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greetingfromthedead · 4 months ago

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6. Wind Shear

Series: Mermaid!AU Depth of Despair

Pairing: Vash x GN!Reader

Word count: 2.4k

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Days pass, but the rain does not. From sunrise to sunset, you keep glancing up towards the rippling surface of the water, hoping to catch a glimpse of sunlight breaking through the dark clouds. But even as the storm lets on, the downpour continues. You hide away in your cave, watching your collection of flowers wilt and die away. They turn brown and soft, losing their perk and color in the same way your days do. You feel like you are suffocating in the darkness of your own mind, and you long for the glimmer of light that you realize Vash has become in your lonely life. You can't help but wonder if he feels the same way about you. Part of you hopes he does, but that is selfish and dangerous. The reasonable side of you knows he should stay away from you; he should cut ties, and so should you. It's better this way, for both of you.

On the fifth day, you go near the coast again, hopeful to see a glimpse of Vash, even though the rain has still not passed. The tree by your bay is bare; no coat hangs from it. You swim up the shore, but you don't find him there either. The port is filled with grumpy men eager to set sail for their next destination but are cautioned to wait a little while longer. Nobody there wears the vivid red coat. With increasing longing, you return down the beaches, following the coastline, peeking into every cove and inlet, but Vash is nowhere to be found. You feel increasingly silly for being so naive as to think you will see him or that you are even looking for him at all.

You find excuses to wander further away, to push over reefs, and explore forests of seaweeds. You tell yourself you're just passing the time as you stray along the sandy sea floor. You discover the dark forest pushing close to the sea, the tree roots holding together the sand that wants to erode into the water. The stony cliffs get replaced by gentle, sloping hills, and the beaches get stonier and grassier the further you go. Eventually, you come across a river mouth where freshwater meets the saltwater of the ocean. The stream comes in with rapid speed, carrying sediments and debris, turning the water cloudy and murky as it mixes with the sea. The merciless rain has pushed up the water levels and submerged the riverbanks. You wonder if this is the same river that you saw gently sloping through the landscape from where Vash carried you to the first time. It comes from the forest, carving a path through the trees; could it be the same one where Vash has his little house? Curiosity grabs hold of you, urging you to follow the river's path and see where it leads, but the setting sun cautions you to turn around and return to where you came from.

You spend yet another night curled up on the dry patch of land in your little cave, keeping the flowers Vash has gifted to you securely in the middle of your coiled figure. You gently touch the dried up petals that crumble off the stem and feel even more alone, with a burning resentment towards the rain. Your sleep is restless, filled with an assortment of terrors and dreams. The tiredness in your bones is the only indicator that morning has not yet arrived, so you keep laying on the rough, stony ground, hoping for some peace to come.

The new day finally arrives, and soon you find yourself gravitating towards the river again. It is still raining, but not as much as the days before. You know you should stay put; even if you can't cast the thoughts of Vash aside, you should wait instead of taking risks that could expose you. Yet still, you move forward, swimming upstream along the river. The water is deep, but you can tell it's not meant to be quite so wild. You move comfortably through the murkiness, occasionally surfacing to look around. The bottom is a mess of sand, driftwood, rocks, and roots, but you continue on with determination and hope. The thought of turning back keeps hammering in your head, but the pounding of your heart tells you to keep going.

The river twists and turns through a thick forest. You see occasional flowers on the banks, greenery, and narrow paths, but no buildings or roads. It makes you feel safer knowing that you're unlikely to run into a person, but it also discourages you, making you think that perhaps this is not the stream that passes Vash's house. Another bend later, you surface, the raindrops on your face feeling like tiny pinpricks. The air is so fresh and clean, but you pick up something more. A lingering sweet scent. Magic. It's the same kind that Vash carries and the flowers he brings you. It fills you with a sense of wonder and warmth.

You glide past another bend, and there you see a narrow deck extending into the water. It floats on the surface and leads into a path that meets up with a tiny house. You see a garden that is lush and vibrant, full of colorful flowers and fragrant herbs. Flowerbeds surround the house, and behind it you can spot another building made out of glass, filled with more greenery. This is exactly as Vash described his home to be, but even more beautiful. As you swim closer, more of it all comes into view, and you're left to admire every detail and wonder how brilliant it would look in sunlight.

The opposite bank is covered in trees, with tall trunks shooting towards the sky. The underbrush is dense and vibrant with life; some flowering shrubs cast a sweet scent of honey even in the rain. A large rock sits in the river. You guess that during normal water levels it would be on dry land, but for now it is perfect for you to pull yourself onto it and look at the sight before you.

Soon enough, you notice some movement in the house: curtains shift as someone walks past, shadows transform as a lamp burns on the table. Very faintly, you can hear whistling coming from inside, a similar tune to the ones you've heard the seamen singing down at the docks. You feel peace again, knowing that you are so close to the human who has stolen your heart, whether you want to admit it or not. This reminds you of the times you looked onto the shore to catch a glimpse of the man you saved before he discovered you wrapped up in the fishing nets.

The door clicks, and you see the familiar red coat. He has pulled up the hood; the golden buckles and buttons hold the front of it closed, no longer acting as a pillowing cape but exaggerating the broad shoulders and skinny waist. He pulls the door shut behind himself, and you see the metal bucket he carries. His chest rises in a deep breath, and his head lifts so he can see out from the edge of the hood. Almost instantly, his eyes lock onto you, and the empty bucket clatters to the ground.

His expression is one of surprise and wonder, a wide smile splitting his face as he hurries down the slope in the rain, occasionally slipping on the mud of the trail. His heavy boots pound on the boards of the dock as he stops at the very edge of it.

"Are my eyes playing tricks on me?" he calls out, his voice dripping with happiness. "Did you really find your way here?"

A smile appears on your lips too at the sight of him, his bright eyes glimmering as he looks at you, almost leaning over the water, like the distance is still too great. You carefully slip down from your perching spot, mindful not to submerge completely, keeping your head and shoulders above the surface as you glide towards him. You look up at Vash as you reach the dock, your fingers creeping right under the edge to hold on as the claws and webs disappear into your human looking skin. Vash kneels down, unbothered by the rain and the wetness of the planks. His hands gently cup your face as he looks at you.

"I started to think the rain would never stop and I wouldn't get to see you again. But here you are." He beams; his hands feel warm on your cool skin, especially the right one. His touch is soft, not at all restricting or overbearing. You feel at ease as you sense the pulse of his blood, and his magic tenderly press against your cheeks. His eyes narrow as he smiles, and part of his face is hidden by the shadows cast by his hood. You reach out one hand to brush away the strands of hair that fall across his forehead. Your hand is wet, and the fin reaching from your wrist to your elbow slowly disappears at the touch of air.

You stay like this for what feels like both a fleeting moment and an eternity all at once before his eyes open again to look at you, the smile still present on his face. His hands move from your face and take hold of your outreached hand, giving it a light squeeze as he pulls it closer to his chest. You look down at the familiar red coat, the row of buckles keeping it closed in the front, the golden embroidery running down from his shoulders, and the pockets held closed by embossed buttons. He looks handsome and almost fierce in it.

"Oh! I know!" he perks up again as if waking up from a dream. "It's a bit slippery to carry you up the riverbank; I don't want you to get hurt, but will you hold on for a moment?"

You nod, wondering what he is up to, and he releases your hand to get up. The whole dock sways with his movement, and he staggers a bit as he gets to his feet. He hurries off the planked path and looks over his shoulder to throw you another smile.

"I'll be right back!" He announces and starts running uphill, nearly slipping on the mud a few times, emphasizing the treacherous conditions of the trail.

Vash disappears behind his house, and no matter how hard you try, you can't see much of anything from where you are. You consider getting up onto the dock, but decide against it just in case someone else does show up. While Vash has never mentioned any neighbors and you didn't see any other buildings, you can't be too certain that you're safe from prying eyes, especially when he is making a ruckus. It doesn't take long for him to return. You see him taking long steps towards you, his whole body leaning back as you see red, pink, and yellow flowers in his arms. He holds the lot gingerly, and you don't see any stems poking out from under his arms—just a whole lot of different sized blooms. He slides down the slope. The momentum of the decent causes him to take a few running steps over the deck, and you prepare to catch him if necessary, but he halts before the ledge and looks at you with a mischievous grin.

You get to wonder about his plan for just a moment as he starts raining down the flowers on you from above. He takes handfuls of blooms and scatters them over you. They land in the water around you and gently touch your skin. Your smile brightens as you try to keep them from floating away with the current, collecting them into your embrace, but the lack of stems doesn't allow you to hold them for long. Vash laughs at your attempt to catch the blooms, and you reach out your arms to catch the few remaining large flowers he throws your way.

They have layers upon layers of petals, some more pointy than the others. Some blooms take the shape of a ball; others remind you of water lilies. The colors vary from deep red to light yellow. You look at them in awe, amazed by their beauty.

"Those are dahlias." Vash speaks softly as he squats down to admire you from a closer distance. "I thought you would like them."

You want to thank him and tell him just how much you adore the vibrant colors and delicate petals. You long to tell him how much you admire him for always being so thoughtful and kind. So many words want to flood over your lips that you have to keep to yourself. The feeling in your chest blooms brighter than the colors of his garden and the flowers that are ripped from your grasp by the current of the river. All you can do is smile and keep the few dahlias that remain in your hands.

"I'll get you some with stems too, so you can take them more easily with you!" He beams and stands to leave again. Vash gets to take a few steps, reaching the end of the dock, but before he can step off it onto the trail, a voice sounds out from behind you, speaking your name.

Both you and Vash freeze at that moment; your blood turns into ice. You gather yourself enough to whip around. You see the wet onyx scales of a serpent's tail glisten as the massive body coils itself around the rock you perched on before. On the top of the rock sits the man you know well—a sentry of your kin, a soldier, and a protector of your people. His skin is tan, melding into the dark tail. His hair is black and shaggy. He looks quite human as he is now; the spikes and armored scales have disappeared, and the monstrous face has been replaced with an almost friendly looking one if it weren't for the scowl as he stares at you.

"What is the meaning of this?" He asks calmly, but you can tell it is a facade, hiding the impatience and frustration bubbling beneath the surface. His sly eyes give him away even as he smiles.

"Nicholas," you manage to say, but there are no excuses or words you could speak to him to make all this alright.

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If you liked this, perhaps check out my new Knives x Reader series Apple Blossoms.

You can check out the Depth of Despair Masterlist for more info.

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#trigun #fanfic #fanfiction #vash the stampede #humanoid typhoon #plant boi #x reader #writing

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sadcharactersrmykryptonite · 1 year ago

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Sandray and why they are the The good thing at the wrong time, or the right person at the wrong time.

So i have read a lot of amazing meta on this series, especially the ephemarilty squad and it has made the viewer experience so much better. A big thank you to those people.

This post is technically not a meta nor am I claiming this is something groundbreaking. I just wanted to get my thoughts out.

Only friends has been an experience and my favourite couple is sandray. I know it will only give me pain but i am a masochist.

After episode five, I have seen a lot of people start to put blame on either sand or ray or Boston ( who is at 80% fault). But in this series we can't just easily put them in a blame box. It's way to complicated for that, as emotions are.

Ep 5 is from the perspective of sand while ep 4 was from ray, from these two eps we realise how different they are, how different their experiences are.

Ray is not exactly a mature person or even a put together person like sand. And we know why, he has self esteem issues, depression and is an alcoholic due to childhood circumstances. And he does not have a supportive network. And we can't blame the friends group because they are twenty something college kids who have no idea of the seriousness. Case in point, how they wave off rays talks of being a burden and continues to enable his bad habits. He is an incredibly messy character, with clear trauma and we have given enough points, explicitly told through the narrative. We are supposed to feel sympathy for him, we are supposed to feel empathy for him. We should root for him to become better.

Compare that with Boston. Boston has been given implied issues, acted out brilliantly by neo. Now whether they are some deep rooted issues from his childhood or parents or others, we dont know. Cause we are not explicitly told. We are supposed to be see him as the antagonist.

In the case of ray, we have given reason to believe that mew is not a great friend to ray as he claims to be. So we are not supposed to root for them so then who should we root for.

Enter sand, who's practically perfect, put together, mature and hot. But the problem is sand is not a put together person, at all.

Sand juggles between jobs, he takes care of the debt of his mother and is a good son. But he's in need of money and he has told that he will do anything to get more money. Aka his illegal plum business.

Ep 5 gives us mote depth of his character. And from the outside he looks cool, calm and collected, inwardly sand is an emotional person, who's driven by his emotions. Now from the first eps we were led to believe that ray is the emotional drunkard looking for trouble. He's not. Ray is driven by his trauma, his addiction, his thoughts, not his emotions.

Sand on the other hand is quick to anger, sarcastic to the point that someone has probably tried to punch him and has a rigid moral sense. And he wants to take care of stuff. And he falls fast. But he doesn't know how to deal with them.

Sand has gotten hurt before by way of top. And he keeps his emotional walls up. Ray is lonely, he wants to connect. And a lot of people have said that he doesn't know to connect but he does. Everything he does with sand is that, he's forging a connection.

Ray was the one who initiated every one of their interactions, even if it was done in an annoying manner. And sand doesn't give a rigid boundary he immediately gives into ray.

And this connection has already been formed, entirely initiated by ray and its strong. To the point that sand has fallen hard and has already given a designated time for ray.

But they are not in the same page. Sand has told ray that he wants to just be FWB and ray has agreed to that. And while we have seen clear signs from both of then that they like each other, I don't thing they are getting it. There understanding level is clearly marred with their issues, sand with being a second choice and ray with everything.

But they have shown that they can communicate. So why are they not communicating now. Because sand has put up the boundary of FWB. No amount of mooning and looking sad is going to tell ray that he wants to be boyfriends. He has to be explicitly told and sand has to do that.

Ray should also be clear with want he wants. Verbally. But both of them are not in a place of mind to do that. And that is surprising, because we could have expected that from the put together one. Expect sand is dealing with his issues and is unwilling to try , because of the threat of heartbreak and is letting his emotions get the better of him.

On the contrary, in rp 5 , ray seems more calm. He is actually trying, he's connecting with sand with doing the things that he loves. He's falling for sand and I think he does know.

