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kaleidoscopic-quiddity · 2 years ago

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some thoughts regarding the latest bnha ep

Okay first of all I find studio bones’ dedication to objectifying Dabi to be hilarious

Someone really looked at that panel of him lying on the couch and went ‘make him sluttier!!’

Small waist, lower set pants so we can see his v-lines, they are really gunning for that fan service quota

Okay moving on to my actual serious thoughts now:

So this ep confirmed a long-time theory for me, one that I’ve had since probably before these og chapters were even dropped, and I’ve slowly been getting more sure about

It seems, to me at least, that Natsuo’s conception was coerced, and that Shouto’s was the result of rape

Like, we know that Rei consented to having Touya and Fuyumi

Whether or not she wanted Touya is up for debate, but she at least presumably consented to having a child as part of the quirk marriage agreement

And in Fuyumi’s case it’s literally canon that Rei wanted another kid and thought it’d be good for Touya to have a sibling

Obviously there’s massive ethical concerns and questions of consent raised by the whole arranged/paid marriage situation, but in and of themselves, those two pregnancies don’t appear to have been opposed by Rei

In the case of Natsuo, Rei initially refused to have more kids, since she knew that Touya knew that Enji was only producing babies in hopes of them having the perfect quirk to surpass All Might, and she rightfully assumed that having more kids would fuck with his metal health and make him feel even more unwanted/worthless

But Eni basically convinced/coerced her with ‘oh but if we get a kid with the right quirk that’ll finally convince Touya to give up on being a hero and hurting himself in his attempts to become one’

So it's possible that she did technically give her consent in that situation, but it was given under duress and she was coerced into it with the wellbeing of one of her other children as a bargaining chip

As for Shouto’s conception,in both the manga and anime we see Enji pissed off/distraught after presumably learning about Natsuo’s quirk or lack of one, (you can pry the quirkless Natsuo hc from my cold dead hands), a shot of Rei’s face looking terrified, and then an immediate cut to her holding baby Shouto looking both relieved and exhausted

I mean it is possible that Shouto’s conception was coerced like Natsuo’s, but the whole framing of the sequence really makes it feel like Enji got worse with each subsequent kid, his abhorrentness reaching its peak with Shouto

Yeah so the implication there is… dark as all hell

But also narratively fascinating to me,

Like Shouto literally canonically barely regards his own abuse, he hates Endeavor because of what he did to his Mom (and his siblings)

There's definitely some resentment there over how he was isolated as a kid, and literally a product of selective breeding, but the bulk of Shouto’s feelings towards Endeavor, at least pre-sports festival, definitely read more as ‘I hate you for abusing Mom’ rather than ‘I hate you for abusing me’

(this is because Todoroki Shouto is an incredibly, incredibly kind person who puts the pain of his loved ones above his own, and who feels/hurts so much more for others that himself and augh he's such a sweetheart I love him sm but I need him to gain some self esteem right this instant)

Like, we know canonically that he blames Endeavor (and not Rei at all) for the burn on his face, but he also seems to carry some guilt over it himself?? As if it’s somehow his fault he happens to resemble his Father a bit??

We know he at least felt bad enough about being similar to his Dad (again, something that he has no control over) to not use his fire in combat for roughly 10 years

So the thought of Shouto, who was already well aware that his birth was both the result of a paid marriage that his Mother likely got very little say in, and a literal eugenics experiment by his Dad with the sole goal of producing and shaping a child into the perfect pawn to surpass All Might, also learning that his conception was the result of sexual assault/coercion??

The angst potential there is unlimited and totally fascinating

Obviously a shounen manga aimed at, like, 12 year olds isnt gonna get into topics that deep past making some vague, dark, implications, but it's all food for thought nonetheless

Speaking of dark as hell implications:

I don’t know if it was already there in the manga and I just missed it like a dumbass or if Horikoshi added it in after the fact when he was consulted for this season’s production

But the implication that Shouto awoke his quirk as a baby specifically as a result of Touya lashing out and attacking him???

That shit had me reeling

Like augh the fucking tragic irony of Touya, desperate to just be paid attention to by his father, being the one to inadvertently bring out Shouto’s quirk, the very thing that made his dad fully give up on him

And of course, of course, Shoto would awaken his quirk in self defence from a family member attacking him, of course a character who’s whole theme is family and abusive/dysfunctional dynamics, and origin, would have his power awoken in that way

It also, just, adds a whole ‘nother layer to the whole chapter 39 ‘it’s your power isn't it?!’ / chapter 352 ‘Yes, this is my power’ parallel

(Todoroki Shouto is the character of all time I love him with every bit of myself I swear)

Okay quickfire round because I still have lots more thoughts about the Todoroki family:

It was already upsetting enough in manga but the scene of Endeavor yelling at Rei and slapping her as Shouto screams and cries and tells him ‘not to bully Mommy’?? Literally had me physically flinching

I will never be anything but and Endeavor hater okay I don’t give a shit about his redemption arc I need that bitch dead

Can’t wait for the ‘Dabi is a misogynist’ discourse to once again get reignited

Obviously his attitude towards Rei and Fuyumi isn’t okay, but Touya was a child abuse victim lacking in the maturity to see that his Mother and Fuyumi were just as much victims as he was

And to be fair, whilst Rei certainly was also just as much a victim, and didn’t have any power in the situation of her marriage, I do feel that Touya’s resentment towards her, as a child who believes that its his Mom’s job to look after him, is a bit warranted, not necessarily right, but warranted

Speaking of bad faith discourse regarding Touya’s actions, if I see one more ‘him attacking baby Shouto makes him just as bad as Endeavor’ type take I’m melting my fucking phone

How are you gonna look at a 13 year old, self harming, victim of child abuse, with such a warped sense of self worth that he is literally desperate for even a hint of his abuser’s attention/approval, lashing out in jealousy at the sibling who has replaced him and made him, in his Father’s eyes, a worthless failed experiment, and go ‘oh he’s just as bad as the grown man who made the active decision to beat his wife and kids???

The lack of reading comprehension in the bnha fandom is unreal but especially regarding the Todoroki’s

In a similar vein I literally cannot deal with people who victim blame Rei, or Fuyumi and Natsuo, for not ‘getting Shouto out of that situation’ or ‘being complacent in his abuse even as adults’

Like ohhhh my godddd literally all of them were victims in an extremely unbalanced power dynamic, that's the whole point

Please go back to middle school English class since obviously you all were too busy doodling eyes to pay any attention

also I hate that Hawks, of all people, has more sympathy for an abuser that his victims

‘Even if what Dabi said about the Todoroki family was true, I’m sure things are different now’

Sir literally what reason do you have to believe that??

Hero worships rots your fucking brain I guess

Ok finally I have some thoughts about that lil preview we got of the vestiges:

I hate Shinomori’s colour pallate so fucking much I hate I hate it I hate it

I always imagined him with white/lavender hair, and silver eyes, and a purple hero costume with purple scars on his face from quirk overuse/incompatibility like Nine from Heroes: Rising

I hate the blonde hair I hate the green costume it's all so so ugly I hate it all

HOWEVER

Since he was first introduced I have pictured the 2nd user with pink/coral hair, AND I WAS FUCKING RIGHT

The wave of smug vindication I felt upon seeing that his hair colour was practically identical to what I’d imagined him with was unreal

I’m not too sure how I feel about the 3rd user with light blue hair?? I always imagined it as light brown or dirty blonde

I think what colour his eyes are and how they animate Fa Jin is really gonna decide for me whether I like it or not

I pictured En’s costume as dark blue denim (kinda like Jeanist) and whilst the red isn’t bad, the opposite actually, I kinda miss that mental image

Vestige Might should be glowing and flickering like a fire, not just a collection of gold swirls, do him justice!!!

Okay I'm done

#bnha #todoroki family #tw: abuse mention #tw: child abuse #tw: rape mention #tw: sa mention #ask to tag #og post //

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katyspersonal · 2 years ago

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Some recent 🅱️loodborne ideas notes reflecting my internal creative workings:

1) I was drawing Yurie with dark hair and only later learned her data has blonde hair, plus her name is correctly translated as Julie ( x ), so that kept bothering me... But honestly? Despite blonde color, she is bald, so like... What if I call it that she IS blonde but got early balding (like Patches xd), but was self-conscious and wearing a wig that just happens to be dark. I already was drawing her with different hairstyle every time as a gag, so like... This honestly wrote itself and makes too much sense ;-; gfjhjvhj

2) I decided I will actually split Caryll into two characters - one is this very smart scholar guy that created the alphabet for sounds of Great Ones, and another is the witch from Hemwick that invented the tool that burns runes in the mind and thus was honored by Old Hunters as statue in workshop and explored dungeons! They worked together as the witch got surgery to put literal eyes on her brain to listen to more sounds - while Caryll was writing them down and making sense of them! The fact that Hunter can learn a rune by killing someone or standing next to Adeline during her insight or something tells me being close to who perceives the sound could make you hear (see?) it too! I think even though Caryll is also a mistranslation and character's name is Karel (explicitly male name), giving him the Caryll works better as I opt out for localized names too. But I could name the witch Carolee - a variant of name Caryll (not name Karel!) that still avoids the confusion. Funny enough - 'runesmith' is ALSO a mistranslation, as Karel is actually 'transcriptor' in Japanese original. But runesmith fits her better, meanwhile transcriptor fits him better! Yeah, what else can I say except...

3) Gratia note! In real world, gigantism only effects males, and in Bloodborne lore we also notice that Pthumerians have gigantic variants... only found within male enemies. I also already safely assumed pthumerians and humans can mix (like vilebloods and BB Patches are easily mixed species), so this 'gene' might persist here too. Okay lets smoke harder - within the canon, particularly RED type of ginger hair is only shown in Gratia and females of Cainhurst, and if Lost Giant Children (known as 'abandoned at birth' in internal files) having whiplash scars on their backs means anything - this 'gene' could be considered a birth defect back I'm pthumerians and now vilebloods too. Gratia might be not just soulsbornishly tall - she might be 'giant'! Very strong and hulking but dimwitted (legit word used in Japanese). So basically, being born a woman with this anomaly is a miracle comparable with male calico cats (that are technically intersexual, and alas can't breed). So uh... Intersexual Gratia, anyone? Alas, most likely orphaned by Cainhurst.

4) I think I smoked THE strangest idea for Amelia's second parent and that came from NOwhere o_o But I mentioned that I think the white church woman at Surgery Altar was her mother? Okay like... I can't quite explain it, it wrote itself, but father could be Logarius. It just came to me on its own without any logical chain, by intuition, but after I looked at how I designed Amelia it made sense and I HATE it gdjjgjhh Vasylissa (the white church hunter lady) basically more or less used him specifically to get pregnant, as he appeared 'not TOO repulsive' in her eyes back then as just an intriguing local Evil!Ludwig rambling weird shit and being brutal hunter, nor she really wanted/planned to tie her life with a man in familial way. Raising the child with a (future) wife, on the other hand.... He was good for ensuring lack of lasting emotional attachment on his side as well, her concern was 'very good health for the baby' at most - she certainly didn't plan to die early and leave Amelia orphaned, though... Also for basically everyone else father is not known - nobody would believe Vasylissa as 'stop trying to dirty a HOLY man's name, he is ABOVE things like sex! >:(' .Granted, she didn't really want to talk about THAT herself either.

5) Izzy I wrote as a female character originally, much later learning she has male name originally too (variant of George basically). I still haven't decided whether to just change the character to be a feminine man, to have an intersexual parents named a male name thinking she was a boy for not having much medical knowledge, or to roll with 'well mom/dad wanted a boy and thus raised me as one'. I will see which one of the three works better as time goes by, but the latter probably flows the best - let's me not change much, and gives cathartic value to her 'at last' using silly ribbons and flowers and other feminine things like she was denied, even if she is an adult and looks like a brute from violent past and wrestling too many bears with her bare hands. XD Last option just... explains my design of her that was created intuitively - a strong, big, scarred woman but with even childish feminine accessories! Looks like interesting psychological situation - and that design came randomly! In either case after beasthood insight arc the character uses he and she interchangeably! But bottom line, I decided against the option of using the fake name that stuck, it just feels better if her name is her name! Plus Patches already grabbed the 'using a nickname that stuck' card. Nobody calls their child PATCHES fhhhghnkg

#use later #notes #ASS you can see ive been fixing some plot holes and turns out some things were working out all along #i am always right even when i make a mistake!!!!!!

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calligraphist-artemisia · 4 years ago

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Scattered Blue (Part 1)

Written for the Kidge Spring Event!

Prompt 3: Forget-me-nots | True Love, Memories, Remembrance

Summary: Alternate Universe. From the moment the first blue petal passed her lips, Pidge knew what was happening to her.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

Part One: Pidge

The small blue petal haunted her from the time she woke up to the time she laid her head down to go back to sleep. There was a part of her that desperately wanted to ignore it and what it meant, hoping it would go away if she just wished hard enough for it.

But as with all things in life, wishing did nothing without her also taking action.

Pidge covered her mouth as she coughed hard, feeling something slide up through her throat until it splattered out into her hand. She caught a glimpse of blue as she shoved that hand into her pocket to hide the evidence.

“Is everything okay?” Hunk asked in concern. He and Lance sat across from her at the cafe table they'd snagged for their weekly lunch.

“Everything's great!” she lied with a smile. “How was your flight, Lance? You transported some heavy cargo to the east coast base, right?”

Lance shrugged. “It was just a normal, boring flight. No issues.”

“Which is a good thing,” Hunk said, his tone long-suffering.

Lance agreed with a grumble that spoke strongly of his true feelings. He'd always dreamed of being more than a “simple” cargo pilot, no matter how often Pidge and Hunk tried to remind him that he was the backbone of the Garrison and served a pivotal role in keeping everything running smoothly.

“What about you?” Hunk asked Pidge. “You and Keith have been testing the new jets. That must be fun.”

Pidge's heart fluttered at the mention of Keith's name and she swallowed to try and stop the cough that threatened to overtake her. “Um, y-yeah. Yeah, it's been a ton of fun.”

Hunk and Lance exchanged alarmed looks at her unusually lackluster response and Pidge wanted to swear, but instead, she reached for her water and took several swallows until her throat was clear.

“Keith giving you problems? I could kick his butt for you,” Lance volunteered.

“We're fine, so please don't get yourself suspended trying to fight him,” Pidge said with a roll of her eyes. She set down her drink. “Our test flight went great! We're just waiting for the technical report to come back before we can go up again and there were a few minor tweaks the ground crew wanted to make to improve how responsive the controls are. Shiro's been coaching us through new drills while we wait.”

“Ugh, you're so lucky. You get Shiro as a mentor and you get to test fly the new jets. Can we trade lives for one day?” Lance asked.

“That means you'd have to work with Keith,” Pidge reminded him.

“Good point. I'd much rather trade with Keith and have you as my partner,” Lance said, sitting back in his chair as the waitress arrived with their meals.

Pidge rolled her eyes as he went about his usual routine of flirting with their waitress. She briefly considered apologizing on his behalf but figured it would only encourage him to keep going. At least he wasn't making a complete fool of himself and thus, by extension, of her and Hunk as well.

They didn't do much talking as they enjoyed their food and it was only as they got down to the last few bites and were contemplating dessert that Pidge asked Hunk how he was doing in the engineering department. His eyes lit up as he began describing their experiments with a new lightspeed engine that they hoped would be capable of drastically reducing the amount of time it took to get to the farthest planets in their solar system.

“Pretty soon you and Keith will be preparing to fly one of these! Well, uh, if everything goes the way we hope,” Hunk said, rapidly backpedaling in an attempt to curb his own enthusiasm.

“That sounds incredible, Hunk! You'll have to keep me updated,” Pidge said.

Hunk grinned back at her. “I will.”

In the end, they decided against ordering dessert at the cafe and instead walked a few blocks down to Lance's favorite gelato place where they each got a scoop in a little paper cup so they could walk and eat at the same time.

Every now and then, Pidge had to turn away and cough, though thankfully she didn't end up with any fresh petals. For the rest of the night, she didn't find a single speck of blue when she pulled her hand away and she went to bed with a smile on her face and no worry lingering in her mind.

She danced around her room with a spring in her step when morning came, taking a little extra time on her hair and putting a little bit of color on her eyelids, which she normally saved for special occasions. By some miracle, she didn't drip any of her breakfast onto her uniform and was able to leave the house soon after by catching a ride with her brother, who was also on his way to the Galaxy Garrison.

They split up after he parked in the Garrison's garage, with Matt heading over to the labs where they were analyzing new plugs taken from Saturn's moon, Enceladus, while Pidge went to the gym to meet up with her flight partner and get started on their training for the day.

Keith was already there warming up when she arrived. His black hair was tied back out of his face and he had swapped out of the heavy uniform in favor of a pair of gray shorts and a black tank top.

Pidge caught his attention with a wave before gesturing towards the locker room, silently indicating that she was going to get changed and would be out soon. Once she was dressed in her own gray shorts and Garrison-provided orange shirt she jogged out to Keith, dodging around the others who were taking advantage of the open gym.

“Hey, did you get the itinerary Shiro sent?” Keith asked the moment she was close enough to be heard.

Pidge had to take a moment to think about it. She's woken up to two messages from Shiro that morning – one was a note regarding a slight change in their schedule and the other was a list of what they'd be covering that week. She assumed he was talking about the week-long one. “I glanced it over. It looks like it's mostly what we do every week.”

“Yeah, except for Friday. Do you think I can convince Shiro to give me a pass to skip out on the annual health screening after what they pulled last year?” Keith asked.

“Doubt it, though I bet he'd go with you if you're really worried about it,” Pidge said as dread began to creep in her chest.

At their last screening, the nurse helping Keith found something “odd” in his blood and ordered him into quarantine for two weeks while they tried to puzzle it out. The Garrison medical team ran test after test, asking Keith all kinds of invasive questions, until Shiro, with the help of Commander Iverson, put an end to it all. Keith was let go, but he then had to suffer through several months of resurgent rumors about his parentage and whether or not his abilities were because he wasn't fully human.

Keith was anti-social and a little awkward, which when coupled with his innate sense of how to pilot and the fact that he out-flew even seasoned pilots on the simulator on his first try, led to a number of rumors that one of his parents weren't human or even that Keith himself was born somewhere far beyond their solar system. It was all nonsense, of course.

Pidge had her own reasons for being worried about the screening. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they would find out about her affliction.

Hanahaki.

Just putting a name to it made it feel all the more real and terrifying.

“Hey,” Keith said, nudging her gently. “It'll be alright. I'm really not worried about anything happening again this year. They wouldn't dare.”

Pidge did her best to smile and try to reassure him that she'd also be there to stop them if they tried anything, but the weight of what was happening to her dragged her down, threatening to drown her if she didn't wrestle back control of her emotions. Her breath stuttered in her chest, a cough building even as she cleared her throat to try and chase it off. Her eyes watered.

“Pidge?” Keith's tone turned concerned and he placed one hand on her back to keep her steady.

She couldn't hold it back any longer.

Once her coughing started, it was nearly impossible to stop as something thick and slightly scratched traveled up through her throat, threatening to block her breathing, until it finally began to slide out. Pidge gagged and coughed even harder, forcing a long stem and the accompanying blooms out of her mouth and into her hands.

All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat. Dark spots danced across her vision and she swayed, nominally aware of Keith holding her up. Pidge closed her eyes.

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

She woke in the medical wing.

Or at least, she thought that was where she was at first glance, but closer inspection of the wall next to her and the lack of orange décor told her that she was most likely at the Plaht City Memorial Hospital. Pidge stared at the wall for a moment and then slowly, stiffly turned her head to look around the room, which was when she realized Keith was sitting at her bedside and staring at her with a worried expression on his face.

“Wh... what happened?” Pidge groggily asked.

“You passed out,” Keith told her. “Pidge, why didn't you say anything sooner?”

She looked away from him. “Didn't want to. S'fine, Keith. I can handle it.”

“You can handle it? Pidge, this isn't going to go away on its own!” Keith's voice raised to a near shout. He blanched and ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to calm down. “You... Will you at least tell me who it is? I could go get them and... and then everything would be fine, right? Unless... you've already told them?”

Pidge swallowed thickly and glanced to the bedside table, hoping to see a glass of water there, but there was nothing. “It doesn't matter.”

“Of course it matters!”

“They don't feel the same way,” Pidge said, refusing to meet his eyes. “I don't need to ask them in order to know that.”

Keith growled in frustration and stood up. “I don't buy that for a second! Who wouldn't like you?”

“Keith...”

“Just tell me who it is and I'll go talk to them,” he said fiercely. “Or I'll bring them here, whichever works best for you. Please, Pidge, I just want to help. You're my best friend.”

Her chest clenched painfully at those words and Pidge wondered for a moment if she were about to be launched into another coughing fit, but after a moment or two, the pain subsided to mere discomfort, which allowed her to speak again.

Not that she really wanted to speak, since that meant revealing the truth: she was in love with him.

That was the cause of the Hanahaki Disease. Flowers would take root in the lungs, growing until there was no place left for them to go. The body naturally tried to rid itself of the invasion by coughing them up but there was only so long that could keep the disease at bay before it became too much for the body to handle. Sometimes, the person afflicted could “cure” themselves by falling out of love before the disease progressed too far. Otherwise, there were three ways it could end: in the death of the infected, by surgical removal, or by having their love reciprocated.

The last of those was the best-case scenario – the one that was often used in the plots of movies or cheesy romance novels. Having one's love returned would effectively shrink the flowers until they were gone completely.

Surgery was a more recent option, though one that some still chose to reject even if it meant their death. Choosing to surgically remove the flowers meant also removing any feelings they had for that person and often resulted in the complete loss of memory of them as well. No one could pinpoint why it was like that and all attempts to improve on the surgery fell flat.

Those were the options sitting before Pidge.

She didn't want to die. That much was for certain. There was still so much she wanted to see and do in the world, and though it broke her heart to think of needing to do it all without Keith, her partner, steadfast by her side, she wasn't going to give it all up. Besides, there was still the chance that she wouldn't forget about him. She was too stubborn for that. And if she could remember, maybe they could rebuild their friendship as well.

But what if she didn't remember?

Pidge slowly met his eyes.

He was her best friend too; the first person her own age that she'd ever truly gotten along with and felt comfortable around. Life without him wouldn't be nearly as vibrant. She couldn't lose him.

“Don't leave me,” she begged, her chest constricting as she forced the words out. She tried to sit up, her arms trembling from the effort, but gave up as Keith moved to help her. She shook her head and blinked back tears as she caught a whiff of his cologne, which usually inspired warm and fuzzy feelings, but instead dredged up an intense need to cough.

