency attracting people and people being magnetized by them. They will be blessed with abundant wealth and become the owner of movable and immovable property(cars as well as homes). They will establish relationships with rich and reputed people of the society and enjoy all kinds of material pleasures in life.

Since this occurs in virgo, it makes a person intelligent, sharp and gifts them with amazing memory power. Such a person is knowledgeable and can become the head of a large educational institution. He may own incomparable wealth and can earn a good name and money from business as well. Often such people earn a high reputation in the Stock Market and make progress in life by working in any financial institution or insurance sectors.

Here jupiter in particular makes someone extremely cynical in nature, and their mind is always, and I mean always, thinking about romantic relationships or platonic ones. However given that jupiter is also the 10th lord here, they could be extremely focused on work too. Their life is surrounded by contracts, and may work with others for a living(7th house is house of courts and partnership). They could be very interested in the financial sector here, they could be extremely money minded and money means stability to them. Moon here on the other hand makes the person very moody, and extremely dependent on their spouse or colleagues. Since it rules the fifth house here, it signifies that such people are extremely creative in their work, may work for children or young adults, have a lot of past life karma related to work, and also that they’re extremely devoted lovers. They tend to criticize their close friends and loved ones, just because they’re so cynical and blunt, and want the absolute best for people. They may hurt people’s feeling without realizing it sometimes. (this was very brief but refer to point 12)

Now coming to Saturn in 12th, as the lord of the birth nakshatra. Saturn over here signifies working in the fields of music, but given saturn represents electronics, it could mean a producer too. Since its in Aquarius here, a sign of dual lordship, this resents a constant up and down of mood and life spirit. The person with such a placement is confused with what truly makes them happy in life, the spiritual realm or the materialistic realm. They keep going up and down the path of being spiritual, till 36 years (saturn matters at 36). They may face a lot of mental disorders here. They may have trouble sleeping at night. Given saturn is also work, they may earn through foreign sources in life. Such a person invests money into properties (saturn is houses) and lacks liquid cash. The person may have a weak left eye (12th house is left eye). They may earn from multiple sources in life, and have multiple talents. Such people have low sex drives as saturn is a dry eunuch planet, and in the 12th house of bed pleasures, it may not allow native to enjoy it. They may not be interested in worldly pleasures with such placements.

Lastly (finally?), we have to discuss the looks! Pisces ascendents usually have the short to medium height, and tend to appear a little fuller even when they’re very scrawny. (its because jupiter is the largest planet). Uttarabhadrapada natives tend to have a very innocent look to them, a very calming nature and vibe. however, like the deep sea serpant, they have very deep and magnetic eyes, and a very expressive face (yoongi memes). They usually have a very beautiful smile, and can literally attract people with it (again the snake like quality). They tend to have a very blank look usually, and if you ever notice, they’ll have the most stunning eyelashes actually, given the yoni is the female cow. They might also have the habit of moving their mouth around when their thinking, quite like ruminating.

Given venus sits here, is gives the person very attractive, effeminate features. Think extremely renaissance type of soft features. It can give them very delicate hands and feet with such a placement. The moon aspect here, gives them a rounded face and pale skin. They might have sparkly eyes and a roundish appearance here, also the tendency to gain weight around their face, with short necks. They make also look much younger than their actual age.The jupiter aspect again makes the native very other worldly looking, almost like you can imagine them in a dark robe literally performing rituals. It gives people a calm and teacher type of vibe to them. The rahu aspect usually just blows qualities out of proportion. Have you seen how small and angelic suga looks compared to the other? (not saying they’re not angelic but still), thats the rahu aspect. Again, rahu aspects only get better with time.

So this was my analysis! If anyone has any questions or doubts, hit me up! Let me know if you enjoyed it!

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Martial Arts.”

Had this lined up for today based on two requested ideas given to me by readers. I hope you like it and have a great day!

“I think you’re really going to like this.”

“So I assume it involves beating the ever-loving shit out of someone.”

Adam grinned, “Exactly.”

Sunny cheered and Krill sighed, “Why do you two always insist on having the most violent pastimes.”

“I promise today is ALSO educational. Now stop being a stick in the mud. I am sure you will find use for yourself today.”

Krill sighed but allowed them to continue on. The Admiral was wearing a duffel bag over one shoulder, and the tennis shoes he was wearing, alone with the shots suggested that he intended to participate in some sort of physical activity. The same shades of blue light flickered over his prosthetic leg and those that licked over hers, and even from here, he could hear the soft whirring of the machine.

Sunny craned her neck at the city around them trying to figure out where they were being taken, and neither of them figured it out until the admiral cut right and shouldered open the door to a large building.

Stepping inside they were greeted with a waft of warm, humid air. The ground under their feet was squishy, made of some sort of synthetic material, and all around the room humans in various stages of physical activity dominated the landscape.

The predominant sound was that of flesh impacting padded bags as humans -- both bare knuckled -- and wearing padded gloves punched and kicked and violently strove to beat the ever loving shit out of inanimate hanging objects. Krill wanted in surprise and -- what would have been horror if he wasn’t so used to being appalled-- as two humans sparred together in a ring lined with three large ropes.

They were padded, with gloves and face masks and helmets of some sort, but that gave them free reign to punch and kick each other silly, until one of the humans grabbed the other by the arm and flipped backwards throwing them both to the ground with a violent thud.

Across the room, humans wearing strange white uniforms tied with colorful belts moved in synchronization to the call of a master. He'd punch and then kick and then block venting air by way of shouts.

Sunny turned in a tight circle, her eyes wide as they fell on another padded platform, this time in an octagonal shape, and bounded by a chain link energy cage.

Inside two women were roused to blood, fighting with nothing but barely padded gloves and the clothes on their back.

One of the women managed to throw the other to the ground and for a second they were a mass of tangled limbs before she had her arms around the other’s neck squeezing tight. Krill stepped forward but a sharp tap on the arm of one woman to the other caused the winner to let go, and the fighters to return to their feet, one rubbing her soar neck..

“What is this place?” Sunny asked, in absolute awe

Adam grinned, “This, my fine friend is what humans call a dojo. Not exactly sure where the word comes from per say, but I am pretty sure it originated in asia more than two thousand years ago and basically means a location where people train in the art of hand to hand combat.

Sunny turned her head again eyes wide as another two men grappled each other to the floor hands gripping onto each other’s uniforms tugging and pulling and trying to swipe with their feet.

“It all looks so… different.”

Adam nodded, “That's because it is. There are hundreds of different fighting systems developed by humanity over the years, sort of like how you have different spear stances in your culture fire versus water, accept these ones work on different principals.

He motioned to the square ring, “Boxing for instance focuses a lot of its attention on punches specifically. Historically the rules required that you couldn't use elbows knees or kicks, and your punches had to land above the belt, or at least that’s what I remember. He turned to point at the other side of the room where the men and women in white were still busy in their forms. Stuff like Karate Kung Fu and others are sort of more about forms and techniques. I would say that that sort of fighting is more of a philosophy or a way of life than anything, and very ancient.”

He then turned to look at the two men still wrestling on the floor, “Then there is Jiu Jitsu, a form of combat that relies on submission and grappling. USe the weakness of an enemies body against them, use their weight, use the weakness of their wrists and elbows and knees and neck. Jiu Jitsu is likely to always end up on the ground. It is similar to wrestling, though wrestling requires than you pin the other person’s shoulders to the ground.

Krill turned to look at Sunny’s face and would have rolled his eyes at the giddy expression she had if it weren't for his inability to actually roll his eyes.

“Why are there so many types?’

Adam paused tapping his chin, “Well, humanity has always been working to find a system that works best. In many cases it started with a philosophy of some kind. IN certain cases it was poise, or focus or any number of things. Monks dedicated their entire lives to the mastery and perfection of a single art of combat. In a way it was almost like meditation that could be used in times of need. Some martial arts required steal or quick movement which spawned stuff like Ninjitsu and still live son in spots like parkour despite it not being a combat sport.”

He lend them further into the room, “A lot of them spawned out of the fact that humans just love to fight, we love to see who is physically better. It made it’s way to the olympics, and then into popular culture. Wrestling, while a great athletic endeavor was just as much a theater production as it was anything else and requires an understanding between two parties to put on the most dramatic show possible.”

He walked over a few feet pausing before the octagon, “Then someone had the idea of what would happen if you put the different martial arts up against each other in a contest of who is better hence Mixed Martial Arts fought in an octagon just like this. At first practitioners of one discipline were pitted against each other to see who was better.” He rested his hand against one of the braces, “In the end it ended up weeding out a lot of the older forms of martial arts which were more a form of art than actual fighting. Philosophy wasn’t exactly helpful in the octagon, and many of the flashier forms, while they looked cool in practice turned out to be impractical in the ring.

He dropped his bag to the floor, reaching in to take out a pair of gloves, “The idea became that the more brutal straight to the point contact sports were most superior.”

Sunny crossed her arms, “So what is it, which martial art is more superior?”

Adam grinned, “That’s the catch… all of them are.”

“What do you mean.”

“All of them are assuming you put them together. Fighters that were well versed in multiple styles of fighting were the most victorious.” he fell into a standard human fighting posture feet shoulder width one foot before the other hands up and loose before his face neck down, “If you can punch like a boxer, Kick like a Muay Thai fighter, grapple like a Jiu Jitsu master and put all of it together, you may have more than a chance of winning.” he patted the side of the cage, “The general consensus is that the best kind of fighting is one that doesnt just take focus from one discipline, it is someone who can take the best things from all the disciplines and put them together all at once.”

Sunny looked on rather hungrily at the ring.

“Let’s do it.”

He grinned back, “I thought you might be interested.

Krill just shook his head and backed away, leave it to the drev and the human to find one of the most dangerous pastimes in the world. Who would have thought that philosophy could span a better way to kick the shit out of someone.

Kril Turned his head to look around the room and was surprised at all the thighs he saw. He may not have agreed with the martial arts necessarily, but there was something to be said about the variety, and the sort of human that came out of it. The men and women he could see practicing were, without a doubt some of the fittest humans he had ever laid eyes on, and he spent his time with a crew that wasn’t likely to shirt their physical health.

Men and women alike glistened with lean muscle sharp and prominent against their sweat glazed skin. Hands punched bags over and over and over again. In certain cases he watched as men and women kicked wooden poles repeatedly ramming their shins against the unforgiving surface their faces barely showing any hint of pain,

The feats of acrobatics which they managed, and the way they utilized their center of gravity was astonishing. He saw a five foot woman throw a two hundred pound man over her head simply by throwing herself to her back and kicking the other man over.

While weight and size seemed to matter to some degree there were a few humans here who didn’t seem to care.

Sunny and Adam were on the other side of the room Adam explaining the idea of kinetic linking to sunny, how by moving your body, you could force the power from your feet, all the way up through your legs hips and back and into a single punch making it more powerful.

Krill could see, on a physiological standpoint where that was true.

He even watched for a few sessions as Sunny and Adam went a few rounds Adam winning a surprising amount of times for someone who was so small, but often using the techniques that Krill was seeing around the room.

It was only after they had taken a break and were gearing up to go again that Krill noticed another human walk onto the floor. He was an older human, the pigment having faded from his hair long ago, bleaching him silver. Despite that, the man had the body of someone half his age, lean and sinuous, veins crawling up his arms like the vines of a tree.

Adam was just pulling on his gloves when the man stepped up.

“Excuse me, son.”

Adam lifted his head standing when the man approached, “Can I help you.”

