#the survivor instincts of a dumbass actually | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

apparentlyaswarmofbees · 4 years ago

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I've been asking around this one question for a few people now, because I like hearing what people have to say about it...

So I wouldn't mind it if you shared a list on who's your favourite (from Most to Least) from the Obey Me! Crew (Brothers & Formally Undatables)...

Also, please feel free to ramble on about why you placed them in each space...

O-oh dear-

First off, you spoil an infodumper like me too much lol (I am happy sfjsjjdjn) and I am going to go overboard (and changing the order of things) for my own pleasure.

And so...

Second off...

Gladly

Here is My List of LEAST to MOST Favorite of The Obey Me Boys ^^

That I just did on spot because I didn't have one ready because it's hard for me to rate the characters as they all have their traits and even their flaws add something good to the character but I'll be dammed if I don't enjoy deep frying my brain for fun.

Please take note I am taking this literally and all characters in here are FAVORITES, just some will be more and some less, which mean I LIKE ALL OF THEM. Yes, I have changed my opinion on a certain two characters I have said to not like, and I am not ashamed to say I was incorrect.

So let's start this off with the right foot shall we?

#12 | Diavolo

He is still infuriating I won't deny that. And I won't pity him though he is a tragic character that is so lonely he overrates any kind of affection, that doesn't know how to interact with others without exagerating, that has no one to give an oposing opinion because of his status and so it's increasingly hard for him to learn to make good decisions, and with his goal to unite the realms I could almost say he is naive. He's a bit of a puppy always wanting some pets, but as a not dog person, I don't have enough in me to be always playing, so to me an overly needy puppy can end up getting annoying, though of course, I can't help it but at least give it a few pets before going my way.

#11 | Simeon

Yes in the end I actually liked him all along but was just in denial after I thought about it. Simeon is a good character, he's a dick even though he's an angel and he doesn't bother to be any different, he definetelly has his own set of rules he follows and I believe he would be a Chaotic Good just like me. He's well made. And as much as he is pretty unlikeable, the mystery, the questions, the fact that he has always been the same we just didn't get to interact with him much to see it, to have a naturally asshole character put down some of his walls to help us even if part out of possible self interest. And of course he's also fun. Simeon is charming, and I have come to appreciate all of him.

#10 | Luke

A kid. A brat and a tsundere. I Absolutely love the character development and it's extremelly adorable. He's now officially our guardian angel and I love that. He was just a prick that I rolled my eyes so hard whenever I encountered him in the game and now he's just a lil' bratty brother that is fun to tease and squish the cheeks off. He's a really nice kid in the end, just previously ignorant, but still nice because he was willing to learn and change despise saying he didn't want to. I personally can understand Luke as I was pretty alike as a kid. Again, he's a nice kid I would gladly buy some balloons and cotton candy for.

#9 | Barbatos

The number 1 buttler, he's just, a good dude l o l. He has his distance from everyone due to his position but that doesn't make him any less interesting. He is mysterious and powerful and yet he feels, so chill. He's also fun and actually has a pretty soft personality in which he knows exactly when to switch off to strict. He's a character I respect and wish existed in real life so I could be friends with (╥﹏╥).

#8 | Solomon

Shady sorcerer is actually a pretty good guy though mildly insane. He is actually responsable (and takes it pretty seriously seeing he's basically the representative of the human realm). He's kind though again, mildly insane, and diligent. He may have terrible food but the fact he does it with good intentions is pretty adorable, he just likes to follow his instincts and be spontaneous because he likes new and exciting things. He probably has quite a bit of angst to him due to his not only immortality in not aging but also by not being able to be killed but even so it feels that, contrary to how many human immortals end, he still hasn't lost the light in his eyes and can still enjoy things and enjoy being alive, and that is most likely thanks to other immortal/long living beings such as demons.

#7 | Lucifer

Yep. Lucifer is actually a really fucking great character, he's fond of his family, hard worker to the point of destroying himself, self punisher, elegant, pretty af, cute at times. But not exactly my most favorable cup of tea. Seeing I can see through his bullshit all his posessiveness, all his pettiness, all his actions just becomes ridiculous and annoying. And theres also a problem with the fact we always end up submiting to him, I don't want that. For every time he disrespects me I want him to kneel and kiss my feet. His pride collides with my own, and his decisions do too. But even so he is very reliable and so he has my respect for that, I do want to hug him and tell him he deserves nice things and that he can rest now this is not the war anymore you don't have to bow down to anyone anymore you didn't doom your brothers but freed them instead, but then again he makes bad decisions because he has zero braincells for emotional intelligence and that pisses me off and makes me just want to yeet him off a cliff. Yeah Lucifer, I would gladly kick you in the balls with ♡°.•love•.°♡.

#6 | Leviathan

Surprising is it not? But it's true, I often focus on Levi due to him not only being pretty alike to me but also because he's related to many things I have been familiar with since I was born: animes and games. His anxiousness is relatable, the outcastness is relatable, the awkwardness is relatable, the obsession is relatable, the references are relatable, the infodumping is relatable. He's very relatable to me, but not my most favorite, and all because of his envy. He's a guilt tripper, and though I am long immune to it in real life due to extreme exposure to it from my family, it still is enough for his rank to go down. I still love him though, but mostly as the character that represents the thing I am most familiar with in life: myself.

#5 | Beelzebub

Big puppy, he's the type of guy who will talk to plants. He has big and strong hands that could crush anything and yet he will do his best to handle some things gently. He's chill and non judgemental, loyal to the core. Once you win him over, you win him over, he would die for you. He is purposely childish at times and it's cute. He is amazing. I wish I could enjoy eating like he does. He's the only character I truly feel hurt for, as he is deeply inflicted by survivor's guilt and it just pains me I can't comfort him because he isn't real ಥ‿ಥ

#4 | Belphegor

Hoh boy. The brat. The fandom itself is pretty divided on their liking of Belphie and it's understandable lol. But I personally understand Belphie. To hide hurt behind anger, hate and spite, to turn to agression to prove a point but you end up just fucking up. But the guilt and wish to fix things can lead one to giving themselves up, and so it becomes a constant battle of getting close but not too close for the sake of both parties involved. I get this boy more than I wish I ever did, and that's why he's high on the ranking. And because he's cute ngl.

#3 | Satan

H o h b o y, another one that reminds me of myself, only it's the aftermath of the above where one bottles up all their negative feelings because being emotional is not being rational and who the fuck even wants to not be rational. Where you have no fucking idea who you are because all you know is to stomp your feet and scream for the sake of making an statement but that just proved all your enemies a point so now you turn to smarts to prove yourself. To make others angry, to make them frustrated and infuriated with your knowledge because you want to prove yourself, be reconized for who you are, to be someone and also, hopefully, change other people's ways, to make them understand they are wrong because you deep down actually want to get along with them. Yeah, Satan is high on the list, and it's also because he likes detectives uwu.

#2 | Asmodeus

What a fucking icon he is I love him okay. It frustrates me when people use cheating as a angst prompt for him as he's obviously someone who just isn't made for monogamy, and he's pretty honest and I feel he would have nothing to hide and would talk it all out with all his partners. He's a sweetheart that works hard on daily basis and hour after hour to mantain an image, he likes the attention, he wants to be loved. If anyone mildly self centered ever told me 'I love you as much as I love myself' I would marry them on spot. Asmo is just incredibly sweet and I love all his affection and respect him for all the work he does to make a good impression and look up to that self confidence even though most of it is actually just him trying to convince himself. Also perfect example off gender is an ilusion lol.

#1 | Mammon

Yep, our number 1, The Great Mammon, the most lovable dumbass that has been by our side from the start though with a bit of whining. This man is perfect. He has incredible self control over his powers, and as someone who used to be an angel to be able to use money all you want bro. I wouldn't feel bad either. He's our protector from start to end to the point he focuses on us instead of the queen in the Dame event. He isn't stupid just has selective focus just like me! And all the people with ADHD and many other neurodivergents. When he wants something he does is perfectly and diligently, he just needs the right push at the right time. He's the most good of all demons and even angels and he loves all his brothers deeply, he is always there to support everyone to the point of even allowing himself to be the punching bag for the sake of them not turning too much on one another. He was literally our first SSR card, our first call, our first pact, our first and the best. He IS great, truly.

#god I need to sleep #any typos are due to sleep deprivedness and I will be fixing later #obey me #obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date?

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vaguely-concerned · 3 years ago

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Any tips for a TF POV fic? I want to write one because I too went through a time in my life when I let feelings bounce off cuz that was easier, but I feel like that's not quite on point for him 🤔

God I have SO MANY THOUGHTS about this and they’re all so wordless and frustratingly evasive to me yet (I am in the process of writing a looooooong T.F. POV fic and it gives me much more trouble than Graves POV, probably because as a person I’m quite a lot more like the T.F. Type in real life lol). But yes, here we go, let me try to express some of what I personally try to have as my hm ‘anchor points’ for his perspective. (Heavy disclaimer that these are just my personal & disorganized little musings and by no means the only or ‘correct’ way to read the character!)

- First of all I agree, the image of ‘bouncing off’ doesn’t feel quiteright -- it’s in the right neighbourhood but the wrong address sort of thing, but it’s really hard to come up with a way to explain how I feel the nuance here.

*insert three hours later spongebob meme here* Okay, so the metaphor I came up with is: T.F.’s relationship to emotions is a direct parallel to his relationship to water/the ocean: it’s scary down there, it’s dark, it’s dangerous, and if he should ever be dumb enough to try to go in too deep it’ll kill him dead because boy oh boy on so many levels this man just did not learn how to swim. As far as he’s concerned any sensible person would simply bob along on the surface in a sturdily built boat and try not to think too much about the weird shit that lives down there in the depths. (In this metaphor the layer of artifice and performance so habitual it’s basically integrated into the fabric of his soul is the boat. Y’know, the part that’s Twisted Fate and not just plain ol’ Tobias. I’ll hasten to add that I think both parts of his identity are equally ‘real’ and equally him, but the Twisted Fate part is like… protecting the Tobias part. Keeping him from drowning, as it were. I’m not sure he’d think of it like that himself for the longest time, though, I suspect he has more of a ‘that man is dead’ attitude towards the Tobias part after Graves is gone)

I think what I’m trying to get at is the idea that to him, raw emotion is as hostile and unknowable and unnavigable an ‘environment’ as the deep ocean. (And the only time we see him willingly go there, physically and otherwise, is for Graves, so you know let’s jot that down first of all lol.)

- He seems to genuinely quite like and be interested in people – how they think, what moves and motivates them, their secrets and foibles. So I tend to try to keep the uh ‘detail work’ in his POV focused in that direction. Priority going like 1) people 2) people’s valuables 3) the relative availability of people’s valuables at this moment if you have clever hands and a very charming smile haha

- One of my favourite things about T.F. is that he seems, I don’t know… quite genuinely good-natured beneath it all? If you back him into a corner some sharp and dangerous things peek out (he has survived in his line of heh ‘business’ for like thirty years, and a lot of it on his own), but for the most part and when unthreatened he has a sort of mildly amused and intrigued live-and-let-live attitude to the world even as he’s conning it that I find deeply charming. Which to me ties in with:

- T.F.’s first instinctive reaction to danger (perceived or real) the majority of the time seems to be ‘Flight’. Confrontation and violence are basically his ‘when literally everything else has failed’ options. (As seen prominently in Burning Tides, where he just keeps running and running and the only time he actually starts throwing punches is when he has to because Graves is in immediate danger and they’re backed into a corner. Which feels like it means something huh lol, I often think about what could actually make T.F. angry enough that he would openly express it and that seems to be the most likely angle for it in my eyes.)

- My take on one of the fundamental differences between Graves and T.F. is that Graves has A LOT of feelings but doesn’t quite know it (or more like can’t quite conceptualize it I should say) – he has a hard time identifying or finding vocabulary for feelings that aren’t some shade of anger. Meanwhile T.F. KNOWS he has feelings, he just doesn’t like it, ardently wishes he didn’t, and will do pretty much anything to run away and not have to engage with them haha.

Another important difference: when brought out of equilibrium Graves gets angry, and T.F. gets scared. I have the feeling that beneath it all he’s scared a lot, and it’s why his persona is so oriented towards gaining control in ways where people don’t realize it enough to even think try to take that control away from him until he’s already long gone. Misdirection as a way of life babEY

- This might be too deep in the ‘my WIP/process specific’ territory to really count as general analysis, but I think it’s there in canon too – there’s almost a feeling that he implicitly feels like he has to make up for some fundamental flaw or lack he has at the core? (Not a weird thing for him to end up feeling, considering what happened to him as a kid.) All the rest of him, all the cleverness and style and charm, is there to ‘make up’ for how at the end of the day he’s… wrong somehow. As Graves, who knows him better than anyone, focuses right in on, a coward. And that is CERTAINLY not the whole truth and even Graves in a full rage relents when he sees the effect the accusation has on him and once he gets the actual facts of what happened. But I think that sense of deep unworthiness is what’s stuck with him emotionally. His people left him because there’s something fundamentally lacking and immoral about him. He lost Graves because he’s not good enough, because he’s a coward who leaves people behind. He deserves to be alone. Mix in a ton of survivor’s guilt to taste, and I think you have the like… core emotional wound he’s constructed around.

There’s also something here about fear of profound powerlessness specifically in situations where words, generally his strongest card that’s not a literal card (har har har oh we do have fun here), simply don’t work right at the moment when he needs them to the most – he tried to beg for his people not to leave him behind, he tried to convince Graves to get the hell out with the rest of the crew… and it didn’t work. (In Burning Tides you see he’s given up even trying to explain himself, he just wants Out in whatever way leaves both him and Graves tolerably in one piece, even if he won’t be understood or heard or less alone afterwards. It takes him until like half way through the entire chase to even THINK about just telling Graves the truth. In all fairness to T.F. it probably wouldn’t have worked at that moment, but it does vaguely crack me up that he didn’t even consider it until all of Bilgewater harbor was already burning merrily behind them fhsajkfa)

- He has a little bit of a (perfectly justified considering his background honestly) chip on his shoulder, especially when it comes to powerful or arrogant people. There seems to be a special satisfaction in outsmarting and robbing specifically rich assholes (which would also be the people who have the most to steal, so y’know good times all round). From his short stories and few places in his bio you almost get the feeling that he has a funny sort of Robin Hood-esque sense of lopsided justice about it. (Robin Hood-esque only so far as to define ‘the poor’ as the eternally hard-strapped ‘T.F. & Graves Waistcoats and Cigars Fund’, of course lol)

I think T.F. both has a mind that tends more towards analyzing the big picture and also has more direct experience with like… structural/systemic powerlessness and oppression. So the cons they pull are probably partly how he channels the emotions that arise out of that (and the rest he just represses, like the relatable guy he is haha)

- Graves being back would cause some IMMENSE internal conflict in him, I feel – of course all the feelings of relief and attachment and love, but also… so much of who he is now came about specifically to find a way to deal with Graves being gone, with seemingly just shutting down the entirety of his need for real human companionship or closeness for like a decade, things that are suddenly starting to be brought online again and must be tremendously stressful to deal with when you’ve had it completely suppressed and deadened for so long. He’s put so much into trying to be fundamentally unattached to anything, anywhere, anyone (and there are some things here about perpetually being an outsider his whole life that I can’t quite put into words, but that’s a dimension too.) That sort of psychological self defense mechanism doesn’t just contentedly nod its head and go away just because something good happened one time haha. Probably a work in progress there huh (at least he’s not alone in it now <3)

PLUS some bonus Graves POV observations because man. I love writing him, he’s just a marvel of a man

- I know I call him a dumbass all the time, but in a street smart way I think he’s actually quite clever haha, he just has a bad tendency to get hung up on an idea and get tunnel sight. (I’ve based this a lot on the short stories but see also more recently his Sentinel skin voice lines for good examples: he’s incredibly straightforward in that ‘well obviously if it doesn’t affect me personally I ain’t gonna give it that much thought’ way, but you also have glimpses of surprising insight/shrewdness and… I don’t quite know how to put it, but something like an ability to get to the bottom line of something without getting caught up in the details. (I suspect T.F. does find himself lost in the details quite frequently, he’s much more attached to the decorative curlicues of the world.) Graves clearly & frequently has no idea what’s going on, but he strips things down to the essentials very quick: Lucian’s story as a direct thematic mirror to Viego’s, Is There A Sun Lady – Oh, I See, all of this is weird and creepy and needs shooting, and maybe most crucial of all: Isolde doesn’t want to be with her husband anymore so what he’s doing is just like. Extra shitty. He gets what he needs to get and then just barges ahead heedlessly with that. Icon.)