She swallowed, trying to force it away. She needed to talk first.

“Of course I'm not going to leave,” Keith tried to reassure her.

Pidge shook her head. “If... If I forget you, please don't leave me.”

Keith made a confused sound. “Why would you forget...?”

She could hear the exact moment he put the pieces together. The way his voice cracked was a dead giveaway just before his expression crumbled in distress. She reached out and grasped his hand. “It's okay, Keith. I know.”

He sucked in a shuddering breath. “It's not okay! Pidge, I-”

“You're not allowed to blame yourself,” she cut in. “This isn't your fault. You can't help who you like. Or who you don't like.”

While it wasn't something they'd exclusively talked about, she'd gotten the gist from past conversations that he wasn't someone interested in any kind of romance. He preferred focusing on his career and studies, which was something they'd always had in common right up until she went and fell for him.

She had to look away from him for a moment. “It's just... you're my best friend too and I don't want to forget that, but if I do then I need you to be there and make sure we stick together. I know that's a lot to ask.”

“No, it isn't,” Keith heatedly denied. “Of course I'll stay with you.”

Though Pidge mostly felt relieved by his agreeing to stay with her, there was still that sliver of worry that things could go wrong for them. But what choice did they really have?

She was saved from needing to talk about it more by the arrival of Shiro and her family, who crowded around her bed to ask if she was alright and if there was anything they could do to help. Matt seemed particularly stricken that he hadn't noticed anything wrong when he spent the most time with her, though her mom was a close second.

Once he was sure Pidge would be okay, her dad took charge of the situation and arranged for her surgery to take place that evening by calling on a few favors and using his influence as a Commander at the Galaxy Garrison. It took a little more convincing on Pidge's part, as well as some hefty backup from Shiro, to make an allowance for Keith to stay with her outside of surgery. It all happened so fast that she didn't have time to think about everything else she wanted to say to Keith, just in case she wouldn't get the chance later.

Her family stayed until the last few minutes until Shiro was able to direct them out into the waiting room so she and Keith could have one last moment alone.

And it was in those last few minutes that genuine fear struck Pidge.

She didn't want to forget him.

She didn't want to lose his friendship.

Heavy tears flooded her eyes, dripping down her cheeks without her fully realizing it. She choked back a sob as she looked at Keith. “I-I-...”

She couldn't get the words out.

Keith didn't need her to say anything. He got up so he could sit on the edge of her bed instead, cradling her against him and offering physical comfort. He refused to budge as the anesthesiologist entered and began prepping her arm for the IV which would administer the anesthetic directly into her bloodstream.

“Count backward from one-hundred, dear.”

Pidge tried, but she was still too choked up to speak and had to settle for mouthing it instead. Rather quickly, Keith's soft reassurances faded and she dropped off to sleep.

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

There was an annoying beeping sound that cut through her dreams, dragging Pidge back into the realm of consciousness. It was a strange, rhythmic sound – wholly different from the obnoxious screeching of her alarm clock. She groaned as she opened her eyes and had to squint against the sudden, harsh light that reflected off of crisp white sheets and plain white walls. The only spot of color near her was a single stem of purplish flowers that was placed in a water glass on the bedside table.

“Pidge?” an unfamiliar voice called her name, relief present in their tone.

Her head felt heavy as she turned it to face whoever was speaking to her. She figured it was a nurse or something – she had to be in a hospital of some kind – but instead, she found a young man with dark hair sitting in a chair at her bedside.

“You're awake!” he said, a smile blossoming across his face. “How do you feel?”

“M'okay,” she said thickly. She stared at him for a moment and watched as his smile faded. “Sorry, but who are you?”

He reeled back as though he'd been slapped, his expression dropping into something close to pure anguish. “I...” He paused and took a deep breath. “I'm Keith.”

#voltron #kidge #kidgemas #kidge spring event 2021 #fanfiction #hanahaki disease #there will be a part 2

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abuskinswarrior · 4 years ago

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find our way back... part 7

hey y’all! this has been a long time coming i know. i’ve been dealing with a lot of mental health issues and i’ve recently come back from being in patient at the hospital for it. But i’m feeling a little better and i’ve got part seven out for y’all! i hope you enjoy!

Tag-list: @pprettyboyreid @genuisgub @ataidyl @andiebeaword @dreatine @cncopmwhoore @sixx-sic-sixx @nanocoool @kookiescooky3 @fatefuldestinies

~~If you want to be tagged on this, let me know!~~

Warnings: illusion to sexual assault (nothing explicit, but implied)

Summary: Dinner at the restaurant doesn’t go as anyone planned.

Words: ~2764

part 6 | part 7

No one spoke. Heads buried in menus, tension that could be cut with glass filled the rectangular table they all sat at. Persephone sat at the head of the table, the rest of the team on the long sides, leaving the seat opposite of Persephone empty. Penelope eyed the menu, biting her lip. Everything was too expensive. She looked up, glancing at Emily who sat across from her. Emily was nibbling on the soft bread one waiter had brought out for them. Her eyes looked up to David’s who was sitting next to Penelope. David rolled his eyes at the two girls before letting out an appreciative hum.

“So, Persephone,” David started.

“Please, call me Seph. I think the only person that calls me Persephone anymore is Diana.” She let out an airy laugh, trying to diffuse some of the tension. The rest of the team laughed along.

“Seph,” David corrected. “Do you come here often? What would you recommend?”

“I haven’t been here since the owner’s son remodeled the place,” Persephone looked down at the menu. “But, considering they have the same cooks, I’ve always enjoyed their Baccalà alla vicentina. I’d also recommend the Penne all'arrabbiata if you’re a vegetarian.”

The team nodded, their heads returning back to the menu. Looking over at the two items she recommended (the two highest priced items), Persephone could see the apprehension in everyone’s faces.

“If the price is the reason for all the furrowed brows, I would like to iterate myself: this is my treat. I would never pick a place I couldn’t afford.” Persephone rose her hand, getting the attention of a waiter, who held his finger up.

A waiter walked up to her, a small pad of paper in one hand. “How may be of service?” He smiled, his eyes disappearing.

Persephone tilted her head at the man. His round face felt familiar. “Excuse me, do I know you from somewhere?”

The man let out a nervous laugh. “I work many jobs. You might have seen me from one of those.”

Persephone narrowed her eyes, but let it go. “Hmm, maybe… I would like for you to bring the best bottle of wine you have, please.” The waiter bowed, leaving the table. The silence was back. Persephone drummed her fingers against themselves, looking around at the table. Everyone’s eyes were darting around the table, silent arguments going around.

“So, JJ, Will, how long have you two been married?” Persephone asked as the waiter came back pouring the wine in everyone’s glass. JJ looked up clearing her throat.

“Oh, uh, about five years now.” She grabbed her glass, taking a sip. Persephone smiled at her.

“How long have you and Spencer known each other?” She asked back. JJ wanted to ask how long they’ve been married, but she was still in denial about it.

“Oh, man. It feels like forever. I was sixteen when we met.” Persephone took a sip from her drink. “He was eighteen, heading back to college.”

“Wait, you’ve known Spencer for twenty one years?” Penelope asked.

Persephone did the quick math in her head learning how old Spencer was to his friends. “Yeah, I suppose so. It feels so much longer than that.”

“So it’s true, are you two married?” Luke chimed in from the far end of the table.

“Mhmm, fifteen years on Friday.”

The entire table erupted in exclaims and gasps. “Now, wait a minute, Spencer joined the FBI when he was 22. He was working at the Bureau for two years before he married you?” Emily’s hands moved up and down, calming the table down.

“He wanted to make sure he had a steady income and was able to take care of us before he married me. We were engaged for two years.”

“Why?” Tara asked before realizing how insensitive she sounded. “I mean, why get married so young?”

“Sorry I’m late.” Spencer walked up to the table, a small gift in his hand. He looked over at Persephone, silently pleading her to not say anything else. Everyone looked over at the other end of the table, gawking at Spencer.

“I cannot believe you Spencer! Fifteen years?!” Penelope looked over at him, her hands placed on the table.

Spencer looked over at her, guilt written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything because our jobs are dangerous and if anybody found out about them… I couldn’t do that.”

Spencer had been standing outside the restaurant for thirty minutes. He was listening, debating if he wanted to make an entrance or not. He really didn’t want to be here, but the fear of Persephone saying something and him not being able to stop her, made him move his feet.

“So why did you get married?” Spencer pulled the empty seat, the one directly across from Persephone on the small side of the table. They looked at each other, having a silent conversation. The team looked between the two of them, trying to figure out what they were telling each other.

“Why does anyone get married?” Spencer asked, still looking over at Persephone. “I love her.” Liar. Persephone’s eyes twitched.

“I was pregnant.” Persephone spoke, breaking eye contact with Spencer, looking at Tara, who had asked the question. Everyone looked at Spencer, not wanting to believe he had an entire secret family and no one knew about it.

“No one knew about this?” Matt asked, looking at the four people who had been on the team the longest. They all shook their heads, waiting for an answer from Spencer.

“Technically, Gideon knew about it.” Lie. Spencer told the team, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hold on,” Penelope waved her hands in front of her. “I need an explanation.” She looked over at Persephone. “Seph, please explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain.” Spencer started, but JJ held up her hand at him.

“Nope, people that hide an entire family from their friends, don’t get to speak.” JJ looked at Persephone. “Yes, please Seph, explain the story.

“There really isn’t much to it.” Persephone took a sip of her wine. “I was twenty years old, pregnant, I couldn’t tell my father. He would have disowned me, I went to Spencer for help and he offered to marry me.” Persephone shrugged her shoulders.

Flashback - Greece ~1515

Persephone ran back to her house. Her dress was tattered, her hair had fallen out of its usual tight bun. She avoided her father who was working out on the field and Spencious who was collecting eggs from the chickens. She closed her bedroom doors, running to her closet. She tore off her ruined dress, shoving it as far as she could in her dresser, pulling out clean new items. She wanted to take a bath, but she couldn’t. Her father would ask her why and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him what had happened at the market.

“Perse? You back?” There was a knock at the door as she was pulling the dress on. “I didn’t see you come in.” Her father was standing on the other side of the door.

“Oh, yes I just came back.” She wiped a few stray tears, smacking her face slightly, bringing some color into her cheeks. She opened the door.

“Are you alright?” He was concerned for her daughter. He could tell something was wrong, but he didn’t want to pry in fear she would shut him out all together.

“Oh, yes, I rushed to change, a drunkard spilled his beer all over me at the market and I rushed back to change.” Persephone smiled, hoping he would let it go.

“Alright, Spencious made dinner for tonight. It’s ready now.”

Dinner was quiet. Persephone played with the food on her tray, moving it around, her long sleeves, getting dirty from touching the food. Her father kept glancing over at her, but didn’t say anything. Spencious just looked between the two, wondering what happened between them.

“Spencious, this meal is quite delicious. Who taught you how to cook?”

“Kore has been giving me lessons.” Persephone looked up from her name being called.

“Yes, it is good.” She mumbled.

“You haven’t even touched it.” Spencious laughed, stopping as Persephone glared at him.

“I’m not hungry. I’m going to clean up.” She left her plate on the table, heading to the kitchen where she started cleaning the pots Spencious used to make dinner.

Spencious looked over at her father. “Cleon, is everything alright with Kore?” He asked quietly, not wanting her to overhear.

“I’m not, sure, I’m going to head over to the market, see if anyone could tell me what happened. You watch over her?”

Cleon over the past four years warmed up to Spencious. True he begrudgingly accepted him into the household, but Spencious was a hard worker and cared for his daughter in his absence. Cleon thought of Spencious as his own son (although he would never admit that).

Spencious nodded his head, bidding Cleon a goodbye. Spencious walked into the kitchen, watching over her as she washed the same pot twice, then again. He sighed, closing the water spout. She didn’t even notice. He took the pot from her hands, grabbing her wrist. She flinched away from him, pulling her arm back. Spencious looked at her. She kept her distance from him, looking down, her hair covering most of her face. Spencious gently took her hand in his, pulling up the sleeves of her dress. His mouth opened slightly, looking at the hand sized bruises that were beginning to form.

“Oh, Kore,”

“It’s nothing.” She pulled her hand back, the sleeve dropping. Spencious took a few steps forward, wrapping his arms around her. She gasped at the gesture, but clung to his sides, letting out a sob. Spencious whispered in her ear, that everything will be alright.

“It won’t,” Persephone sobbed. “Father won’t look at me the same. He won’t be able to marry me off and I’ll end up on the streets!” She tightened her grip around his shirt. Spencious stroked her hair.

“That’s not true. I know at least one person that will still want to marry you.”

Persephone looked up at Spencious. The sun had started to set behind him. The reds and oranges of the sunlight had wrapped around his body. His eyes looked down on hers, a soft smile playing at his lips. His hair had grown out from the last time she cut it, falling slightly past his shoulders. When she first met him, she thought he was a shy, scrawny boy, but working on the farm, he started filling out a little, gaining more confidence. She grew to love him at first as a friend, but in this moment, she realized she had fallen in love with him.

“Who?” She asked softly. Spencious looked down at Persephone. Her eyes were shiny from her tears, her face flushed. Her nose was redder than it usually was and her hair was growing out. She hadn’t been cutting it, hoping the weight would pull her curls down, but they hadn’t. They were still prominent as ever and as he ran his fingers through it he couldn’t help but notice how soft it was. Spencious kept his distance from Persephone from the beginning. He wanted to hate her. After she led him back to her small village he knew wouldn’t ever be able to go back to his troop. He wanted to hate her for that, but watching as she danced while making breakfast, singing to the chickens as she grabbed eggs, and her excitement to try anything new, he just couldn’t. He fell in love with her within the first year of living with her, but never said anything. Maybe he was too scared, but in this moment, he spoke up.

“Me,” He looked her in the eyes, daring her to say he was lying. They stared at each other in silence. Persephone didn’t know what to say. She wanted to say that he was lying, just to make her feel better, but looking into his eyes, she knew he wasn’t. He had meant it. Her cheeks reddened at the thought of marrying him, but she didn’t know what to say.

“I guess,” Persephone swallowed the lump in her throat. “I guess, I wouldn’t mind that.”

Present Day

“I didn’t offer to marry you because you were pregnant.” Everyone’s head turned to Spencer, his eyes were narrowed and his fingers were clenched.

“Then you chose a real inopportune time to tell me.” Persephone spoke.

The team glanced around the table, wondering if they should say something or not. The workers seemed to disappear, feeling the tension across the table. Emily looked over at JJ and Will, hoping they would say something, anything.

“So, you have a daughter?” Will cleared his throat.

Persephone hummed. “Yeah, strong willed, smart, witty.”

“I’d love to meet her.” Emily asked.

“She’s actually in Italy,” Emily and Penelope shared a look. “Visiting her grandmother before starting college.”

“Really?” Penelope sipped her wine. “What’s her name?”

“Annette.” Spencer shot his head up.

“I didn’t realize Annette went to Italy.”

“Mhmm, mother had asked, and if you came around more often, you would have known.” Persephone raised her eyebrow, daring Spencer to contradict her.

“If you had called, I would have come.”

“Oh, sorry I didn’t I had to call my husband for him to come home.”

“So, why did your mom want your daughter to visit?” Emily asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

The couple stared at each other from across the table, a little longer, before Persephone looked away. “My mom wasn’t always around and even less when I moved here with my dad. I think she’s trying to get that relationship back.”

The waiter came back asking if people were ready to order.

“Do you want me to order for the table?” Persephone asked, noticing the look of hesitation around the table. Everyone nodded, Penelope holding back the urge to ask the million of questions she had. When the waiter walked away, Penelope talked before the tension could become too much.

“That’s a really pretty dress.” Persephone looked down, smoothing it down. “Where is it from?”

“Oh, this was custom made for me. I’ve had it for years now.”

“Really? That’s amazing. Do you have a lot of custom made clothes?”

“Not as much as I used to. How the times have changed.” Spencer scrunched up his nose at the comment.

“Yeah, they have, haven’t they?” Spencer mumbled under his breath, unnoticeable to anyone but Persephone.

“What was that?”

“I didn’t say anything?” Spencer eyed her.

“Maybe not, but you’re thinking something I can see it all over your face, Spencer.” She said his name with venom.

“I was just agreeing with your statement.” He was trying not to start anything with her, but he had so many things he wanted to say and do it was hard. He hated how his first instinct was to be angry with her, but he wanted to try with her, but she was just so stubborn.

“You must have been very well off in Italy. What made you want to move?” Rossi asked, moving past the tension.

“Oh, you know the usual I suppose. Teenage rebellion, affairs, among other things.” She waved her hand.

“I don’t know of any teenage rebellion that results in having to leave your country.” Emily joked.

“It does when your family is very well known.”

“How well known?”

“Royal blood known.” Spencer had started putting two together. Persephone looked over at him and nodded her head, confirming.

“So you’re like a princess?” Penelope’s eyes widened.

“Not anymore. I haven’t been for a long time now.”

“But you still reap the benefits.” Spencer was upset. He tried not using old money unless it was an emergency and to have Persephone use money from her past lives, rubbed him the wrong way.

“You could too.” Persephone’s voice was softer this time. “We are married.”

“Doesn’t feel like it sometimes.” Spencer mumbled. Persephone’s eyes hardened.

“Then here.” She pulled her ring off, tossing it across the table. He caught it quickly, looking down at the ring. “Since you’ve felt that this marriage hasn’t felt real, maybe I’ll find someone else that will.”

Persephone got up from the table, starting to walk towards the exit.

“You can’t leave. We’re still married.” Spencer got up to follow.

“That hasn’t stopped you from being an adulterer, why should it stop me?” She turned around, flicking him off and leaving the restaurant, leaving her card at the check out.

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gather-ye-sinners · 5 years ago

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Hii are requests really open?? (I know its a dumb question but i always get anxiety because im afraid i sent one at the wrong time). But like yeah, can i have headcanons for the bucci gang and what they would do with an s/o that suffers from hypocondria/nosophobia and is really scared of getting sick? Consider this a reference to the present coronavirus outbreak that has been giving me extreme anxiety :( ... also your blog is very cute and all your pieces are amazing keep it up 💖

Heck yeah, they’re open bb no worries! Thank you doll! I got your back for this one. Remember to wash/sanitize your hands gang. Cover your cough and if you feel sick and can, see a doctor just to be safe. I hope this brightens your day!

Bucci Gang x Hypochondriac/Nosophobic! S/O

Warnings: Discussion of Disease, Discussion of Fear, and Possibly Triggering Content.

Bruno Buccellati:

As a professional gang mom, he’s worried right along with you.

Mainly about Mista for obvious reasons.

He’s aware of all the panic buying going on and does his best to get the necessary items.

Soap, wipes, food, and medicine.

He does his best to try and calm your anxiety.

He’ll wash his hands with you and make up random songs.

His favorite so far is one he made up about fish that’s very catchy.

He might start humming it to calm you down.

He’ll help you clean whatever you ask and do any amount of laundry you acquire.

You might have to chastise him about zippering things away instead of cleaning them.

Who needs gloves if you can zip it and forgit it!

He personally thinks Giorno won’t let anything happen to the gang and suspects he has some sort of Golden Experience shenanigans going on.

Fugo did tell him about their fight with Illuso, so he wouldn’t be surprised if he did something like that.

He assures you you will be safe and well protected as his S/O.

He knows words aren’t much, but he’s taken to hugging you with Sticky Fingers.

He can’t be contaminated if he’s technically not real right?

Leone Abbacchio:

He’s mad cuz his Opera got postponed.

He had box seats with the best view in the house god damnit!

He’s personally not very worried.

“It’s just like a bad cold right?”

He loves you though so he’ll help you buy supplies.

He’s touched you care about his health too.

Tries to be supportive, he’s very worried about you.

In fact, even Moody Blues is worried.

You’re the only one to hear the gentle whirrs and whizzes of comfort Moody can make.

Really into the idea of hunkering down with you until it blows over.

His heart soars at the idea of doing domestic things with you.

Also, people are disgusting.

He tries to take your mind off of it by doing stuff with you.

He’s not usually the type to play entertainer, but for you, he’ll make an exception.

He’ll put on some classical music, dress in a nice suit complete with gloves and ask you to dance.

He’s one hell of a waltzer and likes to dance.

If you tell the gang though Corona will be the least of your worries.

Guido Mista:

This is the worst time to try to love this man.

Noah fence but he’s stinky.

The least concerned about it.

He’ll buck up and start being cleaner if he sees how shaken up you are.

The gang will thank you.

He’s got a holster for his gun now, and a full-length sweater.

You will have to coerce him into showering with you.

“Baaaabe! It’s no fun getting clean all by myself~”

The Sex Pistols start chastising Mista on your behalf.

It’s quite the show to watch a grown man be scolded by his six tiny sons.

Number 5 will tell Mista to use his tears to wash his hands if he has no water around.

Doesn’t mind staying inside and helping you clean.

Makes the Pistols help clean too.

They’ll be so happy if you make them their own little masks.

He’s not perfect with stuff like this but he tries.

Narancia Ghirga:

He won’t let on to it but he’s almost as concerned as you are.

He’s the type to listen to all news and accept it as fact.

He might not be much help.

He’ll help you stock up and hunker down in safety.

He can send Aerosmith for stuff if he needs to.

It’s just a little theft.

Not to rag on everyone’s fav orange boy but he’s an enabler.

He doesn’t mean to be, he’s just a bit naive.

Panic buys until Buccellati, or Abba tell him to knock it off.

He holds you tight to try and quell your anxieties, but being a bundle of nerves himself isn’t the best.

He can be oddly serious if you have a panic/anxiety attack though.

He gets you water and helps you in the best way he knows how.

Having fun of course!

If the gang decides to hunker down in the mansion together you can bet your ass he’ll be arranging games to pass the time.

His smash main is Pit.

His alt is Dark Pit.

If he decides to help you clean, your whole house will smell like orange disinfectant.

No negotiations.

Pannacotta Fugo:

If you thought his Purple Haze fear was bad hoo boy.

I’d go as far as to say he already has a stash of cleaning supplies.

He and Trish are cleaning buddies.

You two will be the most prepared.

Master of handwashing

May be attached to Buccellati’s Fish song.

As irrational as he feels it is to prepare for things like this, his stand’s existence, for once, puts his worry of judgment at ease.

He still refuses to let Purple Haze out though.

His favorite way to pass the time is curled around you reading.

If you ask nice he’ll read to you.

He does different voices for fiction works.

Will do everything in his power to help you calm down and get in a clear and functioning headspace.

