#something something there's no sin being born in the dirt but it is a terrible sin to want to stay there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years ago

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Right Back Where You Started

[Masky/Timothy Wright X F!Reader]

[Warnings: slight blood, slight violence, language]

[AN: Four of my OC's are in here! This was also requested from a friend a while ago.]

The beauty about being able to live a life outside of murdering people and being at the whim of a monster that fancies itself as a god is a variety of your own accord.

For instance, you can wake up whenever you feel like, take a job wherever there’s openings, meet new people and not have to bash their brains in just for asking about your life and only need to pick up a blade to cut food or occasionally packages you impulsively bought on the nights that feel like too much and not enough all in one. You can breathe and not worry about inky black tendrils crushing your throat for doing so without his permission. You’re able to sleep at night knowing that no higher up in your group will attempt to kill you in an act of proxy related hazing. You can clear your mind temporarily of the thoughts of what may come next in trade for semi-normalcy even though you know those thoughts won’t go away anytime soon. The weight of what you’d done was too much to bear, and Atlas can only disappear for so long.

When you first decided to betray your boss, the tall man in the woods, the faerie that steals children away, you acted on impulse. It was an impulse that was born from being all too exhausted with risking your life, committing sin upon sin and other terrible, no good things that should ever be uttered. The decision you made on impulse had no foresight or planning, and when you decided to run, you ran as far and as hard as you could away from him. Away from them. Away from it all. Of course, you know there were going to be repercussions for running like so few others did.

The ire of the Slender Man being the worst.

Most days, you try not to think of him. There’s no point - well, maybe there is a healthy fear you still have - but to worry yourself into a stupor would be silly now. You’ve been free of him for a year. He hasn’t sent you any signs, nor has he sent anyone… Maybe you weren’t important enough to set him off like some of the others had.

These are the things you like to think about as you sit on your couch watching the late night news that’s barely audible as you scroll through your phone. You never really did like the total silence an empty house provides. There’s a simmer cup of tea on the coffee cup and a few snacks laid out that you have little plans of eating while you relax and enjoy the midsummer night. Outside, you can hear crickets sing and cicadas accompany them. It’s peaceful, and while your mind would like to think of it as such, you can’t ignore the ringing in the back of your head. Things have been pleasant, too pleasant. There’s bound to be a storm due to roll in.

Still, you try not to think of these things, and instead focus on the content that scrolls in and out of your vision. It’s nothing particularly interesting, but helps get your mind off the things that often keep you up. And you continue to sit there on the couch, wrapped up in a light blanket to combat your AC as the hours of the night tick by. Your mind is completely off of really, any higher cognitive thought, when you hear something. It’s soft, low, sounds like two, maybe three people and they’re out in the distance. Must just be stumbling onto the borders of your ‘farm’.

See, the funny thing about trying to integrate into normal human life is that you physically can’t. You can follow all their customs, get into their society, look like them, but you’ll never be fully human. You want to know why? Proxies can never go back to what they used to be. They’re forever changed, and no force on heaven of earth can ever get rid of that. He can take your memory and dump you on the side of the road, but your biology has forever been changed. In most cases, it’s a nice thing to have: faster healing, better pain tolerance, heightened senses, and a better sense of problem solving than most people. Other days, it’s a hindrance for reasons you can’t quite explain. Some call it Slender Sickness, and the only way to remedy it is to be under the tall man’s care.

Because you’re not, you’ve found other ways to remedy the sickness he inflicts on practically everything he touches. Pills. You find them in odd, strange places, but they get the job done. So long as you have them, you can be free of his grasp and his connection.

But goddamn, the hearing is mostly a hindrance. On the account of you living on the edge of a college town, you’ve got land and are surrounded by farmer’s fields. You heat it all- critters in the night, teens messing with the patches, arguments, sometimes crimes, and it keeps you up at night. That’s a downside to not having him in your life- he’s not there to dampen its effects when it becomes too much. However, in this specific instance, your heightened hearing is a blessing.

The feeling in your gut only furls together tighter as you hear the three strolling down your dirt road. They’re close, much too close. You know that they’re here for you.

Frantically, you jump off the couch and start to damage control by making the place look like no one inhabits it. The TV and lights are turned off, the mug emptied of its contents, snacks put away and other leads buried. Your heart pounds a mile a minute - you know that if he finds you, it’s all over.

He’ll kill you - the Slender Man is not known for his mercy.

You feel like a chicken with its head cut off as you look around the house for weapons before settling on the kitchen knife. It’s cliché and reminds you of someone you once heard whispers about, but it’s all you can think of in this moment. When you left this life, you left the physical parts of it as well. All your gear, weapons, they’re hidden in a place that’s too risky for you to even attempt getting. Armed with the kitchen knife, you debate running out the back or hiding, then running. You always were good at staying out of sight, hiding it is.

Your eyes dart to the basement door and you slip through right as you hear the three outside your front door. There’s a window that opens in the direction of the town. If you slip out of it, you’ll be able to get a good headtstart through the field. The moment you start booking it down the stairs, you hear your front door get blown open.

“Wallace, what do you think?” You hear a male’s voice ask.

“Someone’s been in here recently,” a deeper male voice responds - must be Wallace, eyeing over your living room.

In the darkness, you quietly maneuver the crowded, cluttered basement, mentally cursing you left your phone upstairs in your haste.

“It feels like someone’s been in here,” Wallace’s voice continues. You can practically hear him smelling the air. “Ruth, tell Nyein to sniff this one out.”

You hear boots scuff against your wooden floor and stop somewhere in the doorway. “You could always just ask them yourself,” the female voice identified as Ruth verbally shrugs. She clicks her tongue, and you hear even more steps. How many of these people are there? You hope it’s just four. That’s a well sized group, come to think of it. “Ny, can you please sniff this one out? Seems like they’ve done a good job at scent covering.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Don’t give us any attitude,” the first male voice hisses slightly. “Do what you’re told-”

“Theo,” Wallace sharply reprimands.

You hear Theo sigh right as you reach the window. You pray to whatever deity will have you that it won’t squeak or make any loud noises, but the thing hasn’t been opened in gods know how long. You use the blade to lightly cut through the layers of off-white paint before the window is free. You mentally smile before attempting to lift it.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Nyein got your scent. Their pupils dilate upon realizing you’re the one the Slender Man has requested alive. You hear someone rapidly padding to the basement.

Panic fills your veins as you struggle to get the window open, not even caring that it’s making all the noise in the world. You need to get out!

“She padlock this thing?” You hear Ruth ask before she grunts. The door can’t hold them back forever.

You frantically push up on the window - it's a quarter open, not near enough for you to slip through. Shit, shit, shit! You need to go NOW.

“Jesus- just break it already,” Wallace sighs.

A few more grunts and you hear the wood splinter. You hear them descending the steps quickly.

“There!” Theo points.

You hold your breath and push the window up with all your strength before hosting yourself up.

“Shit! Out the front! Ny, keep on her,” Wallace commands as he smacks Ruth and Theo’s shoulder, the two quickly following him up the stairs.

You begin to shimmy out the narrow window as the being called ‘Nyein’ eyes you down. You don’t think you’ve ever seen an independent like that before. They look absolutely feral, and the scent of you has them locked on your crawling form.

Their eyes narrow, teeth bared, and they quickly lunge across the space for you, right as your legs reach the windowsill.

You cry out in surprise as their clawed hand digs into your ankle, drawing blood you know you can’t afford to worry about.

“Get off!” You shout in retaliation, kicking at their face. Freed, you begin to sprint into the field.

Nyein snarls and crawls out the window as well, running after you with a speed that has you on edge. You continue to run. Behind you, you can hear the other three quickly gaining on you as well. How badly does the Slender Man want you? Your lungs light on fire as they chase you through the field. Soon, you’ll be hitting the small stretch of trees before you reach the town. With other people, you’ll have a better chance at being safe. But the stretch of woods is an awful mess of brush and loose soil. You can’t afford to misstep now.

You take in a deep breath as you hurl into the small stretch of trees, all too aware of the proxies and independent that are hot on your trail. In the back of your head, you can tell they’re tired of you. Good. They should be. You narrowly avoid twisted roots and piles of mud and grow closer and closer to other people.

It’s so close that you can almost touch it.

Lost in your thoughts and too tunnel visioned in on reaching the town, you fail to recognize the steel jaw trap in the darkness and send your shoe right on it. It clamps down, bites, and holds you. You screech and fall forward, careening into the forest floor. The pain in your leg is absolutely agonizing, and you claw at it in vain to free yourself as your pursuers close in on you.

“Gave us quite the chase, Reader,” Wallace says with a slight scowl as he crouches a healthy distance from you. “Should let you rot here,” he muses. You can’t see his face both from the darkness of the night and the fact he’s wearing a mask, but you can tell he’s upset.

“Or let Ny eat her. Been a while since they’ve last had anything,” Theo adds on, glaring at you through the eyeholes of his mask that’s the head of a pig.

“He said he wanted her alive,” Ruth chimes in, a sigh in her tone. “She’s already fucked herself up enough, let’s not rub salt in the wounds.”

“Put her to sleep then,” Wallace shrugs.

You look up at these people like a caged animal, your eyes narrowing and slightly watering at the pain of the steel jaw trap. You feel yourself inching closer and closer to the earth subconsciously as Nyein eyes you like a prize.

\ They reach their hand out to touch you before you smack them away. Their snarl, their eyes traveling down to your ankle where the blood smells the strongest.

“Do it before they eat her,” The deep voiced man says again. “Though, last I checked, Ny doesn’t eat proxies.”

“She’s a traitor, not a proxy,” Ruth lightly corrects, her gaze alone shushing you from making any noise.

Not wanting to work yourself up, you settle for cursing them under your breath.

Without any other words, Ruth comes up to you, resting her boot on your chest to keep you down. You attempt to grab at her leg, throw her off balance, but she’s stronger than you on account of still being an active proxy. Her dark eyes scan you up and down before she reaches into her back pocket. “Take a deep breath for me,” she murmurs before smacking the rag to your mouth and nose.

You flail about, screaming and cursing before reluctantly taking that breath.

“... Thank you, you’ve done well. Head out to - yes, that’s right, Theo - head there and I will give you further instruction.”

You blearily come to on the carpet of an office you hoped you’d never be back in. The smell of jasmine and incense hangs in the air. You hear a door shut and catch the boots of the people who brought you back to him leave the room. He must be sending them out to their next assignment; it’s probably some poor other bastard that won’t escape like you did. You take in a few timid breaths and allow the light to filter in.

There he is, your boss. He stands in front of you like a god. He has no face, but you can tell he’s more than upset.

“Miss Reader, what a pleasure,” he says in a deep, authoritarian tone.

On instinct, you feel yourself shrinking.

“Really?” He muses, inky black tendrils sprouting from his back. “You have the nerve to run from me, suppress me, and now you do this? You dare show your submission?” He hisses. The tendrils move like bolts of electricity as they wrap around your exhausted, terrified form.

You cringe as the tendrils take over every part of you, squeezing as if they’re threatening to break your bones if you so much as breathe out of turn. Tears well in your eyes as you remember the fear you used to feel rushing back and overloading your senses.

“You’re absolutely pathetic,” he spits as the tendril wrapped around your neck begins to constrict. You notice his body language bristle as he looks at you longer. “I could pop your eyeballs out of your sockets. I could tear you limb for limb,” the Slender Man continues like it’s nothing.

You feel nothing but malice radiate off his form. It’s heat that singes your very soul. “S-Sir,” you gasp out. “Why would you b-bring me here just to k-kill me?” You attempt to reason, eyes watering and vision going fuzzy. You weakly attempt to use your fingers as a barrier between the constrictor and you. You can’t take this low oxygen any longer - not with him physically inhibiting you.

A cold chuckle reverbates in your head while the vision of wolf’s teeth smile at you, as if they’re ready to snap. “You always were smart,” he notes, loosening his grip ever so slightly. “I could rip your head from your shoulders and it would make none of the difference.”

“Answer my observation,” you weakly cough out before he holds you tighter. You struggle to move your limbs. Your blood feels hot.

“Masky,” he suddenly calls out, hand gesturing to his office doors.

You’re barely able to move your head and settle on shifting your eyes instead to those large, oak doors as they open just a crack.In slips a man in a tan coat. He’s got dark hair, bags under his eyes, and he looks exhausted - more exhausted than you feel. He doesn’t look at you but instead focuses on the Slender Man.

“Sir,” he greets, bowing his head slightly in reverence.

The Slender Man hums, clearly pleased. You see the wolf’s jaws smile in your mind’s eye.

“Reader, you will be under his care now,” the Slender Man says. “If you successfully spend half a year at his side, I will reconsider tearing you apart.” He says it so nonchalantly that you feel chills run up and down your spine.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“Do you oppose me?” The Slender Man asks. “I am being more than generous, aren’t I?”

“Don’t take this offer for granted,” you hear Masky quietly add. Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, you can hear Masky telling you not to push him too far.

Hesitantly, you nod, voice too weak to say anything physically.

The Slender Man’s tendrils suddenly retract from you, sending you roughly to the carpeted floor.

You yelp as you come into contact with the carpet and slowly gather yourself as you try to push down the aches and pains that bloom on your joints and shins that hit the ground particularly hard. You cough a bit as air returns to your lungs and struggle to stand.

“Do what you must,” the Slender Man waves off, turning his back to both you and Masky.

Masky finally breaks from his stance and moves quickly to your side to help you up.

At first, you try to smack his hand away, but upon realizing you’re too weak to even see straight, accept his hand and his arm when you’re standing upright. He smells of cigarettes and some out of date cologne. It’s not bad.

The two of you hobble out of the Slender Man’s office with Masky’s eyes never leaving your form. After all, you are his responsibility now. He continues to lead you through a mansion you’ve grown to despise and out into the warm summer morning. The Slender Man could never imitate the beauty of earth to its entirety, that much was apparent.

“Where are we going?” You ask in a rough voice, attempting in vain to clear it by coughing.

“Stop that,” Masky sighs as the two of you cross the lawn. “To the parking lot, getting in the car, then driving across the border to Mississippi. We’ve got a temp there,” he murmurs. “You good?” He’s mentally wondering why your healing hasn’t damage controlled this yet. Probably the boss still being mad at you is the best reason he can come up with.

“Do I look like I’m good?” You dryly respond, eyes squinting slightly as the fog begins to kick up. You know you’re reaching the end of his reach. Once the fog clears up almost as quickly as it appeared, you realize the Slender Man’s practically kicked you both out of his realm. The walk was always longer when you truly were his. He must be severely pissed off at you. In a way, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you from the get go.

It’s best not to dwell on that thought though.

The rest of the walk is quiet and you’re in the car before you can count to 100 (your numbers are very jumbled though). You slide into the passenger seat and feel a little better at being able to rest.

Masky slides into the driver’s seat and sighs as he grips the wheel. “You have any questions, you ask them now in the car. I’m not putting up with your bullshit when we get to the temp.”

You roll your eyes and look out the window. “Who are you?”

“Masky, you heard him,” he’s pulling out of the parking lot and mentally thanking the gods he wasn’t killed alongside you. When the boss is in such a questionable mood, there’s no telling what’ll happen.

“You know damn well what I meant,” you cough slightly.

Masky scoffs before reaching into the backseat for a moment. His fingertips brush a water bottle, and upon realizing that’s what it is, grasps it and then tosses it to you.

You nod and take a sip, mentally frowning that the water’s been heated in the morning summer sun.

“I’m a group leader. Probably haven’t heard of us though, we’re not terribly monumental,” he begins as he flicks the turn signal on. “You’ve got three other people to watch out for. Hoodie, he’s the right hand, Toby, he’s essentially our middle child, and Kate. You’re replacing her and the hazing process will start up,” he finishes, now matching pace with the other cars that sparsely decorate the expressway.

You pout slightly and press your lips into a thin line as you gaze out the window at the rolling scenery. You’ve been here before. You’ve brought people back here this exact way before. They’re all unwanted memories. In response, your body language becomes unreadable.

This does not go unnoticed by Masky. “Yeah the attitude isn't gonna work,” he says as he glances over at you. “C’mon, you’ve been through this process before. We all have - what gives?”

With a sigh, you flick your eyes over to him to gauge his mood. He seems genuinely curious. “You do know that I ran away for a reason, right?”

Masky nods. “Sure, it was stupid though.” He takes a hand off the wheel for a moment to open his window. “What did you think would happen?” Sounds like he’s trying to pick at your brain.

“Anything but this,” you gesture angrily to your current situation. “I hoped to never see him again,” you groan, clearly frustrated. You chug some more water.

Masky breathes out slightly, as if he’s judging your answers. “Whatever. Forget about pulling something like that again because I’ll personally come after you if it comes to that,” he claims in a tone that’s far too serious.

You roll your eyes slightly, “sure, like you’ll-”

His eyes shift on the expressway, and after ensuring there’s no one that’ll cause a pile up on behalf of him, he hits the brakes, sending you lurching forward into the dashboard.

“What the hell?” You cry out in an exasperated tone, struggling to peel yourself up from the dashboard. You cry out in shock again as you feel his hand at the back of your head, successfully grinding your skull into the heated polyvinyl chloride.

“Get that thought of your fucking head,” he hisses, raising your head slightly before smacking it back down.

You growl back and relent. Once the pressure from his arm is gone, you shove him off of you. The car picks up pace again and you notice him wave to a person who passes by - they have a mildly concerned expression - and he smiles like he didn’t just slam your skull into PVC.

Welcome back to the proxy life.

You make it to Mississippi by mid afternoon. Masky brings the car down some dirt path where a house lays right on the Mississippi river, and you can smell traces of blood. They must’ve cleared the previous residents out.

There, on the porch in a muscle tee holding a can of coke is a man with his left cheek missing. He twitches slightly as he waves at you and Masky.

“T-This her?”

Masky nods.

“Can’t b-believe she g-g-gave Wallace’s g-g-group the s-slip,” he says in a slightly amused, slightly annoyed tone.

“Word travels that fast?” Masky replies with a slight chuckle.

The proxy before you nods with a small smile, “c’mon. I wanna g-g-get out of this h-heat. It’s a-a-awful out here,” he says with a playful grimace as he slowly rises from the front step where he had been sitting.

“Is Kate happy?” Masky asks as he watches Toby head in, then nods for you to go.

With a small frown, you do so. At least it’s air conditioned.

“Over the moon,” a feminine voice cuts in from the kitchen. She’s stirring a thing of lemonade.

Masky smiles slightly and takes a seat at the table. “We weren’t that bad,” Masky notes as Kate slides a glass of lemonade to the group leader.

She raises a brow at Toby who glances down to his open pop can. “So, this is the one he wanted alive for this term?” She questions as she glances at you, silently asking if you’d like some.

You mouth a ‘please’ before getting comfortable at the table.

“Weirdly, yeah,” Masky replies before taking a languid sip. “Thought he was gonna go for someone with more street cred, but, whatever. She’s our problem now,” he shrugs.

You look down into the pastel yellow liquid and furrow your eyebrows in annoyance. All of this, it was wrong. You hadn’t had to play by proxy rules in a year, and here you were, bottom of the rung, the runt. You hadn’t been a runt in gods know how long.

Conversation begins to flow between the three people around you as glasses of lemonade are poured. You sit in silence, listening because you know it’s not your place to speak. As far as proxy culture goes, you don’t really have any rights. Well, you’re in a better place than independents, but according to other proxies, you’re a glorified errand boy. They say to jump and you’re supposed to ask ‘how high?’ Your group’s word becomes gospel.

Apparently, Kate was this group’s runt before you came in. But, runts only stay runts for a certain amount of time. It’s possible for groups to not have runts - and that’s essentially what this group was doing. Kate had outgrown her runt status and was well considered the youngest (in experience) member of their group but had the same social standing as Toby. While it was a joke to refer to her as a runt, they hadn’t had one for a while.

That’s where you come in. You’re the first member to be considered a runt in quite some time. And you can tell they’ve been itching to take it out on someone.

“Where’s Hoodie?” Masky asks as his fingertips trace the lip of his glass. “Should be thrilled to see we’ve got another one.”

“Only t-thing holding h-him back from h-hurting you is the f-f-f-fact the O-Operator asked f-f-for us to t-take her,” Toby giggles slightly as he crushes another pop can. “He’s h-h-handling something, Should be c-c-coming back now, though.”

“Speak of the devil and the devil will appear,” you hear another man’s voice chuckle as the front door swings gently open.

Standing in the doorway holding a crowbar and wearing a white t-shirt is Hoodie - sans hoodie. It’s much too hot to be wearing one anyways. He haphazardly tosses the crowbar to the floor before closing the front door behind him, then begins walking towards the kitchen.

“This is her?” He asks as he takes a seat next to Masky, silently thanking Kate for the lemonade.

“Disappointing, right?” Kate lightly jokes, making Hoodie smile.

“In this form, sure,” Hoodie observes as his hazel eyes rake over your form. “She looks weak, scrawny, low endurance, probably forgot all her skills, what, with her being missing for a year?” He says it like it’s a game but looks at you like he despises you. “Not training her. Not my problem, and especially not in this heat.”

“She’s part of our group,” Masky replies in a slightly exasperated tone.

“No-Nose goes,” Toby suddenly blurts out.

Everyone presses their index to their nose except for Masky, who sighs dejectedly.

“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles. “Let’s go, Reader. You’ve been awfully quiet.” The brown haired man says in a less than pleased tone, picking his glass up and momentarily pausing to place it in the sink.

You quietly follow in suit, nodding to your other comrades before following him out.

The nice thing about waiting for Hoodie to stir things up was that it was the late afternoon. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, and a breeze was beginning to shift through the air. It wasn’t near as hot due the sun no longer beating down on you. Besides, it was nice to get out of the house for a bit.

Masky and his group must have been staying here for a while, because he walked into the woods on this deer path like it was nothing and led you to a clearing. There were a few training things, but nothing of any substance - just a temporary fix until they were somewhere more permanent. Proxies are nomadic, after all.

“You still have a knife on you?”

“I would’ve stabbed you with it.”

He shoots you a look as if to tell you to watch your mouth and you holds your hands up.

“I’m joking,” you defend. “When I meant I wanted to never look back, I truly, deep down to my bones, meant it.”

Masky’s hand goes to his belt loop where he takes out a knife. It’s… severely dulled. Looks like he doesn’t trust you just yet.

“See that dummy? Show me what you remember and I’ll decide if we’re out here until midnight or not.”

The dummy in question looks gods awful. It’s missing an arm, the stuffing is all over the grass, and the poor thing looks like it can’t support its own weight anymore. You wonder which one of your comrades got it to this state of if this was a group effort.

You narrow your eyes and get a hold of the blade in your grasp. It’s much nicer than a kitchen knife - reminds you of what you used to use when you were but a shadow in the night. You glance at him, then the dummy, and decide to get to work.

There’s no use in running. The Slender Man will hunt you down regardless, and he won’t be as merciful the second time around.

“Stop stalling,” Masky chides.

You take in a breath, and do as told.

To say six months passed with ease would be a lie. It’s been six months of hell - and that’s mostly because you’re a runt paired with the fact you never wanted to be back here to begin with.

It’s been strange, you’ll give it that. The proxy in you took over faster than the human side of you could and you integrated back into proxy culture and society far easier than anyone expected. Of course, there were some moments where your group members would ruffle your feathers and put you in your place, but that was expected. To be a proxy is to be put under fire until you prove yourself otherwise.

You’ve gone on operations with them. Took lives again. Stole things again. You settled back into the life you originally left behind as if you’d never departed to begin with. That’s how deep the proxy mindset and muscle memory is embedded into those it takes hold of. It sets itself out to be the only thing you’ll ever know. You live by it, you die by it.

So, where have you been for the past six months? Well, still in Mississippi. About two weeks after you first arrived with your new group, you and the group moved down south near the ocean and have been staying there the entire time. Luckily, this place was considered a temp house for the people who owned it - they liked spending time in Europe - which left this place as yours. Besides, the Slender Man likes having you close. He was able to periodically check in on you with you being a few hours away as opposed to days. Why he was so interested in you, you’ll never know.

According to both him, and Masky, you’d been making good progress. By the end of your six months (lovingly referred to as a “trial run” by your group), you were half way back to what you used to be. It was disheartening to only hear “half” but it was better than nothing. A part of you wonders why you’re so inclined to get better when you should be focusing on leaving.

It’s not like you didn’t try.

You tried so many times that your group started a tally board and whoever found you first got a mark under their name. Whoever hit five before the board was reset got the next operation (or operation of their choosing) off. For the first few weeks when you were but a stranger with them, the punishments were harsh and unforgiving, like they hate you to your core. But, as the months went on, they went from fists to phrases. Eventually, you stopped trying to run so they no longer had to beat you. Every time you got that far off look in your eye, someone would reprimand you. It’s probably because they cared about you.

That’s common for proxies, bonding with your teammates on a level outsiders can’t understand. It’s mostly to keep you safe while out in the field. And unfortunately for you, you’ve been feeling that way towards your group. You’ve covered for each one at least once, and that gesture doesn’t go unnoticed. You’re in a strange place, if you’re being honest.

Take for instance now, back in the passenger seat of a car and heading back to Rosswood with Masky (he told you his real name is Tim) to talk with the Slender Man face to face. While the others in your group have been keeping up with him regularly, you haven’t seen him in person since well, six months ago. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have butterflies in your stomach as you draw closer to the woods you once considered home.

“You nervous?” Masky hums as he turns the radio down.

“Yeah,” you reply, gazing out at the rolling fields again. “What if he-”

“It’d be stupid of him,” Masky cuts you off. “Six months of putting all this time and effort only to off you? Just… Just don’t say anything stupid,” he reminds you, a slight teasing tone lingering on his words. He looks at you with gentle eyes.

You scoff playfully. “Eyes on the road, weirdo.”

Standing in the Slender Man’s office this time as a welcome guest is weird. There’s still the scent of jasmine and incense, but there’s also something sweeter - like a memory he’s trying to provoke specifically for you. It’s warm, but not uncomfortably so, and it doesn’t feel near as suffocating as did that first time.

“You’ve certainly changed,” a deep voice says with an audible smile as it reverberates through your head.

“Sir,” you bow your head slightly.

“I’m going to make this short,” the Slender Man begins. “Miss Reader, I am satisfied with your progress these past six months.”

“Thank you, Sir,” both you and Masky reply.

The tall man hums. “However, you have only reached half of what you used to be. I believe the longer you stay in this group, the better you will become.”

You take in a sharp breath.

“Does that bother you?” The Slender Man doesn’t sound mad.

“I…”

Masky mentally clicks his tongue at you, and you glance over through the corner of your eye.

You decide to respond carefully. “I know normalcy… Sir, I don’t know if this life was ever meant for me, but,” you take in a deep breath and ball your fists to ground yourself. “If this is what you want of me, I will do it.”

The Slender Man chuckles. “Timothy, you’ve done an excellent job with this one. Perhaps I should have placed Pariah with you,” he emptily thinks aloud with another slight laugh. “I regret to inform you Miss Reader, that normalcy was never an option. You will go back with your team and you will continue to better yourself until I say otherwise.” He makes no move to stand from his desk, but his hands reach out.

Taking that as a nonverbal cue, you and Masky stand and each take a large hand.

The Slender Man’s fingers close around your much smaller hands before his hand leaves your grasp entirely. Instead of striking you, he gently cups your cheek. “Now go. I look forward to seeing you in six months.” The warmth is gone from his tone but lingers like doused coals in a still simmering fireplace.

“Thank you for your time,” Masky bows slightly, nodding for you to follow.

Without any other words, you nod to your boss and follow Masky out. The two of you trade silent conversation as you exit the mansion and back to the car. You slip in just like you did six months ago, and so too does Masky. The car comes to life, and you begin to peel out of the parking lot, back to Mississippi.

“How are you feeling?” Masky asks as he pulls down the sun visor after squinting at the beams of light.

“Not as bad as I thought,” you say in slight surprise. “Maybe it just hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“Or,” Masky begins. “You were always meant for this.”

You laugh in response and smack his shoulder lighter. “You know you’re not slick, right?” You tease as you stick your tongue out.

Masky chuckles deeply and gets back on the expressway. “I try when I can.”

“Oh really?” You pretend to be shocked. “Where was that smooth talking when I first met you?”

“Out the window because I just met you,” he retorts, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You are literally the worst,” you teasingly scoff.

“Right back at you,” Masky breathily laughs. His dark eyes stay focused on the road as

you get comfortable in the passenger seat.

“Really though,” you say as you stretch slightly. “Thanks for not killing me.” You look at him with such gentle eyes that he can’t help but smile just as genuinely in response.

Masky won’t lie, he was admittedly worried for you in the beginning. What with you running away all the time, speaking ill of literally everyone, almost getting everyone caught by the cops… You were colorful, for lack of better words. It’s been nice cultivating that into something better. Maybe you’d make something of yourself out of this garbage fire of a hiccup.