- He’s actually pretty darn eloquent in a gruff sort of way and uses some quite sophisticated vocabulary! And the way this is contrasted with the tendency to slip into blunter coarser language just as readily -- like when he takes the time to describe the monster that takes down the Prince’s ship in such poetic terms as ‘gargantuan’ and ‘the behemoth’s immense, distended jaw’ and it having ‘pallid dead eyes the size of the moon’, and meanwhile during his swim at the beginning of the story we get bastard cold and bastard dark and full of bastard jellyfish and crabs – brings me such immense and unending delight

- He’s more eloquent in his internal voice than he is when speaking (especially noticeable in Destiny and Fate; he does have a tendency to fumble his words when talking lol), and he gets quite easily lost in his own meandering reflective musings in a way I find incredibly endearing. I’d almost call it whimsical at times, honestly, hilarious as that is? Like when he’s literally so absorbed in a line of thought he forgets which way they’re rowing and T.F. has to remind him. (I think T.F. generally has more of a grip of what’s going on around them than Graves does lol)

- There’s an important distinction to be made that Graves actually does, by and large, read T.F: very closely and seemingly also pretty damn accurately. He’s good at (and clearly very interested in) reading his moods, spotting what tactics he’s using interpersonally, when he’s being genuine and when he’s being dissembling.

What Graves is actually bad at is understanding his own emotions, and to not bleed those emotions into other people’s motivations and behavior, especially when he’s upset or in heightened states of feeling, like he is all the way through Burning Tides. He can only name his own feelings in a vocabulary of anger, when it’s pretty clear from the subtext that there’s a whole bunch of other stuff going on there, and he has incredible trouble divorcing those feelings from what other people’s got going on with them right then. He feels hurt, betrayed, and undone by everything that’s happened to him, so the intention to hurt, betray and undo must live in the other person who he feels caused it. In less drastic cases you see him do this a bit when he feels like T.F. is being evasive with him – taking it as a form of rejection rather than realizing T.F. is just lost in his own thoughts, sort of thing. There’s a real improvement in this one between Burning Tides and Destiny and Fate, though, so maybe he’ll have an easier time of it with some time and practice.

Sorry it took so long to get back to you on this and that it’s a bit of a rambling mess, words have been real hard recently. Or rather I have too many words, all the time, left and right, I just can’t put them into the right orders to make any sense hahaha, I hope there’s some useful point in this somewhere for you at least!

#hopefully this makes some kind of sense my brain is in... a state but it was actually really nice to just focus on some character analysis!#tf x graves #league of legends #twisted fate

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atsuminthe · 3 years ago

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AD INFINITUM

I — AD IDEM

→ SYNOPSIS: They got to feel the ‘end of the world’ on their own skin—they’ll live to see another day, together. Alternatively, Atsumu and Osamu go on a journey of self-discovery, forging new bonds and strengthening their own, as they navigate through a post-apocalyptic world riddled with dangers in hopes of reuniting with their parents.

→ listen to... YIRUMA — RIVER FLOWS IN YOU

“ask not the sun why she sets—why she shrouds her light away...”

Earthquakes weren’t uncommon.

They occurred regularly, sometimes like clockwork—most of them were small, somewhere around 2 or 3 on the Richter scale—you’d be barely able to feel them if you planted your hands firmly against the ground. Everyone was used to them—yet the one that brought doom upon the entire nation was virtually unpredictable, happening between two ‘planned’ ones and absolutely throwing any effective evacuation plan out the window.

It was one of the many around the world that almost shattered the continents, rattling the globe itself to the core. Something of a chain reaction, the seismologists said, that triggered every other natural disaster you could think of: tsunamis, landslides, volcanic eruptions.

A 10, kind of like the highest setting in terms of power levels. The most effective way nature could use to wipe out humanity.

The first day was what everyone calls ‘the beginning of the end’, where reality hits you in the face and you scramble for safety only to realize that nothing is safe, except for the underground shelters—yet they’re stuffed, some exceeding full capacity as everyone is trying to survive.

Survive.

It’s probably a weak word, compared to what everyone is feeling. The self-preservation instinct went crazy in every living organism as fights erupted everywhere, tearing families apart and destroying every bit of decency humanity had left—massacres at every step, every corner, every blink.

It would be later described as ‘«The Exorcist», but make it ten times worse’ by the eventual survivors. The few that remained, the few that held onto that sliver of hope with their teeth.

With every collapsing building and each shockwave obliterating everything in its path, life expectancy got lower and lower. Somehow, the masses that huddled together lasted longer than the aristocracy, with their fancy equipment and private housing.

The second to seventh day was a blur—mostly dying people, scavenging for essentials, trying to find the remnants of your family. On the eighth day, some sort of parasite invaded certain target dead bodies, preventing them from rotting in the scorching heat that settled after the eruption of a seemingly inactive volcano in mount Adatara.

‘Undeads’ started rising and they quickly became a problem because of their ability to spread both diseases—similar to rats during the European Black Plague—and infect others with the mysterious parasite through biting, scratching or wounding in general.

Sendai, along with Tokyo, Hiroshima, Fukuoka and Sapporo, became epicentres of high-risk areas. Anyone within a radius of 100 km was advised to leave immediately, if they could, and head towards a decontamination camp—Niigata, Nagoya, Osaka, Kagoshima or Hakodate.

The Miya twins took that advice—or, at the very least, tried to.

They were in Tokyo when it happened, waiting for their match. Who were they playing against? That was the last of their concerns when the rumbling started, shaking the entire building—normally, everyone panicked (not that something else was expected, no matter how organized you are). The more fragile parts of the gym collapsed suddenly, before anyone had a chance to react, and Osamu and Atsumu found themselves outside, pushed by the crowd—but all alone. Where was everyone? Did they not get out? They probably have—Kita most likely steered everyone clear of the falling debris.

They didn’t have time to worry about that. They’d meet somewhere, sometime.

Confusion overtook them. What were they supposed to do? The rumbling didn’t cease, nor did it falter in the slightest, so the only option left for them was to continue getting pushed by the crowd and see where they end up.

It wasn’t great. If anything, their days were fuzzy—no Internet connection, no signal, no way to communicate with anyone. The streets ended up empty by the time they reached Niigata and the deserted buildings creeped them out in a weirder way than they would have in normal circumstances. They were too late, they realized—far too late for their liking, but since they had to go on foot all the way from Tokyo, they supposed it couldn’t be helped. Atsumu complained about the heat, the humidity, the cold nights, the scarce water supply, the even scarcer food ration—everything he could think of, while Osamu groaned and put up with it, as he was used to his twin’s antics. His annoyance didn’t go unnoticed, though—when the blond realized that whining won’t get him anywhere (and he was losing energy over it, too), he stopped. All he said were little comments over the state of the world, cracking some jokes here and there and trying to make his way-too-serious twin smile for at least a few seconds—and he succeeded at some point, when he heard Osamu snort in front of him, even if his back was all Atsumu could see.

Everything was in shambles—none of them expected anything else, but the only thing they could seek solace in was the other.

Such was the truth.

Miya Atsumu only had Miya Osamu. Miya Osamu only had Miya Atsumu.

They were alone in a world that wanted them dead and they refused to give up.

They’d hold onto each other until their last breaths.

“A told ya, we need to stop and eat. We haven’t sat down since we passed that mall in Iiyama!” Atsumu huffed, tugging on the tattered sleeve of his brother’s tracksuit, which prompted the silver-haired man to groan and turn around—his eyes were tired, slightly unfocused, with dark circles under them as he glared.

“Shut yer trap, ‘Tsumu. We almost reached Suzaka, and from there we have 10, maybe 20 minutes until Nagano,” Osamu muttered, shrugging his twin’s hand off his sleeve. “Quit yer whinin’, we can rest then.”

“Yer gonna collapse and a ain’t carryin’ ya all the way ta Nagano,” the blond warned, scowling. With a stomp of his foot, he stopped in his tracks and plopped on the ground, refusing to budge even after Osamu’s harsh gaze. “Ya ain’t scarin’ me with that shit. Sit yer ass down and let’s eat whatever the fuck ya found.”

“At least help me set up some makeshift camp, ya pig,” the grey-eyed man groaned, giving in to his brother’s insistence. Truth be told, he felt the fatigue catching up to him, realizing that he couldn’t go further than Obuse and it would actually be a good idea to rest. Atsumu wasn’t the brightest in many things, but—even he had to admit—he was an emotionally intelligent cookie. Muttering an ‘sorry for that’ under his breath, Osamu lit a little fire with whatever flammable stuff he found lying around as Atsumu took out the blue tent they found under the rubble of a sports store in Tokamachi.

“So what do we have?” the blond asked, zipping up the flaps of the tent and sitting next to his twin, who was trying his hardest to not drop the tin cans containing their dinner. Incoherent mumbles fell from Osamu’s lips in an attempt to answer and Atsumu only sighed, gingerly plucking the utensils from his brother’s hands and taking care of the food himself. “Just rest, dumbass. A’ll wake ya up when it’s ready,” he reasoned when Osamu whined something about ‘doing it himself’—his eyes closed a second later, a soft snore escaping him as his head bobbed up and down, making his twin puff a laugh through his nostrils.

“A’ll stay watch tonight, but ya gotta do the rummagin’ next time we go lookin’ for food,” Astumu explained as he fed his brother some canned soup, smiling gently at the sleepy state he was in—he could barely sit straight, but the smell of food suddenly gave him enough energy to eat. A slight nod was the only confirmation he needed—he patted the grey locks, settling down with his own can of soup. “Could have been worse,” he mused, swirling the cheap liquid in the can. “We could have been dead.”

“Guess what we have is better than nothin’,” Osamu reasoned in his sleep-laced voice and Atsumu watched him put the can down and stretch. “A’ll take over after a little nap, ‘Tsumu. Ya need yer rest too.”

“Since when did ya care so much about me, huh?”

“Since ya decided ta cook for me, even though ya suck ass at cookin’.”

“Fair enough. Now get ta sleep, else a’m makin’ ya take over watchout duty.”

“As if. Try not ta scream like a girl when ya see another Undead again, yeah?”

Atsumu grunted, looking to the side. With a last laugh, Osamu lied down on the blanked in the tent, falling asleep instantly. His blond twin smiled gently, watching his chest rise and fall peacefully—he turned his face to the still-burning fire, the heat hitting his face welcome against the crisp cold of the night.

Don’t worry, ‘Samu. A’ll watch over ya, like a always have.

taglist: @risjime;

#[ ��️ : ad infinitum ]#[ minty’s kitchen treats — series ]#haikyuu!!#miya atsumu #miya osamu #apocalypse au

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imagines-r-s · 5 years ago

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Difficult Missions

Requests are open

--I also had to repost this because my tumblr glitched and messed up--

Part 2 coming soon...

Requested: no

Summary: you and Poe had gone on plenty of missions together, all successful. Of course it was this one that just had to go wrong.

WC: 1866

Pairing: Poe Dameron x solo!reader

Being a part of the resistance was risky business. You lost people all the time, no matter who you cared about you couldn’t save everyone. After being in the Resistance for some time, you learn that death and pain don’t discriminate. Your mother, Leia Organa, always tried to protect you from the pain as much as she could. She had already lost your father and your brother. You made sure to protect those you cared about and avoid pain after Ben turned.

Your main priorities were always your mother, Poe, and BB-8. Your mom wasn’t just your mom, she was also general and was needed in the resistance, Poe was your best friend and you cared about him too much to lose him, and you knew that Poe couldn’t survive without BB-8.

You always hated when Poe went on missions. You and him had been friends since you joined the Resistance after coming back from training with your Uncle Luke, when since you were forced to come back. You and Poe just had a weird relationship, often more flirtatious than most friendships, but you never acted on anything.

“I want the two of you to find San Tekka. He’s located on Jakku,” your mother, stated,” he should have the piece of the map that we need to find Luke.” You and Poe gathered your things as your mom gave the briefing on how the mission should go. This was not your first mission with Poe, and you’d assume it wouldn’t be your last.

Once Poe had left the briefing room, your mom stopped you. “y/n, you know there’s a possibility of you seeing Ben. If you do see him, be cautious.” I was afraid she would bring him up, “I will, mom, I promise.” You said your goodbyes and headed to the ship dock. When you got to the ship dock, you saw Poe and BB-8. You loved watching them interact because Poe acted like such a dad. You were so focused on your thoughts that you didn’t realize Poe was calling your name.

“y/n. y/n, you okay?” You shook off your thoughts, “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure? If you’re not sure about this mission, it’s probably not smart for you to go.”

“I feel like you’re just trying to find a way to make sure you get all the credit there, Dameron.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you think that low of me.”

“Let’s go, Dameron,” you said as you walked past him, nudging his shoulder.

You and Poe got every supply that you needed and you were on your way. You and Poe caught up on the recent missions you had gone on apart from each other and many other things. Once you had landed in Jakku, you sensed as if something bad was about to happen, but you pushed it away and tried to hurry on the mission.

“I’ll go see San Tekka, can you keep watch?” Poe asked, bringing you back to reality.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll stay with BB-8.” You watched as BB-8 started to roll himself quickly past you. You weren’t really paying attention until you saw him stop and lookup. The First Order ships were coming close. You needed to get back to Poe and fast. You just hoped he was able to get the map.

By the time you had gotten back to Poe, you were out of breath from running. “y/n, what is it?” Poe said concerned after seeing your exhausted state. “We’ve got company.”

San Tukka was rushing for us to leave. You wanted to go as soon as you could, otherwise, you’d have to face your brother. Poe and you ran to your X-Wings as quickly as possible, trying to get away from the incoming stormtroopers. Poe and you made an effort to get out as quickly as possible, but as fate had it, it didn’t go that way. Poe and you had just boarded your X-Wings when you looked over to Poe and noticed his ship had been shot at by stormtroopers. “POE!”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me, Princess.” He just had to call me by that stupid nickname, didn’t he? Not important, please proceed. You looked over and saw Poe get out of his X-Wing after shooting the stormtroopers that were right on our tail. “Poe, what are you-?” You could tell he was too far away to here you. Fuck. Dameron, you dumbass.

You got out of your X-Wing and followed after him. “y/n, stay back. I can’t go, but you can. Stay with BB-8.” You gave him a very confused look, “Poe, I’m not leav-”

“Go before it’s too late. Ren is close and I can’t have you getting stuck here, too. The Resistance needs you and so does the General. So please go with BB-8 and get away.”

“Poe, I can’t leave you!”

“Yes, you can. Now go!”

You didn’t want to leave, but he was right. No one would be able to help him if you weren’t there to help your mother. There had already been too many losses. You started going towards your X-Wing with BB-8, but just as you were about to start your X-Wing, you sensed that Ben was close. You always were able to sense his presence, but now it was much stronger.

You looked over to where you saw your brother’s infamous TIE-fighter land. There were many stormtroopers attacking the villagers and you wanted to try and protect them the only way that you could. “BB-8, I want you to go as far away as you can for now and please be careful. I still have my tracker on me, so when it’s safe I’ll be able to find you.”

You saw Poe attacking some stormtroopers that had seen you and him running, so you found a place near him to shoot. “I told you to go, Princess,” you could tell he was annoyed but also glad that you had stayed. “And I told you I’m not going without you, flyboy.”

Poe looked over, “If it comes down to it, do you have your lightsaber?” You nodded your head in response, but really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “Alright, let’s do this then.”

Poe was doing good at blasting incoming stormtroopers, and you did your best to defend those who couldn’t help themselves. That’s when you saw that the stormtroopers had already found San Tukka. They dragged him to your brother and you were close enough to hear them talking, but you couldn’t focus, you were too shocked when you saw Ben.

Ben had changed a lot since your days of training with Luke together. Being twins, you were extremely close, in general, and with the force. After Snoke had tempted him, he begged you to join him, but you knew you couldn’t. You and Luke were the sole survivors of his attack on the Jedi Temple. Your Uncle Luke made sure you were prepared before sending you back to your mom and then isolating himself. He always gave hints of where he might be, so you had an idea of where he could be, but you weren’t sure where this place was. The map was needed to confirm any allegations.

The glow of a red lightsaber is what pulled you from your thoughts. You turned and saw San Tukka be struck and killed by your brother’s lightsaber. You audibly gasped, a little too loud.

“I knew I sensed you here, y/n.”

“Hello there, Ben.”

“I assume we came here for the same reasons?”

“Yeah, but I’ll actually get what I came here for.” You were about to draw your lightsaber until you sensed someone shooting at Ben, and you knew exactly who it was. I swear I’m the only rational one. Ben used the force to temporarily paralyze Poe; there wasn’t much you could do to retaliate. “Ben, you don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but I do. I am more powerful than ever and all thanks to the dark side. You’re stuck being a part of something that will never see your full potential or power.” You just shook your head in response, you didn’t know how else to react. “Ben, I just want my brother back.”

“If you join me, you’ll have me back.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Just as you said that you looked over to see Poe getting knocked down and dragged to Ben by some stormtroopers. You tried hard not to show emotion, knowing that Ben would use it against you.

Poe kept his cocky front on as he stood in front of Kylo Ren. Then, the stormtroopers knocked his knees in and you saw his front break for a moment. Ben knelt down in front of Poe and you were about to draw your lightsaber. “y/n, if you come closer or try anything, I will hurt him more than I plan to. I can tell by his thoughts that he cares deeply about you, so I might have to take you if he won’t tell me where the map is.”