Surprisingly good at meditating and mellowing out quietly if that’s what you like.

Really wants nothing more than to hunker down with you and hibernate it all out.

He has the comfiest room stocked full of books and board games.

Giorno Giovanna:

Really has no worry.

Golden Experience can take care of it just like it did with Purple Haze.

Has no real intention of doing this unless someone in the gang gets sick.

Reassures you of this every time you bring up your anxieties.

He’ll hold you tight and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

His tactic is reassurance and comforting.

He’ll make you your favorite flowers and animals.

He’ll send cute little ladybugs that transform into loving notes.

He’s the Don now so anything you want you will have.

Hand sanitizer? Cool, he’ll send the newbies.

Face masks and gloves? They raided Cioccolata’s old place not that long ago and he had hella.

He’s very good at grounding techniques.

He just wants you to know you’re safe and protected.

Trish Una:

Oh lordy, this isn’t going to go well.

Trish being Mysophobic and you being Nosophobic usually play into each other well.

No germs, no diseases.

During an event like this though? Y’all are gonna be a mess.

She has a stockpile of Bed, Bath and Beyond and Bath and Body Works sanitizer.

She likes the glitter.

Your best bet will be to hunker down with her and wait it out.

Fugo and his S/O would hunker down with you if you need more company.

She likes to cuddle tight and watch whatever.

Enjoys baking and art type shows. They’re soothing.

Her guilty pleasure show is Say Yes to the Dress.

She might not be much help with your anxiety.

She’ll help you clean of course, but when it comes to your overwhelming thoughts they scare her too.

Luckily you have Bruno and the rest of the gang to help you out.

#bruno buccellati x reader #leone abbacchio x reader #abbacchio x reader #guido mista x reader #mista x reader #narancia x reader #narancia ghirga x reader #pannacotta fugo x reader #fugo x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #trish x reader #trish una x reader #nosophobia #hypocondriac #potentially triggering

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intelligentdumbass · 4 years ago

Text

Two Bros

Sometimes the messenger couldn’t help but think back to the moment they first met. Sometimes he wondered if his brother did too.

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

It was a bright and sunny day, and he was a mischievous little piece of shit.

Apollo glared at the young boy and yet, despite the fact that he had just threatened to throw the bastard into Tartarus, his expression slowly softened.

Hermes grinned. “I’m willing to trade this lyre for the cows!”

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

‘Things were so much simpler, back then’ the god thought, as he sighed, laying down on an open field and gazing up into the night sky. Speaking of Apollo…

A head suddenly popped into view, accompanied by a familiar melodious voice.

“What’re you doing here?”

Hermes blinked. “I-” “I’m on a break; somehow sleep wasn’t cooperating with me tonight, so here I am. Hey, if anything, I should be the one asking you that!”

“Ah well, sorry if I startled you then. I was just passing by.”

“Since when did you like to walk around in the dark in some random ass field??”

“Bored.”

“...you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His brother seemed confused by that remark and just smiled.

The messenger internally cursed. Now the moon wasn’t the only thing his eyes were focusing on.

‘Things were so simple, back then.’

‘How did this happen and how the fuck did I get here??’

Perhaps Perseus had softened him up more than he thought he did.

He was glad to finally see him again, though. Contrary to what he was used to, he could barely even recall the last time he had ran into him. How long had it been, a month? Two months? Three?

Hermes sat up and asked, “You’re really free tonight?”

“Well, I did just say that I’m bored, didn’t I? What about it?”

“So am I.” He looked quite determined all of a sudden. “You wanna hang out? It’s been a while.”

“I guess it has been a while.” Apollo thought for a moment. “What do you have in mind?”

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

“Uh, Hermes, where are we going?”

“Wherever the fates will take us!”

“So, basically what I was doing before I bumped into you, walking around until I find something interesting.”

“Well then mister-know-it-all, can you think of something better? Hmmmm?”

The god held in a laugh. “No.” He glanced around, the grass crunching under their steps. “I suppose, with your company, this is sort of… nice; kind of relaxing actually.”

“Heh, of course it is!” The messenger just hoped that the moon wasn’t too bright. “Being around me is the best!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Debatable.”

Hermes pouted, at which Apollo could no longer contain his laughter, not that the younger god cared. If anything, instead of taking offense, it only made him smile.

Then he sighed.

He was a patron of thieves and deceit; his brother was the god who never lied. He had always thought that they would never get along, but it seems that the fates thought otherwise.

He still remembered how it used to be. Back then, his brother would look like he was judging him every time he walked into the room. However, unbeknownst to him, that wasn’t true at all, but that interpretation was through no fault of his. Apollo had always been hard to read, especially back in the early days when he barely knew him.

He’s not sure when, but at some point that judging look was suddenly accompanied by a dazzling smile. The first time it happened though, he recalled that it had been slowly replaced by a small frown.

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

“Is everything alright, Hermes?” The blonde raised an eyebrow.

He merely blinked, laughing it off. “Of course! Just got a little distracted for a second there.”

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

Ironically, similar to how it was in that memory, Apollo had to snap him back into reality again; this time by having to grab a hold of his arm to prevent him from mindlessly walking off a cliff.

Needless to say, it took a while for Hermes to convince a concerned god of health that everything was okay.

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

He could never truly figure out when the predicament first took root; when this feeling really started to grow and gnaw on him. All he knew was that it was probably indirectly influenced by that incident with Perseus and just, everything about Apollo in general. Then again, what the hell did he know? Even Athena realized he was head over heels for him earlier than he did.

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

“Hermes,” She whispered. “You’re staring.”

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

He shook the thoughts out of his head and tried to regain his bearings. They were sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking a nearby town. Not only that, there was also music in the air, and his eyes darted to the turtle lyre in the musician’s hands.

This time Apollo noticed. “Did you prefer the silence?”

“Nonono, not at all.” He paused. “By the way, how’s Asclepius?”

“He’s doing fine, now that he’s well adjusted. I’m just glad he’s back.”

Hermes could’ve sworn something about his brother’s gaze felt mildly… bittersweet, somehow.

And so for a few moments, that was all it was, the hum of their lyre. They had no other company aside from a curious deer, a few feet away, munching on a patch of grass.

Then his eyes fell onto the city, specifically one of the blonde’s temples, and an idea popped into his head, but not before briefly arguing with himself.

‘Ooooohhhh, are you going to perform another song number to cheer him up?-’

‘Hey! I thought we agreed to never talk about that ever again!’

‘I mean, it technically wasn’t your voice that ruined it. Remember? Goldie actually quite liked it. You were just a clumsy dumbass that tripped and knocked everything over.’

‘Shush!’

Well, at least the remark about his singing made him feel a little better. This new plan to cheer Apollo up, however, had nothing to do with that and would hopefully be a lot less risky.

“You hungry?” Hermes asked. “I could kinda go for some honey cake right now.”

“Honey cake… I do like me some honey cake and I guess there is nothing that’s going to stop me from just, making one right now.” He paused, before turning towards his brother. “You want to help?”

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

Olympus’ garden was huge; its depths filled with paths most don’t even know of. It was here that the two gods sat down on top of a small hill, right in front of a giant crevice that overlooked all of their creations.

Apollo was the one holding the plate that held their precious honey cake. “We really like coming here, huh?”

“Who wouldn’t? The view’s spectacular.” While his brother was busy staring off into the horizon, Hermes took the opportunity to take a small bite out of their dessert. “Damn, the cake tastes really good by the way.”

Apollo was about to protest about the bastard sneakily taking the first bite, when Hermes softly pressing a tiny piece of cake against his mouth.

“Come on goldie, try it!”

He gave him a look, but still ate it anyway. “Mm… I guess so, not bad. Actually, kinda proud of it!” His eyes faintly lit up.

Hermes couldn’t help but smile at that. “We should do this more often-”

To his surprise, this time Apollo was the one that help up a piece of the dessert for him. “We really should.”

The messenger reluctantly obliged and took a bite, but suddenly froze. The blonde was holding his chin and had used his thumb to brush away most of the crumbs near his lips. Now he felt a little dizzy.

“Maybe I should ask the others for some recipes-” Apollo stopped, immediately getting worried when Hermes had his hands over his own mouth and started choking.

-------

“Hey, hey, hey Herms?-”

“Y-” “Yeah, yeah I can hear you, I’m fine-”

“Fine my ass!”

“I mean, well that’s not wrong either-” “Oh my fucking gods I HATE MYSELF SO MUCH-” Hermes just covered his mouth again while Apollo frowned in confusion, but decided that there were other far more pressing matters to attend to and continued analyzing his brother’s condition; even placing two fingers on his neck to check for this idiot’s pulse.

“What the hell happened?! You looked like you had a fucking heart attack.”

“I… I think you’re over thinking this. It was probably just me being a dumbass.” He laughed nervously.

Apollo didn’t seem very convinced.

Hermes internally cursed himself again; placing his hands on both of the blonde’s shoulders. “So I choked on a cake, so what? Look, seriously I’m fine, okay? Come on, relax.”

“If you say so…” It was obvious that it barely comforted him at all. Still, Apollo felt bad when he frowned. He didn’t want the messenger to start blaming himself and feeling guilty about ruining the mood. “I’m sorry. I was just really worried.” He briefly paused, before muttering, “I love you. Even if we’re gods, the last thing I want is to see you suffering or incapacitated-”

“It was just a fucking honey cake-” “wait.” Hermes stared, suddenly feeling like he could barely breathe; only managing to just barely stutter out, “W-” “What did you just say?”

The musician looked puzzled. “Hm? Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

“Huh? Nononono! I just-” The thought of making Apollo feel even worse made his insides knot; panicked, he just blurted out, “I-” “ILOVEYOUTOO!”

Apollo didn’t expect that response at all. He barely had any time to process anything when Hermes stood up, about to scram, but a stray grapevine made him trip at the first step.

The messenger heard someone giggle. One second he was face first onto the ground; the next he was suddenly looking up at a familiar blonde, cradled in his arms.

“I had a feeling you were hiding something from me…” Apollo’s frown turned into a teasing grin.

“Pft! What in Zeus’ name are you talking a-” “about…” His voice slowly trailed off the moment he felt a hand cup his cheek.

Apollo just, laughed. “My, my, who knew the charismatic silver tongue bastard could be as red as-”

“Oh fuck you!”

The god raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Hermes paused, and then cursed, now avoiding eye contact.

“You alright? For someone who knows the mortal realm like the back of his hand you look… kinda lost?”

He was reluctant to even respond this time. “No shit; this isn’t something I’m experienced in.”

“Experience in what? Navigating the road to my bed?”

At that point his brain might’ve just malfunctioned, while the other chuckled; his smile only getting wider.

“Okay sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help it-” He stopped.

His arms were empty.

-------

Fortunately, in the process of trying to run away, Hermes somehow ended up back at the hill. He was hesitant, but curious, and the moment he took a closer look he immediately felt his heart drop. Apollo didn’t really look upset but rather… unexpressive?

Apollo hadn’t run after him because he figured that the messenger needed some time to breathe, so you can imagine his surprise when he found himself suddenly wrapped up in a hug, accompanied by a shit ton of apologies.

“I… Herms, it’s okay.” He laughed, giving him a few pats on the back. “I’ll be fine; now you’re the one over thinking things.”

The god was suspicious, but didn’t pry any further, at least for now. Instead, he just hugged a little tighter. “Still, sorry for being an absolute fucking disaster.”

“No need. Hey, on the bright side it was kinda cute-” The musician felt a faint punch on his side, causing him to laugh even more.

“Anyway…” Hermes sighed, pulling away. “What happened to the honey cake?”

“It’s over here.” Apollo picked up the plate that he had set aside, and broke off a small piece of the dessert. “You still want some?”

The messenger stared at it for a bit, and then parted his lips.

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

Instead of waking up to the walls of his room, his eyes were greeted by familiar tuffs of gold. Hermes immediately sat up and tried to get his bearings. It was then that it hit him.

They haven’t left at all; they both fell asleep in the garden.

That wasn’t the only thing he noticed. Looking around, there weren’t just tiny drops of morning dew on the grass, but several puddles scattered all over.

‘Huh? Did it rain?’

He glanced at the blonde. Neither of them had a single speck of water on them.

‘Guess he’s just that hot, huh?’ He softly snickered at his own pun.

He knew he probably had a few jobs to do, but instead of standing up, he just laid back down, wrapping an arm around the musician’s waist and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Unbeknownst to Hermes, Apollo smiled, and that wasn’t the only detail he missed. The vine that had made him trip was gone, like it never existed, but what did it matter? All the messenger cared about was going back to sleep.

#hermes #apollo #hermapollo #writing disaster hermes is FUN #greek gods #greek mythology #not as serious #mostly just having fun #when i wrote this #MyWritingShit #two bros #sitting on a hilltop #0 feet apart cause they’re so gay-

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megahwn · 5 years ago

Text

Tatted

Pairing: Park Jimin x female reader

Genre: roommates to lovers

Word Count: 3,850

Rating: 18+

Warnings: tattooed!reader; pierced!reader; explicit language; handjob; cum eating; biting/marking; cunnilingus; vaginal fingering

Summary: Jimin has never seen your tattoos. You decide to show them off.

“You haven’t seen my tattoos?” you say incredulously.

“No,” Jimin reacts almost defensively. “I didn’t even know you had tattoos! How long have we known each other?”

“Too long,” you quip. “No, but seriously, we moved in just as fall was starting, and I hate the cold so I always wear long sleeves and pants and fluffy socks when it is anything other than boiling outside.”

Jimin is quiet, and you can tell he’s looking at your newly polished toes. You start to fidget under his stare.

“So... do you want to see them? I have eight.”

Jimin’s jaw drops, but he nods anyway, so you pull your pant leg up to fully reveal your ankle.

“The Deathly Hallows was the first one I ever got. And it’s a sibling tattoo! I’m the eldest so the wand is my Hallow, and I’m a Slytherin so I got the wand in green. My sisters have their Hallows in their house colors, too.”

“That’s a cool thing to have with your siblings,” Jimin muses.

“Yeah, it makes me happy,” you say with a smile. “And then this one,” you continue as you turn your ankle over to show Jimin the other side, “is the Volunteer Fire Department symbol from A Series of Unfortunate Events. It’s one of my favorite series and I’ve always loved what it represents.”

“Which is?” Jimin asks.

“Doing good just for its own sake and not expecting anything back. So much so that you’re willing to do that good in secret.”

Jimin nods thoughtfully at your answer but doesn’t say anything. You wonder what he’s thinking. You wish you knew.

After putting your pant leg back in position, you go to remove your hoodie.

“What are you doing?” questions Jimin.

“The rest of them are on my arms and my back,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Oh, well you don’t have to-“

“It’s fine, I want to show you! Besides, I’m getting hot in this thing anyway.” That was a complete lie, but you weren’t going to pass up this chance to shamelessly show yourself off to someone you were so into. You figure the cold will be worth it.

As soon as you get your hoodie off you fling it across the room carelessly and you continue with your monologue.

“So these two are song lyrics,” you say as you point out each newly-revealed tattoo on your now-bare arms. “This one is for my depression and this one is for my anxiety,” you say without hesitation. You had discussed your mental health plenty of times with Jimin in the past, so there was no need for you to give further explanation for him to understand the significance of those pieces.

“And this one,” you continue as you move over to your other arm, “is the Dark Mark, also from Harry Potter.” You move further up your arm. “And this one is the Cerebral Palsy awareness ribbon. I was a camp counselor for people with disabilities and my first campers had CP. Working with them made me realize I wanted to work with people who have disabilities for a living. It’s kind of fucked up because I scratched at it while it was healing, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get it fixed. I kind of like it like this.”

“Wow,” is all Jimin says.

“Yeah,” you say, a bit lost in your own memories. Then you grin. “Anyway, I saved the best for last.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you say as you begin to turn yourself around on the bed and move your hair to one side, “this.”

Jimin is silent for a moment before shouting, “Oh my God, it’s huge!”

You snort before beginning to explain your final piece. “Yeah, it’s the enchanted rose from Beauty and the Beast. It’s my favorite Disney movie and I love the message.”

“Which is?” Jimin repeats his words from earlier.

“Loving someone so much that you’re willing to sacrifice your own happiness for theirs.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything, but you feel shuffling behind you and then the lightest of touches on your back where your tattoo lies. Your instinct is to tense up because holy shit Jimin is touching your bare back but you resist the urge, instead choosing to look down at your lap and wring your hands in front of you while he examines your artwork. Does he like it? Hate it? You’d give anything to know what he’s thinking in this moment, but then his touch disappears from your skin like a flash and you’re left feeling empty.

“Wait,” Jimin starts, “you said you have eight tattoos and you saved the best for last, but that was only seven.”

“Was it?” you question. Then you remember. “Oh, right! I’m terrible, I always forget about this one,” you say as you begin to remove your leggings down to your knees to show Jimin your final piece on your left thigh, not noticing his eyes going wide or his cheeks filling with color. “It’s the words ‘I love you’ written in my family’s handwriting. I think it might be my favorite.”

“Oh-“ Jimin coughs out before clearing his throat and continuing, “that’s cool.”

“Thanks,” you smile while pulling your leggings back into their rightful place. It’s only when you see Jimin’s red ears that you realize what you’ve done, and you mentally slap yourself for making such a mistake. Most of your friends were women and you never had any qualms about taking off your clothes to show them your tattoos. You just got so excited when Jimin asked about them that you did what you always do to show them off, and now you were greatly regretting that decision because Jimin was looking anywhere but at you. Was he really upset by seeing you half-dressed? The thought made your stomach sink and practically brought tears to your eyes, but you willed them away. The last thing you needed to do right now was cry in front of Jimin.

“So,” you pressed forward as if nothing weird had just happened, “cuddles?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Jimin responds quietly. “Um... do you think you could be the big spoon this time?”

This catches you off guard completely, as Jimin never asks you to be the big spoon. Ever. You want to take more time to ponder any possible hidden meaning to his request, but he brings you out of your thoughts before you can fall too deep down the rabbit hole.

“Hello? You there?”

You snap out of your reverie just in time to respond with a slightly pathetic, “Yeah, I can be big spoon. No worries!”

Jimin’s expression changes from one of concern to one of what looks like genuine relief, and you can’t for the life of you figure out what he has to be relieved about when all you two are discussing are cuddling technicalities.

“Okay,” he says, and he lays down on your bed and faces away from you. “Cuddle away!”

While you still think the whole thing is confusing, you oblige and lay down next to Jimin, facing his back, and you sling an arm around him.

You can feel how tense Jimin is in front of you, so you attempt to break the proverbial ice. “This is... different,” you say, and then you roll your eyes at your own remark. Jimin turns his head to try to face you.

“Bad different?” he says anxiously.

“No, no,” you hurriedly respond. “Just... regular different. I’m used to you holding me, I guess.”

Jimin quickly turns away at your comment, but you can see his ears become red once again. What is going on with him today? Is he uncomfortable? Nervous? You can’t seem to figure it out.

You decide to stop stewing in your own thoughts and just ask Jimin whether something is wrong. You go to move your arm that’s around his waist so you can push yourself off the bed to look at him, but in the process you brush against something... hard.

“Oh God,” you whisper. So that’s why Jimin wanted you to be the big spoon. From what you felt he’s at least half hard beneath his sweats, and you immediately begin to think of all the different possible reasons for his current state. When your mind brings up the one where you’re the cause for Jimin’s erection, you mentally scoff.

“Oh, Christ,” Jimin says at the same time. Then he begins to flounder. “Um- uh- I don’t-“

“It’s no big deal!” you squeak out while lifting your hand up and away from your friend’s body. Surprisingly, he doesn’t turn around to face you. Before you can completely retract your hand, however, Jimin manages to grab onto it and bring it back to his front. He holds it tightly, but doesn’t say anything else. The silence is now deafening, so you try to broach the subject again, this time with an apology rather than a simple dismissal.

“I’m really, really sorry,” you say sincerely. “I didn’t mean to touch you... there. It was an accident, I swear.” You imagine that you look about as red as Jimin did only moments earlier, and for a moment you’re glad that he has his back turned to you.

“It’s okay.” He pauses, and you think he has finished speaking and things can go back to normal, but then he squeezes your hand and begins again. “Um... I want you to.”

Your eyes go wide behind him, and once again you’re thankful that Jimin can’t see you. You feel hot all over, head swimming with thoughts and stomach full of butterflies, which you try to ignore. Jimin wants you to touch him? What does that mean? Does he want you as much as you want him?

You must have taken some time to think about those questions, because you feel Jimin shift in front of you and hear him speak up again.

“I mean, you definitely don’t have to if you don’t want to. I don’t know why I said that, just forget-“

“Jimin,” you say to hopefully shut him up.

“... What?”

You scoot as close to him as you possibly can and press a kiss to the back of his head. You let go of his hand and move your own along his taut stomach, feeling all of his muscles as you touch him delicately above the waistband of his sweatpants. You hear him breathe in but you don’t hear him exhale, and for a moment you feel proud of yourself for being able to put him on edge. You dip your fingers below his waistband and he finally lets out a shaky breath. You continue lower, lightly threading your fingers through his pubic hair and secretly wishing you could see what you were doing, wishing you could see him. You still can’t believe this is truly happening as you inch even lower, finally reaching the base of his cock. You’re touching Jimin’s cock. This has only ever happened in your wildest dreams, and now it’s reality.

You move your hand further down into Jimin’s pants so you can comfortably hold onto him, and he sighs heavily and presses closer to you so that your front is flush with his back. He feels hot and ready in your palm, and you slowly begin to move your hand up and down his length.

“Fuck,” he breathes out so quietly you almost don’t hear him speak. You’ve never been in this position before while doing anything sexual, and it feels intimate. Being the big spoon and holding Jimin’s cock in your hand makes you feel powerful. Hearing him whimper as you touch him makes you want to please him all the more. Even though you both still have all your clothes on and even though Jimin isn’t pleasuring you directly, this is still possibly the most turned on you’ve ever felt. You continue to stroke him, collecting the beads of precum that keep falling from his weeping head, and you lean yourself toward him to nibble on his ear, your breath ragged.

“Fuck,” he whines softly, “if you keep doing that I’m going to cum.”

“Then cum,” you say as evenly as you can. “I want to feel you cum.”

That’s what does it for Jimin. He tenses up and then spills into your hand, and you milk him for all he’s worth until he begins to soften underneath you. You remove your hand from his cock and put it into your mouth, eager to taste him. Jimin turns around to face you, just in time to see you do it.

“God, that’s so hot,” he expresses earnestly, waiting until your hand leaves your mouth to kiss you passionately.