Even after being drunk and high he has the werewithal to open up a conversation, he gave the chance to sand to try. But sand rejected it. That was a big chance and if sand had taken that chance, they could have talked about their current situation. That's what's so heartbreaking about it, because the possibility was there. I mean look at him here.

He clearly wanted him to talk to him.

Expect sand didn't take it, his problems prevented him from doing it, his emotions which were going overbroad prevented him from thinking rationally.

And ray took that rejection, personally. We can easily infer what went through his mind from what we already know ," I am a burden, I am a jinx". "I have tried my best but it's not working, So why should I try more", aka the devastating happy birthday.

Ray was rational at that moment, and dare I say mature, especially considering the scene that happened just before that. Ray was able to think above his emotions and give a rational way out of that predicament. But sand rejection triggered his trauma and he went back to square one.

There was a beautiful post about different types of understanding in this series. That's what is happening here, different types of understanding. But I can't find that post.

At that point both needed to understand the other but there individual issues left them unable to do it. And it's not anyone's fault. It's not a blame game. It's the reality of trauma situations.

How trauma and mental health issues can create problems, can make situations seem bigger then they actually are. How it made two people who are compatible with each other be reluctant to go further.

They can be the perfect couple the audience want them to be. But at this point of time , they are the right person at the wrong time archetype.

And they will remain if they don't communicate. Let's hope by the end of the messiness they both have some clarity on how to go further. And give the audience an emotionally charged story.

#only friends #only friends the series #only friends meta #only friends spoilers #only friends ray #only friends sand #only friends sandray #ofts

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moonfox281 · 1 year ago

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Hey! I really love your Fumes of Our Love series and have read all of them multiple times. I was wondering if you’d consider continuing it with requests. 🫶🏽

I'm super busy with a lot of things both personal and for Jaydick right now. But here's a little nsfw doodle for you!

Dick didn’t like being on air.

Strange, right? Odd words from the flying boy. People always said he was the one with wings. Well, that was if he was the one doing the flying and not a giant machine with hundreds of wheeling engines and caging cockpit. Flying beyond cloud level, low atmosphere, high pressure. You can’t exactly go further up, not enough to touch the stars that you know well are there, awaiting; yet, you can’t exactly go low enough to see the ground, to feel safe, unchallenged. Middling, it is.

He found it lonely, getting stuck in the air with nothing but the infinite blue. You just get high enough to want to go higher, to realize how small every being is to the sky, the universe.

It was kind of lonely, if not the presence of John cuddling Beast’s oversized body on the couch snoring thunder with open mouth; Jefferson tentatively dancing one foot on the floor while looking out the jet window with cautious eyes; and the heavy, warm body slumping by his side breathing soundlessly.

Jason had dozed off since the first ten minutes they got into the plane. He got home later and later these days, missing dinners, always back at the front door with a tight knot between his brows. His works piled up every once in a while, work loaded up, people changed. The life of an infamous crime lord is a never ending rollercoaster, sometimes, even the thrills can tire you.

The only times that he seemed to ease himself was when he wasn’t conscious. Jason’s trust in others was as frail as an old man’s grey hair, it broke and brittled easily. It was a fitting character for him, in all terms, so fitting that he wore like his favorite jacket, belligerent to share.

Even in his sleep, the hold on Dick’s wrist was iron. He weighed his whole down as a pillar, grounding Dick to his seat. What feared him, honestly? Dick jumping out of the cabin while they were 500 hundreds feet above sea level?

Possessive he had always been, Jason to the things that he was interested in.

“He’s losen weight.” said Dick as he tucked a fallen lock out of Jason’s clean pull back with his free hand. “He really needs this. A vacation.”

Jefferson stared back at him with heavy shoulders. He was always a keen talker, but even more so when around Jason.

“Lose the knot, would’ya? Your boss won’t hear a thing. He sleeps deep once get a hold of me.”

“On the contrary, sir. His ears are light when it comes to you.”

Dick chuckled. “Relax, I may or may not have aided his rest with the accompany of mushrooms.”

Jefferson’s eyes sized up, “You poisoned him?”

“Sedation. Psilocybin, it was what was in the tea this morning, too much of it and you’ll take the first bed in the ER. But for him, it’ll be just a few hours off.”

“I didn’t know shrinks approve drugs.”

“On the contrary, we do, under our subscription and supervision, of course.”

“The irony, sneaking drug to him.”

Like selling the devil his own goods.

“Everybody needs a good sleep sometimes.”

Jefferson snorted, “You’re always so full of tricks, Blue.”

“That’s one of my charms, Jeffie.”

Approximately two hours later, the island came into shape and size under the peeking through the thickness of clouds. Their great big mansion stood lonely by the edge of the mountain, back to the dead volcano, face to the ocean, the beach as their pridely front yard. Pearl white sand spreading along the edge of 43 acres of private paradise land, tropical trees and an inactive volcano. The island itself was ripped from another crime lord, adding one filthy lump of money that Jason had pulled no strings back in spending, designing and building, knowing it would be his little family escape zone twice every year, on their wedding anniversary, and in John's summer break. No duty, no study, no risking their life and most especially, no annoying family members.

The jet slowly loosened itself down the runway at scheduled time when the sun hovered above the peak of the mountain. The staffs lined out to greet them, the local people Jason hired to keep the mansion well and maintained during the year when they were away. Two cooks, a gardener, a live-in doctor, twelve housekeepers, and a butler to keep the wheels turning in the right direction. Trevor, his trusty right-hand man selected them himself so usually Jason let these sort of micromanagement slip off his hands. Too much profile check, history run, paper work, paper work, paper work. Jason got a whole crime dynasty running in his hand, he couldn’t have time for that.

He hardly even had time for his family recently.

Jason jolted awake when Dick pinched his nose, scandalous and shaken at his own self and not of the jet lowering down the runway.

“How long have I been out?”

“Our entire trip kind of long.” John snickered. He buckled Beast’s leash and help Jefferson take down their luggage.

“Fuck.” Jason then turned to Dick, “You!”

“You’re quick to exclaim.”

“Dickface, I’ll kill you.”

He mounted Dick before he could even manage a squeal. The jet jumped when they hit the runway, enough of a bump for Jason’s knee to scrap over places that it wasn’t supposed to be.

“On second thought, I’ll kill you on our white sheet, summer bed. Slowly, leisurely,”

Jason blew into his ear when he caught the little hitch in Dick’s throat.

“That sounds absolutely horrid to me.”

“The island is big. Nobody can hear you in the waves.”

“Dreadful!”

Dick laughed turned louder when Jason blowed down the skin of his neck.

Jason knew how bring out the part that Dick didn’t know existed in himself, yearning to be love, craving for touches. And Dick? Guess his nature brought out that side of Jason, the gentle, loving one he concealed so deep under layers of metal armor and mental scars.

“Greeting lovely customers and welcome to the Marlyland Island. Temperature is currently 87 Fahrenheit, 60% in humidity, the wind is strong, the sun is high, perfect for a good wave or parrasuiting. On the right side of the jet, you can see the Paragon Mansion standing tall and mighty facing the white coast and blue ocean, a perfect resident for a fortunate couple with a young teenage boy in rebellious period, perfectly safe and and pet friendly. On the left side of the window, you can see the infamous coral reef which will be the main event for this afternoon activity. All of your luggage will kindly be transported and carefully handled by our lovely escort Jefferson Stones. With that being said, as the captain of the flight, I wish you a joyful vacation, and thank you for flying with the Red Hood Airlines.”

Jeff rolled his eyes and took down their bags one by one. Beast circled around his feet waiting for his own bag stuffed of balls, throw discs and squishy toys to be put down.

The butler was the first to greet them when the steps lowered down. Jason liked her, so did Dick. No kid. No husband. Her family sold her for a good price when their local business fell down on a small island 20 nautical miles away from their private property. She owed Jason her life. Oh, Jason liked when people owed him.

“Welcome back, sir.” She bowed to Dick and Jason but gave John a sweet kiss on the cheek. “My my, how tall you’ve become, young master.”

John’s eyes squinted into lines when the woman patted his shoulders. He rubbed his short shaved hair when realizing how much taller he had become. Once such a scrawny little kid when Jason first picked out of the alley, Jason was almost forteen by then, malnutried, dirty and so small.

Now? Kid sprouted like weeds. A rich diet, balanced sleep schedule, stability in muscle training and whole body workout, plus a premium healthcare at Gotham’s top hospitals. Four years in with them and Dick woke up one day, dumbfounded and wordless to find the boy had reached his eye level.

“I’ve heard from Master Jason how awful the weather was in the city. We’re more than honored to have you visit.”

It was her graceful way to say Jason had called and talked about what happened.

And what had happened? Gotham was entering the turning season, stepping from cool to cold before everything turned freezing. The city rained five days out of seven, unpredictably. It was dry yet humid, windy and foggy at the same time. Not exactly the perfect weather for toddlers, the old and the illed.

Jason remained invincible, but Dick? His body wasn’t as it was in prime days anymore.

“Would you like some tea in your room, lemon and gingergrass?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

While John and Beast were running loose along the wide seashore, the rest of them headed straight to the main house, and couldn't wait to get off their feet.

The mansion was massive. No matter how much time they had spent here, Dick never got used to it. 30,000 square feet of white pillars, honey tiles, black terracotta roofs, coral stones walls with open showers, baths, a pool and multiple gardens. Three stories of six bedrooms, nine bathrooms, one meeting room, two dining halls inside and outdoor, a kitchen with beach view and connecting straight to the shore and their private dock for daily fresh catch and fresh water supply. Not to mention staff rooms and working areas.

Jason had high standards. He always had.

The moment they stepped into their chamber, the sea view welcomed them. Seagulls flew from afar as the waves hit the soft milky sand. The ocean hit them in the face in all senses. Salt seasoned the air, tingled their skin. The wind liner curtains into big, blowy flows. Light swallowed their room, warmed the stone tiles down their feet.

By the legs of their Caesar size bed of white sheet and Persian pillows, Jason looked around with one good turn and smiled widely.

“It hasn’t changed one bit.”

“Gloria is a good housekeeper. You should consider raising her wage.”

Jason pulled out the first drawer of their bedside table, smirked to himself and closed it back. “I definitely will.”

The heat of the tropical land seeped through even the cold cuts of honey stone tiles, warmed their feet, dampened the two layers of clothes on Dick’s back. He dressed for the killer weather of Gotham and didn’t have time to undress for the island. The sea smelt, a distinguishing auroma of salt, fish, water and sun.

The present of this place was as sharp as the double blade Jason used to freshen up his morning.

Dick felt him on his back, his heat and his sweat, along the smell of clean and sun-dried clothes. Jason pressed himself closer to him, until Dick was sandwhich between him and the door, until all they could feel was each other.

“Jason?”

He grunt back, nuzzled close into Dick’s neck while wandering his hands. He pushed them both further to the door, further, closer, until Dick could feel Jason’s hard-on pressed hot against his lower back.

“Jason⎼”

“No, call me like that. Like you always do.”

Dick chuckled and whispered, “Littlewing.”

The moan he earnt back could color a stripper’s skin.

“You’re so hot. Gosh, you’re so goddamn hot. Can I?”

Dick laughed and elbowed Jason in the guts, just enough to hear him laugh back. “You already have me up the door.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

And he stopped. Jason’s hands that were all around Dick’s body moved, tightened, until they had him squeezed tight in his chest. He held him dearly, despressly, as if they had no tomorrow.

“Can I have you, my love?”

“I like it when you plead.”

“Just for you, Dickie. Just for you.”

“I love you too, Littlewing.”

Jason made quick work with his belt and pants. He bit on Dick’s nape, twirled him a 180 and pushed him flat against the door then apologized for it. He quickly unbuckled Dick’s belt and stripped his jeans down, guided his hand up to around his neck because he knew specifically that Dick’s body was built to be shaped and bent. And oh, how he loved it when Dick pulled on the short end of his hair and scratched his neck a little.

Humans are part of only 3-5% of mammals that pair bond. Sex forms the pair bond, one pair for a lifetime. Even when they have way past the point of reproduction as the population hit somewhat above seven billions, the concept of bond remains something sacred.

And animals, they were. Animals in the way they lusted, they craved. In the way Jason grasped on Dick’s neck and shoved into him hard enough to land them against the door with a loud bang.

He was rough, as was everything of his nature. Yet he always embraced Dick carefully, tenderly, in his own way.

He crawled on Dick’s skin, twisted his nipples, fondled his stomach. He loved to feel himself through Dick and made him moan for it.

And he went hard. Hard enough Dick thought he could feel it in his guts, his lungs. There was something sadistic about his joy in making Dick yelp, watching Dick get twisted and turned and all messed up. But at the same time, the way he whined and cooed into Dick’s neck like a wounded animal faltered all the strength and courage of an iron man.

“God, I love you. I love you so fucking much.” Jason panted, but it wasn’t like Dick had the mind to hear. He was way out. Thinking about it, sex with Jason was always pretty much a marathon. Dick was an athelete, he gave as good as he went, but strength and stamina weren’t things he could run up with someone with the Lazarus Pit in their veins.

Also, to his defense, Jason grew up to be very well adorned. Too well adorned. Dick’s body was built for a lot of things but it certainly wasn’t built for this.

Jason’s hips faltered at the last minute and then finally, they stilled. Dick stuck flat to the door, eyes rolled up, chest heaving. His expensive shirt had definitely lost some buttons, and pretty sure that the stickiness against the mahogany wood was his saliva and… something else.

“You’re still hard.” Dick grunted, hypersensive.

“Have you tried being in yourself? People don’t go down that easily, babe.”

“You’re just young.”

“It’ll stay up for you even in the grave, honey. Fuck viagra.”

“Even when my butt is wrinkled and withered?”

“Can you not say that right now so I can not imagine about it?”

They laughed, stayed connected, frozen on their feet until their knees gave out and they both slid down on the floor in a bundle. Climbing down from euphoria, Jason landed kisses down the length of his neck. Dick licked the tips of his husband’s fingers, kissing his knuckles.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Dick nodded, winced when Jason pulled out. "Need head?"

Jason choked, laughed, and kissed him some more. "You'll be the death of me."