Poe looked to you and you could tell exactly what he was thinking, “I’m not going to let you get hurt.” You just rolled your eyes, you wanted to do so much, but you couldn’t let him get hurt. Poe and Ben shared glances for a moment, “So, who talks first? I talk first? You talk first?” This dumbass.

After a very brief conversation between the two, you could tell it wasn’t going to end well. Ben had him searched and then ordered the troopers to take him on board. You couldn’t let that happen, so you went with the natural Solo instinct and drew your lightsaber. “Shouldn’t have done that, y/n.” Just as you drew your lightsaber, he started to force choke Poe. You couldn’t let Poe die because of your stupid decision, so you put it back. “Wise decision.”

The stormtroopers and Ben turned and started dragging Poe away to which you pulled our your blaster and struck Ben. You hated that you had to, but it was needed. Ben turned back to you, but you didn’t realize Phasma was right by you as she blasted you in the leg. “OW.”

You struggled to get away from the ships in time as Ben was quickly on your tail. “y/n, I assumed you would be smarter.”

“I’m obviously smarter than you.”

“But I’m smart enough to not let my emotions blind me from what’s important.” Although he was right, you’d never admit anything. You didn’t notice that Ben had pulled his lightsaber out and was trying to start a fight with you. You were able to pull yours out just before he could hit you. “I don’t want to fight you, Ben.”

“Then, don’t fight it. Just join me.” You struggled to keep up with his quick actions, as your hurt leg was slowing you down.

“I will never join you.”

“Then, you will suffer the consequences of your choice.” He withdrew his lightsaber, so you thought he was going to leave you, but then he came closer to you and everything went black.

#poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x solo!reader #poe dameron x reader #star wars imagines #star wars the force awakens #sw tfa

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devilbrakers · 4 years ago

Note

42, 43, 45 & 48 for anyone you want... I’m ready to get hurt 🙂

I am also ready 😞✌ (from the angsty relationship asks)

42. if one of them gets injured, who worries more?

Valen and Kaidan:

They’re both worrywarts, but I’ll actually give this one to Valen. She’s the Dragonborn so Kaidan’s more fragile in the grand scheme of things. Not that Kaidan doesn’t worry because he does, and he often. But Valen doesn’t feel that she has to worry about her mortality as often as he does or as often as she has to worry about his or others’ around her, given everything that she’s been through. She’s correct in that worry. Kaidan’s more likely to slip through her fingers than the other way around and that’s a hard pill to swallow for both of them.

Zath and Dorian:

Again, both are worrywarts. But I’ll give this one to Dorian. They both panic and baby each other when the other gets injured. But Dorian has more of an internal crisis about it, I guess? Zath is the Inquisitor and often considered the only hope for Thedas at the moment; the latter isn’t entirely true but it feels like it more day by day. So Dorian feels like he failed in a way when Zath has a close call. Not so much when it’s something minor, that’s bound to happen and it’s out of Dorian’s control. But while he does love Zathrion dearly, he feels that he has to protect him for the world’s sake as well, not just his.

El and MacCready:

Oh my god, I hate both of them adkafldjs. So it’s equal for these two I’d say. They’re both parents so it’s constantly “you need to make it back home to Shaun/Duncan!” back and forth. It eventually becomes both of them once they’re together but I think it’s funny to think about RJ breaking a toe and El screaming about how he’s gonna die and leave Duncan fatherless, and now they’re both worried.

43. who would be more afraid of the other’s death/harm?

Valen and Kaidan:

While I’ve written something for Valen’s death because I thought Kaidan would be more impacted out of the two at the time; I’m gonna give this to Valen now. She’d never fully recover or move on from it, to be honest. She loves him too much. It would also depend on HOW he died. I’ve thought about this a lot, but Bosmer have a much longer life span than humans so it’s not unreasonable to say Valen would probably outlive Kaidan by a longshot. If she were to lose him that way, that would probably be the easiest way because she’d at least be expecting it. But if he were to be murdered, or god forbid if she were to accidentally to something to him, she couldn’t move on from that. It’d eat her up inside forever.

Zath and Dorian:

Zathrion has experienced a lot of death in his life, so I think losing Dorian would be a breaking point for him. He already has to be away from him since Dorian is in Tevinter, so that’s already putting a strain on both of them, Zath especially. While it’s not entirely healthy, Zath is dependent on the people in his life for a lot of things in the emotional department, Dorian especially. He doesn’t make this well known, but Dorian doesn’t find it hard to pick him apart at this point. Zath is coming apart at the seams under the weight of the world and losing Dorian would kill him.

Damon and Danse:

Danse, no question about it. It also doesn’t help that Damon’s self-preservation instinct isn’t the best around. Whether that’s due to his mental illnesses he won’t talk about or that’s just how he is, the world may never know! But yeah, it’s Danse for sure. It’s in his dialogue, he doesn’t know what to do without the Sole Survivor after Blind Betrayal. While Damon always has this fact in the back of his mind, it doesn’t stop him from being a dumbass and worrying Danse to no end. He loves Danse immensely and feels bad for worrying him, but he puts other people before himself no matter what. It’s a miracle he’s survived this long, to be honest.

45. who would be more likely to save who?

Valen and Kaidan:

I’d say it’s 50/50 for these two, depending on the situation. If something’s already happened to Kaidan, it’s easier for Valen to swoop in as the healer and fix the problem than it is for Kaidan to block attacks that would be potentially fatal to her. So it goes either way.

Zath and Dorian:

I’d say since Zath has more traditional views on death, it’d be Dorian in a close call. That’s not to say that Zath would be let Dorian die, he’d do everything in his power to save him. But he’s no necromancer. I think in Thedas that comes with special healing powers that Dorian can take advantage of for Zath when he about to die or during an anchor flareup.

Helena, Felria, and Lucien:

Can’t believe I’ve barely talked about the murder trio on my blog... It’s pretty up in the air for these 3, I would say. @numbaoneflaya if you would say differently about anything I have to say, please enlighten me with your knowledge, I am very small and stupid. Anyway, I feel like Helena is more prone to leave Fel and Lucien to their own shenanigans but will swoop in if need be. She’s highly skilled in magic and everyone wants her to step on them, so do with that what you will. Felria refuses to get her outfit dirty so she’s more apt to use poisons and her bow and arrow, so she does everything clean and rarely gets caught. Lucien just stabs people and somehow gets away with it. So none of them are helpless by any means and it’s rare that they’re asking for help. So it can be any of the 3 helping any of them to be honest, they’re all competent in different aspects.

48. who comforts who after a bad dream/event?

Valen and Kaidan:

G O D, I was thinking about this the other night and nearly fucking imploded. It’s usually Kai comforting her, but I was just thinking about Kai calming her down in a really soothing tone and petting her hair, like “It’s okay, sweetheart.” You know? 🥺🥺🥺. But sometimes it’s the other way around too, especially after Kai has a bad dream. Valen will wrap herself around him and run her fingers through his hair, cradling his head to her chest until he calms down enough to talk about it.

Zath and Dorian:

Zath is one of my few OCs to seek out comfort on his own volition. So whenever anything particularly upsetting happened on a mission, he would seek out a hug or some sort of affection from Dorian. Now he usually reaches for the messaging crystal to vent or just to hear Dorian’s voice. After bad dreams, which Zath has often, Dorian would ask if he wanted to talk about it, which Zath often said no to, and then Dorian would gather Zath in his arms and they would fall asleep that way.

Kainan and Anders:

It goes both ways for them because they both have a lot on their plates and a lot of trauma. It’s not uncommon for one of them to wake up from a nightmare and to seek out the other for snuggles to calm themselves down. They deal with bad events differently though. I feel like Anders would want comfort from Kainan more openly than she would want it from him. She’s more than willing to give after something bad happens to him, no matter who’s around or on the team that day. But if something bad happens to her, she only wants comfort from him in private. Like the whole Leandra situation, for example, she wouldn’t let him touch her or hardly talk to her until they got to the estate. She’s fairly private about her emotions sometimes, she doesn’t like to look weak.

#ask #my ocs #valen #zath #el #damon #helena #kainan #also not my oc #felria #thank you!!!

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ohnohetaliasues · 5 years ago

Text

Stones to Abbigale {Ch. 7}

(Kat)

Okay, so I read ahead and found out that this chapter depicts a school shooting. Now, school shootings are something that utterly terrify me, but this book has done nothing but annoy me, so I doubt I’ll be all that scared.

But, if you have troubles reading or hearing about school shootings, or things regarding gun violence, feel free to wait until I review the next chapter to read on. I’ll write a short summary in the introduction there for anyone who is uncomfortable with continuing.

If that’s so, I’ll see you next chapter.

But if not, read on and we will continue together.

Let’s get into it.

I found myself fallen, somewhere deep in a conscious state of unconsciousness, some place I can’t remember. It may sound strange, even ridiculous, but I felt like I opened my eyes while I was asleep, and saw only black. Not as if I were blind, but as if the rest of existence had simply disappeared and I was just, alone. It wasn’t long before I woke to find my- self submerged in reality once more.

Good to start off with more word salad.

Thoughts of Abbi quickly greeted me as I adjusted to the experience of my physical surroundings. For a week now I had been constantly reminding myself how lucky I was to have a relationship that actually made sense.

Are you two even dating? This has not been established.

Abbi never did anything that I felt betrayed me or exceeded the bounds of reason. Davis was sitting next to me on the bus, he was talking about his Lego collection and how he loved matching colors in a sequence within the structures he assembled. He said it made him feel like there was some balance and order to his life in a weird way.

I suppose I can empathize with that. The Davis thing, not the nonsense James is talking about.

While I listened to Davis my thoughts partially remained on Abbi. She continued to fill my mind with hope no matter where I was or what I was doing.

We arrived at school on, you guessed it, another cloudy day. I know it was unreasonable to assume, but I often felt like our school was the darkest place in the city.

It was as if every morning the clouds would execute a biased agenda against our school all for the sake of depressing every poor soul who attended it. The wind was blowing. Looking back, I felt like everything about that morning was screaming at me to wake up and see what was really going on. But I couldn’t see it; I don’t know how I could have.

This is meaningless drivel, but what else is new?

Dramatic events have a way of sneaking up on us, leaving us only with feelings of remorse and thoughts of what could have been. Davis got off the bus behind me tripping a little. A normal kid would have gotten upset, but Davis, as usual, found a way to turn it into something positive, he even laughed as he stumbled.

I mean, I also laugh at myself when I screw up.

I turned to check on Davis to make sure he was ok when I heard a loud popping sound ring off towards the school.

Okay, let me note something here.

This is not how you write events.

You do not write something out of the fucking blue with no buildup. Your main character should not just exist like a cardboard cutout until the plot demands he does something.

The main character should be doing interesting things in between the major events of the story. Not fucking this.

My immediate assumption was that a car in the back parking lot had just backfired. There were a lot of crappy second-hand cars at our school so it wasn’t unreasonable, but still, I assumed wrong. Davis and I heard screams immediately after, in a way the wind seemed to turn the screams what sounded like a chorus, one familiar to the haunting dream I had about Abbi now many days past.

Oh, don’t give me that bullshit, your nonsense dream is not connected to this.

Hearing more popping sounds and screams in the wind I instinctually

Instinctively.*

I grabbed Davis’ jacket pushing him back towards the bus. Students who weren’t aware of what was going on due to the heavy wind and competing noise from the bus engines reacted as if we were being inconsiderate jerks.

I believe you’d be able to hear actual fucking gunshots over the wind.

To shake everyone into reality I screamed, “There’s a shooting! Get back on the bus!”

A sudden panic took over everyone within the vicinity. The bus driver who was already looking around, suspicious of the faint sounds he heard, reacted as well, “Get on the goddamn bus!” he screamed.

I could hear some students begin to cry out of panic as we all rushed to duck down behind the bus seats. The bus driver slammed the door shut leaving behind a few students who had already walked too far away from the bus.

NO. YOU DICKWAD GO GET THOSE STUDENTS.

The driver, despite being a grown man, was freaking out like everyone else and, as a result, found himself crashing our bus into the one parked immediately ahead of him. As the bus’s collided our bodies smacked into the seats ahead of us. One student wasn’t even hiding behind the seats yet and flew forward to land face down in the aisle.

Get the fuck out of there.

The bus driver, quickly recovering from his mistake, backed up to maneuver out of the drop off area. The window by my seat fell off the side of the bus and shattered on the ground while the front windows also began to detach after being impacted by the earlier collision.

No it didn’t.

You mean to tell me they just dislodged themselves from the frame?

Bullshit.

A thunderous gust of wind burst through the void left by the fallen windows. With the wind came the sounds of even louder gunshots and screaming as if the shooter was closer to the front of the school.

I was too scared to look but someone else had locked their eyes on the front door of the school and screamed “Seth!”

A sense of absolute horror overtook my body and tears began to flow from my eyes. If Seth was really shooting up the school I knew that meant he would be looking for Abbi.

All fear left my body. Thinking only of only her I leapt up and screamed, “You have to let me off right now!”

Bitch no. You wanna get shot?

The bus driver ignored me initially; he was too concerned with getting away from the school. He probably didn’t even hear me with everything that was going on.

If he gets off the bus I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.

The inconsistent and forceful acceleration forced me to fall back in my seat, countless thoughts pounded through my head and yet every other word screamed Abbi’s name.

My mind was numb; the wind surged through my hair. Everyone around acted almost like magnets, helplessly nailed to the dirty floor.

That doesn’t make me think of magnets, Onion. Find a better simile.

I was the only one sitting in a seat, completely lost in thought. My eyes staring off a thousand yards, my skin pulsating with heat, I felt like I was a bomb only minutes away from detonation. I remained silent, still, waiting for my numbers to fall in sync.

The fuck does ‘numbers fall in sync’ mean? It barely even goes with the bomb thing.

Waiting for my mind to green light an act that would change my life forever.

This is an incomplete sentence. What you could do is join this sentence with the last one by using a comma.

I had a moment of abnormally intense clarity. Seth had irreversibly lost his mind, I could only suspect he would likely blame his broken state on Abbi after their last encounter.

This is not Abbi’s fault.

She could not have known this would happen, and I find it concerning that James is not even mentioning that he’s worried about Abbi blaming herself for something she’s innocent of or how that will effect her.

No, just that Seth is crazy because of Abbi breaking up with him.

God, I’ve never wanted to deck someone more than I want to deck Onion as I type this.

I couldn’t take thinking about it for more than a few seconds. I sprinted up to the driver and screamed, “If you don’t let me off, I’ll jump off!”

Through what? The door is closed. Through a broken window?

You will break your ankles, you dumbass.

The bus driver plunged the bus into the side of the road violently, as a result I stumbled falling hands first onto the bus dashboard.

You are actually insane. Also, this sentence is structured weird.

The driver yelled, “You got a death wish, that’s your choice but I’m getting everyone else to safety!” He opened the door and aggressively motioned for me to get off.

YOU GODDAMN IDIOT WHY ARE YOU ENDANGERING STUDENT LIVES? DO NOT LET THIS ASSHOLE OUT DURING AN ACTIVE SHOOTING. THIS IS SO UNREALISTIC I CANNOT.

By the first wave of his backhand I had already bolted out. I violently ripped my backpack open and tried to put on my skates while maintaining my speed towards the school.

YOU MEAN TO TELL ME JAMES STOPPED WHILE PEOPLE ARE GETTING SHOT AT TO PUT HIS FUCKING ROLLER BLADES ON?

JUST NO.

After only a few seconds I was skating at full speed. I could already hear the first of many sirens to come far off in the distance as the gunshots continued to ring in the heavy air.

This entire situation is complete and utter bullshit.

My whole body felt like it was jumping out of my skin. Tears continued to pour from my face from both the wind hitting my eyes and the war raging in my mind.

I’m sorry, never in my life have I ever read the phrase ‘the war raging in my mind.’

It’s just terrible.

As I approached the school, I could see freshly fallen bodies by the door exactly where Seth had walked out as our bus left. I could’ve sworn they were all still moving but my eyes were blurred from tears and I knew many if not all of the shots were fatal.

Okay, I may have said in the intro that it wouldn’t scare me because of the quality of the writing, but I didn’t say it wouldn’t make me sad.

But in the mix of that, I’m mad.

Because Onion is taking an issue that is still a giant problem as I type this and romanticizing it in his shitty book. It’s not okay and he should feel scummy about it.

Seeing your friends die like that would be terrible and traumatic and scarring. Survivors develop PTSD because of the things that happen to them.

I cannot say I know what it’s like since the most I’ve experienced is a lock down drill because of a gun threat, but I was afraid for my life as I watched police sweep my school, while the teachers didn’t tell the students what was happening. Nobody should ever have to be scared in a place of learning.

I was scared. But I was nowhere near as scared as students who died or were injured or where witnesses in actual deadly shootings like Stoneman Douglass or Columbine or all the others, not by a long shot.

This just feels like Onision is taking a controversial topic which makes teenagers like me feel unsafe in their own schools and using it to cause relationship drama between his protagonists, using it as a plot point when the plot could have gone in many different directions. I’ve seen books which are about school shootings, but they’re respectful of victims of actual massacres.

This.