“It’s nothing,” he shrugs. “It’s my responsibility to watch out for you anyways,” he says as before honking at someone who almost swerved into your lane. “Besides, you’re not all too bad, and as long as it’s me making sure you don’t set shit on fire… Think we’ll be just fine.” He looks over at you and smiles warmly - it feels like the sun - before he turns back to the road.

You hum contentedly as your hand reaches for the radio. You turn up the music and let it play, a serene, comfortable silence falling between the two of you.

#reader #x reader #reader insert #masky #hoodie #marble hornets #creepypasta x reader #tim wright x reader #masky x reader #slender man

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years ago

Text

rain clouds

pairing: maxwell lord / reader

word count: 2813

summary: i don’t even know what to say abt this one except it’s filled with yearning

a/n: this was gonna be super soft and happy but then it got soft and sad and then soft and happy again. posting from mobile yet again. tbh idek if this makes a lick of sense, we will see

warnings: mentions of shitty parents (maxwell’s dad & alistair’s mom), hints at child neglect & cps, anxious max, don't worry it gets fluffy

maxwell lord hasn’t had a day off since he founded black gold cooperative. that business was his baby long before he had a living baby with his ex wife, and loved both just as much. there was no such thing as a “sick day” to max; any day spent sleeping or healing is a day lost in the pursuit of greatness, the pilgrimage to the top of the corporate food chain. the only one he would ever make an exception for is alistair, and even then work would sometimes interrupt.

there was a time, almost too long ago for him to vividly remember, where maxwell did more than work. when he actually got his hands dirty in something that didn’t have anything to do with corporate schemes, and laughed with genuine glee more often than scowled. it was a long time ago now, and no one would ever believe it if they were told that maxwell lord ever got dirty with, well, dirt.

“come on! you gotta try this, it’s great!” the memories of his only friend have become worn with constant reminiscing, his mind unsure as to what’s real and what he imagined to fill in the gaps left by age and new priorities.

maxwell had found a secluded section of the park down the street from the apartment you both lived in, one safe from the eyes of bullies and adults alike. his feet were bare as the day he was born while making leaps and bounds in the abundant mud puddles from yesterday’s rain. he did his best to not let what little joy he found be dwindled by circumstance — his shitty father and reticent mother and the lingering ghost of poverty — the way others lost theirs. max believed himself different than that and carried himself as such no matter what others said.

you were still on the sidewalk, watching your best friend with awe and curiosity. the idea of traipsing through mud barefooted was exhilarating, but you knew that if your clothes got dirty, your mother would hang you out to dry alongside the clothes you were wearing. how did it feel to have the mud between your toes, the rainwater soaking into your skin? you didn’t remember, but you would like to.

to be honest, maxwell didn’t expect you to join him. he didn’t think you would ever try to break out of the box of propriety your family shoved you in, not now or ever. but the next thing he knew, he heard another set of feet splashing around in the puddles he had just vacated, making a path to where he stood. a playful shriek he knew as yours rang through the air and he immediately turned to you, wanting to see your face as you enjoyed yourself for the first time in a long time. “maxwell, this is wonderful! why didn’t you get me to do this earlier?”

you never looked more beautiful to him than when the afternoon sun shone on you, your smile bright and laughter clear and joyous. you were free as lady liberty, splashing around like there wasn’t a single other thing you had to do. then you take his hand and max swears that he’s seeing stars. before you know it, you’re dancing in the mud to the song of the birds in the trees. is it just max’s imagination, or do you tell him you love him?

your lips are on his and it’s magic. his shirt is being gripped in tight fists and his hands are magnetized to your waist, holding each other tight enough to need a crowbar to separate you. there’s nowhere he would rather be than back there with you…

but it’s been far too many years since he’s seen or heard from you, there’s no telling if you’re even in the country still at this point. it took a long time for him to not dolefully gaze at every door you could walk through once he left for college, hoping to see that radiant smile and hear you say his name so reverently.

but these days, reverence is the last thing maxwell thinks he deserves, not after the dreamstone debacle. hell, he isn’t even completely convinced that he can adequately take care of alistair despite the low standards his father and his ex-wife have presented him with. despite these doubts (and the perplexing way that everyone acted as if he never almost took over the world), he was just given full custody of alistair when the school called cps on his ex-wife for neglect. it was a terrible way to get a second chance at doing right by his son, but it’s a second chance nonetheless.

after seeing sense and liquidating black gold while he still could get something to survive with, he and alistair found a two bedroom apartment in a nice part of town. it was miniscule compared to what he had but it was a sight more than what he could have ended up with. besides, max had no time to be frivolous when he had his son to protect.

back to the grindstone he went. he knew that people would recognize him if he kept his current appearance and name, so he retired the lord name and decided on another fresh start. he slowly adjusted to using lorenzano after so many years rejecting it, got the blond removed from his hair. he found a job in financial advisory, and ironically enough, he was damn good at it. he knows what he’s doing when it comes to money that isn’t his, who’d have thought?

he actually knew a couple people from work that he almost considered friends. honestly he wasn’t sure what that word meant anymore, didn’t remember the feelings that were supposed to be associated with having them. but it was enough, truly more than enough; because this progress meant that he was dragging himself out of the grave he dug, because he was taking care of his son first and foremost.

alistair was put into a new school; nothing fancy, just the nicer public school that was a pleasing midpoint between work and their apartment. the first day he attended, alistair came home with so many good stories about the friends he made and the games they played at recess. within a few months he had been contacted by his teacher who had nothing but praise for little alistair lorenzano. his little boy was excelling and max couldn’t have been more proud than he was during that phone call. seconds after he hung up, he found alistair in his bedroom and wrapped him in a massive hug, making sure to emphasize the fact that max was proud of his son.

and then there was his neighbor. they lived across the hall from him and max would only catch the tail end of their arrivals and departures to their apartment. he did think it was rather odd, their strangely adept ability at avoiding him. if he didn’t know any better he’d think it was on purpose.

it wasn't intentional — not quite.

you had been avoiding your neighbor, but it had nothing to do with the oil commercials or dreamstone debacle — your new neighbor made you sad. the feeling would hit every time you saw him. his mere presence dusted off long-worn and cherished memories of a time where the sun felt warmer on your skin, where smiles came easier than heartache.

it took a long while before you realized why: it was because this mystery man reminded you of a love long lost to the dagger of circumstance. something about his walk, or maybe his hands during the times you’d see him open his apartment door, reminded you of what an older maxwell lorenzano could have been. the section of your heart that housed your thoughts of maxwell had been wrapped in caution tape with every hazard sign known to man flashing around it for many years, not wanting to venture there for more than a few moments in fear of hurting yourself even more.

if only you realized it was really max that you were so adamantly avoiding.

three months went by of max wondering why he still has yet to meet his neighbor. not that it was imperative to his daily survival, but his curiosity was all but tearing him apart at the seams. he didn’t know what else to do; yes he wanted to know his neighbor, but how did he go about that when they never saw each other?

“just knock on their door, daddy. be their friend, like you tell me to do when i go to school.” the childlike innocence alistair speaks with betrays the actual feasibility of the idea. maxwell was overthinking everything! people talked to their neighbors all the time! this could just be a simple “hey are you doing okay?” and the chips would fall where they may.

maxwell ruffles his son’s hair affectionately, pulling him into a small hug. “you know what? that’s exactly what i’m gonna do. thanks buddy, i’ll be right back.” it’s only across the hall, max isn’t gonna be gone long.

it’s been years since he’s done anything this casually daring. everything he did for decades was all high risk yielding high reward. talking to his neighbor should seem simple in comparison — it presented no drastic consequence if it went belly up, he almost never saw his neighbor anyway. that wouldn’t change after he finally sated his curiosity, certainly not.

once alistair’s homework is finished and is entranced by the television, maxwell decides to head next door, being sure that the house keys are in his pocket before shutting the door. he probably should have thought it out more than he did — he had no idea about his neighbor’s work schedule or if they had kids or a spouse, if they were a serial killer or an introvert. or even worse, if they happened to be someone who remembers everything he’s done. that would be his luck, his first true attempt at making a friend being thwarted with the magnitude of his past sins.

he doesn’t hear his own front door open, alistair’s head poking out to watch his dad. “knock, daddy!” he whisper-shouts and nearly shakes maxwell out of his skin. the little boy laughs at his dad’s startled expression before nodding and shutting the door back.

max went to knock but realized with his knuckles only an inch from the wood that his hands were peculiarly slippery. when did maxwell’s hands get so clammy? there was nothing to be nervous about. he was just going to attempt to make a friend, like his son simplified.

but the thing is, maxwell knows that it’s been decades since he’s had a friend. the last time someone outside of his son was kind to him not for the zeroes he wrote in checkbooks was you, and sometimes he even doubted that you were real. there are hazy memories of him as a teen that splashed in mud puddles and kissed a being of pure sunshine with the innocence of youth. he hopes they’re real, for his sake and for the sunshine he romped around the park with. maybe memories of him are keeping you sane the way your memory did for him.

as his thoughts spiraled, maxwell lost his nerve. with a heaping dose of irrationality, he didn’t want to disappoint whoever was on the other side of the door. turns out, there was no one on the other side.

“excuse me, did you need something?”

your first instinct when seeing a man almost knocking on your apartment door, on a normal day, was not to be so polite. but you were having a strangely good day and there was no reason to bring down the positive energy with an abrasive attitude. plus, the man looked so conflicted. he seemed to need a friend.

“i, uh, live across the hall, have been for a few months and never got to meet you.” a small gesture to the side shifted your attention to the door across from yours — and the little boy who had the door cracked just enough to see the interaction between you and who you think must be his dad.

this man’s voice, something about it was familiar. he moved from in front of your door and extended his hand towards you in an effort for a decent introduction. “i’m maxwell lor-lorenzano.”

maxwell lorenzano. you never would have thought that out of all the people to have graced this apartment building, he would be one. his hands were still softly strong and shoulders still broad. his eyes were still the same striking shade of brown, but there was a lot more pain there, a lot of experience that was clearly pushing him down by his shoulders and into the depths of anguish. yet there he was, keeping his head above water and still being kind. this truly was your max.

you take his hand with a soft smile, squeezing it gently as you give your name. “it’s been a long time, max.”

max couldn’t believe it. after all these years, it was you.

you had moved in across the street from him in his early teenage years and had become acquainted when walking to school and home. the two of you trekked through high school together, ignoring the cruelty of classmates and focusing on getting to the future, to freedom. hope of being friends after high school was abundant in the beginning, but soon your paths sent you further and further away from each other and towards a future neither of you were sure you wanted without the other.

“it really has been a while. i- i uh,” he could barely string a sentence together anymore. his shock and joy of seeing you again had his brain melting into goo and his tongue an almost immovable weight. “i missed you.” the blood rushed to your face the way it always did when you were with max. even when stuttering over his words and a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, he was still charming.

max noticed your attire and the wet umbrella in hand and was immediately taken back to that day spent in the park after it rained, when he . the sunshine on his skin, your smile that never failed to take his breath away…

a soft smile was on max’s lips but his eyes were somewhere else. “max? is everything okay?”

“do you remember the day we went to the park, when we splashed in the puddles and-“

“and when i kissed you? i could never forget if i tried.”

you really did kiss him! it made him want to do it again, as many times as you would let him. but that brought one little stipulation with it: alistair.

what would you say when you found out he had a son?

before max’s thoughts could dampen your reunion, you continued, and with every word, you solidified your place in his heart. “maybe we could do that again some time, just like we used to. and you could bring your son too, if you’d like.” you were jumping out on a limb by assuming that the little boy was his son, but with the apparent protectiveness max displayed around him when you see them together, what else could he be?

“that sounds so fun! can we, dad?” alistair made his presence known by pummeling into max’s legs, nearly knocking him over with an excited hug. you grinned at the affection, watching max’s eyes fill with warmth as he gazed at his son. “i don’t see why not. just change into some play clothes and get your raincoat from the hall closet.”

alistair shoots with glee and is immediately running back to the apartment, excited to change clothes and play in the rain. you watch max’s eyes as they light up at alistair’s happiness, that flicker reminding of you of when you were younger and the world was kinder to you both.

here was your second chance with max, another opportunity to be with someone who never stopped loving you even as the seasons changed and the zeroes increased. “i’ll let you guys get changed, come knock when you’re ready to go.”

feeling an uptick in bravery, max placed a quick peck to your cheek before he turned toward his apartment. “will do, see you in a few.” the risk he took was well worth seeing you grow bashful at the affection, eyes flitting to your shoes before back at him, a soft smile across your lips. you watched him walk away before going back into your apartment, waiting for the rest of your life to begin at the rapping of knuckles on solid oak.

maxwell lord taglist & others: @phoenixhalliwell @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @obirain @themarcusmoreno @captainrexstan @battletales @stardustsunrisekisses @senator-nahberries @max--phillips @jedi-mando @veracruz-djarin @andysficrecs @purelypascal @whovianwar @iv7867 @kaermorons @princess76179 @pedropasscals

#maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord reader insert #maxwell lord imagines #emotional support capitalist #maxwell lord #pedro pascal #i’m soft #i’m not sure what this is but i hope y’all like it #ww84

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lilmissbeanie · 4 years ago

Text

Navigation Haikyuu Masterlist

Toru Oikawa Angst Word Count ~ 8k I have been writing this for weeks! I am so glad it is finally finished it! It was hard work and heartbreaking. I do have a second version I will be posting which of course it will be a happy ending. Edited 29/12/2020

"Thank you, Toru!" The h/c giggled as she gave him a side hug from her spot next to him at their usual table that the pair always sat at in the cafeteria, in her left hand she held a little paper bag - that he had just handed to her - containing her all-time favourite treat, pineapple mochi. The taller brunette allowed a rare genuine smile to cross his lips as he gazed at her affectionately as he watched the girl do the cute little dance she always did when she got her hands on her favourite treat.

"Anything for you Y/n-chan." Came the cheerful reply from Oikawa lips, his heart skipping a beat at the look of pure joy spreading across her delicate features, the moan slipped from her lips as the gooey texture coating her tongue as Y/n took the first bite into the mochi. Oikawa bit the inside of his cheek at the sound, a light blush covering his cheeks, god he wished he could be the one causing her to make cute sounds. Images flooded his mind of her under him as she sinfully moaned his name, his hands slipping under her shirt fingertips meeting her soft sink, lips brushing over exposed neck. Oikawa sunk his teeth in his cheek harder dragging him out of his sinful mind, knowing what would happen if he continued to fantasize about her and those cute little noises, pushing the thoughts to the back of his head for later.

Everyone one could see how in love Toru Oikawa was with Y/n L/n. Everyone but her. She was utterly oblivious to the fact that her childhood friend was head over heels, deeply and madly in love with her.

On the other side of the table sat the other third-year volleyball players watching the interaction between the pair, they felt terrible for their captain. Usually, they wouldn't care but seeing him pine for his childhood best friend of, well forever, was hard to watch, but at the same time he it was laughable, they had told him over a million times to confess to her, but he would say 'no not yet,’ and shrug them off before running off to find Y/n, like he always did. They were always together; you knew if you wanted to find Oikawa, you would just have to look for Y/n and vice versa.

"Hey Y/n?" Oikawa nudges her shoulder with his own. Glancing at him quickly, she motioned him to continue with a nod of her head before she nibbled on the pineapple goodness she gently held between her fingers once again. "Ya know that mochi cafe you have been dying to go to?"

The other three on the other side of the table observed them like hawks, their eyes flickering between the pair, was it finally going to happen? Was Oikawa finally going to tell her?

"Yea what about it?" She questioned, looking at him with her doe-like eyes.

"We only have practice in the mornings this weekend, so did you want to go Saturday afternoon?"

"Sure Toru, I have plans till about four so shall we meet at five, outside the cafe?"

"Sounds like a plan!" He grinned at her as they threw their rubbish in the bin and headed back towards class before the bell rang.

The smile had yet to leave "So, are you finally planning on telling her?" Iwaizumi asked as they were tidying up the gym after that day's practice.

"Yep!" The brunette replied, popping the p. "I don't think there is a better place to tell her that, that I have been in love with her for years other than being surrounded by her favourite treat."

"Took you long enough," Hanamaki smirked as he tossed the balls into the ball bin. "We're proud of ya, Captain." Matsukawa teased as he finished folding the net as he turned to the other three. Oikawa rolled his eyes at his friends with a smile on his face, he knew they cared in their own way, as they made their way back to the locker rooms to change, so he could meet Y/n.

Leaning against her shoe locker like he did every evening after volleyball practice, she waited for her to finish band practice. He knew it should have ended a few minutes ago, but Y/n was always the last one out, he was used to waiting for her, not that he minded. As Oikawa leaned against the shoe cubbies, he picked at the dirt that was under his tidy well-kept nails, before he glanced threw his sinfully long eyelashes spotting a few of his fangirls whispering to one another and glancing at him not so slyly. Not one to let his fans down he flashed them his perfect swoon-worthy fake smile, which of course caused the girls to erupt into giddy squeals.

"Honestly, Toru, stop with the fake smile and give them a real one for a change would ya. You are so handsome, and your genuine smile is swoon worthy and I, personally, love it." Y/n gentle voice reached his ears, sounding as sweet as honey even if she was slightly out of breath, causing his breath to hitch when he turned to where her voice came from. Her cheeks were slightly pink from rushing here and the way the tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she ran a hand threw her unruly h/c hair made him want to gently cup her face, pin her against the lockers and kiss her.

‘- she loves my smile.’ The thought raced through his head as a bright smile graced her features as she toed on her shoes. "Ya know you don't always have to wait for me."

"My real smile is saved for a special someone." He replied, giving her that real smile, wondering if she might catch on, "We live next door to each other, you know I will always wait for you." He replied as he brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear like Oikawa always did out of force of habit - one of his many little ways of showing her how much he loved her - he loved the feeling of the soft skin of her cheek under his rough, calloused fingers.

"Anyway, what kind of gentlemen would I be if I didn't wait for you? It's not safe for a younger lady such as yourself, you know." Oikawa sent her a playful wink, while Y/n just rolled her eyes playfully. "Ready?" Y/n nodded in reply to his question, adjusting the strap of her bag into a better potion on her shoulder.

Oikawa arrived at the cafe fifteen minutes early on Saturday afternoon, and he found a cute little table for them on the small patio out the front, the little cream table had a small plant pot with favourite/flowers starting to bloom, the reason he had chosen this table. He nervously sat there waiting for felt eternity as he played with the good luck charm she had made and gave him before his first official match all those years ago, between his fingers under the table. His head shot up when he heard her soft giggle fill his ears, he could pick out her giggle in any crowd, no matter how big or small, his heart began to beat rapidly as he looked around for her, only to spot her stood a little way away with the third year Shiratorizawa setter, Eita Semi. Oikawa's eyes locked on to the way her eyes crinkled as she laughed at something Semi had said, a smile graced Semi’s face when the pure angelic sound spilled from her lips.

How did they know each other?

Why were they spending time together?

What is their relationship?

"Hey, Toru!" Oikawa blinked a couple of times finding the pair standing in front of him, he had been lost in thought with all the questions floating around in his mind in a panic. "You know Semi, right?"

"I do, Semi good to see you." Oikawa nodded politely at the ash-blond boy; Oikawa didn’t have a problem with the fellow setter; it was just Wakatoshi.

Semi nodded politely in return to Oikawa, "And you." The two setters stared at each other for a few seconds before Semi turned his attention back to Y/n, his eyes held such a distinct look of adoration as he looked at the h/c girl, Oikawa knew that look it was the exact same gaze, according to the boys, he gave Y/n when he knew she wasn't looking at him.

"Thanks for today sugar, it was fun." Oikawa frowned at the nickname, why hadn't he thought of that? He had known Y/n his whole life. Their parents have lived next door to each other since before their older siblings had been born, their mums are best friends, and so were they, so how did he not come up with that nickname, especially with that sweet tooth of hers?

"Thank you, I had fun too." Y/n giggled giving Semi a gentle smile. Oikawa could feel his heart begin to crack as he began to realise, he had missed his shot, the love of his life was with someone else.

"I'll text you later." Semi brought her into his arms wrapping them around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze before planting a quick peck on her lips. That was the final card, Oikawa's heart shattered into a million pieces as he watched her kiss him back.

Oikawa hated this. He hated how well-matched they were for one another. He felt sick to his stomach as he watched his childhood best friend and her new boyfriend. The Seijoh third years were in the park, and Y/n had asked nicely if she could invite Semi so he can meet them all outside of a volleyball match. The other third years let Oikawa decide, knowing how hard it was going to be seeing the girl he was so deeply in love with was inviting her boyfriend along, to their regular chilled out Sunday afternoons. Oikawa had always had difficulty, more like he couldn’t say no to Y/n.

What he really was not expecting was Y/n to bring her acoustic guitar and the pair of them being able to play. The sight in front of him had jealous flaring threw his veins leaving a bitter taste on his tongue, as he watched Semi's fingers skilfully glide over the strings as he played 'til Kingdom Come by Coldplay with Y/n head resting on his shoulder, the only thing that was keeping Oikawa from lashing out at the scene was Y/n gentle voice as she sang the words.

'For you, I'll wait till kingdom come.' He loved it when she sang, he found it calming, and he was guilty of thinking that the lyrics of some songs she sang just for him, especially the love songs.

Oikawa was kicking himself when she offered to teach him how to play the guitar all those years ago, that he hadn’t given up so easily, wishing he had tried harder, cause maybe, just maybe she would be sat next to him with her head on his shoulder as he played the guitar instead.

Y/n passion for music was on par with Oikawa's passion for volleyball, she loved it, Y/n would have earphones twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year if she could. She was always in music room 3 playing whatever instrument she could get her hands one. She had taught herself to play them all, not once took lessons. Oikawa had sat with her hundreds upon thousands of times in that room watching her, whether it was her fingers gliding gracefully across the ivory and black keys of the piano, the way her eyes would close when she really got into the melody or the way she would get into the beat while she played the drums. But his favourite was the guitar. He loved watching Y/n play the guitar, the way her fingers glided over the strings, it didn't matter what kind of guitar, be it an acoustic, bass, or electric or what song she would play whether it was a slow romantic song or a quicker upbeat one she never missed a cord, all the mattered was being able to see her play it.

"You're making it obvious." Hanamaki's hushed voice reached Oikawa's ears as he was jabbed in the ribs by the outside hitter. The jab was what Oikawa needed to drag him out of his thoughts, realising he had been staring at her this entire time.

Semi knew how the other setter felt for his girlfriend, Oikawa wasn't exactly being subtle with his feelings nor was he hiding them very well, and well everyone knew.

Well, everyone bar the girl in question.

Oikawa had had his chance, eighteen years he had and didn't make his move, so Semi did. One thing that Semi had always wondered was how on earth had Y/n never realised how in love Oikawa was with her, it was so obvious how could she not see it, the brunette boy would do literally anything just to make her smile.

"Baby?" Semi hummed as he turned towards his girlfriend's voice that had called out to him, a gentle smile across his lips as saw her beautiful face, "My turn, can you pass me the guitar, please?"

Semi happily obliged, passing her the guitar with a gentle lingering kiss to her forehead, catching the way Oikawa's hands clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white. Semi had to bite back the chuckle, but he noticed how Oikawa instantly relaxed as Y/n fingers ran over the cords as she played a few random notes before she began to play 'Gold Rush' by Ed Sheeran, Semi was the same as Oikawa when his girlfriend played the guitar he relaxes.

'Smoke alarm went off at nine~' Y/n voice flowed in perfect harmony with the guitar, Oikawa couldn't help but let the gentle smile across his lips at the sounds of her voice once again, yet it quickly disappeared again as Semi joined in their voice mixing softly and sweetly, they harmonised perfectly together.

The jealous once again flared up, he cursed himself for being jealous, her happiness was more important and if she was happy with Semi then so be it, and he wouldn't tell her, no, not wouldn't, more like he couldn't tell her that he loved her, not now he has seen how happy she was with him.

He knew he should have told her when he realised three years ago during their first year of high school. They were in the music room, Y/n had recently taught herself how to play the drums, and that was where she was sat, at the drum kit, her eyes close as she played some song from the early two thousand, he was pretty sure it was AC/DC, it could have been the song 'Can't Stop Rock 'n' Roll'. Oikawa smiled as he tapped his foot along to the beat she was creating, she was lost in her own world, the music absorbing her, she was unaware of her surroundings, so much so he was able to sneak a picture of her. He had it printed and framed. He kept it safe on his desk at home and another two copies, one in his gym bag and the other in his locker. Oikawa once again pulled out his phone, but this time he took a picture of the couple, both still singing with beautiful, loving smiles on their faces.

God, how he wished Y/n looking at him like that, the way she was looking at Semi. For her to adore him and allow her to let him treasure her. Oikawa knew he would treat her like the queen she is, he would worship the ground she walked on, well like he already did, he would drop anything to be by her side if she needed him, do anything to see her smile. Oikawa knew that was never going to happen now. Not unless Semi fucked up and at that, he would have to fuck up massively and if he ever did Toru Oikawa would be the one there to be her shoulder to cry one, pick her back up, stand her on her feet wipe those tears away and show her just how much he loves, cares and cherishes her.

He knew she was in the stands; she always was, Y/n had never once missed one of his matches, official or practice she was always there. He was the same if she had a gig or competition, he was there to support her.

His eyes locked on to her figure, instantly spotting she was still wearing his spare jersey, he was glad tradition never changed since she had been wearing his jersey to the matches since forever. It was different this time, with her was Semi his arms were wrapped around her waist, and his chin was planted on her shoulder, he could see their lips move at a rapid pace as they spoke to one another, Y/n giggling every now and then at something the ash-blond setter had said. Y/n felt a pair of eyes on her, spotting Oikawa was staring at her, she gave him a grin and a wave before she mouthed 'Rule the court king!' the same words she says before every match, but this time it was different she was standing in another's man's arms.

"You manage to lose the girl of your dreams." Kageyama taunted from the other side of the net while he glanced between the h/c girl with her boyfriend and his heartbroken former captain with a smug grin firmly planted on his lips. "Impressive."

"Piss off Tobio-chan." The jealousy was clear in his voice as he venomously spat the words out, he felt disgusted with the bitter taste coating his tongue again, Oikawa's own eyes flickered back to where she was stood just as she turned in Semi's arms cupping her boyfriend's cheek placing a chaste kiss to his lips. Oikawa closed his eyes and bit his lower lip as he turned back towards his team, the suffocating jealous flooded his veins.

Iwaizumi didn't know what he could say or do to help Oikawa through this. He honestly wished that Semi didn't treat her so perfectly, not that he would want Y/n to be treated any less than a princess or mistreated, but if he did, he knew then Oikawa would be the one to be there to pick up the broken piece of her heart and fit them back together.

A thought had crossed Iwaizumi's mind that it was just a ploy that Shiratorizawa's team had come up with to break his friend for their next match against one another. But it wasn't a ploy. It couldn't be, Iwaizumi knew you couldn't fake the look of pure love, and adoration Semi's eye's held, and the way he was the perfect gentlemen, treating Y/n was the uttermost respect, Semi adored her, and he showed it to the world with the little signs of affection, he would always pick her up from school if he was able to, surprise her with pineapple mochi, it didn't take him long to work her love for it. The silver chain necklace that he had brought on their six-month anniversary adorned her neck since the day he fastened it. When they went to the zoo on their date, he even got them matching phone charms.

The Seijoh third years looked at their captain with pitiful looks on their face as they saw the longing glances he sent to Y/n. "Stop." Oikawa muttered as he walked up to his friends, "I don't want your pity. It's my own fault I should have told her three years ago."

The three lads gave him a sheepish smile, as much as Oikawa drove them around the bend, he was still their friend, and they didn't like seeing him like this, heartbroken and miserable. Oikawa had been putting his acting to the test in front of Y/n, putting up his confident, happy personality but if you looked close into those chocolate brown eyes of his, you could see just how broken and hurt he was over this.

"You got that right. You should have told her then," Iwaizumi said as he firmly clamped his hand down on Oikawa's shoulder causing the captain to flinch at the force reminding him just how powerful his vice captain's spikes can be.

"So, let's beat Karasuno today," Hanamaki smirked, slapping his back.

"Then tomorrow we will take down Shiratorizawa, and you can show Y/n who is the superior setter." Matsukawa also smirked, landing a punch to his right shoulder.

The whole match was intense, the score so close each set and the final set ended up in a deuce. Y/n was gripping Semi's arm tightly the whole match, it was more than likely cutting off his blood circulation. As Hinata's final spike passed the blockers and straight to Oikawa ready to receive it, but even, so it wasn't enough to keep the ball in play and the match ending with Karasuno proceeding to the finals.