The man set down his bag. Based on his voice, the man was clearly an older gentlemen though Krill had trouble guessing. Either way he had the opinion that this guy probably should take it easier than this palace suggested.

“I hate to ask, but My sparring partner is sick today, and I was wondering if you might consider a round or two. You look spry enough.”

Adam blinked in surprise but then shrugged, “Yeah sure I guess.” The way his ione eye traveled over the man suggested he was having the same thoughts as krill. He seemed like he was a bit too old to be doing something like this. Krill worried that he could potential break or tear something , but no one said a word as the man set down his bag and took a few minutes to stretch.

Krill was a bit more than surprised at the flexibility of the old man who managed a full split in both directions after warming up.

Adam seemed a little less sure of himself upon seeing that.

He definitely could not do that.

The old guy’s face was lined with delicate wrinkles through the skin, the body becoming less taught with age, but when the two of them hopped up into the ring, the older man seemed just as energetic as Adam, which seemed surprising.

No matter though, as old as he was, he would probably tire pretty easily.

“What do you say, no crotch shots and no eye gouging.” Adam announced and the old man agreed as they moved into position.

Krill and Sunny came to the side of the cage to watch as the two men squared off.

Adam kept his hands a bit relaxed, still guarded but not too concerned.

The older man didn’t keeping tight and low as they circled for a bit.

“You’ll want to keep up your guard, son.” The man chided, and adam smiled but pulled his hands in tighter.

Krill tapped his fingers.

Sunny smirked as if she knew something he didn’t

They exchanged a few blows, Adam going eas and the old guy, well being old and slow as Krill had expected. Adam’s guard began to drop again, and then all of a sudden out of absolutely nowhere there was a sharp blur of motion and a loud THWACK.

Adam hit the ground hard dazed and confused as the old man stood over him.

Sunny ohhhhed in absolute glee.

Krill hissed in pain.

Adam had just been round kicked to the head.

“I told you to keep your guard up.” The old man said, reaching down a hand to help Adam to his feet, “probably also a good idea not to underestimate senior citizens.”

Adam rubbed his head, “Ok, ok I deserved that. Let's go another round.”

“You sure, you got your memory jogged kind of hard there.”

Adam shook himself and squared back up, his guard tight this time, “bring it on grandpa.”

The old man smiled and fell back into his stance. This time Adam was not smoking, and his expression was hard as he stared at the old man. Adam came forward with a jab which the man blocked and they exchanged a few punches catching each other only grazing blows as they hit.

Adam got a kick to the upper leg,, the old man took a body shot that should have downed him, but by the staggering way Adam moved to the side suggested he had kicked something as hard as a brick wall.

The old man moved forward and the two of them were suddenly head to head, hands gripping shoulders, fingers digging into shirts, before any of them knew what happened Adam was thrown to the ground his wrist held tightly in the other man’s hands,

He tried to get up but the old man leaped down after him throwing his legs over Adams chest and positioning his elbow over his hips.

He arched his back subtly which had Adam tapping one of his legs frantically.

He let go and the two disengaged.

Sunny cheered.

Adam rubbed his elbow, “Armbar?”

The old man smiled, “I’m old boy, not an invalid.”

Adam raised an eyebrow, “I can see that. How about another round.”

With a teasing smile the old human winked a grey eye, “Only if you want to get beat again.”

Adam snorted, “yeah not so sure about that.” he squared up, “Besides, today’s early bird special is on a knuckle sandwich.”

The old man wiggled his head mockingly, “Oh a wise guy eh.”

Once Upon a time Krill would have assumed they were being aggressive in their words, but the cadence and the smiles on their faces assured him that, despite their actions, this was a friendly fight.

And how strange it was to see someone like the old man holding up so well against someone less than twice his age. By all rights Adam should have beaten him easily, but this old human despite his looks was more than what he appeared. Krill was going to have to do some more research on human aging processes, for there was something he felt he was missing.

The two had squared up again, dancing around in a circle as they came in repeatedly for attacks. Adam tried to get the upper hand with a sudden flurry of blows but the old man weathered it using precision to his advantage with precis body shots that had Adam packing off huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf.

At some point Adam did something neither of them had ever see, grabbing the man under his arms and turning, flipping the man over the fulcrum of his hips and sending him flowing into the ground. Adam jumped after trying to claim full mount but the old man somehow flipped him to the side and reversed it catching Adam around the back of the neck with a forearm.

The flat of his forearm went across Adam’s throat, his legs wrapped around his middle, and his opposite hand grabbed onto his wrist. As he squeezed, he also elongated his body..

Krill stepped forward hand out afraid the man was going to pop his cervical spine apart until Adam tapped falling to the ground with a grunt.

“Ok ok, ONE more time.” Adam said wobbling to his feet

The old man followed after grinning, “Whatever you say.”

This last fight went much like the one before it. An exchange up top and a sudden move onto the ground, though this time the man trapped adam using his legs, thighs constricting around the side of his neck.

Adam was still breathing just fine, until his body slumped to the side.

Krill leaped forward in shock and confusion thinking that the man had somehow injured his neck, killed him. But almost as soon as the man let go Adam twitched and then sat up looking groggy.

“What the.”

“You were supposed to tap before passing out.”

Adam rubbed his head, “Was that a triangle choke… didn’t even feel like I was choking.”

Krill stormed forward, “What happened! Adam are you alright. Do I need to call the police.”

Adam waved him off, “It was a blood choke krill, he temporarily cut off blood supply to my brain, no big deal.”

“No big deal!” Krill shreakied, “How is it having blood in your brain NOT a big deal.’

Sunny cheered with glee behind Krill’s protests leaping up into the ring and towards the old man, “Can you teach me.”

The old man seemed surprised, but agreed and glanced oer at Adam, “Someone needs some extra lessons anyway.”

Adam snorted and rolled his eyes but otherwise took it with good humor.

Krill sat fuming in the corner.

Humans, frigging humans always finding ways to hurt themselves. Crushing each other’s windpipes and cutting off carotid arteries, and bending joints that weren't supposed to be bent, and all for what because it was FUN to look STRONGER. He couldn't believe this.

Stupid

Stupid humans.

He was going to have to tell someone. He was going to have to rant.

He was…..

Probably going to write an academic paper, though he was going to be angry while doing it.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

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infinitum-imaginaerum · 4 years

Text

Secrets | Joshua

Joshua | Secrets

Words | 9,180

Notes | Bodyguard!Joshua, mentions of alcohol, mild cursing. Angst/Fluff;

I’m back-ish with a very rough (I think) piece, mildly edited. I’m excited but nervous to be posting here again and I don’t know how often it will be that I will be posting but.... here’s this; my first svt piece in 8 months. This is a repost since... the tagging system on this site... yeah...

The fake smiles and peach Bellinis, the overdone cologne and extravagant attire, the crystal chandeliers and table decorations all brought a sneer to your face when you assumed nobody was paying close enough attention. The solitude didn’t bother you so much, it was nice to not feel like you were being suffocated for at least ten minutes; ten minutes of breathing to yourself was all you ever asked for. Always being tugged this way and that for photo ops got exhausting. The photo ops weren’t even the most taxing part, it was the fake relationship you had to keep up with one of the most prominent up and coming jewelry designer’s son, who you had happily dated at one point.

Big chunky bracelets, rings that looked too heavy for fingers, necklaces layered to the hills, and earrings that may have ripped anyone’s earlobes open was the type of gaudy jewelry you always had to put on display with a disgusting fake smile while your now-ex-boyfriend dripped with confidence, somehow, that made your skin crawl. Being in his direct vicinity all the time to keep up the image of this perfect shining couple for the sake of jewelry promotions quite frankly made your stomach turn, but the perks may have made it worth it—occasionally.

Some of the more elegant jewelry picks, a lump sum of money, some days wiping that egotistical smirk off his face were a few things that made it all worthwhile since you were frequently the one being interviewed at events about the jewelry line while still not being the heir. That boiled his blood in a way that genuinely turned your lips up in an almost unnoticeable smile. The couth you had to sit there in front of him and take all the questions with such grace—you could feel the way his fingers dug into your hip when he sat with you a bit friendly, but it was all for show. The two of you were business partners now, and that’s really all it boiled down to.

But you’d had your run-in with his less than stellar attitudes, at galas and showcases when he lost his temper with you being a show-stealer, and often forcefully kept you around to keep the cameras on him. That’s when you found Joshua. You’d found him and his specific skillset in a newspaper ad—it was unlike you to read the newspaper but you perused the ad section for job listings, animal adoptions, and all kinds of other things when you came across his blurb:

Full or Part Time Bodyguard. Trained in hand to hand and weapons combat, CPR certified, available for any/all events. To Inquire, call Joshua Hong.

While you had entertained the idea of a bodyguard for a while, it never really became a necessity until the business partnership you had was getting a bit more aggressive. There was little you could do to complain, because leaving was always a viable option, albeit they begged you to stay for publicity purposes—they being the family after hearing of your falling out. But Joshua became a harsher reality as the partnership became most hostile.

When you first saw Joshua at a consultation, he was the last type you’d ever suspect. You wouldn’t say he was far from intimidating looking, but he didn’t radiate a whole ass-kicking like you had expected. He was quieter with soft eyes but very professional. He spoke to you matter-of-factly, laying out all your options and drafting contract ideas in case you wanted to go through with hiring him. You figured it couldn’t hurt to have him around, particularly at events where anything could have gone unnoticed in such a large crowd, especially with the way you were treated.

Bringing Joshua to the table for a showcase rocked the boat a bit. It turned into an escalation by your ‘business partner’ about how it was unnecessary to have a bodyguard and that it would only bring suspicions about your relationship, to which you retaliated, “As if you harshly pulling me around isn’t enough.” His parents could do little to object. You had Joshua there with you, or you were out of the deal, which would bring their publicity and the whole story of a budding couple getting into jewelry design together to a screeching halt and they would undoubtedly lose the following and media support they’d gained because of it.

Joshua became even less favorable by the end of the first confrontation between him and the egomaniac. He was demanding you around at a photo-op, even sternly in front of the photographers—most of which by now were suspicious of the condition of your relationship because really how dare he talk to you like that much less in public—and often grabbed you by the arm and placed you exactly where he wanted you when he wanted you to be there. It was in Joshua’s contract to tolerate minor things like that, but he ground his teeth at just the sight but kept his mouth shut for the duration of the shoot. But when it was finally time to go home, he sure gave a piece of his unsolicited mind.

“Next time, how about you try keeping your hands off,” Joshua commented a bit harshly in the direction of the man who quickly became an enemy.

“Joshua,” you pleaded with him as you were packing your things, but your ex had already turned face to chest Joshua up. He ignored you for a moment, knowing you weren’t in any danger because the only danger to you was currently right in his face.

“I’ll put her where I want, when I want,” was the confident reply.

“Actually, you won’t,” Joshua spat back, eye to eye with the slightly shorter male in front of him. “You will keep your hands to yourself.”

“Mister Hong,” you almost barked, his full name flowing from your lips like a command to a soldier, which was in essence what he was. He choked off the growl in his throat as he turned face to return to you while you finished gathering your things, but not without giving the other man—who looked as if that was a battle he’d won instead of a battle he’d just been saved from—a glare that would make his mother pale. You picked up your bag after Joshua helped your jacket on and you left the building.

He did his best to bite his tongue in situations he knew he should just be quiet and wait for your cue or follow the contract to a T. The first gala was an absolute trip—there were hundreds of people, too many asking too many questions, flashing cameras in your face, people crowding left and right and that same smile on your face even he could tell was fake. But he played the part well—he donned a pressed black suit with a lovely fuchsia carnation pinned on his lapel. The only thing that made him out of place was the clear earpiece he had tapped to the microphone in the clip of your hair. If he was too far to see you, he could at least hear you if there was a problem.

