#there is some projection happening here but no one is that calm without some intellectualism | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

evesaintyves · 11 months

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trick or treat 👻🎃❤️

thank you @whinlatter 💕

you get a snippet of my shitty first draft of the Beasts tribute fic i started. for non-whinlatters, Beasts is her absolutely astonishing Ginny & the Weasley family fic that follows her postwar seventh year at Hogwarts, intertwined with glimpses of her development as a child & teenager, and there's a brief mention of a care facility where recipients of the Dementor's kiss live out the rest of their lives. Highly recommend this fic - it's just such a rich portrayal of the whole Weasley family, the fraught rebuilding process after the war, and Ginny's emotional & intellectual life.

tw: illness, death, and very unpleasant hospital stuff

this idea of what happens to people after they've been kissed by a dementor really spoke to me for a few reasons - i couldn't help but think about some of the things i've seen in my professional life. i work in a healthcare specialty i can't really name without potentially doxing myself (it's a small world) and early in my career i occasionally participated in testing to determine death by neurologic criteria - essentially, flat lines on an eeg, which is a really terrible thing to see if you know what you're looking at. it's a difficult thing to even comprehend, especially for a parent - that a child who was splashing in the pool a few hours ago, now seemingly asleep, will not wake up, is damaged so profoundly that they they will never take another unassisted breath. i also regularly worked with people who were incarcerated in the state prison system. it taught me a lot about - let's keep it short and just say inhumanity: in the american healthcare system and especially where it intersects with the criminal justice system, and, unfortunately, in some of my colleagues and the way they cared for their incarcerated patients.

in my current role i work with a lot of patients who just aren't going to get better, who are entirely dependent on caregivers to keep them alive and maintain their quality of life. and it is - i hope you'll understand when i say this i say it as someone who is devoted and privileged to do it - often difficult and demoralizing work. for families and for staff.

my youngest sister was one of these people: she suffered a hemorrhage in infancy which resulted in serious damage to her brain. she never spoke, walked, fed or bathed herself. it was difficult to know what she understood, perceived, felt, wanted. she was a beautiful, calm, sweet-natured child who was easy to love; not every family in our position is so fortunate. it was also easy for us to project on her an interior life that may or may not have really been there, which was a great comfort to my mother. but her daily care needs were enormous, taxing, frustrating, and her inevitable deterioration and death were devastating to witness.

obviously i don't really want to equate people with brain injuries and whatever other special needs with people in the hp universe who no longer have souls - that's part of the reason i've struggled with this fic. there are a lot of potentially-unanswerable questions about the humanity and interiority of victims of soul-removal in this fictional context, but i think the only responsible practice for a clinician working with such patients would be to assume that they still feel, experience, and need what any other person who cannot care for themselves would. including not just nutrition, hygiene, etc. but also company and touch and positive regard. and that whatever crime, even atrocity, they might have committed is irrelevant to my duty to them as a caregiver. but that is easier to say than to do, consistently, every day, at home or in a medical facility, and i know from experience that it won't always happen that way.

anyway, if for some reason you have read this far, here's an excerpt from the story, complete with first-draft placeholders where i decided to rethink some dumb on-the-nose character names, lol. it needs to be rewritten from scratch, honestly. it's set at the end of GoF, when Madame Pomfrey is tasked with removing the house-elf Winky from Barty Crouch, Jr.'s side after he has received the kiss, and I've decided for the purposes of this silly little fic that she has experience in the care facility where he'll end up.

working title is My Beautiful Dead Friends.

Minerva saw the whole horrible thing and it was all over her face, what it had done to her. Poppy has never seen it happen, and neither had [supervisor], which seemed to irritate him; he'd read about it in books. The soul emits a colourless glow as it exits, he said, visible for an instant before it is consumed. For some time in the eighteenth century the Kiss was performed in public, on a platform raised above Diagon Alley. People would bring their children. There were woodcuts depicting the moment, dementors in swirling curlicues, the bound hands and dark mouth of the convicted, and the soul, represented as a star or sometimes a tiny naked man, caught in the moment of transit. It was striking how carefully, how delicately, the little soul was etched, with lines of light coming off it. Even the soul of a murderer, a beautiful shining thing. Minerva had marched Barty to the infirmary dozens of times in his schooldays. Sometimes because Horace wasn't fond of the long walk, nor of standing up to his own students, but often because it was one of her Gryffindors who'd done it to him. He was there all the time, hexed, cursed, punched in the face. It seemed, at first, simply the lot of the delicate-featured son of the head of law enforcement to be regularly trounced. He gave at least as good as he got and sometimes there'd be an entire queue of students behind him covered in boils, missing or extra limbs, pinching their nostrils to stop the bats from flapping out. Barty might chuckle through a mouth of blood while she saw to him, or he might writhe and moan as if in agony; Poppy had a suspicion that it depended on whether there was a Hogmeade weekend or an exam coming up. It wasn't only the usual interhouse skirmishes with Barty—Once, he limped to the hospital wing on his own, so badly beaten she had to put him out for a while and repair his perforated intestines with dozens of tiny movements of the tip of her wand. When he came to, she asked him what had happened, who had done this. He grinned at her with half his teeth gone. "Jusht the cosht of doing businesh, Madame," he said. Bubbles of red on his lips as he spoke. She found out later from Filius that he'd scammed a bunch of Ravenclaws into a sort of pyramid scheme, buying and reselling junk from Zonko's to each other. She was sure he didn't need the money: his robes were clasped with real-silver fasteners in the shapes of snakes. His mother came to take him home for the weekend after that one. He pressed the side of his face into the bosom of her robes and sobbed pitifully while Poppy left them to it behind a screen. On his way out the door, later, he waved to her, like, see you soon! Now he looks content, drowsy, like he's just had a meal. It was always hard to square the faces of the Kissed with what they'd done. Barty could almost be his seventh-year self, resting in the lull of a potion—though he might have already been a murderer by then, she realised. His hands, which had once aimed waves of pain so brutal they'd evicted poor Alice and Frank Longbottom from their own minds, are laced together at rest on his stomach. His thumbnail picks occasionally at the wand-callus on his forefinger. Some unlucky trainee healer will be alarmed by that one day. The Kissed do those little things. Their eyes follow you, sometimes, across the room. They smack their lips when they swallow the bubblemint-flavoured nutrition potion. They sit up in bed. "Look—he's doing it—I've told you—" Llanzo's mother had once cried, summoning the whole staff to come and see. She was tickling Llanzo's ribs with her fingers, and his lips had pulled back, his chest was jerking with spasms of laughter, no sound but a sort of clicking in his throat. "It's a reflex," [supervisor] told her. Llanzo's younger brother slumped in his bedside chair and stared sourly at his mother. She got angry, understandably, and shouted a bit before storming out.

"A rat will make a rhythmic sound if you tickle its belly," [supervisor] told Poppy in private. "You can call it laughter, if you like."

Llanzo was the only one who ever got visitors. He'd been accused of leading a nine-year-old witch away from her parents at Gray's beach and leaving her face-down, strangled, in the shallow mud of the Thames. His mother had given an alibi, which wasn't enough to keep him from being arrested, and he'd been shipped off to Azkaban to be held pending trial. As they'd approached the jagged rocks of the island he'd broken his bonds somehow and heaved himself over the side of the boat. Escape, suicide, or just some motiveless panic, it wasn't clear, but when they'd caught him and hauled him onshore the Dementors had fallen on him at once. He was seventeen, on his summer holidays. Lying in bed on the ward a year later he still looked like a child. Poppy wasn't sentimental, as a rule, but at the end of shift after those visits she'd sometimes have to have a little cry in the car park before she apparated home. "If you ask me I think she's on to something," Catherine told her once, in low tones, eyes on [supervisor]'s office door. "I've seen things. The way they look up at you. You can leave them on the pot for an hour, they won't do a thing, then as soon as they're back on the bed, haven't even had time to get a nappy out—" she made a squelching sound in her cheek. "Pure spite, I swear."

His mother came back the following week, brother in tow, and sat with him reading from Quidditch Through the Ages, turning the book to show him the moving illustrations. Sometimes his gaze moved to land on them and sometimes it didn't. "He was a Chaser," she told Catherine, who'd come to give him a bath. "Fast as anything. His Dad and I were both hopeless on a broom, but he's—" She swallowed hard. Llanzo was smiling faintly, as he often did when he got his bath. His breath came in soft vocal sounds that were almost sighs. "—he's my superstar," she finished. When they left, she made his brother say goodbye to him. Poppy was scrubbing up at the bedside sink to do his skin integrity assessment. Llanzo's brother gripped his hand, and leaned down as if to kiss him on the cheek. "Fucking die," he whispered, lips almost touching Llanzo's motionless face.

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lightlavenders · 4 years

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Time for my Entrapdak rant (a.k.a. why Hordak was better for her than literally anyone else, a.k.a. I’m not bias I swear)

as I read through Entrapta/Hordak/princess gang discourse on this site I started to realise the reason why I loved Entrapdak so much in the first place, and I will now talk about that here (some of these points are stolen from better posts). ALSO no matter how much I shit on other characters just know this isn’t an attack of any of them. This is gonna be VERY ENTRAPTA FOCUSED.

OK SO we get introduced to Entrapta pretty early in season 1 and we get to learn a lot about her. It also quickly becomes clear that she’s neurodivergent - something confirmed to be intentional by many of the creators. Entrapta has a passion for technology, science and inventing, and (same as the previous princesses) the best friend squad decide they need her in the alliance so she can build them weapons (whICH SHE NEVER ACTUALLY DOES i think BUT THATS NOT THE POINT).

Throughout the episode though, the squad (mostly Glimmer bc she’s the one who gets to closely interact with Entrapta the most... Adora being completely out of it and Bow with the kitchen staff) seems to slowly run out of patience for her - Glimmer very obviously puts up a front of tolerance despite her frustration. This is unlike the other episodes, where all the princesses get along in the end and become best friends oh boy! So... we have our only neurodivergent character so far who isn’t really welcomed into the group the same way as the others... and her autistic behaviour is only tolerated because they need her... okay, maybe that’ll change later.

Or not? When Entrapta joins the others on the quest to save Glimmer, she is constantly infantilised by the others and not taken seriously. She runs off to study Horde tech and actually helps rescue Sea Hawk, two very helpful things, but Perfuma talks down to her like a child and PUTS HER ON A LEASH? SHE’S 30!!! SHE WAS TRYING TO HELP! And no one tells Sea Hawk off for getting lost and alerting Scorpia to their presence, which wasn’t helpful at all. Then later, Mermista says she’ll keep an eye on her “in case she decides to befriend any more robots” like okay... she isn’t a child, and she didn’t run off because she wanted to play with robots or something?

Okay, so, Entrapta is left behind, which I won’t blame them for because it definitely looked like she died (they get over it pretty quickly but I digress), and she comes across Catra. Okay! Here’s a chance for Entrapta to make a true friend, right? Or not, because Entrapta and Catra’s friendship is built entirely on manipulation. At least Scorpia was sincere.

Here Entrapta is again, in a position where she’s being used for her skills and in a we’re-sort-of-friends-but-I-only-tolerate-you-because-you’re-useful situation, with Scorpia probably being her only true friend at the moment. She starts helping out the horde, because they actually let her do what she wants and at the very least don’t treat her like a child. Then, she stumbles into Hordak’s lab.

I’m gonna say this now because I’ll get murdered if I don’t - Hordak is a bad guy. He does bad guy stuff. But so does Entrapta sometimes (I’ll talk about that later) so good morals don’t need to play into their relationship I think. It’s about how they treat each other.

At first, Hordak is very defensive and angry towards Entrapta, as he would be to anyone coming in to his lab without permission and discovering his secret portal project. But then she fixes said portal and he immediately sees her as an intellectual equal. Again, Entrapta has had to prove herself to someone by making herself useful, but it actually goes further. ALSO can I say how Hordak is the ONLY person who interacts directly with Entrapta who doesn’t treat her like a child or emotionally manipulate her, with the exception of Wrong Hordak, Emily, and Imp of all characters... Even Scorpia is guilty of this later.