They were tongues down each other's throat when a knock came on the door that was right by Dick's ear. Dick almost bit himself and Jason.

"Sir, if you both are free now, we would like to have you down for supper. The young master is already hafl-way through his plate."

She knew. Yeah, she gotta knew exactly what they had done against this door. Most likely even heard it.

“We’ll be down in a minute.” said Jason with his hand down under Dick’s shirt again.

They tickled each other, laughed, almost fell on the floor laughing, and symphonized the dance of their skins with the blue waves of the Bahamas ocean.

#jaydick #mob boss au #mob wife au #my writting #moonie writes

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kirric-the-fan · 9 months ago

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Precure Memories: The older girls

These two. I need to talk about these two goobers as a pair. Because they are a pair (now I've got Connect's design sorted out hopefully for good this time). And they're the two slightly older cures in the Precure Memories team

On the left is Kazumi, Cure Serene. Who's anything but. I've talked a bit about her before. She's a martial artist, but can get a bit...carried away sometimes. She's very cartoonish in her fighting as a Cure. Literally follows the cartoon rules when attacking if they don't change her form proportions. Big and bold, and in your face. Bells (Bell item) and sand. She can actually swim in sand in cure form if need be- like I said: cartoon rules. She punches people by punching an oversized bell into their face. She has another attack that is just her disappearing through a door and then fighting sound effects coming through the door. SHE CAN EVEN PULL OFF THE FAKE TUNNEL AND WHERE'S GRAVITY STANDING ON THIN AIR BITS. CARTOON. MAGIC. MAGICAL GIRL. THIS GIRL IS RIDICULOUS AND I LOVE HER. In her day-to-day life, she's a struggling competitive judoka, who is trying to keep her place at the school and overcome a series of defeats. Her little sister is ill, and up country with some more distant relatives, so Kazumi is fairly lonely at the start of the series, and trying to work out her emotions through physical violence exercise. Which goes about as well as you'd expect.

On the right is Chuchuski. Yes that is a nickname. Her actual name is Taylor, but the nickname stuck thanks to Kazumi's little sister mis-pronouncing her actual surname Tchaikovsky, and being far too cute about it for Taylor to correct her. So she just went with it, and now everyone knows her as Chuchuski. She's the more standoffish of the two. When she's at school and doesn't want to be interrupted when studying or something, she'll wear a mouse ears hairband, and people know to leave her alone (be as quiet as a...). Kinda useful as she is also the current student council president, and is in high demand otherwise. She is quite serious, and a hard worker. She's also fairly perceptive, even if she isn't the most chatty person. She also squeaks when jumped/surprised, which Kazumi likes to demonstrate now and then, much to her chargrin. She is Cure Connect. Her theme is nautical, especially sailing, "dancing between the sea, the sun, and the stars." She loves the sea, sailing, and ribbon dancing (incl aerial silks, the acrobatic one). Sundial item- literally just a triangle of metal, but it grows into a sail to start her transformation, and can also be used as a brooch or nail to fix the top of her outfit sail like a grappling hook. It sometimes even becomes a surfboard. Sails and sea theme. The big white sash across her front can and does magically become a sail which she can manipulate easily with flowing dancing moves, and even throw it into magical attacks (regenerating another one for rapid-fire). She has lots of flowing movements. Also some other sailing and surfing moves as well (she is obsessed with the sea irl, at one point even to such an unhealthy level that she was boarded so far inland so she could focus enough to study.) Cure hairstyle is lots of tightly gathered braids. (But a single rattail in civvy form)

These two are friends in a way that almost seems to not be, the way they know each other so well. Their relationship is in a bit of a rocky patch at the start of the series, but Chuchuski knows it's just because of some of the things Kazumi is going through, and is working in other ways to help her friend get through it. She is the one who asked the headmaster to transfer Suzuki to their school to try and help cheer her up (Kazumi knew her when she was a little younger, in a big-sister way). She keeps an eye on them, even when they don't know she's helping. She doesn't need them to know. Kazumi, once she gets over her initial season coldness towards Chuchuski, is good friends, and is just about the only person who will happily rib the student council president. In fact, she makes a delighted point of doing so. Kazumi is quite the joker.

Connect's sail does have a more clean straight lined edge, and will magically float up behind her head when filled, usually when feeling magically or emotionally pumped up (it can also droop with fatigue, or emotion, or after a particularly heavy beatdown). It tends to dramatically frame her head with a sharp triangle sail shape.

Cure Serene can swim in sand.

She absolutely grabs Connect at least once to join her and sneak up on someone with her sail acting as a fake shark fin. Connect protests ofc, but she can't help herself being dragged along because she knows how insistent Kazumi can be. Chuchuski does know the difference between the "this'll be fun" harmless fun and the "this'll be fun" "Kazumi NO! That is a WAR CRIME!" and oh shit I'm going to have to stop you punching someone you shouldn't.

Basically Chuchuski acts as Kazumi's voice of reason, otherwise she will let her heart and head get away with her.

These two have a joint attack called Happy Days, and it's entirely wedding themed, with them as the couple. I'm not saying they're a couple, but if Rikka and Mana are wives, these two are twenty years married with kids. They may not be the most outwardly romantic pair, but they still care a lot for each other, and that shows in their actions in many little ways.

Quirks of their magic: Thanks to the slightly physics-defying of their magic, the memory cures can approach problems slightly differently to other cures. If they come up against a tall cliff, Memory would climb it (just likes climbing a lot), Serene would race her (metal hands able to grip), Connect would use her sail as a grappling hook and climb that, Express would use her gear to create a little mechanical elevator type thing to ride up the cliff, and Reverie would sigh, make a comment about them overcomplicating everything, before drawing a doorway with her pen that somehow miraculously opens up a route straight to the top.

Of course any of the others cures would probably just jump straight up. The most obvious solution isn't always the first one these five go for.

I've mentioned Connect climbing the sail like an acrobat- she does that the other way as well. I can imagine her charging off a cliff to try and save a falling Serene, only to stop the other end, upside down wrapped in the silk held up just short of the ground when it turns out that Serene took a safe landing in some sand she summoned.

Connect is just hanging there waiting for her to resurface and being very unimpressed and judgemental that her emergency rescue attempt had been so unnecessary. And Serene just pops up half out the sand, fluttering her eyes, propped up on her elbows like some casual swimmer, Definitely Not Flirting as she winds Connect up and completely ignoring the fact that she's in sand and that Connect's doing a spiderman.

Once Connect has joined the team and they're all there, they find that collectively they have the ability to summon a flying ship. Memory (trees) creates the planks, Connect the sails, Express the rudder and wheel, Serene the ships bell, and Reverie the wings and magical doodling bits in between. It impresses the other cures at the all stars meets, and is particularly useful for travelling between magical worlds.

At some point the team get a sixth cure, who I'm keeping under wraps, but at this point she'd be the one on the megaphone "Good afternoon everyone, this is your Captain speaking. Welcome aboard the Happy Memory. Please pay attention to any safety announcements, and make sure to keep your hands, items, and fairies within the decks at all times. We hope you have a pleasant flight!" She immediately gets grabbed by Connect's sailcloth, wrapped up and pinned to the front of the ship as a figurehead. "Hey! No, wait!"

Connect: "Show of hands who wants me to be Captain?" The rest of the memory cures immediately stick their hands up with a "yeah!". 6th cure over the bow somewhere: "This is mutiny!" She continues to protest but everyone just gets on with it, leaving her there to stew. This is Connect's ship after all.

Each of the Memory cures is related to one or more styles of timekeeping device:

Cure Memory: Trees and seasons

Cure Reverie: Calendars, diaries and candle clocks

Cure Express: Mechanical clocks and watches

Cure Serene: Sand timers, (also clock bells)

Cure Connect: Sundials, sun and stars, and water clocks

Their attacks also relate to things that make happy memories:

Memory: Funfair, theme park. Has a rollercoaster themed purification attack.

Reverie: Dreams and stories. Fantasy

Express: Toys and joy

Serene: Cartoon entertainment

Connect: Fun, sea and sun, watersports, and that sense of freedom

Sixth ranger: Food, and sweets.

#oc cures #fancures #precure #Cure Serene #Cure Connect #Memory cures

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jojotichakorn · 1 year ago

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For the "give me a show and I'll tell you" game: Only Friends (I know it's not finished yet but you know I had to 😌 )

thank you for the ask, dear, i absolutely adore the amount of love and obsession we have for ofts 😌

my favorite female character

i'm actually gonna go ahead and say april. i know we don't see a lot of her and everything we see of her is in relation to chueam, but she is great at all that. she is just an amazing and supportive girlfriend through and through.

my favorite male character

sand and boston are currently fighting over that title. sand is likely winning, but by a very small margin. and like, props to boston, because while i knew that i'd love sand almost the second he showed up, boston went from "you're annoying, but in a compelling and entertaining way, so i'll give you that" to "i stand with my cancelled wife" and that's impressive as hell.

my favorite episode (if its a tv show)

episode 10, actually! it completely knocked it out of the fucking park. i think it could be that my feelings are also heightened by the fact that episodes 10 in the past have given me the "we're coming up to a trainwreck" feeling so many times, while the ofts episode 10 made me even more in love with the series and extremely confident in the last two episodes. but it was also just incredibly good. it fully turned my feelings about boston and bostonnick around, it brought up the final issues with raysand and put them on the path to resolving absolutely everything that needs to be resolved to be happy together, it gave me the cunty bitch that is boeing, it made mew completely unhinged, it made top squirm. everything i could have possibly fucking wished for and even more.

my favorite cast member

this one is hard actually, so i'm going to divide the answer into three. 1) force. obviously. he's been one of my favourite actors since enchante and that has not changed one bit. he is doing an amazing job at playing someone i deeply dislike, truly showing off his range here. 2) first. i've always appreciated his acting, but i've never been able to enjoy it to the full unhinged level, because there was something about each of his previous characters that i did not like. now that he is playing someone i am ready to kill and maim for, i am enjoying his performance tenfold. 3) neo. i've seen him in things before and i have liked his acting, but he truly took it to a new level with boston. he is so unbelievably fucking good at what he does that i recently told one of my friends i think he is the best actor from the 2000s gang and i do absolutely stand by that.

my favorite ship

sandray. no contest there babeyyyyy. just the idea of love not being something that a person "deserves", but something that happens and something that can be fulfilling and beautiful, even when there are hurdles and difficulties? the idea that everyone can find someone who won't even "bear them", but just like them and not really find their complexities and flaws that burdensome? immaculate.

a character I’d die defending

boston and ray, but only in regards to particular clownery. both of these have made mistakes, but people acting like boston is pure evil (while he's just... selfish, and that's literally it) or treating ray like the devil because of his addiction would both cause me to draw my bow.

a character I just can’t sympathize with

i was going to say mew just because i don't like him the most, but since the question is specifically about who i can't sympathize with - it's top. like, he really just fucked around and found out to me. also atom and gap, obviously, but i feel like that goes without saying.

a character I grew to love

boston and nick, in different ways. as i said before, boston used to kind of annoy me but in a way that was entertaining. but then he just moved on from his own mess with such ease that it made megiggle and episode 10 finally solidified both how lonely he actually is (seeing as his whole friend group doesn't actually care about him) and also how he can, in fact, change and realise things about himself and open up in a really meaningful and beautiful way, all of which made him jump to being a fave. as for nick, i've always liked that messy messy bitch, but the things that he took away from the situation with boston, the fact that he realised and acknowledged where he fucked up, the fact that he just genuinely loves boston and sees the best in him but also finally respected boundaries to the full and was planning to leave him alone? the beautiful growth there just made me adore him.

my anti otp

probably raymew? like, truly, no one has ever had a worse idea in their entire life. raymew was bad for everyone who was even a little involved. complete mess. two of the most incompatible people in the world. so much so that, despite the fact that the series wants me to believe they work as friends, i don't even think that's true. i don't like raymew's relationship in any capacity, frankly speaking. i don't think they fit together at all.

send me a name for a drama (or dramaS) and i will answer all these questions

(list of dramas i've seen)

#thank u again for sending it in! this was fun!#archer responds #anon

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jcmarchi · 6 months ago

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Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance Review - Misery Loves Company - Game Informer

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/shin-megami-tensei-v-vengeance-review-misery-loves-company-game-informer/

Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance Review - Misery Loves Company - Game Informer

Despite being a flagship franchise, Atlus has never shied away from taking risks and experimenting with Shin Megami Tensei. Even without taking spinoffs like Persona or Devil Summoner into consideration, the “core” series has taken new forms and reinvented itself over multiple decades and platforms. 2021’s Shin Megami Tensei V was a prime example, both respecting its oppressive, hardcore roots while embracing Atlus’ evolving audience and conventional shifts in games as a whole. It only makes sense that in revisiting such a recent title, Atlus has done far more than produce a simple port with some bonuses. Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance is aptly titled; it’s an act of defiance against convention, criticism, and maybe even its own reputation.

SMT V was a big deal for the series, its HD debut after previously moving from the PlayStation 2 to the 3DS. It was a novel combination of post-apocalyptic doom and gloom with colorful superhero action. As the “Nabohino,” a powerful fusion of human and synthetic demon, players traversed the sand dunes of a long-dead Tokyo, fighting for control of the future in the aftermath of a war between Heaven and Hell. While some found the story lonely with a distinct lack of supporting characters, I found SMT’s recurring theme of a lone human fighting a hopeless battle in a world already lost more resonant than ever in the middle of a pandemic.

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On the surface, SMT V: Vengeance is a home run without any extra effort. The original game being a Switch exclusive meant it arrived with inevitable technical compromises. Vengeance is still on the Switch, but its multiplatform debut means every inch of its world is out in full force. This game is as colorful as it is dour, juxtaposing multicultural religious imagery with post-apocalyptic destruction. Simply being able to dash across the shining dunes of Da’at (formerly Tokyo) without the frame rate sputtering is worth the price of admission.