It was obvious enough that it deterred people from asking him questions, or even talking to him really, but he wasn’t the only guard on duty so he spent most of his time playing wallflower, lined up with the others as they observed the gala. It was clear that it was strictly forbidden to interact with you under circumstances not outlined in the contract, by direct request of the family of honor. You figured it was fair, as the whole reason you were there was to portray an image and Joshua wasn’t part of it.

Most gala’s he spent gritting his teeth as he stood tall against the wall, watching the way your partner manhandled you just within the boundaries of the contract until it was finally over when he would follow you close out of the venue and take your hand to step you off the curb to let you fall into the passenger’s seat of his car brought around by valet just to get in and grip the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grasp and silently take you home, and be paid out on your doorstep—what soon became the routine.

But the routine changed when you grew a little fonder of Joshua when you lingered to leave when you were no longer in need of his services, when sometimes you sat in the passenger’s seat of his car to just sit and process, or to vent, or to just enjoy being in the company of another without the stress of a business agenda. When you finally talked freely about interests outside of this partnership you had with him. When he walked you to your door and had a little more to say, irrelevant to being paid—things as simple as sleep well, or stay safe, or until next time, things other than thank you for your business. When it seemed as though he was growing fonder of you, too.

And then, the door once cracked opened a bit more when a late conversation turned into a disagreement turned into something else.

You knew he’d been disgruntled with the inability to do anything about the situation, with the way the boundaries were teased and tested and Joshua’s investment in you continued to grow beyond the confines of said contract. It brought on a lot of tension between the two of you, as if there hadn’t been tension on car rides home after parties or showcases or reveals or fundraisers—it didn’t really matter, he took you to and from almost every event.

He was quieter than usual, something you tried to ignore as you tended the bruise against your arm from where you’d been grabbed multiple times throughout the night, mostly minding your own business and exchanged your attention between that and the passing of the city outside the car window. The air conditioning was cool on your skin, soothing on your feet from being pressed in heels all night that you’d slightly kicked off in a bit of relief before he finally broke the silence.

“When are you going to let me give him what’s coming?” Joshua asked you, his tone a little urgent, and startled you a little bit in the deep leather bucket seat of his car. “It’s been five months and time and time again you let him tug you around like a rag-doll and only half the time can I see the discomfort on your face, but a hundred percent of the time I can hear it when you grunt or wince or yelp.”

You sighed heavily—this wasn’t particularly a conversation you wanted to have.

“He’s within the contract,” you replied.

“Any malicious touch should be outside the contract,” he growled.

“Well then it’s a good thing you didn’t write it,” you replied as he pulled up to your place, shutting the car off after throwing it into park to walk you up to your door like he always did. You had a bottom floor apartment, which made slipping your heels back on and stepping out of the car less of a battle since you wouldn’t have to climb any stairs. Even though he was a bit put off with you, he still rounded the car to gently take your hand to pull you up from the seat, double-checking to make sure you had everything, and walked you up to your door.

“I wish I had,” he finally replied as you turned the key in the handle to tumble the look to unlock your door. “I wish I had because he would have stopped testing the both of us months ago.”

“That’s not your call to make,” you replied, grabbing the envelope that sat on the table just inside your doorway which already had a predetermined amount enclosed with his name written in fine script across it the same way that it always did. “I hired you to do a specific job, you agreed to adhere to the contract; if you don’t like the contract, we can discontinue this partnership at any time,” you finished.

Part of you couldn’t decide if he hadn’t heard anything you said, or if he was just taking his time to reply, because his gaze was effectively all over your face, refusing to reach up for the envelope. You could see the look in his eyes that generally meant he was thinking, but what came next you almost couldn’t prepare for.

Both his warm hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your head up towards his just enough for him to gracefully take your lips with his. Your back softly hit the frame of your door as his envelope crumpled in your hand, and you found yourself instinctively leaning up into his mouth while your free hand momentarily cupped the back of his neck before you came to and nudged him away.

“Joshua…” you muttered a tad breathlessly, breaking the kiss. There were a million things that should have been going through your mind at that point, starting with how unprofessional all of this was, continuing with the image you had to maintain and how this whole thing would interfere with that, and finishing with grappling with your feelings that were turning your stomach over like a fish on deck.

One of his hands had slipped away from your face to hold you steady, warm and wide on your hip, but the other continued to tenderly stroke against your cheek while you looked at each other. His envelope was still clutched in your hand against his side, your other hand sliding away from the back of his neck and down his lapel—you could push him away, you should push him away. You wanted to tell him how many problems this would cause, how complicated this just made everything, but somehow all you could think about was the glitter in his eyes, the mint tones of his breath, and the taste of his pomegranate chapstick.

He must have known it wasn’t a good move because he collected the envelope from your hand without much more delay for thought—your door was already open so he didn’t have to wait any longer as he bid you goodnight, reminded you to sleep well, and turned to be on his way. You found his name stuck in the back of your throat, dying to come out, but also dying to stay in. The implications of the situation swirled in your head, and you gave a rickety exhale before finding your feet enough to retreat through your door.

Business continued as usual, Joshua attended with you as usual, but the only difference was that you were getting progressively more infuriated with the way you were being treated as another month passed. The jig had to have been up, the publicity you were gaining from keeping up the relationship lie had to have faded by now, but the numbers didn’t lie. Joshua was still at your side, in the background, observing, wherever he needed to be to ensure his job was done correctly.

You had taken a nasty fall on one of the sets of a photo-op because of an impatient and tugging hand of the typical problem male. Joshua lurched from against the wall as you cursed, the floor hard against your knees, and you stayed on the ground for a moment while your nails clawed against the tile, pushing away the sting. A sweet voice whispered your name, and you knew who it belonged to, along with the hand that was extended in front of you. You stared at it for a moment before sitting up enough to dust your hands against each other, and daintily place one in Joshua’s large and warm one. He slowly lifted you to your feet, wanting to check your knees which were hidden behind a floral maxi-dress.

“Pathetic, can’t even get up on your own,” your ex-boyfriend spat in your direction, and the sigh that left your lips could have been a call from hell itself.

Your gaze turned up slowly, away from the ground, and up to his face like the inferno was ready to take him through the earth’s crust. There was a snarl turning at the corners of your nose, and it was clear as day you’d had it up to your eyeballs. Your hand gripped Joshua’s with all the strength you had, and he could only look at you, waiting for your cue, waiting for you to cut him loose before you brought your free hand up and clapped it against the side of the face of your unruly business partner. It was a sound that rang through the room, and by the sound of the cry that exited just a moment after, you caught him upwards on the jaw and probably snapped his teeth together.

He yelled profanities at you, but the exhaustion of his antics were clear in your eyes. Joshua snarled at him when he attempted to approach, but you almost begged for it.

“Do you want another?” you asked him, a tinge in your voice that startled even Joshua. The blood from your split knee was trickling down your leg at this point, you could feel it go, but your one hand clutched the hand it held unwaveringly.

The way your voice softened when you turned your head to speak to Joshua was like night and day. “My knees are bleeding,” you informed him, feeling them quiver as you continued to stand, bruising imminent. He didn’t hesitate to place your hand against his shoulder to slide around his neck and lift your legs out from under you. Your wicked ex-boyfriend took a step, but Joshua was quick and turned to check.

“Try me,” he growled and waited for an advance that never came before he turned to take you out of the room. One of the photography hands followed the two of you out with a first aid kit but stood aside to let Joshua take care of you. You pulled the dress up past your knees—it was worse than you thought. He requested some water to begin to clean your leg before cleaning the split that was already black and purple and swollen to the hills.

“You must have gone down pretty hard,” he commented, gingerly tending to said wound, but diligently nonetheless to get it cleared away enough to assess. At that point, all you cared about was the bloodstain on the knee of your pretty white dress. The pain was ignorable, your ex was ignorable, Joshua was mostly ignorable, but the pain you felt in your pride from letting him treat you like that which manifested in the stain on your dress was not. You looked at the stain with such disdain as you held it in your hands.

“I’ll get you a new dress,” he muttered after noting the look on your face.

“That’s not the point!” you yelled back harshly. He looked at you calmly, knowing your outburst wasn’t directed at him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied quietly and turned his gaze back down to bandage your knee, at least well enough to complete the shoot because he knew you weren’t going to leave without finishing it.

And so you did; the blood on your dress could be edited out, so that posed little concern. What did concern you, however, was the attitudes in the room and how they would shift. From then on, every move was checked with Joshua, both your eyes and your ex-boyfriend’s eyes meeting him if he ever even reached for you. Something in the way you’d whole-hand clapped him and the look on Joshua’s face after the fact—he had to have known at that point that he wasn’t ‘safe’ anymore. It was as if he could see that Joshua had been unclipped from the figurative leash.

You finished the shoot with no further altercations but definitely needed help with some of the positions as your knee was unable to bend certain ways anymore, for the time being. When the shoot was finally over, you stayed on the set couch for a lingering moment as Joshua gathered your things and brought them over to you, but not without clipping shoulders with the trouble-maker himself.

He had your duffel over his shoulder, creasing the jacket of his suit but refused to let you take it when he was able to get you on your feet again. You looked up at him with a scowl, almost as if to say that you could carry it yourself, but he gave you a skeptical look, not skeptical that you could carry it but that you were injured and he would just as well carry it for you.

You paid the photography crew your respects before beginning to hobble out of the set and eventually out of the building. Joshua offered you his arm as a crutch multiple times that you refused, stubbornly, until he��d finally had enough.

“Please take my arm, or I’ll carry you out of here,” he almost threatened as a gave a smile to the man at the security desk while you passed him, who gave you a curious look as you limped. You wanted to growl, but begrudgingly took his arm anyway; admittedly, it relieved some pain. He put your duffel in the back seat once finally arriving at the car and then opened the passenger’s door for you. Gingerly you lifted your damaged leg into the car first before all but falling in after it and let him close the door behind you.

As usual, he turned on the air conditioner a bit high—you needed to cool off after every interaction you had with your ex on any business excursion you needed to attend. You kept your rage entirely inside which boiled your blood and made your face hot and the cool air was quite helpful to bring it all back. Joshua delayed in starting the car for a moment as he looked over to you to make sure you were okay, but you ignored the pain in your knee and looked out the window, waiting for the car to start moving. He sighed, noting the bloodstains on the knee of your dress before finally bringing the car to life to take you home. It was already late into the afternoon, and he knew you’d want time to prepare dinner and shower and other things to relax for the evening, so he didn’t waste any more time.

He took you and your bag up to your front door the way he normally did, only this time with one of your hands wrapped around his arm to steady yourself as you hobbled slowly with your heels in your other hand before you were digging for your keys. Once your door opened, you threw your shoes in and took the duffel bag from him to toss that inside the doorway as well and reached for his envelope on the table, and turned back to him.

Joshua stood tall and respectfully the way he always did, alert with his shoulders square, hands clasps behind his back. Somehow his hair was always immaculate, his suit always pressed with zero hints of wrinkles, too professional; but his eyes looked at you softly, eyes you were looking into deeper and deeper every time you got the chance, eyes that captivated you like nothing else. You clutched the envelope in both your hands, a thought stirring in the back of your throat as you looked up at him.

“Joshua…” you started, trying to get the thought out as the envelope crumpled in your fingers.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied respectfully, only for you to remind him of your name even though you knew he hadn’t forgotten.