So, Entrapta and Hordak start working together, and Entrapta is obviously very excited to have someone treat her as an equal (they’re lab partners!!). On top of that, Hordak is also happy to have someone he can actually trust. Catra and Scorpia at separate times both remark on how Entrapta spends all of her time with him now, and who can fucking blame her when he’s the only one that has literally spent all this time growing close to her and understanding her as a person, not just using her, not just tolerating her, not talking down to her constantly. Hordak opens up his trauma to Entrapta and she responds by opening up a bit in return, literally saying that she doesn’t fit in and that Catra doesn’t even talk to her anymore. They are obviously comfortable around each other, and if Hordak was manipulating her, then why was he so distraught when she was taken away? Why did he CRY??? Why did he consider giving up on his life’s purpose and abandoning what is essentially his god for her???

Anyway, stuff happens, and Entrapta shows that she isn’t the irresponsible child everyone thinks she is by agreeing to shut off the portal. But of course, Catra betrays her and sends her away. To die. How nice. Catra tells Hordak that Entrapta betrayed him, and instead of flipping out and turning all Hal Stewart incel “if I can’t have you no one can” he just gets sad... and then later all he really wants is to see her again, even if it is on the battlefield. I’m not sure what he would’ve done so we can’t say for sure, but I seriously doubt he wanted to hurt her.

sidenote - I’m not gonna blame Scorpia for letting Catra doing this, Scorpia had her own shit going on and was essentially trapped in an abusive relationship and she also later makes up for letting Entrapta down by getting her rescued

SO then the best friend squad go to save her from Beast Island, and she’s literally completely given up. Gee, I wonder why. Could it be because it seems like every friend she’s ever had has abandoned her, scolded her, or outright zapped her unconscious and sent her to die in a monster filled island? But the squad save her and affirm to her that they didn’t give up on her and that they’re still her friends. Actions speak louder than words, guys, but okay, cool! To Bow and Adora’s credit, they were the least patronising and mean out of anyone... so, that’s something. Anyway! Affirmations! Some respect from her friends! I hope this lasts...

It didn’t! Season 5, Entrapta goes along with the others to help find out where Glimmer is. Here is where I quickly have to say something - Entrapta does indeed make some ‘evil’ and stupid decisions sometimes - hacking the black garnet, building robots that attack her old friends, walking out absentmindedly in front of a robot and compromising her team. Some of these things can be explained by her neurodivergence, but do not always justify it. That being said. Entrapta is not evil, she is not stupid, and her “weirdness” does not give her friends the excuse to treat her like a child.

Here’s where it gets bad!! Perfuma puts Entrapta on a leash AGAIN!!!!!! WHAT? Writers? Wyd?? Not only this, but the others talk about her behind her back, and then scold her without any consideration for how she, as a neurodivergent person, was interpreting the situation. They could’ve explained their feelings to her in a calm way, instead of shunning her and expecting her to pick up on their cues, then exploding at her when they didn’t. THEN THEY CALL HER A BAD FRIEND.... and I feel hypocrisy in this chili’s tonight... and then Scorpia... doesn’t say anything? Girl help. Ik we can’t totally blame her since she was new to the squad and probably didn’t wanna get kicked out or yelled at like with Catra, but please... that is your friend...say something. also why did mermista need to pull her hair and then later say “you’re still a weirdo” like what. why do people ship them? because mermista cried when entrapta ‘died’? Okay??

I think Entrapta actually goes through some character development after this which is pretty cool - she outwardly expresses her concern for Glimmer, which is affirming to her friends the squad, and later at the end of the series, intentionally keeps herself focused during the most high stakes moment instead of running off. I’m not qualified to talk about if these traits, which could be considered traits of autistic people, deserve to be treated as flaws to be fixed, that’s a whole other bag of worms, but yay character development.

Finally, at the end, Hordak properly reunites with Entrapta and he decides to rebel against his creator and his purpose to save her life, showing that Entrapta, and their connection, is his priority now. And once Adora saves Hordak from Prime (thanks Adora), the two finally reunite in a spinning hug - that is literally the most physical contact either of them have had with anyone, how could anyone not believe in their connection and mutual trust???

Mermista gives us one last jab, an understandable one considering Hordak was conquering their planet for years on end, but still - “so, are we all just like, okay with this?” yes girl, we are. He’s literally the only one who ever treated her with real respect and love, the only one who ever prioritised her.

I know some people are gonna be like “just ship her with wrong Hordak” and if you really like that... go ahead I guess? But do we need to force a clone who just got control of his own mind into a relationship, or a girl who is very much in love with someone else into a relationship with one of her friends? You can do what you want though, it’s literally fine, I’m the one who just spent over 1500 words talking about why a 30 year old science woman should go out with an alien warlord.

In conclusion - Hordak and Entrapta deserve each other, because Entrapta deserves someone who treats her right, and I love her.

#entrapdak #entrapta and hordak #entrapdak discourse #entrapta #hordak #i had to include a megamind reference #She Ra #SPOP #big ol post #she ra and the princesses of power #i spent so long on this

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ms-gallows · 4 years

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Astrological signs for Obi-Wan Kenobi!

I know astrology can be a divisive subject for some people, but I’m into it and I’ve been studying it for a bit. I mostly just focused on the signs and planets, not on the houses that they fell into, so there may be some inconsistencies! I might change these later the more I learn, but this is just for fun! Here is my take on Obi-Wan! (Anakin is here!) Before I get into this, I want to explain the elements and the modes:

Air = thoughts/intellect Earth = materialism/pragmatism Water = emotion/spiritualism Fire = Action/Instinct

Cardinal = initiative Fixed = stability Mutable = adaptability

Obi-Wan has mostly Earth and Air, making him practical and intellectual. He has just enough water to give him emotional understanding of others and a sense of spirituality. He is also Cardinal and Mutable dominant, which gives him initiative and adaptability.

Libra Ascendant: Oh, charming Obi-Wan. The ascendant is considered a mask and filter. It is the ‘mask’ we unconsciously show to the world, before people get to know us more personally. Obi-Wan gives the first impression of a Libra, there is a ‘lightness’ to how he conducts himself with acquaintances, charming them, approaching with friendliness and wit. This doesn’t mean he isn’t friendly inside, this is just the part of himself he is comfortable with showing first. Having a Libra Ascendant lightens up his serious Virgo interior. Libra gives him both his cheeky and intellectual demeanor. Cue Obi-Wan’s Ascendant being cheeky here:

The Ascendant is also a filter, meaning Obi-Wan interprets the world around him through the lens of a Libra. Libra makes him see things in terms of balance and harmony. Libra also has the air of a leader and is a very attractive sign to others. I originally had Obi-Wan as a Libra Rising, changed it to Gemini, and now it’s at Libra again because he just has this aura of a leader. There’s a reason why people look to him for guidance. As a leader he is very focused on fairness and equality. It makes sense with how he views the clones as equally important life, and not as tools.

Virgo Sun: I made Obi-Wan a Virgo Sun instead of a Libra Sun because he appears very charming, but we can see Obi-Wan from the perspective of someone who knows him very well: Anakin. Anakin sees what Obi-Wan hides from everyone else. The way Obi-Wan acts around Anakin when he is alone suggests that he is a Virgo to me. He is diligent, dutiful, pragmatic, and likes to be of service. These are traits that Obi-Wan is well-known for, giving his life to the Jedi Order and to others. That is the very core of who he is.

Virgos can get very critical of others as well, and Anakin is no stranger to that. He is prone to over-analysis and anxiety, but he projects a calm, charismatic veneer (the Ascendant). The mutable mode of this sign makes harmony a priority for him. His Ascendant and Mercury are compatible with those aims as well, which makes him seem very consistent personality-wise. Obi-Wan would like nothing more than to have a nice, calm space to meditate (mostly, anyway, he’d probably get bored after a while thanks to the cardinal Libra/Capricorn influence.) Virgo makes him keenly aware of his health, and he takes special care to consume healthy foods and take care of his body. Because it rules the stomach, Obi-Wan may have a sensitive stomach that gets upset when he is nervous.

Cancer Moon: The moon is where we express our emotions, our vulnerabilities, and our maternal instinct. Moon in Cancer is in the sign of its rulership, so it is particularly potent. The Cancer Moon shows Obi-Wan’s adherence and value for tradition. It’s the core of Obi-Wan’s emotional self, the only water sign he has in his inner planets, and it’s a side that he only shows when he is completely comfortable. It isn’t a side that he has much experience with either.

With the moon being a maternal planet and Cancer being a feminine sign, there is a distinctly maternal energy in the way he cares for his loved ones. The way Obi-Wan is described on Mustafar as trying to tire Anakin out so he can cuddle him sounds like Anakin is his baby. In a deleted scene of Clone Wars, when Anakin asks how Obi-Wan would sleep knowing that he’d failed, Obi-Wan replies with “Not very well, but luckily that isn’t true, and never will be.” That sounds like a Cancer Moon Momma if I’ve ever heard one.

His Libra Ascendant and Mercury also square his Cancer Moon (cardinal signs all square each other), so he has a lot of difficulty talking about his feelings or showing his feelings.

Even though he can be overly-critical or put on a flirtatious facade, he is deeply sincere and patient towards his dearest. Cancer is emotionally intuitive, so he has a keen sense of when someone is lying. He knows there’s a lot of emotion under Anakin’s surface. He feels deeply for Anakin, but being mostly comprised of Air and Earth make it difficult for him to communicate in a way that Anakin would understand. This is the part of Obi-Wan that Anakin feels starved of, the part that he clings to, and Obi-Wan doesn’t often indulge in it because it feels like he is losing control (and Virgos like keeping control of themselves). He’s worried he would become too attached (More on this with Anakin’s chart). Cancer has a hard shell and claws, so if Obi-Wan feels like someone is trying to dig into his vulnerabilities, he’s going to snap. I feel like this is probably what happened when Darth Maul was taunting Obi-Wan about killing his master.

Mercury in Libra: Mercury is all about how we understand things, think, and communicate. Mercury in Libra values balance and fair negotiation where everyone benefits is ideal. He is fluid and adaptable, without being overly emotional. He wants to make sure people are comfortable. (Which is why I think he still might be Libra Ascendant). Libra values fairness and equality above all. Libra is both intellectual and relationship oriented. He intellectually knows that he has to continually reach out to Anakin in order to maintain their good relationship.

When giving criticism, he tries to be patient and gentle, however his Virgo Sun (the ego) may get frustrated and that’s when he gives sharp criticism.

He will start with “perhaps the problem is [blank]”, which then becomes “Anakin, just do what I tell you”, when he becomes exasperated (which is often with Anakin).

His Libra Mercury is where we get more of his wit and flirtatious attitude. I didn’t go with Gemini here because it’s mutable and known to flit from one subject to the next, while Obi-Wan seems to be more linear in the way he communicates. And I didn’t pick Aquarius because he prefers keeping harmony over bucking convention. This what Obi-Wan’s Sun/Mercury look like when he’s double-checking that he’s reading things correctly:

(Obi-Wan’s Libra Mercury trying to assure Cody that everything is fine.)

Venus in Virgo: Venus rules romance, aesthetics, and taste. It is considered ‘debilitated’ in Virgo (I don’t believe in that stuff), so he doesn’t express love in an overly romantic sense. However, with having Libra in his personal planets (as well as a Cancer moon), he is not unfamiliar to those things, and they probably color his Virgoan affection. The Libra Ascendant and Mercury make him flirty, and the Cancer moon gives him a need for giving/receiving emotional care.

One word to desribe Venus in Virgo is practical. Obi-Wan’s Venus is effortlessly meticulous and pays careful attention to the cues of people around him. He will express love in small, practical gestures: making Anakin a cup of tea with his favorite blend, organizing things for him, making sure he slept enough, etc. It’s also mutable, so he’s malleable about accommodating what his loved ones want, even if he finds it a bit irritating. To him, love is less about romantic gestures than practical, day-to-day reality. It’s very grounded and realistic, and he knows when someone isn’t going to be a good match for him. He can visualize what will work with his life and what won’t.