This isn’t one of them. This is romanticizing and in poor taste. And it pisses me the hell off.

Okay, rant over, let’s keep going.

I didn’t know much of anything about human anatomy, but through the blur I could tell Seth was shooting people mostly in the neck and head, leaving little for medics to work with.

I reiterate. This is disgusting.

I fell to my knees at the entrance whipping my legs around while simultaneously straining to take off my skates. The floor was too slippery with blood to move anywhere on those tiny wheels.

You’re a fucking idiot for putting them on in the first place.

My pants already had bloodstains from the bodies near by.

Is the floor just slick with blood?

That’s kind of bullshit.

I had no time to focus on what was happening, I had no time to consider anything but Abbi’s safety. I ran off in my socks, one barely even on my foot, leaving everything at the entrance, I felt I was running entirely on an autopilot function I didn’t even know I had.

All of this is just so disrespectful and insensitive. 

In only seconds I saw more blood than I had seen, let alone imagined, in my entire life. The inside of the school was soaked with the sounds of sobbing students  

Do not ever say something is soaked with sounds. It makes no sense.

Part of me hopes Onion sees this review before he goes to prison. If he makes a video about me, I will laugh my absolute ass off. And he can die mad about it. 

who weren’t shot but too scared to move or even function. One student, clearly in shock was just crawling down the hall wailing and shaking.  

I-

Why?

That just makes me think of a cheap haunted house and that isn’t a good visual to have when you’re writing about a school shooting.

The thought of Abbi shook me out of the sorrow I felt for that student. The first place I could think to look for Abbi was her locker and I was already half way there.

Why the hell would Abbi be near her locker during all of this?

Is she completely brain dead?

I approached and found nothing,

Yeah, unsurprising since you’d have to be a moron to stand out in the open.

Like James since he’s literally running out in the open.

no one was even shot in the area of her locker, and I had to look elsewhere. As I returned to the entrance area of the school I crouched next to a table and froze in place to listen for any sign of where Seth was; it felt like minutes, but I imagine it was only seconds.

My state of mind likely altered my perception of time, every survival based operation functioning to its maximum ability aside from my flight instinct that demanded I run and hide like the rest.

Yeah, I would advise that, dipshit. Get the hell out of there.

Another gunshot had finally violently shattered the sound of whimpers and lungs desperately choking for air as they filled with blood.

I cannot with this description. All I can ask is: what the hell is wrong with you?

The gunshot sound was distant as if it went off outside, on the other end of school.

Okay so someone said they saw Seth outside the school or near the front less than a few minutes ago. Did he just teleport to the other end of the school? That is the only explanation for how he would get over there so fast.

Sprinting off in the direction of what I had already accepted as potentially my final destination, Abbi remained at the forefront of my mind.

I would appreciate if you’d tell me where the fuck that is.

Bursting out the side doors of Lakewood High I crouched and froze in place again. My senses once more ignited.

I immediately heard a voice scream out “I will not let you do this you psychopath!” It was an old woman, the only old woman I ever knew to go anywhere near the trailer classrooms just ahead.

It had to be Mrs. Stanley. I shot forward like a cannonball being fired on a long awaited enemy.

If you ever use that simile again it’ll be too soon.

Even the wind felt like it had stepped aside to let me pass without resistance.

Oh, no it didn’t.

As the art trailer came into view I could see Mrs. Stanley approaching Seth, she stood tall without any indication of fear. Seth was dressed in a long white coat with a pure white outfit underneath. This was all clearly premeditated; like he wanted to proclaim how much blood he had shed, not just around him, but on his body as well. He got what he wanted; he was drenched from collar to shoe in the blood of his fellow students.

Is that supposed to be poetic or something?

It’s just deeply disturbing.

Despite Mrs. Stanley's aggressive stance, Seth barely paid attention to her and limped by her trailer as if she didn’t even exist. I assumed his crippled posture was the result of the unfathomable reality he had found himself faced with.

I’m sorry, what?

He’s limping when he isn’t injured? That makes no sense and it isn’t poetic or deep. It’s just meaningless word salad.

What he was subjecting everyone to, the mortifying level of terror and suffering was like nothing he had likely imagined. Going back wasn’t an option on any level; Seth was already dead to the world for what he had done.

Okay, I don’t care how poetic this all is, this is just disturbing.

He had to have known there was no peace in life left for him in life. No place to hide or chance of ever feeling safe from judgment or persecution again.

I mean, it’s not wrong.

He’s 100% going to prison forever if he doesn’t kill himself before being caught.

Mrs. Stanley screamed at him again, “You are an embarrassment! A disgrace! How dare you, you scum!” Upon hearing her verbal condemnation without hesitation Seth whipped his gun toward her like a sword being unsheathed, time again felt like it had drastically slowed as his weakened arm struggled to steady his aim.

My eyes are glazing over.

I ran at Seth as he screamed in pain just from the weight of lifting his gun towards her. Mrs. Stanley tried to step to the side of the shaking muzzle but maintained her advance on him clearly hoping to disarm him.

Please do not tell me I’m about to read about an old woman getting shot.

Because if I am, I’m fucking done.

I was just about to reach Seth to attempt disarming him when out of nowhere his gun flew in the air and Seth yelped as the air left his lungs. I screeched to a halt in my blood soaked socks trying to process what was happening.

I have no words, I just don’t.

My watery eyes and adrenaline was clouding my perception, possibly even more now than before, but I was able to process that another student had tackled Seth. I almost immediately identified the student as Jason from his size and clothing type alone.

The very same boy who had chipped my tooth and pummeled my face was now beating Seth senseless.

You’re telling me Jason is here to beat up the shooter?

Excuse me, the fuck? It’s been ten days? He’s back at school? did onion just forget he suspended Jason?

Does Jason just appear whenever punching needs to happen?

In such a strange way I could sense within myself a glimmer of deep satisfaction, not only from the realization that Jason had single-handedly cut the head off this otherwise ongoing tragedy in our lives, but instead that he had without a doubt clearly held back when he was fighting me. This time I could see Jason was letting out every ounce of brutal rage he had within him and unleashed it all on a desperately defeated Seth.

That was described so weirdly that I cannot picture this happening.

Mrs. Stanley turned her back on Seth, still being dominated by Jason’s fists, leaving him for dead to go help other students. I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air as I heard Seth’s face being repeatedly impacted by the fists and elbows of a justifiably enraged Jason.

“How could you do that to my family? To all of us! Do you think you accomplished anything you bastard? You sick freak!” Jason screamed at the now unconscious bloodied face of Seth while showing no intention of letting up.

I’m just mentally exhausted by this.

Also his family? Were they at the school? What?

Is he referring to his friends? The football team?

As I calmed my breathing, not forgetting my priority for even a moment, I quickly began running through Abbi’s daily routine at school. Her class just before art was Human Anatomy, which wasn’t far from where I was. Running back inside the school I leapt over fallen chairs and abandoned possessions only to find Abbi’s class completely empty.

I am yet again alarmed that I am apathetic in regards to this.

She was nowhere to be seen. I immediately reminded myself she was normally early, which made me begin to feel she had escaped safely as there was only one door out, a door that to my knowledge had no bodies near it. I ran taking the path of least resistance out the front entrance to see students gathering near the school property line. They were bundled in a tight-knit group behind the trees immediately outside the bus drop off zone.

Where in the literal fuck are the police?

Despite my aching feet and intense stress I reached the group in little time, now missing a sock and my feet littered with broken glass gathered throughout my search for Abbi.

Most all of the girls were crying while many of the boys were giving a thousand yard stare, their eyes locked on the school.

I would think that maybe they’d be crying too.

Pushing myself through the group I could see Abbi sitting on the ground in the upright fetal position.

So she’s just sitting with her knees tucked to her chest?

The fetal position is laying on your side curled into a ball.

An overwhelming sense of relief consumed me as I fell forward to wrap myself around her.

She was shaking and whimpering uncontrollably.

As anyone would be.

I immediately said, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” She lurched up only then realizing I had found her.

She grabbed me with a strength beyond any embrace we had had before, I never imagined she was so strong. Abbi was unable to say anything over her crying, as a wave of emotion continued to overtake me I had nothing I could say either, we remained speechless together.

I feel something, but it’s not deep, it’s very on the surface. Which is concerning.

Through the group of students’ legs I could barely see the lights from police cars pulling up to our school.

WHERE WERE THESE ASSHOLES DURING THE ACTUAL SHOOTING?

Everything seemed like it happened over a period of 40 minutes but it was in fact a small fraction of that. Soon after I witnessed unmarked cars, ambulances, and SWAT had all responded with a similar level of urgency as well.

Unmarked cars?

Also am I dumb or is this sentence not written correctly?

We could only sit and wait as the police sorted out everything that had happened over the next few hours. After some time I was able to report on what I saw as I sat on a curb while a medic pulled glass out of my feet.

Not in an ambulance?

They were all out of ambulances and stretchers so I was grateful just to have someone to help me get patched up since the adrenaline was no longer distracting me from the pain.

You stepped in glass, cry me a fucking river. You were lucky you were relatively uninjured compared to your classmates.

We were given blankets as we waited outside, Abbi refused to be more than a foot away from me for a single moment. We were both so incredibly relieved to still have each other, as if we were vital parts of the same system, one not being able to maintain their stability without the ensured safety of the other.

This romance has no build and no fucking reason for me to be invested in it.

Off in the distance, I could see a large amount of empty body bags being delivered. The entire area was swarmed with every emergency response service you could imagine.

Wouldn’t they have to dispatch a bomb squad?

Not far behind stood a group of reporters, significantly expanding in size every passing hour. Not too long after my feet were bandaged and I had given the police all the information they asked for, I was able to leave with Abbi. As we headed towards the cordon I saw my mom waving her arms just outside the police-establish barrier. Upon seeing her, the immediate sad reality sank in both our minds that Abbi’s dad didn’t even bother to show.

That’s a huge ass yikes.

Knowing what I was thinking Abbi tried to reassure me and likely herself in the process. She began saying her father probably didn’t even know there was an emergency

Did he hear the sirens? The helicopters from news crews? He’d have to be completely deaf not to know what’s going on.

but pointed out that he was probably still recovering from being drunk the night before.

So he just doesn’t care that his daughter could have been shot?

Okay, sure, fine, whatever.

Ugh.

As I walked into my mom’s arms she became the second woman that day to show me a strength I never imagined they had. Her hug, while painful, offered me an unforgettable sense of comfort. As she embraced me she revealed to my surprise that she had already been briefed on how close I was to everything that went down.

I- what?

This was closely followed?

I don’t know how this could have worked.

??????

Continuing to hold me in one of the longest hugs I had ever experienced, she told me how mad at me she was while also expressing how simultaneously proud she was of me for running into danger when so many people ran away.

Why not just say a simple ‘I’m glad you’re okay.’

Hm?

I imagined she assumed it was to help everyone in the school but the truth is, I could only feel selfish knowing I wasn’t doing anything for anyone but Abbi. I was ashamed and somewhat terrified by how little I seemed to care about most everyone else outside her.

Yeah, that should concern you.

The love and compassion being expressed towards me continued to leave me speechless. I felt Abbi rubbing my back as my mom continued to lock her arms around me.

Abbi is probably traumatized too. James isn’t the only one important here.

Abbi’s physical act of affection triggered a thought causing me to jolt upright. I quickly asked my mom if Abbi could stay with us that night and she responded positively. Her one stipulation was that we had to stop by her Dad’s house to first get his consent.

I’m sorry, but this just seems like a ploy to get the main characters in a bed together.

And that, my friends, is gross as hell.

We all got in my mom’s car and drove to Abbi’s house. My mom approached the entrance of their home by herself knowing we were basically unable to do anything outside repeatedly revisiting what had happened earlier that day.

You mean like ten minutes ago?

She knocked on the door multiple times and got no answer. She then walked back to the car and said “Hey Abbi seems no one is home want me to get your things for you?”

This quotation is devoid of commas and that upsets me.

Abbi replied, “No it’s ok I’ll get them myself, my Dad’s kind of crazy about intruders, wouldn’t want anyone...”

Abbi stopped speaking and simplified things “Be right back.”

That isn’t simplifying things.

My mom opened the car door for Abbi and she hopped out to quickly raid her room for the essentials. Before I knew it she was outside again with a bag full of her things. She was so quick to pack that it occurred to me leaving her place on the fly might’ve been more familiar to her than I knew.

Wonderful.

Remembering her brief comments earlier, I imagined there were many times where her home had become such an emotionally hostile environment that she was rendered unable to stay causing her to seek most any way out, even if it meant she was leaving one sinking ship just to climb aboard another.

My mom began talking about how happy she was that my sister had skipped school that day.

Um. Okay.

She said, “Who would have thought her rebellious attitude and disregard for her future might have saved her life?”

Had we not been through everything that day, we would have given at least a slight laugh but found ourselves all sitting in an awkward silence.

I have no valid reaction to this.

After cleaning ourselves up, Abbi and I walked into my room leaving the door open as a comfort to my mom. This was short lived, the end specifically occurring after my mom had walked into her room and closed the door. Our door closed with hers.

What? Our door?

Does this mean James’s door?

Initially I had offered Abbi the bed implying I would take the floor, but she sat down on the mattress and expressed almost exactly what I was feeling “After everything we went through today you lying next to me is the only way I’ll feel any comfort tonight” she said softly.

I was relieved and laid behind her through that night and a few nights to follow. She called her dad at home repeatedly in the days after to let him know what had happened, but he still didn’t answer.

I am appalled by that.

As was expected school had been canceled for a couple weeks.

No shit.

This reality left us to consume our time with the news, talking about the people we recognized in the photos they showed and checking in on various people we talked to at school over the phone, including Davis who had no problem getting upset at me for the first time in a long while for abandoning him on the bus as I did.

That is one of the first valid human reactions in this entire book.

Fortunately in natural Davis fashion, his frustration was quickly followed by jokes and words of encouragement.

Never mind.

Abbi and I didn’t know how to feel about so much of what happened. Through our time away from school we shared many moments of sadness, reflecting on the faces we would never see again, hearing the sad speeches of those left behind by the fallen, but most of all, our expressions of sorrow erupted from our own experiences. The images and screams still echoed in our minds.

This is so glorifying and it makes me sick.

Aside from sadness I felt an almost equally intense sensation of numbness. After a short time I found the only comfort that consistently broke through my shaken state was the warmth of Abbi pressed against me night after night. She was my sanctuary.

And you’ve been talking to her for a week or so, but whatever.

This chapter has been the complete worst by far. I’ve ranted about the reasons why, so I really don’t have any more energy to continue.

What I can say is that this is disrespectful as hell to trauma victims and it portrays Abbi in a damsel in distress light that makes my stomach twist. I could say more, but then I’d write a goddamn essay, so we’ll leave it at that.

This book is gross. I’ll see you later.

~Kat

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foxtophat · 5 years ago

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hello hello!!! it’s your friendly bi-weekly update here, telling you that this dumbass fic has updated and you can now read it! mbmbam-style talking points: Springtime, Intimate Haircuts, Children Rebellions, and Grace Under Pressure!

i had a lot of fun putting this one together, mostly b/c the entire chapter changed when i went to work on it. carmina is surprisingly fun to write, although i try to stay away from her dialogue as i can’t write children at all, and john is increasingly more frustrating for nick, which is always a blast. i think we’ll probably check in with kim next chapter and see how things are holding up on her end. i’m sure it’s fine!

as usual, if you enjoy what i’m doing, feel free to leave a comment, or reblog, or send me anonymous asks telling me i’m not thinking about xyz deeply enough and should be ashamed!!!! i won’t be ashamed but i will appreciate you taking the time to tell me i should be :)

for real though, thank you guys so much for being so supportive, and i hope that i continue to provide some good, engaging “nick and kim adopt an asshole” content!!! i appreciate each and every one of you. below the cut is the text for this chapter, in case you don’t wanna leave tumblr!

The seasons seem to roll over without Nick ever really realizing it. The last snowfall was a week ago, and although the nights are still bitterly cold and long, the sun burns bright enough in the morning to chase the chills and frost away before noon. The vines that cover everything have begun to bud again, although it'll be a little while yet before they turn pink and blossom.

Nick is glad that spring is back, but coming out of semi-hibernation is a struggle. He wants to stay in bed, to pull on a few jackets and sit around the campfire, to work on the random DIY projects that kept him busy while they were partially snowed in. Now, it's time for Kim to start talking about planting again, and Carmina has started begging to go hunting with Aunt Grace, and the radio is coming to life every evening with people checking in after their own long winter rests. Hurk and Sharky are trying to peddle something they call party liquor over their own channel, suspiciously refusing to outright call it moonshine, and Fall's End has begun broadcasting about retaking the farmland that's become home to monstrous bison and two-headed cows.

Sometimes, Nick thinks he's stuck going ten miles-per-hour while everyone else can switch gears at the drop of a hat. Adaptability is the second name of survival out here, but damn it, Nick needs a couple of days before he can start thinking about trading with other survivors, much less making the long-needed visits he's been putting off since they climbed out of the ground. He needs to go into Fall's End proper, to pay his respects to Mary May and visit Jerome. He also needs to go out and finally trade out for some hens, so they can have eggs more often, and so they have their own supply to barter with. He's got a list a mile long of things he has to do; so does Kim, for that matter, although she handles it better than he does.