But there’s so much more to Vengeance than a touch-up under the hood. Rather than being a sequel in the style of SMT IV: Apocalypse or a pseudo spinoff like SMT: If, Vengeance offers a totally new campaign scenario. Nearly the entire story is completely retold, using the original premise as a springboard to leap into a scenario with new central characters, antagonists, and entirely different endings. On top of that is a massive amount of retooling, with changes and adjustments that range from quality-of-life tweaks to brand-new features entirely. Vengeance is almost a whole new game that treats the original as a rough draft. “Almost” is a keyword here, because the original scenario is also selectable at the beginning, so you can still experience the original story while enjoying the new features and adjustments.

In many ways, the new scenario feels like a direct response to problems players had with SMT V the first time around. As a returning player and a longtime fan of the series in general, it’s a bizarre setup with an impressive level of self-awareness. Moments occur when the story appears to change from the original in a direct and crowd-pleasing way, only for it to yank the rug out from you violently, twisting the twist to make it even more unpleasant than before. While I didn’t agree with the criticisms that led to this new campaign in the first place, having a whole new story to dig into that toyed with my previous knowledge was a lot of fun.

The new character was intriguing and added a lot to the scenario, and getting more of the returning cast admittedly fleshed out the plot more. I did find having them playable to be kind of silly, as using a team full of my own demons was always more productive anyway.

This remixed approach could be confusing to a newcomer. Luckily, Vengeance accounts for that too, and the choice of which version to pursue is presented in-game in a way that’s practically seamless. It simply feels like yet another option in a game and series full of choices that impact where the narrative goes. There isn’t special attention drawn to it, nor does it feel like an awkward attempt to replace or undermine the original. It’s just more SMT V to dive into, which for an already jam-packed RPG full of narrative agency and monster-collecting action, is more food on the table for the feast. And it was a hell of a feast to begin with.

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edwarddominicemilio · 8 months ago

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BECOMING DEATH: OPPENHEIMER AND ITS POLITICO-SCIENTIFIC DILEMMAS

"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. — Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandias

I was always interested in science.

When I was young, like every other six-year-old boy, I loved dinosaurs. The aggression! The ferocity! The roar! I enjoyed Jurassic Park so much merely because of the sheer number of dinosaurs in it and nothing more.

Fast forward several years later, I started rewatching Jurassic Park. Now with a high-schooler's sense of film appreciation, I understood that it was about playing god. That film raised an important question: "What happens when man obtains the power to create life?"

It was also in high school that I first had a taste of competitive debating. I was a terrible debater but I always had the heart for it. One topic I researched on was whether the USA was morally justified in dropping the atomic bombs in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Two main argumentative arcs arose: "Yes, because they needed to win the war and defeat any trace of Nazism" and "No, because doing so killed innocent people and destroyed the world".

This quandary is the same thematic backdrop that underlies Oppenheimer. It explores the role politics plays in science. As an AB Political Science graduate with a passing interest in number theory and theoretical physics, I felt at home watching this movie.

The analogy to Prometheus is stellar. I remember my law school thesis alluding to Prometheus as the one who brought fire to mankind. Borrowing from Aeschylus, my thesis title asked: "Should Prometheus Be Bound?" My intention was to emphasize the importance of knowledge (in general) to humankind.

Oppenheimer uses the Prometheus analogy differently. Instead of knowledge, it was nuclear power or, more accurately, knowledge of nuclear power, that was brought to mankind.

What now, then? Remember how politics is cheekily defined as the study of "who gets what and how"? This film explores who gets nuclear power, how, why, and when.

While I don't have the answers, I am glad Oppenheimer asked this difficult question. It leads to greater introspection. If I was in the shoes of J. Robert Oppenheimer, would I have accepted the offer to lead the Manhattan Project? If I was in the shoes of Harry Truman, would I have dropped the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki? If I was a US Senator with the authority to appoint the leaders of the Atomic Energy Commission, what qualities would I look for?

There are many things to consider. I don't know. Anyway, two more things come into my mind.

First, I remember Captain Price in the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare series. Questioned about his methods of warfare, he simply states: "We get dirty, and the world stays clean. That's the mission." The Allies had to build a bomb because they knew the Nazis would unquestionably build theirs if they had the know-how. Who knows what limits the Nazis would impose upon themselves once they acquire the power of the proverbial Promethean fire? Would they limit themselves at all?

Second, I remember the different motivations of the villains in Naruto: Shippuden. Briefly, several parties want to obtain the power of all nine tailed beasts and to combine them to become the ten-tailed beast or the Juubi. One villain, the Akatsuki criminal organization, wants to use the Juubi as a weapon to destroy anyone that opposes them and usher in peace by force. Another villain, Obito, wants to use the Juubi to cast an Infinite Tsukuyomi on the moon and usher in peace by illusion.

Which one, if any, is correct? St. Augustine chimes in with his tranquilitas ordinis, order by tranquility. Peace happens when we direct our soul, through virtue, to God. Cor nostrum inquietum est donc requiescat in Te. "Our hearts are restless until they rest in You." Peace by love and virtue.

What is love and virtue in the handling of atomic and nuclear weapons? I don't know. Ultimately, we all want the same thing: peace. We just have different versions of it. Worse, we have different ways to achieve it. We play god, we kill, we lie, we love.

All for peace, I guess.

In the end, Oppenheimer forwards its message: treat science and scientists with justice. While science is a means, virtue must be its end. The fear-mongering witch-hunt that J. Robert Oppenheimer was subjected to in the film is a harrowing portrayal of the ordeals faced by a man who loved America with a love as deep as his love for science.

#oppenheimer #film

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angelictyphoon · 1 year ago

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The churches themselves are a sign. Echoes of each other by their very make. Intentional, present. Knives had open eyes everywhere. The system his brother crafted was as efficient as it was ruthless.

Empty.

Only the sands of time have passed through here.

Inside, the walls are devoid of character. Any paint has either chipped off or peeled off in layers like sloughed skin. All part of the illusion so carefully crafted to strip hope and individuality from those chosen to join the flock. No longer did they belong to themselves. Instead, they were now devoted, willingly or not, to build the bridge of light and the shadow of death that it cast.

Nicholas’s discomfort resonates. He finds himself as well-attuned to its frequency as he is the rhythm of Nicholas’s heartbeat. Vash watches as the great maw leading down into the recesses of the Citadel stretches open, and all at once he is struck with a flash of fury. The scars on Wolfwood’s body did not remain. Memories too, can fade, however, no matter how deeply buried, how tightly locked away, the right circumstances can bring them back. Like pulling thorns, drawing blood. Here, of all places, the memories surely have. His pupils have grown wide, reflecting the lone square of light at the end of the corridor, coalescing with the lines briefly etched across his irises.

What is dead above lives below.

Vash stands closer than he needs to, practically hugging Wolfwood's back without striking his ankles as they progress down the passage. He cannot ward off what has already happened, but he can be here, a reminder of where they are now, and not where they have been. Down and down they go.

Their movement rouses the series of light strips that gradually brighten in sequential segments. They run the length of the entire room from the center, some one hundred or one hundred twenty feet from where they stand all the way to the wall on the other side. The Eye has been scorched upon its anodized surface. From here, he can see that the room is split into two levels, and cell doors line the walls of both floors. There are likely additional doors that feed into adjoining areas of the facility.

Dim lights, recessed into the underside of the catwalk above the ground floor, highlight the service hatch through which food and water could be passed to the prisoners caged on the other side. Most of the lights are still functional, save for a few flickering diodes likely near the end of their lifespan. Vash winces, lifting one hand to tug up the collar of his coat over his nose and mouth. Every inch of this place must have been doused in ammonia at some point. The odor hangs like a pall in the air despite the hum of air scrubbers posted at regular intervals above and below the second floor walkways.

The floor panels beneath their feet are identical to the ones they just traversed.

He checks the nearest cell, and despite knowing it to be empty, feels his heart drop to his stomach at the sight of despair scratched into its walls in perfect sets of ten. The space is deeper than it is wide and windowless, save for the gridded wall and door looking out into the corridor. Vash clenches his fingers through the grated door.

“...They kept you here like this and called it a blessing?”

Joy is hard-won, for all that it sparks like a dynamo, natural as anything. Joy breathes in the beats between side-aching laughter, in the vibration of an embrace streaking across the desert on a questionably appropriate vehicle, in the reminiscence about things that they can laugh about now, arguments they still have, clashes that still grate. They've passed a threshold, threaded the needle, leapt through an open window, and it is infectious. Contagious, maybe. Here or there, it is the warmth of sunlight bundled up in strong arms; it is presence, and it is time, awareness of it, that it might be fleeting.

It affords courage, pouring light into the cracks in a way that they might never have known.

As they ascend the gritty path, Wolfwood's attention angles up to the crags behind the building. But no glimmering glass meets his study--not of a rifle scope, at least, for all that the Guns had plenty of snipers and drew liberally from the Eye of Michael’s roster. Nothing meets the eye but bare rock and acuminated metal, cast-off black ceramic tiles studding sheer walls like animal pupils fixed and dilated and staring.

A cautious, circuitous approach leads them to the only way in.

It looks just like...

“Yeah. It’s what’s underneath that counts,” he whispers without realizing, because it does look just like the one down below, across the salt flats and the basin, and that is by design. A link, familiar to those ferried here, red thread between source and destination, where children were shaped into killing machines. A threat, because those harboring resentment or regret needed reminders of what was at stake, what could happen, who would pay for their hesitation.

Replacements could be procured anytime.

The barricade breaks off easily enough, dry boards like brittle bones.

Inside, the creak of hinges echoes like a living thing.

There is nothing to answer. Nothing at all. No skittering creatures taking shelter in the abandoned eaves, no worms roosting in the rafters or the belfry, as if repressed by something that shivers between the molecules of air, a sucking-sublimating vacuum at the edge of the void. Wisely avoided.

They proceed.

The Eye of Michael never put much stock in filling these chapels with parishioners, and no practicing pastors of actual religion would deign to set foot in these paltry halls. Not humble, but arrogant. The organization preferred to take their pick, shape them into faithful adherents that knew nothing else. The few rows of pews are poorly-constructed, falling apart, stripped ship panels and plastics worn from disuse over time. The rusty cross at the far end looks as though there might only be enough metal left after a good polishing to fashion some nails.

Where Nicholas is uneasy, Vash might hear it in the back of his brain, see it, perceive it; daguerreotype acid-etch, film reel with a feeble projector, tinny strains of a captive song whistling forlornly in the dark.

It only grows more strident, more sickly, as Nicholas knocks the idol off of its pedestal, planting the base of the Punisher in its groove.

The tiny reactor in the cannon’s core pulses, thrums, a signal passing from key to lock.

Behind the altar, the floor recesses and splits with a dusty crack. Mechanisms hum and churn, winching open an armored hatch imprinted with circuitry. The walls are plated silver-striped black, metal inset with dim lights like a runway to a square of white far, far down below. Spiked cold, the air smells of refrigerant, of sterility, of a hermetic seal broken, a chill coalescing and fogging further down the gangway ramp.

"Don't-"

Where did his voice go?

Rasped. He huffs in a breath and tightens his grip on his weapon’s straps, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. The way remains open above and behind them, and further down. The path is a narrow line of sharp grid panels. A rubber strip mere inches wide on either side bridges the gap to smooth decking.

"-don't step off the grate. If you can avoid it. If you have to, jump the gap.” There. Stronger. “They had us walk barefoot. Floors were electrified when they needed. Don’t know if everything’s still on. Sure sounds like it."

#full-of-mercy #my heart still beats in your direction -- full-of-mercy.#wolfwood.#[ stardate: 0116+ ]#v. gazing at tomorrow.

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rebrandedstoryline · 2 years ago

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Happy New Year!

Five minutes, and counting.

The countdown began and a series of peculiar sticks were passed out. Long, metal skewers wrapped in a peculiar substance. Something black and crumbly. Like fine sand bound into a unified form.

Sparklers, she called them. Handheld fireworks. Unassuming as they were, the animatronics responded to them with some level of unease. Fireworks were explosive. They created flame. Surely these sparklers could be dangerous if mishandled.

Four minutes.

She called everyone around to sit. There were drinks and snacks set out on a blanket. Though the grass was cold and damp, she ignored it. There was a general excitement about her that was hard to place. They settled beside her, still carefully holding their peculiar sticks. Unsure of their purpose. Unsure of what to expect. Still, they mirrored her excitement.

Drinks were sipped. Snacks were happily consumed. Everything was sweet. Everything was festive. This was a holiday. A rare, universal holiday. Celebrated by the world. Everyone would be connected, one way or another. The current year was being left behind. The future was being welcomed.

Three minutes.

The four of them huddled together in front of a candle. The lone piece of light shining through the darkness. Aside from them. The trio of animatronics, and the woman that had changed the very fabric of their reality. So much had transpired between them. There had been good days.

There had been horrible, regrettable days. Days they longed to forget. Regrets that lingered, but ultimately went on to be forgiven. The animatronics reoriented themselves. Each wanting to be close to the woman that had assured their connection. Each wishing to be right there beside her when the new year came.

Two minutes.

The largest of them settled with the woman in their lap. No more letting her sit in the damp grass. He had extra arms, which were wrapped around her smaller frame. He kept her warm. He kept her protected. He kept her close. Her eyes met his for a moment, and he smiled down at her. She smiled up at him, and his name left her lips. Eclipse. Once mistaken for a monster. Now, accepted as one of them. A lost soul given a home. A broken mind given mending. No longer feared, but loved.

To their left, was the kindest of them. Docile and sweet. The glue that effectively bound their peculiar little family together. His free hand found her knee and he leaned to affectionately rub his forehead against hers. Sweet. Loving. She laughed out his name. Sun. The timid one. The earnest one. The boldest of them all.

Sixty seconds.

To their right, the most vulnerable of them. Once violent. Once afraid. Once unwilling to let others close to his metaphorical heart. Now accepting of his tender side. Now accepting of their love, and of their affection. His free hand stole hers while the opportunity was still there, while additionally ducking down to rest his head upon her shoulder. Moon.

Readily, he accepted her affection. Earnestly, he sought her out for affection. She happily obliged. She nuzzled him just as she had nuzzled his twin. She cuddled him just as she cuddled his peculiar, once parasitic sibling. With a motion of her hand, she coaxed them all into raising their sparklers. The strange metal sticks wrapped in unusual sand.

Thirty seconds.