Y/n untangled herself from Semi's arms as she rushed forward to the front of the stands, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched her best friend try to regain his composure over the shock that they had just lost, watching as Oikawa and Kageyama stared at each other, she couldn't hear what he said but looking a lot like a declaration of war.

The two teams spoke to the opposing coaches before returning back to their respective coaches, and as the seijoh boys spoke to coach Irihata, the team started to tear up, Y/n could see Oikawa was trying to stay strong for his team, holding back his tears, as the team jogged over to thank those who had come to watch them, Y/n saw that even Iwaizumi was crying, she knew what was passing through his head. She knew he was thinking how can he call himself the Ace if he can't even land the last shot. She watched as Oikawa firmly slapped Iwaizumi's back, followed by Matsukawa and Hanamaki as they joined the others lined up.

"Thank you for coming," Oikawa said, firmly refusing to meet Y/n eyes, as much as he knew she was trying to get him to look at her. How could he meet her beautiful eyes when he was so ashamed of himself? "Thank you for coming." The rest of the team chorused as they bowed, the claps rang in their ears.

"She's crying." Oikawa heard Matsukawa mumble from next to him. "Look at her, she needs to see you're okay."

"I can't." Oikawa barely choked out as his eyes stayed glued to the floor, he bit his lip firmly as he held his tears back. "How can I look at the girl I love when I am a disappointment, I can't even get my team to nationals when he can. Tell me how to Matsukawa." Matsukawa's eyes widened as he heard his full name spill from his captain's lips.

"Clearly, I was nor will I ever be good enough for her," Oikawa told his fellow third years his back turned to them as he grabbed his bag, his hand in a fist his nails firmly digging into his palm as he blinked back his tears as he walked away, he needs to stay strong, for his team, he has to hold it together for them.

"Toru?" His whole body tensed up as he heard her hoarse sniffle filled voice met his ears. He slowly turned around to see her standing there a little behind him down the empty hallway, eyes red and puffy as the tears still leaked from them. Rubbing the sleeve of her hoodie against the tip of her red nose, the only thing he could think was how beautiful she still looked even though she was a sniffling snotty mess. Glancing behind her, Oikawa spotted the ash-blond boy about fifteen to twenty feet away from them, he was on his phone, but Oikawa knew he was watching them interact.

"I just want to be alone right now Y/n." His voice void of any emotion, her eyes widened as she heard him say Y/n, not the usual Y/n-Chan he always called her. He turned to continue his journey back to the bus to return to school, but as he took a step forward, her grip on the back of his jacket stopped him.

"I'm still so proud of you." Her voice was scarcely above a murmur, but he heard her words. "In my eyes, you will always be the king of the court, and I will always be by your side no matter the outcome of a match, always supporting you." Y/n took another step forward, wrapping her arms around his middle, left check settled against his back. "So, promise me you will get your crown back."

Oikawa bowed his head as silent tears began to flow from his own eyes. Y/n knew he was crying but the way he would take deep breaths trying to calm himself and the quiet choked sobs. Her grip tightens around him, causing his heart to leap in his chest, he prayed that she didn't feel it.

"Promise me Toru." Y/n's voice was firm yet still shaking slightly from the amount she had been crying.

"I promise." Voice cracking as Oikawa spoke those words. He gently loosens her grip on his team jacket before turning around pulling Y/n into a tight hug, her face instantly buried into the crook of his neck as her arms found their way under the jacket to grip on to his jersey tightly - his chin resting on the top of her head. The two childhood best friends stood there in each other's arms as they silently cried. In that moment Oikawa imagined that the girl in his arms was his, not realising just how cruel he was to being himself as he repeatedly chanted 'I love you' in his head. He loved how perfectly she fitted in her arms, the way her head fitted into the crook of his neck.

"I promise that one day I will make you proud to call me your best friend." Oikawa's voice dropping a few octaves as he buried his nose into her hair carefully inhaled her rose-like scent engraving the smell into his mind.

"I am always proud of you and to call you my best friend." She pulled back looking up into his eyes which held such a proud gaze before she glanced back over her shoulder to her boyfriend, which in turn reminded Oikawa that the girl he was holding wasn't his.

"Go." Oikawa sighed shakily as he slackens his grip, yet he didn't let go completely, wanting to keep her in his arms a little longer, he gave her a tight smile, "I'll text you later."

"My window is always open." Y/n replied, giving him a light punch to arm, returning his smile as she slipped out of his arms, taking a step back. He chuckled at her comment, he knew she wasn’t lying, her window was always open, and he had often snuck in when either of them was feeling a little low or just wanted to hang out with one another. Her window was most straightforward to climb up to if you knew how, his window, on the other hand, was not so easy to get too.

Oikawa watched as she walked back to Semi, his jaw clenching as he watched the girl who didn't know owned his heart snuggled into another man's side, Semi planned a long kiss on her forehead, causing a loving smile to grace her lips made Oikawa's heart skip a beat at her smile yet the jealousy bubbled in his chest once again suffocating him.

"Oi, Shittykawa." He felt Iwaizumi hand on his shoulder, tearing his gaze away from the happy couple. He looked at the Ace whose gaze held so much sympathy for the setter. "Come on." was all Iwaizumi said as he began to guide the setter back to the bus.

"Oh, Toru?" He looked over his shoulder to look at her calling him. "Get some ice on your knee please." He closed his eyes, chuckling with a nodded, of course, she knew his knee hurt after he slipped and landed on it during the match.

"Toru darling? Is that you?" Oikawa heard his mother's voice rang through the house from the kitchen as he stepped through the front door one early spring Saturday afternoon after a long day of training. "Yea it's me." He called back, trying to mask the gloomy tone to his voice. "I'm going to go take a shower."

"Toru hasn't been the same since Y/n got that boyfriend of hers." He heard his mother say causing him to falter in his step midway up the stairs, his hand gripped the bannister tightly. Had he really failed to hide his feelings? Does that mean Y/n knows? Is that why she seems so distant from him now?

"He's a nice kid and treats her right but I just so desperately wanted to see Y/n and Toru together." He heard M/n sigh, of course, it was the weekly girl's night their mothers had, this week was at his house.

"Mhm, I was looking forward to planning their wedding." Oikawa took a seat on the stairs as he continued to listen to the women's conversation, he smiled slightly at the fact that even their mothers wanted them to be together. How he would love to marry her, he knew she wanted a ruby and diamond platinum - since she said yellow gold doesn't suit her - engagement ring. He knew what kind of wedding she wanted, a small affair with family and friends, the colours champagne and white.

"Oh, and sharing grandmother duties, those two would make us some beautiful grandchildren." The women were gushing happily over the idea of being grandparents again. The way they were speaking was as if they didn't already have a grandchild each.

Oikawa sighed happily at the thought of their children, he could see them having three or four; actually, he would have as many as Y/n would let him have. He wanted at least one daughter, hopefully, a carbon copy of her mother. She was definitely going to be a complete and utter daddy's girl who he would spoil rotten and sons he could teach to play volleyball, of course, his daughter too if she so wished. He could see evenings where they would all sit and watch movies together or watch their mother play one of the many instruments she knew how to play, he could see her teaching them to play them as well.

He felt a tear slip from his eye from the thoughts he was having, as if he was grieving for a future he knew he would never see, quickly wiping it away he continued his journey up the stairs and grabbed a pair of clean boxers and sweats from his room before making his way into the bathroom. He switches on the hot water before stripping off he throwing his sweaty workout clothes in the laundry basket, he lets the water get to temperature before getting in. Oikawa allowed hot water to run over him, setting his hands firmly on the wall in front of him, bowing his head as he watched the water run down the drain. Finally allowing everything he felt from the day flood out, he was impressed with how he managed to hold it all together and was grateful for the fact the rushing water was covering up the sobs that racked his body.

The pain in his chest became unbearable as he thought about the future he had planned out in his mind. The image of Y/n and Semi wrapped up in one another's arms and their children running around flashed through his mind causing yet another series of sharp sobs to rack through his body. He was kicking himself for being so stupid as to leave so long to tell her.

"Toru?" His next sob caught in his throat as he heard her voice call through the door with a light knock. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yea!" He choked out, gritting his teeth at the fact he stuttered, that was the first time he had heard her voice in this week, she seemed to be avoiding him recently, she left earlier to a school than him and lunch she spent it in the music room.

"Oh, okay." He knew that tone of voice, she was feeling down, something was wrong, "It's just you have been in there a while, like nearly half an hour." He could picture her standing outside the door fiddling with her fingers, "Aunty is planning on ordering take away, so if you could come out soon, please."

"Sure, I'll be out in a bit." He replied, grabbing his shampoo hair before washing his body. He got out the shower drying himself with the fluffy white towel before slipping on his clean clothes, he looked in the mirror, noticing his eyes were slightly red and puffy. Groaning Oikawa splashed some freezing water on his face before heading to his room to grab a hoodie before he went downstairs only to find Y/n sat on his bed, her gaze focused out the window with her knees curled up to her chest with her nose buried between her them. Her eyes held a faraway look, he knew she was upset this was one of her go-to places and position when she was upset.

"Y/n?" He questioned quietly, so quietly that wouldn't have heard it if you weren't in the room. Y/n jumped at the sound of his gentle whisper, bringing her out of her thoughts.

"When were you going to tell me?" She asked her voice also matching his tone as her eyes never left the window.

"W-what?" He stuttered out; did she know that he loved her?

"Brazil Toru." Her head turned to look at him, tears running down her cheeks, his eyes widened. How did she find out? He grabbed the nearest alien hoodie from his desk chair pulling it over his head.

"I'm-" he sighed as he took a few steps closer to her "I'm sorry, I just hadn't found the right time to tell you." Gripping his hoodie, she pulled him closer as she turned her body to face him full, her legs hanging over the edge of the bed, making him stand between her legs as Y/n wrapped her arms around his waist buried her head in his stomach as she started to sob.

"This is why I have been avoiding you recently. I didn't know how to bring it up either, I overheard Makki and Iwa talking about it." She gasped out, struggling for breath, over how hard she is crying, "Toru," She sniffled, "w-what am I going to do without you?"

Oikawa was crying as well now, his arms securely wrapped around her, gently stroking her hair.

"We have been by one another's side for the past eighteen years. We have stuck together, through thick and thin. You were here for me when my arse of a father walked out, and I have always been there for you when you needed me, picking you up when you fell, figuratively and physically. You're my rock, Toru."

"Oh, Y/n," his own voice cracked, "You're my rock too. I will always be there for you, wherever it is, I will always be but a message or phone call away."

"And I, you Toru, I will always be here for you no matter what." She looked up at him, her glassy e/c eyes peering at him questioningly "Why Brazil though?"

"It was the best offer, and I promised to make you proud. I am so sorry I didn't tell you; I just didn't know how."

"It's okay," She smiled as the tears-stains on her cheeks gave them a slight glow, she still looked stunning, her b/c hair half tied back in a ponytail. The tip of her nose was red, making her look so cute, even with her bloodshot eyes. The urge to cup her jaw in his hands and kiss her with all the passion and love he could muster was almost too much to resist as the tsunami of emotions swirled inside him, they were being to crack the dam he had built to keep them in and protect his heart as well as to not ruin the friendship he treasured so dearly.

"When do you leave?" She questioned, tilting her head on one side, looking like an adorable inquisitive owl. "After we graduate."

"Toru," Her voice holding fake anger as she scolded him, he knew she didn't mean it by the playful look in her eyes, "We are just going to have to make so many more memories before you go." She smirked at him tugging on the strings of his hood, "And I want this hoodie before you go."

"Fine," He sighed with a cheeky smile and a playful roll of his eyes.

Graduation rolled around far too quickly, the five third years spent a lot of time together, creating as many treasured memories as they could, going to theme parks, Y/n spent time teaching Oikawa how to make milk bread so he wouldn't miss his favourite treat too much. Over those few months, Oikawa just kept falling deeper and deeper in love with her. He was standing in the airport still a little while till his flight, he had checked in already, all he had to do was go through security. Stood in front of him wearing his hoodie was Y/n, tears in her eyes but with a small smile on her face.

"I'm going to miss you Toru," She clutched her hands in front of her, "but, like we said only a text or a phone call away." Placing his carryon bag down on the floor. Oikawa steps forward, pulling her into a tight hug, enjoying the feeling of her in his arms again. "I'm going to miss you too," blinking back his tears, "even though we may be thousands of miles apart you will always be my best friend, and always be there for you no matter what."

Pulling away to check the time on his phone, he had an hour till his gate closed but he needed to go before he changed his mind and decided to stay. "Sorry Y/n-Chan I got to go; I want to be safe and not miss my flight." Oikawa's heart was breaking that he had to leave her, that she wouldn't be just a few seconds walk away. The flood of emotion consumed him as he felt his feelings for her nearly tumble out of his lips as he stared into her e/c eyes, that were clouded with unfallen tears for him. Oikawa was contemplating whether to tell her or not, deciding with the latter he thought it was best not to leave with telling her he had been in love with her for the last god knows how many years.

"It's okay Toru, I'll see you soon." She grabbed his hand, giving it a final squeeze.

“Of course, Y/n-Chan, I'll be back at Christmas." He grinned, ruffling her hair, letting go of her hand.

Y/n stood there as she watched her best friend step through security. Tears streamed down her face as she knew it would be the last time she saw him for a long time. Oikawa looked over his shoulder, his heart broke even more at her tears. He gave her a gentle smile and wave before he disappeared out of her line of sight, allowing his own tears to fall. Deciding in those few seconds that he would use the thousands of miles distance to finally get over her.

Four years.

Oikawa had hoped that after four fucking years he would have finally been able to move on, but he was wrong, no matter how many dates he went on with other girls, none of them ever made him feel the way she did and to make matters worse he saw and heard her everywhere he goes. During their university days, Y/n and Semi decided to start a band, they only did it for fun, but they got noticed, and now they were world-famous. They were adored by many, their songs always being played on the radio, television interviews and news articles galore. He, of course, listened to the album they had dropped, and she still sang like an angel.

But right now, the most challenging choice he would ever have to face was happening, no match would ever be as hard as this decision would be.

"So, will you?" Y/n asked as she sat opposite Oikawa outside a delightful little coffee shop on a quiet side street of Buenos Aires. The Ruby and diamond platinum engagement ring sparkled under the warm morning sun. Oikawa wasn't going to deny it was a pretty ring but the one he had spent many endless sleepless nights designing would have suited her much better.

"Why him?" Oikawa could not help but let the question spill from his lips, he needed to know, it was so quiet, barely audible.

"W-what?" Y/n stuttered out blinking in shock at her best friend's question, even with how quiet his voice was when he asked her, Y/n still heard what he said.

"Why him Y/n?" Oikawa asked louder, with more confidence with a clear voice.

"What do you mean why him?" She snapped before she sighed, she knew he was just making sure she was making the right choice, which he was but he was also trying to understand why she hadn’t ever noticed how much he loved her.

"Toru, Eita and I have been together for five years now. Of course, we have had our difficulties and being in the band together does create a few arguments, but we have made it through those problems. I love him, and I know he loves me. Eita has always treated me with the uttermost respect and love, never has he hurt me, and I believe he never will."

Y/n closed her eyes, wrapping her hands around her mug as she took a deep breath looking up into those brown eyes, she has known all her life. "So please Toru, would you, as my oldest, closest and dearest friend will you please be the one to walk me down the aisle and give me away?"

His heart shattered into a million pieces like a glass shattering as it hit the floor as he listened to her words, but for her, for her happiness, he would put on a brave smile and replied, "Of course, I would love too."

So, he did, not even six months later he was standing outside her dressing room where she got ready with her bridesmaids, he knocked on the door gently as her mother opened the door giving Oikawa a tight sad smile, which he returned before she pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry," She whispered into his ear, "It should have been you, my dear boy." The older women let a quiet sob escape from her lips. Oikawa could not say a word because if he did, he would cry and would admit how he felt to her, so he just gave the older h/c woman a nod as he bit his lip blinking back his tears.

The wedding was beautiful. She was beautiful, the dress made her glow, and her loving, joyful smile did not leave her face the entire day, Oikawa managed to hold back from objecting - somehow - when he had the chance to. His speech made her cry, and they danced a few times together that night, he cherished the time they had together that day, still wishing she was marrying him and not Semi.

"How are you doing?" Iwaizumi asked as he stood next to Oikawa while they watched the first dance.

"As good as I can be, I suppose." Oikawa shrugged, sipping his whiskey on the rocks.

"I'm impressed you didn't object." Oikawa scoffed before biting his lip, and he whispered: "I wanted to."

2021 rolled around, and Y/n and Semi's band was asked to perform at the opening for the Olympic, as always, the performance was mesmerising, Oikawa's eyes were glued to her the entire time. "Uncle Toru!" Her sweet little three-year-old voice called out.

"Amaya!" He grinned, turning around as her little legs ran towards him, he scooped her up in his arms spinning around, her giggle was like music to his ears.

He stopped spinning to look at the child in his arms, she was perfect likeness to his best friend when she was a child; the only difference was her eyes; she had her father's sharp brown eyes they should have been his molten chocolate brown eyes, this beautiful girl that should have been his baby girl, the child that should have been calling him papa not Uncle Toru. "I've missed you." She wrapped her little arms around Oikawa's neck. "I missed you too little one." Wrapping his arms around her.

"Amaya!" Oikawa heard her mother's voice call out in panic. "Where are you?"

"Did you run away from your mother?" Oikawa smirked playfully with raised eyebrows. Amaya pulled away from Oikawa's hug, setting her hands on his shoulder, with a guilty look on her face.

" Y/n!" Oikawa called out to h/c women. She turned around at the sound of his voice, seeing Oikawa stood with her daughter in his arms. Sighing out in relief, placing a hand on her heart as she saw her daughter in his arms.

"Amaya, don't scare me like that." Y/n scolded her daughter, and the gentle look was in Oikawa's eyes, he was still so in love with her, he loved how good of a mother she was.

"Y/n? Did you find her?" Semi's voice rang in his ears, dragging him out of his thoughts as he watched Y/n scold Amaya.

"Toru had her, she must have spotted him." Y/n called back over her shoulder as he walked towards them. "She called out to me and came flying in my direction." Oikawa smiled at the happily married couple. "You know that wasn't safe Amaya what if I didn't hear you."

"I'm sorry," The small h/c girl lips trembled as she spoke. Oikawa pulled her closer and placed a kiss on her forehead. "It's okay, just don't do it again."

"Oh, Uncle Toru! Guess what?" Amaya suddenly chirps back up again.

"What?" He asked just as excitedly as her.

"I'm going to be a big sister!" She cried out throwing her hands up in the air in excitement. He glanced at Y/n for confirmation, and he got a nod and sweet smile in reply. "No way! That is going to be awesome! You're going to be such a good big sister."

Oikawa had grown numb to the stinging pain in his chest after all these years. The day he found out Y/n was pregnant, he was over the moon for her, but of course, he still thought it should have been him.

Y/n had often asked Oikawa why he had yet to get married or be in a committed relationship that lasted more than six months, most of the time he lied saying he had yet to find the right girl, and he wanted to concentrate on volleyball. She believed his lies. Oikawa knew he may never get over her, and if he did, it would be a miracle.

"Toru why have you never gotten married?" She asked again, her voice cracking and raspy from crying so hard, grasping his hand tightly, as he led in his hospital bed.

It was time he decided, he did not have much longer, outside the room looking through the window was her family, the four children she had and her husband, both his and her mother and of course Iwaizumi. Amaya, who was incredibly close to her uncle, was sobbing into her fathers chest. He wasn't expecting his life to end like this, stage four lung cancer, for someone who never smoked a day in his life and was fit as anything he did not expect to go out like this.

He knew he wouldn't have much longer.

"Cause it was always you." He choked out, struggling to breath "I have been so in love with you for the past thirty years." He watched as her eyes widened and her lips parted "Before you even ask me why I didn't move on, I tried Y/n I tried so hard to move on, I saw so many people Y/n but not one of them compared to you."

The tears began to stream down her face once again. "It's always been you," cupping her cheek, stroking her tears away. "Why didn't you ever tell me? I was so in love with you during our last year of middle school and most of high school, but I never t-thought you loved me, so-” She choked on another sob “-so, I moved on."

She buried her head in the crook of his neck as she cried. He was kicking himself. She loved him all those years ago, and he blew it. He wrapped his arms around her as they both cried. He took in a raspy breath, knowing it was going to be his last.

As he whispered out his final words, he would every speak he had no regrets so glad he could finally speak the words he had always wished he could say to her,

"I love you so much."

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ct-7386 · 3 years ago

Text

Lost and Found pt2

[Continuation of Lost and Found pt1 :)

The warnings on this part are a little more intense, so please be careful, and please let me know if I missed a tag or tagged something wrong.

Also, yes, I named Vada Squad after the U.S. state Nevada - because the youngest trooper of the squad is named Reno (the capital city of Nevada). lol.]

Authors: myself and @cc-4477commanderthire Characters: Commander Thire (them); CT-7386, Vada Squad (me) Word Count: 4k Rating: T+ TW: depicted depression and anxiety; referenced isolation (self-imposed and imposed by others); anxiety/panic attacks; mild dissociation; bullying; referenced past deaths (ocs); referenced assisted suicide; implied neglect

Mando'a Guide: Vor entye - thank you

Lost and Found pt1

The alarm of Thire’s comm beeps insistently to wake him up for his next shift.

86 wakes blearily to the familiar crackling of a comm going off - but something is wrong: he’s being held by someone he doesn’t immediately recognize, and he’s in a room that isn’t his.

He tenses and lets out a quiet whimper, afraid for a moment when all he can remember are different memories, different nightmares. Then the events of the last few hours come rushing back, and he finds himself relaxing back into Thire’s arms. 86 is safe here.

Thire groans and raises a hand to rub over his eyes. He looks down at his vod‘ika, grateful that the other didn‘t bolt in the middle of the night. “Good morning.”

His voice is still rough from sleep and he clears his throat before continuing, “Slept well?”

He, for one, will definitely have back aches and a stiff neck. Hopefully moving around won‘t hurt too much.

86 tries to nod, but pain shoots from the base of his skull up and around to settle just behind his eyes. He winces and sighs quietly, burrowing down against Thire’s sternum. There just isn’t time for a migraine this morning, and he’d rather not be more of an imposition.

But… he did sleep well. “Best sleep in months,” he admits quietly. “Kinda - Kinda sore now, though.”

Thire chuckles quietly, “I second that. I hope I‘ll be able to move my neck properly today.”

Without thinking he brings his hand up and lightly scratches the back of Wren‘s skull, “When does your next shift start?”

They still have some time until first shift because Thire‘s alarm goes off early to afford him some interrupted time to get work done.

86 goes boneless at the light touch, and he lets out a quiet sigh as the pressure in his head melts away. “That - That feels good, vor entye,” he mumbles.

He thinks a moment. “My shift is always -” He yawns, “always from 0800 to 2200 - later if there’s a gala or other event.” 86 frowns slightly. “What - What time is it?”

Thire moves his hand up 86‘s skull to reach different points and replies, “0600, no need to rush.”

He has ordered 86‘ squad to his office in an hour and decides to make himself a little more comfortable until then. So, Thire shifts until his back his straight on the floor and 86 is star-fished above him, “Ah, much better.”

It is a much comfier position than before, 86 realizes, and he gratefully arches his back like a tooka to stretch out the kinks before settling back down. He’s perfectly happy to doze here a little longer, basking in the warmth and comfort of a vod - a friend.

Thire reaches over and sets his comm to beep again in half an hour. He hugs his vod‘ika close once more and closes his eyes.

When it beeps again, he gently cards his fingers through 86‘ hair. “Let’s get some breakfast, okay?”

86 sighs and reluctantly wakes up. All he wants to do is snuggle back into that warmth, but Thire is right: it’s time to get up. He drags himself into a sitting position and rubs the sleep-dirt from his eyes.

“Are we going to the mess?” he asks, voice a little rough with sleep.

“Yeah, I ordered your squad here for 0700. But we should still have enough time.” 86 definitely deserves a warning ahead of time. Though it‘s arguable if half an hour early is really ahead of time.

“You can use the fresher first, I need to check if the Senate‘s still standing,” Thire gestures and walks over to his desk to check his comm on an actual chair.

86 freezes in place, eyes and face suddenly blank. Inside, though, he’s panicking. He even feels slightly betrayed. “You - You ordered m-my squad here?”

It hasn’t been long at all - a few days - since his fight with Cory, since he confessed his original sin to Fox. He doesn’t know if he can face the rest of Vada Squad so soon, doesn’t know what Thire’s intentions are.

“Well, I understand why you acted out the way you did in the Senate. But the fall-out wasn’t fun to deal with, and I need all of you to be civil with each other, even if you dislike each other. That is necessary for the safety of all my men.” Thire understands that this is incredibly uncomfortable for 86 but Vada Squad needs to properly function together, reliably.

But first, “We’ll get some breakfast and then we’ll talk to them. This won’t take long, I promise.”

He gently places his hand on 86’ shoulder and squeezes reassuringly.

86 looks away guiltily. He hadn’t meant to cause more problems for his commander, and he wasn’t even the one who technically started it - but he hadn’t ended it, either, or even brought it to Thire’s attention sooner. This conversation with his squad is, as much as he might hate to admit it, necessary.

(He told Thire he trusts him; now he has to show it.)

He nods and leans briefly into the hand on his shoulder before stepping away to use the ‘fresher. When 86 is finished, he waits awkwardly by the door for Thire.

Thire closes his pad with a sigh; today is going to be a long day. He stands up and stretches until his shoulders pop back into place and smiles at 86, “Let‘s go and get some caff, shall we?”

He leads the way to the cafeteria which is still mostly empty because it‘s almost one and a half hours until the start of first shift. There isn‘t a cue and they can get their breakfast right away. Thire leads them to a table at the back of the room where the Commanders usually sit (when they actually come and eat something other than ration bars).

86 follows quietly. With how early it is, no one even gives them a second glance as they get their food and take their seats. He sits with his back to the wall so that he can see as much of the room as possible - a habit born from before he had his implants and needed to see to ‘hear’ people; now it offers a sense of safety in an environment he’s not entirely familiar with.

Still not feeling terribly hungry, 86 chooses instead to sip at his caf. For once, it’s the perfect temperature right away: just hot enough to sting the tip of his tongue. That doesn’t keep it from tasting awful, though.

“I should - I should try to get the kitchens stocked with proper caf,” he comments idly. “I get better stuff in the - the lower levels all the time.” He takes another sip and grimaces. “Not that - that I really like caf.” Is he rambling a little to fill the silence? Yes. Will he stop? No. He needs something to distract him from the upcoming meeting with his squad.

Thire listens and prepares his food. “I usually steal my caff from Fox‘s secret stash. But don‘t tell him that. Besides, if you don‘t like caf, have you ever tried tea? My Captain once acquired some and it was quite nice.”

He checks his chrono to see if they still have time. 86 probably isn‘t eating out of nervousness so Thire decides to sneak him out some food, for afterwards.

86 nods. “I’ve had tea a few times. Plenty of - of senators prefer it, and many of them like to offer me some while - while I’m translating to help keep me from losing my voice. I have a couple blends that I prefer, but other - other than those, I don’t much like tea.”

His smile is small and a little strained, but it’s honest. “If I were to choose my - my favorite drink, though, it would be Correlian whiskey - and not the cheap stuff. The good stuff, all - all butter-smooth and burn. Alderaani wine isn’t bad either, and Pantoran mulled cider? Perfect. It has - has just a hint of spice to kick your palette, and it’s a little tart to go with the sweet. And - And if you warm it up on a - a cold day, it’s even better.”

He watches Thire check his chrono and resists the urge to ask for the time or check his own; if he doesn’t look, he can pretend the squad meeting is further off than it is.

“You have a fine taste. Personally, I‘m used to rotgut of any kind and enjoy a beer every once in a while,” Thire replies with a smile. He‘s glad that 86 feels comfortable enough to ramble to him.

Thire finishes up his food, “Are you sure you don‘t want any? There is still plenty of time.”

And he knows from experience that it is better not to enter these sorts of conversations on an empty stomach.

86 shrugs. “I’m a - a little spoiled spending all day in the Senate Building -” And the lower levels when he can get down there, but Thire doesn’t know that, “especially around the senators who don’t hate clones. Certain - Certain favors can result in good benefits, too.” He eyes Thire thoughtfully for a moment; he’ll have to get something special for him after all this trouble.

He grimaces down at his tray at the question, stomach clenching. At this point he’d almost rather just be sick to get it out of his system. “I think…” 86 sighs and chokes down a couple more bites of food before pushing the tray a little. He admits softly, “I d-don’t think I can - can eat anymore.”