“I don’t pay you for this…” you started, crumpling the envelope a little more as you looked down at it, “but I would, if you wanted; I just don’t have any near family and I don’t want to be alone after all that and—”

“I’ll stay, for a bit, if that’s what you need. I’m here to serve you,” he replied, the tenseness in his shoulders dropping a little bit as his hands came forward to cup over yours, stopping you from nervously crinkling his envelope, “And don’t worry about compensating me.”

You weren’t sure how to reply as he finessed the envelope from your hands, setting it back down on the table you always retrieved it from as he walked you slowly back through the doorway of your apartment and kicked his shoes by the door. “Do you mind if I take my coat off?” he asked you, and you were a bit taken aback by the question—he was always dressed professionally, and this was the first time he would be taking his jacket off in front of you. All you could do was nod as you peeled yours off, too, a sweet dark washed cropped jean jacket.

At some point you remember getting him a glass of water, you remember excusing yourself to change so that you could spot treat your dress and assess the damage on your knee yourself as Joshua made himself at home on your couch. It was the first time Joshua would see you in more casual clothes instead of dolled up for some event, but it was fair because you were seeing him cut a little loose too. You remember flipping on the TV to drown out the somewhat awkward silence that loomed between the two of you for a bit, before agreeing on what to order for food. It was still a bit early for dinner, so some mindless TV was in order for a little bit. A part of Joshua had expected something else; maybe some feelings dumping or something similar, but he didn’t mind the fact that you just wanted to relish his company.

That didn’t stop him from consistently looking at you, consistently noting the way your eyes would get a bit glassy before being controlled—you refused to cry in front of him. He wasn’t there to comfort you, that wasn’t his job, and you didn’t want to make it seem like it was. But when you could feel him looking at the side of your face a little too hard, you turned to look at him with the intention of asking if he wanted to order food, but ended up getting trapped in his eyes again.

You could feel your breath hitch in your throat, meeting his gaze, but he didn’t seem surprised. His eyebrows rose for a split second, hardly even noticed as he looked back at you—your eyes were still a bit glassy from the forced back tears. He wouldn’t dare ask you to speak, much less speak about what was on your mind; he had unclear instructions of what he was there for, but it took everything in him to just sit there and say nothing, do nothing.

He took a leap, and reached over to retrieve your hand closest to him, which happened to be your left hand, and cupped it in both of his.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through; I can’t even begin to imagine how hard and taxing it is, how unbreakable your resolve has been, how strong you have been, but I know that you are. I know that you are gracious and kind and patient. I know that you are so much than I get to see, so much more than anything he’d ever deserve.”

It was meant to be comforting, to be encouraging, and it was. Somehow, your fingers threaded between his and squeezed, trying to stave the tears that he had inadvertently pushed up to your waterline, and to avoid having him see them fall, you finally turned your face away from his.

“I’m going to order dinner, what would you like?” you asked, voice cracking a little as you quickly stood from the couch to the dismay of your injured knee as your hand left his. You quickly made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel to dab under your eyes, trying to save the makeup you had left. Vaguely, you heard him say something about getting whatever—he would eat whatever you ordered for him—and pulled out the small book of menus from nearby places.

Joshua sat on the couch, the lack of your hand between his somehow more intense when he knew you needed some comfort as he listened to you flip through some pages and eventually dial a number to place an order. He didn’t expect you to return immediately, or even within a reasonable amount of time, which was good because you didn’t. You continued to stand in the kitchen and grip the counter, pushing your tears back and back and back while trying not to agitate your leg too much; the burn was real from your rush to get up, so you stood on the leg that was still good and bent the other to give it a rest.

Eventually, he was going to have to check on you. He spent plenty of time glancing over to the kitchen to see if you were emerging yet, but it didn’t happen to be the case, so before too long he pushed himself up from the couch as he quietly cooed your name. You had just been rounding the corner out of the kitchen and he’d caught you by surprise, causing you to stumble over your own feet and crash right into him. His anticipatory hands were able to catch you, for the most part, one able to catch your elbow while the other controlled your fall into his body. Your hands were a little more unceremonious, one furling in the fabric of his white dress shirt and the other grabbing onto his bicep while you crash-landed into his chest, staggering him a bit.

It was the first time you were really getting a lungful of his fragrance, swirling around you like phantom chains. The first time you were really feeling the solidity of his body and how protective it was capable of being. The first time you were really feeling the largeness of his hands as he steadied your balance by hulling you up against him to set you fully back on your own feet, the second time his wide palm was placed against your hip, which brought back many memories of the first time just outside your front door. He could have been able to hear the way you swallowed, looking right at his throat, adorned with a perfectly knotted tie and a finely pressed shirt collar.

And for a moment, you stood there with complete silence looming between the two of you while your hands found a more comfortable place to rest which happened to be right on the curve of his chest while the other continued to hold his bicep. It was always hard to see under his immaculate jackets, but now that it was just his dress shirt and an undershirt, you could see the way your hands curved against him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he finally spoke, throat shifting particularly with how low he was trying to keep his voice, his bicep flexing under your hand as his hands slid a little further around you.

“Thank you for catching me,” you replied, “so I didn’t have to fall in front of you, again.”

For some reason, that hit him painfully. He couldn’t decide if it was because he felt guilty for making you feel embarrassed about what had happened in front of him, or because he felt guilty for not being able to prevent it in the first place. Although it felt like a sting, he was fully aware that you were making no effort to move from his grasp which was still settled somewhat around your waist until you had decided it was long enough and shuffled out of his grasp.

Joshua never dared pry about what was on your mind, even as he continued to watch you push tears away. At one point, you did close the gap between the two of you on the couch and sat with him, hip to hip, at least until your food arrived. You ate quietly, really just relishing each other’s presence outside of business hours, and sometimes caught him looking at you a little too long which he would dismiss with a soft smile. But dinner was quick, and you were cleaning up almost as soon as you sat down, it felt. And the sooner you were done with dinner, you feared, the sooner he would leave and that just wasn’t a thought you were ready to deal with yet. You had been grappling with saying something, giving him anything about what was going on with you—he already had a pretty good idea and made that very apparent, but you got nervous and pulled away.

You cleaned up in the kitchen quickly and grabbed Joshua’s empty glass to refresh it after he insisted the water was perfectly fine, before joining him on the couch again. This time you’d switched over the TV to just play music which was also perfectly fine because it seemed to ease the tension that was bubbling between the two of you.

“You know, I know we’re not that close, and I know you hired me, but if there’s anything you want to say, or if there’s anything you want me to do—”

“Does that anything include hauling a body away?” you joked, trying to lighten the mood since it had been a little dark since you first invited him in. He seemed to find amusement in your joke because he chuckled.

“I just want you to feel comfortable with me, like you don’t have to tiptoe around me or like you can’t experience emotions in front of me—I couldn’t even detect a semblance of pain on your face earlier although I know it hurt,” he reminded you.

“I do feel comfortable with you,” you replied, driving the point home by subconsciously leaning over to cozy up to him, resting your head against his shoulder as you were already sitting hip to him. He seemed a bit shocked, jarring for only a moment before relaxing into the way you pressed against him. “If I didn’t, I would have gotten rid of you a long time ago.”

“Ouch, so expendable,” he jested, resisting settling an arm around your shoulder. He knew from the last time that there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed, even if you were crossing one right now. It was on you what to do, but he couldn’t just take a moment of physical contact as the go-ahead, especially as you pulled away.

“You’re off the clock; you don’t have to be so alert,” you finally added.

“It’s in my nature,” he replied quietly, his gaze casting from your lap and back up to your face. “I can’t help wanting to jump to your defense, even from the threat that’s in your head.”

“At least that tells me that you take your job very seriously,” you replied just as quietly, your voice fading off a bit at the end as his face neared yours a bit more.

“You asked me to come in because you didn’t want to be alone; I think that warrants attention,” he answered. He had a point, but somewhere in the feeling of his warm breath against your cheeks, that point was lost. You knew what was coming, but somehow didn’t have the mind to stop it, or the want to stop it from happening. Your fingers furled into the upholstery of your couch as he came into your space.

“Joshu—” you tried, but the tender way his lips touched against yours cut that off. There was a familiar touch of his fingertips against the cut of your jaw while his mouth gently slanted against yours. The sigh that exhaled through his nose was exacerbated as one of your somewhat panicked hands took a grip of his tie and tugged, encouraging him to tilt your jaw to his will as he readjusted the kiss.

He broke the kiss for a moment to gauge you, a little too in the moment to remember the first time this happened and what a mistake it was; somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the implications, he knew the conditions of your contract with the jewelry gig, he knew the media was keeping watch on your fake relationship, and he knew how much this was forbidden, but that only made him want it more. And you must have felt somewhat the same, because you leaned in to tease his bottom lip with your teeth, feeling the exhilaration of the fleeting freedom from that fake relationship against Joshua’s lips; the way the stress of all of that melted away at the taste of that familiar pomegranate chapstick. His breath was warm against your mouth, anticipating your next move but you made it clear you were waiting for him as you hesitated while his lip slipped from the gentle grip of your teeth and, tentatively, he took your bottom lip to swipe his tongue against it to delve into another forbidden lip lock.

Breathless, you gave a deep exhale against his mouth as you’d finally come to your senses. Somewhere in your subconscious, you knew the two of you were dancing around this chemistry because you knew it would have to be a secret. You’d had all the forethought in the world after the last time about any time you could catch him away from the crowd how badly you wanted to take the lapel of his coat in your hands and melt into him. The last thing you needed was for rumors to start going around about you and him, but in this very moment, as your lips trailed away from his to kiss against the line of his jaw, you seemed to care not. And you knew you would have continued to kiss down his neck the way you’d thought about more times than you’d like to admit out loud if you didn’t know better. But the way his breath hit the air and the way his head tilted back just a bit just begged for a little more.

“Joshua,” you whispered against the slender column of his neck, or what you could reach that wasn’t covered by his completely buttoned shirt as your lips slid up to his ear, “If you don’t knock it off, next time I might not stop.”

A shiver shot down his spine at just the implications of your words. He knew it was wrong, he knew it was complicated, but now he knew that you felt the same way he did, that you knew he just couldn’t help it. His breath hit the air in a huff, a semblance of a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips but it faded just as quickly as his head came back down to meet gaze with you.

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” he replied, the glimmer in his eyes like the entire galaxy condensed. You agreed on the conditions of your current situation from a simple look, but you could also tell in each other’s eyes how much that didn’t matter. All that mattered was not getting caught. All that mattered was that it was a secret. Even still, something ate at you about the riskiness.

You stood from the couch for the sole purpose of creating some distance before you completely lost your resolve, although it was still breaking the more you looked at his eyes, the features of his face, the curves and sharpness of his jaw, and his mouth which you were already so acquainted with.

It would be tough, but you knew already quitting Joshua would be harder already, so you both vowed to keep it as down low as possible, and that meant entirely in the ground in public of any kind.

That meant you attended galas and fundraisers with even more disinterest than you had before, and the tugging persisted but now you were being bombarded with questions about your fake relationship—you did your best to remain quiet and let the star of the show answer. You continued to work on designing pieces in the comfort of your apartment and develop them into fine pieces of jewelry and you were still raking in design rights left and right from a company you wanted to break from entirely. It was slowly becoming apparent that no matter what happened between you and Joshua, that company would owe you royalties for your designs, and undoubtedly would ask you to continue designing since you were the top contributor much to your partner’s dismay.