They all pressed their sparklers together. With her instruction, they all brought the sticks down to hover over the flickering light of the candle. Sparkle, these sticks most definitely did. The heat of the flame cast the sticks alight. They sparkled and crackled, entrancing the animatronics with their dazzling, flickering light.

Metaphorically, they had cast the past alight. Metaphorically, they scorched the memories of their former selves. Not forgotten, but forever changed. Brought to the forefront of their memories with the flicker of the flame. The good and the bad times. The happy and sad times. They sat there now. Changed for the better. In a way, ghosts of their former selves.

The lights flickered and eventually dimmed after running their course. The metal sticks were stripped of the substance that had carried the flame, like a fuse burned and spent. Together, beneath the dark and clouded sky, they had shared a moment of transcending. Animatronics did not need a physical heart in order to have a heart. Having found love, they found their hearts. In this moment, their hearts beat as one.

Zero seconds.

The past had come and gone. Their history remembered, but cast aside to make way for the future. The new year was upon them. Though the night was cold and the sky was dark, their futures felt brighter than ever.

Bright with the promise of new experience. The comfort of having companions. The knowledge that regardless of how they might stumble, not a single one of them would endure their hardships alone. They were together. One big, strange, happy family. Just as they desired to be.

#Drabble #Rebranded AU #Happy New Year

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glimmeringtwilight · 3 years ago

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The Lone and Level Sands Stretch Far Away - Prologue

Here we gooo, the fic I've been sitting atop for weeks. I abhor tumblr editing and it's already deleted this post three times so I'm half-assing it now. Crossposted on AO3 HERE. Masterlist: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five |

CW: Graphic depictions of violence, murder, domestic violence, misogyny, reader is a woman in the prologue only (future chapters will be gender neutral), attempted SA. As with all of my fics, read at your own discretion. This IS a yandere/dark content blog.

Snow crunches under your bare feet, long turned numb and red from the cold. You know if you keep going like this, you’re going to lose them. You should go back inside, warm your limbs, fight the frost creeping into your body.

Instead, you keep walking. Eyes hardened, searching and following the droplets of blood trailing ahead, further into the biting cold woods. An unforgiving wind gusts past you, through you– when did you get so hollow?– but you hardly feel the chill. Rage burns beneath your skin like a wildfire, keeping you plenty warm.

“Leave me be, you psycho bitch!” A terrified voice yelps out between the trees. You break into a jog, and the trees towering over you lean in, ever voyeuristic. The woods are still and quiet, save for your quickening, eager breath, and the moans of pain you’re drawing in on.

If your past self could see you now… They would be heartbroken, to see what they become. Hardened and bitter and jaded, unwilling to love and be loved. Your inner child died tonight, and you held their cooling body in your arms as something finally broke in you.

It started last year. Actually, more truthfully… this was a poison that had been brewing in your soul your entire life. But there’s always a straw that breaks the camel’s back. Nothing is infinite, not even suffering.

You’d always been a people pleaser, bending over backwards to suit the whims of anyone and everyone. You wanted people to like you, you wanted to be needed. If you weren’t doing everything to help others, no matter at what expense it came to you, you weren’t earning your place in this life.

This led to… many toxic friendships, people who would use you, hurt you, manipulate you for their own gain. And each one stole a part of you, left a small hole in your heart that yawned wider with each betrayal, with each heartbreak, with every bridge burned.

You moved on, cradled your bleeding heart, carefully crafted a mask so you could hide your suffering. Friends came and went faster than the seasons. If they didn’t want to hurt you, they’d drift quietly away, move on, live their lives elsewhere. You, meanwhile, stayed in the village that raised you, unable to move on.

It was a small town, painfully rigid and entrenched in tradition. Women were expected to marry young, bear children, and spend the rest of their lives serving their husband, raising and having kids at his whim. Quietly, you disagreed. Quietly, a voice inside you seethed, bitter and angry. I don’t want this. I want my own life. You drowned it with the rest of you.

At 20, you were married to the fisherman’s son. It was an arranged marriage, between yours and his parents. He had mentioned to his father offhandedly that he found you cute, and like that, your fate was sealed. You were bought and sold, passed off to the first man who asked.

It… wasn’t so bad. He was cute, polite, even if he sometimes seemed to regard you more as an object than a sentient human being. You didn’t blame him. It was just how he was raised, how you both were. Even still, your heart bled, and bitterness coiled in your soul like barbed wire. And you, for your part, shielded the parts of you that were still soft, cradled them close, clung to the last vestiges of gentleness and love. It was all you had left, the last thing between you and the hate sown in your heart.

Lee, your husband, was doting. At first. Entrenched still in the tradition you were raised with, he was more patient and understanding than you expected him to be. He tried to respect your wishes, your discomfort and your boundaries.

The first few months after your marriage, you agree to just enjoy eachother's company. Still strangers, still unfamiliar, but he didn’t push you to be intimate with him, and for that you were grateful. You could see yourself falling in love with him, raising a family (even if that wasn’t what you wanted), if he loved you. If that’s what would make him happy.

You spent the summer and fall happily growing steadily closer. He was your best friend. You could fall in love with him. You could. Maybe you already had.

Winter came and never left. The crops never came back. A famine sank its teeth into your village, slowly but surely, and the reserves each family had saved up for the winter bled dry quickly after the ground was supposed to have long since thawed.

Your husband started working more, trying to catch more fish to feed the mouths left hungry from the crops dying. To his credit, it worked. But only for a few months. Soon, the fish dried up too.

Your heart ached, seeing the state of your village. The population thinned, and you watched your neighbors, faces you’d grown up alongside, tearfully pack their bags and leave.

You stayed. Your husband was in the same boat, stubborn as you were. The two of you thought if you just toughed it out, stuck around to help your neighbors and friends who stayed, things would get better. With less mouths to feed, at least, things began looking up. You entertained the glimmer of hope growing in your chest. Things would get better.

Then, your husband began drinking. It was innocuous, as first, as all things are. A few drinks on the weekend, then a drink every day after work. Just one, he said. Just one, then none ‘til tomorrow. That “one” turned into two, then three, then four.

The liquor brought out a different side of your husband. He became touchier, more insistent, less respectful of your boundaries and your protests. You still hadn’t been intimate with him, and while you no longer considered him a stranger, you didn’t want to sleep with him while he was like… this, and definitely not until you could reliably feed yourselves. He didn’t understand, and you had fewer and fewer opportunities to try and explain this to him while he was sober.

It came to a head after a week of heavy drinking, particularly grim yields from the rivers, and longer days spent out at work for the both of you. He came home drunk, which wasn’t unusual, especially as of late. You could smell the alcohol on his breath as he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I want to have a baby,” He slurred, “A son.”

You tensed. “...I don’t think now’s a good time, Lee. How would we feed him?”

Lee’s arm’s tightened around you. “We’ll figure it out.” A sigh against the shell of your ear, then hands roamed down to tug at your pants.

Icy panic shot through you. “I don’t want to.”

Lee hummed, but didn’t stop. You don’t know if he was too drunk to hear you, or was ignoring you on purpose. When a hand slipped beneath your waistband, you panicked, shoving him away, hard.

For the first time since marrying him, the expression on his face scared you. Shock gave way to fury, his face twisting into an ugly scowl. You blinked, fell to the floor. Your cheek stung. Lee’s hand was still raised, clenched into a fist, when you looked back up. He… he hit you. He’s never done that before.

You didn’t even hear the insults he spat down at you, trembling with barely contained rage. Your ears were ringing, your elbows, which you were using to prop yourself up, threatened to buckle. Eyes fluttered closed. You half expected him to continue, to force himself on you anyway, but he stormed off in a rage.

“Why did you bother to come crying to me? You are an ungrateful wife.”

The insult stings, you wring your hands painfully to distract yourself. The hateful beast inside of you seethes and spits. You drown it out, quietly, and carefully slip into the mask of neutrality you’d spent a lifetime crafting.

Your mother scowls down at you with thinly veiled disgust– or was that disappointment? It makes no difference. “If he wants a child, you provide him one. You’re lucky he didn’t do worse; he’s within his right to. Your job is to bear children, to serve your husband. You should be honored he chose you, excited for the chance to fulfill your purpose.”

“But-”

“No buts! I can’t believe I raised such an ungrateful brat! Be lucky he ever agreed to marry you in the first place.” Your mother turns her back on you, with that, and you watch her retreating form in silence.

You should have seen it coming, really. This was the woman that raised you, she was the one who drilled these archaic traditions into your skull, forced you into this mold that hardly fit. But it still stung. She was still your mother. Quietly, you had hoped she’d be sympathetic, that she’d be enraged to see the bruise swelling your cheek, to know your husband had laid a hand on you. Weren’t mothers supposed to protect their children?

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You’re not a kid anymore. Even still, as your mother turns her back on you, you feel the creeping desire to cry. Something inside you cracks. The barbed wire in your soul coils tighter.

The days get worse. Some nights, if you’re lucky, he’s too drunk and too tired to touch you, simply stumbling to bed and passing out. Other nights, you’re not. He touches you, tries to get you to sleep with him, you refuse, and he hits you, then goes to bed angry. Sometimes, it’s with an open hand, sometimes a closed fist, then he begins to throw things. Plates, bottles, food.

Bitterness swells deep in your bones, quiet and seething but livid still. With every argument, every bruise, every shattered plate and shard of glass that digs into your palms when you catch yourself on the ground, part of you dies. That hole in your heart yawns wider, and the parts of you that were soft and loving and kind… slip through your fingers like sand.

Tonight, he comes to you again. Drunk, angry, and something about the look in his eyes as he looks at you makes the sneer that threatens your lips all the harder to repress.

Lee extends his arms in offer of a hug. You know better than to trust that. Never just a hug, not with him, not anymore. Still, you muster all the softness you have left, scrape up the last vestiges of love you have in your bitter, bleeding heart, the love you could’ve held for him in the tatters of your soul, and you shake your head.

“I’m sorry.” It’s sincere. You are sorry, but his insistence and your mothers insults have not swayed you. His gaze doesn’t soften, it stays hard and unrelenting. You both know he expected this. It is as it has been for weeks, now.

Lee says nothing, dropping his arms. Says nothing when he takes long strides towards you, matching your wary and hesitant steps back. Says nothing when he slams your head into the wall, hand winding into the hair at the base of your scalp as the other yanks your pants down.

The love in your ragged soul dies, then. That voice is back, that vicious, angry beast, but you have nothing to drown it out, not anymore. It rages, screams, cries. Above that, your ears pick up on the sound of your husband wrestling with his belt, too drunk and uncoordinated.

No… no, no, no no NO!

You scratch his face, Blood fills your mouth when he punches your jaw, slams your head back against the wall. Stars fill your vision.

“Ungrateful bitch, I have been too kind to you, too patient, too forgiving-” His voice sounds underwater, fuzzy, far away, but you slam back into your harsh reality, like a bucket of ice water thrown over your head, when his hand yanks your underwear down.

I’m going to kill you, you think, and perhaps you say as much, you don’t know. But something inside you shatters, and the anger and injustice you’ve harbored over the years breaks free, stepping over the broken remains of what you once were.

Someone’s screaming. Someone’s screaming, and your thumb finds itself in one of his eyes, digging until something yields. He screams, and distantly, you realize, so are you. His is of pain, yours is of fury and anguish.

Your husband staggers back, howling in pain. You stop screaming. You feel hollow, hot and cold, all at once. Cold and empty, hot and livid.

“You- YOU FUCKING BITCH-” he doesn't finish his sentence, you don’t let him, grabbing the closest thing to you and smashing it against his nose. The oil lamp; it wasn’t on, lucky for him, but kerosene soaks his face. Blood drips from his face and glass embeds deep into his cheeks. You think you broke his nose. Your mouth pulls into a bitter smile.

Something new. A new emotion floods his eyes. For the first time, your husband looks up at you with fear, not the other way around. Lee looks at you, truly looks at you, sees the emptiness in your eyes, the smile that paints your face, the first smile he’s seen in a long time… and it’s as you stand over him, your own blood staining your lips, his blood flecked across your hands and neck.

He looks up at you, and your once patient, doting, understanding husband, gets up and flees. You give him 30 seconds before you give chase, slipping back on your clothes, then stepping outside.

As you step out the door, you spot the axe he used to chop firewood still beside the house, embedded into the stump of a felled tree. Did he leave it on purpose? Does he, for all the pain he brought you, not want to kill you? …Does it even matter? You suppose it doesn’t, not anymore.

You grab the handle of the axe, yanking it from the wood, keeping it in a white-knuckled grip as you follow the trail of blood and footprints into the woods. For once, you’re thankful for having such an isolated cabin from the town. It was a 15 minute hike to the nearest neighbor, and that thought once plagued you a few nights ago, as you lay awake in fear at the realization that no-one would hear your screams out here. You’re grateful for it now, because neither could they hear his .

The snow crunches beneath your feet.

You find him in a clearing, shivering and clutching his nose. He turns when he hears you, glaring at you with his one good eye.

“So, what. You’re going to kill me, you fucking psycho bitch?” He sneers. There is still fear in his eyes, despite the venom spilling from his lips. Part of you can’t believe this is the man you married. The rest of you doesn’t bat an eye. It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t your choice to make. “Kill me then! It won’t change anything! You’ll still be a useless, ungrateful whore, an outcast, the spineless bitch who can’t even seem to manage a friendship, much less a marriage!”

Distantly, his words sting. Your hands tighten around the handle of the axe, splinters digging into your palms.

“Even when I’m dead, you’ll still be worthless. No one will ever want you again.” Lee straightens up, making himself look tall, trying to tower over you and not stare at the weapon in your hands.

“I almost loved you, you know.” It falls from your lips before you realize it. Lee’s anger cools, slightly. “Almost. I let you have the part of me that was loving, and soft, and kind, and whole.”

“What the fuck are you-”

You cut him off, stepping forward. He takes two staggering steps back, raising an arm defensively to block a blow. “I trusted you with that. Do you know what it feels like, putting your trust in others, over and over again, being betrayed over and over again, being expected to smile through it all, to remain soft, and loving, and kind, and patient-” You’re rambling now, are you even making any sense? You don’t know. You can hardly hear yourself over the blood rushing in your ears, “-do you know how much it hurts to shield yourself from that, while still coming second to anyone else in your life, to feel the kindling of hope with each new friendly face, to feel the emptiness that follows when that hope is snuffed out?”