“That‘s okay, you don‘t have to.”, Thire gets up and cleans their tablets away but bags two bread rolls. He‘ll force feed them to 86 before sending his vod‘ika on a senate shift without having eaten something.

He comes back to the table and together they walk to Thire‘s office. It‘s a couple minutes before 0700 when they reach it.

The knots in 86' stomach tighten as they near the room, and the insides of his gloves are clammy with sweat. 86 sucks in a sharp breath that does nothing to loosen the tight band around his lungs or the tight stretch of his skin over his bones or the anxious stutter of his heart. Standing in the middle of the room, he flexes his fingers; his hands are shaking.

At 0700 sharp, there is a series of precise, even raps on the door. Instantly 86 changes, posture straightening, shoulders relaxing, face adopting an expressionless mask. He looks calm and composed - exactly like the perfect soldier he is expected to be in the Senate Building.

And he hates that this is how he instinctively presents himself to his squad.

“Come in”, Thire calls out. He leans against his desk in a relaxed posture and takes in each of the incoming troopers, “Do you know why I called you here?”

Streak, the sergeant of the squad, waits for the nine other troopers following him to enter and remove their buckets before answering. All 10 pairs of eyes flick to 86, each expression varying. Streak's expression is blank while at least two others look irritated, and the youngest trooper looks carefully bored.

86 pretends not to notice any of it.

"I'm going to assume," Streak replies neutrally, "judging by his presence, that this has something to do with the altercation between Corporals Cory and 86."

One of the troopers who had glared at 86 hisses snitch under his breath, and 86 only barely controls the flinch that runs through him.

“This isn‘t about Corporal Cory or the altercation at the senate a couple days ago.”, Thire replies. His voice is cold as ice and his face is a careful, well-practised mask, “This is about the behaviour I just witnessed. None of you are shinies. Yet, you still act as such.

“You deliberately, without being prompted, discussed a private, internal squad matter in front of a superior officer. And you have shown that you also will do that in front of Natborns. Do you know what that means? It means that you‘ll be decommissioned sooner rather than later."

Thire fixes his eyes on every single one of them. “I had a private conversation with Corporal 86, and I‘ll also have one with Corporal Cory. But the rest of you are apparently no better.” He lets his disappointment be heard audibly.

Streak stiffens and slowly turns to glare heatedly at the trooper who had hissed before. "In front of natborns? Cory, you utreekov! What were you thinking?!"

Cory bristles. "What was I thinking? How is this my fault? 86 is the one who's got a problem!"

86' head ducks just a little, eyes now trained low on the opposite wall.

Thire watches them calmly argue with each other before his eyes. “So, you not only argue in front of superiors, but you also specifically use names so that I couldn‘t possibly save any of you by fixing the roll call afterwards? Congratulations, you‘re all dead men walking.”

Cory snorts and mutters, “Then we’ll be just like the bastard’s first two squads and his batch.”

One of the other troopers, one who hadn’t spoken yet, rounds on him in shock. “Cory!”

86 hears it as if from far away, head ringing, ears staticky. His hands are trembling - all of him is - and nothing but the painful tripping of his heart and constriction of his lungs is real to him anymore.

Vada Squad is not his first, or even his second. On Geonosis, the three survivors of his squad, including himself, had been reassigned to different posts. His first squad in the Guard was killed on patrol - while he was on duty in a different part of the Senate Building. All of that is information available to his sergeant who, with his permission, had shared it with the others. 86 thinks that might have been a mistake.

Words filter back in through the jumbled mess in his brain.

“- heard what he said in Lock Up!” Ah. That would be Ember, a sister and twin to Flare, the vod currently holding her back from punching Cory. “You can’t just - How can you still think that?! It wasn’t his fault!”

“He still killed them!” Cory is being held back by Streak and Waffle, the squad’s other sister. “How can we trust anyone who would kill vode at all? And he’s never here! How can we trust that aruetti to have our backs if he just ignores us all the time?!”

86 stands frozen, drifting numb and apart from the scene in front of him. A low throb is building behind his eyes, and he realizes distantly that tears are slipping down his cheeks, silent and unnoticed. This is why he never came forward, never said anything. He just wanted to keep this from happening… He didn’t want them to fall apart.

“Enough!” Thire‘s voice booms through the room. “Every single one of you is a disgrace to the Guard. I expect you to be better. You will be punished accordingly. Dismissed.

“Corporal Cory, report to my office after shift ends. And I want a serious explanation for your behaviour. 86‘ past won‘t convince me.”

Once the others have filtered out he turns back to 86 and places his hands on the shoulders of the vod. Slowly he guides 86 to sit on the floor and pushes his head between his legs. Softly he begins talking to him, “There you go, you‘re alright. It‘s going to be alright.”

86 focuses on the buzz of Thire’s voice and his own breathing, which is deceptively calm. It takes a few minutes before the numbness begins to fade, melting back from the tips of his fingers and toes back up his limbs until he thinks he might be able to move again.

The moment the numbness fades completely, it releases the steel band around his chest, and he folds in on himself with an actual sob; he’s still shaking, and he can feel his tears soaking the collar of his blacks where they’ve rolled down his neck. He’s a mess.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for - his squad, his part in this disaster, his reaction to it - he doesn’t know.

Thire simply pulls him close and puts 86‘ head in the crook of his neck, “Nothing to be sorry for, vod‘ika. You did good.”

He gently rubs 86‘ back and continues to talk to him quietly. The position isn‘t exactly comfortable, given that they're both in full kit, but he keeps a tight grip on his brother nevertheless.

Just like the night before, it takes some time before 86 has calmed down some. Despite the uncomfortable position, he leans heavily on his commander, not quite able to hold himself up.

“W-What - What happens - happens now?” he hiccups. The hard plastic of Thire’s kit digs into him, but the discomfort helps ground him in the present moment, and he never wants to leave. More quietly he admits, forehead pressed against the unarmored stretch of Thire’s neck, “I don’t know what to do.”

“You‘re not alone, 86. Corporal Cory might be angry and hateful, but some of your squadmates defended you. And that means there is hope.” Thire pauses and lightly scratches 86‘ head.

“Part of the problem is that you‘ve never found each other as a squad. And, I know that that‘s a lot to ask, but maybe try and seek them out a little. For example, that sister of yours who defended you against Cory, I‘m sure she would like to spend some time with you, hmm?”

Thire’s going to seek her out and ask her to include 86 occasionally, he thinks. His vod‘ika isn‘t exactly socially confident, and there is a lot of baggage in his squad relationships.

86 laughs a little wetly, a little more of the tension melting as Thire scratches at his head. “Ember. I - m-maybe. She’s - She’s good. She’s n-never been - never been cruel like C-Cory or cold like Waffle and Tax. Ember and her twin, Flare, they both - they both have s-stopped Cory from being too h-hurtful before, though they l-let the antagonism and - and passive aggressiveness slide.”

He exhales shakily and presses closer. “S-Streak… He’s just bitter. He tried to - to get Cory and I to stop, at first, but when n-nothing changed, he became irritated. The longer he spent with Cory, the m-more he - he subconsciously began to believe what was being said, and he started blaming m-me for how Cory an-and I could never get along.”

“Reno, our youngest, he’s - he’s good though,” 86 admits softly. “Poor - Poor kid just got thrust into the m-middle of this shit. He doesn’t talk to me because he doesn’t want C-Cory and the others to - to be mad at him, too.”

Thire slowly rubs up and down 86‘ back, and hums along soothingly. He‘s glad that 86 is talking to him and listens attentively.

“I‘m sure they don‘t always hang around as a big group, so you can talk a little to the twins, hmm?”

He doesn‘t want to jostle them too much but needs to shift slightly to prevent his leg from falling asleep before he hugs 86 close once more, “Do you have anything you‘re interested in? Something you could enjoy spending your time doing?”

86 makes quiet, thoughtful noise. “May-Maybe. I can - I can try? Talking to them, I mean. It can’t be that hard, r-right?”

He uses Thire’s shifting to remove at least the chest and back pieces of his armor; the edges were starting to dig into him uncomfortably with the way he was pressing close to the commander. 86 relaxes into the hug, and when Thire asks his next question, he flushes and tucks his face against Thire’s neck. It’s so easy to talk to Thire - though that might have something to do with the way 86 feels sort of drunk on the closeness and the friendship and the caring.

“I - I like flowers,” he mumbles, a little embarrassed, “growing them. Other plants too, but flowers mostly. The science is fascinating, the process cathartic, and - and plants make sense. People d-don’t, even though I work with them all day. With plants, I just - I just know when somethin’ will work or not, if it needs more water or light, and they - they don’t want anything from me. Just…” 86’ sigh shudders slightly, and his voice becomes smaller. “I can - I can say no, and they can’t be mad at me. They’re simple.”

86 knows he sounds a little crazy, talking about the plants as if they’re something close to sentient, but to him they are. He wouldn’t know how to explain how he really does just have a knack for the plants he grows - an instinct, even. It’s just how it’s always been.

Thire smiles, “Plants are a good interest to have. Do you have someplace where you grow them yourself?”

Belatedly he realizes that that is probably a threatening question coming from a superior and adds, “You don‘t have to tell me where, and I won‘t go looking for them.”

He reaches up and softly ruffles 86 hair and tucks his vod‘ika even closer. If he could he would hold him close and just never let go again. Hide him from the world and protect him from its cruelty. It pains him physically that he can‘t.

The question makes that familiar anxiety build in his chest again - but Thire’s next words soothe it away. Still, he hesitates before answering.

“I - I do. I found a place out of the way where no one would - would stumble across it, and I found ways to get w-water there without using the Guard’s rations. I… I know some people who were able to - to supply me with various things I might need. And now…” 86 hums, eyes slipping closed again. “It’s safe for me there. I like to - to take my food down there at night after shift, and I - I like sleeping there, too,” he admits softly. “No one who hates me, and I have less nightmares.”

“I am glad you have found something worthwhile to spend your time with. I‘m sure you‘ll also find people in time to share your hobby with you, vod‘ika.” Even though Thire doesn‘t want to, he lets go of 86 and helps him to stand up. “Sadly, shift starts in 5 minutes and we both have meetings to attend to. So I‘m afraid we have to go now.”

As they leave the office Thire stops and knocks their heads together in a keldabe, “I‘ll always be there if you need me or just want to talk with someone. Don‘t you dare forget that.”

86 gratefully accepts the help up even though he finds he doesn’t want to go. For once, he doesn’t want to leave the presence of a vod - the very thought makes him want to curl into himself all over. But he stands up and puts his front and back plates back on, tugging his armor into something straight and presentable for the day.

The unexpected keldabe has emotion swelling up from the bottom of his stomach until it presses against the inside of his chest, throat, eyes until he wants to cry all over again. This is what it’s like to be wanted. He’d very nearly forgotten.

He leans hard into the keldabe, eyes scrunched shut and breath stuttering harshly as he tries to control his tears. “Vor entye,” he breathes. 86 blinks rapidly as he draws back and musters a smile. “I - I’ll try not to forget. And i-if I do, I’ll…” He squares his shoulders, helmet tucked under his arm, eyes glinting determinedly, “I’ll f-find you, sir. Promise.”

86 relaxes, smile coming back a little stronger and brighter - truer - than before. Then he turns and begins making his way to the Rotunda. They really will be late if they don’t hurry.

Thire smiles after him before turning around and walking to his own first meeting of the day.

#Wren pt2.2 #cgrp oneshots #Lost and Found #swtcw #coruscant guard ocs #coruscant guard #commander thire #ct-7386 #Vada Squad

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gisellelx · 4 years ago

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How (if at all) do you think the fact that Carlisle turned Edward, Esme, Rosalie and Emmett without their consent plays out in his relationship with all of them? I’m especially curious about how it played out with Esme, because although she loved him, he did effectively void the last active decision she made as a human and forced her to live with lingering trauma for eternity , and there wasn’t a third party involved begging him to do it like for some of the others

Man, Twilight Renaissance anons are the bestest BESTEST. Because the last questions in my queue are basically all the things I’m grappling with with this magnum opus fic I’ve been working on off and on since 2010. YES. THESE ARE THE IMPORTANT QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS FAMILY.

It weighs more on him than it does on them, with the possible exception of Rosalie. And Esme in particular--it’s one reason why I’ve never written him as having treated her son (who in my HC is named John David). I have to assume he didn’t really know what he was getting himself into. I think if he’d known that...well, actually I think he still would’ve changed her because of their backstory. And then he just would’ve felt like dirt.

So...Carlisle is a Puritan, right? This sort of slips through in the books because SM doesn’t seem to understand much about mainline Christianity. But a witch hunting (out of vogue) Anglican priest in the 1640s is almost undoubtedly a nonseparating Puritan. So no matter what he says about “I was beginning to disagree with my father’s particular brand of faith” he’s got a deep relationship with the concept of original sin. This is basically where he’s coming from as a vampire--being a vampire is the very embodiment of original sin, and he’s basically subscribed to the very, very Calvinist idea that his job on earth is to work his way out of this sin he was re-born into. And he’s not going to be sure that he’s actually achieved that goal until he dies, so since he’s more or less immortal....yeeeaaah.

His family has brought him everything he ever wanted in his life. The peace he feels and the joy they give him is absolutely unparalleled and when he prays (which I think happens infrequently) he prays prayers of thankfulness for them. But they are all representations of the ways in which his temperance failed, and representations of some of the most terrible things he’s done. And he is somewhat unrepentant about this. Think back to New Moon and “I’ve never regretted changing Edward.” So then you get this other beautiful layer of conservative Christian guilt over the fact that he did something bad and he feels so good about it.

And that’s even before we open the pandora’s box which is the guilt he feels over what turning Esme did to his relationship with Edward.

So...yeah. In the words of the Book of Common Prayer, he confesses that he is in bondage to sin and cannot free himself. He loves the result. He loathes what he did. And these things crash against each other, constantly, in his psyche. He’s always trying to “fix” it, and that sometimes results in him doing things which are absolutely dumb like letting Edward demand the entire family move in New Moon.

#carlisle cullen #esme cullen #edward cullen #sometimes I just want to smack him but that's why he's interesting

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cheshiresense · 5 years ago

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For the headcanon thing if I'm not too late. Headcanons for FemIchigo/Kisuke ship?

Lol you didn’t give me an AU? Guess I could throw them in the canon verse but the events wouldn’t be much dif imo. But let’s see how this goes.

Edit: Welp. This got long.

1. Ichigo keeps her hair long because of her mom. Masaki had long hair, and even if it’s not the exact same colour, Ichigo grows her own hair out in her honour, as a reminder of the one time she failed to protect her precious people and just because she’s never met anyone with hair as pretty as her mom’s.

The first time she gets into a serious fight with Shinigami, that dick Renji uses it against her. He grabs her hair, and taunts her with it, and in the end, she kicks his ass, but then his dick boss shows up and just about kills her. When she wakes up at the Shouten, she’s half-naked, wrapped in bandages, and her hair’s been sliced ragged, left in uneven strands around her shoulders where before it had reached her waist. Urahara is nice enough to cut and style it for her. He tells her he only knows how to cut it one way because a good friend of his used to wear her hair short. It’s cute enough, and at the end of the day, Ichigo would much rather keep her life than her hair, but she also locks herself in the bathroom later that night and has a good cry about it. It’s stupid, it’s just hair, it’ll grow back, but it still feels a little like losing her mother all over again. She gives herself twenty minutes, and then she gets her shit together because she has to go save Rukia, and Urahara promised to make her strong enough so she needs to get some sleep more than anything else right now. When she gets back to her room though, the rest of the Shouten is still silent but there’s a tray of tea by her futon, still hot, and too sweet to have been made by Tessai. Ichigo doesn’t even like tea, but it’s a surprisingly kind, amusingly awkward gesture from a man who knows too much and tells her too little. She drinks it all, making a face at the taste but appreciating the warmth that spreads all the way to her fingertips, and when she lies back down and closes her eyes, sleep comes easier this time.

2. Kisuke’s the one who carries her back to the Shouten after she defeats Aizen and subsequently collapses in the aftermath. He thinks it would’ve been easier if she’d been born a boy. She’s tall for her age and gender, but she feels more fragile like this, her shoulders narrower than her usual larger-than-life personality would suggest, her frame less sturdy. Even her bones feel more delicate. Then again, she’s still only sixteen and she’s already lost half her soul in a war she should never have had to fight in the first place, and a good chunk of that blame can be laid squarely at Kisuke’s feet, so maybe boy or girl, it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. She’s light enough that Kisuke can carry her without difficulty, but her weight still feels like shackles around his wrists, tied to an anchor at the bottom of the ocean, like the worst of his sins given life, and Kisuke hadn’t ever thought that would be something he’d have trouble bearing until now. But the least he can do is carry her home, so that’s what he does. He takes her back to the Shouten and cleans her up and heals her– it’s a routine he’s uncomfortably familiar with these days. He doesn’t know if she’s ever consciously realized it, but he’s seen her naked enough times to feel like a pervert. He was Onmitsukidou, and he’s seen Yoruichi change in front of him enough times that the female body doesn’t make him blink, but Ichigo’s young - old enough to have developed curves, young enough that his hands shouldn’t be anywhere near her (figuratively or literally) - but there’s nobody else to do it, Yoruichi is always inconveniently away, so Kisuke keeps his eyes and hands well within professional range, runs a bath for her that takes care of most of the dirt and sweat and blood so he only has to make sure she doesn’t drown, and then whisks her off back to bed where he can bandage up what his Kidou can’t heal before settling down to monitor her reiatsu levels.

She remains in a coma for a month. Kisuke is the one who takes care of her, from fresh bedding to sponge baths to IV-fed fluids, even trimming her hair when it starts looking too shaggy (she’s growing it out again, so he doesn’t cut more than what he has to). By the time she opens her eyes, Kisuke’s just relieved she wakes at all, and it doesn’t seem like she’s (physically) much worse for wear so at least his caretaking skills aren’t terrible. All the discomfort in the world can be tolerated if it means Ichigo remains as healthy as she can possibly be.

3. Ichigo doesn’t see or hear from Urahara or any other Shinigami for the next seventeen months, and she tries not to let it get to her. She still sees her human friends at school, even if she’s no longer welcome in a large part of their daily lives, and Shinigami probably don’t think a year and a half is all that long. Besides, at the end of the day, she knew most of her Shinigami acquaintances for a handful of months tops; that’s hardly grounds for eternal friendship. She’s hurt by their absence, but she keeps herself busy with school, with homework, with the part-time job she finds just to fill the hours in-between. She gets good at ignoring the fact that she knows where her friends go after school, knows where her sisters go, and that she can no longer follow them. Urahara doesn’t wear a gigai after all, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to. He probably has better things to do too now that the war is over and Ichigo has done her duty.

So it’s been seventeen months of mind-numbing (soul-wrenching) monotony, and then she gains a stalker. She would never have chased that thief down if she had known Ginjou Kuugou was so… greasy. She doesn’t just mean his hair either; everything about him oozes an oily sort of charm that sets off every alarm bell her mom drilled into her head about Stranger Danger, Female Edition, and it becomes clear very quickly that Ginjou is exactly the sort of man who just won’t take no for an answer. He follows her around, flirts like he thinks she finds him attractive, keeps inviting her out for a meal, even tracks her down at work, and Ichigo’s just about had it with him after he “bumps” into her while she’s walking home from doing the grocery-shopping, because she may not be a Shinigami anymore but she sure as hell still knows how to defend herself and kick a creep in the balls when he dares to sling a too-proprietary arm around her waist, as if he has any right.

As it turns out though, she doesn’t have to. Ginjou gets about half a second to touch her, still blathering on about having something interesting to show her if she lets him treat her to some ramen, and then he’s being ripped away from her, abruptly enough to tear a shout from him, and Ichigo spins around just in time to see Urahara twist Ginjou’s arm behind him at a painful-looking angle before slamming him face-first into a nearby wall.

Ichigo doesn’t think she’s ever seen Urahara so… openly violent before. She can’t stop staring for a long moment, because that casual, effortless strength is… not something Ichigo would mind seeing again. If nothing else, it’s clearly effective (and pointedly ignores the voice that says she isn’t staring because it’s effective). The look on his face though is positively serene, if you don’t count the ominous shadow that his hat is somehow casting over his eyes.

“I do believe Kurosaki-san has asked you to stop harassing her,” the shopkeeper says in tones so airily cheerful only an idiot would buy the act. Ginjou doesn’t reply anyway. He can’t. Urahara’s yanked his arm up high enough to let him simultaneously choke the life out of the guy, his hand about as movable as stone as it pins Ginjou’s wrist to the back of his neck and his neck to the brick wall.

“Hey,” Ichigo says, and then stops, because on one hand, this guy probably doesn’t deserve to be straight-up murdered, but also if anyone in Ichigo’s life can kill a human and make the corpse disappear, it would be Urahara.

But Urahara glances at her, then shrugs a little and releases Ginjou, only to knock him over the head with his cane, hard enough to send him crumpling to the ground in an unconscious heap. There’s a moment of silence after that, and then Ichigo remembers to be irritated because she’s no one’s damsel in distress. “I could’ve handled him, you know.”

It comes out sharper than even she intends, but the sight of him reminds her of how long she hasn’t seen him or any of her other Shinigami friends, and it’s hard to remain mature about it when one of them is suddenly right in front of her again. Urahara, because he’s Urahara, just rakes a too-discerning eye over her like he can see right through her annoyance to the root of it. His expression tightens with something Ichigo can’t name, but all he does is incline his head in acknowledgement even as he smiles in a way that makes her want to punch him. “Of course, Kurosaki-san, but what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t interfere?”

Ichigo gives him the flat unimpressed look that deserves, Urahara’s smile twitches into something more genuinely amused, and for a second, it almost feels as if no time at all has passed since the last time they’d shared an actual conversation. Then Ginjou groans, Ichigo bristles irritably, and Urahara’s smile fades.

“Kurosaki-san,” He calls out before Ichigo can do more than turn away. “There are some things you need to know. But perhaps we can take this off the streets first? Come back to my Shouten; I will explain everything there.”

Ichigo turns back, scowling suspiciously at the blond, then down at greasy stalker. Great. She should’ve known; of course it would be Shinigami business that actually dragged Urahara out of his shop and into his first interaction with Ichigo after seventeen months of radio silence. But… if Urahara is willing to explain just what greasy stalker wanted to drag her into, Ichigo would be an idiot to turn him down.

“Fine,” She grumbles. “I’m using your fridge though. I’ve got ice-cream in here and it’s gonna melt before I get home at this rate.”

Urahara beams at her and hefts greasy stalker over his shoulder before ushering her to the Shouten. True to his word, he tells her about the Fullbringers who’ve invaded Karakura, and he tells her that the Shinigami have been monitoring the situation, and then he tells her he has a way to return her powers and soul-spirits to her. He shows her the sword, engraved with a bunch of intricate symbols she can’t even begin to decipher, and it thrums with so much power even she can feel it. She has a sudden epiphany that it must’ve taken even a genius like Urahara quite a while to make something like this, because she’d asked around, before she’d lost the ability to see Shinigami, and she knows for a fact that fixing her soul should’ve been impossible. The realization that Urahara must’ve been working on this for the past seventeen months goes a long way to soothing any fair or unfair feelings she had towards him, even if she also thinks he could’ve just told her. But she thinks that, and then she thinks that Urahara probably didn’t because he hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up for nothing. It’s stupid, but so is the way he eases the sword through her chest as gently as possible, as if it makes a difference at all when that first jolt of foreign reiatsu to her system still hurts like a bitch. She thinks she can forgive stupidity though if it’s coming from him. Not that she’ll ever tell him that.

In the aftermath, the Fullbringers disappear one by one, and nobody says anything but an increasingly manically cheerful Urahara gets a lot of wary side-eyes from the Shinigami trooping through Karakura over the next couple of weeks. It’s Rukia (Rukia who never so much as passed on a how-are-you, and Ichigo doesn’t blame her, but she’s never going to forget it either) who tells her later about Urahara kneeling in front of all the Gotei’s captains and lieutenants and begging them to help, who bowed his head through the Captain-Commander’s orders to keep the sword back until a powerless Ichigo has drawn out all the Fullbringers, only to immediately disobey as soon as he got the reiatsu he needed from them.

Ichigo asks, of course, just once, why. True to form, Urahara doesn’t give her a straight answer, he shrugs and lies instead, “Well it isn’t as if there’s anything else they can do to little old me in exile, is there?” But for just a moment, he also looks directly at Ichigo, his gaze steady and calm and unyielding, like there was never anything else he could’ve done, like choosing Ichigo over the Gotei was a decision made as easily as he breathed.

Much, much later, looking back, Ichigo thinks maybe that was the moment she first fell just a little bit in love.

4. Somewhere between the Quincy War and Yoruichi and Tessai moving back to Soul Society and the kids deciding they want to experience high school and normal life at the Kurosaki household, Kisuke wakes up one morning to Ichigo cooking breakfast in his kitchen and realizes he’s sharing a house with a twenty-year-old college student whose Gargantas make for the easiest commute to and from school in the history of public transportation. He stands in the doorway for a long minute, just watching her go through the motions that have become routine at the Shouten for… months now. Ever since he survived the war by the skin of his teeth and ended up half-blind because Benihime is only a quick, crude fix when Kisuke doesn’t know the exact makeup of whatever he’s restructuring. He’d had to study that, and then get some hands-on practice, before finally re-restructuring his eyes one more time. Ichigo had been a big help. Kisuke had had difficulties reading, along with dizzy spells and crippling headaches, so even though she didn’t understand everything, she also spent long hours with him, reading out loud and taking down notes for him, cooking for him and keeping his house clean and even manning the shopfront for him when Tessai was busy with the Kidou Corps. And then, once he was better… well, apparently she’d just never moved back out, and Kisuke had liked the company (has always liked her company) that he’d obliviously taken her presence here for granted.

She turns around now, probably sensing him. Her hair’s almost as long as it used to be back when they’d first met, but she’s tied it up into a messy bun. She’s still in pajama pants and one of his shirts because she likes the larger size and she keeps stealing them and Kisuke doesn’t mind, he has more than enough.

Maybe he should’ve minded.

“Hey,” Ichigo greets around a stifled yawn. “Food’s almost done. Could you set the table?”

Kisuke makes an agreeable noise and starts pulling down tableware from the cupboards. The coffee’s also done so he pours a mug, and then prepares the tea with the water that’s just finished boiling. Five minutes later, they’re seated around the table, Ichigo grumbling memorized literature quotes into her coffee because she has finals next week, and Kisuke just… watches her. They’ve thrown the porch doors open because it’s summer and the morning breeze is nice. Ichigo has her back to it, and the sunrise that frames her head like a halo gilds her bright hair gold. When she finally sets her coffee down, she looks up and catches his eye, and even as her eyebrows go up in an unspoken question, the smile that blooms across her face at the same time is as much a reflex as it is genuine, like the mere sight of him is something to be happy about, and Kisuke is helpless to do anything but smile back.

Shit, he thinks, far too late. I’m definitely going to hell.

5. “I’m definitely going to hell,” he moans into the table. Yoruichi, because she is first and foremost a terrible best friend, is too busy laughing at him to console him. At least she came prepared with the sake when he called her in a panic once Ichigo had left for class.

“Took you long enough,” Yoruichi chortles, like this isn’t a Big Problem. “Tessai thought for sure you’d realize she’s practically your wife-” Kisuke winces. “-when she went off to college and still went back to the Shouten every night. But I’ve known you longer so I figured it would take you a while before it clicked.”

“We are roommates,” He hisses vehemently, downing another cup of alcohol before pouring himself some more. “I’ve never- Yoruichi-san, I would never- I wouldn’t-”

“Well that was obvious too,” Yoruichi snorts, but her gold eyes are suddenly a lot less amused a lot more focused, acute and unblinking on his face. “But you know, if she’s old enough to kill for you, then she’s old enough to fuck.”

Kisuke freezes, and then straightens, and he has never looked at Yoruichi the way he does now, but there’s ice in his veins and a knot of flash-fire rage and black-fanged guilt clawing up his gut, and he couldn’t stop the crass words if he wanted to, “She was old enough to kill for me at fifteen; was she old enough to fuck then too?”