To do your best to avoid suspicion, Joshua often stayed behind at times he would have typically accompanied you. He spent more time playing wallflower than he was used to, especially as you were being bombarded left and right by people who wanted nothing more than your attention than to pick your brain about your designs, but despite the new dynamic of his investment, he was still your bodyguard. And the more he got invested, the more he hated seeing you put in that fake smile in the arms of a man he already detested; but he vowed to keep his word, and keep his word he did.

Some galas, you just couldn’t take it. Joshua always had a watchful eye on you when you were seated even while Mr. Self-Important was wandering about and entertaining guests, trying to butter them up for a sale or investment of some kind. Occasionally, you’d meet eyes with him before finding your way to your feet and began to weave through the crowd. It wasn’t unusual for him to follow you, as it was agreed he would be keeping eyes on you at all costs. You made your way through many hot bodies crammed in a too-small room as he tried to keep track of your head bobbing through the crowd before making it into a back room. Still, he followed the sound of your heels against the ornate tile. He followed you quite some time before leading him onto the balcony of a backroom you doubted anyone would be finding even if they were adventuring on their own.

“What do you think you’re doing, taking off like that?” he asked you a little roughly, trying to figure out exactly what was going through your mind to just get up and storm off as if that wouldn’t gather some attention.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you replied desperately, looking back at him as you exhaled sharply. The look in your eyes was enough, an inextinguishable fire burned in your very soul. He almost melted under that gaze, daring to shuffle towards you. You let the fresh air wash against the skin exposed by your evening gown—it was refreshing, to say the least; but the way Joshua was looking back at you made it hard to distinguish the cool air from the fire in your veins.

You begged to step passed him and return to the gala—being out here with him alone spelled bad news for the secrecy of your intermingling lives because you could tell the more that you looked at him, the more you couldn’t stop the way your gaze flittered down to his lips for only a moment before trying to recompose yourself. But you went to step anyway, not quick enough for his wide hands which strongly took your hips and backed you up against the railing of the balcony.

“Is that why you lead me out here? You had to have known I would follow you,” he asked, a ghost of a whisper in the slight breeze as he leaned down to capture your gaze again, bringing your eyes up to his and you could feel your breath caught in your throat, hands anticipatorily on his forearms through his suit coat.

You wanted to protest, you wanted to tell him this couldn’t happen—not here, not now. The way he continued to step closer to you made the lump bigger and bigger, making it even more difficult to get words out before he was leaned in too close, and only then were you able to squeak anything out.

“It’s dangerous,” you muttered against his mouth, the familiar taste of his pomegranate chapstick and the plush warmth of his lips against yours broke any semblance of control and your hands ruffled through the hair on the back of his head. It was feverish at first, as if you’d been deprived of him for so long before the actuality of his lips against yours, of his hands on your body tugging you into him finally set in and you calmed down; as did your hands which combed his hair back into place before sitting daintily across his broad shoulders until he broke the kiss off, hypocritically trying to remind you that you were still in public but it didn’t stop the way he placed gentle kisses against your forehead as you leaned into him.

His scent, which you had grown so accustomed to, seemed to be amplified in the quiet wind as you took a deep breath through your nose while his forehead found yours—your eyes remained closed, and it was the most serene moment you’d experienced at a gala to that day. Everything felt at ease, everything felt simple, everything felt right.

But in the following days, a different kind of panic was settling into you when your boss’s son showed up on your doorstep with the front page of a magazine with a photo of you and Joshua out on that balcony that night. He was red in the face, demanding an explanation from you about how you could be so careless, essentially informing you that he had already had ideas about you and Joshua but trusted that you wouldn’t blow the work you had going. The thought of being caught had crossed your mind on so many occasions, but late-night talks after late-night talk when he stayed over to calm your nerves, to rub your shoulders and shower you with kisses, you concluded—what were they going to do? What did you care about that fake relationship? What did you care about the publicity of a company you had no investment in other than design rights? Regardless of popularity, you would continue to get royalties from every sale of your designs.

“This is simply absurd; this is the last thing I had anticipated waking up to. This ruins so many things, in fact, it ruins everything! All the publicity we had going for this startup, you so selfishly ruined!” he screamed at you while you stood in the doorway of your apartment. For a moment, you didn’t care. He had screamed at you many times in the past, so you looked at him unfazed.

“I’m sorry, I’m the selfish one? I’m the one who demanded we keep up a fake relationship for a publicity stunt to… what… keep the jewelry line directly in the media at all times? I’m the selfish one?”

“You have gotten every last bit out of my family and this business and then you go and blow it, getting caught like a fool!”

Your knuckles were turning white with the way you were gripping them under your crossed arms as you looked at him. Your blood was boiling.

“I worked my ass off to provide your family with very successful designs for their line! Remind me again who’s the selfish one!” you spat back in his face, the burn on your tongue feeling like actual flames with how irate you were at this point. “And remind me, what have you done, at all? Have you made any contributions to this business other than providing the media a pretty face to look at?”

He pushed his hand against the door of your apartment and stepped towards you, enough for you to take a few steps back and unfold your arms in the case you had to defend yourself. And you would have, but the rumble behind you that was deep enough, menacing enough to open a rift in the earth’s crust came from behind you.

“Get out,” Joshua threatened, having been standing just behind the door to listen to the exchange. He wanted you to give you your space to deal with it on your own—you deserved to deal with it on your own; it was your position, your designs, your royalties, your contributions to defend. He was there, however, to defend your being.

“You! You are at least half the—”

“Get out!” Joshua repeated, taking a step forward before ripping the magazine from shaking fingers. “I don’t think I have to tell you again. Your little charade is done, and the only one who will suffer is you and you alone. Now get out, or I’ll escort you out.”

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer about this—”

“I don’t think that’s the route you want to go,” you interjected. “I own those designs; I am owed royalties on every sale of those designs; whether you like it or not, I have a legal cut of this company which is not contingent on how successful our media façade is. So, if I’ll be hearing from your lawyer about Joshua who has a legal and contracted right to remove you from my property, then you’ll be hearing from mine, who will bury you.”

There was a shakiness in your voice, indistinguishable between anger and nerves, as Joshua escorted him out of your home and slammed the door behind him. You stood just beyond the entryway, safe distance within your house to avoid any conflict, but your shoulders heaved. You could hear the heavy deadbolt flip, locking the door tight before Joshua turned around to face you. He gave you some space for just a moment, but he wasn’t too keen on leaving you standing there looking like the very life had been sucked from your bones for too long.

“It’s over,” he cooed to you, “you don’t have to hide anymore.”

Your gaze crossed the flooring to his feet and ran up his legs, up his body to his face. His mouth housed a tender smile, eyes soft as he looked over you, and somewhere deep in there he could see the relief, the surfacing of tension to let it all go, and for a fleeting moment, you granted him a soft smile as well before he wistfully crossed the floor to take you against his chest.

“I’m proud of the way you stood your ground. You’ll never have to stand it alone again.”

It seemed like a slightly inclined battle for the first month or so. You did hear from his lawyer, and he heard from yours, and it was a winning battle in court to discuss your role within the business. You came to an agreement to keep a position, much to the dismay of your now ex-business partner, and continue working on designs with minimal pressure, and that, the final marker of the decisions, was the nail in the coffin for all the tension to finally free from your body. You stood in a mostly empty courtroom in a fine skirt-suit as you awaited the verdict—you were too relieved to cry, but Joshua’s hand squeezing yours almost elicited those tears.

It wasn’t long before you moved in together to settle down.

You spent long nights sometimes in the studio working on big sketchbooks loosely doodling designs across the entire page. A lone lamp that illuminated a desk behind your easel was hardly enough to sustain healthy eyesight, but it never seemed to stop you especially when you were struggling to push sleep away from those eyes. Often, Joshua slipped out of bed to come find you, well into some hours after he’d retired for the night just to sneak into the studio behind you.

He watched the way your hand effortlessly moved across the page, flicking lines down on the paper to craft those rough sketches he knew would eventually turn into fine pieces of jewelry. You had a knack for it, serious vision for jewelry only the elite could afford.

“It’s not light enough in here for your eyes,” he whispered to you, rubbing his hands along your shoulders and upper arms before he’d dig his thumbs in.

“You tell me that every time,” you reminded him quietly, eyes closing to relish the way he pushed some knots away from your shoulders.

His chuckle was smooth in your ears, dripping down your spine like refined syrup before he pulled up a stool behind you and nestle his arms around your waist, leaving you free enough to continue to work on some sketches, but not without some attempts at wooing you to leave them.

“Come to bed with me,” he whispered just behind your ear, only to place a couple of kisses against your neck and nuzzle against your jaw.

“Five more minutes,” you replied, only to feel his arms tighten around you.

“I fell for that too many times; I’m not so naïve anymore,” he reminded you. “They’ll be here for you another day.”

“And so will you,” you answered.

“Ouch, so expendable,” he teased, knowing that you were teasing, too.

“Joshua,” you whined as he kissed down your neck and across your shoulder, only lightly clothed by a loose-fitting tee that was slouching off to the side anyway. But he wouldn’t stop. Especially not as he got up to flick the lamp off, the only light remaining for vision was the hallway light outside the door, which was enough for him to scoop you from your stool to bring both your legs up around his waist and your arms to dangle over his shoulders. He could feel the sleepiness in your body, but your stubbornness persisted as you protested some more. He carried you from the small studio room and down the hallway to flick the light off with his elbow before he was gently laying you in the cool sheets of the bed you shared with him, sealing off any further words with a couple of sweet kisses against your unsuspecting lips.

Despite all your hawing a few moments prior, the soothing sheets underneath you coupled with the warm body that was settling in next to you settled you quite a bit when he turned you into him and you settled into his shoulder, the same way you did every night.

#joshua hong #seventeen joshua #joshua scenarios #joshua fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #joshua angst #seventeen angst #joshua imagines #seventeen imagines #joshua oneshot #seventeen oneshot

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

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Anonymous asked: I really enjoyed your book review of Sebastian Junger’s Homecoming. Perhaps enjoyment isn’t the right word because it brought home some hard truths. Your book review really helped me understand my older brother better when I think back on how he came home from the war in Afghanistan after serving with the Paras and had medals pinned up the yin yang. It was hard on everyone in the family, especially for him and his wife and young kids. He has found it hard going. Thanks for sharing your own thoughts as a combat veteran from that war. Even if you’re a toff you don’t come across as a typical Oxbridge poncey Rupert! As you’re a classicist and historian how did ancient soldiers deal with PTSD? Did the Greeks and Roman soldiers even suffer from it like our fighting boys and girls do? Is PTSD just a modern thing?

See previous post for Part 1. Part 2 of my answer here below....

But does it mean no Greek or Roman soldier ever suffered trauma or mental illness? Is there nothing we can’t learn from them? Of course not. Both the Greeks and Romans can teach us a lot about suffering.

Both cultures recognised the importance of integrating soldiers back into society that were they had tried to defend on the battlefield. And I think we can learn a lot from them in the regard.

If we are able to accept that PTSD is not a product of mechanised warfare and very likely did occur in ancient societies, then the question should be asked: how did ancient cultures deal with individuals who experienced trauma and suffering? We know that exposure to violence occurred. And we know, too, that homecoming was a common experience, in that some type of military service was a regular feature of the cursus honorum for those in the senatorial class and was an avenue for the lower classes seeking advancement. Valour in combat was respected, and it was not unusual, when in pursuit of higher office or defending oneself at trial, to display one’s scars from battle as a physical witness of character.