“What-”

You take another two steps forward. He takes three steps back. “And then, after years of pain, and injustice, and heartbreak, and suffering , you do it again. ‘ One last time ,’ you say. ‘ This is the one!’ And you let your guard down. You let your guard down, stop bracing for every hit, allow yourself to love and be loved, again. You let yourself be vulnerable with your husband, warm up to him, imagine falling in love with him…”

Dawning realization falls over Lee’s face. He takes a step back. You take two forward.

Your voice shakes, and half of you worries you’ll cry, but your eyes are dry, and does it matter, really, if you do? “And then your loving, patient husband, kills that part of you that’s soft. Comes home drunk. Your body or your blood , it’s your choice until it’s not.”

Lee trips and falls on his ass. Like a rabid wolf, you quickly close the distance to loom over him. He makes no move to get up, so you continue.

“Our vows. Do you remember them? ‘Til death do us part. The woman you married died tonight, bled to death on the bedroom floor. I think it’s time you join her.”

Your husband’s lip trembles, pupils blown wide with fear as he looks up at you, standing over him like the angel of death, shrouded in shadow with only the faint ring of moonlight lighting your figure. “Why?” He whispers.

You pause, not expecting the question. He kicks your leg out from under you and reaches for the axe. Your hands wrap around it steadfast, and you clutch it to your chest like it’s a precious treasure. Lee cuts his losses and runs away again, further into the woods, closer to the village. Your heart skips a beat, the hollowness filling in with fire, indignant rage. Coward. Coward.

You give chase, shouting after him, “Run, then, if it soothes you! But know that you can never run from this, from me! You’re a coward now, then so too, in the next life!”

You’re gaining on him, your light body (in large part from the hunger) and the adrenaline running through your veins aiding you. For the first time, in a long, long while, you feel alive, and a manic laugh bubbles in your throat. In the distance, you see the lights of the village, but you don’t give up. You’ll kill him in front of your mother, your neighbors, his family, if that’s how he wants it.

“Even if you get away, I will follow you to the ends of the earth, I will haunt the halls you call home!” The cold winter air stings your lungs as you pant, excited and exhausted and livid and empty. “You will never again know your own shadow, your own reflection- I am the greatest suffering you will ever know!”

He stumbles, you swing. Metal tears into flesh, splinters bone. He howls, and you’re sure the village heard it. You bear down onto him, digging the axe blade into his shoulder with your full weight as he buckles to the ground, and you lean down to whisper in his ear, “Do you feel that? Right here, right now? You will carry this with you forever, into the next life, and every one that follows. This night will carry me with you until I find you again.”

Lee bucks up against you, and bitterness floods your mouth as you feel yourself losing balance atop him against his struggles. The cold of the night grips you fiercely, stronger than it did him, sapping the strength from you as the adrenaline wanes and can no longer carry you past it. He’s still in his work clothes, you in your nightclothes. Absently, a part of you realizes he’s going to overpower you. You’re going to lose, even after all this. You know this. The beast inside you wails, tears at the walls. You can’t lose, you’re so close, you can’t!

But you’re stubborn, and you mean what you promised him, you mean it in earnest. He’s bleeding profusely, and you struggle to wrench the axe free from bone, but he stills and howls in pain again when you do, buying you more time. Mimicking his actions earlier tonight, you lean down and breathe against the shell of his ear. “You will never dream again.”

You raise the axe in the air, just as Lee looks over his shoulder at you, throwing his weight up against you and knocking you off balance.

Cold snow meets your back, soaking through your nightshirt. You don’t register the cold. His gaze is hard and angry again, but there’s a fire of triumph there now too. In this moment, you hate him with all your soul. His hands wrench the axe from your grasp. It goes easy, slickened by blood, your joints stiff and hands struggling to clench down hard enough around the handle.

It’s not fair. You were so close, it’s not fair. But even as the axe slips between your fingertips, you’re oddly calm. There’s still a storm raging inside you, telling you you can’t, you can’t, you can’t lose. But something else smothers it, something new. Whatever it is, it isn’t you, for once. It isn’t over. Something tells you, you don’t know what, but its gentle reassurance is enough.

Your eyes flit to the sky, briefly, before your husband’s shadow swallows your form and hides the stars from view. You don’t know what you expected to see, but the insistent nagging at the edge of your subconsciousness tells you what you need to know. That it was not just the trees watching with voyeuristic interest.

Lee glowers down at you, then swings the axe down into your side, through your ribs. You feel the bones give way, and blood fills your lungs quickly. He looks so pleased, so triumphant, so victorious . You hate it. You liked the fear in his eyes better.

He leans back enough so his shadow is no longer swallowing you, and you glance to the stars once more. They wink at you, knowingly, like you’ve been let in on an inside joke. Are you the joke, or is he? Does it matter?

Your husband, your patient, doting, loving husband, smiles wryly down at you as you cough and choke on your own blood. “I almost feel bad for you. In the end, you really are useless. Pathetic…” He lifts the axe above his head, smile dropping from his face, “Any last words?”

You… laugh. It burns against your throat like boiling water, irritates the wound in your side, hurts like hell. But you laugh. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. Not yet. You think you know the punchline, now. The fear slowly flickers back into his eyes. “...What, what’s so fucking funny?” He spits.

“Oh, lover mine… I told you,” You rasp out between your coughs and your laughter, “I will haunt you forever. I will never let you go.”

Lee’s face twists into a terrified grimace, and he brings the hatchet down onto your neck.

#yandere #zhongli/reader #prologue #the lone and level sands series #zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli/reader #zhongli/you #my writing #dead dove do not eat #tags are going to be hella inconsistent. rely on the masterlist to navigate or just use ao3

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doctoraliceharvey · 7 years ago

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The Lone and Level Sands: A Doctor Blake Mysteries & The Mummy AU

“Oh, I've dreamt about this since I was a little girl.” “You dream about dead guys, Alice?” “You seem surprised, Lucien.”

Alice had always been odd. Odd, that was the word used to describe her most of all. Odd, brilliant, strange, willful. She grew up with almost nothing, a bully of a father, a never mentally there mother, and a flight-prone sister. At twelve, her life changed drastically when she took down her father’s shotgun off the wall and fatally shot him protecting her sister when he rounded on her instead of Alice after a night of drinking. Alice’s sister ran, and welfare took Alice away from her mother. Since then she only had herself to rely on.

She buried herself in her studies, gaining the attention of her teachers and eventually the scholarships to continue her schooling into the university. Alice crawled her way up the ranks of the university through her own sheer will and smarts to be accepted into the medical program. Some professors didn’t think she deserved a place, just like some of her classmates didn’t think she could become a doctor, but Alice proved them wrong. She completed her studies and graduated a medical doctor, specializing in pathology and ancient burial rites, just a few months shy of the beginning of the Great War. Though better with the dead than the living, Alice did her part in service to Australia in the war, ending up in the medical facilities close to the front. It’s here, in the bloody mess of the hospitals and screams of patients, that Alice runs into Lucien Blake for the first time.

She runs into Lucien again years after the war while he searches for his missing wife and child. Alice had taken a job in the Cairo morgue, splitting her time between the recently dead and the long dead as she continued to research into mummification and patch up her new friend after many of his brawls with other drunken patrons in and around Cairo. 1926 has Lucien in jail and Alice refusing to bail him out, seemingly at the end of her patience with his antics, and she leaves him to cool his heels in the jail cell while she finally gets a bit of peace and quiet. It doesn’t last for very long, and the whirlwind that is Lucien Blake descends upon her lab with two new faces in tow.

Jean Beazley and Matthew Lawson aren’t what Alice expects, but they did save Lucien from the hangman’s noose (that arrest was more serious than Lucien led her to believe) and so Alice agrees to join them on their quest to Hamunaptra. She’s wary around Jean at first, until the topic of ancient burial rites and methods comes up and Alice delights in Jean’s knowledge and perspective. Their relationship warms considerably after those conversations and Alice likes the idea of a new friend like Jean. Matthew is something else. He’s quieter than his twin sister, his eyes as haunted as Lucien’s were after the war, but he was kind. He let her ramble on about her thoughts on any number of topics, not stopping her mid-lecture like so many had done before. He apologized when he unknowingly invaded her personal space, but Alice found herself wanting him near her. He intrigued her, and he must have felt the same way with his numerous conversations on the way to Hamunaptra; Alice feels drawn to him even as the danger increases around them.

#alice harvey #the doctor blake mysteries #au: the lone and level sands #tdbm edit #rahleeyah #what even is that last sentence #ah well have the last in the graphic series for this au!#i have some bits and bobs planned to write but that'll have to wait until tomorrow!

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crazelouoff · 3 years ago

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Ranking of 911 Disaster episodes

I have decided that I would like to rank each episode of 911 and 911 lone star. this is strictly opinion base for myself and I would like to hear if you either agree or disagree with me.

For this one, I will be ranking the disaster episodes from both shows. so lets start.

9. Blackout (OG 5x02 5x03)

The latest disaster episodes for the OG 911, these episodes unfortunately have many plot holes in them and the way the writers decided to just wrap up this storyline and never mention it afterwards just frustrates me. But it did give us the breakup of EddieAna so bonus points there I guess. #Now give us the BUCKTAYLOR breakup and make BUDDIE official!

8. Mudslide (OG 4x02)

I just don’t seem to go back to watch it as much as I do the other disaster episodes. Honestly, I think I do need to go back and watch it again as I don’t really remember much of this episode.

7. Tornado (LS 1x04)

The first Lone Star disaster episode, I like it but I just prefer the other ones. The next one and this one is kind of on the same level path but the next one kind of just had a leg up to this one.

6. Volcano (LS 2x02)

Same as the tornado episode, I kind find myself watching the other episodes more really. The emotion that we get at the end of the episode by the character due to the death of Tim gives it a bonus point but I feel it just doesn’t really have any general feelings towards it as we didn’t particularly see Tim much. Carlos comforting TK though, my heart!

5. Sand storm (LS 2x14)

The season finale of the second series, this episode gives us more of MATEO (thank god!) and Carlos babysitting!

4. Solar storm (LS 1x10)

Finally gives us Tarlos, enough said,

3. Earthquake (OG 2x02 2x03)

The first real disaster episode, still one of the best episodes the OG show has done. 3rd place as I just prefer watching the other episodes.

2. Wildfire (LS 2x03)

Ah, The crossover episode, this just ranks second due to the fact we get TK calling Buck out for hitting on him.

1: Tsunami (OG 3x02 3x03)

No surprise really for me, I always find myself coming back to these episodes and I still get the same feelings as when I first watched it. The pure emotions of each of the characters is such gold.

#9 1 1 #buck #911 fox #911 lone star #tarlos #ranking #disaster #9 1 1 lone star season 2 #9 1 1 ls #911onfox #eddie #buddie

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migilini · 4 years ago

Note

Hi!! Can you do another request for Charlie Gillespie? Can it be the 5 times he tries to propose and the one time he actually does? Thank you!!

Fifth Time Works A Charm - Charlie Gillespie

a/n: I loved writing this, especially because I’m procastinating to write the next Chapter for my Luke ff. I hope you like it as much as I do.

Requests are open!

Words: 3k

Masterlist

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He knew from the moment he kissed you goodnight on your second date that you were the one he was gonna marry one day. He loved the way you always complained about back pain, yet you never sat normally in any chair and the way you still paid attention to him when he talked about a topic you had no clue on. The spark in your eyes and the curve of your lips when you laughed at one of his awful jokes. Every Morning he woke up next to you was a good one and he loved you more and more everyday. He was totally and completely whipped for you that wasn't the hard part, finding the right moment to propose was.

The two of you were on vacation in Hawaii at the same resort the two of you accidentally met a couple years ago and learned that you actually only lived 30 minutes away from each other. You were laying on the beach, the soft towel brushing your skin slightly, a big sun hat shielding your eyes and face from the hot sun.

Cold drops of water hit your exposed stomach “Baby look, the water is so nice!” more water hit your warm skin. Screeching you sat up and saw your boyfriend standing over you, with a big smile while he wrenched out his hair, letting all the cold water hit you.

“It's cold.” you giggled. “And you're warm!” He dropped on top of you, instantly cooling you down with his cold skin. You tried to protest but he was faster and stronger than you are. Putting his elbows around your face, he lifted some weight off of your chest then he stared at you.

“Hmm? What are you staring at me for?” you asked, amusement evident in your voice. “You just look very beautiful right now. You look relaxed.”

Blushing, you cupped one of his cheeks and responded “Thank you handsome. I am relaxed, really needed this getaway.” He smiled and leaned down a bit to kiss your forehead, your nose and then your lips. You savoured the saltines that lingered on your lips for a second longer before he pulled away. He got off of you and rested on his own towel.

Sitting up a bit more, you pulled out your book and read for a bit, when suddenly something made your toe wiggle. Looking over the border of the book, you noticed that Charlie wanted your attention. You looked at him for a moment, taking in his small smile.

“I have something planned for tonight.” He said and buried your foot in the sand. “Yeah? Care to tell me what it is?”

“Nope that's gonna be a surprise! Let's get back to the room and get ready.”

He told you to get dressed casually yet fancy so you wore your hair up in a bun, light makeup with a bold red lip and a flowy maxi dress. You were sitting on the hotel bed when you heard someone vomiting.

“Babe? You okay?” you questioned and walked to the bathroom door. “Did you eat something weird?” the door opened and you were faced with a pale Charlie. “Oh baby.” a small frown sat on your face when you saw him. “Let's stay in. We can do your surprise tomorrow when you feel better, okay?” Pouting, he shook his head “No. I feel fine, let's go.” he went to grab your hand but you took a small step back.

“Charlie, you're sick. There's no harm in staying in today. Health first, adventures second okay?” His shoulders dropped in defeat, there was no way he could convince you to still go out, so he nodded and followed you back to the bed. But before, in a second that you went to grab a water bottle, he pulled a small black box from his pockets and stuffed it back into his suitcase.

Unfortunately he was sick for the rest of your trip.