Virgo Venus makes him susceptible to focusing only on his partner’s needs, and not thinking about his own. Obi-Wan probably doesn’t even know what his needs are, aside from practicality! If someone isn’t serving him the way he would serve them, he might come to the conclusion that they don’t love him, because he would have done that for them. He does not want to be the one doing all the work, and if he feels he’s the only one pulling the weight, he’s going to drop the relationship, because it isn’t practical, he knows it’s not going to work long-term. But even then, he has trouble letting people take care of him or show him love! Then, when it doesn’t work out, he’s going to blame himself, because Virgo puts a lot of pressure on itself!

(Obi-Wan’s Cancer Moon/Virgo Venus picking up on Anakin’s mood.)

He holds high standards for himself in love, so he can be bothered when someone doesn’t do the same in return. He needs to realize (like Anakin does) that people have different ways of expressing love.

As noted with his Sun, criticism can be biting here, however he means for it to help his loved ones improve. He chides Anakin often, sometimes meant as an expression of care, which is actually quite foreign to the way that Anakin expresses love. It would make sense that Anakin feels unwanted, especially since he knows Obi-Wan has a more gentle Cancer Moon. He mistakes Obi-Wan’s Cancer moon as his real expression of love, (when it’s really Obi-Wan’s vulnerable spot), and that Obi-Wan won’t give it to him.

In terms of taste, he likes things to be simple, clean, and tidy. Comfortable minimalism. Highly organized and space-efficient.

He needs to feel safe and secure before getting intimate with someone. Virgos, and Virgo Venuses, can also be very self-conscious regarding their appearance. Obi-Wan might not trust that a person actually wants him and finds him attractive, which would make it difficult for him to get intimate. He might even have body image issues. ‘Really? They think I’m attractive? Have they really taken a look at me?’ He prefers a clean bed, clean bodies, and clothes neatly folded on the floor. Maybe some gentle, pleasing scents. No photography allowed. Virgos apparently have a rep for being kinky, so there’s that too I guess.

Mars in Capricorn: Mars rules passion, war, instinct, and sexuality. Mars is exalted in Capricorn. Meaning that it is perfected. Capricorn is a cardinal sign, making it action-oriented like Aries, but it is tempered with practicality and a cool disposition. Obi-Wan is not prone to losing his head in battle and as a general (which is helpful because being a mutable Virgo can make him prone to analysis paralysis and anxiety). I’ve read it described that Virgo wants to be of service, Capricorn wants to be in charge.

Obi-Wan calls upon Capricorn to give him the precision and endurance for his fighting style and leading an army. He is a warrior, and he will do whatever needs to be done, when it needs to be done. That moment where he protects Cody from a projectile looks like his Capricorn Mars is showing. Aggressive, but sharply focused.

There is a ruthlessness to Capricorn, and his Capricorn Mars allows him to step aside and let one of his soldiers kill someone for him. This is the side of Obi-Wan that comes out when you’ve worn out all his patience and empathy.

There is the potential to be a workaholic, not surprising since Obi-Wan is clearly due for a nap. Or twenty.

In terms of sexuality, it is harmonious with his Earth-based Venus and Sun. Capricorn makes him confident, and he wants to provide the best experience possible for his partner in an overachieving way, and Virgo helps attune him to every detail of his partner’s needs. This is a perfectionist in the bedroom. At first it’s difficult for him to indulge in these things, but these Earth signs do make him a (reluctant) sensualist. Touch-starved and won’t admit it! It seems to me that touch is a way he shows affection, but he doesn’t indulge in it because he’s worried he’d get too attached, so he heavily abstains from it. It’s highly intimate for him. Combining his Moon, Venus, and Mars, his erogenous zones are likely his chest, stomach, and knees.

Capricorn could either make him want to be in control, or give up control. It really is a toss up with how he’s feeling. Although Obi-Wan has difficulty letting his walls down, the involvement of his Cancer Moon would probably make it a very emotional experience as well. Cancer/Virgo/Capricorn is a patient combination that wants a slow build. The best way I can describe Obi-Wan as a lover is very firm but gentle. A deliberate, loving undoing of himself and his partner. It may not seem like it, but getting intimate with someone is truly a baring of his soul, and even if he’s on top, he’s the one with the most vulnerability.

#Obi-wan #Obi-wan Kenobi #btw you guys can send asks if you're curious about anything!#kenobi #star wars #sw #clone wars #cw #swcw #star wars clone wars #anakin #okay i admit i got a little tired of doing this and I just hit publish haha #astrology #obi wan headcanon #obi-wan character analysis #anakin Skywalker #obi and ani #obi wan

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lockefanfic · 4 years

Text

Business Trip - Part 11: Anger

“Sit. The fuck. Down. And don’t. Fucking. Move.”

Seolhyun is hesitant at first, but she slowly moves toward one of the leather chairs, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes as she does so, although you could tell that she did so just to keep up her front. She clearly wasn’t betting on Momo calling her on her bluff.

“Sit and watch how a real girl fucks,” Momo says, every word a dagger, her eyes and glare boring holes into Seolhyun, who suddenly looked a lot less confident than she was when she walked into the room.

“You,” Momo says as she faces you, her eyes burning with intensity, “come here and fuck me.”

“Momo, I want you and Choa to speak to the convention organizers. Tell them we want to reschedule our presentation to Thursday afternoon. That will give us two days to come up with something to present.”

The two women still look shellshocked as you exit the convention auditorium and gather in the main hall, but they nonetheless give small nods of understanding.

“Mina, I want you to look into the legal ramifications of what they’ve done. Look into any possibility for patent infringement or intellectual property theft, and whether they’ve violated some law or regulation.”

The young woman is composed, as always, and gives you an affirmative nod. She clearly had antifreeze running through her veins, being the only one of your team that didn’t look outwardly furious, or shocked, or both.

“Seolhyun, speak to your people back in Seoul. I need to know how the hell they stole your tech from under our noses. Look for any evidence of an external hack or an internal database download or anything of that sort. Figure out how they did this without anyone in your goddamn company realizing it.”

Your last sentence carried a little more edge than you were intending, but you know the fierce look of anger on Seolhyun’s face is directly mostly at Tzuyu and Sana, and not at you.

“Those two will pay for this,” she says, her tone sharp.

“They will. But let’s do this right. I’ll get on the phone with head office back home and figure out what our next moves will be. Let’s all concentrate on getting these things done, then let’s take the rest of the day off to rest, recharge, and burn off our anger. I want everyone with a clear head when we meet tomorrow morning to tackle this.”

Choa, Mina, and Seolhyun all head off to take on the duties assigned to them, each with a mixture of lingering shock, determination, and anger painted on their respective faces. Following the stunt that Tzuyu and Sana had just pulled, you felt you needed to give them something constructive to focus on instead of letting themselves fall victim to anger or despair. Momo remains, and as the others leave, she draws you close into a hug. Your arms wrap around her frame, which suddenly felt very small against you.

“I’m both sad and angry,” she says softly.

“I know,” you say, unable to find more comforting words. You stroke the back of her head gently with your right hand, your left arm squeezing her tightly against you.

“Why would she do that to us?”

“I don’t know, Momo,” you say, speaking truthfully, “I don’t know…”

---

It is almost midnight when you finally return to your hotel room after several hours of phone calls, video calls, and face to face meetings with your team and the conference organizers. The understandably surprised and upset conference organizers eventually came around, however, and you were able to delay JYP Inc.’s presentation to Thursday, buying some time to find something to actually present.

JYP himself was understandably furious at the afternoon’s turn of events, but he was also supportive during your phone call with him, refraining from laying any blame at your team’s feet and instead ensuring that you had the full backing of the company and access to the entirety of its resources.

“Do whatever it takes to make sure they pay for this,” he said, his usually cheery voice possessing an edge that you’d not heard until then, “you have free reign to do as you see fit. I trust you. Make them regret ever thinking they could mess with JYP Inc.”

Confident that you had your boss’s full backing, you decided to call it a night and get as much sleep as possible before tackling the problem head on tomorrow.

You are staring out the window at the blinking, bright lights of Taiwan’s downtown district, seeking the solutions to your problem amidst the tall buildings of glass and steel, in much the same way that you did in Tokyo and Seoul. You’d always found something calming in watching a downtown skyline.

“You always get this look on your face,” Momo says softly as she approaches you at the window, “when you stare outside the window. It’s like you’re meditating with your eyes open.”

“I guess I am, in a way. It’s comforting to know that there are so many other people out there, each fighting their own battle, just like we are,” you reply, accepting the glass of whiskey Momo passes to you. She had raided the hotel room’s mini bar, outrageous markup prices be damned. You both needed a drink after today’s events.

Momo nods as she weighs your words over in her head, taking a sip of the strong whiskey as she does so. She lets out a hard breath, the way people do when the liquor hits the right spot.

“That’s good stuff,” she says, licking her lips and swirling the amber liquid around in her glass, staring intently at it as though the solutions to your company’s dilemna were to be found at the bottom.

You turn your gaze to her, and you are struck by the beauty of her soft features highlighted in the blue and red neon lights outside your window. She had spent some long hours trying to convince the convention organizers to completely revamp their schedule to accommodate your rescheduling request, and you were proud of her for managing to accomplish that difficult task.

You are about to give voice to your thoughts, but you are interrupted by your phone vibrating in your pocket. Given the day’s events you knew you had to check it, in case it was something urgent.

KimSeolhyun says: What are you doing?

You say: Resting in my hotel room. You?

KimSeolhyun says: I’m coming over. Be ready, I’m horny as fuck.

You say: Momo’s here.

KimSeolhyun says: Are you fucking?

You say: No lol.

KimSeolhyun says: Good. Then she can watch or leave, I don’t give a shit. Rough day. Need a fuck. Remember that deal we made. I’m on the way.

“Head office?” Momo asks.

“No,” you say, readying yourself for Momo’s reaction, “it’s Seolhyun.”

Momo rolls her eyes and lets out a snort that could only be understood as disapproval. She had not gotten over her dislike for Seolhyun over what happened in Seoul, and the awkwardness and tension between them was evident every time they were in the same room.

“I’ll turn her away,” you say, raising your phone to type a reply.

“No,” Momo interrupts, “you can have her. I’ll go find Choa and have a drink somewhere.”

“You’re not pissed?”

“I hate her guts, but even I have to admit she’s pretty goddamn hot. I’d fuck her if I had a dick. Or even if I didn’t. Either way, go have your fun.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask with a smile, meaning every word.

“I dunno,” Momo says with a grin, “just make sure you tell me all about it afterward. I wanna know if she fucks as good as she looks.”

The young woman downs the rest of her whiskey in a single gulp.

“...and make sure you save some energy for me later.”

Momo winks before turning and grabbing her hoodie from a nearby chair, and again, you find yourself thankful to whatever gods may be that this woman was in your life.

She is only halfway to the door when there is a knock - Seolhyun certainly didn’t waste any time. Deciding it would be best if you answered it and not Momo, you walk past her and open the door.

Seolhyun is wearing a neutral look on her face, but it deepens into a look of annoyance when she realizes Momo is still there. The young woman walks nonchalantly into the room, taking off her black leather jacket and throwing it onto the leather couch. Momo gives Seolhyun a glare as she passes and moves towards the door.

“Maybe you should stick around,” Seolhyun says, her tone confrontational, “maybe you’ll learn something.”

You’d seen Momo angry before; you’d even seen her infuriated. But that was only in a work environment, often when something went wrong with a project or when the office printer had chosen that particular time to jam. But you had never seen a look of fury on her face the way you did at that moment.

The Japanese girl turns sharply and goes face to face with Seolhyun until their noses are inches apart. Seolhyun apparently wasn’t anticipating Momo to react the way she did, given the look of surprise and hesitation on her face. When Momo speaks, every syllable is laced with venom.

“Sit. The fuck. Down. And don’t. Fucking. Move.”