At least they can use John to pick up the extra slack. John's the reason why Nick was able to clear junk out of the hangar, and why all of the trash from Carmina's old room has been taken outside and burned. Ever since Nick fixed the window in his room, John's been quicker to work and easier to instruct, and his weird habits have mostly died off. He still gets distracted during long, monotonous tasks, and he doesn't speak unless spoken to most of the time, but at least he's stopped pacing around and muttering all night, and he's starting to remember what table manners are.

The first unofficial day of spring is family haircut day. Carmina demands that Kim lop all of her long hair off, leaving her with a see-your-manager bob that Nick hopes she'll get tired of. Kim helps Nick out too, trimming up the back for him as he cuts his bushy beard down to just off his chin. Getting a clean shave is more trouble than it's worth these days, and Nick has long since gotten used to wearing a beard. Besides, Kim doesn't seem to mind the Kenny Loggins look one bit, pulling gently on his whiskers to steal a kiss once he's done.

After Nick, Kim cuts John's hair. Nick doesn't know how he feels about John being included in a family affair, but the guy needs it more than any of them. There's only so many bucket-baths one man can take, and John's hair seems to have absorbed more dirt than water could remove. Nick's not sure if it's actually eight years worth of grime that he's keeping in his tangled hair, but it's bad enough to need serious attention.

They do it upstairs in John's room with the door locked, while Carmina reads downstairs — Nick really doesn't need her asking questions about why John's being included on family haircut day, thanks. He stands by the door just in case Carmina tries to interrupt, or in the unlikely event that John tries to bolt, unhappily watching ask Kim sits John down in a chair borrowed from downstairs.

John keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes as Kim assesses the damage, hands clasped tightly in his lap. When Kim huffs unhappily at the rat's nest she's facing, he drops his head so the hair can curtain his face.

Kim hacks off as much hair as she can, careful not to cut one side too much shorter than the other until she knows what she's got left to work with. She orbits slowly around John as she quietly trims away dreaded knots and grime-caked tangles, more focused on her work than on the dangerous psychopath who could grab her kitchen shears at any moment. As she trims his bangs back, John closes his eyes, and he keeps them that way even as she moves on, leaving his face exposed.

She wrinkles her nose as she clears enough hair to reveal John's destroyed ear, heavily scarred and torn from where the deputy shot him. She says nothing about it, but Nick can see from John's expression that it's all he's thinking about. Nick wonders if he can still hear out of it, or if his eardrum never recovered. He's never even thought about it before.

The space between the three of them starts to fill with the heaviness of unintentional silence, but Nick can't bring himself to break the quiet. He doesn't want to distract Kim or trigger some fighting instinct from John. And anyway, he doesn't know what he could say that would make this whole thing feel less weird.

"Well," Kim says, once she's stepped back to get a look at her handiwork, "I mean, it's... better."

It's a shaggier, poor man's version of what John's hair used to look like, but Nick can at least tell the hair that's left is clean. There's not enough hair for him to hide behind anymore, much less hide his busted ear. For the first time, Nick notices an old scar across John's forehead and the dark gray hair that's grown in at his temples. It's... jarring. All at once, Nick is looking at the man he'd sworn to destroy as if he'd only just now removed some kind of disguise. An older, more exhausted version of his sworn enemy is sitting right there, leaving Nick to wonder if cleaning him up was even such a good idea to begin with.

"Damn," Nick says as realization dawns on him, "There's no hiding who he is now, huh."

John's jaw clenches. Nick wonders if he'd been hedging his bets on being indistinguishable from any other survivor.

"We aren't hiding him," Kim huffs.

This is news to Nick, who's been operating with as much secrecy as possible. They'd even stopped having Grace come pick up Carmina, going out to meet her instead. "Yeah, well, we aren't exactly banging pots and pans to draw attention to him, either," he points out.

" You're the one who said he needed a haircut."

"And he did! Just... I didn't realize the difference it'd make, is all." Nick tries to catch John's attention, but he seems to be just fine blending into the surroundings while Nick and Kim argue about his stupid hair. "Anyone with a scope is gonna spot him half a mile away."

"People are going to find out about this eventually, Nick," Kim tells him. She goes so far as to rest a hand on John's shoulder to emphasize her point, saying, "We can't keep his survival a secret forever."

Nick frowns, but Kim's right. Eventually, they're going to have to make a case for letting John live. So far, it's been alright, but... well, is John really worth staking their reputations on? Even if he was, has he done enough to prove that Nick hadn't made a dumb, sympathetic mistake? And if not, is Nick going to have to step aside and let somebody else do what he should have done months ago?

"Well, we've got time to figure it out," Nick admits at last, mostly because he doesn't want to think about it right now. Since it feels weird having a conversation about John right in front of him without addressing him at all , Nick offers him some direct commentary. "I guess you better just keep working on that good karma, huh?" he asks, aiming for smug but falling somewhat short.

"Yeah," John rasps. "I guess so."

The haircut does something for John's attitude, although it takes a few days before Nick notices. After a couple months of strange demureness, he begins to react to things like a goddamn human again. He can meet Nick's eyes now, although he struggles to hold the contact for more than a few seconds. When Nick or Kim tell him to do something, there's no more mute nodding. Instead, John will say, "Okay," or, "I understand." Sometimes, he'll even ask questions about the things they tell him to do, like where to move things or if he's doing something right. Once, after a few solid hours in too-bright-for-February sunlight, John asks Nick for a break, and it doesn't feel like selling out to let him sit down and have some lunch.

Of course, Nick never forgets that John is a manipulative user. He's got a way of seeming reasonable at first, going from pleasantries to stealing your land out from under you before anyone realizes he's dropped the kind and charitable act. Nick can't afford to forget that. There's nobody left in the world who could help him if John decides to toy with him this time around. Before the bombs, there had been laws and regulations and an entire justice system that he could get help from, but now? Now, if John decides he wants Nick's property more than he wants to make amends, all he's gotta do is take it.

Nick would like to believe that John isn't planning some sort of coup, that he's not just acting pitiable to drop their guard, but he's already taking so many risks with the guy. It's not safe to think John is playing along with Nick and Kim because he feels bad about what happened. That kind of low-ball expectation is exactly what caused Hope County to underestimate the Seeds before, and Nick isn't going to do that again.

John always seems tense whenever Carmina is around. She knows better than to directly address him, of course, since Kim and Nick have told her multiple times not to, but somehow she manages to work around the rules. She'll pretend he isn't around when she asks about his tattoos or scars or how his ear looks weird, and no amount of scolding manages to stop her. She asks for specifics about what he did to get in so much trouble, and why they're always watching him, and why he's not allowed to handle guns or knives or anything bigger than a hammerhead missing its handle. The healthier John looks, the more she asks about him, and now that he's got a haircut and clothes that hide most of his scars and tattoos, Carmina's fascination has started full force.

The only thing that keeps her from turning to John outright for her answers is his avoidance of her entirely. John goes out of his way to avoid looking at her, and if there's any distance to be gained between them, he's the one looking to gain it. Nick can't tell if he just isn't fond of kids, or if he has something personal against Carmina. The latter concept probably shouldn't irritate him so much, but — well, that's his daughter, man! He's obligated to be irritated when someone doesn't like her, even if that someone is his oldest enemy.

Thankfully, now that it's nicer out, Carmina has better things to do than sit around speculating on the guy living in the spare room. Nick takes her on an unsuccessful fishing trip, Kim takes her to visit Grace, and on days when nothing special is planned, she gets to run pretty much free, as long as she's within earshot.

One morning, as Kim and Carmina get ready to go meet up with Grace, Carmina asks, "Does dad always have to watch John?"

Nick thinks she waited specifically until Nick had brought John downstairs to ask, which is a little too cunning for his liking. "I'm not always watching him," Nick replies. "Sometimes it's your mom."

"We've told you," Kim chides gently. "John needs supervision."

John doesn't look up from his customary spot on the bottom stair, chewing through his breakfast. His shoulders are held tight, but otherwise, it's as if he can't even hear the conversation happening around him. Nick has to admit, he's impressed that John doesn't get more worked up when they talk about him like he's not there. It'd piss the hell out of Nick if he were in the other's shoes.

"We could take him with us," Carmina suggests. Since she's standing in front of her mom, she can't see the horrified expression that Kim directs Nick's way.

"Uh, I don't think that'd be a good idea," Nick says, which is usually what he says whenever he wants the conversation to end.

Apparently, that's not going to fly this time around, as Carmina pouts and asks, "But why not ?"

Kim puts her hands gently on Carmina's shoulders, sighing and saying, "It's complicated, honey."

Well, great, they just used both of their canned responses to her back-to-back. Carmina is a good kid — patient, kind, tolerant — but she knows when she's being given the runaround and she won't put up with any of it.

"That's what you always say," she complains. "I want to know why! I'm complicated too, I can handle it!"

"Carmina, it's not that easy —"

"I don't care!" Carmina exclaims. Her frustration is about to boil over as she whirls to face John. "I'm talking to you, now!" she demands, downright offended that she has to declare it. Carmina hasn't worked herself up into a riot for a while now, but she certainly hasn't lost her touch. "You're supposed to be a bad guy, but all you do is hang around all day! Don't you want to go outside? Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

Nick has definitely told John not to address Carmina, but this feels like extenuating circumstances. It was bound to happen — there's only so many times you can write off the prisoner in your house as a disagreeable weirdo before your daughter demands answers. He just isn't sure that there's anything John can say that won't raise more questions, each one harder to answer than the last.

John finally looks up from his breakfast to offer Carmina an unimpressed stare. "I have no interest in speaking to you," he tells her. His voice is downright chilly, with a tone best reserved for dismissing an incompetent secretary with an NDA. It's borderline offensive to have John talk to his little girl that way, but the ice freezes Carmina's escalating tantrum in its tracks.

"O-Oh," she says, deflating almost immediately. It's only going to dissuade her for a couple of days, tops, but by then they'll have figured something to say. Something that will paper over history that Nick can't afford to hide from her forever — eventually, they're going to have to tell her just how big John's role was in their suffering. But it's going to require nuance, and a better explanation than, Daddy's just going with his gut, sweetie .

"I'll try to explain," Kim tells her, turning her away from John's visible disinterest and facing her towards the door. "You just have to be patient. We're doing our best."

" He's not," Carmina sulks. She pulls on her coat, offering Nick a gloomy, "Bye, dad," before Kim ushers her out of the house.

Nick turns to John as soon as they leave, ready to lecture him on how to talk to children, but John doesn't look remotely up for it. Just the one interaction has left him wiped, and there's a distant glaze to his eyes as he gets caught up in his own thoughts. He keeps getting trapped in his own head; it used to irritate Nick, but lately, it's just worrisome behavior that he's got to keep an eye on. Like Carmina having nightmares, or Kim taking out her stress on firewood.

"You sure know how to handle kids," Nick winds up saying, which isn't exactly the fight he'd wanted to start.

John closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do you have something else for me to do today other than talk?" he sighs. He's trying for irritation, but he only manages to sound exhausted.

Nick can't help but think he's hit a nerve. Worse, he feels bad about it. He tries to brush it off, asking, "Well, what do you wanna do — pull siding or chop firewood?"

"Does it matter what I want?" John replies.

Damn, but John has perfected that cool dismissal, leaving Nick feeling chastised. "I guess not," he grouses.

Nick is definitely sulking as he sets John to removing some rotten siding. Thankfully, he has a whole bunch of wood to take his frustration out on. He's got John right in view, and he knows how to throw an ax and sometimes even hit things with one, so he should be fine. Anyway, John only ever has eyes for his work — Nick's not sure if escaping is really on his mind anymore. Sort of like feeding raccoons. You do it because you don't want them to go hungry, like any decent person, and the next thing you know they've stopped foraging and come by like clockwork every Wednesday night until the apocalypse.

Actually, maybe that's Stockholm syndrome? Nick isn't sure. He sure hopes not.

The day goes by as uneventfully as any other. It's not particularly hot out, but the sun is out and the birds are singing in true springtime fashion. It's actually a pretty nice day when all's said and done; Nick takes a minute or two after he finishes chopping wood to enjoy the blue sky and the tall, somewhat decimated trees swaying in the breeze. It's quiet all around, feeling like the edge of the world for a second or two before distant gunshots remind him that they aren't truly alone out here. He doubts it's anything to worry about, and he's sure that it has nothing to do with Kim and Carmina meeting Grace, but he still worries about it enough to chop down a few more logs.

Afterward, Nick definitely could use a break, sweaty and tired and a little hungry. John looks mostly done, too, having taken off nearly all of the section Nick had outlined for him. There's enough scrap to make plenty of shingles to finish the roof, even if it means leaving some of the house exposed. The nails will be useful, too, and Kim can probably figure out what to make with the unusable bits of wood.

"C'mon," he calls, shaking his canteen in John's direction, "Get some water. Then, you can start pulling any nails out of the boards that managed to survive. We can't afford to run out of those if we're gonna fix up the hangar."

John takes a gratefully large drink before he asks, "What's the point? You don't have a plane."

Nick rolls his eyes. Great, now he's got another petulant child asking dumb questions to deal with. "No, asshole, I don't. But I figure the house isn't really big enough for all the supplies we're gonna need. Wood, siding, sheet metal, not to mention the generator that's been sitting in the closet for longer than you've been here. There's that old chest freezer in there, maybe it'll still work." He waves towards the building, which is missing a good deal of its roof, RYE & SON faded across the front. "I'm not just gonna leave it like that."

John doesn't have anything to say to that — if he does, he keeps it to himself. Which is good. Fine! Nick doesn't need, or want , John to argue with him about the damn hangar.

Together, they drag long strips of old siding to the porch, where Nick has John sit while he gets to work on dinner, which is going to be classic, leftover-meat-and-potato stew. By the time Carmina and Kim get back, Nick will have everything taken care of and under control here. Kim will have probably figured out what to tell Carmina to keep her from putting too much trust in John, without telling her the gruesome, not-safe-for-children details. They'll sit down and talk about going fishing, and hopefully this time Nick won't ruin the stew with too much salt.

Carmina comes running towards the house a good hour before Nick expected her to be back. His heart immediately leaps into his throat as he imagines why she's alone, why she's towards him looking so upset. Thankfully, Kim is following right behind, which stops him from blocking Carmina as she bolts up the back porch and inside without a backward glance. The relief Nick feels at seeing Kim is short-lived as he realizes she isn't alone — Grace is standing there beside her, rifle in hand, staring across the backyard at John Seed sitting on the porch with a pile of nails at his feet.

"Ah, shit," is the first thing that Nick manages to say. He turns to John, with a fresh haircut and his sleeves rolled up to show off his tattoos, and he knows there's no mistaking him for anybody else. Grace is going to take one look at him through her scope and pop his head clean off his shoulders. "Don't move, don't speak, don't do anything ," Nick warns him. "Just... sit there, okay? Carmina's just upstairs. I don't want her to hear you get your brains blown out because you decided now was the time to bolt."

John doesn't respond, but he also doesn't move, frozen with a piece of wood clutched loosely in his hands. That should count for something. Nick turns back to Kim and Grace, who still haven't come any closer. Kim is talking to Grace, who may or may not be listening to whatever she's trying to say. All Nick knows is that Grace has him pinned dead to rights with an immeasurably pissed off glare.

He should be worrying less about John getting shot and more about Grace shooting him . Shit, should he go over to them and try to patch things up? That would be leaving John unattended. That would look bad for them, right?

Finally, Grace begins an approach. She's got her rifle clutched against her chest, her stony gaze sliding from Nick to John. Kim hovers behind her, anxiously giving Grace some distance as she tries to explain everything to Nick through frantic hand gestures alone.

Grace reaches the fire pit before she stops. She looks at the stew, bubbling in the pot, then to John, and finally to Nick.

"So it's true," she says.

"I know you're probably angry," Nick begins. From Grace's sharp glare, it's the wrong way to start the conversation.

"Angry doesn't begin to describe how I feel right now, Nick," she replies flatly. Nick starts to suspect that she's only holding on to her gun to keep herself from wailing on him. "You're harboring a goddamn cult leader in your home! You've been hiding John Seed in your home for months — what the hell are you thinking? Have you two forgotten what this maniac did to all of us?" She points accusingly at his chest, "Did you forget what he did to you ?"

"Of course I haven't!" Nick struggles not to raise his voice, trying desperately to maintain some kind of diplomacy with one of his oldest and closest friends. But he doesn't have any defense prepared for John, and he's not all that willing to defend him to begin with, so being backed into a corner isn't helping. "How could I? That's the reason he's here — he owes us!"

Kim jumps in to plead with Grace. "It's like I told you," she insists. "Nick gave him an ultimatum. He's been sticking by it."

Grace is overwhelmed enough that she spits in disgust. "You made a deal with a devil to mend fences and pull nails?" she asks. "You think that's what he owes Hope County? Some housework ? Is that really worth rekindling the god-damned cult?"