Yoruichi doesn’t even flinch, just pins him with a burning look sharp enough to cut. “Well you didn’t wanna fuck her then, did you? But she’s an adult now, and she can make her own choices, and I know you suck at human-ing so I’m gonna go ahead and give you a piece of advice in advance and hopefully save everyone a lot of needless drama - in general, people don’t like it when you make decisions for them because you think you know better. So before you panic even more and start pushing her away ‘for her own good’ but really actually because you freaked out about having feelings, maybe, just maybe, ask her what she wants.” She grins like a tiger that has its prey cornered. “Ichigo’s not stupid. Even I don’t know if she knows about your gigantic crush yet, she’s surprisingly closed off about personal issues, but let me just remind you, Kisuke - she didn’t sit at my bedside, or Shinji’s, or even Rukia’s, after the war, and you know full we were all laid out for days, if not from injuries then exhaustion.” She leans forward and snags the front of his Shihakushou to give him a hard shake. “Are you listening to me, Kisuke? She cares about you, and you care about her, and I have not seen you this happy in a very, very long time.” She glares at him, daring him to argue. “Even if nothing comes from this, even if you just stay friends, don’t you dare fuck this up for yourself. You’ve got a good thing here. She’s good for you, and she makes you happy. And it’s not a crime to be happy, Kisuke.”

She lets him go. Kisuke doesn’t move for a long minute, and this time, Yoruichi waits him out. “…What if I’m not good for her though?”

Yoruichi clicks her tongue and reaches for her own sake again, limbs going feline-languid once more. “That’s for her to decide. She’s got a decent head on her shoulders, Kisuke; if you really were poison for her like you seem to think you are every damn turn of the moon, she would’ve dropped you a long time ago.” She pauses to take a swig, and then she kicks him under the table hard enough to make him yelp. “Now quit being a coward, drink your damn sake, and then go home and be disgustingly domestic with your roommate when she gets back. And if after all this crap you put me through, you still end up hurting her, I’m gonna tell Kuukaku, and she’ll make you wish you were just dead.”

Kisuke thinks about that for a moment, remembers some of the antics Kuukaku used to get up to with Yoruichi, and internally cringes. “Right,” he sighs. Yoruichi rolls her eyes at him, and he sighs again. Well, he supposes he should’ve known better than to get any sympathy from Yoruichi. He also mulls over what she’s said though, and… well. If nothing else, Ichigo’s choices are her own. Kisuke’s manipulated her into a war once already. He can’t - he won’t - do it to her again, for anything.

He downs the last of his alcohol and this time dares to hope.

6. They never actually sit down and lay all their cards on the table and talk about it. It’s not in either of their natures; Ichigo prefers actions, and ninety percent of Kisuke’s words have always been used to deflect and manipulate. But, for Ichigo, the Shouten becomes home. She never moves out (and yes, she knew what she was doing when she packed up most of her belongings and carted them over to the shop), and at first, it was just to help because Kisuke was so badly injured from the war, but the longer she stayed, the harder it was to think about leaving again for good. When Kisuke hadn’t said anything even after he’d fully recovered, she took it as permission to stay, and of course that didn’t do anything to make her like him less. She enjoys his company, likes reading in his labs while he fiddles with his experiments, likes surprising him with new recipes, likes being surprised when he modifies or creates yet another Kidou spell for her monstrous levels of reiatsu so that it won’t blow up when she tries it. She likes that he always tucks her into bed if she falls asleep at her desk studying, and she likes that he trusts her enough to walk around without wearing his hat all the time. She likes that between her strength and adaptability and his creativity and cunning, they’re more or less evenly matched in a spar, and the harder she pushes him, the more thrilled he gets at having to work for his victories. She likes that he comes home one day with something both new and still familiar in his eyes when he looks at her, and a month later, on her birthday, he takes her halfway across the world to a rare book convention with a focus on Shakespeare, and halfway through that, his hand swings out to tangle her fingers with his own.

They never really talk about it, but Ichigo migrates into his bedroom one night and never sleeps in her own room again. They take things slow, honestly more for Kisuke’s benefit than her own, but she doesn’t mind because mostly, she just likes having Kisuke there, with her. He still treats her like glass sometimes, like something priceless he’s afraid to smudge just by touching it. Those days, Ichigo sprawls across him with all her weight and stays there until he wraps himself more firmly around her, usually dozing off while Ichigo works on a draft of her first book.

They don’t talk about it. But they don’t have to, to know what they mean to each other.

#headcanon meme: answered #bleach #uraichi #urahara kisuke #kurosaki ichigo #fem ichigo #fandommaniac2401 #headcanon

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mrsunderhill678 · 4 years ago

Text

Oh, shit... Did I write something? Woops, those demons, eh? Always possessing your fingies and making you write.

“I ain't a sinner, ain't a saint, just the result 'a my brother's choice wrapped up in barbed wire and regretful survival, and I wondah, if 'e saw me 'gain, would 'e call me Lazarus? 'E put me down and spected me ta stay, but I ain't da kinda man dat dies so easy.” - Anthony Burningsky

“Lacin' a lie with sugar is da only way ta convince a man ta consume it, mate.” - Anthony Burningsky

“We're all scars, memories and graves, wonderin' a wasteland 'a sin. And I'v found, dat redemption is a small price ta pay when you're wookin' at eternal damnation.” - Anthony Burningsky

“I can't be the only one with a loaded gun, certainties and doubts in every chamber. All I can do is spin the chamber and pray I find certainty and stable ground, but only bullets of doubt and misery pierce my skull and bleed my mind.” - Pryella Burningham

“I'm looking for the map to hope, cause I heard it's a journey, but here I am, fucking lost. In me, in doubt and everything in between, because I fear that with a family tree this sinful, I'm bound to become the very thing that scares me the most. My father.” - Pryella Burningham

“I fear the forest, yet I hide in it's shade, playing my game of Russian Roulette all on my lonesome. The ground shakes beneath me, as if it wishes to swallow me whole. And perhaps, when the dirt brings me into it's maw, and the grass waves above me, and I stand with no tomorrow, no yesterday and no today, is when I'll be at peace. Because with these memories? With these hauntings of my father's yellow smile? I fear death is my only release, and perhaps Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun is the only form of rest I'll ever receive.” - Pryella Burningham

“I have reason, the world has madness, but perhaps that is only my perception of it, slaying he who is mad only giving myself madness in return. If you have reason to your madness you're still mad, after all.” - Weston Sardisco

“This is a war of a different kind, and all I require is a six shooter followed by my wit.” - Weston Sardisco

“I'll lay my hand on the bible and say a prayer for all who lost themselves in the brutality of this world, because I, intend to find them. For I care not who you were, only who you are, and if you see me on the horizon, please, remember, do not bring up your rights, in the midst of all your wrongs. Because one hundred twenty two rights does not make a life time of wrongs, holy.” - Weston Sardisco

“You will sooner find the dirt than my forgiveness, tired sinner.” - Weston Sardisco

“I am a creature of the night, drunk on the light of the moon, dancing under it's harsh glow with the blood of the fallen spilling crimson at my feet.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“Tell me, do you fear the howl or the wolf? The man or the blade? The gun, or the bullet? Or shall you simply fear all? Because I, am a devil, dressed in robes of false silken intentions, but you don't fear the crimson on these robes, for you simply believe them to be threaded embroidery and design.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“I have romanticized the art of murder, and you should fear the man who's built a masterpiece of scarred corpses and slashed throats.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“Beg and plead, wail and confess, every road ends with me. Every life ends with me. I am a moon drunk creature, howling under the blanket of shade and stars, and you should learn, that to fear me, my friend, is a choice, but to die, is not.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“I was born in the shadows of the pine, with the world’s darkness in my mind, wondering how oh how can a man stray from his family tree, when all he could ever do is crawl? But all I did was fall into my own shadow.” - Faustina Cordoba

“If the light from the sun had a choice, it wouldn't shine upon me.” - Faustina Cordoba

“I realized I had to say goodbye to who I was, because that isn’t who I am. Farewell, young man, dapper child, you fought so bravely, but I’ll take the battles from here on out. It's tiring, being who you're not, because you're always actin', and the mask is heavy, cripplin'. So farewell to every past version of myself, you did the best you could, and I'll bleed out for you, if only ta achieve the dreams we've held so dearly but hidden for so long.” - Kadel Smith

“I've spent my life battlin' myself, and though it wasn't 'a war 'a the trenches, or bullets cuttin' the air, it was a war 'a the skin, 'a the mind. As my old pal Duke would say, "It's a daunting task, wrestlin' with oneself," and I suppose I would know the feelin. Cause that's all I's ever done.” - Kadel Smith

“If life is a war, then I've been hit by a dozen bullets, but I'll continue to walk the path with this blood in my lungs and soul, cause though I've spent so long in this world's ugliness, I can still find the beauty all around me. Like the twilight fallin' of snow whilst you're sat with an old friend on two rusted pairs 'a swings. I can find beauty in that, in life, and most importantly, in me.” - Kadel Smith

“To the world, I am cannon fodder, I suppose my purpose is to continue to drop in sprays of red and sorrow, if only for the powerful to charge in leaps and bounds, clapping for all they’ve won, and all we’ve lost. To the powerful, the rich, the world is their home and I'm just an uninvited guest, suppose in a world that doesn't care for the weak, I'll always be God damn trespassing.” - Gabriella Vaxwington

“When I come for you, with my glock, my rage and my mother's eyes, you will see all the fury she hid, you will watch the sky fall and heaven's gates shake like thunder. Cause brother, my mother's up there, with her wings and her pain, and when your blood spills on the dirt, the angels will fuckin' sing, cause my ma weren't meant ta join their ranks by your hand. But you? You're meant to join the devil, by MY, hands, and that, is fate. Or 'ow did you put it? Karma always pays her dues, and I suppose that makes me, karma.” - Gabriella Vaxwington

“Execution, the act of killing a man for a damning transgression, sometimes it takes a guillotine, or a bullet point blank range, but usually, all it takes is a single word.” - Beautler De Niro

“You can get any barking dog to bite if you threaten it's existence or the life of another, and any man in anonymity will commit the egregious deeds they'd never dream of while under the spotlight. All you have to do to put a man under your control is to put him in the dark, take a dog's feeding bowl and he'll bite anyone for a morsel, all but the hand that feeds him.” - Beautler De Niro

“You give a man half truth and he'll dive through hell to find the other half, even if it means he must burn.” - Beautler De Niro

“I am an untrustworthy man, but anyone will trust a man with a firm handshake and the same opinion as they. Trust is so easy to gain in a world of fools and cheats.” - Beautler De Niro

“All who stand up to me, fall, because they trust too easy and crumble upon the truth revealing who the villain was all along. But I propose to them a single question, if it was you who trusted the man who undid you, then who's hands was it dropping the guillotine's rope? Him, or your falsely placed trust?” - Beautler De Niro

“I do not enjoy the fight nor the battle, and though I end up victorious, it brings grief to he who loses. I would rather not fight, I would much rather offer a helping hand, but life tells me not to. It shoves a rifle in my hand and says, "By God, Bertil, by God, pull the trigger and spare yourself a moment of grief!" But I never can, not when my bullets indirectly harm those I never aimed for.” - Bertil O’Day

“To a paranoid man, every word spoken is a crime against God, and every dead end is a cliff-side. Some men pray, other's drink, me? I sit here, in my little corner 'a nowhere, and I leave well enough alone.” - Theodore Holymann

“How terrible, to ruin someone's life with your memory.” - Theodore Holymann

“I'm guilty, with cuffs round my wrists and a rope 'round my throat, so oh gravedigger, pull the lever and watch me swing, cause I'm sure as all the air leaves my lungs the last thing I'll hear is a melody 'a cheers for the damned preacher.” - Theodore Holymann

“I'm paranoid, terrified that my past'll catch up to me God damn swingin. And maybe these days, I'd take the hit and drop.” - Theodore Holymann

“Oh heavenly father above, give me salvation or death, either way I rest.” - Theodore Holymann

“Someone took a dagger to this silk heart of mine, and I guess I'm nothing but a torn curtain, these days, only small rays of light passing through me.” Alice Sharenburg

“Who would've imagined, with our Halloween masks and toy guns, that we'd be marching into war? How could it have been, that in all our childhood wonder, we found darkness?” - Alice Sharenburg

“Draw the curtains, kill the fucking lights and let us bow to the crowd. Throw your roses and cheer for the lost boys and girls, but in the end, as the story wraps up in tragedy, just remember.... When the curtains draw, and the lights dim... That's all, folks.” - Alice Sharenburg

“I stand sturdy, smelling of ash and smoke, but zis is no after affect of var. I vas destroyed by no fire of war, but a fire of ze heart, a fire wrought with passion and love. I allowed it to consume me, to burn my whole state of being and make me anew.” - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Vhen it scares jou to jour very core, and jou feel it in jour heart, zat's vhen you know it's real. Because as long as you haz love, and as long as you haz family, blood, or no blood, var can nezah vin.” - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Oh fazah, I know I followed ze path jou would never want for me, but I followed in jour blood-stained footprints, and I learned ze same lesson jou did. Ve are all human, even if we stand on ze opposing side.: - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Someone once told me, that when your demons are silent, listen for your angels. But what do ya do when all ya hear is radio static and your sins echoed in the buzz?” - Octavio Claytor

“I held onto my faith, but I guess I got butterfingers, cause my faith, my sense of self and my love tumbled from my fingers like ash and cinders.” - Octavio Claytor

“God ain't dead, he just damn well ain't here.” - Octavio Claytor

“Only the dead know a glory greater than the gods.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“A king will always find himself crushed under the weight of his decisions unless he has blood black enough to make them.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“Stand up to me, try to steal this crown reigning over my head, but all you'll ever find is that the crown was never intended for good men. The crown is for those who can handle it, the crown is for those who will enjoy the lives ended to earn it. I am death, and for all those who rise up, I am here to deliver.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“Perhaps every church is Eden, there's bound to be shade somewhere between the flowers.” - Alders Holymann

“My heart's been capsized, and it ain't rowing to shore these days. I pray, and I pray for a rowboat, but all God ever gives me is a single broken paddle. What am I to do when all the signs lead to death?” - Alders Holymann

“God, please forgive me for doubting you, I pray and I pray, but the only answer I get are my own thoughts. Is that all a prophet ever hears? I say amen, I say grace, but all I hear is the emptiness in my heart. I fear I never heard God, it was only ever me.” - Alders Holymann

“I wear this cross around my neck and it's become a rope, stealing all my air.” - Alders Holymann

“My lord, my loving father above, I ask one question. Is it better to be crushed under the weight of your trembling faith, or to go forth with no faith at all?” - Alders Holymann

“Rev this motorcycle, and send me spiralin' down the damn highway, cause if I'm meant ta crash, so fuckin' be it. Give me a grave by the road, give me a wreath and a name etched onta wood, so long as I'm underneath the dirt, hearin' the engines roar and the traffic stand still. Cause brother, my whole life's been on the road, 'spose ta me, the revvin' 'a the engine and the screech 'a the wheels is a symphony. My own broke symphony 'a burnin' track and dead ends.” - Alessandro Bones

“I live life on repeat these days, the same mile, day in, day out. And once I close my eyes, I put my engine in reverse, and wake up at the beginnin' 'a the damn highway, preparin' to rev my engines for a single mile, yet again. I don't trust myself ta go a mile further, I'd have ta face myself, and with all that anger and regret, I'd fear he'd gun me right the fuck down. I deserve it, anyway. But I ain't never had the courage to go careenin' off the side 'a this road. Don't got the courage to die burnin', prayin' ta every God. All I want, is ta die quiet in the night, empty bottle in my hand, nuthin' but a mess 'a blankets and sheets on the damn bed.” - Allesandro Bones

“I am lost, travelin' the same mile, again, and a God damn gain, cuz it's the only path I can take without resistance. And I fear resistance, cause that means a fight, and that's all I's ever done. Give me no more riots 'a the self, give me no more wars 'a the road, give me peace, or give me death.” - Allesandro Bones

“I've always told myself I was Rumpelstiltskin, spinning hay into gold, but alas, alas, the old crone has fooled himself, and he only spins hay into more hay while Rumpelstiltskin dances and laughs, holding in his arms the old crone once had.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“We've only ever fooled ourselves, it's funny how other's can catch our lies but we can never catch the ones we tell ourselves.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“If I had a dollar for every time I prayed and got an honest to God answer, I'd be begging on the fucking streets.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“I ask to be forgiven, but why? What would being forgiven do for those I have hurt? Would they look at me and say, "Oh, look at that changed man, his hay has turned to gold and his sin to faith!" Or would they simply pull the trigger?” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“I sit here with my wheel, spinning all this hay, praying one day, I'll have a pile of gold. But all I ever do is drown in more God damn hay.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“We're stars shining in the night sky, lighting up the dark knowing we too, one day will end, we'll implode upon ourselves as stars do. But perhaps, it isn't the end of the journey that matters, but the miles we walk.” - Melinda Myers

“Life can be pain, it can be cruel, but there's strength to be found in that grief.” - Melinda Myers

“I've spent my life surrounded by love, my two sons are the light of my life, they're my stars in the night sky, and I know it's my job to watch over them. To implode before them. But perhaps I'll create a galaxy in my wake, and whenever they look to the sky, and see the stars and the beautiful silence of the night, they'll smile.” - Melinda Myers

“If he's a sinner for loving that man, then let me have a talk with God. Because if someone can look at a love that beautiful, and say, "God condemns you," then they need to realize, they condemn them, God, does not.” - Melinda Myers

“If ever I returned to those I love they would call me changeling, fearing that the fairies had stolen me away in the night and swapped me with an eldritch beast that knew only the vileness of nature. But oh, can't you see? I'm crawling, ever crawling, with broken fingers and battered knees, scraping against the bloodied flowers and roses of all I'll ever be.” - Richard Notorangelo

“Legends are realities we forgot, often twisted by those in power so the common folk fear what was never real. Does that make me a myth? Or another victim of it?” - Richard Notorangelo

“I met evil when I was only a child, and oh, how I wish it hadn't been me.” - Richard Notorangelo

“My daughter, oh my beautiful little girl, if ever I crawl my way out of this garden, this maze of my own lies, throw me back in. For it's what I deserve. Shout at me, throw me to the fairies from whence I came, for I fear I am a changeling, a twisted shadow of myself, vile and cruel, sick and diseased.” - Richard Notorangelo

“I do not deserve death, for that is peace. With all this blood on my hands and these wicked deeds in my memory, I imagine, the single thing I deserve, is life.” - Richard Notorangelo

“In the end we're all by ourselves, no one follows us into the dark, not even our shadow dares.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I can't remember the intricacies of her smile, the melody of her laugh, or the beat of her heart when I laid my head on her chest. I was hers' and she was mine. Not only do I miss her, I miss the parts of myself that left with her. My heart is a wisp without her, she was supposed to be my eternity, but now life is a curse, without her.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I could have a roof over my head and the rain would still find a way in.” - Tricia Jenefine

“The only pieces of me that remain are the parts that remember her, and the parts that remember pain.” - Tricia Jenefine

“When the sun forgets to shine on you, and your shadow slinks back to it's kin, all you have is yourself and the memories that once brought smiles, but will only ever bring tears.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I'm the damsel, the dragon and the knight, and some day, I'll burn myself to cinders.” - Priscilla Sage

“I am a witch on the stake and the farmer with a torch, perhaps I too, am the flame. Of hatred, of grief, of pain, no matter what I am made of I still end only in ashes.” - Priscilla Sage

“Perhaps one day, I'll be free of myself, perhaps one day I shall be the raven, soaring through the air, singing my own happy song. And though no one but the sun shall hear me, perhaps she'll smile down at me. If only I could feel the wind rush past me as I leave everything behind. Oh how I would love to be free. But I am a cage, and what can I do when I don't have the key?” - Priscilla Sage

“I am rottin' bark and fallin' leaves, I flutter ta the soil as if it weren't my demise, and oh how I wonder why it is, always am I crushed 'neath the damn boot.” - Levina Rainbolt

“We're all guilty in some way, that's life. We lie, we cheat and we steal, but we love a helluva lot better than we hate.” - Levina Rainbolt

“Perhaps I am rottin' bark and fallin' leaves, perhaps I've been crushed under the boot more times than I can count. But I've found, that whenever I fall ta the soil, someone I love picks me up, and puts me in their favorite story book. Perhaps it ain't bout how many times ya fall, maybe it's bout who picks ya back up everytime.” - Levina Rainbolt

“I will stand at the edge of my doom and leap. From these heights I shall fall until it is my demise I receive, because it's all I deserve.” - Albus Kirk

“I am wrapped and bound in silken secrets and forbidden treasures, speaking from the tongue of a mad man, for only a mad man hides secrets from himself.” - Albus Kirk

“I could compare myself to a beast, I could give you metaphors, I could give you lies. But at the end of the day, I'm human and mad, it's what makes me so ugly and twisted, I suppose.” - Albus Kirk

“My father always told me I was meant for great things, I would build fortunes but all I built was my own misfortune.” - Albus Kirk

“We're trapped in Pandora's box, and perhaps, we're the horror they wish to keep at bay. We're a plague, an illness, but we poison ourselves. This world we live in is quite simply put, Pandora's box, harboring the horror and shade others wish not to deal with. We are the price of tranquility for others, our suffering is the price they paid to forever live in peace. We are the soldiers, we are the sheep walking to the butcher, we are the testing subjects and the victim. We are a price, meant only to be paid. So what can we ever do, but stand at the edge of our doom and leap?” - Albus Kirk

“I am the one who pulls the trigger, the one who knocks on your door and gives you only the gift of death. Peace is a double edged blade, my friend, for with true peace, comes death. And I am simply here to give you, true peace.” - Palazzo Bullet

“Most men live and die in a single day, they stay stagnant, they're a grave before they've ever stopped walking.” - Palazzo Bullet

“You should fear the man dressed in black, who has your grave freshly dug, gun in one hand, bible in the other.” - Palazzo Bullet

“Look up to the sky one last time as the dirt covers you. Pray to the fucking stars. All they'll do is continue to shine, because the world never needed you. Watch from heaven as the sun rises, without you, and watch as it sinks. Because you, aren't important, and the world simply goes on, without you.” - Palazzo Bullet

“So dance, my marionette, twist and spin, avoiding the bullets coming your way. Stay focused on the threat at hand, only to realize you weren't saving your life. You were saving it for me.” - Palazzo Bullet

“You can never stain the river crimson, the stream always runs itself clear. Life goes on, it always does, the sun sinks, the moon rises, but we still have light.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“War does not bring peace, it brings pain. A battle does not make heroes, it makes survivors. The only true thing that can bring peace, is love.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“I intend to live life as if I was meant to, because perhaps, our destiny was never grand, maybe our destiny was never war, or some higher purpose. Perhaps, our destiny was always to simply live, love, and be loved. Because that, no matter what way you put it, is a destiny worth fighting for, a destiny worth laughing for, and a destiny worth living for.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“You can think yourself high and mighty, king 'a the hill and master 'a the crop, but there's always a man willin' ta take you down. Cause there ain't nuthin' mightier than the man who watches the crown tumble from the head of the king but doesn't take the throne. The strongest message 'a all is ta kill a man, and give no reason.” - Justice Hansell

“You, my friend, are the cigarette, I'll crush you under my boot once you've lost my interest. The echoes of wolves echo in my heart, their howls ricochet in my ribcage, I am a beast by heart, and you should fear the man standin' at his own grave. Cause he don't fear death. Which means he don't fuckin' fear you.” - Justice Hansell

“My threats are promises I keep, and I fear if you try ta snag this crown from my head, all you'll find is one 'a my promises ripped inta fruition.” - Justice Hansell

“You can't swim 'gainst my tide, you will drown far before you ever reach the source 'a your damn misery.” - Justice Hansell

“I just want the rights of my corpse, to be free, to be still, to be me, to be me, to be me. But all I've learned, is that a millions scars makes me the man I'm not.” - Rin Otishiro

“My father always said hard work always pays off, good friends never grow old, and good always prosper, and oh how I wish that was true. Because my hard work has led to pain, every good friend I had is a corpse, and the good never prospered.” - Rin Otishiro

“The good ol' days vanish when the bad times come, how can I smile, when every good memory I had, is tainted with the tragic outcome that followed?” - Rin Otishiro

“Why the hell do we fear the dark when all the monsters stand in the light? They don't fucking hide anymore, man. They've come from the shadows and claimed the light.” - Rin Otishiro “I guess I've always lived just between the valley of death and the shadows of my past.” - Rin Otishiro

“You wanna know me? Walk a mile in my shoes, but don't you dare walk two, because you don't want to see what I've been through.” - Rin Otishiro

“The past exists to remind us that we’re not there anymore, we’re here, and that’s what matters.” - Renna Forbes

“My aunt has always said, she doesn't pick favorites, and maybe that's because in love, there is no favorites. Love doesn't choose who it touches, it doesn't envy those who hold more of it. It just is. It always forgives and it doesn't remember wrongs. It just exists despite the overbearing weight.” - Renna Forbes

“Cut out my heart and serve it on a silver platter for all who wish to choke on its' darkness.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“One day you'll learn there are more miles of darkness than there are stars, just because there is light, does not mean the darkness has not won.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“I am a clown, the lion leaping through the ring of fire, fearing the burns he may receive on his pelt. I, am a man of the circus, a sinner at heart, and though we are all sinners, not many take it to a higher degree.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“I fear myself, no thoughts nor prayers could save me, for if they can't save those I've killed, why should they save me?” - Mortley Dekruiful

“If I were to serve my heart on a silver platter to myself, would I choke and sputter on the shade? Would I finally be able to swallow this darkness within?” - Mortley Dekruiful

“All I can ever do is crawl away from the spotlight whilst it burns my back, and pray that the shade will bring me what little refuge it can. At least it is less blinding, but alas, just as cruel.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“We are our own beasts, and we bow to no man.” - Bortley Dekruiful

"Maybe life is a series of consequences good and bad, or maybe I'm just blind to all the dark. I don't know. All I know, is that we're only human, and placing blame only gets fingers pointed in the wrong damn direction." - Jake Bonefire

"My silence has been a chamber for too long." - Jake Bonefire

"Gods above, witness my blood spill, hear my prayers, for if the afterlife, is a cell, I, am the key." - Starburden Vaganbrok

"All it takes is one bad day, and I intend to give you a year of them in a matter of hours." - Hugo Valritten

"They say life is whatever we make it, they pump their fists in the air and cry, "We are in control of our own destinies! We are our own fate!" But then they look men like me in the eye, they laugh in my face and they say, "Get off the tracks, boy. This is a revolution, and you're in our damn way." - Corvo Crinklewick "Da hares wage war against da dogs and ask why dey are losing." Brickylda Hildengarde

"Peace and death are not the same thing." - Gunhild Brokldottir "Ow am I ta be 'eard if my screams sink to da bottom 'a my silence?" - Archie Upperton

"I'm just the same, brother, just because I was a dream, damn well don't mean I can't be a nightmare." - Zafavri Holts

"This is my end, Madusius? I believe you mistook my beginning for my reckoning, my rebellion for my downfall. You're a tyrant, and I suppose I'm the snake that crumbles the Garden of Eden." - Dayvella Ma'Vayar

“Get away with it? My boy, no one in history has ever gotten away with it! Jack the ripper's name is tarnished, Julius Caesar lies dead with a thousand knife wounds in his back! We're all doomed, creatures vying for a throne no one can ever have. I'm not here, to get away with it. I'm here, to go down in history.” - Madusius Crudelis

"I shoot and stride for the throne, I am the king above kings, the man above God. I, in of myself, am a dynasty, both a relic and the future, an idea, that cannot be killed." - Madusius Crudelis

"You, can crush, my dynasty, but you can never, destroy the idea of it." - Madusius Crudelis

"You can run from your debts, my friend, but you cannot run from me." - Lorcan O'Venefrives

"Nothing good was ever done by force." - Mortley Dekruiful

"They say you are dead to me Rolf, you are dead. But I say, I am alive, I am alive! And isn't that what frightens you?" - Rolf Lambs

"I look inside me, and see a devil's dog, howlin' at the darkest side of his own moon." - Zafavri Holts "The sun ain't gonna rise for you buddy, you just watched it sink one last time only for you to fade along with it." - Eddy Lambs

"We're in the circus, dancing, jerking and twisting away from the spotlight because the shade was always more comforting than the blinding light." - Mortley Dekruiful

"You will face a thousand tragedies before the sun fucking rises, and you ain't lucky enough for your death ta be one of em." - Zafavri Holts

"I, am where myth starts, and legend begins, but you, my friend, are where history starts." - Defforest Van Patten

"Life will hang ya from a tree and call ya three heads taller simply cause your feet are three feet off the damn ground." - Sampson O'Connel "Soldiers? Soldiers?! We're the civilians of a foreign country hiding from the fucking gunfire! But they don't care, brother, they don't FUCKING care! They'll drag us out anyway. To a firing squad, everyone is cattle." - Burasbley Highersman

#writing #author #characters #dialouge

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thegreymoon · 5 years ago

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How hot is the character: Webb and Keegan Sherman 😏

*dodges sharp objects and runs into hiding*

I know, I know!! 😫 Just hear me out on this one, OK?