When he breaks the kiss, much to your dismay, he tugs at the hem of your shirt and says, “Do you mind if we take this off?”

Instead of responding verbally, you nod and lift your back from the bed to get the offending garment off your form. You don’t even bother settling back on the bed with your bra on, choosing instead to fling It in the same direction your shirt had gone. Jimin’s eyes go wide and he gulps.

“I, uh... I didn’t know you had your nipples pierced,” he says meekly.

You grin back at him. “You never asked.”

Jimin huffs out a laugh at your comment and kisses you again, deeply. He then begins to pepper kisses onto your jawline and down your neck. While you appreciate his gentleness, you do want him to be a little rougher.

“Bite me,” you say, head thrown back against your pillow to give Jimin greater access to your neck. “Please.”

You can feel Jimin pause on your skin, but he quickly recovers and heeds your instruction, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck and sucking harshly. You moan at that, gripping onto his hair at the roots and refusing to let go. Feeling him suck a hickey into your skin was getting you so wet it was almost uncomfortable, and you wonder if you can somehow take the rest of your clothes off without Jimin noticing. You decide against it, and you begin tugging at his shirt instead.

“What about this?” you ask, and Jimin stops lavishing attention on your neck long enough to look at you with lust-blown eyes and a devilish grin.

“What about it?” he asks, playing coy, and you roll your eyes up at him.

“Can you take it off? I want to feel you.”

Jimin’s smile falters at your words. “Fuck, yeah, okay.” He pushes himself up onto his knees and removes his shirt while never breaking eye contact with you or your body, and then he’s back on top of you and putting his mouth to use on the rest of your top half, leaving marks that will surely bloom purple in tomorrow’s light.

After working his way down your stomach to the waistband of your leggings, he pauses and rests his chin on you. You look down at him, and he’s giving you a smile that melts your insides and makes your underwear even more damp than before.

“Yes?” you say, giving him a smile in return. He begins to pout cutely.

“I want to keep kissing you, but these things are in the way.”

Your expression becomes serious as you murmur, “Then take them off.”

Jimin’s head is off your stomach in an instant as he sits back on his heels again, hands eagerly grabbing at your leggings and peeling them down your legs, along with your underwear. You bend at the knee to help him get them off more quickly, and soon enough they’re lying on the floor along with the rest of your clothes.

“You too,” you say petulantly, while making grabby hands at Jimin’s pants. He takes the hint with a chuckle and stands up to remove his sweatpants and boxers in one swift motion, adding them to the growing pile of clothing on your floor. Without missing a beat, he’s back on your bed and back to kissing down your body, but practically chokes when you spread your legs open for him to view your pussy in all its soaked glory.

“Jesus Christ, you’re pierced here too?” he half-mumbles, half-groans into your hip. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smile to yourself, pleased with how you were affecting him so easily. While past lovers had commented on your body modifications, there was something especially exciting about having Jimin do the same. Oh, God, you were in deep.

You try to push your feelings away as you feel Jimin move his hands down your frame. He begins kneading into the flesh of your thighs, and you can tell that he’s nervous about something as he bites into his plush bottom lip. You move to run your fingers through his soft black locks.

“What’s up?” you question him gently. He looks away from you for a moment, seeming to gather his courage before he finally looks back to you. He continues to draw circles into your thighs with his thumbs.

“Can I, um...” He sighs heavily and lets his head fall onto your leg. “God, we’re already naked, so you’d think this would be the easy part.”

You continue to move your hands through his hair as you respond, “What would be the easy part?”

He lifts his head off of you, cheeks blazing. “Asking if I can go down on you.”

You want to laugh at how cute he is, but you don’t want him to take it the wrong way so you just smile and say, “Why was that so hard to ask? You’ve done it before, right?”

“Yeah, but never with you.”

Your butterflies return in full force at that moment, and this time you welcome them. You make him nervous. You don’t want to get ahead of yourself, but you like where this is going. You snap out of your thoughts when Jimin clears his throat, looking at you expectantly. His hands have stopped moving on your legs.

“Okay.”

Jimin grins at that, his grip on your thighs tightening ever so slightly in excitement. He replaces his hands with his tongue again, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the insides of your thighs while he rests one hand on your breast and the other on your hip. You’re suddenly overcome with the need to say something, despite how good you already feel under Jimin’s touch.

“Hey,” you say tentatively.

“Hm?” he responds while continuing to kiss your thighs, inching closer to where you need him the most.

“It’s okay if I don’t cum.”

He pauses his ministrations and looks up at you inquisitively, so you continue. “I don’t cum very often, so I don’t want you to feel bad about it or anything if I don’t this time. I’ll still enjoy everything we do.” You’re already feeling brave making such a confession, so you tack on, “since it’s with you.”

You don’t get to see Jimin’s reaction because you’re looking up at your bedroom ceiling, but you can feel his grip on your body tighten again. You attempt to breathe normally and expect Jimin to go back to kissing up your body, but instead you feel a kitten lick to your clitoris and you gasp audibly, your legs widening of their own accord. He doesn’t stop there, placing his beautiful lips around your clit and sucking just enough to make your breathing become a little less even. When he begins using his tongue to deftly lick upward without easing up on the suction, you bite your lip to keep from crying out. You begin moving your hips in time with his licks and kisses, and he doesn’t stop you.

Eventually, he removes his bruising grip from your hip and begins moving his fingers along your slit, coating them in your arousal. You let yourself sigh audibly to tell Jimin you’re happy with what he’s doing, and you take his other hand from your breast and you interlock your fingers with his own. At that same moment, he begins pushing a finger inside your pulsing heat and curling it just enough to press against your g-spot. You squeeze his hand tightly and cover your eyes with your opposite arm, too lost in the feeling of Jimin being inside your wet walls to keep your eyes open any longer.

It’s when Jimin adds a second finger to the first that you begin to squirm more noticeably. You can hear him moving his fingers inside of you, practically caressing your g-spot with every thrust. He still hasn’t let up his virtual assault on your clit, either, continuing to suck and lick as if his life depends on it. You begin to feel the electricity thrum through your veins, feel your limbs tense up beneath you, feel the buildup of pressure in your lower abdomen. You know you're close to orgasm, and for a moment you become excited at the prospect of Jimin being able to make you cum with just his tongue and his fingers. Then, before you can think on the subject any further, you’re brought back to the present moment when Jimin adds a third finger to the other two. You cry out in ecstasy as you come undone under Jimin’s touch, head swimming and pussy clenching around his fingers. You’re breathing too heavily to notice Jimin pull out of you and begin to crawl up your body, but you look up when you realize he’s aiming to get off the bed. Your head comes back down and hits the pillow with such force that Jimin giggles in your direction as he scans the room for his clothes.

"You okay?" he asks with an obvious chuckle.

"Can I be honest with you?" you respond nervously, toying with your belly button ring because you can't keep your hands still under your covers. You see him stiffen at your question, so you hastily add, "It's nothing bad, I swear!"

He relaxes then, and says, "Yeah, you can be honest."

"Okay good," you breathe and try to steel your nerves before saying what you're going to say next. "Thanks."

"So... what is it?" he presses, sounding apprehensive despite your previous reassurance.

"Oh, right!" you practically yell before realizing how loud you sound. "Sorry, I just... I don't want to be like those people who bury their feelings and pine forever, you know?" He nods and you continue, "Okay cool, well what I really wanted to say is that I don't want this to just be a one-time thing, alright? I like you."

For a moment he doesn't respond - doesn't do anything, really - and you start to panic even though you try not to show it. Then -

"Do you really mean that?"

You're not even looking at him but you can tell he has a big dumb grin on his face, and you finally turn to face him, mirroring his expression now that you know he feels the same way.

"Yeah, I really do."

#ficswithluv #bangtanidx #smutcentralnet #magicshopnet #bangtanhq #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscorner #tatted #jimin x reader #jimin smut #armywriterssupport

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cruelangelstheses · 4 years ago

Text

with quiet courage

fandom: coraline rating: G characters: coraline, wybie words: 2.1k additional tags: canon compliant, post-canon, fluff, angst, mental health issues, character study description: years later, wybie gives coraline a gift. a/n: hi, this was written for the @ethereal-zine! i just thought it would be interesting to explore the long-term effects that the whole ordeal with the other world could have on coraline’s mental health. title from “with quiet courage” by larry daehn

read it on ao3

—

Something feels...wrong.

She can’t explain it, can’t even fully comprehend it herself, but the house feels different tonight, like it’s just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Every creak sends chills down her spine. This isn’t right.

Coraline glances out the kitchen window at their garden, but finds that she can’t really see it, despite the fact that the moon is close to full, last time she checked. She raises her gaze to the sky, squinting in confusion, and her heart nearly stops at what she sees: a shadow passing over the moon in the shape of a button, holes and all.

Gasping, Coraline pushes herself away from the window, every inch of her suddenly on high alert. That’s when she hears it: a familiar metallic skittering across the floor, a sound she knows all too well.

She bolts out of the kitchen and up the stairs, leaping into her bedroom and slamming the door shut behind her. Her blood rushes in her ears.

It only gives her a few moments’ reprieve before she hears the skittering again, even closer and louder than before. Coraline backs away from the door, frantically searching her room for anything she could use as a weapon. She digs underneath her pillow for the pocketknife she bought in secret a year or two ago, but inexplicably, it’s nowhere to be found. Her heart nearly stops when she sees the hand crawl in from underneath.

The hand is severed at first, but from its wrist seems to grow an arm, a torso, another arm, all made out of needles. Coraline steels herself as the Beldam materializes before her eyes.

“You are my daughter,” she hisses, as something else appears in one of her hands. “You’re going to stay with me forever.”

In one hand, she holds another needle, already threaded. In the other is a gift box, and inside it sits a pair of black buttons.

“Hold still,” the Beldam continues. Coraline tries to move, to fight, to do anything, but her whole body is suddenly frozen. “This will only hurt a bit.” She takes a step forward, needle pointing at Coraline’s face, and then—

Coraline jolts awake and sits up rapidly, trying to catch her breath. The morning light streams through her bedroom window, a reminder of where she is: not the Other World, but the real one. Reaching under her pillow, she feels for her pocketknife. She is seventeen now, but still the events of her childhood plague her dreams.

She still has her stuffed animals. Most of the time, they sit on her shelf, watching over her like guardian angels, ensuring that danger doesn’t even make it through the doorway. Sometimes, though, on nights where the house creaks more than usual, on nights where Coraline swears she can feel a sinister gaze burning into her back, she grabs a few of them and sleeps with them in her bed, holding them tight against her chest, as if they will cast a bubble around her body that protects her from any harm. Sometimes she doesn’t even sleep, just lies awake in terror for hours on end. She’s far too old to sleep in her parents’ bed, but some nights, she tiptoes over to their bedroom and cracks the door open, just enough so she can see that they’re still there, safe and sound.

Coraline loves her parents, but they don’t completely understand everything. It’s not their fault; they have no memory of being kidnapped by the Beldam, and they weren’t witness to anything else that happened that fateful year. She tried to explain bits and pieces when she was younger, but they dismissed it as a child’s wild imagination or particularly vivid dreams, and she’s not sure she can really blame them. After all, it hardly sounds believable.

She’s made some other friends at her new school, and they’re wonderful, but none of them get it, either. They don’t understand why she cringes every time they point out the tiny door that leads to nowhere when they come over to her house. They don’t understand why buttons and dolls disturb her to this day, or why when she looks at a snow globe, it always takes her a moment to register that there is nothing frightening inside of it. “Something happened to me when I was a kid,” she told them once, to allay their concerns. “It was really scary. I could’ve died. So if I ever do something...weird, that’s probably why.” None of them questioned her, then, when she bought that pocketknife. If nothing else, she’s grateful for that.

Wybie and his grandmother are the only ones she can actually talk to about what happened, and she’s not going to come to them every single time she has a paranoid thought (which is, unfortunately, fairly often). Usually she can calm herself down, anyway; she just has to take deep breaths and remind herself that the key is gone, at the bottom of a bottomless well, and the Beldam can never open that godforsaken portal ever again.

It takes lying there for another ten minutes, eyes closed and focusing on nothing but the sound of her own breathing, for Coraline to finally muster up the energy to pull herself out of bed. At least it’s a Friday, she tells herself. She has to work a bit this weekend, but her job involves more stocking shelves than interacting with other people, so it’s still better than school.

It’s not that she hates school. She likes learning when it’s interesting, and she likes seeing her friends. It’s not even that she dislikes other people, because she doesn’t, really. Even people she thought were weird or annoying at first, like Wybie, have grown on her with time. It’s just that she fears she’ll have a flashback or a panic attack in the middle of class and embarrass herself. It’s happened before—in middle school she was branded a freak when a sewing project in her home economics class brought her to tears for reasons she didn’t know how to explain. Strangely enough, she feels safer in her neighborhood. It’s an environment she knows well, and as odd as her neighbors are, she trusts them to protect her, even if they might not be aware of it. She remembers Mr. Bobinsky’s warning not to go through the little door, and she remembers the adder stone given to her by Misses Spink and Forcible—and, of course, she remembers Wybie, who once called her crazy before he saw the Beldam’s severed hand for himself, before he helped her dispose of the key for good. Technically, he’s the one who found the Coraline doll that spied on her in the first place—a fact that she hates him for on her worst days—but she knows that he had no idea, and it doesn’t do any good to blame him. After all, even if he may have inadvertently introduced Coraline to the Other Mother, he also helped to defeat her.

While Coraline is choosing her outfit for the day, her phone buzzes: a text from Wybie. Hey Jonesy, it reads, meet me outside then. I got something for ya.

Coraline raises an eyebrow. That could mean anything. Still, she sends him a quick Ok and slips her clothes on. If it happens to be a slug or something, at least she can say her day got off to an interesting start.

Being writers, her parents don’t have to wake up as early as she does, so Coraline usually fixes her own breakfast—often something quick, like a muffin—and heads out the door. Today is no exception, her meal a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice. It sort of makes her feel like a kid again, in a good way. Sitting alone at the kitchen table, Cheerios in her spoon, the sun rising over the foggy mountains, a feeling of quiet peace and even innocence settles over her like dust on a bookshelf. In this moment, there is no fear, no nightmares, no flashbacks. In this moment, she is not a teenager doing her best to survive even while her mind begs to differ. She is the little girl she once was, before she was forced to be brave in the face of true horror. The sky glows pink and orange, a phenomenon unknown to the Other World. She’s grown to appreciate daylight more since then.

Finally, Coraline vaults her backpack over her shoulder and pushes the front door open, saying a silent goodbye to her parents in her head. Sure enough, at the bottom of the hill, leaning up against the Pink Palace sign, is Wybie, who looks like he’s playing a game on his phone. When he hears the sound of her footsteps, he looks up and waves to her.

“You’re back,” she says once she’s close enough to him to talk without having to shout. For the past two weeks, Wybie has been on a school trip to Germany. (Coraline couldn’t go because she’s taking Spanish instead of German.) It’s pretty stupid for them to get back on a Friday and then have to go to regular school for one day, in her opinion, but that’s just how it worked out. “You said you have something for me?” She can’t help but wonder if it’s a souvenir of some sort. She’d joked about him getting her one, but she didn’t actually expect him to do it.

“Yeah,” Wybie says. As they start to walk down the path that leads to town and their school, he pulls something small out of his jeans pocket, holding it in both hands so she can’t see what it is. His voice sounds strangely solemn. “So, you know how you said Miss Spink and Miss Forcible gave you that stone that one time? The one with the hole in the middle?”

Coraline remembers it well: the adder stone that helped her find the ghost children’s eyes all those years ago. When she read up about them later on, she found that rocks with naturally occurring holes in them, called adder stones or hag stones, are said to have magical properties. One of them is the ability to see through a witch or fairy’s disguises or traps, but others include the prevention of nightmares and curing whooping cough.

Coraline certainly doesn’t have whooping cough, but she does have nightmares, and she’s already seen the power of an adder stone for herself. “Yeah,” she says slowly. “They’re pretty rare. The Other Mother destroyed the one I had.”

Wybie flashes her a little half-smile and opens his palms, revealing a round, grayish stone with a medium-sized hole in it. “We visited the north coast one day,” he says as she takes it from him, “and I just happened to stumble across it. Apparently that’s one of the places where they’re more common, in northern Germany.” He shrugs. “I saw it, and I knew I had to give it to you. Not like you’ll need to find any more ghost children’s eyes, but…”

Coraline holds the stone up to her eye, feeling an odd comfort when she looks through the hole, even though nothing seems different. Feeling a soft smile spread across her face, she slips the stone into her pocket and says, “Thank you, Wybie.” Then, to lighten the mood, she adds, “I guess taking German was a good decision after all.”

Wybie blows a raspberry at her. “Hey, who got to go to a foreign country? Not you.”

They banter back and forth like that for a while, but part of Coraline is still focused on the stone in her pocket and the thoughtfulness behind it. It’s so small, but both the stone and the gesture give her the burst of courage she needs to get through the rest of the day, the week, the month. It’s a different kind of courage from what she had to muster up to stop the Beldam. It’s subtler, quieter. It’s the courage of a girl who has seen real ugliness, who has felt the deepest and most primal sort of fear, who went through hell and came out alive but unsure where to go from there. How do you keep on going when you’ve been face to face with death?

The answer, she realizes, is simple: it takes courage. It might be the kind that only a few people can see, but it’s courage all the same.

#coraline #coraline jones #wybie lovat #laika #my fics

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unityghost · 5 years ago

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All Cretans Lie

Part 24 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Here thar be angst, mateys.

This story is based on a prompt from @commonercommenter, who suggested:

The voices start to fade, start telling Gabe to hate himself less and less. He finds he’s compelled to do it himself.

Thanks, commonercommenter!

At the moment I'm not taking prompts, but suggestions are welcome. Thank you for reading! Please take note that there are subtle references to sexual assault in this story.

Perhaps Gabriel should have been horrified, or frightened, or - at the very least - just a little bit concerned.

The truth was that he had anticipated this, no matter how much he didn’t want it to happen.

He confined himself to bed that morning, trying to ward off a splitting headache. He knew he ought to drink water, but couldn’t bring himself to move. That he had been up much of the night, caught between vivid nightmares and vague but terrifying images he couldn’t quite recollect upon waking, didn’t help any of what was going on.

When he hadn’t exited his bedroom by lunchtime, there was a knock at the door. Gabriel couldn’t make himself sit up, but he managed to turn over when the door clicked open.

“Don’t mind me,” Gabriel muttered. “Just a headache.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean moved closer to the bed and peered down at Gabriel. “You know, Gabe, just because Sam isn’t here doesn’t mean you gotta hole up in your room.”

“Excuse me?” With all the appearance of effortlessness he could manage, Gabriel pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Pardon my audacity, headmistress, but I have no plans to swaddle myself in misery. I prefer to think there’s a difference between being neurotic and being lazy.”

“Hey look, come on, I didn’t say that.” Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. “I know you don’t need Sam to spoon-feed you. Just thought I’d check in.”

Gabriel groaned and edged into a proper sitting position. He massaged his temples. “I’m fine. Are you looking for help with something? Translations? The Sunday crossword? Leftover coffee that’s gonna go to waste if no one drinks it? Because I’m up for - ”

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s the matter, huh?”

Gabriel froze, then looked away. “I …”

“Even if it’s just that you’re missing Sam. I know it can be a little - ”

“All right, give me some credit, will you? I think I can keep my separation anxiety under control for a couple of days. You know what’d help? A fistful of Excedrin.”

“Are you sick or what?”

“I’m not sick.” Gabriel paused. “Not technically. More … uh …”

Dean waited.

Finally, Gabriel sighed. “Don’t freak out. It’s my grace.”

“Yeah?” Dean sounded unperturbed. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I mean it’s … I mean … right now, it’s …” Gabriel cleared his throat. “It’s not there. It’ll come back,” he added hastily, without meeting Dean’s eyes, “It will. I promise. This happened a hell of a lot with Asmodeus. Made sense: he’d take a truckload of it and suddenly it had a mind of its own, fighting back, in some kind of panic mode. Spring into action so hard it hurt. Then, other times, it was as resigned as I was.” Gabriel’s shoulders tensed. “Can’t say that made him too happy.”

Dean took a few seconds to process what Gabriel had told him. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I just made some lunch. I know you don’t have a strong stomach right now but if your grace is down for the count then you should have something to help get it back in gear.”

“I know. I know I should.”

“Here, come on, come out to the kitchen. Jack’s gorging himself on pizza. You should have some. Or something lighter, if that’s what you want. Come hang out with us.”

“I’m not much fun at parties right now.”

“Jack wants to feed you.” Dean got to his feet and clapped Gabriel on the shoulder.” Come on, buddy, get up.”

No, Gabriel thought, neither of them really wanted him there; and if Jack thought otherwise, he’d quickly recognize his mistake.

Gabriel closed his eyes.

Shut up.

He opened them again.

No one’s lying. No one’s delusional.

“Are you a hundred percent on that?” Gabriel asked Dean.

He’ll say yes.

“Yeah, we’ve been saving you a seat,” Dean told him.

And he means it.

It had been months since Gabriel’s arrival, months since Sam had begun telling him that it was possible to get better - to shake off at least a fragment of his self-abuse, so that the pain became sometimes, and not always; to have fewer dreams, fewer attacks of memory; to ask for help without the fear of violence or derision.

“All right,” Gabriel agreed. “Just … give me a few minutes.”

“Come out when you’re ready. It sounds like you’re sure this isn’t anything to call Sam over.”

“Let the kid have his downtime.”

“Ah, sure, yeah, downtime. Look at all the fun he’s having over in Tulsa.” Dean pulled his phone from his back pocket and, after a few seconds of scrolling, held it out so that Gabriel could read Sam’s text messages: Had to tell them I learned to be “respectfully dominant” toward my wife from my preacher dad. And then, half an hour later: I’ve been prescribed a double dose of prayer; take twice a day.

“Ha,” said Gabriel, “Gross. What is he doing?”

“Masquerading as a religious fanatic so he can get an inside look at what’s going on with kids under ‘Satanic influence.’ Their parents keep ending up dead, which is apparently all it takes for the kids to snap out of it. Not a pretty picture.”

“And is Cas putting on the same show?”

“Probably not as convincingly. Sam’s really good at looking remorseful.”

“And Cas has a penchant for looking confused. Proud of them both. It’s not every day you find that kind of raw talent.”

“So what do you need from me, then?”

Gabriel tensed. “You’re not pissed. That’s … appreciated.”

“All right. We’ll be waiting for you.”