"Hey, there's none of that bullshit around here. John," Nick instructs, "Tell her."

"It's true," John rasps. He's pale and trembling, looking like he might faint. "Eden's Gate is dead."

"What makes you think I'd believe a word you'd say?" Grace snaps. "You're nothing but a murderous conman. Don't you dare speak to me."

"You don't need to believe him," Kim says, moving in to distract Grace's lethal glare from John. "You can believe us. The cult destroyed everything, and then it destroyed itself. All we're trying to do is put the pieces back together the best we can. For everyone ."

"You can't possibly think this is a good idea," Grace says, a distinct accusation buried in her words. "He's lying to you. He's using you two. And you're just going to let him?" When neither of them immediately respond, she scoffs loudly. "Unbelievable. If Rook were here..."

"You know exactly what they would do," Kim says.

Grace taps an irritated beat against her rifle, scowling first at Kim, then at John. She's probably trying to stare him to death. Nick's just glad she isn't directing that lethal glare his way. "And what do you expect me to do?" she asks.

Nick is sure that if Grace chooses to shoot John, he'll let it happen. He worries about the aftermath, about his relationship with Grace, about Carmina's wellbeing, about the kind of post-apocalyptic world they'd finally be living in, but he's sure that he won't try to stop her. Mostly sure. Pretty sure.

Lord , Nick prays, Please do not test me on this one today.

"I'm hoping you'll trust us to do what's right," Kim says, concluding what sounds like a defense she's been building since this whole mess started. Nick can only imagine what the walk back home must have been like.

For a moment, Grace doesn't move, her jaw clenching as she considers the stakes. Nick doesn't know what makes the decision for her, but finally, she eases up on her gun. "I must be an idiot," she mutters to herself, before addressing the two of them directly. "The minute he reveals his true colors, you tell me."

"Yeah," Nick says, surprised at how breathless he sounds. Had he been holding his breath? "Yeah, obviously."

"You're making me take a huge risk that I don't want to take," she informs them grimly, ignoring John as if her life depends on it. " Don't make me regret it."

Grace storms away with such righteous anger that Nick almost doesn't catch the retreat for what it is. He can hardly believe that she's leaving, still tensed for the gunshot he'd thought was inevitable. As soon as Grace disappears from view, John lurches from his seat, sweaty face going gray. He barely manages to stagger to the corner of the house before he throws up, clutching the wall for support.

Nick will handle that in a minute. First, though, he turns to ask his wife, "What the hell happened?"

"God, Nick, it was a disaster," Kim sighs, looking pale and trembly herself. "Carmina was still upset when we met Grace, and she spilled everything. I tried to soften the blow, to, you know, explain, but Grace didn't believe any of it at first, and then Carmina was talking about him being in our room all night..."

"Jesus." Nick rubs his eyes, then wraps his arms around Kim, feeling her melt into the hug. "I should've been there. I should've told Grace before Carmina could get the chance." He groans quietly, "Damn it, she's probably still freaking out up there."

"She was convinced Grace was going to kill him," Kim tells him. "She thought it was all her fault."

Nick sighs. "This was a big mistake. I should've taken him to Grace when I found him. Carmina doesn't deserve any of this."

Gently breaking away from the hug, Kim looks briefly towards John before gesturing towards the house. "I should go check on her. She needs to know everything is... well, stable. For now, anyway."

"Yeah, you do that. I'll, uh... I'll deal with this mess."

Nick watches Kim go inside, and then turns to watch the pathway Grace had disappeared down. He half expects to see her lurking in the bushes, but he knows Grace better than that. She would never let him see her coming if that were the case.

John sits down heavily against the side of the house, pale and wracked with uncontrollable tremors. It's not the reaction that Nick is used to — whenever he waved his gun around, John always seemed patiently resigned, waiting for the time when Nick would finally make good on his hollow threats. Grace hadn't even pointed her rifle at him, and he's losing his damned lunch.

Nick catches John muttering to himself as he approaches, but he doesn't hear the words, and John shuts up when he gets too close. He stands over John for a minute, but the move seems too aggressive when John looks up at him with saucer-wide eyes. Reluctantly, he crouches down, his knee popping in complaint.

"Well," Nick says, when John just stares at him, "Looks like you're still in one piece." When that doesn't get a reaction, he scrubs his beard and tries another approach. "I guess Carmina doesn't take the cold shoulder very well, huh?"

John takes a shaking breath. "She should have killed me," he rasps. "Why didn't she kill me?"

"Honestly, I've got no idea. I guess she probably didn't want Carmina to think it was her fault or something. I mean, she might've decided Kim and I know what we're doing, but..." Well, considering that Nick isn't too sure what he's doing, he doubts that's the case. All Nick knows is that he's glad he doesn't have to clean John's brain matter out of the wood. "Well, either way, you're still here."

"I am," John agrees, soundly deeply unsure about it. He takes a breath, then another, although neither seems to calm him down much. "I'll get back to work, I just need... I need a minute."

Nick had completely forgotten about the siding. He'd forgotten about the food on the fire, too, although it's bound to be fine, it's stew . He finds himself wanting to give John the rest of the night off, to... who knows, process what happened? Give him a chance to get his head on straight, to figure out what he might say the next time someone comes waving a gun at him? Nick's not sure what John's free time would even entail. Nick really hasn't been giving him any.

"Stop looking at me like that," John rasps. "I'm fine. I can still work."

Nick's not sure how to change his expression, but he can at least try not to openly pity the guy. "Fine, whatever. Look — take a break for now. I'll tell you when you can get back to it."

John nods, dropping his head back against the wall with a dull thud. He closes his eyes almost immediately, like he might just pass out then and there, and Nick knows that he's got to be finished for the day. Since Nick is the one timing the break, John won't notice if Nick lets him rest, and if he wants to complain, he can go eat a boot.

The stew is ready inside of an hour, although Nick had planned to let it sit for a while to thicken. Kim comes downstairs at some point with her cheeks blotchy red from tears, but she gives Nick an immediate smile to let him know everything is alright. She looks John's direction, but the guy hasn't moved for the last thirty minutes, so he isn't much to look at.

"Do you think we're doing the right thing?" Nick asks her, unable to help himself.

"I want to think so," Kim replies, rubbing his back gently. "We'll see."

Kim calls Carmina down for dinner, but who knows how long it will take before she actually drags herself downstairs. It's been a pretty heavy day, so Nick doesn't blame her for wanting to hide for a little while longer.

He doesn't know if it would be better or worse to let John sleep through dinner, but the guy did throw up half of his lunch, so he probably needs the food. Going to John's side, Nick almost kicks him awake, but that feels too aggressive after everything that's happened. Tomorrow, Nick can go back to being a dick to him. For now, he settles on nudging John's shoulder until he seems to come to.

"C'mon," Nick says, "It's time to eat."

Maybe John hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep. He looks around as though he's never seen the backyard before, not quite comprehending the hazy late-afternoon glow that showed up while he was out. "What happened?" he asks, visibly dreading the answer.

Nick can't help but roll his eyes. "You fell asleep," he says. "It's a real shocker. Told you, even a kid can do it."

John frowns. He looks towards the pile of siding, ready to calculate how much work he's missed, but Nick nudges him with his foot to distract him.

"I figure, if you sit here and don't move, maybe you can stay down here to eat. At least that way, Carmina will know you didn't get shot at on her account."

There's something in John's expression that implies he might want to argue the point, but he doesn't. He nods, remaining seated as Nick goes back to the fire. He doesn't move when Kim comes out of the house with four bowls and spoons, although he watches her like he's expecting a bomb to go off in her hand.

"Is he okay?" Kim asks Nick over the pot, keeping her voice low as she watches John out of the corner of her eye. "He's staying down here?"

"Bad idea?" Nick asks. "I can move him, I just figured..."

"No, it's okay." She pats his arm. "Good work with dinner."

Carmina comes downstairs with all the reluctance of a girl with a straight-D report card. She trudges down the porch steps with her head down, looking at her parents briefly through her hair before she swivels her unhappy gaze towards John.

"Hey, honey," Nick calls as she solemnly makes her way over to where John is sitting, trying in vain to reel her back. She ignores him, coming to a stop some five feet in front of John, well out of his reach by instinct alone. Nick can't see her face, but he can hear her teary voice.

"I'm sorry, John," she apologizes, her hands clasped in front of her and her head bowed like she might never look anyone in the eye again. Nick has to clamp down on the visceral reaction he has to his own daughter apologizing to John Seed , but he manages to choke it down even if it risks souring his dinner.

For his part, John looks more ready to bolt now than he did when Grace had been actively threatening him. His heels dig into the dirt as he presses himself against the wall, eyes darting as he calculates an escape route. When neither Nick nor Kim attempt to pull Carmina away, he flings a wild glance their way, but there's no avoiding the little girl's apology.

"It's okay," he tells her, his throat almost dry enough to strangle the words. Carmina must not seem convinced, because he continues uneasily, "You didn't do anything wrong."

Thankfully, Carmina accepts the sentiment readily. Nick doesn't know if he could handle her insisting he take her apology. "Dad," she says, apparently satisfied enough to rise out of her morose mood, "Are we going fishing tomorrow still?"

"I don't see why not."

Nick's glad for the subject change. It's fun to tease Carmina, who keeps insisting she's good at fishing even though she's never caught anything, and it keeps her distracted from John. John doesn't seem to mind being left alone to eat. He seems miles away from the house and the conversation, distracted by the darkening path that Grace had disappeared down. He eats slowly, waiting for something to happen. Probably waiting for Grace to come back and finish what Nick started months ago.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

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iamanemotionaltimebomb · 5 years ago

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I used to hate Shirou Emiya because I thought he was kind of a sexist dumbass.

Now I love him even though I recognize he’s still 100% a grade-A dumbass. He’s just a dumbass who has severe survivors' guilt and as a result of this, also has zero self-preservation instincts or self-interest (seriously this guy is not capable of thinking in his best interest at all and that’s a huge problem).

He just uses sexist reasoning to try to protect others because of this survivor's guilt, i.e. “I have to protect Saber, a woman who can actually fight and can take the pain because she is a woman and should not be fighting” (not because I have a psychological need to protect or help others because I was the sole survivor of a traumatically scarring event).

Maybe it’s because the original VN and anime did a shit job of showing just how damaged Shiro was.

#shirou emiya #he needs a hug #maybe a warm cup of coco #I still 100% archer #fate series #fate stay night #fate ubw

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iguvobanai · 5 years ago

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ELENA KOIZUMI ( TRIGGER WARNING )⁣

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Full Name: Elena Jordan Koizumi⁣

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Gender: Cisgender Female⁣

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Ultimate: Ultimate Pessimist⁣

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Age: 16 ( pre game ) 19 ( post game )⁣

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Birthday: April 4th⁣

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Astrology Sign: Aries⁣

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Nicknames: E ( by Valarie ), El ( by Isoroku ), ‘Lena ( by Mahiru ), Emo ( by Hamakawa ), lameass ( by Victoria Chase in the Life is Strange au ), Pessimistic Asshole ( a classmate ), Dumbass ( her father & step-mother ) Vampire ( a classmate )⁣

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Sexuality: Bisexual⁣

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Relationship Status: Taken by Reo Nakamura ⁣

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Religious Belief: Atheist ⁣

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Elevation: 5’10”⁣

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Ocular Hue: Hazel⁣

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Locks: Dirty Blonde⁣

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Pigmentation: Paler than Paper⁣

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Mother: Juvia Koizumi ( birth mother ; deceased ), Ichika Koizumi ( step mother ; deceased )⁣

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Father: Katsuki Koizumi ( birth father ; assumed deceased )⁣

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Extended Family: Mahiru Koizumi ( cousin ; alive )⁣

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HISTORICAL RECORDS⁣

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On April fourth, Elena Jordan Koizumi was born to Juvia ( maiden name unknown ) Koizumi and Katsuki Koizumi. However, Juvia passed away in a car crash when Elena was three, ending up in her father starting to become a heavy drinker that took his anger out on Elena ( punching, kicking, throwing glass, etc. ). He’d told her that she was a mistake countless times, resulting in her having a negative view on not only herself but the world in general.⁣

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Her only sources of comfort were her cousin, Mahiru Koizumi, and her best friend ( soon to be lover ), Reo Nakamura. Growing up, Elena spent more time at Reo’s house which was more stable than her own, and when Mahiru would check up on her, her first instinct would be to go to the Nakamura residence. Elena was an introverted child during her years at school, concluding why she has sickly pale skin. Around seventh grade, Elena got a girlfriend.⁣

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Needless to say, it didn’t turn out well. She was abusive and controlling and was mildly jealous of Reo. This didn’t help with her mental state at all, of course. Elena refused to tell Mahiru about how the relationship was going. One out of fear, and two because she didn’t want Mahiru involved. The only person who knew was Reo. When Mahiru did find out, however, it wasn’t pretty. Actually, Elena broke up with the girl because of Mahiru’s convincing.⁣

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At last, she was free from her ex’s torment but towards the end of Eight grade she caught feelings for none other than Reo. At the time, her father remarried and Elena flat out refused to talk with her new step-sister, and her step-mother? Well, she abused the title. By the end of High School, the Tragedy struck and Elena was effected which resulted in her being the mastermind for a Killing Game. Elena was frienemies with the ultimate Exorcist, Hatsuo Kobayashi.⁣

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While Reo quickly befriended Valarie Tanaka, the ultimate Necromancer. The ending of the killing game was the hardest for Elena, however. Because her execution was faltered with by Reo and ( surprisingly ) Monokuma. Reo got pissed with her understandably. It pained Elena greatly knowing Reo, one of the most important people in her life, was mad at her. Valarie forced her, Elena, Hatsuo, and Reo to all get an apartment together.⁣

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When they settled in, Elena locked herself into her room and starved herself for a few weeks ( boarderline a month ) before Reo forced her out of her room. The two talked and made amends. Now, The “Core Four” ( + the survivors ) work at the Future Foundation, where Elena’s often found protecting Reo from a bully who had a crush on her at one point named Hamakawa ( but Nal & I call him Hamakiwi ).⁣

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MISCELLANEOUS FACTS: ⁣

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- Elena’s often seen wearing a maroon colored leather jacket that Reo got for her. Now she wears it all the time.⁣

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- Most of the time, Elena keeps her hair tied up in a ponytail to keep the hair off her shoulders, which she finds rather uncomfortable ⁣

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- Elena has a pair of navy blue glasses ( aka the color of Reo’s dyed hair ) that has nine blue and gold jewels on each side. ⁣

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- Elena has a bad habit of cursing, but then chews out someone who curses around her boyfriend ( jokingly covering his ears )⁣

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- Elena and Hatsuo occasionally go on the roof together and vape, venting about their life whenever a minor inconvenience happens⁣

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- Her natural wear, and what everyone sees her in, is a solid black shirt, black pants, black boots, and her maroon leather jacket she holds dear with her hair tied up tightly.⁣

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keldae · 5 years ago

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Drastic Measures (Chapter Twenty-Eight)

Saresh wasn’t sure if the emotion racing through her veins was fear or wrath. Her instincts suggested fear might be winning out: Destruction of one of the last hidden Jedi outposts was terrible news for the Republic, and that news was beginning to spread. She could already imagine morale plummeting at the report. Worse, Republic operatives sent to investigate the massacre indicated that Satele Shan’s ship had been found on the planet, shot almost beyond the point of recognition by Zakuulan forces. The former Grand Master’s body hadn’t yet been accounted for among the dead — it could only be assumed that she was taken prisoner by the Zakuulans.

The Twi’lek ran a hand down her face. On a personal level, she hadn’t been fond of Master Shan, but blast it, the woman had been Grand Master of the Jedi Order. She was a valuable strategic prisoner, even before her role as the mother of Theron Shan. Saresh almost pitied the Jedi.

But perhaps having Master Shan would make Zakuul loosen their stranglehold on the Republic. Rumours filtered in -- sightings of Xaja Taerich and Theron Shan, their last confirmed location being Dromund Kaas. And they had reportedly departed with notorious Imperial agent, Cipher Nine. Known and feared throughout the galaxy, Saresh still couldn’t quite believe the report Kovach had sent to her, indicating that the infamous spy was father to the rogue Jedi. It did perhaps explain the girl’s sharp temper and vicious language when provoked, however, she mused.

A ship matching the description of Cipher Nine’s was reported to have landed on Nar Shaddaa. But neither the old spy nor his charges had been found on board. The SIS station chief in that sector, Ardun Kothe, hadn’t reported seeing the Imperial agent on the moon, nor had he seen Taerich or Shan. It seemed the pair of fugitives had vanished into thin air once again.

This time, however, they left more trouble in their wake: Arcann had all but accused Empress Acina of sheltering them to stir trouble in the Republic. Acina had, in turn, accused Saresh of sending her problems to Dromund Kaas, creating strife in the Empire — which certainly had happened, with Darth Imperius having shown himself a traitor and disappearing. Saresh only wished it had been intentional. As it was, she took the news as proof that Taerich and Shan were both traitors and working with Imperius — to what end, even back before the war had broken out, she wasn’t sure.