Inscriptions inform us that many veterans pursued successful careers upon their return, becoming leading men in their cities. We know that they feared war and respected it, we know that they used ritual to distinguish war from peace, but we do not know how these men fared emotionally and psychologically after long exposure to violence.

While many ancient cultures were able to recognise the significant changes in soldiers following a battle, the precise reasons as to what created these changes were elusive. A common explanation was that the occurrence of (what I describe as) PTSD was caused by the actions of malevolent ghosts or spirits of those who were killed in battle and now sought vengeance on their killer. While it is unlikely that a vengeful spirit explanation is correct, it does contain the insight that the sickness originated from an inward or unseeable wounding, and these invisible wounds could be just as deadly as any outward wound.

Many ancient cultures sought to deal with and create specific rituals to heal the unseeable and drive off the ghosts who caused them. The central purpose of these often culturally unique rituals was to welcome the returning soldier back into society and allow for the release of trauma. The Romans directed the Vestal Virgins to bathe returning soldiers, purging them of the corruption of war.

While the plethora of writings describing PTSD-like signs in ancient veterans indicate that these rituals did not always work, given the sheer numbers of ancient soldiers who went into battle and through these rituals, it would seem likely that for many something about them did work. However, it might not have been the welcome back into society alone that worked.

What might have been even more important, and what is often overlooked, was that the reintegration process would begin in the aftermath of the battle when the survivors began to walk home. Given that ancient soldiers sometimes fought far from their homeland, when the war was over they had to the walk home. The speed of this return was dictated by the pace of the slowest pack animals and the slow pace, while frustrating, may well have given the soldiers much needed time to reflect upon what they had experienced, grieve for comrades lost and perhaps find solace in a shared group experience. The long march back culminated in a ritual cleansing and a return to home, as mentioned above.

One of the reasons this slow decompression might have aided the efficacy of the return rituals can be seen in its complete opposite in contemporary conflict, where the advent of improved transport has made it possible to move troops quickly and efficiently. Perhaps too quickly and too efficiently. While troops might be happy to be back at home far more quickly, there might be a lost opportunity for soldiers to properly process what they have seen and experienced within a like-minded group.

I believe that we must be cautious when we map the past too neatly upon our own experiences or, conversely, our own experiences too neatly upon the past. While there are similarities and continuities, the relationship between ancient and modern must be carefully parsed. All lovers of the classical past are familiar with how the study of the Greeks and Romans awakens profound and contradictory feelings of identification and alienation. With respect to combat trauma, the shock felt by a modern soldier upon seeing a corpse for the first time would have been incomprehensible to both the Greeks and the Romans, who were surrounded by death.

Likewise, modern technology – with its distant, impersonal, and terrifyingly effective weapons, its instantaneous communication between home front and front line, and the speed of return from combat – requires an adaptability and an ability to get one’s head around big spaces and multiple actors that would never have been demanded from a Roman legionary.

My own view is that our soldiers actually face more complicated psychological factors than did the Romans – including a populace that largely avoids the realities of war while still wishing to enjoy the profits of it.

In addition, as our understanding of what causes PTSD grows we may find a paradox: distance weapons, developed to provide overwhelming military superiority and to shield troops from the fear and horror of close combat, may in fact cause more trauma, whether owing to the shockwaves they send through the brain or to the sense of helplessness they engender.

Moreover psychologists believe that modern PTSD cases are the result of the loss of ‘ontological security’ – ‘an individual’s inability to reconcile their traumatic memories with their moral codes, self-concepts, beliefs about human nature and notions of cosmic justice through which they seek to impose what anthropologists call a sense of order and meaning on the world. The psychological conflict arising from trauma ensures that the trauma lives on as ‘a source of socially and psychologically maladaptive behaviour’. But - and here’s the crux of it - the definition of what is a traumatic memory is as variable as the sufferer is individual, and this is culturally dependent even in the most homogenous societies.

Where we can learn from the Greeks and Romans is how they dealt with homecoming and using religious spirituality to balm emotional wounds.

For the Greek warrior, Classical Greek culture, like that of Rome after them, practiced polytheism, the expression of which included confirmatory and transformatory rituals. Ritual purification with water occurred in Greek funeral rites, with indication that pollution associated itself suggest that the cleansing had anything to do with establishing proper relationship to the gods, but may have had a purely “practical” force.

A more important spiritual concept to the Greek soldier than that of pollution may have been that of the necessary separation between the warrior’s life and the domestic life. In ancient and classical Greece, city walls held a religious significance as the separation between the sacred and the profane, for inside the walls are the sanctuary and security of domestic peace, while outside the walls warfare and the domestic life from which the warriors of his tale are separated, evoking pathos in the listener; the Iliad’s action describes the soldierly activities and battles of the Greeks and Trojans, while Homer’s metaphors describe the everyday activities which the Greeks have left behind and with living relatives as well as physical location.

Some Classicists believe there is little evidence to suggest that the cleansing had anything to do with establishing proper relationship to the gods, however. Furthermore, a Greek male’s citizenship was based on his membership in his city’s fighting force, his τιμή, honour, was directly related to his performance in the line of duty, and “a purely predatory attitude toward the lives and possessions of one’s enemies was an essential part of archaic and classical Greek warfare. This attitude toward battle makes it unlikely that Greek soldiers would have felt any sense of pollution either from warfare or the soldier’s association with, or proximity to, death or blood; cleansing rites were likely observed for fallen comrades and camps, but may have had a purely “practical” force.

In the Iliad, Homer makes extensive use of metaphor to juxtapose the world of warfare and the domestic life from which the warriors of his tale are separated, evoking pathos in the listener; the Iliad’s action describes the soldierly activities and battles of the Greeks and Trojans, while Homer’s metaphors describe the everyday activities which the Greeks have left behind and been separated from for ten years, such as women sewing and farmers reaping.

The soldier may accumulate honour in battle, but he is acutely aware of what he is sacrificing, even if only temporarily, to gain that honour. Homer’s Odyssey and Aeschylus’ Agamemnon are explorations of difficulties the Greek warrior faced as he attempted to return to domestic life after long absence in war. The concept of such separation may have had a sacred significance akin to the idea of the separation of domestic and non-domestic spaces established by walls; it was at least culturally significant to the Greeks of Homer’s and Aeschylus’ times.

Though Greek soldiers may not have had purification rituals to cleanse themselves after battle, Shay proposes that warriors of certain Greek societies, at least, had a form of transformatory, religiously-significant ritual which served to reintegrate them into domestic society after long separation in mandatory military service and, for most, exposure to combat. He writes, “The performances of Athenian tragic theatre - which was a theatre of combat veterans, by combat veterans, and for combat veterans - offered cultural therapy, including purification...The ancient Athenians had a distinctive therapy of purification, healing, and reintegration of returning soldiers that was undertaken as a whole political community. Sacred theatre was one of its primary means of reintegrating the returning veteran into the social sphere as “citizen.”

Shay proposes that soldiers hearing or reciting the Iliad would also have experienced a similar sacred catharsis; thus, this might have been one reason for the works’ significance in Greek culture.

What of the warrior of Imperial Rome? What of homecoming and religion? Religion was likewise both a public and private affair during Imperial Rome.

Political leaders and military officials were also religious leaders, and the people considered the emperor god-like, if not a god, within one of Rome’s many public cults. Ritual practices were integral to both state and private religion. The Romans accepted that the safety and prosperity of their communities depended upon the gods, whose favour was won and held by correct performance of the full range of cult practices inherited from the past. Bargaining rituals, in which a specific ritual action was performed or promised in return for fulfillment of prayer, as well as confirmatory and transformatory rituals, were common throughout the Roman Empire’s many public and private religious cults.

Within this cultural context, Rome allowed her soldiers to practice in accordance with individual religious beliefs, and the army took part in public religious activities. Among many other state religious rituals, Roman armies underwent ritual purification (known as lustratio exercitus, translating literally as ‘the purification of the army’), sometimes before battle, sometimes after (or sometimes both). This ritual may also have been performed on the Campus Martius (the sacred field dedicated to the Roman god of war, Mars) at the start and end of the military campaign season.

The Roman practice of leading a victorious army under a triumphal arch may also have been a ritual purification; soldiers decorated themselves and their standards for both rituals with laurel, a plant commonly used for purification in other aspects of Roman culture.

Scholars disagree as to the purpose of the purification ritual and the sacred nature of an army’s triumph. Pritchett suggests that Roman generals conducted the lustratio exercitus in order “to remove superstitious dread” from the soldiers before battle. Some scholars argue that the purification ritual was not merely to remove dread before battle, but may have included the use of laurel to “cleanse the army of its bloodshed.” In common with the Greeks, Roman soldiers were unlikely to attach any moral disapprobation to the act of killing itself, or find war immoral. But the performance of the ritual after battle and at the close of the warrior’s season indicate the Romans may have felt that some incidental, religious pollution attached itself to the army or the soldier from nearness to death or blood.

As some point out, Virgil in his imperial epic poem, The Aeneid, supports the idea that the imperial Romans saw some impurity associated with the individual’s presence in combat - Aeneas, having just taken part in battle, states that he must purify himself before approaching his household gods. Others sees the act of battle as a sacred undertaking; therefore, at the end of the campaign season, the soldiers ritually desacralised themselves and also cleansing themselves for their acts of violence in battle.

This idea further suggests a sacred distinction between the warrior and the non-warrior, as the warrior undertook a particular religious duty by fighting which the non-warrior did not. The ceremony performed at a Roman soldier’s retirement, when the emperor, or his proxy, would perform a ritual releasing the soldier from the religious oath he took upon joining the army, transitioning him back into private life, seems to suggest this as well.

These ritual purifications may also have marked the transition for the soldier from chaos back to order. Roman society placed high value on order and Rome’s citizens saw the empire as a civilizing force against the barbaric chaos of other peoples; for them, Roman conquest brought law public order, and structure to uncivilized barbarians as much as it did land and treasure to Rome.

The division between what was civilised (Rome) and was chaotic (barbarians, and thus anyone Rome was at war with) was sacred and sharp, and it was the Roman army which crossed that line to carry order to the peoples of the world. The presence of the ritual after battle and after the campaign season may mark a restorative or transitional moment in which the soldier’s association with chaos in battle against an uncivilized enemy ends and he returns to the orderly world of Roman civilisation.

While no absolute solution can be drawn from the experiences of ancient soldiers, there may be sufficient clues to warrant studying what benefits might be gained from delaying the return of groups of individuals from conflicts in a structured manner, thereby lessening the propensity for PTSD to occur. Particularly, if it were possible to enact rituals of our own - rituals which recognise and free returning soldiers from their traumas and assuage any sense of guilt and culpability - and reinforce that society values them for what they did, we may be better able to deal with PTSD.

Indeed whatever the causes or effects of PTSD suffered by returning service personnel, homecoming is crucial to integrating that person back into his/her family, community, and society. Earlier I talked about research done on British, European and American returning soldiers and the wide discrepancies between the European and the American experience of dealing with PTSD and reintegration.

I think one reason why British soldiers fared better than our American brethren is we had more effective mental health tools and mechanisms in place. I’m sure your brother as he was with the Parachute regiment would have gone through the TRiMS and TLD programme as a way for returning British soldiers to process their tour experience before being allowed back into the fold. It doesn’t work for everyone but certainly catches more in the supportive net who otherwise might have profound difficulties ‘coming home’.

For those who don’t know since 2007 the British armed services have been using the Trauma Risk Management program (TRiM) and the practice of soldiers spending time in a “third location decompression” (TLD) to help the process of homecoming as well as detect early warnings of PTSD. Both have been important tools for British soldiers to process their emotions and experiences.