“Consider me officially RSVP’d.” Gabriel forced himself to stand. His head stung, but he wasn’t dizzy or nauseated. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

While Dean was gone and Gabriel was getting dressed, he took inventory of his body - not to assess the effects of gracelessness, with which he was sorely familiar, but to better understand his response to Dean’s invitation to Sam’s absence, and to the question of, What are they going to do to me so long as I’m useless?

Over these last several months he had learned to read each one of them. It was anything but a smooth or rapid process, but Gabriel knew that he wouldn’t have fallen for Sam’s imaginary repentance in a house of prayer - because by this time, he could recognize when Sam was being honest. He could recognize when Dean was being honest. Neither of them had the time for diplomacy, Castiel couldn’t help being frank, and Jack had the colorful forwardness of any child.

There’s nothing to be scared of, Gabriel told himself, just to see whether he could identify his own sincerity.

And there it was. Wherever the assertion had come from, it was likely correct.

“Uncle Gabriel!” Jack exclaimed when Gabriel came into the kitchen. “Dean made pizza.”

“Dean made pizza,” Gabriel agreed.

“You should try some.”

“I … should not. Because I’m not hungry enough to take advantage of his masterpiece.” If that’s okay, he considered adding, but didn’t. “Gonna grab, I don’t know, an apple or something.”

“Uncle Gabe.” Jack looked somber. “You really should. Sam says that - "

“It’s fine,” Dean interrupted. “Guy’s just not up for it. We have apples.”

Jack shrugged. “Okay.” He bit into the slice of pizza, shut his eyes, and made muffled sounds of delight.

“He’s having a religious experience,” Dean told Gabriel.

Gabriel smiled. “I’ve been responsible for some of those, and I wouldn’t disagree with you.”

He spent most of the rest of the day locked in his bedroom, per routine; but, a few hours after lunch, decided to search one of the medicine cabinets for something to relieve his headache. He found two separate bottles of aspirin, one two years past its expiration date and the other unopened.

Gabriel hesitated. If someone noticed that he’d had the gall to take from an untouched bottle of medicine …

But there was what Gabriel told himself, and there was what Sam would have insisted upon.

Within half an hour, the headache was nearly gone.

That evening, he got a knock on his door. When he opened it, Sam smiled at him.

“Oh!” Gabriel was surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow at least.”

“No, this wasn’t a hard case. Just some witch with too much time on her hands.”

“And I hear you’ve become quite the thespian.”

Sam laughed. “You’re doing okay?”

Gabriel hesitated, and Sam’s face fell.

“Turn that frown upside-down, soldier,” Gabriel said. “I’m not falling apart. But - you didn’t talk to your brother, by any chance?”

Sam looked worried. “He gave me some pizza but … not really.”

“Oh. Well, okay - don’t freak out, all right? Because there’s no need for it. But. When I woke up this morning …”

Sam folded his arms, watching Gabriel with fear in his eyes.

“When I woke up,” Gabriel finished, avoiding Sam’s gaze, “I didn’t have any grace. And it’s fine, it’s - it’s happened before. It’s always come back. Always. If it can rebound when I’m in Hell, having it ripped out of me like a tree root, I figure it’ll be fine. I mean, not fine, just - in flux. Not permanently gone.”

Sam frowned, contemplating, searching Gabriel’s face. “You look like you don’t feel good.”

“I’m not the usual picture of health you see every time you come into my room to mop up vomit in the middle of the night, but I’m in one piece.”

Sam bit his lip. “Sorry I wasn’t here this morning.”

“Don’t be. I survived. You know I always do when you need a break from - ” Gabriel paused. “From routine.”

Useless.

Gabriel stiffened. The word, the thought, had come out of nowhere - a hand clawing its way from what appeared to be an otherwise undisturbed grave.

He swallowed. “Anyway, don’t worry. There’s no problem. I’m …”

Nothing.

Not nothing, Gabriel pleaded with himself, No, that’s not what they think. With grace, without grace, that’s not how they -

“Well,” said Sam, “How’re you feeling?”

Gabriel found himself unable to speak.

Here it was again: that thick, dark feeling that swallowed him up, held him down, and gagged him. That putrid warmth coloring the normal with the sinister and contaminating the benign with the grotesque.

Memories, Gabriel told himself; these were memories. Don’t be afraid. Stop being afraid. It’s okay.

Alarm passed over Sam’s face. “Hey - ”

“Um - ”

“Gabriel.” Sam took him by the wrist. “What happened? Why are you shaking?”

“It’ll stop,” Gabriel told him, but didn’t pull away. “It’s just the shivers.”

“I’ll sit with you.”

Gabriel shuddered, overcome by something like fear, or relief, or uncertainty, or perhaps all three at once. “And I won’t fight you on that.”

Sam led him to the bed, lowered himself so that they were side by side, and gripped his shoulder. “I wish I could tell you I know what that feels like.”

“Oh, trust me, you really don’t.”

“When it happens … is there anything that pulls you out a little bit?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I’d like to say that you do, and you do, but it’s still there; it hangs around until it gets bored.” Then, worried that Sam would think he was ungrateful: “But it’s better than being alone. Really. A thousand times better.”

Sam offered a sad smile. “But you don’t tell anyone when it happens, do you?”

“Why should I? It’s just a feeling. It’s not real. I have to wait, that’s all. No need to call for help.”

“It is real,” Sam objected. “The feeling is real. The next time you - ”

“I know, Sam.” Gabriel closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “It’s habit. Instinct. I don’t want to ask for anything.” He looked up at Sam. “Ever.”

“I know.”

Gabriel was overcome with a sudden chill, so that he shuddered once more. His heartbeat hadn’t slowed at all. An unexpected surge of nausea washed through him.

“Calm down,” Sam said softly. “You’re practically seizing.”

Gabriel shrugged Sam away, and left the room as quickly as he could without actually running.

“Gabriel, wait!” Sam followed him into the hallway, where Gabriel began retching.

“Oh crap, hey, no - ” Sam rushed him into the bathroom and helped him lean over the toilet. “Easy, easy does it. You’re okay.”

Gabriel’s breath came in cold, shallow gasps. In his graceless state, he vomited and let Sam hold him in place as it happened.

“I know you don’t care,” Gabriel sputtered. “That you don’t care about how much grace I have. I - ” He heaved again before he could finish.

That was the food that Dean had given him, Gabriel recalled. Dean had expected responsibility that Gabriel couldn’t exercise.

Gabriel couldn’t be trusted - not with their food, not with their hospitality, not with their kindness. He had unwritten the peace of earlier, had spoiled the maybe of “Let’s have lunch together,” defaced the possibility that things were going to be okay.

“Sam, I thought - I - I asked for - ”

He had asked for what he wanted, asked for their food, stolen their medicine -

“Gabriel,” Sam said softly, “Just relax.”

Sincerity made no difference. However genuine their concern and kindness might be, there was no guarantee it would last. Impatience was always waiting in the shadows; Gabriel could smell it just as he could smell his own vomit then and there. Their affection and dedication was like the aspirin he’d removed from the cabinet earlier: there was a cutoff that Gabriel had acknowledged in the past, an inevitable conclusion that he had somehow managed to dismiss lately.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “My grace isn’t - I’m sorry - ”

He should not have allowed himself access to I think it might be okay. Instead, he should have continued waiting for what had to come eventually. When they made up their minds that he was a burden they simply couldn’t handle anymore, the waiting game - which was a special kind of torture - would at least be over.

Gabriel shivered and gagged.

“Breathe, all right?” Sam sounded as though he was trying hard to remain calm himself. “I’m right here; it’s okay, Gabriel.”

He would be in danger if he forgot his place. He shouldn’t have permitted himself to forget that he was their sick patient, their delinquent foster child, their pet that just couldn’t seem to be house-trained.

The end, Gabriel reminded himself, was long overdue.

“Slow down,” Sam instructed, gently lowering him to kneel on the floor. “Just - I don’t know what I did. I’m sorry.”

Gabriel should have reminded himself that the others were poisoning themselves by touching him, by speaking to him, by listening to his voice, by acknowledging that he was there at all.

“Sam,” Gabriel choked, vomit still clinging to his lips.

“Yeah, hey, what is it?"

“I - I haven’t told you everything, and - ” He paused, waiting to see if he would get sick again.

“You mean about Asmodeus?” said Sam. “I know that.”

“You don’t, though; you haven’t seen any of the worst. You don’t realize just how - ”

“No,” Sam said firmly. “We’ve talked about this before.”

There was nothing left for Gabriel to vomit. All that remained was him, only Gabriel - and that couldn’t be gotten rid of. “I’m better, or I’ve been feeling better; I go back and forth, Sam, and I just don’t know!”

Sam guided Gabriel upright. “Let’s go lie down. In my room. Okay?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel repeated.

“Come here.” Sam half-carried him out of the bathroom and back down the hall.

“All right,” Sam said, easing Gabriel onto the bed, “There we go. I gotcha.”

Gabriel, still trembling, wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled his knees toward his chest.

Sam sat on the edge of the mattress and peered down at him. “If I scared you - ”

“You didn’t. I - that feeling, it wouldn’t stop; it wouldn’t go away. I feel sick and I can’t control anything right now, and I - Sam, I’m not just trashing myself for funsies. There’s a reason I say you shouldn’t care about me. There’s a reason I’m so convinced of that, Sam. Dozens of reasons.” He swallowed, tasting the remnants of vomit in his mouth. “It’s just that you think you have no proof of it. Dad knows why you’d believe something like that after everything I’ve put you through, but all I can do is cram the really, really effed-up shenanigans as far away from you as possible. Because there are whole lifetimes I just can’t talk about. They’re too humiliating, and - and I can’t let you see what he - what I - ”

“You don’t have to, but you can.”

“And,” Gabriel continued hoarsely, “You’re just going to have to take my word for it. This is the one thing you can trust me with, because I was there. I can’t be wrong about what he made me do.” When Sam didn’t reply, Gabriel went on: “I know this is hard for you to hear. And I’m sorry. You just - if you want what’s best for me, for all of you - I don’t know, I guess I deserve the pain of whatever’s in store for me. Why not let myself get hurt, right? You’d think I’d be eager to let it all happen, wouldn’t you?” His breathing began to shallow. “A slow death. A little more of this here, of me lying on your bed with you looking at me like you’re about to cry; and then I’m worried about what’s best for you, and if I can’t trust myself then I’m wrong and you’re the one with your priorities straight. Sam - when the Cretan tells you all Cretans lie, what the hell are you supposed to believe? This is the most confused I’ve ever been and I can’t figure out what to do with any of what’s tearing at the inside of my head.”

Sam took a second to consider his response. Then he answered, “A few of my law professors brought that up in seminars. The Liar Paradox. I used to tell my professors that whichever way you look at it, that guy couldn’t’ve been a Cretan at all. Which means he has no authority.” Sam offered his hand. “That means there are answers. Somewhere. You just gotta think creatively.”

Gabriel’s throat tightened. “So then what’s the answer?”

Sam took his hand. “I don’t know.”

If Sam was made aware, if Sam could witness some of the depraved acts in which Gabriel had engaged - not because he’d wanted to, and yet they had still happened, every one of them - he would not allow this to continue.

Undoubtedly, Sam would think twice about giving up: he felt he had to keep his promise to protect Gabriel, to nurture Gabriel, to show love he probably had to convince himself he really felt. But he would choose to end it, because Sam couldn’t ignore what he knew, in his heart of hearts, to be right.

Sam squeezed his hand. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. “I just did.”

“If you’ve got more to say, I’m here.”

“I always have more to say.” Let go. Let go of his hand.

“I have a question,” Sam said softly, and Gabriel caught the hesitancy behind his words. Maybe it was now. This was as good a time as any; Gabriel had, after all, just implored Sam to make it swift.

“Listen,” Sam murmured, “Hasn’t it ever crossed your mind that maybe I worry you’ll give up on me too?”

For a few seconds, all Gabriel could take in was the voice in his head - let go; let go of his hand - and then his mind went blank for a few seconds, and finally he heard what Sam had just told him.

“Uh,” said Gabriel, “No.”

“What about the other day?” A twinge of discomfort flickered over Sam’s face. “When I spazzed out about the - ”

“About that self-destructive young whippersnapper who ran into the middle of the road? I just wanted to help you.”

“Well, sometimes I figure there’s no reason you’d want to do that, and maybe you’ll eventually see why I think so."

Gabriel tried to assess his own response to Sam’s confession. On the one hand, he wasn’t very surprised: Sam’s relationship with himself was hardly more impressive than Gabriel’s. Even so, the very idea was almost laughable - but also sickening, and Gabriel felt some of the nausea resurface.

“Shut up,” he told Sam. Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “Are you lying? Part of me hopes you’re bullshitting me. Part of me hopes you’re the non-Cretan.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean’s given up on me before. The guy who knows me better than anyone. If that’s my metric, then ... “ He looked away before returning his attention to Gabriel and forcing a smile. “Kind of proves me right, doesn’t it?”

“No offense to your brother, but his patience is on the low end of the bell curve. And I know he’s sort of your hero, Sam, but the only one who has the final say in who gets to give up on who isn’t Dean.”

Sam shrugged. “I was just trying to make a point. We’re not really talking about me.”

“Aren’t we, though? Because I feel like self-revulsion has become a tautology with us."

Sam frowned. “What?”

“It’s like we’re throwing it back and forth. In fact, I - Sam, it’s almost as if you’re trying to take it away from me. Like if you keep on hating yourself enough, there will only be so much left for me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s like you go grabbing for it. Except - and you should know this by now - there’s an infinite supply of that ugliness to go around. It doesn’t matter how much you try to take on; there’s always going to be more for me. For all of us.”

Sam fidgeted. “Yeah. Fine. But that has nothing to do with anything. Not right now.”

“I don’t want you to get the idea that this isn’t about both of us. There’s so much wrong with me, but I’m not an idiot. I know why you’re so good at what you do.”

For a few moments, Sam was quiet. Then he asked, “You want some water or something?”

Gabriel recoiled.

“Would you like some water?” Sam amended.

There were a few moments of silence. Then, eyes trained on Gabriel’s hand clasped in his, Sam said, “I don’t know how to read you. Sometimes you seem all right, but I can’t be sure, because what would I do if I got it wrong and didn’t think to check in and you …” He swallowed. “What if I miss something?”

“What if you do? It isn’t your responsibility to take my vitals every day.”

“Gabriel, you know what I mean. If something happened to you, just because I looked away for a second, I …” Sam trailed off.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” Gabriel knew Sam needed to hear him say it. “And even if it did, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

Sam shifted his gaze to his lap.

“You’re not stupid,” Gabriel pressed. “You know I’m always going to come running to you when things get out of hand. Plant my feet beneath your window, throw some pebbles, get down on one knee, give a speech. I don’t even have the capacity to - ” Here Gabriel paused, because it was precisely this that had soured the afternoon.

Sam looked back at him. “To what?”

Gabriel was suddenly overcome by a memory that turned his stomach again: Asmodeus, holding him down, as a second demon raised Gabriel’s arms and pinned them to the floor so that he couldn’t defend himself. This, Asmodeus knew, was a more effective method than any magical restraints could have been. Magic didn’t have a voice. Magic didn’t have a body that could be clawed, punched, and bitten to no avail. Magic robbed Gabriel of only so much dignity, because with magic there was no hope; there was no wasted combat, no maybe I can get away from him that bled through resignation to the inevitable. When Gabriel was attacked, he flailed under the foul illusion of possibility.

It didn’t matter how safe Gabriel might be now. That feeling, that awful feeling, had lessened in frequency, but increased in intensity whenever it returned. There was no safety. There couldn’t be. The closest Gabriel might come to being truly safe was to ensure awareness that he would never be safe.

“Hey,” Sam said quietly. “What’s the matter, Gabe?”

Gabriel gritted his teeth. The ceiling blurred. “I don’t know.”

“Listen, your grace will come back, and even if it didn’t we’d - ”

“Have every right to throw me away.”

“No."

“And when it’s good to go, I’m a valuable asset, so if someone finds that out and comes looking for me and offers you payment - ”

“I told you that’s not gonna happen. Gabriel, none of this crap is worth your time.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m giving it my time. My time is running to these questions with open arms. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop myself. He was - the memories are too strong.” Gabriel blinked and felt a tear glide down his temple and into his ear. “I can’t fight them.”

“I can help!”

“You are helping. You’re at the helm; you have been since the beginning. You started digging through the rubble at ground zero. And I - and - ” Gabriel let out a tight sob. “You need to lower your expectations, Sam. If you think you can change me then you’re only going to end up blaming yourself.”

“Okay.” Sam slid his hand out of Gabriel’s and lifted him upright. “It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re safe; everything’s okay.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut but allowed Sam to hold him close. “You and Dean and Cas - you’re good at fixing things. You’re the world’s handymen. You’ve got wits as your wrench and the universe is a blocked sink. But I …”

“Gabriel, we’ll figure it out.”

“Things come back so fast; a - a memory, and then something in that memory - it leads to another memory. Sometimes I remember things I didn’t even realize I remembered. So I hear these voices telling me to clear out before it gets too late, and the next thing I know he’s telling me about how no matter where I am, he’ll always be with me - inside of me. And then I start thinking about how I gave in when it all got to be too much. Which makes me think of the things he did, the things he made me do, the things I let him do.”

Sam tightened his grip. “You didn’t let Asmodeus do anything.”

“I could’ve at least tried to stop him, though; it just - after a while it felt like there was no point in trying anymore. But where’s the honor in not fighting back? How can I forgive myself for going down just because he told me I would lose? I believed him. I couldn’t help it.”

“That’s not - ”

“Except I don’t think I could have won, because I … because … Asmodeus was stronger, yes, but there’s more than that. Asmodeus was right. I know that’s not what you think, and I believe you - at least sometimes. I just - I know it. The same way I know my grace, and when it isn’t there. It’s automatic, Sam; it’s in my blood at this point. I just know he was right, like I know glass will break when it falls. He was right about never being able to escape, never being enough for him, for anyone; never being quick enough to give, and being greedy enough to take everything he had to offer, pretending like I deserved any of it - his food, his love - ”

“Don’t say it like that. He didn’t love you.”

“And so what if he didn’t? Is that better? What does that say about me, that he had me locked up for so long and never even learned to love me? It’s like I told you, he was right. The proof is there, Sam, right in front of you. You see it every day. What have I done to show I’m worth anything more than what he said I was? He saw me as - ”

“He saw you through his eyes. I have my own. And for all your talk about weakness, you certainly haven’t stopped trying to fight back against me.”

That surprised Gabriel. “Nobody’s trying to fight you. I’m just … I need you to … to know what I am. That’s all. For my sake. And for yours too. So that I’m not thrown off when it happens, and you don’t keep forcing yourself into the pain that you do.”

“‘It’ has nothing to do with this. And I’m not in pain. But you are. Which isn’t your fault. It’s not because you’re not trying, or because you can’t get better. It’s because anyone, even you, even any of your family, or any of us, would’ve had to put in the same work you are after being put through so much torture.”

Feeling slightly frantic, Gabriel pulled away. “Wrong. You went through it yourself, Sam, and you’re miles ahead.”

“It was different, and I’m different, and I’m not not still a mess; you know that. You’ve seen that, Gabe. And also, you were there a lot longer, and when you got out you had more you had to face, and - I don’t know,” Sam finished, suddenly helpless, “Just cut yourself some slack, man.”

“I’m trying,” Gabriel grated out, “And I can’t.”

“Not yet, maybe.”

“I can’t, Sam, because I - because - ”

“Because what?”

“Because I shouldn’t.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment. He watched Gabriel, studying his face, building an answer from whatever he saw there.

Then, at last, Sam said: “You never have to talk about what else he did to you. Not if you don’t think you can. That’s fine. But you have to trust that I know it was his fault, not yours. Those thoughts, Gabriel, those memories - they can haunt you, they can hurt you, but they shouldn’t make you feel guilty.”

Gabriel remained silent.

“I need you to trust me,” Sam continued. “I know you usually do. You’ve got to take that a step further. Whatever I hear from you … it’s not going to make me think you’re disgusting. No one - not him, not you - can change my mind about that. Do you know why?”

Still, Gabriel said nothing, just looked at him.

“Because I know I’m right,” Sam told him. “I know it like I know glass breaks when it hits the floor.”

Gabriel’s breath shallowed.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “It’s all gonna be fine. It’s just me right now.”

No more of this, no more crying, no more crying, please -

Sam laid a hand on his arm. “Relax.”

There had always been uncertainty. Not once had Gabriel allowed for a unanimous vote in his mind so that Sam’s declarations of loyalty could be accepted, beyond reasonable doubt, as wholly honest.

Now, looking into Sam’s face, something shifted. For a moment Gabriel felt the same sense of absoluteness, the same unquestionability, that he knew every time he thought about his own worthlessness.

For a fleeting second, the verdict became obvious.

“Just for tonight,” Sam told him. “Just for tonight, let me help; don’t ask why. Just for today. We don’t have to worry about tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel stammered for the third time. “I don’t - I don’t know. I can’t figure it out.”

“You don’t need to right now. There’s a lot to figure out. I know that.”

“It’s not; it shouldn’t be. I know I don’t deserve this, and I know I can trust you, and I can’t make them work together.”

“They aren’t working together. One of them’s a lie and we can toss it.”

“What if I know it isn’t a lie?"

“What if I know it isn’t a lie?”

Gabriel stared at him for a moment, and then turned away as he choked on another strangled sob.

“Gabriel, look,” Sam said, “As much as I want you to learn to trust yourself, this definitely isn’t the right time. If all you’re thinking is that we don’t want you here, or that you can’t get better, then you need to come to one of us instead of taking your own word on blind faith. I hate to say it, but if the question is between trusting what I tell you and what you tell yourself - what Asmodeus tells you - listen to me for a while. Only me."

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. “I can’t.”

“Yeah. Exactly. You have to let me take charge a little bit, Gabriel. Until you can stop being so violent with yourself. Not like - I don’t need to watch your every move, and you don’t have to tell me what you’re not ready to. That’s fine. All I’m saying is if you’re not sure who’s right about you, assume I know what I’m talking about. Just trust me, is all.”

“Sam - ”

“Try. Just for tonight. There’s no contract. Just try.”

Gabriel wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t - ”

“You don’t have to know. Not right now.”

Gabriel stared at him bleakly, feeling numb. Then he leaned into Sam and allowed himself to go limp.

Sam held onto him. Neither of them spoke.

“Don’t make me tell you,” Gabriel muttered at last.

“I won’t. Remember? You called me out on that. And I’m glad you did.”

“I might never, though. I might never be able to.”