But now the galaxy teetered toward open war again, and this time the Republic was terribly crippled. Saresh found herself missing the quiet reassurance of the Jedi only a short hyperspace jump away on Tython, and Jace Malcom’s brilliant strategic decisions.

We don’t need them, she tried to tell herself. The Empire is even more fragmented than we are right now. We can win without the Jedi, or Malcom. Perhaps if she told herself that more, she would start to believe it.

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Korin knew that his younger brother had a reputation for being tough and unfazed by almost everything around him. It was why he was such a good leader for the resistance and why he’d done so well on the Dark Council, after all. And it made Sorand hurrying up to him, pale-faced like he’d seen a ghost, way out of character. The smuggler frowned as the Sith made his way over to him. “You okay?” Korin asked as he took in just how spooked Sorand looked. “You look like that one time you walked in on Skadge losing strip sabaac to Andronikos.”

“Don’t remind me of that…” Sorand muttered. “I’m still considering taking up drinking to purge that memory.” He paused and shook his head. “Actually, I might take up drinking anyway.”

That made Korin blink. “Darth Paranoia, going for alcoholism? I thought you hated drinking after the one time with the tihaar--”

“Oh, shut up.” Sorand furtively glanced around, then lowered his voice. “I need a list of every single Jedi in this cell — Tythonian, Corellian, questionably dark, whatever.”

“There a particular reason you need a roster?”

The younger Taerich hesitated, lips pursed.“There’s a literal near-duplicate of Mum walking around here,” he admitted at length, “and I need to figure out who the blazes she is.”

Korin’s brain stalled out for a moment as he tried to process the statement. “Uhhh… what?”

Sorand pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s a woman here, wearing Jedi-type clothing in shades of green, makes me think she’s Corellian. She has a saber-staff, and it sure as hell isn’t of Sith design or a Sith outfit. And kriffing hells, Kor’, she looks like Mum -- just with hazel eyes and no freckles.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a bunch of red-haired Jedi ladies who look like —”

“No, she looks like Mum. Like if Mum had a sister, that would be her. If I didn’t know Mum was dead…”

“Shit, she looks that much like Mum?”

“Yeah.” Sorand shook his head and hissed out a heavy breath through his teeth. “It’s damned creepy is what it is, even by Sith standards. And I have no idea who the hells she is.”

“If she’s Corellian, that’ll narrow the options down,” Korin murmured, frowning at his crossed arms. “Not a hell of a lot of Corellians who jump off-world for anything unless they’re pilots, and even less Green Jedi who’ll leave the Enclave. I’ll grab Vector, see if he knows anything.”

“Green isn’t exclusively a Corellian colour, so she could be Tythonian…”

The smuggler gave a snort. “Yeah, but they’re boring and tend to go for every shade of brown known.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Sorand’s lips. “Right. So maybe give Cantarus a call, see if he can track down which Jedi have left Coronet City in the last couple of years,” he added. “ I mean, Mum… didn’t have a sister, right?”

“Not as far as she or Dad knew. Maybe someone cloned her?”

“A clone would probably have her freckles and the right eye colour.”

“Bah, details.” Korin shrugged one shoulder, trying to act unperturbed about the whole thing, even if he felt a chill up and down his spine. If Sorand was this spooked by the mysterious Jedi lookalike of their mother, it was serious. Worse, Korin could feel the Force tugging at him, as though demanding his attention regarding the Jedi. He knew that tug meant this was significant — and hells, how he hated feeling it. Sometimes being Force-sensitive just wasn’t worth the headache and paranoia. “I’ll snoop around, see what I can dig up.”

Sorand nodded. “When Dad gets here, I’ll try to figure out how to ask him if he’s sure Mum didn’t have a sister. Maybe he knows something… or he’ll have the heart attack I’m still having myself.”

“Hey, I’m the one who gets to make Dad have a heart attack, not a creepy lookalike of Mum.”

“I’m pretty sure I can out-heart-attack-potential you any day, my miscreant asshole brother. Sith and dumbass Sith things, remember?”

“I’ve got no less than six and a half people who want my head on a plate!”

“How the hells did you get the half person in there?”

“Carefully.”

“Dumbass. You’re going to make Dad have a stroke from you being a moron, while I have the entire bloody Empire gunning for me right now!” Sorand paused. “Wait, no, Xaja’s going to be the one to make Dad have the heart attack with the entire galaxy looking for her.” If she’s still alive went unsaid.

“Yeah, Xaja wins, I think. First and last time you’ll hear me say that about a Jedi.” Korin stepped back and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Lemme track down Vector and see what he knows.”

“Works for me.” Sorand turned, craning his neck to look around. “I need to find Lana and see what--”

“Hey, Sor’ika?” Corey called, earning both brothers’ attention. When Korin looked over, he could see the Mandalorian intently looking at a computer screen. “I think you’re gonna want to check this out...”

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The Aegis rapidly descended through Alderaan’s atmosphere, the crew setting the cruiser down in a valley between two snow-capped mountains. A kilometre or so from the official boundary of the Organa lands, it was situated in an out-of-the-way location that didn’t receive too much attention from Zakuul — indeed, it was almost impossible to access via the main roads.

But Commander Malcom’s crew had no need for the roads. There was a hidden entrance to the killik warrens running under Alderaan’s mountains. The rebels utilized the caverns and winding paths to stay out of sight. Malcom hoped it would now serve to protect the two most hunted fugitives in the galaxy from those seeking their heads.

A security cam discreetly placed in a rock formation focused in on the faces of the disembarking refugees. As the programmed algorithms recognized the features of Xaja Taerich, arguably the most wanted person in the galaxy, an alert triggered deep within the warrens, notifying the resistance of the newcomers.

Corey Black, the nearest person to the computer console when the alert flickered to life, frowned down at the monitor for only a second as recognition kicked in, both of the Jedi woman and some of her travel companions. “Hey, Sor’ika?” he called out, a grin starting to spread across his bearded face. “I think you’re gonna want to check this out…”

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The group of Dantooine survivors entered the cool darkness of the killik tunnels, looking around with no small amount of suspicion. Xaja wrinkled her nose at the scent of damp earth and the lingering traces of the killik pheromones. “When you said you were getting us underground, Commander, I didn’t realize you meant literally.”

Malcom smirked, the expression eerily like Theron. “Not many people do. We’re reasonably sure the Zakuulans expect some form of resistance down here, but so far they haven’t found us. The killiks do a good job in scaring them off.”

“I can’t say I blame ‘em,” Kira muttered as she followed a step behind Xaja, looking around warily. “At least it’s better than the last time we were in a hive. Nothing’s trying to kill us... yet.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Theron answered quietly. For perhaps a couple hundred metres, the group moved in near-silence, until the spy spoke again. “You sure this is the right cave? It seems suspiciously empty.”

“If it wasn’t, we would have already been swarmed by killiks,” Jorgan piped up from a few paces back. “But there should be some sign of life by now.”

Worry settled into Xaja’s chest as she heard Malcom’s mutter of “There hasn’t been any news of an attack here” as the old soldier warily looked around. If the Zakuulans were already in the caves, waiting in ambush to take out the Dantooine survivors… they had no place else to flee to, and wouldn’t be able to escape. And there wouldn’t be a miraculous rescue from Havoc Squad to save their—

She froze, making Kira bump into her back. The sound of running footsteps echoed ahead; when she focused, she could hear more than one pair of feet. “Someone’s coming,” she hissed, sensing the rest of the group around her freeze as the other Jedi warily reached for lightsabers. Jorgan raised a hand, making one quick gesture, and his soldiers spread into formation as Malcom stepped back closer to the Jedi protectively, blaster in hand—

“Riggs, you son of a bitch!” came the yell from down the tunnel, a welcome voice that made Xaja sag in relief. Corso stepped out to the side of the formation, a delighted grin on his face. Moments later, Korin came flying around a bend in the tunnel, his own grin flickering as he registered a pack of armed soldiers and Jedi bracing themselves for a fight. “Whatever it was, I didn’t do it. Probably,” he quipped, coming to a stop and raising his hands placatingly.

“Bantha shit, Captain,” Corso promptly retorted with a laugh as Xaja darted around him, running the few paces to her brother. She had a second with which to sense Korin’s sheer relief under the veneer of carefree laughter, and then she was being tightly hugged by the tall spacer — a form of affection he didn’t go for too often. He must have been legitimately mourning her presumed death, or terrified for her safety.

As other members of the Alderaanian cell started hurrying around the corner after Korin, earning a chorus of delighted shouting and reunion between friends and comrades, the smuggler finally set his sister down. Real worry sparked briefly in his hazel eyes. “You okay?” he asked, squeezing her shoulders. “Sorand mentioned you’d been sick as hell, but…”

“Better now. Happy to still be in one piece.” Xaja smiled up at her brother, concern darkening her own mood for a moment. Hells, even Korin looked older — she swore she could see grey in his blond hair. “You been okay? Dad didn’t have any new updates on you last time I saw him.”

“I’m fine, all things considered. Hells, my favourite zombie sister’s back with us, so I’m doing great—”

“Zombie?” Xaja gifted her brother with a scowl as he grinned unapologetically. “Zombie? Listen, you asshole --”

“Last I checked, you’re still legally dead, and you know as well as I do that the walking dead are technically zombies.” Korin laughed and dodged a swat from the Jedi. “And since you’re clearly not a ghost, that only leaves zombies as our undead option.”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t put a bounty on a legally dead person, you twit,” Xaja muttered with a scowl. “My status seems to have been rescinded.”

“Bah. Details. You’re still my favourite undead sister—” The smuggler ducked out of reach again with another laugh, only to trip and fall backwards over an outstretched boot.

“If you get stabbed, that’ll be your own damned fault,” Sorand interjected with a grin as he looked down at his brother. Ignoring Korin’s scowl up at him, the Sith hurried to give Xaja a hug. “I’m glad to see you in one piece, Xaj.”

“You, too.” Xaja returned the hug, for a second aware of Malcom side-eyeing them before looking back at her brother. “When I heard there was a hit out for you…”

“Acina’s going to have to do a lot better to take me down,” Sorand smirked. Worry flashed through his dark eyes as he lowered his voice. “How did things go?” he asked.

“Uhh… partially good?” At Sorand’s frown, Xaja shook her head. “I’ll explain later.” Catching him up on the details of the parasite in her brain was not something to do with so many listening ears around.

Sorand nodded in understanding, squeezing her shoulders before letting go. His gaze drifted over to Ashara; Xaja watched him hurry over to his apprentice before she turned at Kira’s delighted cry. Recognizing Doc and Rusk as they hurried up to the group, an excited Tee-Seven beeping in tow, she ran over to her old crew, feeling like the team was almost complete.

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Theron felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he watched the Alderaan rebels gladly embrace the Dantooine survivors. For the first time since fleeing Zakuul with Xaja, he felt reasonably safe… in the middle of a killik hive. Still, this was stable and out of Zakuul’s grip, for the moment. Sorand being here in one piece indicated that this location was also safe from the Empire; it would also help that the Organas weren’t fond of Saresh and could help keep her agents from finding the rebels. He lowly sighed and relaxed, the tension in his back easing.

Then he made eye contact with an approaching Korin Taerich, and had perhaps half a second to think shit before the smuggler’s fist connected with his jaw and knocked him down. “You fucking asshole!” Korin growled, his earlier joy at seeing his sister alive turning into a well-justified anger at his apparently-former friend.

Theron grunted as he gingerly ran his tongue over his teeth, pleasantly surprised to realize none had broken loose from that punch. “Brave words coming from the guy who punched a guy who got shot three days ago,” he muttered. His shoulder flared with pain as he gingerly shifted it. At least the bandages didn’t seem to have come undone.

Korin faltered for a second, brow wrinkling in confusion. “The fuck you mean you got shot?”

“Bunch of Zaks who really wanted to chat up your sister,” Theron retorted as he tugged his shirt to the side, revealing the bandages. “Asshat.”

“You still had that coming,” Korin snapped, dark eyes flickering with anger. But at least he apparently felt bad enough about hitting the wounded spy to offer a hand back up.

“Yeah, I know.” Theron grunted as he accepted the hand back to his feet, lowly hissing in discomfort. “Would saying ‘sorry’ make it a little better?”

Korin’s eyes narrowed in threatening anger. “Not in that kriffin’ tone of voice it—”

“No, I’m legitimately sorry,” Theron quickly interjected as he saw Korin’s fist tightening again. “You’re right. I’m an idiot and deserved that punch.”

“You think?! You’re making me look like a certifiable genius, Shan.”

“You are a certifiable genius. I’ve seen your aptitude tests, Taerich.”

“Shh!” Korin furtively looked around. “Don’t go ratting me out! I’m tryin’ to dodge responsibility, not adopt it!”

Theron rolled his eyes, then caught Korin’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth I am actually sorry, Korin. I was an idiot. It won’t happen again.”

“It’d better not,” Korin muttered. The fury seemed to have finally cooled down from the fiery temper to a low simmer under the surface. The smuggler shook his head, then frowned at Theron’s shoulder. “Sorry about the punch. Your shoulder more buggered up now?”

“Whose shoulder’s what now?” Sorand interjected as he appeared on Theron’s left. The Sith frowned at the spy, already reaching for the wounded shoulder. “The hell did you do?”

“Target practice, gone really badly,” Theron deadpanned, and earned a snort from the Sith. Feeling a prickle on the back of his neck, he turned his head slightly, just enough to see Jace frowning at Sorand. Right… his father wouldn’t trust a Sith, even one who had abandoned the Empire for his Jedi sister.

“I suggest thinking of a better story before Lana hears it and laughs at you for the rest of your respective natural lives.” Sorand smirked as he settled his hand on the blaster wound. “Hold tight for a minute.” A violet glow appeared around his gloved fingers; Theron shivered as he felt a cold trickle seep into his shoulder, knitting the injured muscles and tendons back together. Dark Side healing was never a completely comfortable experience, despite Sorand’s efforts to be gentle; but, when the Sith withdrew his hand and Theron rotated his shoulder experimentally, the wound was completely healed.

“Good as new,” Theron pronounced when he didn’t feel pain flaring in the joint, and gave Sorand a grin. “Thanks.” The Sith had even healed the bruising Theron could feel forming on his jaw from Korin’s punch.

“Don’t mention it. Force knows you’ve been through enough without having a kriffed-up arm on top of everything else.” Sorand stepped back, gesturing for Theron and Korin to follow him. If he was aware of Jace staring at the back of his head, mistrust showing in his dark eyes, the Sith didn’t reveal it. “I know you’re probably tired enough to see double, but we’re going to need to catch up on all the osik following you since you got off of Dromund Kaas. You lot good for a quick debrief?”

“As long as it’s relatively quick,” Theron agreed. Craning his neck, he caught a glimpse of Xaja, still surrounded by her closest friends, excitedly chatting away. At least she hadn’t witnessed her brother sucker-punching him like that — that would have been much harder to explain to her. Nervous dread settled in his stomach before he shoved it down to where he hoped she couldn’t sense it. “You said Lana’s here?”

“Yes, and you’d best hope she doesn’t feel inclined to make like Korin with the punching — which, by the way, I’m perfectly fine not knowing the reasons for.” Sorand grinned and stepped toward the tunnel. “Come on.”

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Jace had never been sure how to take the news that a Jedi war hero, and his son, both had non-hostile connections with powerful Sith Lords. With the Revanite crisis, he supposed it was reasonable for Republic and Imperial assets to cooperate. But the extended communication and open friendly behaviour made him frown.

He watched suspiciously as Darth Imperius caught Master Xaja up in a tight hug, both siblings clearly happy to see each other. Now that they were beside each other, he could see the resemblance between the two, far too similar to be mere coincidence. The Hero of Tython had one brother recently on the Dark Council, and one brother who was a proud career criminal and privateer -- not to mention their father.

He frowned, caught up enough in his thoughts that he missed Theron getting punched, still focused on Imperius. Sith weren’t exactly known for being affectionate or protective of their families, much less family members who came from enemy space, yet Imperius had risked his own safety to hide both his sister and a known enemy spy on Dromund Kaas. Had she known who he was sheltering, Jace suspected Empress Acina would have killed the younger Sith. So perhaps despite being a Sith, the boy — and how did a boy who looked like he was barely into his twenties make it to the Dark Council? — wasn’t a bad sort. He certainly wasn’t as shrivelled as Darth Malgus, nor did he carry himself in the same way. The eyes that darted around were dark brown and openly relieved, not tainted with sulphuric rage. Jace even dared to say the Sith was happy.

But surely the son of Cipher Nine had learned to hide his true motivations. The former Supreme Commander of Republic Forces pursed his lips, frowning. Master Xaja had also been fathered by the infamous Imperial spook, but she had been raised among Jedi; Jace figured that didn’t count, as she hadn’t grown up around her father’s influence. How much had the legendary cipher agent taught his sons?