The good thing about TRiM is that it’s a peer support system designed to assess trauma experienced by soldiers and encourage them to seek help if needed. TLD requires its participants to spend 36 hours in a location away from combat before returning home, often on the bases in Cyprus within the British Sovereign Territory there. Both of these mitigation measures focus on unit or regimental cohesiveness, which is has been well proven to be associated with lower levels of common mental disorders and PTSD. The aim of decompression is to ensure everyone gets a proper mental health briefing and that they are able to speak informally to each other without being judged. In the end it’s an invaluable opportunity to access the social support needed and begin the reintroduction to ‘normal life’.

Of course no system is perfect - look how sprawling the British veteran charities are for instance (Royal British Legion, Poppy Scotland, Combat Stress, Connect Assist, the Ministry of Defence, SSAFA etc) with over 2000 registered veteran charities which leads to confusion about services and support. No measure that is put in place can treat every single soldier but every little bit helps more than it hinders a soldier’s return ‘home’.

In the end to wheel back to your question, the issue of whether the Romans suffered PTSD is probably unanswerable, because the problem itself exposes many of the challenges posed by the historical study of the past. I do know that the view that the Graeco-Roman world knew PTSD is fast becoming dogma because of popular culture and trendy lefty academic fads in English departments. I find that troubling speaking as both a combat veteran and as a Classicist.

In this debate of nature versus nurture it can hardly be reasonable to conclude that a legionary would have experienced trauma in the same way as a modern day combat veteran – surely his vastly different upbringing, cultural background and combat experience would have resulted in a culturally unique variant of response to that trauma? So to state that the legionary *must* have suffered PTSD seems simplistic and poorly evidenced. Saying a Greek or Roman soldier’s exposure to close combat and the fact that war is hell wherever and whenever it is fought is not enough. Some men would undoubtedly have experienced trauma induced psychological disorder but what that response was, its nature, causes, symptoms, is simply impossible to know, given the current paucity of relevant sources.

Perhaps when we understand PTSD better we’ll have an ability to interpret that thin evidence and put it into a cultural and medical frame of reference - despite wildly different causal factors and conditioning to meet the unique stressors in each of the ancient and modern soldier’s experience of warfare - that will get us close to a definitive answer. Indeed, as we learn more about concussive brain injuries and slowly unravel the various causes of PTSD, I suspect that we may find the evidence will point to a lower frequency of PTSD in the ancient world than that experienced by our troops in the present day. Until then, to be honest, it’s a game of grim conjecture.

If your brother needs more help please DM me and we can discuss ways in which we can help him find the right fit. You already know about the paras own charity for its veterans, Support Our Paras, so nothing I can add there that you don’t already know. My one recommendation would be to reach out to ex-Para and UK SFSG (special forces operator), Dave Radband. Radders is good egg and has used social media to become an outstanding mental health advocate for ex-British veterans.

Once again my apologies for the long answer in two parts but it’s an issue that’s very close to my heart when I think of my own fortunate homecoming from war and I remember those who didn’t come home...and those still fighting the war after they come home.

Thanks for your question.

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nefoe-dd · 3 years

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SO SMT AU AM I RIGHT GAMERS

I mentioned this in the tags of another post and joked about it in Discord but my brain went brrrr during my last class of the day and now I lowkey have a full plot starting to form lol.

Keep in mind the only Shin Megami Tensei game I’ve played myself is the Nocturne remake, plus I only really remember bits of the plot of 4 and whatever we’ve been given so far of 5 so I’m not super well versed in the series.

Also I’ll add this to the tags too but DSMP Spoilers specifically for the contents of Techno’s Will exist in this post, because that is where the idea for this came from. A lot of other JRPGs have similar plotlines but I specifically thought of SMT because its kind of a meme specifically for that at this point how the plot always seems to have the same type ending bosses.

Also some spoilers for Shin Megami Tensei IV

ANYWAYS

Now Presenting: An AU where Techno’s Limbo is an SMT Game lol

(Under a ‘Read More’ because it got way ahead of me)

An Introduction to Relevant SMT terminology:

Demons: Makes up a large majority of the characters in the game. They are the enemies that you face in combat, and its possible to recruit them to your team through various means. Some demons exist in the overworld though, and can be talked to normally, they’re chill most of the time, unless you do something to tick them off. ‘Demon’ is not taken literally by the Christian definition, they are based off of various figures in folklore and religion around the world, some are even based on Gods and Angels.

Law vs Chaos: Many SMT games have multiple endings based on these two alignments, along with the neutral alignment. It is usually decided by some important decisions the player makes throughout the game. I’m most aware of the SMT 4 ending, in which the route you are on decides the final dungeon, the character you team with for the ending, and the final boss (its either Satan or the in-game version of God). It’s based off of the traditional interpretation of these two, where Law represents the importance of authority, and Chaos represents the importance of freedom.

Another note is that a lot of SMT games take place in a post-apocalyptic world of some kind, which, spoiler, is the case here.

General Plot Details and Worldbuilding:

- Techno dies in the prison. The stasis chamber fails and Quackity succeeds in killing him. Permanently.

- Despite dying, he wakes up again in the main prison cell, but things are different. The lava isn’t blocking the entrance anymore, (in fact there isn’t any lava at all), and he’s alone. Upon peering outside the main cell, he notices a bit of sky peeking through the prison ceiling, like it had been broken into.

- The drop down to the bottom floor is long, but he’s dead, so he just shrugs and jumps down so he can see what’s going on. Turns out there are several holes in this part of the prison, in fact there are multiple on the ground, likely where the lava had escaped from. (Obviously Minecraft lava specifically doesn’t work like that, I’m pretty sure in the DreamSMP the bottom is all source blocks, but just ignore that bit).

- He exits from the back wall of the prison, and everything there so far looks normal, except for the fact that there appears to be less trees than normal. Of the trees that are still there, many of them were cut down and never collected, and some appear to have fallen over due to some damage.

- Techno goes around the prison to the front, and that’s when he notices some things that are very wrong. Various parts of the prison, not just the main cell, are also sitting destroyed. Many cracks, scuff marks and full-on chunks are missing on the walls. The usual entrance which houses the nether portal is hardly still standing, and he can see straight into the main lobby where the portal would lead into once you were let through.

- The surrounding areas are not much better. Tommy’s outpost is toppled over in the distance, only the base and bottom floor are left standing. The tents near the beach are collapsed and destroyed, the only remnants of one of them is a small piece of fabric ripped from the main bit and laying on the ground. Skeppy and Badboyhalo’s mansion is crumbling where it stands, half of the back wall and ceiling are gone. And that’s only what’s visible from here.

- The rest of the server is also in various states of destruction, the spawn walls are hardly left standing, the main nether portal area is covered in potholes, none of the portals are active. The prime path is rotted and broken in most areas, the buildings along it are not faring much better than the ones he’d seen before. And the further he gets away from the prison, the more the plants themselves appear to be dead or dying.

- L’manburg’s crater looks much the same as it once did right after its destruction, albeit with more debris at the bottom which had fallen from the sides as they slowly eroded. The flag at the bottom is torn up and discoloured, honestly its hardly recognizable. The nature that had finally begun to reclaim the land has slowly been dying instead over time, and the bridge overtop has completely collapsed. The only thing still standing, is the ever present obsidian grid that looms over it in the sky. He supposes that whatever disaster had caused this wasn’t able to reach that high up, or that it was at least in part done by someone that liked the way it looked. Not that there seems to be a need for the reminder anymore.

- Something something, he finds out DreamXD is here, and that he might have had something to do with how this world looks. And as much as it shouldn’t matter in the afterlife, he did promise Phil he would be killing God sooooo he goes on a mission to do just that. He can do pretty much anything now that he really doesn’t have to worry about dying, so why not. He has no reason to care about some God, especially when they’re the only ones left.

- Some DSMP people hang around the world and are represented by certain demons, the mostly chill ones that kinda just hang around in the apocalyptic scenery. They don’t recognize him, it isn’t really the people he knows after all, but they are willing to talk to him since they can tell he isn’t human either. He learns little bits of what happened through them, and learns where DreamXD resides, that being one of the strongholds that’s a bit further out.

- Unfortunately, due to the portals being inactive, and his inability to break anything efficiently, or even at all, he has to travel using the overworld. Along the way he manages to speak to some others, this allows him to better locate where the God is, although it doesn’t seem to be hiding out. He even sees it sometimes flying around, which he uses to follow where its hiding.

- Some of the random demons he runs into recognize that he’s not supposed to be here (according to them at least), so he has to fight his way through them. Luckily, many of the friendly demons that he talks to end up tagging along in order to help, thus making up a team he can use to get through them instead.

- There’s probably a demon that seems to resemble Phil somewhere, living alone (alone for so so long) away from everyone in an arctic house perhaps. If I wanted to really up the angst, the demon takes a liking to Techno right away, which is partly how Techno is able to tell its him so quickly. The more they talk, the more Techno realizes how lonely the Phil he knows must be without him there, how upset he’d be once he reads the will and finds out what happened to him. Thus he’s more motivated to, you know, fight God, in an attempt to figure out what the hell happened. (DXD is the only entity existing here that also exists where he’s from, he can guess pretty easily that maybe, just maybe, they are one and the same). Thus, he is given a choice that he knows he will have to make in the future.

- Eventually he manages to find the stronghold and comes face to face with DreamXD himself. DreamXD is just kinda chillin there, they fight, through DreamXD doesn’t seem to be putting in too much effort, almost like it does not want to win.

- Techno wins (duh), and he is left with a choice, a choice to finish the job, or spare the god and allow it to go free. And, well, he feels that he doesn’t really have the right to decide whether it lives or dies, and while its possible that DreamXD caused whatever disaster created the current state of the world, but he doesn’t know that for sure. DreamXD has done nothing this whole time he’s been here, and its done nothing to him or his companions.

- He chooses to leave it alone, and DreamXD seems to know that it was always going to end that way.

- DreamXD disappears, and Techno wakes up in the cell again post-revival, the prison and the world around it is the same as he remembers

(I don’t remember the exact real-world to limbo time difference but I imagine that it felt like, a day, maybe half that, while irl it was only a few minutes to an hour.)

Some other notes/details:

- The other possible ending would have resulted in Techno killing DreamXD and being given ANOTHER choice to take its power over the world, or just leave and stay there forever. Basically DreamXD’s existence is vital to the power of the revival book, and it’s death would have resulted in Dream not being successful in his revival attempts. Obviously we have no idea how the powers actually work yet, but I just came up with an explanation because I thought it would be interesting. You can decide on your own which of these endings fall into Law, Chaos or Neutral because uh, its complicated given the scenario. You can also decide if letting DreamXD live even fits into his character! Idk! But its not like DreamXD’s being oppressive by any means, not that there’s anyone to oppress here anyways. That’s my logic anyways.

- I don’t know what demons would represent specific people, I’d like to use one of the Angels for Phil but the Demons based on Angels usually have an important role in the plot that is in line with the Law alignment and like, protecting god or whatever, so no. There are a couple bird ones but idk if they fit the vibe, idk it could work, I’d have to look at a list if I want to go into this further.

- I kinda want Eret to be an Inugami because it’s body does that thing that ferret’s do when they’re all stretched out :) The only reason I’m hesitant is because Inugami is a dog, and Goose deserves representation.

- The reason I imagined for why Techno can’t break anything is because the mining fatigue lasted throughout this because he died with it, it’d get in the way of fighting too but at least it isn’t weakness, and he’s not alone either.