“You,” Momo says as she faces you, her eyes burning with intensity, “come here and fuck me.”

You down your whiskey in one gulp, leave the glass on the coffee table, and step towards Momo, but she meets you halfway, and before you know it your bodies are crashing together, arms wrapping around familiar torsos, your mouths meeting and tongues seeking their counterparts in that wonderful moment when lust takes over - but this lust is different; it is fueled not insignificantly by anger, frustration, and the desire to vent it all out through physical, sexual means.

For a moment you forget Seolhyun is there, sitting not even five feet away. But as Momo breaks your kiss to dive into your neck, your eyes open slightly, enough to see the blank expression on the young Korean woman’s face turn into one of intense concentration, her eyes enraptured and surprised by what was about to happen in front of her.

Momo, for her part, seems to have forgotten entirely that there is another woman in the room, moving quickly from your neck to your chest, taking advantage of the fact that you were wearing a button up shirt. Her slim fingers work quickly on its buttons, following the trail of steadily revealed skin with soft kisses down the front of your chest, until finally she is on her knees in front of you.

She works your belt, pants button and zipper quickly, hooking fingers into your boxers as soon as they are visible, dragging your pants and underwear down until they are at your knees. She turns, shoots the shocked Seolhyun a “watch this and learn” look, and dives into your crotch, her small pink tongue immediately finding the base of your quickly hardening cock and licking upward, slowly, until she reaches the tip.

Your shaft hardens quicker than you ever thought was possible. It had been a hard, difficult day, and the thought of fucking Momo in order to vent some of your frustration was more than enough to get you ready, but having Seolhyun there, seeing Momo put her in her place - it all formed a heady mix of intense pleasure.

Before you know it Momo has taken the entirety of your shaft into her mouth, your cock wrapped by her warm, wet cavern and the dextrous muscle of her tongue that is pressing against the underside of your shaft. As she withdraws your shaft, she swirls her tongue around the head; she had had many months to know what you wanted when it came to blowing you, and she knew full well that she was shooting spikes of intense pleasure up your spine with every lick and suck.

In your peripheral vision you catch movement from Seolhyun, and you turn your head to watch her squirming and moving her thighs, trying and failing to keep up the impression that she wasn’t at all intensely aroused by what was going on in front of her. But as Momo’s hand joins her mouth in pleasuring you, pumping up and down on the base of your shaft in tandem with her mouth, you let a soft gasp escape your lips - one that seems to impact Seolhyun as well, a brief look of pleasure washing over her beautiful face, her mouth opening ever so slightly, as though some small measure of the pleasure Momo was imposing on your body had carried over to her.

You involuntarily bring your left hand to Momo’s face, seeking to touch her, seeking any kind of physical contact with the young woman on her knees pleasuring you. You want to do the same with your right hand, want to bring both your hands to her head and rock your hips and fuck her face - but you know Momo wants to show off, wants to ensure Seolhyun sees how good she is. And so you leave your right arm where it is, ensuring the older Korean girl has a perfect view of your hard shaft as it plunges in and out of Momo’s mouth, slathered and glistening with her saliva.

“Fuck that’s good,” you say, the words spilling out of your mouth before you even realize your brain has formed them. Momo responds by letting your hard shaft pop out of her mouth, holding it against her lips, her pink tongue darting out to lick the underside of your head, taking delight in watching the pleasure twist your face as she stimulates what she knows is the most sensitive part of your cock.

The Japanese girl takes advantage of the fact that you are paralyzed by pleasure and stands up, bringing both her hands to your shoulders, pushing you down slightly onto the leather couch. You take a moment to rid yourself of your bothersome pants and boxers, and you do so quickly enough to ensure you don’t miss what you know is going to happen next; for her part, Momo waits patiently while you undress before she follows your lead.

Slowly, knowing two pairs of eyes were glued onto her body, she undoes the buttons of her grey blazer, sliding it down her shoulders until it falls into a pool of cloth at her feet. She is wearing grey shorts beneath it, but those don’t last long either, her fingers equally as adept at undoing her own clothes as they are at undoing yours. She is wearing a simple black bra and a black thong beneath - neither is overly scandalous, the thong even being relatively conservative as far as thongs go - but she is nonetheless ridiculously sexy, every inch and curve of her body radiating lust, and desire, and sex.

In a final gesture of seduction, she reaches behind her head with her right hand and undoes whatever ridiculous contraption is keeping her hair up - she had gotten a new haircut before leaving for Taiwan, and while a part of you missed the medium length brown hair she used to have, there is no denying that the short black hair that tumbles down to her neck only increases the raw lust she projects into the room. It amazed you to see what a simple haircut could do to a woman’s raw sexiness.

As if staring at her toned, perfectly proportioned curves were not enough, she takes it one step further, turning around so her back is facing you, before bending over and removing her thong - the full, round cheeks of her ass and the toned, creamy skin of her thighs on full display in front of you. As the black cotton drops you catch a glimpse of pink flesh between her legs, already glistening, already begging for penetration. She tosses the flimsy piece of underwear in your lap.

But Momo is in control here - she knows she is putting on a show, and she loves it - loves the fact that she has not one, but two people in the room wrapped around her finger, their eyes glued to her near naked body, enraptured by every movement she makes. And so when she reaches behind her and undoes her bra, she tosses it to land on Seolhyun’s lap.

You had forgotten, as was becoming worryingly common, that Seolhyun was even there, but as the bra lands in her lap you watch the final vestiges of resistance flee from her beautiful face. Her features contort in pleasure - not unlike the look she had when you fucked her in Seoul - as though the bra landing on her lap caused a spike of pleasure to shoot up her spine and into her brain. She had broken. She belonged, as you did, to Momo now.

Seolhyun reaches a hand to touch the bra in her lap - before her hand moves lower, to the hem of her short black dress, and underneath it. Her fingers draw the hem of her dress upward, revealing perfect, creamy skin, until her fingers graze the space between her legs. She doesn’t care anymore about maintaining her image, doesn’t care that Momo has established dominance - she needs to touch herself, the brazen display in front of her becoming too much for her to handle without seeking some sort of release for her own. Seolhyun bites her lip as her fingers work between her legs, and a wave of pleasure washes over her face, her eyes closing halfway before she forces them open again, doing her best to ensure she didn’t miss a moment of what was going on in front of her.

There was something perverse about it - something that turned you on to see. Some not insignificant part of you enjoyed seeing the haughty, confident, occasionally arrogant young woman being driven to submission by your girlfriend. And from the look of her face as she turns around to face you again, Momo feels the same way, a self-assured smirk on her lips.

The smirk is there only for a second, and it is replaced with a look of lust as the naked woman climbs into your lap, her mouth seeking and finding yours and engaging in a passionate kiss as her long legs place themselves around your waist. As your tongues duel, you feel her reach between your bodies to guide your shaft to her entrance, and you feel the hot wetness of her pussy against the head of your cock as she rubs it against her open lips, not penetrating - just lubricating your head, teasing herself with it.

Then Hirai Momo pushes her hips down, impaling herself onto your cock.

She starts slowly at first, relishing those first few thrusts into her body, savoring the feel of your hard shaft as it penetrates her body. You do the same, letting your eyes drift closed, allowing yourself to experience her body yet again, knowing you will never tire of it, never grow fatigued of being inside her. You both let a soft gasp escape your lips, Momo’s louder than yours as she gives voice to her lust.

She is grinding her hips now, establishing a steady pace, her body stretched out and lubricated enough to allow full penetration. She grinds in a circular motion, her hips starting further back on the downstroke and then pushing her body forward on the upstroke, so that your shaft is penetrating her in a back and forward motion as well as up and down - this was a woman who knew just how to pleasure you, knew just how to drive you crazy with her body.

Momo throws her head back as your shaft penetrates her deeper, and you tear your eyes open long enough to realize her wonderful breasts are pressed against your face, the warm skin misted with sweat as she exerts herself. You immediately press your mouth against her left breast, your tongue quickly finding her already hardened nipple, swirling it around the hard bud greedily, lustily, without any sort of thought for decorum or patience - there is only lust, only the need to devour her, devour more of this wonderful woman’s body.

There is a sharp gasp in the room, and it takes you a moment to realize it came from Seolhyun, not Momo. With Momo’s breast still in your mouth, you open your eyes just enough to glance over at her, and you realize that she is now fingering herself with abandon, her right hand moving frantically between her legs, her left hand grasping her right breast through her dress.

You smile wickedly, and you turn your head to ensure Seolhyun can watch as you tease Momo’s nipple, your tongue pressing against it and swirling around it in random patterns, and you know Seolhyun is imagining that you are doing the same to her.

All the while, Momo is still throwing herself onto your shaft, over and over, her head thrown back as she lets a long string of moans escape her lips. She is cradling your head in her hands, letting herself go, letting herself fully experience the pleasure radiating from between her legs and from her breast.

“Fuck… fuck… you’re so big, baby,” she moans.

“You’re… so tight, Momo. Fuck… you’re so tight.”

“You like… you like when I ride you like this? You like when I fuck myself on your cock?” Momo asks, and you realize that a part of her still wants to show off, is still aware of the Korean girl squirming in her seat not five feet away.

“Fuck yes.”

“Did you like… fucking my ass last week?”

At the mention of anal sex with Momo, a moan escapes a pair of female lips - Seolhyun’s.

“Yes… fuck… your ass was so tight, baby. Did you like when I cummed in your ass?”

“Yes! I love when you cum in me… no matter what hole… I love feeling your cum inside me,” Momo gasps, happy that you were playing along, the both of you teasing Seolhyun with your words just as much as you were with the erotic display you were putting on for her. Even as you have this conversation, your cock continues to piston in and out of Momo’s tight, slick pussy.

“Fuck… you’re so good, baby. So tight, so hot. Fuck… you’re the best.”

“Am I… the best… fuck… you’ve ever had?”

“Yes!” you answer, perhaps with more enthusiasm than you were anticipating. You had slept with your fair share of beautiful women, and one of the better ones was just a few feet away, fingering herself - but you knew, deep down, that it was true: Hirai Momo was the best of them all.

You watch as Momo turns her head so she is facing Seolhyun. Despite the pleasure washing over her beautiful face, Momo is coherent enough to smirk slightly, biting her lip as she watches Seolhyun finger herself, knowing in that moment that she had won their little battle.

“Good,” Momo says, turning to you again, “then fuck me like you mean it.”

You take that as your signal to finally exert yourself instead of merely being a (eagerly willing) participant in Momo’s little show, and to that end you reach both your hands down to grasp her round ass, grasping a cheek in each palm. When Momo reaches the top of her grind, and the head of your cock is all that remains in her, you slam her back down with your hands while you thrust up with your hips, driving your shaft harder and deeper into her body than she was able to do on her own.

Momo lets a shriek out, louder than any of her moans thus far, and it is followed up with another as you repeat the action with your next thrust. You are both truly fucking each other now, both your bodies working to throw yourselves against each other as hard as you possibly can.

“Fuck! Fuck that’s so good!” Momo exclaims, “You’re so big inside me, baby. You’re stretching me out… so deep!”

You grunt in reply, because that is all you can do, every other ounce of your being focused instead of driving yourself as deeply and as hard as you can inside her body.

Momo, as always, wants more - always wants to take it to the next level. And so it surprises you when she slams herself down on your shaft and then stays there for a moment, capturing your lips and mouth in a torrid kiss before removing herself from your cock. The moment of surprise lasts only a moment before you realize she is turning around so her back is facing you, climbing back onto your lap, spreading her legs until she is crouching above your erect, glistening shaft, her feet on the couch on either side of your thighs. Then, taking another moment to line up your cockhead with her pussy, she impales herself once more, this time in a reverse cowgirl position.

From this point of view Seolhyun has a clear view of your shaft as it plunges into Momo’s tight, drenched pussy, the Japanese girl’s legs spread wide, her entire body on display as you settle into the position and fuck her from behind in your sitting position. Momo braces herself against the back of the couch with her arms, leaning back against your chest - your arms, however, are free, and you reach quickly around her torso to grasp both her breasts, pinching her nipples before reaching your right hand down her tight, firm torso until you reach her clit, your middle finger finding and swirling around her sensitive nub.