You and your boyfriend Charlie were chilling on the couch in the living room. Charlie was responding to some emails while you scrolled through instagram. The radio was on in the background, filling the room with soft music. It was late evening and you put some candles on and turned up your little lights that were scattered all over the place to make it cozy.

Your ears picked up the familiar tune of ‘It's been a long long time by Harry James’ and a big smile spread on your lips. You jumped up, throwing your phone somewhere on the couch and started pulling on Charlie's arm. “Dance with me.”

“Baby I’m working.” he said with a grin, already closing his laptop.

“Please just dance to this song. It's our song babe! Then I won't annoy you the whole day.” you pleaded, jumping from one foot to the other, while still pulling on his arm.

“Okay. Just this song. I know how much you love it.” He stood up, his arms finding your waist as you interlaced your hands behind his back. Your manicured fingers immediately start playing with his longer hair. The two of you swayed to the music, he was humming along to the music, while you closed your eyes. He dipped you, waking you laugh. Then you twirled him around your arm. The song came to your favorite part and you wholeheartedly sang along, beaming up at your boyfriend.

‘Kiss me once’ You gave him a kiss on the shoulder and he kissed the top of your head, pulling you closer into his chest.

‘Then, kiss me twice’ You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his forehead and the tip of his nose.

‘Then, kiss me once again’ finally you kissed his lips. Charlie hummed in approval, tightening his grip on your waist.

Slowly the song came to an end when your phone started to ring. Charlie looked at your expectantly, waiting for you to pick it up.

“If it's important they'll call again.” you muttered with your face pressed against his shoulder. Sadly for you both a second later it began to ring again. Groaning the two of you left your little bubble as you picked up your phone.

“Oh hi grandma. How have you been?” You excused yourself with a swift kiss on his cheek and left the living room, leaving behind a lonely boyfriend.

“We got a special request to play this song today.” The radio host announced “I hope she said yes man!”

You just finished your last exam of the last semester of college. You were done. Finished. Now you only have to wait and see if you're actually gonna graduate or if you have to repeat the semester. Still, you felt like celebrating. Charlie had interview after interview scheduled for today so you didn't tell him right of the bat. You spent the day doing some mundane household tasks and grocery shopping. The moment your boyfriend was finished for the day, he ran out of your office to search for you.

You laid on the couch, watching a new netflix series when you heard footsteps approach. “You’ve done it baby!” he pulled you off the couch and twirled you around. Giggling you answered “I haven't graduated yet.”

“And? You will, I'm sure of it because I have the smartest girlfriend in the world and she just finished her last test. This needs celebration!” he left small kisses all over your face.

Due to the pandemic, you had to stay in the appartement to party. You didn't care though. Charlie ordered something from your favourite italian place and you pulled out the wine from your kitchen cabinet. Somehow the food took ages to arrive and to pass the time you decided to open the bottle.

Wine always had an interesting effect on the two of you, especially on an empty stomach. Charlie got very needy and you always blacked out during the night (He does too but he won't admit it). But the one thing both of you had in common was the touchyness. It wasn't like you two were not always touching when you were sober, it was just that wine drunk Charlie and you took it to a whole other level. By the time you were on your third glass, you wondered if Charlie even ordered the food.

“Could I have this dance with you ma lady?” Charlie held out his hand and bowled a little. You put down your now fifth glass of wine and stood up, taking his hand in yours.

“Oh, yes of course.” This dance was different from the dance you had a couple of nights ago. It was more of a makeout session than a dance. At some point he picked you up, so your legs were wrapped around his torso, yet he still swayed to the non existing music.

“I love you.” You murmured against his lips.

“I love you more.” he said and pulled away slightly.

“No way that's possible.”

“Oh really?” he raised his eyebrow.

“Marry me then.” he whispered looking you in the eyes with a spark in his.

“Yes! I do!” You slurred and kissed him harshly. A smile spreading on both of your lips.

You woke up the next morning with an aching headache and practically no memory of the evening before. You turned over to see Charlie sleeping next to you. You slowly traced the outline of his face. He opened his eyes and smiled at you.

“Hi” he croaked out in his morning voice that still made butterflies rise in your stomach. “Hey. How much do you remember?” You asked him sheepishly. He pulled you in with his arms, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“Not much to be honest and i'm guessing you don’t either?” You only shook your head.

“I remember that our food somehow didn't arrive.”

Next time Charlie should really read the text of the restaurant he orders from, because there was a perfectly cooked meal waiting in front of your door.

Charlie missed his best friend and you knew this. So you arranged a little get together with Owen and Jeremy at Owen’s new apartment. Your plan was to drive down from Canada, make a quick weekend stop at Owens and then make your way to your apartment in LA.

Currently it was a monday morning and you were still at Owens. His guest bed was just so comfortable it was harder than normal to get out of bed. On this particular morning, you woke up to an empty side of the bed and some talking from the living room.

Lazily, you put on one of Charlie's hoodies, some cozy socks and a beany. You shuffled to the living room where you assumed the boys would be sitting, not realising that you interrupted a conversation.

“I don't know man. Everytime I have something planned it goes wrong.”

“Look Char, In my experience the chance will… morning y/n.” Jeremy was quick to notice your figure shuffling towards them, your eyes scanning your phone. The boys tensed up and quickly tried to do a normal activity.

“Morning everybody.” You smiled at them. “Am I the last to be up?” you asked and only got noods in return. Still too sleepy to notice the atmosphere, you made your way over to your boyfriend, who was standing at the kitchen aisle, wrapping your arms around him from behind and nuzzling your head into his back. Your hands instantly go under his hoodie and on his bare skin to warm your hands.

“Kofe…” you mumbled into his back, barely audible.

“What?” Owen asked, confused while he sat on the kitchen counter, eating a toast.

“She wants some coffee.” Your boyfriend translated with a smile.

“Oh.. I just used the last capsule... I’m so sorry” Jeremy apologized and offered you the last sip of his cup of coffee.

“I’m fine, I'll survive thank you though Jer.” You yawned, releasing yourself from cuddling Charlie, knowing you're not gonna be fully awake without a cup of coffee. Your boyfriend also knew this and eyed you closely, then he leaned over to whisper in your ear that he's gonna get you a coffee after his workout. He looked at you lovingly and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Jesus Christ man, you're whipped. Just ask her.” Owen said while rolling his eyes. The second the last words left his lips all the boys looked at eachother with wide eyes. Owen went to cover his mouth with his hands.

“Ask me what?” You asked in a soft tone and turned to your boyfriend who had a really panicked look on his face.

“I- I-uhm…” he stuttered, fiddling with his fingers.

“Charlie here wanted to ask you if you would mind staying one more day.” Jeremy came to the rescue and sent Owen a mad look, while he pulled one of his arms over Charlie's shoulder, who gave him a thankful nudge.

Your face softened “Of course bubby! If it's okay with Owen it's okay with me, we have no hurry to head to LA. I love spending time here. Gotta teach Owen a few tips and tricks of living alone.” you sent a wink in the blonde boys direction.

At this point Charlie nearly gave up on asking you to marry him, maybe it was a sign from the universe that the two of you weren’t ready for that commitment yet. You were both still so young and just started with your careers.

He looked over at your mess of curls that spread all over the pillow case. The peaceful up and down from your chest and the small smile on your slightly opened lips as you slept. He had to ask you to marry him, there was no way he wouldn't.

The sunlight peeked through the curtains and illuminated the bedroom on this sunday morning in a pretty yellow. You opened your eyes as you heard something shift beside you.

“Where are you going?” You asked, squinting your eyes that still needed to get used to the light.

“Just for a walk baby. Go back to sleep.” He pushed some hairs back that touched your face. Pouting, you put your much smaller hand on his hand that laid on your face.

“Noo. Don't go. Come back to bed.” you whined, leaving kisses on his hand. He sat there for a while, contemplating if he could say no to your face. In the end he sighed and you felt the mattress next to you go down.

“Thank you for staying.” you whispered and pulled him closer, letting your head rest on his chest. His arms wrapped around you and he shifted in a comfortable position, so that you were basically laying on top of him. With the tip of your fingers you drew little constellations on his chest and he played with the strands of your hair.

“Charlie?” You broke the silence and went to look at his face, propping your chin on your hand.

“What's on your pretty mind?”

“When will you ask me to marry you? Or should I ask you?” You finally asked the questions that have been running through your mind for months now.

He stopped breathing for a second, stunned at your declaration. A wide smile broke out on his lips and he started laughing. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“Is that such a funny concept?” You asked, slightly hurt. “I thought you wanted to do it in Hawaii but then you were sick and I also heard you and the boys talking about something. Plus I found the ring.” you admitted.

Charlie shifted again so you were both sitting up and facing each other. “You found the ring?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah I put some of your stuff into the drawer and it fell out. I didn't look at it though! I still wanted that part to be a surprise. But you never asked, so im gonna do it, fuck the gender norms. Charlie Jeffrey Gillespie will you...”

“Oh my god. Baby no.” he chuckled and cupped your face, making you stop in the middle of the sentence. “I had so many different ideas planned but something always came in between me actually asking you. So let me do it right.”

He got up from the bed and pulled out the little black box from one of the drawers in your bedroom.

“Uhm… could you maybe stand up?”

You obliged eagerly, your hands shaking like crazy.

And then it was finally happening. Your boyfriend got down on one knee and looked up at you with tears in his eyes.

“This wasn't at all how I originally wanted to do it but now thinking about it, it's just perfect. I knew pretty early on that you were gonna be the girl I marry one day. I know we’re both still very young but I couldn't imagine myself spending my life with anybody else other than you. You're the person I want to wake up next to every morning and the person I miss the most when I’m away. So would you do me the honours and make me the happiest man alive by marrying me?” he took out the ring with shaking hands, while you tried to stop the sobbing. You got on your knees as well and cupped his face, whipping away some tears.

“Yes! One million times yes!” You kissed him softly, afraid that this was all a dream. Charlie pushed the ring on your finger and lifted you up, kissing you again and again with a tear soaked face and a smile that hurt his cheeks.

#charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie fanfic #charlie gillespie fic #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie fluff #charlie gillespie images #charlie gillespie x y/n #charlie gillespie x oc #jatp #jatp fanfic

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liibrii · 4 years ago

Text

fem!Miya!Reader & Miya family

Part of the Third Miya Series

Synopsis: Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for kindergarten.

wc: 2.1k

a/n: baby Miyas, the ultimate serotonin providers 🙃 if you wanna be tagged in future chapters let me know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

Mrs Miya has always trusted her gut feeling and in that moment it was telling her the bathroom was down the corridor, last door on the left, and, just as Mr Miya had told her that morning, eating leftover curry for breakfast was a dreadful idea.

Doctor repeats her words and Mrs Miya's neck becomes completely stiff. If it wouldn't she'd perhaps be able to look at her husband whose face turned ashen pale. “Triplets?“

Well, this will take buy one get one for free jokes on a whole new level.

Doctor's words are just buzzing and the soon to be Miya parents nod and smile and nod and hold on each others' hand as if there's no tomorrow. They're silent on the way out.

Mr Miya turns to his wife. “Do they even sell strollers for three kids?”

Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for daycare.

You all wear the same colours because Atsumu would throw a tantrum if your jumper wasn't the same colour as his and you would throw a tantrum when yours was a different colour than Osamu's, who in turn would throw a tantrum because his jumper was now the same colour as Atsumu's.

Mrs Miya had read advices that one should always dress their twins (or, in this case, triplets) differently as it is good for their personality development; which is all well and good and a great advice, except that whoever wrote it forgot to take into account that two and a half out of her three children saw being dressed differently as their siblings as a horrific violation of their toddler rights.

Your parents tell themselves one day you'll grow out of this phase, but till then mom stitches little numbers one, two, and three on the edges of your clothes. She did start stitching your names, but with only two pairs of hands in the house and three little sprouts in constant need of attention there was never enough time to finish them.

“One,“ says Mr Miya and Atsumu raises his hands.

“Ichi!“ he proudly chimes.

“Two,“ Mr Miya grabs you before you'd crawl out of the reach of his arms.

“Ni!“ like his brother Osamu too raises his chubby fists, but only halfway.

“And three!”

“San!“ You hug your dad's neck, perhaps hoping that will get you out of having to wear socks.

And heaven forbid they ever messed up which jumper belonged to whom. It was beyond your parents' wisdom how you could tell the number stitched on the edge was not the same they said when counting your heads, but you could.

“Must be yer superpower,“ jokes Mr Miya while changing your sweater that has the wrong number on the edge. He barely pulls it off when Atsumu's chubby hands already grab it and begin pulling it over his head. He screams when his father offers to help, pouting even if he's completely lost between the left sleeve and the opening for the head.

“Alright buddy,“ muses Mr Miya and turns his attention to Osamu who already pulled his socks off so, naturally, now you've mysteriously lost one of your socks too. Mr Miya sighs. Maybe it's time to let his boss know he's going to be late.

Three is an enormous number, when the three in question are a feverish toddler in your arms and two more running around doctor's office. Perhaps it was time to ask the daycare to put you three into different groups. That will cause an outrage, oh ever since the 'One child, one pillow' incident Mrs Miya is well aware of that. But then again, better that than all of you throwing a tantrum when only one got to leave the daycare early.

“One, two, three,“ she counts your heads under her breath, then hurries over to where you just picked up a very interesting small stone that probably fell from the soles of someone's shoes, “San! I mean y/n, sweetie, that's a stone. See, it's rough and cold.“ You whine when she takes the treasure from you but still listen closely to her words that spark Atsumu's interest too, and he trots closer to see what is happening. Thankfully feverish Osamu has fallen asleep in her arms. Really, the last thing she needs is his firm conviction the stone is just greyish candy. Mrs Miya still lets Atsumu take the stone in his hands. “No,“ she grabs his hand when he lifts it towards his mouth that is already curving into a grimace. “Hey, hey, no need to cry over it sweetie. Yer gonna wake up yer brother and he needs sleep right now.“

“Is he sick?” your tiny voice chimes in. Mrs Miya nods. “Because he ate melon seeds,“ you nod with all the wisdom of a 3 year old. “He's growin' melons in his tum-tum,“ you tell Atsumu whose wide eyes blink twice before he bursts into tears.