Sam hugged him more firmly. “No worries about that.”

“I - ”

Sam remained still, waiting.

“For tonight,” Gabriel whispered.

“Yeah. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

It was then that Gabriel realized that some of the terror had begun to abate. His head hurt, but he no longer felt sick.

There was darkness around him, darkness inside of him, but no darkness in Sam’s embrace.

More importantly, there was no insincerity. Just for tonight, the language of Sam’s touch could be read as easily as anything else.

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lexi-the-twilight-dragon · 5 years ago

Text

RED VS BLUE: The Ghost Trick AU

His consciousness slowly slips back, but he’s wide awake when he hears a gun cock. In front of him is two men, one in a coat pressed up against the wire fence with his hands up, the other in a suit pointing a shotgun at him.

“So long, kid.”

He tries to stand. He tries to raise his hand. He tries to say something. The guy in the coat is going to die, dammit!

But he can’t move an inch. And they can’t hear him.

Because he’s already dead.

So yeah, the Ghost Trick AU, everyone! I’ve tried to avoid massive Ghost Trick spoilers for those who haven’t played it yet (if you haven’t, go do so, it’s my favourite game for a reason) but in any case, enjoy the casting!

In order of appearance:

Church (Sissel): He’d give you his backstory if he knew what it was. As it currently stands, all he knows is that he’s a recently deceased individual who has a decently good taste in suits and a decently good sense of humor. Okay, maybe that sense of humor is mostly snark, but hey, give him some credit, he’s dead for fuck’s sake. And apparently, being dead comes with the added bonus of “Ghost Tricks”, the power to interact with the living through inanimate objects, travel through telephone lines, and by connecting with the souls of other recently deceased individuals, rewind the last four minutes of their life to avoid their untimely demise. He’s not doing it out of some kind of altruism. He’s just got twelve hours before his soul traverses to the next dimension, and he’d kinda like some help remembering who he is before that happens. That’s all. ‘S only fair.

Detective Dexter Grif (Lynne): Recently promoted to the Detective Division of New Armonia PD, Grif’s something of a loose cannon, and tends to put what he thinks is right before police bureaucracy, which often gets him in trouble. He’s recently gone off the grid again to re-investigate a cold case in which his superior got convicted of murder, which has led to him meeting with Church for information. Which led to him getting shot. Which led to Church saving his life. Which led to him getting arrested for Church’s murder. But as if he’s gonna let a simple arrest get in his way. He’s got a mission to follow. And if he can get food on the way, that’ll be awesome. (Also, don’t call his coat yellow. It’s fucking orange.)

Felix (Nearsighted Jeego): An assassin tasked in ending the life of anyone who knows about “Shisno”. Grif hasn’t the faintest idea what that is, but apparently he’s on that hit list anyway. However, Felix’s overconfidence proves to be a weakness Church is only happy to exploit.

Ray: A deceased soul possessing a desk lamp, Ray is Church’s “Ghost Trick” mentor. Despite ghosts communicating through telepathy, Ray manages to keep most of his thoughts, knowledge, motive and real name included, secret from Church. He requested Church’s help solving the mysterious goings on in New Armonia in return, but frankly, Church only has twelve hours here. He’s got his own mystery to solve, thank you very much.

Chairman Malcolm Hargrove (Commander Sith): The head of Charon Industries, the technological megacorporation of a foreign nation intent on unimaginable power and possibly global domination. Though their technology is far more advanced than any other nation’s, said technology is… “off”, to say the least. And should anyone get in Hargrove’s way, he has his own “security force” to call on.

Counselor Aidan Price (Masked Lieutenant): Hargrove’s immediate subordinate, in charge of carrying out his immediate orders and organizing the orders to others. Never breaks his impassive expression, which can even creep Hargrove out sometimes.

Locus (One Step Ahead Tengo): Another assassin under Hargrove’s employ, much more calm and collected than his rival Felix. He prefers to get ahead of his “prey” and lie in wait in the shadows, rather than tail them and face them directly.

Freckles (Missile): A small fluffy “freckled” dog, technically belonging to “Master Grif”, but much more attached to his roommate, “Master Caboose”. He would do absolutely anything for his masters, and not even an inconvenient death will stand in his way. He’ll make instant friends with just about anybody, so long as they don’t mind a bit (a lot) of barking.

Michael Caboose (Kamila): A ten-year-old kid who’s been in the foster care system since he was very young. He’s lived with Grif and Freckles for about five years, after an unfortunate incident with his previous foster family. He may or may not have witnessed said incident, but always seems to be cheerful nevertheless. He’s not the smartest in school, but he’s pretty good at making convoluted contraptions out of random objects, not always with the permission of his guardian.

Doctor Emily Grey (Superintendent): A former medical examiner of New Armonia PD, now in charge of maintaining and supervising the Zone D junkyard, where Church was murdered. She apparently lives in her office with her pet pigeon Carmen, and spends her free time conducting strange experiments and research in her basement.

Lord Donald Doyle (Justice Minister): The minister of justice in charge of administering the sentences of condemned criminals. It’s a complicated and stressful job, and as such has taken its toll on his health and his relationship with his family. A recent squabble with his wife has resulted in her walking out with their son in tow, which has only worsened his psyche.

Detective Vera Ohio (Detective Blue): A detective at Grif’s precinct, who, well, can get a little too enthusiastic sometimes, especially if she has a chance to prove herself to a superior officer. This enthusiasm doesn’t always equal results, however, so she’s stuck at her current ranking. She’s a little jealous of Grif for making Detective so quickly by comparison.

Detective Ezra Idaho (Detective McCaw): Ohio’s investigative partner, who’s more than used to her antics and usually tries to be her voice of reason, with little success. He’s a little concerned with Ohio trying too hard to impress their superiors, and the ridiculous example set by their inspector.

Doctor Lucy Connecticut (Medical Officer): The medical examiner in Church’s murder case, though no one’s ever seen her on a case before. But, she has her credentials, and she gets the job done, so no questions need to be asked. Right?

Inspector Maddison Carolina (Inspector Cabanela): The head of the Special Investigation Unit, and basically the whole police force second only to the Chief. Though her track record, like her coat, is spotlessly flawless, her manner is jarringly blasé; don’t for a second let this fool you though, she did not get to her position by fuffing around, and heaven have mercy on you if she catches you doing so yourself. Most of the other detectives are wary of her as a result, but she’s surprisingly close to and protective of the newest one, Dexter “Dex” Grif.

Detective Frank DuFresne (Detective Rindge): Oh, did you forget about the other detective at the precinct? You wouldn’t be the first. Whether it be the way he tries not to be in the way, or the way his face disappears under his hat, DuFresne always manages to find a way to be invisible. This isn’t always a hindrance however; as such he’s often assigned to reconnaissance or covert information gathering, a job he excels at. He also excels at it where he’s not meant to, so if anyone knows the low-down on the precinct’s gossip, it’s him.

Officer Dick Simmons (Typical Cop 1): A cop from Grif’s old beat, Simmons would have been promoted to Detective too… if he wasn’t such a nervous wreck in the presence of a superior, which at his rank is always. He tries his best, he really does, but he always seems to stumble over himself at the last minute, and the detectives he works under don’t help either, admonishing him for the slightest mistake and taking the credit when he actually accomplishes something. He also has a massive crush on Grif, which can hinder his mental processing even more. Grif is completely in denial about it, even when others point it out.

Sarge (Chicken Chef): Proprietor, manager and head chef of The Red Base Chicken Kitchen, home of smoky fried chicken, questionable budgeting decisions, and many a husky Southern ballad, all courtesy of the man himself. All of the above factors are an acquired taste, but that doesn’t bother him. As far as he’s concerned, he’s living the dream.

Officer Ben Matthews (Officer Bailey): One of six guards patrolling Stella Nova Penitentiary, Matthews is a stickler for the rules 99% of the time, but in spite of himself, there are two people he can never say no to; one is Grif, and the other is his fellow officer Bitters. The stress of trying to keep the latter in line causes him a lot of pent up energy that… occasionally has to be let out. In hilarious fashion. Bitters has videos.

Officer Antoine Bitters (Other Officer): Once upon a time, Bitters was a hopeful, enthusiastic young police cadet raring to take on the bad guys and protect the streets of New Armonia. But now he’s stuck on guard duty in the most uneventful prison ever, and his attitude is beginning to match his name. With not much “guarding” necessary, he spends most of his time creating his own entertainment, often at Matthews’ expense.

Officer John Andersmith (Prison Guard 1): Like Matthews, Andersmith is a stickler for the rules, but he’s immune to Bitters’ mind tricks, and everyone’s learned to keep the two apart if they’d like to finish the day without a headache. Even if he wasn’t such a stickler, the prisoners aren’t likely to try and bully him; he’s six foot, jacked and pretty good with a firearm.

Mina South (Spiky): Lead guitarist and singer of rock band The Dakotas, South’s music career hit a screeching halt when she was arrested for leaking government secrets during a concert being aired live around the nation. She’s the most abrasive of the inmates of Stella Nova, but her attitude wins her nothing, especially from Andersmith.

Peter Maine (Sausage Head): A man of few words, Maine’s actions speak for him; he’s in Stella Nova for breaking in to the New Armonia Metro PD and holding the Chief Commissioner at flamethrower-point. Though he may seem intimidating, in reality he’s easily pushed around, particularly by fellow inmate South.

Detective David Washington (Detective Jowd): The third and quietest of Stella Nova’s inmates, Washington used to be New Armonia’s, and perhaps even all of Chorus’, best detective, Carolina’s best friend, and Grif’s mentor, until he was convicted for the murder of his partner Tucker. Though Grif maintains his innocence, he himself has accepted his guilt and his sentence. His detective skills haven’t blunted, though, so little happens within the prison walls that he doesn’t know about.

Officer Charlie Palomo (Prison Guard 2): The newest of the six guards in Stella Nova, Palomo’s innocent worldview has yet to be tarnished by the harsh realities of his job, or the exasperation of his colleagues. If anyone’s going to start a casual conversation, with a colleague or with an inmate, it’ll be Palomo, and he rarely gets the hint to keep his mouth shut unless explicitly told.

Chief Vanessa Kimball (Chief): Though only in the top spot for a few years, Kimball is an instant magnet for respect, even from top investigators such as Carolina. In fact, she and Carolina have struck up a rapport in the wake of Washington’s arrest, and she’s the only one Carolina will open up to. All the other members of the force, however, shouldn’t dream of getting casual with her.

Detective Franklin Donut (Memry): Once the Special Investigation Unit honed in on the location of an illicit deal taking place at The Red Base Chicken Kitchen, they sent in their undercover operative Donut in the guise of a recently hired waiter. He’s not too undercover, though; the bubbly, flirtatious attitude and unwitting innuendos are all the real him, which often makes his workmates, at the restaurant and the PD, very, very uncomfortable.

Girlie (Beauty): One of two operatives of Charon taking part in the deal at Red Base, though she’s beginning to regret agreeing more by the minute. Even if her “sixth sense” makes her invaluable for the job, her teammate is intolerable, and the other party is taking forever to turn up.

Sharkface (Dandy): Girlie’s teammate, Sharkface also has distaste for their assignment, though it has more to do with the extent of work he has to do than the company. If anything, the company is all that makes this assignment worth it, though she greatly disagrees.

Lopez (Bartender): The barman of The Red Base Chicken Kitchen, Lopez is very, very jaded from his job. His boss is borderline insane, the waiter is driving him insane, and no one understands a word he says anyway. The only thing that keeps him there is the knowledge that, at the very least, his work is appreciated.

Officer Katie Jensen (Prison Guard 3): As the closest in age to Palomo, and the one who can tolerate his company the best, Jensen is usually the guard on the same round as him. They can often be found chatting in the halls until they’re needed, at which point she’ll also be one dragging him back to work.

Officer Averil Volleyball (Prison Guard 4): The first time anyone sees Volleyball in uniform, they swear she’s a kissogram, not an actual officer, and her flirtatious manner doesn’t help. But anyone who actually tries to have their way? Those handcuffs aren’t for play, buddy.

Lavernius Tucker (Alma): Washington’s partner, well-known among his colleagues for being the one that can make the usually stoic detective crack the dorkiest smile ever. Or, well, was well-known, until Washington was charged with his murder. Could their relationship really have gone that sour that quickly?

The only characters of import that I have yet to cast are Doyle’s wife and son, and the hippy that makes DuFresne’s job harder than usual. Any ideas from those who know both franchises?

(Also, please don’t judge me for my choice of given names of the Freelancer and Chorus characters. I put a lot of thought into them.)

#Red vs Blue #Ghost Trick #AU #was going to tag all the characters #but tumblr won't let me bc there's too many #i'll just tag the ships then #grimmons #tuckington #kimbalina #sharkgirl?#I couldn't think of a better name

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thehomierobbstark · 6 years ago

Text

Let’s Talk About Sex

Chapter 2 Intermission Chapter 3

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader [#TeamErikDon’tDateWhiteChicks]

Prompt: Aight, so iOKnoW bout yall but… I got some mad ‘fears’ about sex 😂😂😂. I got so many questions, so many horrible imaginations, so many embarrassing ass scenarios I’ve thought of in my head about what might happen when I finally do the do. Basically, ya girl been thankin (thinking) too much, and I done fucked around and thought up this shit. HUUUUGEEE shoutout to the BP groupchat for not only always keeping me entertained but for feelin me on this fic lmao. I’m so glad I’m not the only one who feel this way. Also shoutout to Poosy for her word contribution lmao.

A/N: Ya’ll…. this really the shit that be going thru my mind lmfao like this really what I think about XD. I tried color coding the dialogue because I thought it would be too confusing but then I failed so fuck it XD. Also, it may seem like some of the words are grammatically incorrect or misspelled n the dialogue but it’s because I wanted you to read it like you would a text or message to better understand the delivery.

Warnings: At the bottom 👇🏿👇🏿👇🏿n uhhhhh yeah sit back and enjoy the journey 😂😂😂😂

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!! x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okayyy… you ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” You fidget nervously, fingers sweating between the joints, your heart skipping beats while you keep your eyes locked with Erik’s.

“Alright on three. One…two…three!”

At the same time, both of you flip over your papers, holding them out in front of you to show each other.

Your eyes eagerly scan over Erik’s paper, mind quickly gobbling up all the information the printed form had to offer you.

Your brain checked off each result as it read through:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patient: STEVENS, ERIK Gender: MALE Age: 26 DOB: 08/16/1992

COMPREHENSIVE STD PANEL RESULTS:

CHLAMYDIA NEGATIVE

GONORRHEA NEGATIVE

HIV TYPE 1 NON -REACTIVE

HIV TYPE 2 NON -REACTIVE

HERPES TYPE 1 NEGATIVE

HERPES TYPE 2 NEGATIVE

SYPHILIS RPR NEGATIVE

HEPATITIS A VIRUS ANITBODY NON -REACTIVE

HEPATITIS B VIRUS ANTIBODY NON -REACTIVE

HEPATITIS C VIRUS ANTIBODY NON -REACTIVE

Thank you for choosing Planned Parenthood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A huge sigh of relief releases from your chest, sounding like a gush of wind as it escapes through your lips.

“Oh okay, so thats how u feel,” Erik griped, giving you a side eye look.

You ignore him, not even bothering to look for his reaction at your results, knowing they were all negative like you both knew they’d be.

Just as quickly as it left, your anxiety came rearing back as you snatched his test from his hands to take a closer look, eyes wide. “Wait! What does Non - Reactive mean?!”

“So you just gon ignore me then.”

“That means negative right? Where’s my phone!” your hands swing out to the sides to blindly feel around the couch before scooping up your device.

“-_____- really.”

“Okay! Okay, google says a non-reactive result means…” You mumbled over the quick-definition google supplied as you looked for the important bits, scanning between the paper and your phone. “ … and that no anti-bodies were found! So no!”

“Omg.”

You do a little happy dance as you double check to make sure all five tests define non reactive in the same way while Erik rolls his eyes.

“Y/N you fr googled that.”

“Yes nigga! Sexual health is important and I wanna make sure I’m clear and confident in my understanding of the results!”

“Okay, well, you makin a nigga feel bad n shit gettin all worried over his test results. What, you don’t trust me baby?” Erik looks at you, and his face is pouted downcast, almost looking like a adorably sad pitbull.

“Aww baby no!” You deny, immediately throwing your arms around him to comfort him, pecking his forehead with annoying kisses as you smush his face into your chest. He grumbly accepts your kisses, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“But I mean…. you was kinda a thotpocket back in the day tho..” You joke, shrugging, and he playfully pushes you back and sucks his teeth.

“Mann stfu. You just acting all extra cuz your body count lower.”

“Erik, for the last time, I’ve never had sex before.” You say, crossing your arms to help your statement seem more serious than you felt. Erik was always messing with you, saying he couldn’t believe that you’d never had sex before at 25, and that there was just no way.

“Nah.” He states simply.

Your neck reels back a little bit.

“Wachu mean Nah??” You get ready to defend your undefiled past and the normalcy of 20+ virgins when he leans forward to nibble on your neck, distracting you.

“I mean..” He pulls your waist against him and reaches back to grab two handfuls of ass as he keeps nibbling.

“…nah, ain’t no fuckin way you this damn fine and you ain’t ever had nobody at least worship for hours between these thighs.” He rubs all over you, fingers gliding across the beautiful curves and body rolls that covered your voluptuous frame as he presses hungry kisses with delicious pressure against your throat.

“Nigga, you’re corny as fuck.” you try to insult him, but he gives a fat wet lick right above your collarbone that feels so good, and he squeezes your ass at the breathy moan that slips out of your mouth.

He pauses his ministrations on your body and pulls back from you, chuckling and shaking his head a little before resting his forehead against yours.

“What?” You ask him, thinking he’s poking fun at you. While you may have technically been a virgin, you and Erik had definitely been routinely messing around a lot.

In between your latest heavy petting and make out sessions, Erik had a bet going to see how quickly he could get you to moan without sticking his hands down your pants. He bet 30 seconds, you bet 45. So far you hadn’t been able to make it past 38.

“You’re the horniest, freakiest, yet most innocent virgin I’ve ever met.”

A part of you wanted to ask just how many virgins he’d met, but you decided to nip your jealous possessive side in the bud before it could get the better of you. It wasn’t time for her right now.

He leans back to look you in the face, his eyes pulling at the corners exposing the teasing smile he was trying to hide.

“Umm excuse me?! What do you mean innocent? If I recall correctly, didn’t I just have you creaming your bitch ass pants the other week from just grinding on you?” You throw at him, triumphantly crossing your arms and looking down at him.

“Why they gotta be bitch ass tho.”

When you’re heavy petting session last week had suddenly turned into a full blown dry grinding competition, Erik had been so caught off guard by the intensity he actually came all over himself inside his brand new black velvet joggers he’d just bought (in your defense, the velvet did feel really nice against the thong you had on).

The bewildered look on his face made you laugh so hard, you actually keeled over and fell off the arm of the couch. He was over it at that point, storming off to the bathroom muttering threats about ‘getting that ass back,”, hence the bet you were currently losing.

“Also, lets not act like you not the same girl who can’t even watch male masturbation videos without making a face.”

“First of all there’s nothing sexy about seeing a dude jack off, so you can stop right there.”

“That’s because you’ve never seen ME jack off.” He jokes crudely. “Bet money I’d have your mouth watering within the first five strokes.”

“Probably watering because I’m bout to throw up,” You giggle childishly, a goofy grin on your face.

“Aight Y/N, you keep talking all that shit and we gon see who really still bout that action once I get them panties off.”

Your giggles come to a screeching halt as you gasp, and he buries his teeth in the side of your neck, his hands starting to wonder down south into the back of your compression shorts.

You fight hard not to moan again this time while he chews lightly on your neck when you suddenly start to feel self conscious.

You unconsciously start squirming around on top of him, both in pleasure and slight confusion as he massages your cheeks, one in each hand, pulling and scrunching them between his fingers. Your anxiety starts to slowly creep back up on you, and when he draws a line with his finger down your panties between your cheeks, you involuntarily clench up and yelp just as he reaches your taint. The feeling was stuck somewhere being too good yet too much at the same time. You damn near squeezed his finger to death before it could even reach its destination.

“Okay look,” you pull back, trying to reason with both him and your body. You didn’t mean to get jumpy all of a sudden but it’s like your muscles had a mind of their own.

“Baby wassup?” He immediately stops his movements and pulls his hands from you. “Did I hurt you?!” He immediately switched over from his sexually deviant demeanor to his overprotective one, concern lining his face.

“No, no baby your fine I’m just,” You blow out a breath, a little embarrassed by how twitchy you just got, and you try to shake it off by laughing at yourself.

It’s not like Erik had never groped you there before, but for some reason it felt 10x more serious now that you both basically had the green light since you’d received your test results back.

You knew both of you would almost immediately try to jump each other’s bones once you’d get the chance, but now that it was here it’s like the part of your brain that was previously occupied with worries of false negatives and unclear test results had been replaced with insecurities you didn’t even realize you had until this very moment.

“What? You good?” Erik was still studying your face, trying to see where your head was at.

“Yeah, yeah, no I’m good,” You close your eyes and nod quickly, “I just…umm…”, you’re face grows hot as you try to get out the next words, “.. I just got a little…. nervous…??” You peek an eye open. “I guess???”

You were trying so hard to relax and let go of your anxiety, but you just couldn’t stop feeling so nervous. Especially not when you started to worry about what he might think about it.

“Can I uh.. maybe take a shower first? Or something?” You said trying to gear the conversation back into a normal flow. If you could just take a shower real quick…

“Yeah, of course, but what’s this about?” He still looked at you, eyeing you cautiously.

“I just don’t feel clean right now,” you say, making up excuses trying to find a way out of his wandering hands.

“Y/N, I just finished rubbing your clit in the car ride over here, what do you mean you’re not clean? Are you worried that I’m worried about that?” he asks you, not believing you’re serious about this.

“I meannn, it’s been like 30 minutes tho.” You lie.

“Y/N, I don’t care about that. I’m tryna see how you taste now and then. I don’t care if you still have cum on you, I’m eating that too.”

“Okay well I have to go to the bathroom, so..” You try to move off of him and onto the floor but he holds you still, not letting you escape.

Erik sighs. “Y/N, whats really goin on? It’s okay, you can tell me.” His eyes shift between yours like he’s trying to find the answer. “If you’re not ready to have sex yet, that’s okay. We don’t have to do this today baby.” He rubs at your legs tenderly, trying to comfort you.