“He’s not Malgus.” Satele’s voice by his right shoulder made him start. He looked down and got a raised eyebrow in turn. “Sith he may be, but he’s not steeped in the dark side like too many others. He’s actually far more like his sister than you might think.” She paused, giving Master Xaja a look as the redhead knelt to give an old astromech droid a hug, the droid beeping loudly and happily enough to be heard a few metres away. “Arguably, he could claim to be the more Jedi-like of the two.”

Jace snorted. “A Dark Lord of the Sith and a Dark Councillor, more Jedi-like than a hero of the Order?”

“He wasn’t the one who yelled a few interesting curses at Revan on Yavin, or told a mercenary where to go and how to get there. He’s far less hot-headed than his sister is.” Satele smiled slightly. “It’s unfortunate he wound up on Korriban; he would have done very well as a Jedi.”

“Hmm.” Unconvinced, Jace watched as a blonde woman hurried to the reunion throng in the tunnel, frowning at her sulphuric yellow eyes. His gaze darted toward the lightsaber on her hip, noting the metallic fins and blackened metal -- a very Sith style. Master Xaja didn’t seem to mind that, or the Mandalorian bounty hunter behind the Sith — she shot back to her feet and hurried to give the blonde a hug, one that was gladly returned. Lana Beniko was a known Imperial asset, and the SIS’s records indicated she was Imperius’ top advisor. “Blast, they’re still Sith, Satele. You know what they’re capable of.”

“Yes. And I believe Imperius would unleash it to protect his siblings… not unlike you might protecting us, the Republic.” Her hand tightened on his arm. “It doesn’t make him a bad person, Jace.” They watched as Theron turned from talking to Imperius and Captain Taerich, an open smile on his face as he went to greet Beniko. His arm was moving much more freely, Jace noticed, like it was no longer damaged. “I have never had cause to be worried around him. And he did protect Theron along with his sister.”

To what end? Jace wondered as he watched the reunions: Master Xaja was animatedly talking to Beniko, Theron standing at her side and interjecting commentary before turning to greet a newcomer with dark hair and a brown coat. Imperius had turned to speak to a Mandalorian woman in green armour -- the Champion of the Great Hunt, Shara Verhayc, Jace recognized -- while his smuggler brother slipped out of the crowd and neatly disappeared. No matter that Satele didn’t consider Imperius or his right-hand to be threats, no matter that Theron greeted the Sith like friends — Jace couldn’t bring himself to feel at ease around them.

And this was before bringing Cipher Nine into the mix, he thought. He frowned. Nothing involving the Empire’s top spy could ever end well.

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As the crowds beganto disperse toward the main sections of the hive, reunions still ongoing, Korin slipped away to send a message to his father. The old spy was probably in hyperspace, but if the Shadow ever dropped back into realspace for course corrections, he would hopefully see the message before having a worry-induced heart attack. The smuggler sighed — his father picked the most inconvenient times to be radio silent.

“What’s this? You, dodging out of the closest thing to a party we’ve seen in years?” A familiar -- and very welcome -- voice to his left startled him. Looking over, he saw Kira leaning against a stalagmite and smirking at him. “Who are you and what have you done with Korin Taerich?”

“It ain’t a party til the booze and strippers are out,” Korin retorted with a grin as he slipped his datapad back into his pocket, the message to his father half-written. “You remember Rishi.”

Kira grinned as Korin stepped up to her, resting his forearm on the stalagmite over her head. “Vividly. Those were some good times with the crazy cultists.” She straightened enough to slip her arms around Korin’s neck. “So what’s this I hear about the dumb spacer thing being an act and you leading a proper strike team?”

“I call shenanigans. I still dunno how I got roped into that,” Korin muttered as Kira laughed. The smuggler grinned as his other hand came to rest on the Jedi’s waist. “You missed seein’ some of my best shootin’, Jedi.”

One auburn eyebrow raised. “So if that was your best shooting, what’ve you been showing me the last year and a half?” Bright blue eyes pointedly glanced up and down, suggestive amusement pulling her lips into a grin.

“I said some of my best shootin’. You get the special showin’, Carsen.”

“Do I?” Kira’s eyes danced with pleased mischief, as her fingers started lightly tickling the back of his neck. “I’m not convinced, Captain. You got some persuading to do.”

“Challenge accepted,” Korin retorted with a smirk as he leaned in to kiss her. “Real talk though,” he murmured, sobering for a moment, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” For a brief moment, lingering grief and fear flickered through Kira’s Force-signature before she withdrew to where Korin couldn’t sense her emotions. She covered her brief slip with a smirk. “Your life would’ve gotten a lot less interesting without us in it.”

“And a lot less fun without you in particular,” Korin murmured as he pulled her into a side tunnel and kissed her again.

For a second, he thought about the message sitting half-written on his datapad, and almost pulled himself away to finish sending it. But then Kira’s hand had slipped down, nimble fingers finding his belt buckle, and he quickly decided it could wait. Chances were the old man was already in hyperspace. He would just finish the message later… much, much later.

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Oh, stars, she looked just like her mother. Mairen watched as the group of evacuees from Dantooine and their Havoc Squad saviours scattered within the resistance base — some people heading for the medics, some to meet friends, and still others to just go and crash from post-trauma exhaustion.

But she wasn’t watching the refugees. She was watching the red-haired Jedi woman walking toward the command centre with Lord Beniko and Captain Vortena, animatedly talking to the Sith. Even if the girl’s face hadn’t been broadcasted around the entire galaxy for the last month, along with the face of the tall, handsome spy beside her, Mairen would have recognized her.

She remained still as the group walked past her, able to observe without being recognized. Agent Shan, she noticed, seemed to be more alert, looking about with a slightly paranoid look; his gaze landed on Mairen for a moment before moving on, apparently taking her to be only a curious onlooker. Airna’s daughter glanced at her for barely a second before her attention turned back to Lord Beniko. Mairen had known that her cousin’s daughter wouldn’t recognize her, not like her brother had — she had never met her own mother. But that didn’t quite stop the slight ache in her heart.

At first glance, the pretty redhead didn’t seem to take after her father much at all. She had her mother’s hair and eyes, her mother’s slim build, and the same graceful stride. And the laugh that came from her at some quip Lord Beniko made was an eerie echo of Airna. Even her reputed sharp temper and fondness for creative insults came from her mother. And you went after a spy, too, she thought, shaking her head. Truly your mother’s daughter. At least Agent Shan was a Republic agent, and not in the service of the Empire.

It was like Mairen was watching her cousin again, before she had left Corellia with Taerich. She wanted to go to the girl, see how much of Airna lived on in her — but the younger Jedi wouldn’t know who she was. And she had just survived one terrible ordeal after another. And your journey isn’t done yet, Mairen thought as she watched her cousin’s daughter walk up a ramp to one of the command platforms, Agent Shan never far from her. With any luck, there would be time later to meet Xaja Taerich properly. The Jedi Shadow could only hope that the only thing she had inherited from her father was his surname.

#drastic measures #look! I haven't forgotten this yet!#KOTFE AU #SWTOR #Theron/Xaja #reunion time!#Xaja finally caught up to her brothers again #Suspicious Jace is suspicious #now we know where Theron gets the trust issues from #meanwhile on Coruscant #more family drama inbound!#this story is never going to end I stg #and look! Korin/Kira!

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bigskydreaming · 6 years ago

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Seriously, for fuck’s sake, I know that post was AT LEAST as far back as December, if not more, and it literally had less than ten notes just two hours ago.

But remember! I’m on a fucking CRUSADE! I just want to take away peoples’ rape fics and harmless kiddie porn fantasies and I just can’t respect the fact that as long as people just TAG their ‘herein lies my advertisement of the fact that hahaha, omg I think what happened to you is actually kinda hot and sexy giggle giggle aren’t I so TABOO????’ smut like lol okay, well that doesn’t affect me at all, I’m not remotely bothered by having to spend every single day wading through reminders of how much more fascinating people find rape than actual survivors of said things.

I’m the one who has no idea how to live in a society with other people and suck it up and deal with the fact that sometimes, people do and say things that make us uncomfortable and we wish we could avoid, but just shut the fuck up and keep that to yourself, right? Don’t like....TELL people they’ve made you uncomfortable and are doing things that you wish they’d think about more critically, gosh, all that’s gonna do is make THEM uncomfortable then, why couldn’t you just kept it to yourself, how dare you think TALKING about problems is the solution?????

Yup yup, I’m clearly the one who has no boundaries and no regard for other people and can’t let people just have their harmless fun, their different opinions that don’t actually affect me, I’m the one who just can’t seem to stop from hunting down posts I don’t agree with and hopping on other blogs and resurrecting weeks or months old posts just to make sure EVERYONE KNOWS THIS POST WAS WROOOOOOONG. Lmao.

Well I’m very sorry for all that, now that mine eyes have been opened! Rape fics are harmless and this is all just fictional, nobody is actually affected in a negative way by anything being talked about here yaaaaaaay!

Anyway, I’m off to spend the rest of the night trying to calm down lolol because fun fact for people who love to talk about being triggered but have no real clue what they’re actually talking about and how that word was never meant to describe being like...upset or angry but rather the stimuli or situations that put survivors and people with PTSD and other mental disorders into actual goddamn panic spirals and attacks. And thus like, triggers are not as fucking obvious as some of you seem to think they are.

Like lol guess what, I actually can read a scene wherein someone’s raping someone in a scene that looks or sounds EXACTLY LIKE MY RAPE and it can be heart-wrenching and it can be graphic and it can be emotional and I can still not be triggered by that! Know why? Because shockingly, I AM aware that this is just fictional! That these are just fictional characters! That no fictional character and no real person has been harmed in the writing of this scene, because FICTIONAL CHARACTERS CAN’T BE HARMED! Know what else fictional characters can’t be? RAPED. Because rape is not a VISUAL, rape is not an ACTION, rape is not a SPECIFIC SEQUENCE OF EVENTS. Rape is a THEFT, it is one person STEALING another person’s ability to control what happens with their body, taking what they have no right to take, just because they WANT to, just because they CAN. And thus NO rape scene, no matter HOW well written or realistically depicted, is ever going to BE a rape scene, just like no ‘rape fantasy’ roleplay is ever going to BE rape because without an actual DYNAMIC of one person taking something the other person has no power to stop, when its two equally consenting partners or two flat fictional characters on a page, it is still nothing more than a SIMULATION of rape, and NEVER ANYTHING MORE THAN THAT.

And guess what? I can handle THAT just fine. THAT doesn’t trigger me no matter how much it reminds me of my own trauma, because I KNOW DAMN WELL THAT ISN’T REAL.

But you know what IS real? You know what DOES trigger me? The CONTEXT of the scene. The REASON it was written, the intended REACTION of the reader.

The part that makes me lose my fucking shit is when I’m forced to face the reality that this scene exists, was written, because somebody found it HOT and SEXY and wanted to share it with people who’d see it the same way. The reason I lose my goddamn MIND and my adrenaline ramps up and my whole body starts shaking as my fight or flight instincts kick in with no actual outlet because there’s no actual threat, just the phantom reminder of a threat I couldn’t escape from....THAT fun little adventure comes from looking or hearing about things that remind me of my rape, take me back to that fucking room and make me a terrified out of my goddamn mind dumbass nineteen year old all over again.....and knowing that this is HOT to the writer and readers, that this is intended as sexually gratifying, that this scene, this depiction, this simulation of one person STEALING from another powerless person SOMETHING THEY WILL NEVER EVER FUCKING BE ABLE TO GET BACK AS LONG AS THEY LIVE, THE SENSE OF SAFETY AND SECURITY THAT COMES FROM BEING THE ONLY PERSON WHO GETS TO DECIDE WHO HAS ACCESS TO YOUR BODY....knowing that this little smutty fic exists so people can read this and be TURNED ON by this, so they can GET OFF to this, this thing they’re looking at in their mind, reading about, picturing as they stare down at their screen getting all hot and bothered....

JUST LIKE MY FUCKING RAPIST LOOKED WHEN GETTING OFF FROM TAKING THOSE THINGS FROM ME.

THAT is what fucking triggers me, THAT is what makes me feel unsafe and panicky, THAT is what traps me all over again in that fucking goddamn room and leaves me STUCK there no matter how many years its been and HOW far I’ve come in getting past it...

THE CONSTANT NEVER ENDING REMINDER THAT PEOPLE THINK ITS TOTALLY NO BIG DEAL TO FUCKING AGREE WITH MY RAPIST ABOUT HOW FUCKING HOT AND SATISFYING THE VIEW IS FROM UP THERE.

And all the fucking trigger warnings in the world don’t protect me from THAT, they just emphasize how little people actually give a shit, they just want the magic answer to how they can have their fun ‘harmless’ little rape KINK without having someone make them feel bad for the fact that the rank goes FUN RAPE FANTASIES YAY first and survivors who have a problem with that way the fuck last.

Anyway, so that’s what I’ll be doing all night! Links to my paypal and my ko-fi are on my main blog page if anyone’s ever felt informed or learned anything from any of my many, many, MANY posts about this stuff or any form of gratitude for the effort I DO or at least once DID put into sorting through my thoughts and making my points in some kind of way that actually addresses the usual conversations around all this.

Because guess what? It IS goddamn fucking emotional labor. It DOES take work! Its EXHAUSTING. It HURTS. I would give anything in the world to NOT pick at that giant fucking scab as often as I do, but I DONT HAVE THAT OPTION. Because not talking about it DOESNT MAKE IT GO AWAY. It doesn’t make LESS for me to have to navigate through every goddamn day of my life and you know what the suggested response to problems that you can’t fix on your own are? Problems with SOCIETY?

HAVING GODDAMN CONVERSATIONS ABOUT IT.

So excuse me for SAYING that as often as I do especially cuz every time I DO I get maybe ten notes of acknowledgment that anyone’s even fucking LISTENING but meanwhile here’s another fucking five hundred on a Batfam or X-Men shit post, now THAT’S the content people want from me!

Guess what! I WANT THAT TO BE MY CONTENT TO!

I would LOVE nothing more than to just be able to happily and comfortably shitpost about my favorite superheroes and write stuff I enjoy and that doesn’t have the flaws I rant about seeing in so many shows and books. I could talk for HOURS about fun thoughts and ideas I have in my head, I could banter back and forth with my friends about nothing of substance at all for DAYS, I don’t NEED to fucking retraumatize myself every goddamn day screaming into the void about this shit so I can feel IMPORTANT or have something INTERESTING to blog about or whatever the fuck people think is my reason for ranting about this shit. ALL. THE. GODDAMN. TIME.

But I can’t do that, because there is not a fucking day that goes by, not a DAY where SOMETHING doesn’t cross my dash, or SOMETHING isn’t on an Ao3 page I’m searching through for fic about a fave character, that doesn’t set me off and make my body start shaking with how deeply, fundamentally UPSETTING it is to constantly be bombarded with reminders of just how easy people find it to reframe my trauma as something hot and sexy and WAY MORE WORTH DEFENDING than the very thought of me going ONE FUCKING DAY without having to stumble across bullshit like that. Because I CAN’T ‘dont like/dont read’ as much is out there. I don’t need to click on a fic to see this is smut fic by an author who thinks rape is hot and judging from the number of kudos and comments and hits is definitely on to something! GUESS I DID MY RAPE WRONG THEN, cuz it wasnt fucking hot for me!

I would love to just ‘avoid’ it so I can actually ENJOY my fucking time on the internet. But I CANT. Because its EVERYWHERE. And god forbid I try and start fucking CONVERSATIONS about that so that maybe, someday, after we’ve done the work as a society to examine WHY PEOPLE ARE SO FUCKING INVESTED IN THIS STUFF, I or at the very least people like me, can someday enjoy one day on the internet where they DONT have to constantly wade through an endless swamp of that shit.

Honestly. Seriously. I have said it so often I can not count. I do not want to censor anyone. I do not want power over what people can read or write. I just. want. to TELL people that when they write this stuff, it has CONSEQUENCES, that there are people it DOES hurt, and have them LISTEN, so that at least, at LEAST the ones who are bothered enough by that realization to NOT be comfortable writing it when faced with the awareness of the fact that their writing HAS THIS EFFECT WHETHER WE SAY IT TO THEIR FACES OR NOT, that THEY at least can decide....hey. What if I just...wrote something else instead?

But what the FUCK am I supposed to do with the constant, incessant reminder that people would rather dig in their heels in defense of their RAPE FANTASIES than roll up their sleeves and do a little fucking examination of WHY they and society at large are so fucking invested in this shit that the very IDEA of ‘giving up’ content like this for the sake of people who have actually LIVED through it, is just....INCOMPREHENSIBLE to them? That they feel ATTACKED by the very idea?

(And don’t fucking come at me with that ‘some survivors use it to cope’ stuff. Yeah, well I used to get in bar fights as my coping mechanism. Didn’t fucking mean it was healthy, and it wasn’t fucking harmless to anyone I punched in the goddamn face, now was it? Also, if you’re not a survivor and you hide behind that line, FEEL FUCKING ASHAMED for thinking of it as a kneejerk response to another survivor telling you your “kink” fucking hurts).

I’m out. See you all later.

#rape cw

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