Seolhyun lets out a sharp gasp at the display, and you look around Momo’s bouncing body to watch as the older girl spreads her legs, now fully giving into her need for release. She has pushed her white panties to the side, her finger working urgently amidst her wet folds, already one knuckle deep inside herself as she struggles to contain the pleasure she is creating.

Momo’s moans are increasing in volume, turning more into sharp gasps of wordless syllables as the pleasure builds steadily inside her young body. Her new position presses your cock against the sensitive front of her pussy, your hard shaft and the finger rubbing her clit bringing her to the brink.

“I’m… I’m gonna cum, baby! I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna cum so hard!”

“Fuck,” you hiss, sharply, as much out of need to vent your pleasure as it was a curse, as you wanted to prolong the pleasure, wanted to stay fucking this perfect woman for as long as possible as she continues to impale herself again and again on your cock.

“I’m… I’m cumming!”

Momo lets out what is almost a shout as an orgasm wracks her body, her body quivering and spasming as the pleasure courses throughout her veins, her voice becoming a chorus of moans and gasps of lust, pleasure, and finally, release. Her pussy clamps down hard on your shaft, and it takes a significant amount of effort on your part not to join her in bliss, wanting to prolong the experience as long as possible. The wetness of her juices escapes the tightness of her body, and seeps out freely around your shaft, drenching both of your crotches in slickness.

Momo takes a solid minute to wind down from her orgasm, and her still-trembling body collapses against yours until she is sitting limply in your lap, her back pressed against your chest. She finds the strength to turn her head to meet yours, and you kiss her deeply, pressing your mouths together as deeply as you can, your tongues finding and caressing each other. Your hands roam freely around her torso, squeezing a soft breast and enjoying the feel of her firm, flat stomach beneath your palm.

Momo is the first to break the kiss, and she leans her head back against your shoulder, panting heavily as the exertion finally hits her. Your cock is still impaled to the base inside her body, and you take the moment of inactivity to savor the feel of her warm, wet, still-pulsating pussy wrapped around your shaft. Without speaking a word, you watch as Momo lifts her head slightly to look at Seolhyun, her post-orgasm face flushed, the very picture of lust.

When she is ready, she bends forward and slips off your shaft, eliciting a short groan from you as you leave her tightly clasping body. You watch intently as every inch of your shaft leaves her body, taking pleasure in watching her tight pussy lips grasp your cock as though not wanting to let it go, a thick strand of her slick juices still connecting your bodies until it finally snaps when Momo stands.

On shaky legs, Momo saunters over to where Seolhyun is sitting, the older Korean girl now a mewling, dishevelled mess, a far cry from the haughty, confident woman she was just a few minutes before when she entered the hotel room. Momo is completely naked, her skin flushed, her crotch and thighs wet with juices, both yours and hers - but she exudes supreme confidence as she bends over so her mouth is just inches from Seolhyun’s ear.

“That’s how a real girl fucks. And if you ever talk shit to me again, I swear to god, not only will you never touch my boyfriend again - I’ll slap you all the way back to Seoul.”

Seolhyun has stopped fingering herself, but she lets out a sharp gasp of surprise as Momo reaches down with her own finger, tracing the Korean girl’s pussy with her fingertip.

“Now go use this pussy of yours and finish him off,” Momo says, her words equally aggressive and seductive, “Even a virgin should be able to make him cum.”

Seolhyun wastes no time - she is so needy for pleasure, so lust-drunk on the show you and Momo put on for her, that she immediately leaves her chair and makes her way to you. She takes a moment to bend and remove her drenched cotton panties before grasping the hem of her black dress and pulling it up around her waist. Then she sits in your lap, and a second later, she drives her pussy down onto your shaft.

Seolhyun is tight, wet, and hot. Her body, even still semi-clothed, is almost perfect in every way, and her face, perfectly sculpted and striking a perfect balance of cuteness and beauty and hotness, is contorted in pleasure as she rides you hard and fast. It only takes her half a minute to orgasm, so close is she to the brink - and a few seconds after that, you join her, your shaft pulsating as the pleasure finally overwhelms you and you send hot, warm semen shooting inside the welcoming depths of her wanton, willing body, filling Kim Seolhyun to the brink, until your juices and hers overflow out of her tightly grasping pussy lips to drip down your balls and onto the now-moist leather of the couch.

Any other man would be totally consumed with the moaning, gorgeous Seolhyun, still mid orgasm as she writhes on your lap - but your eyes, and your thoughts, are instead on Hirai Momo, watching as she dresses herself with sweatpants and a hoodie before leaving the hotel room, winking at you and smiling slyly as she closes the door behind her, even as her boyfriend empties thick, hot semen into another woman.

---

An hour has passed since Momo left, and since then you have Seolhyun again, the Korean girl feeling like she had something to prove as she rode you, her confidence having been taken down a peg by Momo. When you finally climax together when you fuck her from behind on the couch, you notice that her gaze was locked on the hotel room door, as though she were hoping Momo would come back in to watch you both.

Now she is sitting in the same seat she was earlier, this time with a glass of whiskey in her hand. She is stark naked, her skin still flushed with the afterglow of sex, and you find her long, toned limbs and creamy skin more than a little distracting as you follow suit and collapse on the couch.

“Goddamn that was good,” Seolhyun says, taking a short sip of her drink.

“I’d say,” you agree.

“As much as it pains me to say it… you’re the fucking luckiest guy on earth to be dating her.”

“I know,” you say without looking at Seolhyun, knowing that she was speaking the truth.

“Anyway… what are we going to do about Thursday?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, bringing a hand to your face to massage your brow, “we’re fucked. We need some way to prove that Sana was behind the theft of your company’s data. If we can prove that, we can claim intellectual data theft, and we’d fuck them over in court. Public opinion would turn pretty hard against them after an accusation like that.”

“I just want to know how she got all the data for our tech,” Seolhyun says, swirling her drink around, “I spoke to the techs back home and they said there wasn’t any evidence of an external hack. They looked through her activity on our local network, and they said it was pretty clean and there was nothing to indicate a large-scale transfer of data.”

You both take a moment in silence, wondering what to do next.

“It’s possible,” Seolhyun continues, her brows furrowed in thought, “that she got someone else to unknowingly download the data for her. Maybe by asking someone in the company to do it under the guise of project-related work.”

“Combing through every staff member’s network activity would take forever,” you say, upset that you were unable to add anything positive to the conversation.

“It’s also possible that she did it with some sort of hardwired device. Network hacking would attract too much attention and have a pretty big risk of being detected, tracked, or traced. It would be as simple as something she connected to someone’s personal device that could then transmit data to an external server.”

Personal… device…

You stand up immediately, your sudden movement shocking Seolhyun.

“What’s up?” she asks, genuinely confused.

“Get everyone together. I know how she stole our tech. And I can prove it.”

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #pov smut #smut #male reader #twice #twice momo #hirai momo #aoa #aoa seolhyun #seolhyun #momo #kim seolhyun

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emachinescat · 4 years

Text

The Casket of the Armadillos (by Edgar Allan Nope)

A Psych Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 9 - buried alive

Summary: When Shawn confronts a grad student turned murderer, he learns a very important lesson a very hard way: Don’t piss off English nerds - especially the homicidal ones.

Characters: Shawn, Gus, Juliet, Lassiter, Henry

Words: 5,924

TW: panic attacks, buried alive, claustrophobia

Note: If you liked this classic lit-inspired Psych fic, you can always check out this one I wrote, inspired by To Kill a Mockingbird: The Finch and the Mockingbird

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!

- Edgar Allan Poe, “The Cask of Amontillado”

Her name was Olivia Hale, she was a twenty-three-year-old grad student at UCSB, and she was working on her doctorate in American lit. She was attractive in a cute librarian sort of way - short and petite, with long, curly auburn hair she kept in a bun and oversized glasses with thick lenses, and a smattering of freckles across her slightly upturned nose. She knew a little bit about everything when it came to literature as a whole, a rather impressive amount about American literature, and absolutely everything there was to know about the life and works of one Edgar Allan Poe.

She was also batshit crazy and currently pointing a .22 pistol directly at Shawn’s head.

“Don’t move,” she growled, disengaging the safety.

Shawn did a cursory glance around the empty classroom, looking for anything at all he could use to his advantage, to distract her or attack her with or - worst case scenario - to use as a shield. But Olivia had found him snooping around on the tiny fourth floor study room that she’d been given to use by the department chair as her thesis headquarters. She’d really made herself at home here, piling books and journals and what seemed like hundreds of loose sheets of paper on every available surface.

But he was stranded in the middle of the room, with nothing close enough to use as a weapon, and so Shawn used the most powerful tool he had, one that had saved his life and many others, wooed women all over the country, and ordered more chili cheese dogs than he could count.

He started talking.

“Look, Olivia, I get it,” he said soothingly. Slowly, in the most non-threatening manner possible, he lowered his hands. Olivia gripped the pistol tighter but didn’t shoot. “I know what happened. You didn’t mean to kill him.”

Her eyes were wide and fierce, her lips pursed into a thin line. “No,” she admitted. “It was an accident. But he was going to--”

“Yeees,” drawled Shawn, slowly raising his left hand and putting it to his temple, very well aware that he was probably pushing the limit with all of this movement after she had expressly ordered, at gunpoint, for him to stay still. “I see it. Dr. Graves was feeling guilty, wasn’t he? A fifty-five-year-old professor with a fancy PhD and tenure, and a devoted wife and three kids and two grandkids, to boot. The perfect life. But oooh, it wasn’t enough for him, was it?”

Shawn immediately answered his own question, something that he had become exceptionally good at over the years since he was usually the only one who could keep up with himself. “Of course not! What’s the perfect job and family when you’ve got a smokin’ hot, super smart student in her mid-twenties who thinks you’re the most impressive man on the planet?”

She sneered, and Shawn noticed with some trepidation that the hand holding the gun trembled just the tiniest bit. When she spoke, her voice warbled with rage. “My age and appearance had nothing to do with it - and even if it did, there was nothing wrong with our relationship! We were perfect for each other, intellectual equals. We were on each other’s levels - he was my soulmate! So don’t you dare belittle what we had like that!”

Ah. So he had hit a nerve. This could now go either one of two ways, in Shawn’s extensive experience in being held hostage: Either she would get fed up and send a bullet screaming through his body, Garth Longmore style, or she would let her emotions distract her, and cause her to make a stupid mistake. Obviously, Shawn hoped for the latter.

Now Shawn had to make a choice, because he could proceed in one of two ways: Either he could back off and try from another angle, or he could further antagonize her into (hopefully) making a mistake. Naturally, Shawn went with the latter.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed airily. “Older men and younger women do it all the time. But to say there was nothing wrong with your relationship? The man was married, and you were his student. I’m not the headmaster here -”

“Dean,” she corrected sharply, and this further proved that Shawn had pegged her correctly as a know-it-all literature wunderkind who had to be right one thousand percent of the time. “This isn’t Hogwarts.”

Shawn gave a tiny shrug. “To be honest, all big schools look like Hogwarts to me.”

“Because you have the mind of a child.” The words were accusatory and patronizing, but Shawn flashed a dazzling smile.

“Thank you,” he said. Before she could respond, he continued his earlier thoughts, “Even though you were the ‘perfect couple,’ you were furious with him for even suggesting that you stop seeing one another. The affair was too risky, and he missed his wife. He wanted to tell her the truth, fix things.”

“It would have ruined everything!” Olivia hissed, and the sound of her voice sent shivers down Shawn’s spine. There was an unhinged quality to it, something raw and dangerous that he hadn’t sensed before. He fought the sudden urge to backpedal as far away from her as possible. “We were perfect together! And if he told his wife and she let it slip, I would be kicked out! All my research, all my time and work here, everything would be gone! He had no right to make that decision for me, to take away my future!”