Uhhhhh that’s it for now I think!

(will potentially add to this if I figure something else out in the future)

#Dreamsmp #Dreamsmp spoilers #DSMP #Technoblade #none of the schoolwork I've done so far is this long what the fuck did I do #this is almost 2k words btw

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sachigram · 4 years

Text

((In standard me fashion, I picked a prompt from Shizaya Week, weeks late, and have no intention of doing the others, lmaoooooooooo))

Prompt: I can’t sleep so will you hold me?

Shizuo doesn't think he could ever get used to Izaya and his bat-shit flea antics entirely, but Izaya has proven to be easier to deal with than Shizuo ever would've thought before. There are often hidden truths in Izaya's actions, things ordinary people who don't deal with him often enough would think to look for. Shizuo doesn't consider himself an expert in anything, but he thinks he's become a decent flea-to-human to translator.

Izaya will cook, but not without making snide remarks about Shizuo's inability to cook. Izaya will do laundry, but will refuse to fold it. If Shizuo asks for Izaya to come home early, Izaya will do so, but he'll still arrive later than Shizuo requested. Sometimes it still annoys Shizuo what a brat Izaya is, but he can see Izaya is actually trying, and that's enough to keep Shizuo from flying off the handle.

Izaya's sleeping habits, however, remain a constant source of contention between them both. Shizuo has a regular sleep schedule and always has. Even when he's angry or upset, which is more often than not, he finds sleep easily. It's taken him a long time to wrap his head around Izaya's sleeping habits, which are all over the place. Truly, Shizuo still doesn't get it.

Izaya will be up all night and then wake early in the morning, even without setting an alarm. He'll pass out at his desk and be dead to the world, but wake up a mere hour later and go right back to work. Sometimes he'll be out after Shizuo goes to bed and already be gone in the morning before Shizuo wakes up. It drives Shizuo insane, especially when Izaya will have dark circles and bags under his eyes but still firmly refuse to lie down. Izaya always says he has too much work to do to sleep like a normal person, and then he'll make some scathing remark about Shizuo having a caveman sleep cycle, and they'll end up arguing. It's always the same song and dance, but Shizuo is getting fed up with following Izaya's lead.

Today, Izaya is at his desk, clacking away at his keyboard. He has a humongous coffee cup next to him, which he will occasionally reach for and sip from, and he has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looks cute, and Shizuo hates him for it, because Shizuo wants to be mad at him.

“Why are you staring at me, Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo glowers up at him.

“You didn't come to bed last night.”

“What's wrong? Are you worried I was out being unfaithful to you?” Izaya bats his eyelashes playfully, and he grins at the expression on Shizuo's face. “I told you, I have to work.”

“All night? And you're still at it. What are you even doing?” Shizuo grumbles.

“That's top secret! I don't ask you about your work, now do I?” Izaya keeps typing even as he speaks, barely glancing in Shizuo's direction. “I'll sleep when I'm done.”

“You're never done. As soon as you finish that one, you'll think of something else to do.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Izaya sings, still not looking at Shizuo. “It takes a lot to be as efficient as me, you know? I rest for one day and suddenly I'm out of the loop.”

“I'm not asking for an entire day! I'm asking you to sleep when you need it!” Shizuo snaps, and Izaya finally frowns up at him.

“Your nagging is unattractive.”

“You—!” Shizuo stands and stomps over to the desk, looming menacingly over Izaya. “Turn off. The computer,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“I'm not tired, you idiot! Damn it, just—“ Izaya lifts his hand as if to wave Shizuo away, and Shizuo growls before grabbing Izaya's hand and tugging him. “Stop it! Shizu-chaaaaaaan!” Izaya wails as Shizuo drags Izaya, swivel-chair and all, towards the stairs. “Shizu-chan, you're hurting me!”

Shizuo freezes in his tracks and releases Izaya, who glares up at him, cradling his hand to himself. Shizuo feels guilty, feels like lead is in his stomach. He doesn't want to hurt anyone, but he especially never wants to hurt Izaya, even when the fucker deserves it.

“Sorry,” Shizuo mumbles.

“Oh, relax, I was kidding. You weren't hurting me; I just wanted you to let me go.” Izaya scoots himself back towards the desk, and he lifts his coffee cup, grinning at Shizuo over the rim. “What an expression you're making! I bet you wished you hurt me now, huh?”

Shizuo takes a deep breath, cracks his knuckles by one, and then moves towards Izaya again, who only looks up at him smugly. Shizuo leans onto the desk.

“You wanna work? Fine. But tonight, you're going to bed when I do, and you're not leaving the bed till I do,” Shizuo says.

“That's not happening,” Izaya says, taking another sip of coffee. Shizuo slaps the coffee out of his hands, and Izaya looks from the shattered cup to Shizuo, clearly irritated.

“Yes the fuck it is happening, 'cause if you refuse, I'm gonna throw your computer out the window, and then I'm gonna tie your scrawny ass to the bed for a week.” Shizuo smiles, but there's nothing pleasant about it. “What's it gonna be, I-za-ya?”

“You're going to tie me down? Kinky. I don't see how turning me on is going to get me to sleep.”

“Keep it up and I'll tie you upside-down.”

“Whoever would've guessed how high-maintenance you are?” Izaya sighs loudly and then shrugs. “Sure, what do I care? I'll just watch you sleep and do creepy stuff to you until morning. Will that placate you?”

“Yes,” Shizuo says, not threatened in the least. Izaya scowls, but doesn't argue, and that's a victory in Shizuo's book.

***

Hours later, after they've both eaten dinner, (Izaya at his desk, eating while working) Shizuo stands from the couch and yawns. He looks over at Izaya, who is pointedly ignoring him.

“Bedtime,” Shizuo announces.

“What? Now?” Izaya asks, looking from the monitor to Shizuo. “It's not even ten!”

“I'm tired now,” Shizuo says. “Besides, you look like a zombie. You need it more than me.”

“I'm not tired!” Izaya whines, his legs kicking out a bit. Shizuo withholds a grin at Izaya's antics, finding them cute. Before they got together, he never would have guessed how childish Izaya can be. Izaya doesn't throw tantrums, but he does pout and whine when he's not getting his way, and his surly attitude will persist for a long time afterwards until the opportunity to be a vindictive little shit comes along. “Shizu-chan, I'm still not done!”

“A deal is a deal. Come with me, or I'm tying you down, and you'll miss even more work.” Shizuo crosses his arms and watches Izaya, who rolls his eyes, sinks into his chair, and glares at Shizuo with his bottom lip poking out.

“You're being unreasonable.”

“I'll count to three.”

“Shizu-chan, I just—“

“One.”

“This is really important. My life could be on the line if I—“

“Two.”

“I hate you. I detest you! You're horrible, absolutely the worst!”

“Three.”

Groaning loudly, Izaya pushes himself up, slumps his shoulders, and makes his way up the stairs, grumbling the entire way about Shizuo. Nodding to himself, Shizuo moves to Izaya's computer, shuts it down, and turns off all the lights before joining Izaya upstairs. Izaya is in the bathroom, cat ear headband pulling his bangs off his forehead, and he's brushing his teeth with his narrowed, catlike gaze settled on Shizuo.

“Keep sulking all you want. You not sleeping isn't impressing anyone. You're lucky you haven't passed out in the path of one of your enemies,” Shizuo says, pulling his shirt off. He unbuttons his pants and steps out of them, and when he looks up, Izaya is still glowering at him. Sighing, Shizuo walks into the bathroom, shoving past Izaya to get to his own toothbrush.

When Izaya is done, he moves on to his skincare, an extensive process. Shizuo finishes brushing his teeth and then leans against the counter, simply watching Izaya apply serum after serum to his face.

“You know, you could put less shit on your face if you'd just sleep sometimes,” Shizuo says, amusement clear in his tone.

“You sound like a broken record,” Izaya says.

“You sound like an asshole.”

Clearly fuming but not wanting to show it, Izaya slams the container in his hands onto the counter, not bothering to look at Shizuo. He moves on to the next step of the process, and Shizuo reaches out to tug on the hem of Izaya's shirt, pulling him closer.

“Let go of me. You're lucky I haven't kicked you out,” Izaya huffs, but Shizuo pulls him in anyway.

“I wouldn't have to nag you if you'd bother to take care of yourself,” Shizuo murmurs into Izaya's hair.

“I take care of myself just fine,” Izaya argues.

“You don't. Being clean and having good skin isn't taking care of yourself.”

“Neither is punching people. Neither is being a stupid, simpleminded beast of a man.”

“I think that's enough skincare. Clearly you're getting grumpy from lack of sleep,” Shizuo says, unaffected by Izaya's sharp tongue. Usually he'd be enraged, but the sight of Izaya in the cat ears is too endearing. He'll yell at Izaya later, he decides, and in a swift motion, he throws Izaya over his shoulder and carries him towards the bed. Izaya curses and squirms, his bony elbows digging into Shizuo's back, and Shizuo tosses him down onto the bed, grinning triumphantly down at him.

“At least let me get undressed,” Izaya grumbles. He pulls his shirt off, pulling the headband off along with it. He looks up at Shizuo expectantly.

“Oh, you want one of my shirts?”

“Clearly.”

Snorting, Shizuo tosses a T-shirt at Izaya, who pulls it on with a pleased expression. Izaya is just squirming out of his pants when Shizuo turns out the light, bathing the room in darkness. Izaya sighs again, flops back into the bed, and relents to being held, though he doesn't relent quietly.

Despite all of Izaya's bitching, he falls asleep within the hour. He's soft in Shizuo's arms, his leg wedged between Shizuo's, and he's breathing evenly, dead to the world. Shizuo smiles and runs his hand through Izaya's hair before he closes his eyes and lets sleep take him as well.

***

When Shizuo wakes, it's still dark.

It takes him a minute to figure out what exactly woke him, but then he realizes Izaya is moving around, muttering little things under his breath.

“Flea?” Shizuo asks softly. Izaya doesn't respond, and Shizuo realizes Izaya is dreaming, talking in his sleep.

“Need to...work...” Izaya says something else after it, unintelligible, and he swats at Shizuo, who is beyond amused. “Brute.” Izaya finishes.

“What's that? You dreaming of me?”

“Hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shizuo says. He lifts his hand to wipe some drool off his chin, and Izaya makes an affronted little noise, pawing at Shizuo's chest. “What?”

“Want...want Shizu-chan...”

“I'm right here.”

Izaya whines and burrows closer, still swatting at Shizuo.

“Flea, quit it, I'm right here!” Shizuo huffs, though he's finding it hard to be annoyed when Izaya is being so cute. Izaya makes another anguished sound and presses his face into Shizuo's neck.

“Hold me...” Izaya's words are muffled, barely audible, and Shizuo wonders if he imagined them. Izaya is never this clingy, this open with his desires.

Gently, Shizuo wraps his arm around Izaya, who makes another noise, this one sounding happy. Izaya stops squirming and the room grows quiet once more, save for the pounding of Shizuo's heart. Izaya is a pain in the ass, and he's hard to deal with, and he's stubborn as all hell, and he's the last person in the world who should feel safe with Shizuo, but he does. He's here, sound asleep in Shizuo's arms, asking to be held, and Shizuo feels a lump in his throat.

“Izaya...”

Izaya hums in reply, clearly contented, and Shizuo kisses Izaya's forehead, pulls him closer, and dares to hold him a little tighter.

#shizayaweek2020 #shizaya #Shizuo Heiwajima #Izaya Orihara #fluff #established relationship

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