“One, two, three,“ Mrs Miya counts your heads while you play around the house. If you hide from her sight sooner or later screaming and crying alerts her something happened. A moment later Mr Miya returns to the living room with a very much red faced and screaming Atsumu in his arms.

“What happened?“ she asks, crouching down to console you, also crying because there's no way you'd let your brother scream his lungs out by himself.

“Ah the usual,“ he places the scissors on the counter, “wouldn't let him shred his shirt. Osamu, no!“ He quickly grabs his other son who also starts crying, shocked that his own father would take the lost sock from him before he got the chance to find out how it tastes.

Ah, just another Sunday.

The good thing about three children running around is they're never lonely. There are always games to play, fights to win, faces to colour. Most of the days all of you exhaust yours (sometimes apparently infinite) supplies of energy by the time evening falls. Mr Miya puts you to bed (one bed, because trying to make you sleep in separate cribs is apparently a disgusting violation of Toddler convention) before he collapses beside his wife.

“Asleep?“ she asks.

Mr Miya hums. “For now.“

The moment they turn the lights off slide door across the hallway open. Light steps cross the dangerous waters of the dark hallway, enter the bedroom and climb over Mr Miya to the safe haven between the parents.

“Bad dreams?“ asks Mrs Miya. In response Osamu sniffles and snuggles closer. Not a minute passes when two more pairs of legs pass through the darkness of the hallway and climb to be beside their brother. You shriek when Atsumu pushes his cold feet on your back, but dad's stern word makes you stop. A few moments later you're all asleep.

“One, two, three,“ sleepily mumbles Mrs Miya, patting each of your heads.

“Four,“ says Mr Miya and his wife giggles.

Three is the number of band-aid packages your parents buy per month. Ever since you've grown for about a chopstick taller, well you only grew for about three thirds of a chopstick because nature thought it would be funny if you got outgrown by your brothers at the tender age of 5, it turned out the tall tree in the park could in fact be climbed, if you climbed on someone's shoulders and then pull them on the lowest branch. Sadly the branches aren't big fans of being climbed on but no amount of scratches and falls could stop you from trying.

“A champignon never stops tryin'!“ proclaims Atsumu after the failed attempt that left bark in his hair and Osamu laughing on the branch.

“What's a champignon?“ you ask.

“It's the person who's the best! It's what I'll be one day!“

Osamu snorts, firmly grabbing on the thin branch he's sitting on. “Champignon's a mushroom.“

“No it ain't!“

A mushroom, you make a little note in your memory, because no matter how much Atsumu protests you're more inclined to believe Osamu when it comes to mushrooms.

Your heads turn when you hear mom calling and waving, waiting for Osamu to climb down before running over to her.

“I win!“ announces Atsumu despite Osamu reaching her first.

“Why, because yer a champignon?“

“Are we all here?“ loudly asks Mr Miya before his boys could jump into each other's hair, “identify yerselves!“

“One!“ calls Atsumu.

“Two!“ calls Osamu, louder.

“Three!“ you call and jump, because being louder than them was never an option.

Four heads turn to Mrs Miya. “Mom,“ she raises her hand.

“Excellent!“ proclaims Mr Miya as three small voices cheer. “Then we can get goin'!“

“Where to?“ you ask.

Mr Miya picks up a stick and starts drawing lines in the sand covering the path. “It's a secret but maybe ya can guess, we'll go down this path-“

“A treasure hunt!”

“Almost. At the fountain we'll turn left, and what lies down the fountain path?“

“Pigeons?“ you try guessing.

Osamu bumps his fist on the open palm. “Ice cream stand!“

Mr Miya nods.

“Last one there's a loser!“ shouts Atsumu who starts running before even finishing the sentence. Osamu immediately follows, both ignoring your shouts to wait up.

Three is a funny number. It only works when the two and one have the third , because otherwise it's just one and two. Like a clover that got munched on by a picky rabbit that tried a leaf and then decided it doesn't fit its taste.

Volleyball sort of became the rabbit munching on the clover. One day teachers simply decided you're not allowed to play on the same team as your brothers anymore. And no amount of crying, screaming and sulking could convince the rabbit to give the leaf back.

“Maybe we can sneak ya in,“ suggests Atsumu one night, “all ya hafta do is wear our clothes. No one will know!“

So you try that and funnily enough, people do notice when one and two together make a three, and what surprises children even more is that parents also notice when they return late from school because they had to stay in detention. And as if cleaning the school hallways for a month wasn't enough, now they have to clean the house too.

It is however enough to discourage you from trying to sneak into practice again, so you stick with only coming to games and waiting for their practice to end so you can walk home together. From time to time some of their teammates stop to say hello or to complain to you about their shenanigans, but that's knowledge you hold to yourself, since you never knew when blackmail material might come in handy.

It's only when Osamu teases they get to go to a volleyball workshop and you don't that you get envious.

“It sounds stupid anyway,“ you try pretending you couldn't care less.

“It would be perfect for ya then,“ Osamu shots back and sprints away as you dive after him.

Maybe you are just a teensy bit envious, still as long as you get to play with them when they are home it's not that bad. After returning from their workshops you don't even let them take their shoes off before dragging them to the volleyball net dad set up in the garden. You stand where you always stand, by the net so you can throw balls for them to hit over.

Atsumu pushes you away. “No, this is my position now. I wanna be a setter.“

You don' mind, and throw the ball towards Atsumu who sends it back into a bit of an awkward place and you end up not even hitting it.

Osamu bursts into laughter. “Ya suck.“ He jumps to avoid the kick aimed at his knee. “We play with good players now so yer gonna hafta practice more. There was this tall player with a cool name! Right, Tsumu?“

“Tsumu?“ you repeat.

“Tsumu and Samu. It's our names but they sound way cooler now!“ proudly declares Atsumu.

Your eyes widen in admiration. “I want that too! What should I call myself?“

“Yer always copyin' us,“ complains Osamu but he gets ignored as the first name Atsumu suggests earns him a ball to the face.

“Oh I know!“ You bump your fist on your open palm. “I'll be San!“

Atsumu thinks it over with the same expression Osamu has when trying to decide which udon toppings to order. “San,... Y/n... San,... It sounds so cool! Whaddaja think Samu?“

Osamu shrugs. “San, let me show ya how to spike the ball properly.“

tag list: @espressons @trashy-simp @nachotrash

#miya twins #miya twins x sibling reader #miya atsumu #miya osamu #miya atsumu x reader #hqcorenet #miya osamu x reader #miya family #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu x platonic reader #inarizaki #inarizaki x platonic reader #the third miya #libri scribbles #also big thanks to tumblr for destroying the quality of the banner -.-

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kahlsflannel · 4 years ago

Text

The Summer

Part One: Mr.Rogers

Summary: (Y/N) (L/N) lives with her parents at their exquisite mansion, tucked away somewhere in the midsts of Michigan. Summers are always dull, and usually spent by her lonesome. However, when her parents invite a few choice friends from college to spend the season with the family, (Y/N) gets the chance to meet good ole Steve Rogers, and realizes this summer isn't going to be like any others.

SERIES WARNINGS: age gap (reader is 18, Steve is 40.) eventual smut

CHAPTER WARNINGS: none, except for hot Steve Rogers.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Modern!AU)

Word Count: 1,500

A/N: Hi hi hi. My hiatus is technically still going but I had this idea and wrote 1,500 words and my brain is still going brrr so please enjoy. Btw, the Steve in this is based of Infinity War Steve. Big man. Beefy man. Wow. Anyways, I hope you enjoy <3

Summer heat was always her least favorite. As she neared the lake house, a humid gust of the wind blew upon the nape of her neck, wetting the small baby hairs, sticking them to her skin. She hated it. Hated all that came with the season. Scolded the wasps as they bounded around the fruit trees, dipping their sharp bottoms into the dainty flowers, pink like soft flesh flushed with blood. Summer typically brought nothing but toughened soles and dinner parties, lonely nights and cold waters. Summer was her least favorite. She hated how her birthday feel right at the end of the spring, catapulting her into being grown during the quiet lull of the year. Eighteen was a strange age. It carried a heavy weight upon its brow, giving all the responsibilities of a seasoned adult without the years of tiresome experience. She compared to a game of dice, rolling and rolling, hoping to get the right numbers, but usually coming out plain wrong, and having to try and try again until fingers became nimble enough to angle the squared pieces in the right way.

Shoes pressed into the thick, muddy sand by the murky waters of her father's prized lake. It spanned across their property, hosting a family of mallards and several types of game fish that her father would brag about during events, pointing to taxidermied trout plastered on the wall of their dining room as he went on about how many swam the depths of the body outside. She had never cared for fishing, finding it tedious and tiring. She also despided the idea of prying a barbed hook from the mouth of a fish, just to release it and let its blood pollute the waters. Alas, she came from a family of hunters and fishermen, so she was not spared the sights she so greatly detested. As she looked across the rippling surface, her name was called in the all too cheery voice of her mother, who was making her way over.

"(Y/N), the guests are here," she said happily, eager for the distraction from her crippling marriage. Her father was always a little more kind when others were around. He replaced his typical cold demeanor with soft eyes and kisses to her mother's cheeks, pleasantries he often refused to offer. The younger girl nodded, a tight lipped smile shot towards the woman as she allowed her mother's soft hand to find a place on the small of her back and lead her towards the main house. A large black SUV was parked in front, the driver stepping out from the front to open the backdoor. Out stepped a woman with auburn hair, the color of a burning log. Her eyes latched onto (Y/N)'s own, making her blink quickly as the dark green irises seemed to burn a hole into her. Her attention was quickly diverted to the other door opening on it's own, followed by a large frame filling her vision.

Broad shoulders pressed against some kind of silk fabric that stretched over obviously toned muscles. The white sleeves were rolled half way up his arms, showing off his tanned forearms, which were decorated by soft blonde hairs and what she assumed to be an expensive watch, looking similar to her father's Rolex. Her eyes travelled up, landing on his face. She quickly realized he was by far the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes upon. His jaw was hidden under a well manicured beard, and his eyes were left under sunglasses, some designer's name branded harshly onto the side. His hair was swept back, held in place by some sort of product, but lacked the typical shine of a gel. He was stunning and (Y/N) almost didn't register she was being spoken to by her mother.

"Why don't we show the guests to their rooms? You can take Mr.Rogers to the one beside yours and I'll name Ms. Romanoff to the one by my own. We'll meet back in the dining room for dinner in around," her mother lifted her arm, glancing at the watch face before continuing, "half an hour?" Suddenly, she started speaking to the guests. "Welcome welcome! Natasha! it's been so long." The auburn woman smiled, extending her arms to receive a hug. The pair began talking, and (Y/N) figured she was supposed to welcome the man. She took in a deep breath before walking over towards him. He was leaned cooly against the car, large hands holding his phone in one and large bottle of wine in the other.

"Excuse me," (Y/N) piped up, feeling small under the sudden gaze directed at her. "Hello," she continued, fishing a smile onto her features. He returned it, allowing her to talk. "I'm (Y/N) (L/N), it's nice to meet you." She extended her hand, a courtesy she was taught young. He quickly shoved his phone into his front pocket and offered his own hand.

"Steve Rogers," he spoke, his voice a sweet timber. She blinked slow, taking in the feeling of his hand as he shook her own. Once disconnected, he drew up the same hand to push his glasses onto the crown of his head and handed her the bottle of wine, the label telling her it was an icon level red. She was suddenly sad she wasn't able to drink yet, always enjoying the bitter smell of the liquid. She thanked him quickly before furthering their conversation.

"I'm usually familiar with our guests. Can I ask how you know my parents?" She questioned, watching as he moved to grab his suitcase out of the back of the car. Her mother and Natasha, as she recalled, had already made their way inside, leaving the pair alone. As she led him into the house, he began speaking.

"I went to college with your father. That was, wow," he paused at the entryway, shaking his head before continuing, "That was over 20 years ago. Well before you were here." He shot her a smile. She nodded, giving him a small grin back as she handed the bottle of wine to the kitchen maid who greeted her from the entryway.

"I see. My father's been having a lot of old college friends here lately. Your room is upstairs, by the way. Do you need any help with your luggage?" she asked, not sure of where to take the conversation. He shook his head once more, picking up the suitcase by the handle with ease.

"No thank you, sweetheart. I've got it," he spoke easily. "You lead the way, I'll follow you." It was her turn to nod. She moved up the stairs easily, from many years of practice, and led him to the twist of the hall. Her room, the second guest room, and a bathroom were placed obscured from sight, tucked into a lonely corridor at the far left of the house. She had always enjoyed the privacy, her room far enough away from her parents that she could blare music as loud as she wanted and only disturb the cracks of her walls.

Once at the door of the room he would be staying, she twisted the knob to revel the space. her mother took pride in the looks of the guest rooms, insisting that they make the rooms just as nice as their own. A large bed filled the middle of the space, as well as two lounge chairs situated beside a table at the window. A hand carved entertainment unit hosted a television, and the floor was decorated with a large shag rug. All the linens and laces were white, and matched the walls.

"Alright, this is you. I'm right next door if you need anything. I sometimes play music a little loud, so if it ever bothers you, just let me know and I'll turn it down. Your closet is through that door by the bed, and the bathroom is across the hall." She was speaking fast, aware of his breath on her neck as he surveyed the space from behind her.

"Perfect, thank you so much, sweetheart. Show me around the rest of the place later, will ya?" She nodded, looking up at him before removing herself from the room. Questions were pounding her head as she watched him set his suitcase gently onto the duvet.

"Do..do you need anything else from me?" she asked, not wanting to be a rude host out of fear of her mother.

"I don't think so. When is dinner? I'd like to get the airport smell off me before we eat," he said, tugging a bag of toiletries out of the large space.

"Oh, at 7:30. That's when we alway eat," she spoke, moving back so he could exit the room.

"Perfect. I'll meet you all down there then. It was nice meeting you, (Y/N)." He spoke her name gently, held the letters on his tongue in a distinguished way. Not in the typical condescending manner of her father's other friends.

"You too, Mr.Rogers," she said, looking up at him through her lashes. He smiled, glancing over his shoulder as he entered the bathroom.

"Just call me Steve, sweetheart."

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #steve x reader #steve #jensonwrites #i hope this i okay #i really like the concept

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