First of all, let me just make it clear that this was absolutely deliberate on the show’s part. The whole point of this character (characters?) is that they are physical perfection and should be so hot, they would set the scenery on fire wherever they pass, yet they are so fantastically creepy, the hotness is just lost and you are sitting there, laughing uncomfortably, going what the everloving fuck?? 😅

Also, let me make it clear, this is yet another role where we see just how absolutely talented Bradley is, he is just gifted when it comes to comedy (not that he doesn’t do the serious, dramatic roles perfectly too, as we all have Damien to attest to that).

All the characters in this show are caricatures to a greater or lesser degree, the villains are all ridiculous and hilarious. The Sherman twins are so incredibly unlikeable in every possible way, but they are absolutely entertaining! At one point, Leah describes them as “these creepy twins” and it couldn’t be more accurate! When I say “not my type”, I mean, they are exactly what you would expect a cartoon villain in a cartoon to be like; they are obscenely rich, live in this bubble of privilege and self-indulgence and are completely devoid of all empathy and conscience. Of course, this is carefully tailored to provoke a certain level of disgust in the target audience, considering the sociopolitical climate we are currently living in and the outrageous, ever-growing gap between the rich and the poor. The Sherman twins are a cardboard cutout of the sociopathic billionaire we all reserve our unrestrained loathing for.

Mind you, physically attractiveness aside, the moral failings of various kinds of villains have never stopped anyone from thirsting after them (Kylo Ren and the clown from It come to mind, but hey, I have a loooooong list of my own guilty sins so I’m really not judging). However, one thing this show is extremely good at is taking obviously hot people and situations that should be sexy by all established norms of modern media and making them as unsexy as they possibly can in the most obvious but understated ways.

The Sherman twins are such a great example of this. Let’s start with their introduction scenes; the fencing duel is such an obvious, tropey thirst trap! It’s written and designed in a way that should (stereotypically) hit all the right buttons. Like, Bradley, goddamn:

But then they go and do *this*:

Poof! All sexiness evaporated (and everyone who has watched this show will know exactly what I’m talking about 😂😂)!

Also, let’s talk about the incest. I was expecting the subtext (I’d seen all the stills and gifs, after all), but come on now, that is not subtext, it couldn’t be more obvious and there is not a single scene with the two of them together that does not rub it in! Mind you, sibling incest, especially twincest, also never stopped anyone from thirsting (yours truly here pleads the Fifth, not that her AO3 is any kind of evidence against her or anything 🙄🙄), but these two are just so goddamn creepy as individuals and as a pair.

With all that said and the general understanding that the Sherman twins are the actual worst, Bradley James himself in this role is:

| 🔥🔥LORD MERCY🔥🔥 |

I mean, this man is a Greek statue, OMG 😭 If he was born in the ancient times, I’m convinced he would be worshipped as a demigod or something:

Honourable mention to these strategically placed flowers:

And the infamous handjob scene:

(When this happened, I howled, I can’t believe they actually went there! Anyway, yes, the resulting mental imagery was very much appreciated! 😂😂)

In conclusion: Bradley James is perfection, news at 11, but I am going to take this opportunity to warmly recommend this show to anyone who has not seen it because, sadly, it doesn’t look like it’s getting much traction and I was shocked by how vicious the reviews on IMDb were when this is, hands down, one of the best things I’ve watched recently.

The show is just hilarious, almost the entire cast is amazing, I loved every second and binge-watched the first season without even noticing! There was not a dull moment for the whole six episodes! It was such a breath of fresh air in all the cliched, poorly written, depressing nonsenseI’ve been watching lately and the pointless violence and unapologetic misogyny masquerading as being ‘gritty’, ‘edgy’ and ‘realistic’.

Don’t get me wrong, Bounty Hunters is both shockingly violent and incredibly filthy (seriously, I did not expect that amount of graphic, brutal death going in), but it works. I am also not a fan of comedy in general, humour very rarely clicks for me, but this had me sobbing! The characters are so vibrant, vivid and interesting (with the exception of Nina’s niece 😫 Seriously, who did that girl have dirt on to get hired, she can’t act to save her life and was, beyond a doubt, the worst part of the show and her scenes were the only ones to pull me out of the story, but they managed to do it every single time, she is that bad 😖)!

The main villains were all delightfully unlikeable and evil (with the exception of the ISIS bunch, who had zero charisma or interesting points and were just kind of… there). The Sherman twins were terrible but hilarious, the cartel was one of my favourite things in the show, Barnaby’s father was just so sleazy but I think that particular actor could make me laugh at anything! Barnaby and Nina are the only actual ‘goodies’ in the show (their words 😂😂) but they are so flawed and ridiculous and not afraid to laugh at their own expense! I just loved them! (Also, their mothers were a piece of work, Barnaby’s mother in particular, that woman is gifted, I swear 😂😂)

And I am really digressing here, but I just have to talk about those reviews on IMDb because I personally found the worst of the complaints completely ridiculous and something I couldn’t disagree with more! They mostly seemed to have an issue with the unapologetic violence, but for me, that was a part of the charm and there is no rule that says that comedy should be kid and family-friendly. I thought this was sufficiently grim without going overboard into exploitative and gross, and in spite of the dark undertones, the overall theme of the show is family, loyalty and love. Also, the second thing that really stuck out to me is that some people really seem to have an issue with the lead actress being an older woman, some complete moron called her a grandma in a derogatory fashion and said that she cannot be ‘a badass woman’ because of it (or a romantic interest, I imagine). Personally, I loved the unusual age difference, where, for once, the woman gets to be the older, more experienced and the more badass one, and the man gets to be young, pretty and naive. They don’t actually get together in the first season (I don’t know about the second one, I haven’t gotten around to it yet), but I personally enjoyed their will-they-won’t they and all the banter (seriously, I have not actively shipped the two het m/f leads in a show in ages). Besides, Barnaby and Nina have crazy amounts of chemistry together and I could totally get behind the two of them having all the filthy, kinky sex they can physically manage! Not to mention, I find it so incredibly offensive that an older woman somehow can no longer be hot of badass (and Nina is so, so hot and badass) and it is depressing that in the year of our Lord 2020 we still have to deal with this sexist, ageist, misogynistic tripe. If the ages were reversed, I promise you, nobody would be complaining! /end rant

And since I’m already way, way off-topic (and the general topic is all about hot people, after all), I’d just like to gush about these two 🔥🔥 LORD MERCY 🔥🔥 individuals, because goddamn:

This is Charity Wakefield, she plays Leah in the show (who is an absolute delight), and she is, IMO, one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen 😍

And this smouldering piece of perfection is Christian Ochoa:

And these two stupid hot people somehow manage to have the least sexy sex in the history of TV (multiple times!!) and make a demon baby together (I hope, but like I said, I haven’t season 2 yet) 😂 As I mentioned earlier, this show loves to mess with our expectations of perceived hotness and I found it so refreshing and hilarious! 😂😂

I fully admit that if it wasn’t for Bradley James, Bounty Hunters is something that I would never have picked up (I very much doubt it would have even crossed my radar because I really am not a fan of comedies in general), but I am very, very grateful that I did! I am looking forward to season 2 and I read that season 3 is also in the works (please, Bradley, come back for that one too and do some more nude scenes with strategically placed flowers, we are all begging)! 😜

#how hot is that character #bradley james #bounty hunters #the sherman brothers #webb sherman #keegan sherman #sherman twins #charity wakefield #christian ochoa #damien is coming next #big sorry to the anons waiting for these #i just have so many opinions #and so much typing to do #i can't manage it on my phone without a keyboard #and these last few weeks have been hellish with work #and all the viruses i regularly pick up on public transport #Anonymous

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severalspoons · 4 years ago

Text

“Wolfwood Mood” quotes

To be updated as I find more.

God may judge you, but His sins outnumber your own. -- @afabbaeddel

“Cynic, n. A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.” ― Ambrose Bierce, The Unabridged Devil's Dictionary

“That's one of the remarkable things about life. It's never so bad that it can't get worse.” ― Bill Watterson

“An encouraged person will eventually get his drive from encouragement; he becomes more dependent. A person that never really receives encouragement learns to move out of spite; he becomes more independent.” ― Criss Jami, Killosophy

They're going to have to glue you back together, IN HELL! -- Demoman in Team Fortress 2

Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” ― Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

“Don’t explain your philosophy. Embody it.”- Epictetus

“When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve.” ― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me. --Fallout New Vegas NPC

“We all have strength enough to endure the misfortunes of others.” ― Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Man can get used to anything, the scoundrel. --Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“And what's strange, what would be marvelous, is not that God should really exist; the marvel is that such an idea, the idea of the necessity of God, could enter the head of such a savage, vicious beast as man.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“The soul is healed by being with children.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“People speak sometimes about the "bestial" cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

“We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

“Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“Killing myself was a matter of such indifference to me that I felt like waiting for a moment when it would make some difference.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Dream Of A Ridiculous Man

“Destroy my desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better, and I will follow you.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“The whole work of man really seems to consist in nothing but proving to himself every minute that he is a man and not a piano key.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground

“One man doesn't believe in god at all, while the other believes in him so thoroughly that he prays as he murders men!” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot

“Scratch any cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist.” ― George Carlin

“Real courage is when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.” ― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!” ― Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967

“You only live twice: Once when you are born And once when you look death in the face” ― Ian Fleming, You Only Live Twice

“There is no ideal world for you to wait around for. The world is always just what it is now, and it's up to you how you respond to it.” ― Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies

My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Freedom is what we do with what is done to us.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

“Better to die on one's feet than to live on one's knees.” ― Jean Paul Sartre

“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

“There is no reality except in action.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre, Existentialism is a Humanism

“Life—the way it really is—is a battle not between good and bad, but between bad and worse.” ― Joseph Brodsky

“mankind is resilient: the atrocities that horrified us a week ago become acceptable tomorrow.” ― Joseph Heller

“Do you know what it means to be a survivor? It means that not only do you have to live through things, you have to live with them as well. The second part is much harder and sometimes it takes the rest of your life to learn how to do it. But at least you have the rest of your life…” ― Josephine Angelini, Firewalker

“Someone has to be stoic, for the sake of, in spite of, and in the face of all those who are, not. Someone, has to be serious. Someone has to choose to forgo choice, so that there is an option left for others to consider. Everyone can't be, someone.” ― Justin K. McFarlane Beau

“Loving someone always requires you to not love others.” ― Koushun Takami, Battle Royale

“Dignity is as essential to human life as water, food, and oxygen. The stubborn retention of it, even in the face of extreme physical hardship, can hold a man's soul in his body long past the point at which the body should have surrendered it.” ― Laura Hillenbrand, Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption

“We are not defined by the things we do in order to survive. We do not apologize for them,” she says quietly, eyes never leaving mine. “Maybe they have broken you, but you are a sharper weapon because of it. And it is time to strike.” ― Laura Sebastian, Ash Princess

“People are petty, spiteful creatures. What they can't use, hurt, steal, or control, they'll usually destroy.” ― Lorna Reid, Darkwalkers

“Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.” ― Lucius Annaeus Seneca

“If someone puts their hands on you make sure they never put their hands on anybody else again.” ― Malcom X

“Think of it! We could have gone on longing for one another and pretending not to notice forever. This obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it.” ― Mary Ann Shaffer, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

“Does anything in nature despair except man? An animal with a foot caught in a trap does not seem to despair. It is too busy trying to survive. It is all closed in, to a kind of still, intense waiting. Is this a key? Keep busy with survival.” ― May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

"You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them." ― Maya Angelou, Letter to My Daughter

You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.

--Maya Angelou

You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

--Maya Angelou

“Somehow, even in the worst of times, the tiniest fragments of good survive. It was the grip in which one held those fragments that counted.” ― Melina Marchetta, Finnikin of the Rock

“Show me somebody who is always smiling, always cheerful, always optimistic, and I will show you somebody who hasn't the faintest idea what the heck is really going on.” ― Mike Royko

“Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it.” ― Rabindranath Tagore, Collected Poems and Plays of Rabindranath Tagore

“Survival," I said softly. "It's selfish, and it's dark, and we've always been a species willing to do anything to satisfy our needs. ― Rachel Caine, Total Eclipse

“The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

“To have endured horrors, to have seen the worst of humanity and have your life made unrecognizable by it, to come out of all that honorable and brave— that was magical.” ― Ransom Riggs, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

“We'd stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You'd think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn't.” ― Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave

“I judge you unfortunate because you have never lived through misfortune. You have passed through life without an opponent—no one can ever know what you are capable of, not even you.” – Seneca

I will fight you in Hell upon a mound of bones. -- @shitmygaywifesays

“As long as there’s two people left on the planet, someone is gonna want someone dead.” -- Sniper, Team Fortress 2

"If God had wanted you to live, he would not have created me!” -- Soldier, Team Fortress 2

babies cry because they are alive and that is the saddest thing to be. — spencer madsen (@spencermadsen) December 15, 2011

Do you think God stays in heaven because He, too, lives in fear of what He’s created? --Spykids 2nd movie

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't.” -- Stephen King, The Stand

“The only thing that matters in the end is your own survival. It's what humans and cockroaches are best at.” ― Susan Ee, World After

If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn’t as cynical as real life. --Terry Pratchett, Guards, Guards!

“I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are good people and bad people. You're wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides.” ― Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat." -- Theodore Roosevelt

I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees. --Unknown

if you stay alive for no other reason at all, please do it for spite. -- Unknown

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. -- Unknown Tumblr post

“Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” ― William Goldman, The Princess Bride

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.” ― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

...I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL— wint ( @dril ) May 22, 2012

#Yes I will put Shakespeare side by side with Dril #fight me

#quotes #nicholas d. wolfwood #what it means to be badass #free will #making choices #choices #philosophy #terry pratchett #tolstoyevsky #princess bride #trigun #everything is trigun

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thornstocutyouwith · 4 years ago

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My relationship with Supernatural has been

Obsessed with Sam

Likes watching Dean get hurt.

Hahah. Fuck you John. That haircut is RIDICULOUS!

Misha Collins.

Fuck you Sam. You are the worst character.

Castiel is now best character.

Dean is a lot more entertaining.

Sam shut up.

Sam, SHUT. Up.

Please for the love of all that is Holy in Castiel’s BODY, shut the fuck up, Sam.

I like Lucifer. He’s a good boy.

Lucifer is evil, I like him more.

You wouldn’t mind if I just, disappear and not watch the show for a bit, boys, Right?

Fuck monster of the week.

Fuck Monster of the Week.

FUCK, I HATE MONSTER OF THE WEEK.

I WANT A STORY!

Finally Lucifer, please, kill all your siblings.

Especially that one.

Noooo...NOT Adam.

His name is Chuck, and I don’t GIVE A FUCK.

Yatta yatta yatta, Please. SPARE me this SHIT. Where’s the story?!

Oh Surprise surprise. ANOTHER monster of the week. Hot damn.

Castiel and Dean are looking great these last couple seasons.

Destiel is certainly a thing to ...behold.

Stop talking about Destiel.

Personally I’m a big fan of Castiel getting the worst treatment. Because in the end he deserves the best and this show is never going to end because they said so.

John’s hair makes perfect sense when he’s younger. Younger John is awesome.

That time I only came back to watch Dean be a cowboy

The time I came back because Castiel’s plot got an update.

CASTIEL IS GOD!

Look at him go. Zoom!

There’s sin everywhere.

He’s falling apart!

Oh....Oooo Yes. Be a badass.

My obsession with ‘black veins’ as marks of evil has a start date.

Where’s Adam?

Blah blah blah, blah blah blah. Tell me when something GOOD happens.

Crowley is my THIRD favorite character. I’ve just decided.

Demon Dean. FINA-FUCKING-LLY!

This season is one of the good ones.

The best thing about Crowley’s mother is her accent.

LASSITER?! DOES SHAWN SPENCER KNOW WHAT YOU’VE BEEN DOING SINCE PSYCH ENDED?!?

What happened? I disappeared for a minute and now The Darkness is released? DOES IT add to the story? Good. Then I’ll take it.

And there goes my ability to give a single shit. See you later boys.

Missing all the Casifer in the process of ignoring all the stuff I don’t care about.

Oh knooooow *Being ‘spoiled’ by tumblr how much of the next few season are going* Not...Charlie...How terrible.

Comes back to watch the end of the season where Amara and Chuck fight each other.

“How Lovely. Brother and Sister. Together again. Makes me SICK!”

There’s The Anti-christ. It’s happening! Finally!

Back tracks through season 12 to make sure I have all the knowledge I need.

Oh, well, fuck it. Leaves before the baby is born.

Sees the baby in a closet now a full grown man through a set of tumblr gifs “Interesting.”

Jack is now my second favorite character. You are welcome.

Aaannnd where back to bullshit. Call me when you latch onto a significant plot development.

A Scooby do episode?! NO WAAAY! I hate it already.

Wait. GABRIEL’S BACK? WHERE!

Oooo.....noooo Michael took over Dean’s body. It’s not like. I’ve barely been watching this show. Because that should have happened. FOREVER AGO! No. Couldn’t be. I would never be so stubborn.

Annnnd it gone. Lame. I’m going back to pretending nothing’s going on. Because NOTHING IS!

WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S DEAD?!

WHAT DO YOU MEAN BELPHEGOR TOOK OVER HIS BODY!

WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!? I mean, I like it. Belphegor. Good for you

Imagine that, Chuck, not being very nice. Imagine it. Completely destroy his character. Who honestly gives a fuck at this point.

Despair. Yes. I suppose the very lease I can do is watch the last few episodes of the final season. THE VERY LEAST.

Heey Castiel...What the HELL happened to yOU?!?

Yeeesss, Let’s blog the child up. I like that plan. He’s going to explode real nicely.

Look at them. All Glowed up and NO WHERE TO FUCKING GO.

God, please. God. Just. Why. Why are you here? Who pissed in your cornflakes.

You can’t blame Castiel for all your problems God.

So your angel Finally said It loves you and then gets sucked into SuperHell. That sucks, Buddy.

Everyone’s gone. Again. Good. How it began. How it should en-

Siiiiiiiigh. YES?! DEAN?? SAAAAAM? What the HELL is your problem? Oh. Do you miss your friends? Do you? Waaaah. Do the Winchesters need a WAAAAMbulance? Where’s ADAM!? You think about that. You think about what you’ve done for so long.

Oh hey, there’s Adam, welcome back meat suit. Michael, have a seat. Betray that which you should be protecting. AS IF YOUR FUCKING PURPOSE.

Look at that my Third favorite Character is here to and has clearly lost his FUCKING mind. Lucifer, are you alright? Did you-And he’s gone. Well that WAS FUN.

For some reason I get the feeling that this entire episode is a farce. Because I do not believe Dean is smart enough to remember ALL of that mind fucking of a plan AND pull it off at the same time. But if it is real, well color me surprised. Because Sam actually explained something properly for once in his life without needing to backtrack and duped Death, God, AND the Archangel Michael. Hot damn.

BOOM!

So that thing becomes a power vacuum and just sucks up all the powers of a Primordial being... Okay. Whatever you say.

Don’t make Rob breath in the dirt! Stop it! Rob’s been through ENOUGH!

So we just going to leave Chuck out here and be all “We don’t need to destroy him” Now. Bitch. You were two minutes away from putting a bullet in your own brother just to throw a Child turned into a BOMB at God and his Sister, so that you could destroy him an episode ago. Who you kidding?

Ew. Why would you allow THAT thing to be GOD?!

I’m going to miss you, ....Jack.

God is now my Fourth favorite character. What can I say. Anyone who blows the door off it’s hinges and has the nerve to walk like a super villain and accuse everyone who fucked up their story to their faces has to be fourth best character in my book. lol.

“You want to watch the final two hour episode with me?”

“It’s going to be a highlight episode for the first hour. No.”

#OOC

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who-gave-atlas-a-pencil · 5 years ago

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find rest for your souls

A/N: If anybody has prompts for these two idiots especially please let me know. I fell in love with Undeadwood by accident and Friday suddenly feels a very long way away so I’d love to write more.

Read on AO3 for notes.

Summary: Clayton takes watch while the others sleep. The Reverend joins him.

(Initially started as a Whumptober fic, evolved into gay pining. Enjoy.)

The Reverend isn’t sleeping.

None of them are, really, not well anyway. Miss Whitlock’s got a blanket clutched to her chest like one of those warding symbols she seems so fond of, her brow creased even in sleep with trepidation and a hint of disdain. She’s not used to sleeping rough, Clayton expects, not with that fortune she sits on. Aly is doing better, flat on his back with his face to the sky like he’s trying to make the best out of the situation, and even Miriam has found a way to make herself comfortable somehow. With Clayton taking the first watch under the cold glare of the desert moon, they’ve all found a way to make do with the situation.

All of them but the Reverend, that is. Amidst the quiet, even breathing of the others’ attempts at sleep, Clayton can hear him murmuring to himself, quiet and low. Across the fire, the other man is shifting restlessly from one side to another, arms wrapped around himself like a vice. Bad dreams, Clayton reckons, and is considering nudging him awake when the Reverend sits up straight like he’s been shocked to it.

Clayton can’t help it. His hand flies to his gun with years of instinct and it’s halfway drawn before he stops himself and watches instead as the Reverend’s chest heaves with several deep, shaky breaths. The man looks around wildly a moment like he’s expecting to be jumped. Then his gaze falls on Clayton and he stills, eyes widening even further. “Is there trouble?”

Too late, Clayton realises he’s still got a hand on his gun and lets it fall. “No. You startled me.”

“My apologies.” The Reverend’s shoulders sag, and he tilts his head back, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. “I’m afraid I rather startled myself as well.”

“Hadn’t noticed.” Clayton’s no stranger to nightmares. Nobody really is in this town, except maybe Swearingen, sleeping snug in the top floor of his saloon atop whatever ill-built empire he’s made for himself in this place. Even so, he’s never been inclined to talking someone through their bad dreams. He settles back, expecting the Reverend to do the same in a minute or two. It’s another solid hour at least before the watch is supposed to change to Aloysius, and another three hours after that before the Reverend’s turn. He’s got plenty of time.

But he doesn’t go back to sleep. Across the fire, the Reverend shifts to a properly vertical position and pulls out a rosary from a pocket of the leather duster Clayton had bought him to keep his collar clean. It’s not done much good on that front, but it has proven to be a solid indicator of when the other man is nervous. Now, for example. He probably doesn’t know he does it, but the Reverend tugs at the edges of the jacket almost obsessively, pulling it tighter and tighter around himself like he’s chilled down to the bone. He grips his rosary tight, saying nothing as he stares into the fire, and Clayton looks away.

It’s silent for a time. The fire crackles amiably. It’s a clear, cool night, the moon high and bright above them, scattering light through the branches of the copse of trees they’ve landed themselves in. As nights on the road go, he’s had worse ones. All the same, there’s something about the stillness that he doesn’t like. It’s been two hours on watch and all he’s heard or seen is a solitary barn owl that had landed on a nearby branch and given two long, mournful hoots before sailing off into the dark again. It ain’t natural by a long shot, and while he’s not surprised he’s far from appreciative.

“Can I ask you something, Mister Sharpe?” The Reverend’s voice is low in the freshly shattered silence. Clayton almost says no, not if you’re gonna try evangelizing me again, but then he looks over and the Reverend’s hands are shaking and the quip dies in his mouth.

He goes for something softer. “I’d say you just did.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Just did that too.”

The Reverend flushes, ducking his head. “Never mind, then. My apologies.” His gaze flicks back to his rosary, and Clayton bites back a sigh.

He’s not terribly fond of men of the cloth, or anybody else that seems convinced they know better than the rest of the world about what’s supposed to be good or not. Even so, the Reverend’s been more tolerable than most holy men seem to be, and he’s got a lion’s heart even if he’s got the sense of a squirrel. Clayton doesn’t quite feel guilty about being sarcastic with him, but he does feel obligated to throw the man a bone. “What is it, Father?”

The silence that follows makes him think for a moment that it’s too late for an olive branch. Then the Reverend sighs. “Do you…believe in life after death?”

Clayton frowns. “If you’re talking about rising again on the last day to wave off this sinful earth next time it goes to hell, I can’t say as though I do. Think once someone goes in the ground, they stay there.” He’s put enough people in the dirt to be sure of that, or at least to hope like hell it’s true. If people can rise up from the grave, he’ll have more than the living to look out for.

“Not literally. I mean…spiritually. The idea that someone can be born again from a past life. That they can be redeemed.”

Clayton squints, studying the Reverend for a long moment. If the other man notices, he doesn’t seem to care. No matter. “That’s a pretty loaded question, Reverend, if you don’t mind my sayin’. There a reason you’re askin’ me?”

“No.” The answer comes quick, too quick. The Reverend’s gaze shoots up and suddenly Clayton finds himself looking him dead in the eyes. They’re dark brown, almost black in the dark, the reflection of the flames dancing wildly in their depths. Like hellfire, Clayton thinks, and he stiffens but doesn’t dare look away. “No,” the Reverend repeats. “I don’t mean to imply anything untoward. You’re just…You’re awake at the moment, and I’m curious, and- I meant nothing by it. Forgive me.”

He asks forgiveness an awful lot for a man who’s supposed to be preaching it instead. “I didn’t mean nothin’ either. Just a question.” Clayton tears his eyes away to look at the branches overhead. That barn owl still hasn’t come back, and the shadows are still. Silent, like they’re waiting. He runs his tongue over his teeth and thinks for a long moment how to answer. There’s a lot of blood in his past, the kind no water’s ever going to wash clean. He’s buried too many people to get that dirt out from under his nails. Some of them he’s sorry for. Most of them, he’s not. He’s always looked out for himself because nobody else would, and he won’t beg forgiveness for that.

As for redemption, well. Redemption’s a heavy word in his mouth. It’s always tasted like lead.

“I don’t think you ever leave your life behind,” he says eventually. “Reckon that’s one of those shadows that sticks to you, whether you like it or not. As for bein’ reborn and forgiven, I don’t think that’s in anyone’s hands but yours. Plenty of places to go change your name and start over if that’s what you’re after.”

“Do you think it’s as simple as that? Changing a name and starting over?”

Clayton shrugs. He thinks of home, and a mob, and a six-shot revolver hot at his side. “If you’re lucky. Most people aren’t. Change your name all you like. There’s always gonna be someone who still knows your face.”

There’s no response. Clayton listens without looking and hears a sound like fabric moving, then silence again, dead silence interrupted only by the periodic popping of the fire. The good Reverend’s gone back to sleep then, salvaging what’s left of his night’s sleep. It’s a strange thing, to leave the end of a conversation he’d started hanging like that, but Clayton’s seen stranger and doesn’t bother commenting.

Overhead, the moon is arcing slowly, silently through the sky. It’s almost full now, just a sliver of dark still remaining on the left side. Clayton doesn’t consider himself a superstitious man, but he can’t deny the way the hair on the back of his neck raises when he thinks of all the hellish things they’ve seen these past few days, the even more hellish ones he’s sure are soon to come. They’ll have to lean mighty hard on each other if they’re to get through all this with a pulse. It’s not a thought he likes.

The wind picks up, kicking dust into his eyes. Clayton scowls and mutters a low oath under his breath, flicking open his battered pocket watch. It’s not even midnight yet. There’s a long ways to go before he can swap with Aloysius to squeeze a few hours rest out of the night. He sighs and turns to stoke the fire. Then he freezes.

The Reverend isn’t sleeping. He’s kneeling before the fire, head bowed low, eyes clamped shut, that same old rosary clasped so tightly between his hands that the knuckles have gone white. He’s praying, praying like Clayton’s never seen anybody pray before, like the words are the only thing keeping the darkness at the edge of camp from getting any closer.

Clayton’s not a superstitious man, and he sure as hell isn’t a religious one. He’s not sure what it is that leaves him dead in his tracks and staring. All the same, he finds himself standing there motionless as he watches the shadows dance across the Reverend’s face while prayer after desperate prayer falls soundlessly from his lips. It’s a strange thing, seeing that sort of conviction in a place like this. He’s not convinced it’s a good one.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts. He’s long last track of time when the Reverend finally relaxes just slightly and opens his eyes, still deep and dark and desperate in the light of the fire. He spies Clayton immediately and flinches. “Mister Sharpe, my apologies. Did you need something?”

Clayton blinks, then shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is rougher than it has any right to be. “You always pray like that, Father?”

The Reverend looks taken aback. Then a smile twitches across his face, faint and bashful. “No. No, I’m afraid not.”

“There some special occasion tonight then?”

“No,” the Reverend says again. “Only that I’m frightened, and I’m hoping to find courage.”

Most people would try looking in the bottom of a bottle, Clayton doesn’t say. Talking about drinking is only going to make him wish for a shot he knows he won’t be able to take for a good long while. Instead, he gives a short nod and looks away, settling back by the fire and prodding it with a large stick, tossing more wood on top of it. “You should get some rest, Father. Gonna be a long day tomorrow. We’ll need you and whatever protection you got to offer on top of things.”