“No, it’s not that, I just…” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for your next words. “I wanted to shave first. Because I have hair.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Shave? I just felt how trimmed you were-”

“Not that part.” You state plainly, hoping he’d catch your drift but have enough decency not to make it too obvious once he did.

“Y/N, I swear to god if you say legs I’m gonna-”

“Oh my God Erik my asshole, okay! I need to shave my asshole!” Your face is burning now from the embarrassment of having to say that out loud to your boyfriend and you feel like melting right into the couch into a puddle of nothingness.

The silence only lasts two seconds, but its one second too long for you and you try and scramble off his lap to go hide in the bathroom in shame. A gigantic bark of laughter breaks through from Erik’s chest, and it scares the life out of you, causing you to accidentally stumble onto the floor.

Erik’s doubled over in laughter now, tears threatening his eyes and you almost think he’s laughing at you when he rolls off the couch after you, laying his heavy body on top of yours and pinning you to the floor to keep you from getting away. He gets his last bits of laughter out with his face buried in your middle, and when he finally calms down he looks up, resting his chin on your torso.

“Y/N,” He states, looking at you.

“Erik.” you answer, avoiding his eyes.

“Y/N.” He leans in closer to you.

You clear your throat, still looking off somewhere else. “What Erik.”

“Do you really honestly think that some ass hair is gonna gross me out. Do you really think that?” He’s still smiling, looking at you with so much amusement and pure love in his eyes.

When he puts it that way, it makes you feel a little ridiculous thinking about how weird you just got over body hair.

“I mean… kinda?” You say honestly, and you finally look back at him.

“I know it seems stupid but I feel like thats not..”

“Normal?” He supplies for you. You nod your head in agreement.

“Baby,” he softly says, “Ass hair is totally normal. You know that.”

You did. “But I still feel like no one ever talks about it, and you never see it in porn. Not even the homemade ones.” Yeah sure it was normal but it still felt like this dirty ugly thing no one was supposed to speak about.

“Babygirl a lot of people have ass hair. Shit, I have ass hair. Most of the girls I’ve been with had ass hair.” He chuckles again a little, comfortable with the topic you were so afraid was gonna be awkward.

Your ears prick up at his last sentence, and you lean up a little bit. Something he said caught your attention and you looked at him intently.

“Really?” You ask, looking him in the eyes.

“Really what?” He looks at you confused.

“Really, most of the girls you’ve been with had ass hair?” You look up at him, so shocked.

“Yeah. And the ones who didn’t were always waxed anyway. I promise you baby, its not a weird thing.” He assures you, trying to make sure you really understood him.

You sat there for a second, looking off into space as your thoughts started working. And then just like that, your mind all but cleared itself as realization finally dawned on you. And you started laughing.

Not a single part of you could really care how many chicks Erik had slept with, you were just so glad that almost all of them had ass hair just like you did. You were honestly so grateful that he told you that last part, otherwise you would have never been sure whether or not you really believed him when he said it didn’t bother him.

In this one, small, truly insignificant instance with Erik, you were for once really glad you weren’t an exception to the rule.

Erik joins in your humble laughter, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. You close your eyes and kiss back, returning it with softer slower kisses as you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close.

After a minute he breaks away, letting his forehead rest against yours.

“I really love you Y/N. And the fact that you want me to be the one to share this experience with you makes me feel really lucky,”. He rolls you both over onto your side on the floor, giving your body a break from his heavy frame, and to be able to look at you better.

“I’d never jeopardize what we have for something as trivial as body hair. I mean, sometimes I still can’t even believe that I really get to call you all mine, and I just refuse to believe that nobody else has been able to see what’s been so obvious to me from the beginning.”

Erik shuffles around nervously under your gaze, and this time he’s the one trying to avoid your eyes. You could tell he was in a really vulnerable state, not only from his body language but also with how he was trying to verbally express himself. It was always really difficult for the both of you to say how you felt about each other, not because you didn’t know the words, but because for some reason they always seemed to sound wrong in your ears once they came out your mouth.

You, however, knew exactly what he was trying to say, because he’d said it before. Not with words, but with actions.

Ever since Erik met you a year ago he’d done just about everything he could think of to let you know that he was all about you. Constant flirting, unexpected phone calls, surprise gifts to let you know he was thinking of you. It had thrown you off at first because you’d never been in a relationship before, so you couldn’t figure out if he was playing with you or not.

It took three whole months of nearly daily texting, dinner dates, late night car drives and ugly pre-work facetime calls (he swears you always looked beautiful, but the never ending eye crust you were always finding kept you second guessing) for you to finally take him seriously.

After a long conversation with yourself about taking chances and ‘trusting the universe’, you let yourself fall head first into the completely new experience of a relationship with Erik. You were determined to come out the other side just as soft and open-hearted as you were going into it, refusing to let whatever experience you had turn you cold to the idea of romantic love.

And so far, the experience had been everything you could’ve hoped for, and so much more.

Sure, there were bad days, and you were still too stubborn and he was too bossy and you both definitely needed to learn to listen more. But you were sohappy. And for the first time, you felt something with him you hadn’t been able to feel in a really long time. You felt secure.

So Erik didn’t need to say anything else, because you already knew exactly what he what he was trying to say.

He shifted his eyes again, about to open his mouth to try again and clarify when you cup his face in your hand, running a thumb over his lips to shush him.

“It’s okay Erik. I know.”

And you did.

The truth was, before him, you’d never really let anyone get close enough to try and be with you in a romantic way. You were always brushing off advances you thought were too good to be true and downplaying the other person’s feelings, no matter how hard you felt yours. For a long time you thought that maybe you weren’t supposed to end up with anyone at all, and that your life journey was supposed to be about learning how to be on your own instead or something.

While you didn’t consider romance to be a super important part of life, you always wondered if maybe there was something that you were missing out on. You almost felt broken sometimes, like maybe there was just something about you that made you unworthy of being loved and cherished the way you saw your friends and family being by their significant others.

It took a lot of hard work and self reflection for you to finally get away from your negative thoughts, and you still struggled from time to time, but you were doing a lot better.

Being with Erik didn’t solve your problems, or cure your self doubt, or make you feel ‘complete’, but it did make you feel really warm and safe inside, and neither of you were willing to give up that feeling.

So he was right. He really did get to call you all his in every sense of the word. You took a chance on love, and you were lucky enough to fall into it with someone who shared just as much passion as you did. You’d be crazy not to give something like that your all.

Both of you lay there on the floor, looking into each others eyes with a level of understanding and comfort you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to truly explain. He holds your hand drawing heart shapes into your palm, the only sound being your favorite Spotify playlist that you didn’t realize was playing off in the background somewhere.

You’d been working on that playlist since before you even met Erik, song choices ranging from early 70′s love songs to present day baby makers. It was your sex playlist. Even if you weren’t in the mood most of your favorite songs were on there.

“When did it start playing music?” your eyebrows furrow in confusion, peeking around for the source of the speakers.

“When I was trying to seduce your jumpy ass on the couch,” he answers matter-of-factly.

“N’Jadaka Stevens, were you trying to woo me?!” You tease him, poking at his stomach trying to tickle him a little bit.

He suck his teeth, caught. “Ok, maybe I was. So what?’

“Awww…” you say dramatically, making a show of it. You pause for a second “… gay ass.”

He laughs, mushing your face away, grinning like a little boy.

“Whatever. Shut your goofy ass up and come over here and lose this bet again.” He says, fake annoyed, and gets up to sit back on the couch, pulling you with him. You settle into his lap, resting your arms in place around his shoulders.

He starts placing soft kisses on your shoulders, starting off slowly. You already knew how this was gonna go and you throw your head back, whining.

“Ugh, I’m tired of losing this game dammit,” You huff to cover up the moan you already felt creeping up your throat. “Can’t we just skip to the fun part pleasee?”

You amp it up a little by plastering on an obnoxiously toothy smile, and he purposely ignores you to keep from faltering under your heart-melting grin.

“Mmmm…” He fake thinks about it for a moment, moving his lips up to the crook of your neck to tickle you with the vibrations. “No.”

Before you even get the chance to pout he scoops up your face in his hand, squeezing a little to make your lips poke out cutely.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t even start that shit.” He deadpans. “If you want me to fuck you, you need to open up your mouth and say it. Otherwise sit back and hush and let me warm up my dinner.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warnings: A lil cheesy, a lil corny, a lil cliché, a lil fluffy. Just a lil of errthang XD. Also! Dare I say… romance?!?! (O.o)

Oh yeah this is a new series. Did I forget to mention that?

“Homie, how tf you gonna make a whole new series and you can’t even finish the ones you ha-”

Hush now child.

#lets not drag me for something i can't explain XD XD XD XD #erik killmonger #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger x black!reader #black panther #bp #black panther fanfiction #black panther fandom #TheHomieFics #l.t.a.s.

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sailolive93-blog · 5 years ago

Text

The best Guide to Reddit Marketing around 2019

"Yep, i do all my modelling in C4D as I just know the tools so well there. I do minimal retopology in Zbrush on organic shapes but any hard surfaces I make in C4D. I'd recommend the "Introduction to Subdivision modelling in C4D" by Shane Benson on Vimeo (he goes by Sheppard O'Neill on YouTube if you prefer that) and it was his tuts that got me into box and subdiv modelling.

I'm also releasing a modelling workshop in C4D and models from the kitchen scene that these belong to will be in there to learn. Just not these two as they belong to marketing for the workshop. very well "Brand new Reddit account with two extensive comments defending Boa Vista Orchards huh...? We joked earlier about spotting the Boa Vista account in here but it looks like we actually have lol! > I just talked to the dude who does the marketing for Apple Hill and he sent me this So you just randomly talked to the guy and he emailed over his entire statement...? " "I too wonder why they didn’t just create a new line and call it the mach-e instead of mustang, I believe it has something to do with the marketing department since they knew it’ll stir a lot of discussion" "Precedent suggests it depends on the marketing around the product being sold and the implied purpose. " "Wow, ha. The fact that you think that it’s ok for the government to strip away my personal health insurance so that I HAVE to be on the same shitty plan on everybody else is crazy. If healthcare is “free” and universal, the quality of healthcare is bound to decrease. I can choose to pay for whatever the fuck I want and whatever healthcare I want. I give to charity and I have plans on giving a lot more to charity as I get further in my career and start making more money. Believe it or not, you aren’t the only one that cares about people just because you want “free” healthcare for everybody. And there is also no such thing as free healthcare. It has to be paid somehow and middle class taxes will go up no matter how complicated you try to make the source of payment sound. And regarding free college, that will also raise middle class taxes. You keep bringing up this. 02% of financial transactions bullshit as if that’s going to cover all costs. Have you done studies on this yourself? Do you even know that? You act like all these things can be magically paid for without anybody in the middle class being negatively affected. I have a bachelor’s degree and I didn’t feel like college was very challenging. It was more like a series of annoying classes I didn’t need when all of college could have been boiled down into one year of the core classes of my major of marketing. College is a fuckin scam and it’s only truly necessary for a very limited amount of majors. You’re just another minion that kisses the feet of big-government Democrats that try to make us feel like horrible people for not allowing them to sucks insane amounts of money out of the economy and spend it how they would like to. inch "That's including the localization teams for every language though, as well as PR and marketing. >! Some of them might even be legacy accreditation for the Gen 6 models they're *still* using.! < " "Time is a cost and you should track where that cost is going. That said, if you are working on general administrative/nonbillable stuff within your own department, it's pretty easy to have that time automatically go to the right cost bucket, so generic entries for that sort of thing are fine imo. The stuff that really has to be tracked is anything for clients or for departments that are outside your default (e. g. engineer writes a blog post, that's marketing time etc). micron "I believe there are some lessons on Google Academy for Adss (now called Skillshop) but hands-on experience is tricky. Two ways are possible, 1) is for you to have your own website and use Google Ad Sense, but this is more from the advertiser side rather than publisher or technical side 2) ask a digital or marketing agency that is near you if you can shadow/assist/internship/work experience for a week or so. This may be difficult depending on where you live and agency people are always very busy, so if you do ask tell them how you could help THEM not the other way around. To be honest, start with Analytics and Paid Search as they are arguable more accessible and have more out there for you to learn" "We are in the same boat, but different industry. Here's my approach, starting this week: I'm joining business groups that my target clients are a part of, for example, manufacturer groups. Then I'm going to target that organization with our services. I'm then going to offer to speak about the service I offer and how it helps businesses. Not a marketing spiel, an educational talk. Good luck" "One might consider a lawsuit if a car or alcohol company advocated or implied the action of drinking and driving in their marketing" "This post has been removed for breaking Rule 1. No Spammy Titles. Do not mention anything about selling anything in the title. Absolutely ZERO marketing in the title. Do not even ask for people to contact you for more. Be enticing. Post quality pics with quality titles. Read the rules for info on how to market yourself here. If your posts keep getting removed then you will be banned. READ THE RULES! *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Remember to[contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/? to=/r/feetpics) if you have any questions or concerns. *" "I came of grew up and came of age in Chicago during Jordan's time with the Bulls and the shortest answer is that it's almost incomparable because the level of fame basketball players before Michael Jordan was laughably lower than now. Even today MJ has a logo that might be more identifiable than the company that created it. I would argue no athlete in any sport has surpassed MJ's level of fame. MJ pioneered so many avenues of endorsements, its like comparing planes in the era of propeller planes with jet planes. Jordan like most greats, stood on the shoulders of giants, specifically Larry Bird and Magic Johnson. Those two spent the better part of the late 70's and early to late 80's dominating the sport of basketball. Also add in Isiah Thomas of the Pistons and arguably "Dr. J" Julius Erving of the 76ers and those four were the superstars of the four teams that won EVERY NBA championship of the decade. Before Michael Jordan won his FIRST NBA Championship in 1991, he was arguably bigger than all of them. Before MJ, being a big name athlete meant getting your name on a breakfast cereal box called Wheaties, and doing the commercial saying the plug line "Gotta eat your Wheaties! " That's not a joke. Check 'em out on youtube, they're cringe worthy. MJ's meteoric rise in my opinion was helped by a few special advertising campaigns. I think first would have been his Nike commercials with Spike Lee, another pioneer. He just made "Do the right thing" at a time when black people making movies with black people in the movies wasn't really a thing. Spike Lee also happens to like playing characters in his own movies and Mars Blackmon was a character in that movie that Spike Lee chose to portray in a series of commericals with Michael Jordan. Again, pardon me for repeating, but I have to say it again for context. You have a supremely talented and charismatic young athlete being marketed by a young shoe company (Converse Chuck Taylors were still THE basketball shoe) hiring a visionary and ground breaking director to do something that had not been done before. And they crushed it. Again, at this time Michael Jordan wasn't winning NBA championships. He was having savant level performances, but get bounced out of the first round by the Celtics, or getting manhandled in the playoffs by the Pistons. By the time he did win it all in 91, MJ was doing things that no one had done in fields well outside basketball. Michael Jordan in Flight is one of the first videogames to have 3D. He had already supplanted Dr J in the one on one basketball video game with Larry Bird. Gatorade put out a marketing campaign with the song "Be Like Mike" and that song was the top song for the summer of 92 in Chicago on most radio stations regardless of genre. You're already familiar with Space Jam, but before Space Jam, the Looney Toons were relegated to afternoon after school syndicated (rerun) television stations. Michael Jordan made Bugs Bunny cool again to a whole new generation that knows of them only through MJ. I hope that helps. inches "Yeah I don't want to turn it around and criticize Musk over this or anything, but Tesla is great at PR and marketing while convincing people they don't actually try to be. inches "No, you dont need more parties, you need to ban all parties and establish government funded elections where everyone with a certain amount of support by the people can run using government money and marketing channels. Equal funding, equal marketing, equal candidacy, by the people, for the people. Sounds too good to be true? Well fuck you, because parties are corrupt barbaric cavemen shit. " " Funny Cartoon Images for website content - Family Funny Images and illustrations, Ultimate single panel funny cartoons used for websites, social media and emails https://www.freecartoonsdaily.com https://www.cartoons.cafe www.cartoons.cafe www.acmeblanks.com sign up now! Funny Cartoons, Funny family cartoon images, Custom Cartoons, Niche Cartoons, Humorous Illustration Services, Business Cartoons, Medical Cartoons, Custom Comic Strips, Book Illustration Services, Political Cartoons, funny hospital cartoons, cartoons for marketing, corporate cartoons, work cartoons, business cartoons, Computer Cartoons, farmer cartoons, farm cartoons, tractor cartoons, Pig cartoons, pig farmer cartoons, cor farmer cartoons, wheat farmer cartoons, soybean farmer cartoons.... inch "That's including people associated with the marketing and promotion of Sword and Shield, which means people at Nintendo and the Pokemon Company rather than actual programmers at Game Freak working on the game itself. The same article you're looking at gives 200 at Game Freak - which is likely wrong since Game Freak had 143 employees, and Game Freak openly stated most were working on Town. You could include the modelers from Creatures Inc, but given that the models are the same as those developed for X and Y by Creatures Inc years ago, they are likely still being credited for "work" on this game that was actually done quite some time ago. " "Imagine what a lucky break JonTron was for FlexSeal. Their products are actually pretty decent, but their marketing was almost typical infomercial stuff that no-one over fifty would've seen. Next, out of nowhere, some YouTuber makes them famous amongst younger customers. People make "that's a lotta damage, " and "I sawed this boat in half, " memes. Everyone knows who they are. Chances are, when you need some stuff like this you'll at the very least know about their existence and you might buy their stuff because at least you know they're legit. Some people will buy it when they need something like that, literally for the meme. All they have to do is keep the ball rolling with tweets like these (because, of course, people actually follow them on Twitter now). " "That's my point. The pub you linked to is disney land. I'm looking for somewhere that recreates the a more authentic historical experience. I think these places have got their marketing wrong which is why they are closing. They should be trying to recreate an experience closer to that in the Pathe news reel. If you just sold fresh baked bread, potted Hare, a variety of local ales you could heat with a poker while smoking a hilarious pipe you could capture a huge slice of the real ale / hipster / foodie market. " "No game in the genre had been competition for the Diablo franchise since it's inception. D3 no matter how you look at it was a huge commercial success being in the top 10 video games sold of all time at one point. Diablo now has become what WoW was before, tons of games saying they are a WoW killer and none of them doing it. So now we looming at Diablo killers but they all end up falling off somewhere because they don't get the same $$$ support / marketing. inch "8M opening weekend bad = bad marketing. Bad quality movie would be revealed in the multiplier (word of mouth and no rewatches). In this case I don’t think there was anything compelling from the movie they could focus the marketing around which led to the 8M OW. " "I’m in the same boat. I have to get 14 credits by may2020. In the last 2 weeks I did principle of marketing 3 credits score 66 and principal of management 3 credits score 62. This week I’ll take precalculas which is 5 credits and calculus which is 4 credits. I did not pay the $89 for the test because I did modernstates which pays the testing fee. It also reimburses me for the $20 testing fee" "Marketing. McAf€€ gets money from users, Micro$oft gets money from McAfee. They beget the green, motherfuckers that they are. Sometimes http://tipofmytongue.topreddit.info who install 3^^rd party stuff tho, it's not only Microsoft. Anyway, it's a motherfuckery of bloatware if not malware. "McAfee antivirus is one of the worst products on the planet" -John McAfee" "You're arguing entirely from marketing hype instead of actual quality, which is entirely stupid and comes down entirely to Sont having far greater of a userbase and them having less games to pump more money behind. Besides, let's not pretend Sony has an actual library of games here. Both Xbox and Sony have completely shit the bed this console generation in terms of exclusive libraries. Sony has had like, 8 good games this entire generation as exclusives. You have Death Stranding, Uncharted 4, Horizon, Until Dawn, Bloodborne, God of War, MLB The Show... That's about it? I guess you also have Detroit and Last Guardian depending on who you ask, but I defo don't wanna throw Days Gone on that list. But in any case, you could lump all of those games into loke 3-4 genres. Am I missing anything? But yeah, stop saying dumb shit like "Well its not a household name so its irrelevant" because you're entirely missing the point and reducing the entire industry to what can or can't be marketed. As well, its telling that Sony has stated their goal next-gen is to have less games release but have them be bigger, where Microsoft is going the opposite direction. Keep the the big titles, bur also have a little something for everyone. Diversity is important. Your Battletoads reboot might not sell as well, but its important to folks who like it. Games shouldn't be live or die based on how well they fit in established and marketable trends. Its absurdly reductive" "I actually never had injected one, whats the main difference? And is it really a big improvement or rather a marketing bait" "It’s all part of his NYC persona. Marketing. inches

#tag #statics

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gerbiloftriumph · 5 years ago

Photo

Captive Crown

(also on ao3)

Someone wanted the newly crowned King of Daventry and all his friends dead. Someone got close, once.

(warnings for the whole thing: kidnapping, bruising, starvation, nightmares, healthy dosage of angsty musing, sicfic, story-coherent vehicle for all my favorite ch2 headcanons)

~*~*~

4/7

(1: to steal)(2: to hide)(3: to seek)(4: to find)(5: to break)(6: to mend)(7: to heal, and to end)

~*~*~

It started with a dry cough early in the morning. Hardly more than a tickle. Graham sipped water from the rose fountains and cleared his throat, but it wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t normally raise much thought, but he was sneaking around in places he wasn’t supposed to be sneaking. He held his cloak against his mouth to try and stifle the sounds while he was deep in the back tunnels, not sure who might be listening. Annoying, but manageable.

He scrambled through pipeworks and scraped through narrow gaps, hunting for anything that could help them escape. And he found bolt cutters. Half sunken in moldering porridge oozing from a broken pipe, but…bolt cutters. It was almost too perfect. He paused before fishing them out. This didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like a trap that had already been sprung.

He was being paranoid. He was being silly. But, as Graham looked at the broken pipe, at the bolt cutters, at the chair someone short had clearly stood on to reach the pipe’s suspension chains, something prickled the hair on the back of his neck.

Someone had intentionally stopped the food. To starve him and his friends. Kill him. That someone hadn’t expected the goblins to get bored and let Graham out, or else they would have taken this tool, this key to freedom, with them. They were careless in their certainty of victory.

And, with a sick twist in his empty stomach, Graham’s suspicions became just a little clearer.

Distracted, he didn’t notice his cough becoming more frequent as he stumbled back into familiar prison paths with the bolt cutters hidden in the folds of his cloak. Didn’t notice the cough starting to sound wet as he freed Bramble and Wente. Didn’t notice the ache cutting into his throat as he and Bramble stumbled out into the city to find help, alarm bells chasing them down the tunnels.

But now he sank against the wall of some goblin house in some hidden side street, trying to breathe as another coughing attack consumed him. It could no longer be ignored. Something was wrong with him, and it was getting worse.