“Maybe,” said Shawn, and it was like he was watching from outside his body, because he knew that what he was about to say was a big mistake, but he was helpless to stop the words from tumbling from his lips, “you should have thought more about your future before you pursued your married Shakespeare teacher.”

Fury etched itself into every feature of her face, turning her from a beautiful librarian to a feral monster, but her voice was slow and measured as if it was taking every ounce of self-control she possessed not to shoot him where he stood. “He taught Southern. Gothic. Masterpieces.”

Shawn tried to backtrack, to undo whatever damage had been done by his unpredictably big mouth. “But,” he pressed. “Killing him was an accident. You didn’t mean to push him down four flights of stairs.”

She considered this. “No, I didn’t mean to kill him,” she reaffirmed, and then an odd calm smoothed out the angry crevices between her eyebrows - the peace, perhaps, of having come to an important decision that she knew was absolutely right. Shawn recognized the look because he’d seen it on others’ faces before (very rarely, if ever, had he seen it upon his own). “And I don’t think I will kill you, either.”

Whatever Shawn had been expecting, this wasn’t it. Everything about this woman screamed insane and vengeful. If Shawn lived, he would turn her into the police, and she would go to jail for a very long time. She was incredibly intelligent - surely she knew this!

And then she clarified, and the world started to make sense again - though Shawn would have honestly been perfectly content in this alternate reality where the bad guy suddenly has a miraculous change of heart. “Well,” she amended, “I won’t kill you directly. I’ve never shot anyone before - I only have this little guy here because I’m a young, pretty girl on a big college campus, and I have two night classes. Besides, your death shouldn’t be so easy.”

Shawn swallowed. “Olivia, you don’t have to do this. You haven’t intentionally killed anyone yet. If you turn yourself in now and cooperate, your sentence will be a lot shorter than if you kill me - directly or not. Because make no mistake, even if you kill me, you will still get caught. The SBPD has some damn good detectives, and they’ll bring you down even if I don’t.”

She didn’t respond to him directly. Instead, her expression was flat save for the dark gleam in her eyes, and she intoned words that in and of themselves had no meaning to Shawn, but that still managed to strike a chord of fear deep inside of his soul. “‘The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.’” Shawn was utterly unnerved by this point; it was like she had been taken over by something both sinister and incredibly well-spoken.

And indeed, in many ways she had, as Shawn soon found out, she was quoting the beginning of a story by Edgar Allan Poe.

Presently, however, Shawn had no context for her strange words or sudden shift of demeanor. His skin crawled and his heart pumped with more get-up-and-go than he’d ever been able to muster in his whole body before. “Uh, Olivia…”

“Move,” she ordered.

This time, though it was contrary to his nature, Shawn did what she said without arguing. This side of the student, with stolen words sliding evilly from her mouth, was a million times scarier than the enraged Olivia who had very nearly shot him between the eyes.

She marched him out of the room and down the three flights of stairs to the main lobby of the English building. It was dark outside, nearing midnight, and Shawn kicked himself for thinking he was clever for coming to investigate this late. He’d thought she’d be at home sleeping. He should have realized that as a grad student, sleeping was the one thing she wouldn’t have time for! And now he was in very deep trouble, alone, and no one knew where he was. He should have waited until morning, until the building wasn’t deserted, should have at least called Gus and told him what he was doing. But it was a college campus, and she was a tiny little literature nerd - it should have been safe!

As she forced him down one flight of stairs, then two, then three, and finally, into a stairwell off the beaten path that had to be unlocked with a key card - which she had - she continued to encant, her voice slowly losing its flatness and growing into something twisted and sing-songy with every word.

“‘You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point, definitely, settled - but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk.’”

“Olivia--”

It was as if she hadn’t heard him as she shoved him into the basement, and now her voice stilled from a chant to a slow, measured whisper.. “‘I must not only punish but punish with impunity.’”

Shawn wasn’t sure what impunity was, but it sure as hell didn’t sound good.

Their final destination ended up being a small, partially finished storage room near the back of the basement. Dusty boxes and rusted cabinets and archaic old computer monitors lined the walls and cluttered most of the walking space. Shawn was reminded grimly of a school supply graveyard.

Olivia stopped him when they came to a brick wall that had been busted through to fix some issue with the pipes - Shawn saw the water stains on the concrete floor near the break in the wall, and there was a brand new water pipe joined to an old, yellowed one at about eye-level in the small open space between the bricks and the drywall beyond. Shawn also noticed that the new bricks had been neatly piled up near a sealed bucket that almost certainly contained mortar, right outside of the hole. Someone was in the process of walling this section back up.

“Nice wall,” Shawn joked, relieved that Olivia had finally stopped her creepy recitation and desperately trying to lighten the mood and bring things back to some sort of normal - honestly, he’d take being threatened with the gun again to the horror movie stuff he’d just witnessed. “I bet all the other walls are jealous of it.”

It was a lame joke, but her eerie dramatics had him all kinds of messed up. He expected her to tell him to shut up, or to threaten to shoot him again, or to actually shoot him, but instead she asked him a question in that same cold, calm voice as before. “Have you ever read ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ Shawn?”

Shawn blinked. “I make it a point not to read anything that’s not a magazine from the 80s or WikiHow articles on ‘How to Escape from Dangerous Forest Animals.’”

The corner of her lips lifted in a mockery of a satisfied smile. “Good. Then you’ll get to experience it for yourself, first hand. Just wait until you get to the ending! You’re going to love it.”

Somehow, Shawn doubted that very much.

Still holding the gun on him with one hand, she reached her free hand into the cross-body bag she wore and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Shawn groaned.

“Come on! What college student just carries handcuffs in their school bag?” Then he remembered that this particular student had until recently been having a passionate affair with her teacher. “Wait - never mind. It makes perfect sense.”

She laughed, even though what he said wasn’t even remotely funny. The sound of it was strange and discordant - light and tinkly with a threatening undertone that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Then she gestured at the hole in the wall and ordered, “In.”

Shawn had known it was coming, but had tried to shove that knowledge into the corner of his mind - something that was quite difficult to do for someone with a photographic and eidetic memory - in an effort to convince himself that even she wasn’t that cruel. He tried to appeal to her one last time: “Olivia, it’s not too late to stop this. I mean, are you really going to do this to another human being - seriously, look at this place - it’s dusty and moldy and I’m almost certain there’s no room service! If you’re going to chain me to a pipe, why not do it in a five star hotel?” When she nudged him with the gun, eyes gleaming with something dark and triumphant, he reluctantly stepped into the small space and implored, “I’ll even settle for a seedy motel off a poorly lit backroad. I’m not too picky.”

She didn’t answer him as she stood on her tiptoes and handcuffed Shawn’s wrists around the pipe, cinching them so tight that the metal dug into his skin and he doubted that even his dad’s lessons on escaping handcuffs wouldn’t be much help here. Already he could feel his fingers going numb, and his shoulders and back had started to ache from the hunched position he was forced to take due to the height of the pipe and the awkward angle of his arms.

Well, Shawn thought glumly as she smiled at her handiwork and carefully backed out of the small space, maybe all wasn’t lost. Surely someone would come down here and find him. This place was dusty, but it couldn’t be abandoned - work still needed to be done down here, after all. And he could always yell for help once he was sure Olivia was gone. She was booksmart, but maybe she wasn’t criminally minded. He might be in for an uncomfortable night, but in the morning someone would find him and he could have his vision and the cute little psychopath would go to jail for a very long time.

He waited for her to leave, but instead, she used a crowbar to pry the lid off the bucket of mortar, and the pit in Shawn’s stomach became a whole-ass trench. He should have seen this coming - his heart pounded madly against his rib cage as if trying to free itself, with or without him. He couldn’t blame it. “Olivia, please,” he said, and this time, there was no joke, his voice imploring and terrified. “You don’t have -”

Again, she cut him off. “How would you like to hear a story before you die, Shawn?” she asked in a tone so casual that she could have been asking him if he wanted to grab a taco.

“How about you tell me a story and then I don’t die?” Shawn bargained weakly.

“Mmmm… If you stay alive, my whole life will be ruined,” Olivia reasoned. “And I have worked far too hard to allow that to happen. So. You just stand there - quietly - and I’ll tell you the story of Poe’s most beloved tale of revenge. I won’t tell you word for word, of course - we don’t have time for that - but for posterity, I do have it memorized.” She sounded grotesquely proud of that fact. “It’s my favorite of his stories, after all.”

And so, as she slowly began to brick up the hole in the wall, with Shawn trapped, helpless and in a dissociative state of panic, she told him the story of two men with really stupid names that Shawn somehow managed, despite his raging fear, to file away for later as possible nicknames for Gus.

“Our story starts in Italy, during the carnival, and our narrator is a man named Montresor, who has a grudge against his once-friend, now-foe, Fortunato…”

The story was an interesting one, even to Shawn, who preferred watching over reading and especially over listening any day. And as it turned out, Olivia was a really good storyteller. If he had been in any other position, Shawn might have actually enjoyed the suspenseful tale of revenge.

But as he stooped there and was forced to listen, all he could think about was about how terrified this Fortunato guy must have been, and then he started wondering how long it had been before the man hadn’t been able to hold his bladder or… other things… anymore, and then about what had happened when he was too tired and dizzy to stand up, if the manacles on his wrists had pulled so hard against his flesh that they cut into him, and if lack of water or oxygen killed him first, all the while he knew that he wasn’t asking these questions for the sake of the fictional character. He was asking them for himself. Olivia had made it exceedingly clear - for a literature scholar, she was surprisingly un-subtle about any underlying meanings or motives - that Fortunato’s story was now to be his story.

It wasn’t until she had begun discussing with rapture the brilliance of Poe’s use of the Italian carnival as the setting of a story about murder (because of its abandonment of social order, whatever that meant) and had built up all but the last two bricks, leaving a hole around Shawn’s eye level, that came to the most horrifying realization yet. He’d been so focused on his own thoughts and fears with Olivia’s words washing over him like an acid bath that he’d barely registered that the dim light in the hole had been darkening incrementally with each new brick placed. Now he came to the bone-chilling understanding that once she placed those last two bricks, he would be completely in the dark.

He was going to die, alone, terrified, and in utter darkness with fear as his only friend. He thought in that moment that he might die of a heart attack before he could even think about dehydrating or suffocating. Honestly, it sounded like an easier way to go.

“Well,” said Olivia finally. “I can’t say that it’s been a pleasure to meet you in any way, Shawn, but I suppose I should thank you. Ever since I found out about this unfinished wall down here, I’ve had this unscratchable itch to recreate the titular scene from my favorite Poe story. You gave me the means and justification to do it!”

Shawn was so overcome by the surging sea of fear and early-onset claustrophobia that he couldn’t even muster up the gumption to make a joke about the word titular. Instead, as Olivia knelt down next to her bag, rooting around for something, he jerked madly against the handcuffs, desperately searching for any give in the metal or the pipe he was handcuffed to (or even his wrists, at this point he wasn’t picky). But the pipe was new, and it was sturdy, and so was the fitting that connected it to the old one, which itself didn’t seem too keen on budging, either.

A sick grin teased at Olivia’s parted lips. “Oh, Fortunato tried that too. But then he stopped crying and struggling and chose to die with a shred of dignity. But I highly doubt dignity is something you’re capable of.”

And then, with the finality of fitting a lid to a coffin, she slapped a piece of fluorescent pink duct tape over his mouth and a fresh wave of panic ravaged Shawn’s everything. He didn’t remember this happening in her retelling of the story! Then again, the Fortunato guy had been sealed into catacombs deep underground. Shawn was in the basement of a heavily trafficked university building. Someone would actually hear him if he called for help, so she took his voice away from him too. He couldn’t even sing “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” to pass his time or distract him from the inevitable. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he would die in the dark, he would die in the quiet too - and silence was, as his incessant need for chatter plainly proved, Shawn’s worst enemy.

“Goodbye, Shawn,” Olivia said, and she added one brick, layered on the mortar, and then gave her captive one last satisfied glance before adding the last brick and leaving Shawn in total, impenetrable darkness. He would never forget that last, terrible look in her eyes before his world went black - she was no longer human; she had elevated herself to the level of the storytelling gods and she relished in the twisted power she held over the life of another human.