“I feel that is true of all of us, Mister Sharpe.”

“Clayton,” he says without thinking, and feels the Reverend’s eyes fall to him instantly with a keen interest and no small amount of confusion. He shrugs as if there’s nothing strange to it and meets the Reverend’s gaze. “I’d say formalities seem a bit pointless when we’re obviously gonna have to keep saving each other’s necks.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” comes the reply, fast and almost nervous. “Your point is sound. I was simply surprised by it. You, of course, can refer to me as Matthew, if you would like.”

The idea of being on a first name basis with a preacher sets funny in Clayton’s mouth, but he sees no easy way around it and gives a brief nod. “Matthew, then. As I said, you should get some rest.”

“Actually, I thought I might take Aloysius’s shift in exchange for my own,” the Reverend admits, scratching the back of his head. “It seems pointless to wake him when I am already awake. You could rest early too, if you would like. I don’t mind an extra hour or so watching over everyone.”

Clayton bristles for a moment, inherently suspicious of anyone offering to do a good turn. He opens his mouth to reject the offer, then stops. The Reverend is staring at him with those deep dark eyes again, far too genuine and kind for this place. Kindness like that gets people killed.

He clamps his mouth shut and swallows the thought back. After a moment’s contemplation, he nods once in acknowledgment. “Much obliged, Father.”

“Matthew,” he corrects.

“Matthew,” Clayton repeats, and settles down near his pack. It still smells a bit like blood from the dead Irishman, but he’s used to that. “Make sure you don’t forget to wake up Mister Fogg here in a few hours. I meant what I said about needing you sharp.”

“I thought you were Sharpe?” the Reverend says, and Clayton struggles, not for the first time, with the question as to if he should simply run into the desert and put himself out of his misery or if he should endure in hopes that this job doesn’t end up with four corpses and another town he can’t return to.

“I’m gonna do you a favour and not dignify that with a response,” he says flatly and lays back, pulling his hat low over his eyes. “As a man of God, you ought to be ashamed of stoopin’ that low.”

The Reverend – Matthew – laughs softly, a low and beautiful thing. “Rest assured, I shall keep that in mind.” There is a pause. Then, quieter, he adds, “Good night, Clayton.”

“Night.” There is a part of him that wants to sit up, that wants to ask what a man of God is doing in a place like this, where he really got those scars. He wants to know what the Reverend cares for life after death, where he finds his faith, why he asks about redemption like it’s a deep and holy thing. But tonight those are another day’s questions. Tonight, he turns on his side, and as he drifts off hears a soft humming that follows him into his dreams, where he stands in a church at his mother’s side, a young boy with bruised knuckles as a preacher stands in the pulpit and says come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

#critical role #undeadwood #reverend matthew mason #clayton sharpe #matthew mason/clayton sharpe #atlas writes #clayson #m/m #fanfiction

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spirit-of-the-void · 5 years ago

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Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 37

Author’s notes: So. Remember when I was sitting on something big? Yeah

Chapter 37

The Outsider smiled softly once the area around you settled, his dark eyes meeting yours with an emotion you did not recognize.

He looked so calm, so pleased with how things were going. Meanwhile you were aghast, heart thrumming away like a caged bird after all that you had seen and experienced. The cold was so very jarring as it followed the scorching heat of flames, like being doused in ice water and sending chills down your spine and arms. What the hell had any of that accomplished, other than putting Vergil through a harsh punishment? Even you, who hadn’t known Eva personally had been shaken by what your eyes were made to witness. No one should be forced to watch a mother and her children suffer through that, especially not one of the very children who went through the tragedy and came out the other side damaged.

Your mind was a whirlwind of questions, mostly pertaining to what happened to Vergil when he left that house. Demons had been crawling all around the surrounding town and homes, attacking and destroying everything in sight. Young Vergil, all alone on a playground, still upset about his mother and brother’s actions...what terrible things must have happened to him? Attacked by demons, hurt by them, forced to suffer through it all without the love of his mother and knowing that she was killed. No wonder he was such a surly, bitter man--he was starting to make more sense to you, bit by bit. God, what would Eva have thought if she knew what would become of Vergil? How many deaths that he would cause, the man he would grow to be.

And worse...you couldn’t stop thinking about the what-ifs of the situation. What would have happened had Vergil not ran from the house, if he had stayed behind with his brother and mother when the attack started? He would have been forced into that closet too, maybe his mother would have stayed with them and survived. But...things were rarely so cut and dry. The fact that the closet Dante was in didn’t burn was a miracle, coupled with the demons not finding him despite being explicitly sent by Mundus to kill Sparda’s kin. Maybe they assumed since they found Vergil, that both sons had been taken care of? Or maybe they assumed Dante would burn with the mansion. Whatever the reason...maybe the circumstances of the situation would have changed if all of them had tried to hide.

Maybe the demons would have found that closet. Maybe all three would have been lost.

Regardless, the tragedy of it all was a lingering wound on you now, one that you doubted would be soothed. And that pain was starting to translate into rage, seeing Vergil wheezing on the floor, one sleeve scorched by the fire’s illusion and hair unkempt and messy. You knew the kind of pain he was feeling, one so heavy it could make people drown in it. There was a tolerance for these kind of things that existed inside your body, made strong and firm by years and years of gritting your teeth through suffering and terrible memories. You could still stand after seeing that, you could still breath despite how much it hurt. Vergil was not like you, years of coping mechanisms and cold-heartedness made that pain all the more heavy to bear.

This solved nothing. All it did was hurt the man for his sins and break him down further and further.

You stood up from the floor, eyes still black as you approached the Outsider with rage boiling in your veins. He was steadfast, staring you down with the calmest expression you had seen and poise in his posture.

“Vergil Sparda has passed his first trial,” He said once you paused before him, your eyes steely and lungs still stinging from the smoke. The Outsider tilted his head, a smile playing on the edge of his lips as he regarded you with something close to amusement, “Is there something you wish to say to me, Y/N? You seem distressed.”

You didn’t hesitate, especially when he was using a tone like that. Your hand whipped out, cracking him across the cheek with as much force as you could muster and ringing the sound out through the Void. Had you ever showed such defiance to the Outsider before, physically striking him in retaliation for his actions? Never. Never. But...Respecting a God who had helped you was one thing, sitting by and letting him be cruel and sadistic was another. Your fear and caring you felt for this creature, one who was seemingly a father figure to you, was like a weight on your chest battling with the anger and fury at his actions. But some things could not be excused, and you had been a slave to ignorance and the wills of this God for far too long. Powers be damned, blessings be damned. After what happened in the Qliphoth tree, this had been a long time coming.

You hurt me, you betrayed me. And now you’re trying to break him.

“Are you satisfied?!” You hissed, grabbing the God by his collar while he put up literally no fight. In fact, he hadn’t even flinched when you hit him, merely blinking slowly and tilting his head back to look at your furious eyes. Somehow his lack of reaction made you even more angry, “What the hell are you thinking, forcing this upon him like it will somehow solve anything! It solves nothing!”

The Outsider’s gaze did not waver, eyes steady as they stared at the black gaze you inherited from him. What had become of him, this creature that you once looked up to and would willingly say you adored? He was the closest thing you had to a parent and he just...He was crushing everything.

“This man has hurt you, has he not?” The black-eyed God replied, narrowing his stare and tipping his head to the side, “Yet you still wish to save him, to preserve the part of him that you think still exists.”

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard it drew blood, the taste coppery in your mouth. Just because he was right didn’t mean a damn thing.

Your fingers still gripped his jacket, feeling his cold breath as you leaned closer and said in a biting tone, “And what does that matter? Why are you doing this?!” All the pain of his betrayal was spilling forth, mind reliving the moment of V’s absorption and the feeling of the Outsider’s firm grip on your neck, “You wouldn’t even let me try…! You wouldn’t even let me attempt to stop him, to find another way…! All of this, forcing me down, torturing Vergil with his past--just tell me why…!”

Please. I don’t want to hate you, I don’t want this doubt.

You could remember the beginning years of the Void, of his blessing. The first years of learning your powers, of pulling your shattered mind back together. The Outsider had been calm and patient, kind to you and understanding of the trauma that came with your existence. It was he who had done all that he could to rebuild you, taking away the burden of memories and shaping you into a fighter, one who could withstand the Void’s power and not break under its weight. Yet through all of that had been a distance, a wall you had always secretly hoped would be breached. The Outsider never embraced or touched you, never gave the physical affection that a parent would.

It was as if he had never knew how, just as puzzled by you and what your relationship was as you were. There was a sense of naivety, an impassiveness covering up a lack of understanding and years and years of passing human contact. All you had wanted was to regain what was lost, what you had never properly tasted--the chance at having loving parents, ones who were proud of you and not afraid to say it. To be strong, to love and be loved equally with no trauma of pain holding it back anymore. Human existence had robbed you of that, taking it all away and leaving you wanting, hungering for the fruits of happiness you were only allowed to briefly sample.

It was why you couldn’t hate Vergil, still wheezing and rasping on the ground, trying to gather his emotions together. He had been hurt time and time again, broken down without rhyme or reason and searching desperately for a means to cope, to feel strong. Had you been offered it, had a darker power sought you out...would you have hurt people as well at a chance of happiness, drowning in that desperation and letting it choke you? The son of Sparda had done terrible things, been selfish and cold and greedy. Things that could not be excused by his trauma, but...you understood it. You did. When one had their face constantly pushed into the dirt, they tended to do all they could to breathe.

You had done that too. Had taken the first hand that pulled you out of the dirt.

The Outsider let out a slow breath, the icy chill of it making you shudder lightly as you wheezed out your own angry, panting breaths. That calm expression shifted a bit, and if you weren’t mistaken....was that sadness in those endless, dark depths? The Outsider shocked you then, lifting his hands from his sides and doing the one thing you had never felt from him--he cupped your freezing cheeks with his own icy fingers, making you gasp and muscles tense almost painfully. The tender action shocked you to your core for a moment, anger trapped between the surprise and confusion with nowhere else to go.

But...why? Why is he doing this?

I don’t understand.

“You are the closest thing to a child I have ever been allowed,” The Outsider replied in a low tone, sounding a bit grave and serious as he continued on like you weren’t staring at with an expression so lost, “Born of my power, my essence. All that I do, I do to make you stronger, even if those actions make you hate me.”

What?

You blinked in shock, eyes wide and staring at him with a tortured expression on your face. This was too much, this was too much. All those months of thinking, waiting, not understanding...this didn’t help, it only served to increase the turmoil coiling inside and breaking down the walls of hatred you had formed to protect yourself from the Outsider’s betrayal. This validation, the knowledge of him seeing you as his kin...it only amplified the pain, leaving you wondering and pleading internally, not able to understand why he hurt you so much despite claiming you were his only child.

Why now, when it will only sting the most?

I just want to be happy.

I wanted you to be a part of that happiness too.

“P...please...Outsider...Father...” Tears started forming in your eyes, voice hoarse and conflicted as you whispered, “I don’t want this…! I don’t want anyone else to be hurt…!”

Not you. Not Vergil. Not anyone.

Using such a name for the God made his pause, eyes finally closing and breaking the stare he held between you both. He looked a lot closer to a human when he wasn’t gazing with those deep, empty eyes. Softer. Up close it was apparent just how unbelievably tired the Outsider looked, dark circles lining his lids and skin so pale in complexion.

“There is still so much you do not know,” He finally replied after some pause, opening those exhausted eyes of his to meet your teary gaze, “Things that cannot be forgiven. Even if it means earning your malice, there are things that must be witnessed.”

That was not the answer you wanted to hear.

You gasped, stumbling when the Outsider removed his hands and took several steps back with his expression switching back to the calm, unfazed look from before. As he did so, black crystal started swirling around the space, morphing the surroundings like they did before, but...only partially this time. No no no--No more trials, no more punishments…! You summoned your tendrils, wrapping them around Vergil to help him sit up, shielding him from the view in front of you. The dark crystal formed a wall behind the Outsider, like a screen that stretched all the way into the Void’s non-existent sky. On that screen formed an image, like the two worlds had been spliced over each other and now overlapped.

Your eyes widened, taking in the view of what could only equate to...Hell.

This was Hell.

It was dark, a vision of red and blood in a cavern that you knew could never see sunlight. Unlike the previous illusion, you were not immersed in it, not standing in it, but...seeing what was going on was bad enough. You felt your chest clench, staring beyond the Outsider at a man suspended by fleshy tendrils from all directions, dripping blood into a pool below. He looked like hell, practically ripped apart and completely limp. You knew that white hair, even with his back to you it was very clear who you were seeing.

Vergil.

The man behind you was panting, making you turn to see him sitting up with a glassy look in his eyes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze still burning with tears and expression conflicted. No more trauma, he shouldn’t be seeing this--but you doubted he would even if you weren’t there. He wasn’t seeing anything with a faraway expression like that, eyes downcast and hair draping over his face. You resisted the urge to embrace him, to cover his gaze and ears to protect him from this madness. V’s trauma was a vision in your head, breaking you down to nothing for each moment you remembered, that vulnerability so raw and real. It hurt, Vergil was in pain and you just wanted it to stop.

“Outsider…!” You whipped back around to stare at him pleadingly, stepping back and raising a hand to shield Vergil from view, “No more of this, please…! He’s had enough, we both have…!”

The Outsider clicked his tongue, shaking his head at your words and walking a slow circle around you both. Your tendrils summoned around Vergil as he went, acting as a shield despite how little you knew it would do. The God could stop your power with a flick of his fingers, but...he didn’t. Those eyes remained trained on you, watching with curiosity and something a little...disappointed. You half expected his new illusion to encompass the surroundings, enveloping you in the wet, hot air of hell and furthering the torture for the son of Sparda behind you. But that didn’t happen either.

“We will forgo this second trial a bit,” He replied to you, clear and precise. Like the training lessons he had given you all those years ago, “If that would please you, dearest Y/N. But you wanted to know, didn’t you? About Vergil’s bloody past, about what the poet spoke to you of...his trauma caused by his time as Nelo Angelo.”

Not like this, not at his expense.

As you watched in shock, the image before you moved, a newcomer appearing in view before the suspended Sparta. Your gaze snapped back to the screen, fists clenching at your side and tendrils resisting the urge to shield your eyes too. By the Void--He was huge, emerging from the shadows as a behemoth tall enough to be sky scraper. There was no mistaking this creature, with his king-like stature, curling beard and powerful presence--this was Mundus, the King of the Underworld you had heard mentioned before.

The realization made you gasp, feeling a chill travel up your spine and your fists clench at your sides. It was a strange sensation, wanting to protect Vergil behind you while also watching the Vergil of the past suffer and struggle. Alone. He wore different colors then, more in hues of blue, but...they were so sullied by his own blood that it was hard to tell.

Mundus stared at the son of Sparda with a cold expression, eyes not visible in the shadows of his face. You knew Vergil would have never fared against something of his stature, the very aura he exuded through the screen of illusion enough to make you want to turn and run. The younger Vergil’s fingers twitched, dropping the broken remains of the Yamato down into the pool where it landed, slowly beginning to sink into the blood. This is how the sword was broken, to be found by the Order of the Sword and then by Nero later.

Things were coming together disgustingly well. Griffon had only told you the minor details of his own existence, about how Vergil took on the King alone and had fallen, Mundus manipulating his weakened form and making him into Nelo Angelo. There his three Nightmares had spawned forth, bringing with them the trauma and reminders of his failure. They never told you what Mundus had done to Vergil, how bad it was. And you were going to learn why.

Mundus parted his lips, voice emerging in a sound that dragged along your earlobes like razor blades. You flinched, hands instinctively rising to cover your ears and taking another step back. But as soon as the sound reached you both, you heard Vergil gasp, the sound choked and hard as he raised his head. His expression was one of shocked fear, of remembrance. And it shattered you into a million pieces.

He cannot see, he can’t know this pain again.

“Sparda...Sparda--that traitor!” Mundus growled, the sound loud and vibrating the air as the Outsider continued to circle you both, not looking fazed in the slightest, “Had he not sullied demon blood with a human womb...Perhaps he could’ve had a son with at least some grit.”

He spoke of Eva, Vergil and Dante’s mother. Something about his dismissal of the woman made your blood boil, but you couldn’t afford to focus on that now. You snapped your gaze to the Outsider, feeling your shoulders shake as he met your gaze like it was a challenge, as if there was something to prove.

This helps no one.

“I wish to see no more…!” You spat at him, kneeling by Vergil and putting an arm around his waist, trying to urge him to his feet. Your voice seemed to snap the confused, panicked daze Mundus’ voice brought, icy blue eyes sharpening and lips parting in a gasp. He finally met your gaze, chest rising and falling with slow breaths and expression so very conflicted, almost...humiliated. He was at his weakest mentally, and he knew it. To fall to pieces in front of you, to break down into hysterics and cry for his mother...you couldn’t image how much that did to his pride.

“Y/N…” He rasped, voice raw from yelling even as you helped him slowly to his feet, “This..this is...I cannot…”

He didn’t have to elaborate, you understood.

The Outsider paused, tilting his head when the other Vergil spoke, the one from the illusion. It made you and his present day counterpart turn, watching as the Sparda lifted his head and rasped.

“...Done with the drivel yet?” He was so young then, so cocky and full of himself. It made you want to shake the poor half demon, the feeling doubled when he added weakly, “I can keep going.”

An obvious lie. You doubted Vergil could lift his fingers at that moment if he was asked. The one at your side stared at the memory with regret, his hands clenching into fists so tight that he was digging the nails into his palms. You gasped when blood started to trickle down, pattering onto the piece of debris you stood on like the blood trickling from his past self. He looked like he was going to be sick again, forced to watch a moment in his life that had brought much trauma and pain. And that heavy, drowning humiliation. Mind you, it was his choices that lead to this outcome, but…it didn’t make things any more tolerable. In fact, you were willing to bet it stung a lot more knowing he could have avoided all the pain had he just went with Dante, had he tried.

Like with everything, what would have happened if he swallowed his pride and decided to live his life with his brother? The agony of that uncertainty was drowning him, and that was a truth you knew he didn’t need to face anymore.

No more of this. No more.

“Outsider…!” You summoned more tendrils, cracking them out along the ground and stopping the God’s infuriating pacing, “End this, please…! What more must he endure before you are satisfied, what truth does this bring other than pain?”

But that’s what this is about, isn’t it? Bringing pain.

You took one of Vergil’s hands, stepping closer to him and feeling his fingers grip yours like they were a lifeline, “He knows what happens here, and so do I…! If you had any ounce of caring for me, you would stop this nonsense where it starts…!”

You could feel Vergil’s gaze leave you, staring at the image of Mundus pulling him up into his grasp, hand big enough to hold his whole body. His fingers twitched, Vergil stepping back and pulling you close enough to put your back flush against his side. He was gritting his teeth again, trying to hold onto the anger above the pain and maintain his composure. Those walls wanted to rebuild themselves so fast, but Vergil seemed so exhausted, so tired. Each breath was slow and measured, brow dotted with sweat and hand gripping yours tight enough that you were afraid he would break bone.

The Outsider paused at your side, keeping his eyes on Mundus and raising a hand to freeze the image. You could almost breathe a sigh of relief, seeing the King’s mouth open and say nothing as the illusion waited for the God to continue it.

There was an air of aggravation now, the Outsider turning toward you and letting out a low hum as he asked, “Do you truly wish for me to end this trial?” Those black eyes lingered on Vergil, narrowing slightly in annoyance as he added, “I will forfeit this as you ask, child of mine. But...the final trial I will not. There is truth to find there, since you claim truth should be the the only trial he faces.”

The God almost sounded...sullen, like your desire to protect Vergil disappointed him. There was something hidden in those black eyes, a sorrow you did not understand. Regret. What more did he possibly have to see, what other truths? You hesitated at the bite in his tone, feeling like a child who had been reprimanded by their father despite all efforts not to. But...this was not something you could tolerate any longer, sitting idly by and letting the God have his merry way. Someone needed to protect Vergil, even if he didn’t want you to. Not that he was going to say anything now, staring down the Outsider with such a fierce hatred that you were shocked the God didn’t catch fire from the heat.

No, all he offered in response with a slow smile, seeming utterly pleased by seeing the Son of Sparda so wrecked. Vergil was growing more and more furious, crackling with an air of anger that made the cold of the Void pale under its fire. You knew damn well he didn’t want to take part in these trials to begin with, especially not with no other choices and no way out. Now, seeing exactly what it had in store for him...he must want the Outsider dead, hating feeling weak in any capacity and being forced back against the wall. You saw his fingers twitch, free hand grasping the hilt of his Yamato like he wanted to attack the Deity before you. But trying was a waste of time.

And he knew it.

“I care not for your trials…!” Vergil growled, tone gravelly and raw as he narrowed his gaze on the smug God, “If you wish to punish me, then leave her out of it…!”

That made you jolt, indignation rising along with the worry in your throat as you protested, “Vergil--!”

“Enough,” He snapped in reply, cutting you off and meeting your pleading gaze with an exhausted one of his own, “This is what V wants, would you really deny him that which he desires?”

Of course he would say that, of course he would bring V into it.

And for the record, hell yeah you would, especially if it meant him sacrificing himself. You learned after those four months that doing so was never the right way to solve anything, not when there were people who cared about you. And everything be damned, you knew there were people who cared about Vergil. You, Dante, even Nero...you owed it to your friend to make sure he got to know his Father, that he would return home to make amends. Becoming one with the Void was a fate worse than death, losing your consciousness to the thousands of others and becoming a part of the chorus, lost to never be found again. You had been a strange case, you had gotten lucky--By circumstances beyond your control, you had not been consumed and were promptly found by the black-eyed God.

Vergil did not have that kind of luck.

“I’m done with losing people,” You replied to Vergil in a harsh tone, gripping the collar of his jacket and forcing him down to stare at you on your level, “You don’t get to make that choice…! It was my interference that brought us here, my mistakes…!”

Because of that, you refused to run. You would see this through to the end.

Vergil scowled at that, desperation in his eyes as he parted his lips to reply. But the Outsider was faster. You heard the God sigh, making you both turn again to look at him as he waved his hand at the image of Mundus and the younger Vergil, making it shatter into crystal that swirled around you all.

“Is this what you want, Y/N?” He looked straight at you, a thousand warnings in his eyes as the wind whipped his black hair slightly with the force, “To see this final trial by his side, to observe this truth no matter how much pain it will bring?”

You had stayed by his side through the death of Eva, through the fire and torment of his burning family home. No matter what came next, you could handle it for his sake. The deaths of those in the Qliphoth, seeing Dante’s struggles, maybe Nero’s? You could handle that, you could be the pillar of strength he needed to get you both out of there alive. Whatever the truth would bring, you weren’t going to sit and be ignorant anymore. Consequences be damned.

So you nodded, squeezing Vergil’s fingers and ignoring his sharp, desperate gaze as you replied, “I will not be swayed. After all, you’ve been showing me new pains for my entire life...haven’t you?”

Every ache, every agony...he made sure I went through them.

I just want to know why.

The Outsider tilted his head to the side at your words, as if he could sense the very context held beneath them. Silence passed between you both, punctuated by the Void’s howling and the whipping wind. You didn’t know what was going through his head, but you hoped it was something close to mercy, closer to what you thought the Deity was upon learning from him, from doing his bidding. There was a pleading look in your eyes, silently begging him to understand and listen. You didn’t want this anymore, didn’t want this conflict or hatred. You didn’t want to hate him anymore. Getting to live your life a second time was a blessing, getting to try again was a gift. And being able to do it all with the power of the Void and the Outsider guiding you was more than anyone could ask for.

But...there was something in the Outsider’s expression that made you nervous. A reluctance, one that was enhanced when he raised his fingers, sending the cloud of dark crystal swirling about you both like a cloud.

“Then so be it. But let it be known that I tried to warn you.”

You flinched, closing your eyes and gripping Vergil’s coat tightly between your fingers as it weaved around you loudly, coldly. Changing the landscape again, you knew that much. It was hard to get your sense of direction, like being turned upside down in mid air and trying to regain balance. You felt the cold start turning into warmth, the shimmering rays of the sun painting on your skin and making you gasp. Inhaling brought the taste of salt water on the air, wind sending your hair adrift and feeling nice despite it being utterly fake. Another illusion.

In a matter of seconds, the Void’s howling dissipated, leaving behind the quiet sound of footsteps, of voices low and murmuring as they brushed past your ear. It took a few moments for you to catch your breath, to get your barrings after being thrust into a new space so quickly. Your brain was scrambling, confused and trying to tell you that the Void was now gone, but you knew better by now, didn’t you?

You knew this place too, that was a fact.

You opened your eyes, feeling shock settle over you as the surrounding registered within. This was Fortuna, you would recognize it anywhere. The architecture, the towers reaching toward the sky and that ocean breeze you had experienced for months of peace. But...it was different now, not the crystal woven buildings of your home with bustling in the streets of new and old technologies alike. No, this was far more subdued. You stepped closer to Vergil, anxiety settling in a hollow pit of your stomach as you watched people walk by with their heads down, wearing cloaks and hoods and all keeping to themselves. It was so quiet, a far cry from the laughter and talking of the city square now, Fortuna opening its doors to the outside world and finding peace and culture they enjoyed.

And even more shocking was the behemoth looming over the city in the distance. Made of stone, towering high into the sky and staring eerily into the distance.

Nero had told you the story of how that statue fell, a homage to the demon Lord Sparda that was built by the Order of the Sword. But it was still here, the damage caused by all the events Nero was involved in no longer there. This was definitely the past--so maybe your assumption was correct? Maybe you were seeing what happened to Nero growing up, the truth of living without his parents? But...why weren’t you in front of the orphanage, instead in the town square several streets away. What was the truth to find here?

You looked up at Vergil, finding him frowning and staring around with wariness in those sharp eyes.

“We’re in Fortuna,” He stated the obvious, tone low and still rasping from before, “I...remember coming here to investigate the Order of the Sword.”

You blinked, stepping back from him and looking out at the people oblivious to your existence. One hand reaching out phased right through them, proving this illusion to be just like the other. It felt real, but you could not interfere with those who existed in it.

But...that wasn’t important right now. A realization was forming in the back of your head, one that made you take pause and turn to look back at Vergil.

“H...how many times did you come to Fortuna?” This was where he met Nero’s mother, wasn’t it? Had to be, considering the fact that Nero was born and raised in Fortuna his whole life. Getting in and out of the city at a time like this was difficult, if not impossible considering the grip held on it by the religious group.

Vergil frowned, putting a hand to his head and wincing slightly, as if he was in pain.

“...Once,” He finally replied, almost reluctantly, “The memory is vague, most likely due to my run in with Mundus afterwards. I do remember finding a book telling me the information I needed, then leaving to form the tower as a means to gain my father’s power, but…”

He didn’t remember Nero’s mother.

As soon as the thought formed, you froze, seeing a familiar shape walking through the crowd nearby with his head down like the others. The man stood out a bit, tall and broad shouldered with the familiar handle of the Yamato peaking through his cloak. You could recognize Vergil’s air of confidence anywhere, even when his younger self was seemingly trying not to be noticed. Blending into the crowd as best he could, people of Fortuna clearing a path out of his way and not looking at his face at all. His older version at your side noticed too, standing at attention as he watched himself walk past, face younger but still wearing that cold, cocky look he always had. It felt so strange, seeing a closer version to the Vergil you knew, but so much softer and more naive looking. Vergil at his peak of stupidity, it would seem.

But you knew now, the truth you were realizing here. The fact that Vergil didn’t seem to remember anything about Fortuna, about Nero’s mother told you everything you needed to know. What had happened to this woman, one who somehow managed to gain Vergil’s attention enough to form a child? Imagining the son of Sparda engaging in a quick fling seemed heavily unlikely, especially given the lack of interest he seemed to have in anything but power. Vergil clearly had not stayed behind for her, and Nero didn’t know who she was either. It didn’t bode well, and you were willing to bet her story would be a painful one. Of course the Outsider would want him to see what happened to this woman, the mother of his child, and make him feel terrible about that too.

He was doing things out of order--why this last? Wouldn’t it make more sense to show Mundus last, considering that happened after Vergil fornicated in Fortuna?

“Nero’s mother…” You murmured, making Vergil tilt his eyes back to you, “Is there anything you remember about her at all? She must have been special, especially considering the fact that she somehow caught your eye.”

Vergil seemed so focused, so driven. Romance or lust was so low on his spectrum.

The man in question furrowed his brow, letting out a low growl from his chest and rubbing his temple with hard fingers, “Why do I feel insulted by your tone?” He asked flatly, making you raise a brow at him, “I remember very little. She wore a red dress--does that help at all?”

A woman in red...that kind of narrowed it down, right?