Bramble glanced at him. “Majesty, that really doesn’t sound good. We should stop and rest.”

“No, no,” he said, waving a hand, staring fixedly at the uneven stones beneath his boots rather than at her, sure she would see guilt on his face if he looked up, his fear that they were going to be caught because his coughing was too loud, unstoppable. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” His voice was tight against yet another outbreak. “It’ll clear. We’ll get hot tea. Once we’re home.”

“Some soup wouldn’t go amiss right now either.” Bramble pressed a hand to her belly.

He nodded blearily. His knees sort of gave out a little bit, and then a little bit more, and then a little bit more again. He sank down the wall slowly, cloak bunching around his ears, until he was almost sitting on the ground.

Bramble leaned against the wall above him and said cheerfully, “That’s it, that’s what we needed. You breathe easy for a minute, Majesty.”

“N-no, wait, I said we didn’t need to stop.” He started to struggle up.

She pressed on his shoulder. “I think the rest of you ignored that. May as well listen to the majority.” She frowned into the darkness. “The majority of me wants Wente, but I know he’s helping the others as best he can, the dear.”

“Bramble, I—”

“No, you stay put,” she said, pushing down harder. “I might be your subject, speaking technically, but I’m still older than you, and a Mother-To-Be, and that has to count for something. I can at least make orders when I can see matters of health and heart, and both are telling us to pause. We won’t be long.” She sighed and closed her eyes, smile a touch strained when she thought he couldn’t see.

Graham wrapped his arms around his knees and listened to the city. To the low murmurs and clatters of stone against stone. The clank of metal. The steady, faraway wash of the underground river splashing against the weird little underground dock where the mattress raft had been tethered. How many days ago had that been? No way to be sure, not yet.

Little glowing dust motes danced between the buildings. A kaleidoscope of colored fungi illuminated street corners and windows. He searched the skyline (caveline?), hunting for a glimpse of that tall structure he’d seen from the prison tower. Their destination.

They had to get to the goblin castle. They had to see the goblin king. That was the only way they could get all the villagers out safely, could make it back to the surface without pursuit or loss. He had to convince the king to free them, but how? Going in swords blazing wouldn’t be the right move, even if he had a sword or the strength to swing it. It would have to be words.

Yeah, right. Like that could ever work.

This wasn’t the first time they’d ducked into some forgotten side alley. They often hid behind buildings and stairs and in shallow dark spaces while they waited out goblins. The little stone-shielded citizens of this place tended to amble carelessly, meandering along the roads in packs. Some of them wore ragged fairy tale costumes. Tattered wolf ear headbands, or scraps of elaborate princess dresses, with battered wooden weapons more suited for make believe than actual combat strapped to their sides. But then again, the real, sharp spears were just as abundant.

Bramble had saved them half a dozen times by now. She somehow sensed goblins half a street over, well before Graham ever noticed. When he asked how she heard them from so far away, she told him that the sounds of their masks scratching against their armor sounded almost like that singing crackle bread gets when it starts to cool down after the oven. “It’s easy to hear since it’s one of my favorite sounds,” she had said. “Or it was a favorite sound. Now I rather like hearing Wente singing when he’s mixing something good.” She smiled shyly, ears going pink beneath her cap.

Now, Graham looked up at her. “Bramble?”

“If you’re about to tell me you’re sorry you dragged me here instead of Amaya again, I’m going to be very cross.”

“No, I, uh. Wanted to thank you. For being here. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

“Don’t make me blush again, either.” She grinned, and he could see the determination in her shoulders, in her eyes. She wasn’t in great shape after the imprisonment, but she was still carrying herself in an undeniably Bramble sort of way. A mother (To-Be) scorned and ready to take someone to task with stern words and an open heart. Even after all this, she still didn’t seem to bear hatred in her, though it would have been well within her rights.

Maybe that’s what these story-loving goblins needed? Maybe some compassionate, determined angle with the goblin king was the best route to freedom. Maybe words could win. He would have laughed at the ideas starting to build up in his head, but it burbled into another cough instead.

He swallowed again, cursing that cough and praying that his gradually creeping dizziness was just the result of stress.

~*~*~

As it happened, it worked. He never would have believed it, and yet, it worked.

Words won the day. Compassionate words, hidden in the phrasing of a story. A story that Graham found he knew how to tell very well—a story about himself, and his fears and uncertainties, and the friends he made, and the support he needed. The goblin king bowed to him and his story, ever so slightly, and that—somehow, in this dark place ruled by fantasies—was enough.

~*~*~

The adrenaline of facing the goblin king sparked through Graham’s spine and made him stand straight again, but once the king had agreed to let all of the Daventry citizens go, Graham felt all the excitement ebbing out of him to be replaced with a strange ache that he was sure hadn’t been there before. From his shoulders to his back to his legs, he felt dizzy and distant.

To be fair, by his count he’d been shaken down for contraband at least six times by now. The ache in his legs wasn’t exactly surprising, considering the goblins’ method of shakedown was to literally turn him upside down while gripping his legs, and, well, shake.

“What should we do?” everyone asked. Graham answered as best he could, but his mouth was running on its own, with very little input from him. His hands trembled; he grabbed the hem of his cloak so no one would notice. Just another side effect of stress. Nothing to be concerned about.

He stood listening to them all argue about routes and directions and glare at their reticent goblin guides, and all the while he thought, “Huh. My hair hurts. That’s new.”

Finally, impatiently, the Merchant stepped forward. He was easily in the best shape of them all, and overjoyed to have a freed caravan and two unicorns back (The Other One had been captured, too, though no one had shown much interest in the poor thing and had let it wander uselessly). He barked commands and directed their steps and threw his generous gut around. Graham was more than content to let him at it, following at a lagging pace until they broke out of the tighter tunnels and were able to climb aboard the rattling wagon. They crammed into narrow spaces between empty boxes and expired and crumbling miraculous ingredients. Exhausted but too nervy to doze in case their guides turned back into jailers, the group anxiously watched rocks roll past for an eternity until they broke into the overcast, rainy, late afternoon of Daventry. The first breath of fresh, free air came with a gentle sigh of relief.

*~*~*

The shout came from across the river, and the merchant slowed the cart ever so slightly from its careening gallop to listen. The cry was thus: “Ho there! Good wandering merchant!”

“What did you just call me?”

Whoever it was across the river hesitated for a long moment. “Good...merchant?”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s better.” The merchant leaned back and punched Graham in the shoulder. “’Ho there’—ha, what kinda medieval establishment you runnin’ here?”

Graham had his hands pressed over his mouth, but not from coughing this time. After a second he breathlessly managed to mumble, “Did you have to take that turn like that?” His adventurer’s cap, found in the tunnels near the goblin castle, had slipped down over one eye, and he looked positively green.

“Oh, so sorry. I’d think that pregnant lady’d be the one with morning sickness, not a strappin’ young lad like yourself, but hey, whatever. Also, what do you expect when I’ve got a soggy lump of bread for a wheel and one sick goa—uh, unicorn—and no thanks to you. It ain’t no flyin’ carpet ride: you gotta anticipate a bounce or two.” He turned back to face the river, and shouted, “Whaddya want?”

“Have you seen our king anywhere? Or...er...anyone, I guess?”

Graham shuddered, swallowed, and drew a deep breath to answer the guard, but the merchant had a thoughtful look on his face. Before Graham could speak, the merchant leaned back and whispered, “Hey, your magistrate. Scaly lumps of eel guts fried in peanut oil and pickle juice.” Graham blinked, then clapped his hands back over his mouth, making horrible strangled noises. “Hey! You over there!” the merchant shouted, while Graham retched. “There’s a finder’s fee for getting your king and his merry band of villagers back to you, right?”

“A what now? Er. I mean. We don’t really have...yes, yes of course! Did you have an amount in mind? Do you accept frogs as payment? Maybe installments over the course of…er…several years?”

“Oh, shining stars,” Graham groaned through his fingers and pulled himself to his feet. “We’re all here! Here!” His voice cracked and couldn’t carry far. He waved, but he lost his balance and fell back among the boxes.

“King Graham? Is that you?” the guard craned his neck. “Gods, is it really you? Where have you been? We wrote your mother. Have you seen the others? We’ve been so worried. Poor Olfie’s been wandering for days looking! Even Acorn offered to go out. Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you okay? I hope I’m not overwhelming you again. I’m sorry. I am, aren’t I? Maybe we should write an addendum about this or something. I’m glad you’re back. That was you, wasn’t it? I’m pretty sure it was you. Hard to see in this rain. The water gets in the helmet dreadfully.”

The merchant sighed and glanced at Graham. “Well. I’m still gonna ask if I can get a small finder’s fee. Think of all the merch that went to waste. All the missed business opportunities! I deserve a little recompense, eh?” He paused. Graham frowned, clearly about to argue, and the merchant added cheerfully, “Leftover shrimp twice baked in orange yogurt sauce drizzled with chocolate.”

#King's Quest #kings quest #King Graham #goodbye game signposts i'll miss you as i journey into melodramatic original sickfic territory #goblin appreciation blog #ch2 #fic'ing

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11jj11 · 7 years ago

Text

Don’t Give Up -- Chapter Four -- Amourshipping

Here’s chapter four!

Chapter Four

One year since the war began:

“I know you’re missing your wife and all, but I really don’t think a Lucario is your type–”

“Shut up B-blake,” Ash growled, eyes pressed shut in concentration. His brow was knitted close together, lips twitching. Both of his hands were wrapped around Lucario’s paws, who had her eyes closed as well. Her aura sensors were spread out, a blue glow surrounding their hands. “It’s n-not f-funny.”

Blake cracked a grin, leaning up against a tree. “Of course, but if someone were to come by they might get the wrong idea–”

“Lucario said she’s g-going to give you an Aura Sphere to the gut if y-you don’t shut up,” Ash growled, he and Lucario pressing foreheads, a blue glow forming beneath their closed eyelids. “We’re trying to focus, aura is not an e-easy task.”

A bead of sweat ran down the back of his neck as he pushed his auratic abilities, trying to see what laid beyond the hills around them. Ash had been working with his aura ever since he had captured Lucario, but it wasn’t until the war he had truly learned how difficult it was to master. He had found there was a huge difference between having aura, and being an Aura Guardian. Even with his and Lucario’s combined efforts he usually found himself physically drained when he expanded his aura view beyond one’s normal sight.

“Holding hands, so difficult!” Blake chortled. “But a big step in any relationship!”

“L-lucario,” Ash grunted, opening one eye, which was filled with a blue glow. “How about instead of an A-aura Sphere to the g-gut, you give h-him a Low Kick right where it hurts?”

Blake paled a bit. “Really dude?”

“Shut up and l-let us focus,” Ash snapped back, glaring up at his friend. The blue void of his glowing eyes was enough to make Blake pale further. He stepped back, hands held up defensively. The Flareon on his shoulder rolled its eyes, and Ash pressed his forehead back up against Lucario’s.

“This aura stuff still creeps me out...” Blake muttered. “Can’t we just scout normally?”

It took Ash a moment to reply, his aura view currently showing him the many auras on the hills surrounding him. It was quite a sight, the whole land draped in a blue glow. The aura of Pokemon flared up across his vision, the plants’ aura slightly dimmer. Luckily there was no sign of enemy troops so far.

“If you want to get closer, and risk g-getting captured or shot at, b-be my guest,” Ash grunted. “Not only is th-this safer– but they c-can’t hide either–” Ash suddenly fell silent, and Blake glanced at him in concern.

“Ash?” He asked hesitantly.

“...Found them...” Ash whispered after a moment, opening his eyes alongside Lucario. The blue glow from their eyes and hands faded, and they broke apart. Ash stumbled, gasping for breath. Blake darted forward, catching Ash and gently lowering him to the ground. Lucario collapsed next to him, sweat covering both of them. Trainer and Pokemon looked like they had just ran several miles, looking utterly exhausted.

“Rai?” Raichu asked, offering Ash his canteen of water. Ash gratefully took it, chugging the liquid inside.

“Well?” Blake asked, kneeling down next to him. Ash looked up at him, a nervous look dancing in his brown eyes.

“They’re about two miles south of here, a fresh troop,” Ash panted. “H-heading this way with purpose– they must know where our camp is.”

“Kalosians?” Blake asked quietly, and Ash nodded.

“Yeah. And they have about two dozen Zoroarks with them– I have no idea what sort of illusion they could be casting, but it could e-easily be hiding them.” Ash muttered, starting to catch his breath. “We need to head back and warn them...”

Blake closed his eyes. “And what are we going to tell them!? No one else knows about your powers! And if there really is an illusion then no other scouts will see them!”

“Zoroark illusions have limits,” Ash said, shakily rising to his feet. He pulled out a Pokeball. “Lucario, you get some rest.”

Yes Master. She said, her telepathy only able to reach Ash’s mind. He nodded, recalling her into the sphere. Ash started stumbling back towards camp, Raichu at his heels, and Blake shook his head.

“No, dude! You need to rest– I know how much that aura stuff takes it out of you!” Blake insisted, pulling Ash back by his shoulder.

“There is an army coming that no one else can see!” Ash growled. “I’ll just tell them that Lucario sensed them– we need to go now!”

“Ash, please man, just rest for a moment!” Blake said, “I’ve seen you collapse before when you push yourself too far! There’s no way we’ll warn them if that happens. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

“F-fine...” Ash muttered, stumbling to a stop. Ash sat down on boulder, hands on his temples as he tried to make his mounting headache die down. He knew that Blake was right, but he didn’t want any member of his troop to fall because they couldn’t get the warning back in time.

“If they really are depending on illusions, which they have before, then they’ll be moving slowly,” Blake said. “And we just took away their element of surprise, we got this covered man!”

Ash looked at him. “I’m surprised that you didn’t want to rush back... you’re usually so... um, no offense, but a bit brash when it comes to rushing to fight Kalosians.”

Blake chuckled, though there was no heart in it, running a hand down Flareon’s back. “You don’t think I want to rush back? Those Kalosian scum attacked our home! Killed innocents! You’re my friend though, and I’m more concerned about your health. Rest, then we’ll head back.”

Ash frowned. “You do realized the men we’re fighting were probably drafted just like us? They don’t want to fight anymore than we do.”

Blake closed his eyes. “Look Ash, the only reason why I was drafted and not induced of my own accord was because my parents needed me. I would have signed up on my own in a heartbeat if it weren’t for my family. I guess that doesn’t matter though, because I was drafted in the end anyways.” He glanced at Ash. “Why are you always so quick to put Kalosians in the light?”

Ash glanced back at where he had sensed the armies coming from. Blake had been right, there were moving slow because of the illusions hiding them, this would be a sneak attack. They were about seven miles out from camp at the moment, and at the pace the Kalos forces were moving through these hills... they might not arrive there until tomorrow. If Charizard could carry both him and Blake back to camp tonight, they’d have more than enough time to prepare a counter attack...

Ash pulled himself out of his thoughts, sighing. “I have nothing against Kalos, I traveled there while on my journey. These are humans just like us Blake, and what their league did wasn’t right, but I’m not going to hold that against the whole region.” Ash hesitated. “I mean, Serena was born in Kalos, and she’s the sweetest soul I know.”

Blake stared at him for a moment, looking shocked. “You married a Kalosian?!”

Ash blinked. “I... I never mentioned that before? Um, yes, technically– she’s a Kanto citizen now though, but she was born there. They aren’t bad people Blake, we shouldn’t let this war define that.”

“Whatever you say man...” Blake muttered. “But they’ve killed off our fellow soldiers, men that will never go home because of them...”

“And we’ve done the same,” Ash replied, gulping a bit, and suddenly the gun on his back seemed much heavier. Ash lowered his head, adjusting his gray cap. Silence fell between them, and Blake patted his Flareon, sighing.

“Look, the sooner this war is over, the sooner we can go home,” Blake muttered.

Ash nodded. “Let’s head back to camp, I’m sure Charizard can carry both of us. It will give us a nice headstart on the Kalosians.”

“You want to push him that far?” Blake asked.

Ash nodded. “He’s a strong one, besides, I’m sure you’re missing Kade by now.”

Blake gave Ash a half smile. “Got me there. I’m sure you miss Gary more. It’s been what... nine months now since we’ve last seen him?”

Ash pulled out Charizard’s Pokeball. “True, but at least he’s safe behind the lines. He’s lucky he’s good with computers, or else he’d probably be out here with us.”

“Zar!” Charizard cried as he was released, spreading open his mighty wings. Ash gave him a pat on the side.

“Think you can carry both of us back to camp?” Ash asked, not bothering to mention the enemy troops, no need to put anymore pressure on the lizard. Charizard stamped his feet, before lowering himself towards the ground. Ash smiled, jumping onto his back and strapping himself into the harness. “Hop on!”

Blake flashed him a grin, climbing onto Charizard behind Ash. The fire type didn’t even wait for Blake to get settled, throwing himself into the air the moment he felt both humans on his back. He grabbed Raichu in his claws, and took off racing towards camp. Blake yelped, holding on tightly to Ash and his Flareon, trying not to slip off of the lizard as he raced through the skies.

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

“A d-demotion?” Serena stuttered, staring down at the paper in shock. Her eyes flickered up to her boss, blinking in confusion. “I- I don’t understand, I’ve thought I have been doing w-well here–”

Mercy gave Serena a small smile. “Not a demotion dear, simply a change of position, see– your pay remains the same.”

Serena looked over the paper once more, hesitantly looking around the small clothing boutique she worked at in Viridian City. “I... I don’t mean to question you, b-but...” She gulped. “Why are you moving me to work in the back? I’ve been working at the desk for nearly three years now, ever since you’ve hired me–”

“It’s nothing personal, deary,” Mercy said, flicking a strand of pink hair behind her ear. “Times are... just changing. Younger girls up front just draw in more business, you see, not that you don’t look young, but I simply–”

Serena’s eyes narrowed, and she read between the lines. “...It’s because you don’t want a Kalosian greeting customers, isn’t it?” She asked in a low tone.

“Oh– Serena dear, I–” Mercy began, fumbling over her words as Serena spoke. “It is simply–”

“I thought you’d be one of the last people to be like that,” Serena muttered, not sure if she should feel hurt or angered.

“Serena, I am not trying to offend!” Mercy exclaimed, “But sometimes things must be done with the business in mind! As you know people simply don’t take well to Kalosians these days, and business is struggling already because of the war–”

“I am a Kanto citizen,” Serena hissed, it felt like she had been declaring this quite often as of late. “You have no right to do this based off of how I look.”

“Deary, this is not meant to offend–” Mercy began.

“Well you’re doing a horrible job at it!” Serena snarled. She paused for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Mercy... she had– had no right to do this! She had dedicated so much time to this boutique, and this is how they treated her? !

“Now Serena, I just need you to think this through–” Mercy rambled, and Serena looked up at her, glaring.

“...I quit,” Serena whispered, cutting Mercy off.

“Wh-what did you say, dear?” Mercy asked, tone sounding slightly startled.

“I said that I quit!” Serena growled. “I refused to be treated this way!”

“What about your daughter, dearest! Do you honestly think that you can support her without a job?” Mercy asked hastily.

“I’ll get another one!” Serena seized her purse, storming towards the exit.

“Deary, do you honestly think someone else is going to hire you?” Mercy asked, making Serena stop. “Everyone is looking for work during these times, and... um... I don’t think that a Kalosian will be their first choice.”

“I. Am. A. Kantonian!” Serena snarled, spinning around to face Mercy. “And even if I wasn’t, should it matter? Should it matter that I was born in Kalos?! Kalos may have started this war– but that doesn’t mean that every person there wanted it! It doesn’t mean that we are all cold blooded people!”

Mercy was looking at her with a soft gaze. “You’re angry, and I understand why. I will not change my mind about moving your position here however, business is business, we all need to support ourselves.”

“I don’t have a job here, I quit, remember?” Serena pushed the door open.

“I know, but I will save your job for you once you realize you have nowhere else to go.” Mercy said softly.

Serena made sure to slam the door on the way out.

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

Serena found herself outside the boutique three weeks later.

Serena trembled as she reached for door, not wanting to do this. Not wanting to prove that Mercy was right. But... she was. She needed the job, she needed the money to support Ira, and...

And no where else would take her.

Looking for a job else where had resulted in many reactions– everything from people at least looking over her application before telling her no, to watching them throw it away as she walked out the door, to even telling her they weren't hiring even when the sign was right on their shop door.

Closing her eyes, Serena pushed open the door, knowing she’d have to face Mercy. She cringed as the all too familiar bell rang, and she entered the boutique. Not much had changed in the time she had been gone, through the emptiness was foreign, but that was how most little shops were since the war began. It was hard to believe a year had already gone by since the war started, but at the same time it was hard to imagine the way things were before it had began.

“Hello, welcome to Angel’s Cloud Boutique, how may I...” Serena turned towards the speaker, not recognizing the voice. Behind the desk was a girl, who looked to be about eighteen, maybe younger. She trailed off as she looked over Serena, lip curling in distaste as she examined her. Serena tried to smile, but a thump of anger ran through her instead.

“H-hello,” Serena muttered, trying to keep her tone even. The girl’s name tag read ‘Kate’, while her face read disgust.

“Do you need directions?” Kate asked in a tone that seemed forced. “Because clearly you made a wrong turn somewhere.”

“...I need to speak with Mercy, is she in right now?” Serena asked, her tone dry, and Kate sneered.

“Mercy has much more important things to do than... associate with your kind,” Kate said softly. “You know, her son was drafted in this awful war against Kalos... struggling every day wondering if he’ll come home...”

Serena wasn’t naturally violent, but it was taking every inch of her willpower not to slap this girl across the face. She leaned forward onto the desk, giving Kate the sweetest smile she could manage.

“Do you have anyone fighting in this war?” Serena asked gently.

“Me? My boyfriend was a lucky one, safe at home where he can be with me!” Kate said.

Serena let her tone and face turn as toxic as possible. “How nice for you, darling. Now I can spell something out for you? You have no one fighting in this war– while my husband is putting his life one the line for Kanto’s honor. You if you think you have any right to treat me like scum like you have been– you’re the one in the wrong. My family is putting more in for Kanto than your little boyfriend is– so don’t you dare treat me like I am it’s cause.” Serena planted both hands on the desk. “I would like to speak to Mercy about getting the job she promised me, and if you’d like to keep yours I wouldn’t keep me waiting.” Serena flashed a smile, stuffing as much sarcasm into her voice as possible. “I just can’t wait to work with you.”

#amourshipping #pokemon #serena pokemon #ash pokemon #pokemon fanfiction

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