As her footsteps clipped away, her voice, obscenely gleeful, called out, “In pace requiescat!”

***

The next ten hours were the worst of Shawn’s life, and they consisted of five main elements all bundled together into a nightmare that would stalk him for the rest of his life.

Cold. It was the middle of January, and though it couldn’t have been less than forty-five degrees outside, the basement - especially behind the walls - was chilly, and with the musty smell and the dust and the pitch black, Shawn was reminded far too much of a grave and knew that he might as well be in one, because this was going to be his. It was the kind of cold that bit deeper than the skin and wormed its way into the very core and dug its icy fangs in and refused to let go - the chill of death, an open invitation from the dead to join them in their home beneath the ground. He shivered a lot, but he couldn’t be sure if it was the cold, or the panic. It was probably a little of both.

Dark. The darkness that surrounded him had an unreal nature that could easily trick the eyes into thinking that they were already closed. It was oppressive and thick, pressing in from all sides, inky black water dredged from the depths of the sea.

Shawn had never been a fan of the dark, but neither did he exactly fear it. That changed the second that the last brick was put into place and he found himself in a darkness so severe that were in not for the feeling of floor beneath his feet he could have been suspended in the depths of space so remote that not even stars could reach. The darkness swarmed his senses - it had a physical presence, and it didn’t lessen, never permitted Shawn’s eyes to adjust to it in the slightest. It just hung there, surrounded him, assaulted his mind with its infinite arsenal of nightmares.

After experiencing true darkness, Shawn would never sleep without a nightlight again (which unfortunately meant he couldn’t judge Gus anymore for using one, either).

Pain. At first it was just the pull of his shoulders, the ache in his back. Then, about five minutes after he’d been sealed up, he realized his wrists were screaming with agony - he must have torn them badly when he fought to get away, but the adrenaline staved off the pain until now. He vaguely wondered how deeply the cuffs had cut - it felt like the skin on his wrists had been flayed - but quickly remembered that it didn’t matter where he was going.

Then there were the hunger pangs, and they mingled with the cramps from holding his bladder longer than he ever had before, and at some point muscle spasms in his arms and chest and legs joined the choir of suffering. At one point, he shed a few tears, but they could have just as easily been from anxiety or exhaustion, which itself produced its own kind of pain - he longed to sleep, but his body refused to allow him even that comfort until the very end, right before he was rescued, as if he were being forced on pain of death to endure the pain of death right up until the very moment of his painful death.

At least he didn’t have too much trouble breathing. There must have been a crack somewhere in the wall in front of or behind him, because fresh air was entering somehow. He did, several hours into his imprisonment, begin finding it difficult to pull in a full breath, and by the time he was rescued he was giddy with light-headedness, but he didn’t know if it was from the air quality or exhaustion or panic or from being forced to breathe only through his nose for hours, but he really didn’t care.

Quiet. Even worse than the cold and the dark and the pain was the quiet. The tape over his mouth prevented him from doing the one thing that could bring him comfort in even the most difficult of situations. Talking was what Shawn did - he utilized mindless prattle to distract bad guys, to make people underestimate him, to quell fear and panic in himself and those around him, to annoy and wheedle those whose opinions meant the most to him (and who he was most afraid to be real with), and most importantly, to distract himself from all the pain and baggage that his exceptional memory had filed away for him throughout the years. Talking nonsense meant that he wasn’t thinking about or acknowledging the parts of himself that arguably needed the most attention, those bits that were scared and unsure and hurt and vulnerable.

Shawn had always detested silence, and now it had invaded so intimately that even he could not drive it out.

And all of these culminated in a constant, agonizing state of absolute, unrelenting fear.

Panic attacks are horrific things that take your natural instincts in potentially dangerous situations and turn them against you in the cruelest of ways. They suck the air out of your lungs and make your heart pound so fast and so hard that you are convinced it’s going to give out in pure fatigue and never make it to that next beat. It makes your skin crawl like there are thousands of spiders nesting there, and your chest hurts and your breath is short and stunted and you know you are dying, that the next breath will be your last, but it isn’t, and the fear just continues and sometimes you curl into a ball or rock back and forth or scratch at your skin.

Panic attacks generally last anywhere from five to twenty minutes. Shawn was stuck in a state of raw, unfiltered panic for ten hours. When the EMTs at the scene took his heart rate, it was 160, had been the entire time he’d been buried in a collegiate tomb, knowing that he was going to die.

Put simply, Shawn Spencer spent ten hours in his own personal hell.

***

It was nearly three in the afternoon when Detectives Juliet O’Hara and Carlton Lassiter, with the help of a frantic Gus and a worried Henry that tried his damndest not to show how worried he was, made the final connections in the case and tracked down the woman who had slept with and then killed her lover like a hyper-intelligent, book-loving black widow. Juliet and Gus remained on the college campus to continue investigating while Lassiter and Henry went on to the station to question Olivia. She had refused to say where the missing psychic detective was, however, and only offered one bitter phrase, spoken in another language that sounded to the questioning party like a curse being placed on their heads:

“Nemo me impune lacessit.”

It was Gus who figured it out after Lassiter related the cryptic saying over the phone.

“I know that phrase!” he exclaimed to a swell of raised eyebrows. “It’s Latin! It means no one wounds me with impunity!”

“You speak Latin?” Juliet seemed impressed.

“Not much. But I recognize that particular saying, because it’s from a story that gave me nightmares my entire sophomore year of college.” He shuddered. “It’s from the second-most terrifying Poe story.” He didn’t elaborate on what the first-most terrifying one was, largely because he didn’t want to give the others fodder to use “The Tell-Tale Heart” against him like Shawn already did. Then the full implications of the words sunk in and he gasped, “We have to find Shawn, now.” The horror in his expression sent a chill down Juliet’s spine.

“Gus - what the hell are you talking about?” Henry was no longer trying to hide the panic in his voice.

“It’s from ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ Gus clarified, his own panic making it difficult to express himself clearly.

“Guster, this is hardly the time for you to have a glass of wine,” Lassiter barked. “Now stop talking in riddles and just spit it out!”

But Juliet had now made the connection as well and answered for Gus. “Oh my gosh - isn’t that the one where the guy is sealed into a wall and left to die?”

The dread in Gus’s eyes said it all.

“He’s got to be somewhere on campus,” Henry reasoned, and his voice shook the tiniest bit. “Lassiter and I are on our way back to you now. In the meantime, check with the school and see if there are any places that are easily accessed and under construction.”

No one said it aloud, but the possibility that her words hadn’t been a hint at all and that Shawn was somewhere else entirely hung in the air amongst them. It was funny, Juliet thought - though it wasn’t funny at all - she urgently needed Gus’s theory to be right, because otherwise they would have no leads, but at the same time, she was terrified of the implications if it were true.

Her heart felt as sick as Montresor’s when he placed the last brick as she and Gus raced to the administration building and prayed they weren’t too late.

***

When they broke through the wall, the sight that greeted them was one that would never leave them - any of them. Even Lassiter, who made it his sacred duty to remain unfazed by anything his job threw at him was visibly disturbed.

A moment of silence, a beat where time stood still and everyone was afraid to move, and then -

“Shawn!” The four rescuers surged forward as one, but Henry got there first, his trembling fingers groping for a pulse - thank God, but it was racing, dangerously fast, and in the background he heard Lassiter radioing for an ambulance.

Shawn woke up as Henry gently peeled the hideous pink duct tape (an affront to all duct tape everywhere) off of his mouth. It wasn’t a gentle waking, a flutter of eyelashes or the murmuring of a name - it was violent and erratic, fueled by terror.

Henry had had to deal with panic attacks before - mostly Gus’s when he took the boys camping together, but once or twice when Shawn was really young and he’d had a bad dream. This one was the worst that he’d ever seen - Shawn woke with a muffled yell, panting through his nose, writhing, tears streaming down his face, eyes squeezed shut against the trauma he’d been subjected to, and he threw himself against the handcuffs so fiercely that Henry feared he’d break his wrists.

Soon his wrists were freed, though, and Henry, with the help of Lassiter, helped a weakened Shawn out of the wall and into the basement and lowered him to the floor. Henry sat with him and rubbed his back and spoke quietly to him, Juliet took his hand, and Gus reassured him while Lassiter ran up the stairs to check on the ETA of the ambulance.

Twenty minutes later, Shawn had been placed onto a stretcher and carried up the stairs and out into the sunlight - sensing the warm rays, he opened his eyes only to pinch them shut again as the brightness after so many hours in the dark nearly blinded him. He had been given something to calm him down, and he would be going to the hospital to be checked over and observed overnight, and a psychiatrist would be sent in to evaluate him in the morning, and everything was moving so fast that Shawn leaned over the side of the stretcher and deposited the remnants of the last thing he’d eaten, nearly twelve hours before.

“There’s one thing I still don’t get,” he gasped as he was eased back onto the stretcher. “Where do the armadillos come into her plan?”

The EMTs exchanged a concerned look at the stretcher, probably wondering if there had been some carbon monoxide poisoning after all. Gus, however, just rolled his eyes.

“Amontillado, Shawn. It’s a kind of wine.”

“The story is called ‘The Casket of the Armadillos,’” Shawn argued stubbornly, going so far as to cross his arms over his chest, pulling at the IV in his right hand.

Gus was going to argue, to insist that he’d actually read the story (and why the heck would someone fill a casket with armadillos?), but then Gus saw the plea in Shawn’s hazel eyes, that need for jokes and silliness, and understood that his best friend was clinging onto his last shreds of control.

“You know what - I forgot,” Gus corrected, shaking his head and giving himself a light smack on the forehead for good measure. “It is ‘The Casket of Armadillos.’” He glared out at Henry, at Lassiter and Juliet and the EMTs, defying them to challenge his claim. No one did, but they all shared a similar baffled expression.

Well, they could deal with their confusion, Gus thought protectively as he watched Shawn and Henry disappear into the ambulance. Shawn had been through a night of unspeakable horror, so if it was armadillos he wanted, then it was armadillos he was going to get.

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sabineelectricheart · 4 years

Text

Romeo

Summary: “I should have left you with the Falzone when I had the chance.” It was the threat that hung between in the air.

Rating: MA - Content is only suitable for mature adults. May contain explicit language and adult themes.

Words: 2100

Notes: Here be lemons. It is even rather fluffy to the standards I am setting myself up with.

“Don’t.” Liliana whispered. “Please don’t. Don’t do this to me, Yang, I beg of you.”

Yang slowly pulled away his hand, his arms were now loosely hanging by his sides, a devastated expression on him as his eyes wandered across the marked tearstains down her face.

He watched her leave their living quarters towards the washing closet, as the stuffed panda he ordered for her so many years ago watched with that empty happy smile as the only witness to the tragedy beginning to brew over his life. He sunk down onto the couch, head buried in his hands, a dry, foreign hiccup left his lips.

Yang could not believe himself the words he had screamed at her, just seconds ago.

Regret began to fill him, his throat was tightening up, it felt as if somebody was cutting off his airway, tightly squeezing his skin, crushing his windpipe, making him suffer, for the profane words he did not really believe in that had left his mouth.

It was as if he was two people. Yang and Mao. He was Yang, but he wanted to be Mao. In the end, if he was absolutely honest, he was just one deeply flawed person who did not know how to administer the salvation assigned to him.

Hiccups rumbled through her as Lili grasped the sink in the private bathroom. Her knuckles were turning white. She was watching herself through the mirror, she was a mess, not being able to let go of his threat.

“I should have left you with the Falzone when I had the chance.” It was the threat that hung between in the air.

The way he had so aggressively screamed it refused to leave her mind. His eyes had been dangerous, pitch-black, empty pupils were staring at her, watching her crumble, fall apart as he kept on screaming and screaming. She needed some time to breathe, to calm down and think the whole scenario over.