You sighed, running a hand through your hair and feeling absolutely exhausted by the whole situation, “This is what the Outsider wants you to see so pay attention--didn’t you wonder at all what happened to this woman considering the fact that you barely remember her?” You met Vergil’s eyes, a serious expression on your face as you continued, “Nero searched Fortuna for her, but she was nowhere to be found. You are meant to see her fate.”

And like it or not, you would both be witnessing it.

Vergil looked away, a muscle twitching in his jaw and an uneasy air settling around his form. You knew this might be less damaging than watching his own mother die, especially if he had no attachment to the female. But...this could bring closure to Nero too, and that was important. Guilt could be an effective teaching tool, one that Vergil needed to become more familiar with after spending his entire life ignoring such things. Her fate was as important as his own, and he owed it to Nero and himself to at least try and see what happened to the poor girl he left behind.

Almost on cue, you saw something out of the corner of your eye--a flicker of color. Right on time. It made your head turn, a breath catching in your throat as you saw a hint of red walking from the direction illusion-Vergil was heading in. You gripped the real one’s hand, making him follow your gaze before you let go and started heading toward the woman in question. This had to be her, there was no doubt about that--head down with a white hood, dress a scarlet red and walking slowly past Vergil on the quiet street with a gentle stride. Her face was obscured, which was unfortunate. But you assumed you’d see it soon enough.

You walked to her side, phasing through the people of the crowd and pausing once she did in the middle of the cobblestone street. Vergil didn’t look at her, didn’t even seem to notice her--but it was clear she noticed him. You need to see this, right? You weren’t bothered by knowing Vergil had slept with another woman, especially considering he and V had no knowledge of you then. But...Something felt...off?

Something isn’t right.

Your foresight started prickling in your chest, growing in heat and intensity and making anxiety boil through your veins. What the hell was all that about, there was no danger here, correct? If demons showed up in an illusion, would you sense them too? But….you felt nothing in the house when it was attacked, no indication that danger was coming. Your Foresight had been completely quiet then, not seeming to notice the manifested danger or the fire threatening to burn you. So why was it coming to life now, warning you of something that was not seen?

You halted your steps, standing feet away from the woman in red with confusion and worry in your eyes. Vergil approached your prone form, watching her as well but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at his face. Instead focused on her, observing as she turned away from the both of you to look behind, seeming to notice Vergil and stop to look back at him with a soft smile peeking out from the hood shielding her face.

What was it that got her attention?

Maybe the energy he carried, maybe the way he walked. You weren’t sure which, but you could feel her interest like a tangible force in the air. That and...more. You felt recognition above all else, like you had met the girl before at some point in your life, as impossible as that was. It prickled at the back of your mind, sending off warning bells and making you incredibly uneasy.

The only women you met in your travels of this world were Nico, Trish, Lady, and Kyrie--and that was excluding the women of Fortuna you grew to recognize. And there was no way this girl was any of them based on her body type alone, and the fact that two of those girls would be babies at the time. Not like the women working the shops, not anyone you had helped. In fact, this was years ago was it not? This woman would be in her forties by the time you knew her. And she carried no aura similar to the older women.

But...something felt off, something felt wrong. The foresight was growing louder and louder as you stepped away from Vergil, frowning as you tried to move close enough to observe her face.

Don’t.

Don’t look.

Hide your eyes away, child of the Void.

The whispers turned to screaming in your ears, making your steps falter and eyes blink in confusion. What...was happening? What was going on? You were feeling rooted to the spot, standing next to the woman with your heartbeat increasing on every breath. Vergil wasn’t immune to your fixation, to the intensity of your gaze. He asked you if you were alright, but you barely heard it, ears starting to sound like they were underwater, drowned by your own pulse. Look away look away, the Foresight chanted, growing louder and louder as everything around you seemed to slow, to dim, You can’t, you shouldn’t, you mustn’t. This was not something you were supposed to see, but it was far too late now, wasn’t it?

The girl’s hands raised from her sides, gripping the edges of her hood and gently peeling it back, revealing her face to your eyes.

Wh--

What?

Th...that’s not…

This isn’t--

That’s not possible.

There must be a mistake--

Your eyes were wide and unblinking, staring at the face before you and unable to comprehend what your head was seeing. What...what was going on? You saw her eyes, the same color as yours. Her hair, the same color as yours. Her face...that...that was your face, was it not? Those were your lips, your nose, your cheeks, your everything. That was your smile on her lips, gentle and full of interest as she watched Vergil walk away. Your fingers lifted on her hand, touching your-- her cheek like she was in awe. Your breath stopped entirely in your lungs, heart pounding so hard in your chest that the roar of blood in your ears was deafening. Impossible impossible impossible--this was not possible. Your fingers started shaking, the Foresight in your body screaming in agony as you stared into her face, like a mirror, seeing yourself and unable to comprehend any of it.

She is--We are--I am--

I can’t--I can’t I can’t I can’t.

This cannot be real.

Your brain snapped like a weak twig, mouth opening but no sound coming out as your power and soul screamed out in absolute agony. Anger, despair, horror, pain, fear, incomprehension--It was like a tidal wave shattering the glass holding you together and flooding all in its path. You felt yourself crumble, mind shutting down and all the powers enveloping you in a sea of blackness that felt all too familiar to your body. And for once...you welcomed it, that feeling of nothing. Everything went howling into the Void in an instant--no more thoughts, no more sight, no more feeling. You fell to your knees and entirely shattered apart, the image before your eyes snapping away into the darkness like it had never been there at all.

You fell to pieces, mind shutting down before it could destroy itself even more. Like razors, the weight of the grief and absolute horror was ripping apart any sense of sanity you could have, protecting your soul from cracking into the state it had been all those years ago in the Void. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible. This cannot be. This cannot. Be. She is me and I am--

You lost it. You lost it.

Your mind writhed and thrashed, body going limp on the ground as the blackness consumed all the chaos and sent you into a state of absolute darkness. And in that split second of lucidity that remained before it was all taken, you heard the Outsider’s voice in your head.

Forgive me, my child. There are some things that even you were not meant to see.

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#devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #devil may cry v #dmc5 #DMCV #v dmc #V x reader #v x self insert #spirit writes fanfic #fanfic #self insert #ebony and ivory #ebony and ivory chapter 37 #chapter 37 #vergil #the outsider

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kuromiyakun · 5 years ago

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First face to face talk of Nivian and Oomi (from Messenger)

Niv to Oomi: What's it like to live here for so centuries?

Oomi: Do you mean on Earth?

Nivian: Yes.

Oomi: Compared to Heaven, significantly worse. Compared to Hell, way better.

Niv: -smirks, amused- When it is the only home you've ever known, it doesn't feel thst way, but I'm also not one of the tormented."

Oomi: - smiles-How about you, Lord Nivian? Do you like it on earth?

Nivian: It is so far renoved from nature, with their machines and lives, it is alien. I cannot say I like much of it yet.

Oomi: I'm not shocked by that. When we came to earth it was by the raise of humanity. Everything changed around us so we had a chance to get used to it. How long have you been here?

Nivian: A few centuries back, I was here a brief while. As for this era, it has been half a year. My lack of empathy with humans will not change, thus I doubt I will fully adapt. It matters little if I go home. What do you enjoy here on Earth?

Oomi: Nature. The smell of dirt. Wandering in mountains. Eating fruits from the tree.- he listed smiling, and huffed.- Tea.- added a chuckle.

Nivian: I haven't tried tea as much. My pet drinks coffee and soda. The rest are pleasant. Nature is a worthy creation. I do not abhor it.

Oomi: Am I impolite by asking what do you mainly have to feed? - asked, sounding curious.

Nivian: Hmm, maybe if I was another demon. I find it an intelligent question. -grins- I would prefer to eat human souls, to take them to hell. It is fortunate for humanity my pet is finds it disgusting enough to exercise her rights to see that I do not. Unfortunately it means eating human food instead.

Oomi: That must be kind of frustrating. Being controlled by that Wevused to eat humans. Gave up on it when everything became... Clear... So you have... Burgers but never had a tea?- changing topic.

Nivian: -looks into Oomi's eyes a moment surprised by the hint of sympathy- It is bareable this time. The previous, I hope is suffering through every delight Hell has to offer for her sins. -Eating their flesh sounds both interesting, yet revolting. I have forgotten the taste of tea. I haven't had the time to try it.

Oomi: Was the last one cruel to you? Also, eating human flesh is still appealing but morals would hold me back. We are feeding on emotions now, but we need very little. At least for those who are not as greedy as my brother.- smiles. Do you have siblings?

Nivian: -chuckles- The cruelty doesn't bother me. I was born in Hell. The Sorceress decided to bind me into a goblet and imprison me. That pisses,me off. I have been on the Earth since then, but being stuck in a cage for several centuries, unable to be free, return home, that was something else. She never had to do that either... if she had fully understood the magick. -he had almost forgotten Oomis next question. The anger burned inside of him too brightly. Being tortured would have been oreferrable to having been in a cage as the centuries carried on. The memory made him more uncomfortable than he exoected.- -belatedly answers- Yes, too many. Only two have the wit or insight to be equals. The rest are still the toys they were crafted to be.

Oomi: As I experienced... not all who was born in Hell are necessarily evil. I'd say: different.- his smiles fades.- Oh, I see... this sounds terrible.- Violence squirmed inside his head. He was the prisoner of The Box of Oppression for too long. The anger of Nivian was touchable through his aura. Oomi didn't mean to interrupt his speech. - Were you... created?- he asked after, a little more silent.- By an archdemon?

Nivian: -he appreciated Oomi's comment regarding those born to Hell. Though he looked at Oomi again as he remarked on the entrapment. For a moment he wished he could read Oomi's thoughts. Was the warrior so honest? For a moment he almost wished they were closer. Nivian wasn't over the imprisonment.- Yes. My brethern and I were created by the archdemons. Not all of us were able to rise from being more than our created functions. I do not feel for those who did not. I never will. They have their place and I prefer mine much better. Who is your demon companion, may I ask? ((I think Oomi didn't give his))

Oomi: He looked up swiftly with a frown, but after a second he sighed. Why to hide it?- I carry the demon of Violence.- he made a loath face, and shrugged clumsily.- We gave each other a hard time. Thinking for some moments, he gazed into the eyes of Nivian.- Seems like our creation is similar. You, created by archdemons, and I've been created by archangels. To be their guard and warrior. Is your purpose similar?- he offered a tentative smile, not to sound rude about it. He knew the very meaning of their creation must be a sensitive point.

Nivian: -smirks again, privately amused- If you feed off emotions, you can always feed off of mine. I have a few memories that might content Violence even. It's not my intention to create problems. I am simply uniquely qualified when it comes to certain things demons like. As for my creation, we were all tools or toys. I decided I wanted to be a warrior, picked up a sword, and haven't stopped since. Now, I can order all of my other siblings around as I wish. It's fun. Being a toy wasn't bad either, it simply wasn't the most satisfying role.

Oomi: Getting confused about the offer, Oomi frowned while Violence hummed as if already tasting some deliciously bloody emotion. - A... Thanks, I guess. I never fed on demons. Unfortunately I can not offer anything to return this kind invitation. I do not have a soul.- he added, almost as lightly as the joke itself was. - So you decided your fate is different. Fascinating. What kind of toy you used to be? - he asked, before biting in his lower lip. - Sorry I know that's not my business. Didn't mean to sound rude.

Nivian: -tittering with amusement- You are too kind! But, please NEVER offer a demon a soul to eat, especially your own without considering that it's supposed to torment the victim! Why on Earth or even in Hell would I want to eat your soul, if you had one, when you're this much fun to talk to?! -he kept trying to hold back his laughter. It wasn't because he was laughing at any mistakes or out of haughtiness. He simply found the warrior to be too pure in nature that it was too amusing to have stumbled across this gem.- -he stopped laughing- You are the farthest thing from being rude. I lived with creatures who's natures were to get under your skin and twist one's emotions into their weapons of amusement. You... you are honest with curiosity. It is refreshing. I did many things, killing and tormenting is part of them. The answer you're really asking for is, yes, I was made to be a toy for physical desires. I was made to be pretty, and sturdy. However, I don't actually have a libido of my own. It's easier to be an endless toy if you're never overwhelmed by the pleasure, pain, or hedonistic vices. I like the freedom of it. If I wasn't made to be asexual, then I'd be another worthless beast. Instead, I have all the power and authority I could ever want.

Oomi: Smiling apolegic, he shrugged with his eyes on the floor.- Well I don't have a soul anyway... - he gazed at the demon again, with a shy smile.- I'd protect it more if I had one. - Thank you.- he said upon the compliment. He was fun to talk to, so long ago.- I am usually the mean one. I feel like a teacher among the vampires and my brother. He talked because the other's amusement was embarrassing. Did he seem ridiculous in Nivians eyes? But the thought gone as the demon stated to talk about his heritage. Oomi had the feeling he used to be that kind of a toy as well, he could only nod as he was listening. But his cheeks started to burn as the demon lord talked about his own sexuality.- Ah... I see well... That's good then, I guess?

Nivian: You are not in a position to be anything other than their guardian, since the Lord of Promisuity has his own battle to fight. If he is unable to help, then it falls onto you. It must not be easy. At least it is within our nature to let the weak suffer. I would not have protected the two vampires in your position, but they mean quite a lot to your brother. It is fun in Hell for me. Because I am among the Lords and lead my own siblings, I am an unattainable prize. It is the easiest weapon for me to wield.

Oomi: Gazing down, for a second he felt it all on his shoulders and sighed. He wanted to save his brother desperately. - Thank you for the sympathy. I never knew I'll get it from a demon.- he offered a smile.- I guess we both have stereotypes towards each others race... Can I ask something? ... What it feels like to eat a soul?

Nivian: The stereotypes are warranted. Especially with those demons which are the true Fallen that were cast out or followed Lucifer. They are inflexible in their resolve and thus can never be trusted. It's never changed, even in my absence I bet. I imagine it's the same as consuming life since it does both. Since you feel and read the life or lives within the soul it's very... all consuming. You have to learn to retain your awareness otherwise you are incredibly vulnerable... Though that's by our standards not human or vampires. It can become an addiction too. When you live the fullness of life in minutes, instead of decades, not even sex or any other pleasures suffice.

Oomi: I met some archdemons and I didn't like them. They were arrogant, aggressive and bored to death. On a level I felt sorry. I saw things I wish I didn't but never felt this bored of it all. - How old are you in standard human time? - he asked with a wondering face. - Feeding on emotions is better then all of the things you listed, as well... It is horribly addictive too... I used to be blinded by violence.

Nivian: -he thought a moment- I'm not sure. They don't keep human calendars in Hell. Judging by tbe souls, and their experiences, perhaps I'm only about two thousand at most maybe a little less or more. -he enjoyed this one's company, he smiled easily around him- "They ate definitely bored. I thought perhaps that feeding off of me would be less of a bother than trying to sate any urges off humanity. Though part of me is curious... about Violence. I don't wish him, her, or it any ill. I simply cannot help them as I am right now. Nor am I certain Lucifer would allow me to. I must put his wishes first."

Oomi: He smiled too, feeling kind of peaceful in the conversation. Laughing at the idea of human calendars he raised his hands:- I can see Lucifer turning the pages of the latest calendar musing: " Hm, is it summer already on earth?- he chuckled. Two thousand year is a long time. Mostly in Hell. For angels, that place is maddening, that's how they say. Oomi turned to serious, as Nivian talked about Violence.- You can talk to him if you wish... - the warrior offered, looking away.- We have a momentarily balanced connection. It lasts for 114 years now.

Nivian: Thank you. I'll answer any questions he has as well. I don't expect angels to not find it maddening. It was created to be a torment, especially for those in God's good graces. I'm simply used to angry demons taking out their frustrations on each other. It's rather pedestrian since they fall into patterns that lack creativity for years on end.

Oomi: Oh okay, do you want it now? - he asked with the hint of anxiety.

Nivian: Not if it makes you uncomfortable. I'm sure you can relay a question just as easily. I assume you can hear each other fairly well.

Oomi: Right. Also, he is a little uptight since he is again, close to Promiscuity. After a pause, he shrugged: Is there anything you would like to ask now?

Nivian: Boring things. How is he doing? How does he feel about all of this? What amuses him the most about humanity and the least. Much the same as I asked you. I would like to know more about him the same as you ask if me. They do not talk much of him in Hell. I'm not sure why. There is no anomisty, nor love, yet I wonder why it is that so little is mentioned. It makes me wonder what the Archdemons are guarding. -frowns- It doesn't change anything in the end. I'm merely curious.

Oomi: Violance doesn't belong to Hell. He belongs to earth.- pausing he quickly monitored his demon's mood.- He is not in a great mood but entertained by your company just like I am... "You know what amused me the most, Oomi."- the demon spoke on his deep voice, which made the Lord's stomach to jump a little. - He finds humans wars and combats the most amusing thing. Mostly as they are taking advantage on the defeated ones to torture and humiliate them... - he spoke steadying and silently. - He also likes technical inventions and the complexity of love and how it is effecting people in an abusive way. He dislikes that there is a point when the human psyche breaks. And he also hate cars and nuclear power.- at this he smiled. Violance complained about this one quiet often.

Nivian: I'm flattered if he finds my company entertaining. -he nodded his head, as the lightest of bows, out of respect- Human wars are fascinating. I enjoyed watching the mechanism of them centuries ago. When communications were merely runners on foot or horse, or letters. The planning, insight, and simple brutality of it. How they threw themselves at each other endlessly never truly knowing the outcome. It's different when you have gifts like ours that were meant to break the walls of Heaven. -he laughed- He can enjoy technology. I'm still learning it, but I agree with his assesment of cars and nuclear energy. They are clumsy, ugly, and destructive in an unappealing way. There is nothing to celebrate of their positive or negative traits.

Oomi: The lord's eye color suddenly switched and a low, hoarse voice replaced Oomi's velvety tone: I do not mind to see humanity destroying itself. I don't even have to intervene in this era, they are destructive and deleterious by themselves. Observing the turn in their fate is both fulminatory and entertaining in it's own horrible way. I believe this phase will end soon. The leaders of Earth are not intelligent enough to sustain this living for too long.- he spoke, slowly and clearly, like a dark oracle. - Technology is gripping because yet they have the solution to turn this dark fate of theirs around, they are capable of nothing else but depredation. It is their nature. I would be interested to know what do you think about this theory of mine.

Niv: -simultaneously excited and sad- "I have missed too much of this world! I would have liked to have seen the dissention toward their own foolhardy end. I need to see more of the world to fully grasp all of it. I'm still learning these technologies of theirs." His smile was wistful, with a hint of emotion lingering longing as his eyes turned away with thoughtfulness. Violence was the only demon he had met since his release from captivity. The silent, dark centuries, weighed upon him briefly. "Everything you say seems a solid theory and conclusion. You make me long to stay here to see the end of humanity. Yet, if humanity is ending, I need to go home and make sure my place was not assumed by another in my long absence."

Violence: Yes, you have to see more of this dimension. Technology wise I advise you to learn more about quantum computers, codes and the usage of natural energy. He then listened to Nivian before replying: The end of this humanity would necessarily mean the end of angels and demons, heaven and hell, too. The three dimension is in a close connection.

Nivian: I will. Thank you. I needed the advice, but first I have to find my human bond-master. I'm thankfully for Oomi's help. Whomever took her is smart enough to keep her out of reach of my senses. I cannot say that it isn't part of a greater scheme on their part. I get the impression freeing her will be problematic if they're strong enough to effectively hide her -the weight of it all rested heavily on his shoulders. Failing to find her or free her would cause Hell to lose their faith in him, although it wouldn't mean he couldn't go back. He'd have his title stripped. Changing the subject he gave Violence a smile and teased- I bet I can show you something you haven't seen. -Nivian moved from his seat into the center of the room and shifted into his natural demon self. Though he kept his height smaller to fit into the room. His skin was white enough it practically glowed as if lit by the moon. He had for horns rising out of his head like a crown, sweeping backward in their arc. They, like his fingers through his upper arms, were tipped with a rich black, slowly shifting into the dark red of fresh blood where they disappeared into his hair-line. The red crawled up his arms toward the middle of his biceps. He had two sets of wings, the lower pair half the size of the upper set, which was vast its reach, if he had the room to stretch them out. As it was, the room was too full of furniture. Both sets were vaguely bat like or draconic, yet not identical to either species.

As for his clothing, it changed as well. In his demon visage he wore a decorated collar that wasn't anything resembling something denoting ownership. It was more like the collars worn by the Pharaohs of ancient Egypt. Black and gold laying across his shoulders and going up his neck to stop just short of his jaw. He didn't wear and kind of top, he didn't need to. His body radiated a warmth like a fireplace on a late winter's night. It filled the air with a passive energy that wasn't unpleasant in nature. He did have a ruby red sash at his hips which was part of the harness for his two unholy blades resting at his hips. What constituted as pants was a leather like material that clung to his legs and traveled down, merging into some form of boot. Yet the seams were negligible. Whether or not they were separate was hard to tell, they fit so smoothly together. He gave a wink at Violence, having a bit of fun discarding the foul human friendly skin he had been wearing.

Violence was waiting, kind of expectant, and watched Nivian's alternation with interest. It was long ago a demon lord was right in front of his eyes and they have never been this friendly. Once the change was done, he hummed with the hint of a smile.- Fascinating I must tell.- his inhuman eyes roamed on the form of Nivian, with open curiosity.- Are you capable to fly?- he then asked eyeing the impressible two pair of wings.- For more then some minutes? The muscle structure of your chest and shoulders indicates you can.- he walked closer, without taking his eyes off of the demon.

Nivian: I can. The muscles need not fully comply with the physics of Earth. I don't need quite as much for my full stature here as one would assume, in order to fly. -he extended all four slightly, as room allowed- You can touch them if you'd like.

Violence: I can see the built of it well, from here.- he smirked still keeping his hands on his sides. It was hard to tell he didn't want to touch because he wasn't interested enough or because he was worried he'd damage them. - How tall are you in human or demonic measurements? This is not your full height, is it?- asked, starting to walk around Nivian, as if seeing the work of art and talking to the artist same time. He indeed, seemingly liked what he saw and his acknowledgement made Oomi to smile on the coastline where he stayed while his demon talked.

Nivian: -soaking up the attention- Demonic, around 2.3 meters from head to feet, without horns or wings included. Though Hell is quirky with dimensions and measurements. If I transformed to a human equivalent I tend to scale it down to 2 meters or less. The dimensions here are fixed shorter, less random fluidity.

Violence: I know it is, but I understand them. I also speak your language.- the demon said, without sounding ostentatious.- Do you count tall among your kind?- he asked, finishing a full round around Nivian, he stopped in front of him, within reach.

Nivian: I'm not the tallest by far, though I'd say maybe only a third or fewer exceed human heights. Usually it's preference.

Violence: I can see that, I saw much taller. And much unkind I must say.- he smiled at Nivian.- May I?- he asked, raising his right hand, asking for permission to touch him. He wanted to see what the other's skin is like.

Nivian: -smirks- Definitely unkind. I'm fortunate I've no unpleasant business here. -then he nodded- It's fine. Go ahead.

Violence: The demon mirrored his smirk, thinking what the lord in front of him might be if he'd have an unpleasant business. Probably as unkind as any of his fellow demons. His out reached hand moved forward, at first just tentatively pulling hid fingers through the left shoulder and bicep of Nivian. But the kin felt different from his own, which made him to cock his head with a frown and he raised his other hand too, pressing his palms against Nivian's arms this time with more firmness.- Are you fire-resistant?- he asked, unable to place what he felt upon the touch. His palms with fingers open, slid down to the demon's forearms, testing the muscles with some grabbing motion.- Tell me if I cause pain.- he said, his tone indicated he was kind of lost in thoughts, until his eyes found Nivian's.- However I can't promise I won't like if I do.

Nivian: "You're very considerate, thank you. It's hard to hurt me like this. My skin is somewhat soft yet thicker than a human's. You have my permission to touch ne anywhere you'd like. I can even take off my clotjing if it amuses you.

Violance: No, it is not necessary, I assume your skin is the same everywhere on your body.- the demon said, with an analytic frown on his face as he grabbed and raised one of Nivian's hand to raise it in level with his eyes for close examination. Oomi groaned and that shook Violence out from his cogitation, looking up past the demon's face, then chuckled.- My carrier finds your offer perplexing... or rather embarrassing. Gazing Nivian in the eyes he arched his brows: Was your offer an inappropriate one?

Nivian: It can be. It depends on what you two want. It doesn't have to be inappropriate. It's not necessarily sexual.

Violence: I understand you used to be a sex toy.- his statement might seem impolite, but his face remained curious and wondering.- Do you still have this... reflex? That another demon might want nothing else from you but your body?- he asked, seem honest while still held the hand of the other demon.

Niv: -Nivian had to think for a moment.- It's not from my past. I like you two. I haven't had this much fun since I was freed. After spending a few centuries trapped in a goblet, that was thrown into the sorceress's grave, I'm eager to chase away the memories of knowing notjing but darkness without any light, touch, or company. That's all. It would be fun, but it's not necessary. I'm liking this enough for what it is. Your curiosity is delightful.

Violence: Still holding the hand of Nivian, he gazed him, thinking about his words. Then tightened his hold in a reassuring way, almost emphatically. - I understand you. I know... what it's like to be the prisoner of a ridiculously small object.- he whispered. - But to me... express your gratitude or anything you feel, in a different way.- he leaned a little closer, deepening the look into the red eyes. - If you in need of intimacy... try to ask that from Oomi.- he added with a smile, and closed his eyes. Once they were opened again, Oomi gazed back at Nivian and almost in a second, turned to red and let go of his hand. - Damn you, Violence.- he hissed under his breath, and rubbed his own nape, gazing away.

Nivian: -smiling still- I'll remember that, thank you again. -he felt for Oomi for a brief moment being thrust back into control in such a moment. He gently took Oomi's chin with the tip of his finger and turned Oomi's face back toward his, though he did nothing more than that- "I'm not going to try to seduce you. It's an offer, but not some kind of mandatory demand. I'm content with our conversations. Part of me is trying to make up for all of the years being alone as quickly as possible. Being greedy can be part of my nature, so tell me if I'm being pushy."

Oomi: He was about to gain his balance back and to pull himself together when Nivian simply reached under his cheek, to raise his face which made Oomi to widen his eyes with renewed embarrassment. No one was touching his face. No one dared! At first, he started to stutter both from confusion and from what Nivian said after he took a step back. - You, you told me that you are in even into these kind of things and now you just... you openly offer something like this? Why do you think I... do I look like someone who is in need of...? You know, do not even reply.- he raised one finger in total bewilderment.

Nivian: -he lowered his arm knowing that expression on Oomi's face- I didn't mean any kind of insult. I don't have a natural libido, it doesn't mean I don't like sex. It means I don't have that impulsive drive to have it. I never assumed you needed anything. I'm the one who feels the need for something more. In this era the only being I've met besides my pet that I find interesting is you. Both of you. That's why I was flirting with the offer. If it's upsetting I can dismiss it. Upsetting you wasn't my intention at all.

Oomi: Regretting for making a scene, he sighed meekly and made a step forward again.- I didn't mean to reject you this roughly. It is me who is awkward about this, you did nothing wrong.- wondering a little more about it, he had to admit to himself, he was angered because maybe he is missing the same and Violence... he knew it. - I am not having anyone close to me and I am not allowing people -human or not -close to myself easily. But I am you know... fine with touches and some closeness, however I can not offer anything more. I'm too... awkward.- he acknowledged.

Nivian: You don't have to offer anything more. I'm content with simple things as well. I apologize for being perhaps too assertive. I was adoring the attention too much. -he raised out a hand to Oomi- Let me hold you in my arms a moment. Nothing sexual.

Oomi: Gazing at the hand for a long second, he span closer, watching the demon closely, but when he was close enough, he opened his arms, and drive them around the waist of the demon, as he was way taller now. The touch was oddly nice and he melted into in after two seconds, leaning his head on the shoulder of Nivian.- Like this?

Nivian: -he wrapped his arms around Oomi, holding him securely, but not too tightly pressed against him. It was fun if Oomi couldn't relax.- "This is good," he murmured as his eyes closed enjoying the feeling of someone in his arms. The heat still naturally radiated from his body. He could stop it, if he concentrated on it, however he knew what effect it might have. It was just warm enough it seeped through the skin, into muscle and bone. It was a comfortable warmth that eased the tension out of muscles.

Oomi: Oomi smiled and pulled his shoulders up a little with a purr.- Yes it is.- he agreed and listened the breathing of the demon.- I am sorry you had to be locked in a goblet.- he added, interlocking his own fingers behind Nivian.- Was it dark in there? - Hm, you are warm.- he added, with eyes closed.

@umbra-est-magus

#Nivian #Oomi #First face to face talk #from messenger

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