Their fighting had been going on for weeks by now. Every time they would visit Hong Kong to pay tribute to Liu Huang Hui, all hell would break loose. Yang would switch his focus onto ‘something important’ and would leave her hanging and turn his back on her, as if he was a completely new person.

She had been going through thick and thin with him, had picked him off the floor, had pulled him out of his darkest holes. They had been for years by now, and Lili probably should be used to all the stresses and strains by now.

Lili would hide away in their bedroom, desperate for some time alone. She could not get herself to talk to him. Every time she would think about him, bile would rise in her throat, tears were welling up in her eyes, making her cry out over and over again.

She was not noticing that he was sitting across the door to their bedroom, out in the hallway. He wanted to clear his own head out in the roof, let the lights of the big city calm him down, but he could not find on himself to tear himself out from there.

Tears would threaten to fall from his eyes as he listened to the sound of her pained crying. He was suffering just as much, but for complete other reasons. This had been the first time Yang had felt terribly anxious, scared that she would finally give up, finally realizing how bad of a person he was, that she would finally turn her back on him.

He knew that it would be on him this time to make things right, so he did the only thing he could think of, Yang began to roam the small library his wife amassed over the years they spent together.

He had stared at the foreign volumes for hours on end, trying to come up with any idea. A tight smile would tug on his lips as he had finally come up with something that he could do. Something he could do to try to convey a beautiful memory Yang was trying to project with some literary work he might be intellectually invested, but it was emotionally beyond him.

The copy he ordered was decorated with a lithography, shipped over from the northern part of her home country. It was resembling of the small clearing where they had spent the night once, fleeing from wolves and mafiosos, finely imprinted in linen paper and elegant typeface, something that she would certainly enjoy and treasure, more so than those cheap copies she ratted out into their bases over the years, under Lan’s reluctant auspices.

Peace offering in one hand and the ever-present pipe on the other, he sauntered into the bedroom as if he was the Emperor of China and threw the book on the bed, just next to where she was curled into herself, letting the tears fall through her face freely.

Lili looked up at him and to the package next to her. “What is this?”

“Give me my Romeo, and, when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars…” He was murmuring her favourite lines out of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. “And he will make the face of heaven so fine, that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.”

She sighed. “What is the meaning of this, Yang?”

“This is not my name.” Her husband barked.

“What is the meaning of this, Yang?” The woman repeated.

“This is not my name.” He insisted, his rage raising and raising in response.

“Very well, Mao. As you like.” Liliana sneered. “What is this? Reading material for when you ship me back to the Vatican?”

“You will not be going anywhere without me.” He responded. “Not now. Not ever.”

She sighed, and finally raised her face to look at him.

“I can still remember the day we met for the first time.” Her voice was hoarse from all the crying. “You never deluded me, you never tricked me. I always knew you were violent, moody and nothing like the romantic heroes of the books I read in Church. Nevertheless, I was pretty sure you loved me in your way, but I am not that certain now. What happened, Mao? What did I do wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong.” He responded, looking out the window to the nothingness in the damp alley where they lived. “Nothing went awry, and no changes in course were made.”

Lili walked towards him, her naked feet were tapping against the wooden floor, she grasped his hand and sunk down in his lap, nuzzling her head against the crook of his neck.

“I love you.” She whispered, hugging him lightly.

“For what matters, I am sorry.” He responded, voice low and calm, with a clipped tone, a rare feat for him.

Liliana placed her pointer finger onto his lips, silencing her husband. “Show me, prove to me, how much you love me.”

His yellow, feline eyes were staring at her, burning right into her soul, trying to swallow down the guilt that was eating him alive.

Yang carried her towards the bedroom, smiling down at her, he moved some of her hair out of her face, slowly dipping his head down to kiss her. The loving kiss soon turned into something else, something much more passionate, fuelled by their rage, their sadness, that had been clouding their minds for the past days.

The standoffish man pressed his forehead against hers, his hands were moving along the sides of the hideously pink cheongsam she was currently wearing, expertly working through the clasps of the piece, as he mentally tried to assure himself of her continued presence close to him.

A shaky breath left Liliana’s lungs, he began to unbutton the undershirt, kissing her skin every time he popped open another button.

He attached his mouth onto her boobs, taking his time as if he was exploring her body for the first time, Yang pressed loving kisses all over her chest, her eyes fluttered close the moment he finally sucked on her nipples, making tingles erupt in her lower belly.

“Beautiful.” The criminal whispered against her skin, moving his hands down to her panties, he rubbed her clit through the fabric, slowly teasing her.

He did not want to rush things this time. It was best if he took his sweet, sweet time with everything.

“Please, Mao.” She bemoaned. His rings felt cold against her hot skin.

Slowly, he pulled her soaked panties down her legs and kissed down her upper body, to her hipbones, where he placed his hands.

He ran his tongue across her clit, circling it, eyes finding hers, a faint smile began to spread on her lips. She reached her hands out and tangled them in his fiery red hair, getting pulled back into the pleasure he was currently providing her with.

Yang plunged two fingers into her heat, pumping them in and out of her as he sucked on her sensitive nub, one moan after the other fell from her lips.

Her release was growing ever closed, as Yang curled his fingers upwards, teasing her sweet spot.

“Does that feel good, Liliana?” He groaned out, his pants were getting tighter, he could not get enough of her.

She could only moan a small “yes” tugging on his roots, telling him that she was close, her orgasm would wash over her any time soon now. His name fell from her lips, the familiar warmth began to spread through her, the knot in her belly exploded for the first time that night, leaving her breathless for a few moments.

His eyes would not leave hers. Yang pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his toned upper body to her green eyes, he ripped his trousers and underwear down his legs, his length was standing proud and tall, throbbing in his touch.

He crawled up her body and ran the tip of his length along her folds a few times, coating himself with her slickness. Lili grasped his necklace and pulled him down for a kiss, moaning against his lips as he sunk his length into her heat.

Yang completely filled her, she could feel every inch of him, buried in her heat, fully stretching her. He wrapped her legs around his middle, slowly pulling out of her before he thrusted his hips against hers.

His eyes were closed, he was building up the speed of his thrusts. He did not want this to end too soon, this was not about him, it was all about her and the love he felt for her, even if he did not care to admit, even if it hurt some survival instinct that he fostered over many years in unforgiving streets all around the world.

“Look at me.” Lili whispered. She was still holding onto his necklace to dear life, and managed to bring his face closer to her, as if she was going to share an unspeakable secret. “I love you too.”

A small smile began to spread on his lips, his hips were thrusting against hers more easily by now, excitement was flooding through the both of them, relishing in the feeling of being as close as possible.

“Faster, please, Mao.” She moaned.

Her toes were curled, he began to put pressure onto her clit with his thumb while he was pounding into her.

He kept on calling out her name, one hand was placed on her right thigh, the other one next to her head, her walls were clenching around him, trying to pull him even closer.

Lili tugged on his necklace once again, pushing his lips against hers, deep moans rumbled through her as her release washed upon her. Her whole body was tingling, the heavenly feeling overcame her for the second time that evening, a tear fell from her eye. She truly loved him and would never let him go, no matter what.

Yang pressed his forehead against her neck, moaning into her skin. It took him a few more thrusts until he released himself into her heat, his sweat was dripping down onto her skin, his hands had left some marks on her thighs, displaying the deep emotions he had felt a few moments ago.

“I am sorry.” Yang breathed out and pulled her into his tattooed chest, his fingers were dancing across her skin, trying to remind him, that this was indeed real, she had forgiven him and, once again, had not left him on his own.

*_*_*_*_*

Shakespeare in Hong Kong Masterlist

Piofiore Masterlist

#piofiore #yang

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flightfoot · 4 years

Text

Ladycat Ch. 8

AO3

Chat Noir and Master Fu stared at the record player on the floor, secret compartment empty.

“Well, this isn’t good,” Chat Noir stated.

Master Fu nodded mutely.

----

Nino examined the video, trying to figure out exactly where to make his edit.

Let’s see… need to try and cover most of its body without concealing its feet and…

There!

He adjusted the size of the pink poptart, dragging it over to the gray kitten’s body.

A few splices later and a new nyan cat video graced the internet, courtesy of the bouncy kitten who’d sprung all over the city a few hours earlier.

Sighing, Nino checked his phone. He frowned. “This isn’t like her,” he muttered, worried.

It was FAR from the first time he’d texted his girlfriend and not gotten a response for awhile. But usually just checking the news would tell him why she hadn’t messaged him.

This time several hours had gone by without a response, and with no clear reason behind the delay.

He didn’t like it.

And with Ladybug’s disappearing act added onto that?

He was seriously considering biking over to the Cesaires, uninvited or not. If something bad was going down he wanted to be there at Alya’s side.

Especially with what happened on Heroes Day…

He shuddered. Seeing her take that arrow for him, seeing her twisted, her love turned to hate, and her subsequent akumatization was one of the worst experiences of his life. He’d had nightmares about it every night since, and he doubted it was going away any time soon.

A news alert popped up on his phone.

Ah! So there was an akuma after… all…

He blinked.

HAWKMOTH was active?! Again?!

Was this going to become a regular thing?!

And the cat by his side… was that an akuma? Or one of those new creatures, like that purple moth that blew them all away last time they faced him?

*knock knock*

“GAH ah ah- oh,” Nino startled, only calming down once he saw the culprit. “Dude, don’t scare me like that!”

He opened the window for Chat Noir, expecting the cat-themed hero to simply jump through.

Instead he deposited some random old man in Nino’s room first.

“Um… dude, who’s this?” Nino asked, pointing to the stranger.

Chat rubbed the back of his neck. “This is gonna be a long story…”

Nino stared.

And blinked.

And stared some more.

Chat Noir - wait he’s ADRIEN, what the hell?! - waved his hand in front of Nino’s face. “Nino?”

Nino shook his head. “Sorry, dude. That was just… a lot.”

Adrien laughed bitterly. “Tell me about it.”

Nino winced.

“Don’t worry about me, I already had my freak out over Father’s actions,” Adrien hastened to add, noticing Nino’s expression.

He really thought that was enough? “I don’t think this is the kind of thing you can just get over in a few hours.”

“We came here for a specific reason,” the old man spoke up, taking off his bracelet.

A bracelet that suddenly looked very familiar.

“Nino Lahiffe, will you bear the Miraculous of the Turtle once more?”

-----

A few minutes later, Chat Noir and Carapace bounded towards the Agreste Mansion.

Fu was currently staying with Nino’s parents. Turns out “Chat Noir’s dropped by and needs to leave this elderly man somewhere safe for awhile while I help him with something” was all the explanation they needed before sitting him down and piling food onto his plate.

Chat Noir’s baton beeped. He stopped, opening it up and expanding the screen so Carapace could see.

“RENA!”

The heroine blinked, then smiled. “Miss me?”

“I was worried! You’re never silent for this long!”

She chuckled. “I’ve seen too many movies to risk leaving my phone on while I’m sneaking around.”

Her smile fell, resuming a serious expression. “You two need to get over to the Agreste Mansion right away, I’m on the second floor. I found Nathalie… and the Peacock Miraculous.”

-----

Looking at her resting on so many pillows, Adrien would’ve thought Nathalie looked peaceful.

After seeing his mother in her own magically-induced coma though? He couldn’t quite make himself see it that way. Especially after learning that she’d used the same broken miraculous that had evidently put his mother to sleep.

An arm came around his shoulder.

“How’re you holding up?” Nino asked him softly.

“I…”

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Nathalie.

Intellectually, he knew that she would probably be fine if she stayed here.

But part of him was still scared.

Scared that she’d vanish or die or… or just leave him in some way.

“Do you need a hug?”

Adrien nodded mutely, still not taking his eyes off his unofficial caretaker. Off of the woman he suspected (and had been hoping) would become his stepmother.

Nino embraced him, squeezing him tightly, but being conscious of Adrien’s line-of-sight, careful not to get between him and Nathalie.

The pressure broke something within Adrien.

He sniffled once.

Then twice.

And finally broke down.

It took a few more minutes to get through it this time, Nino gently stroking his hair all the while.

At last he looked up, eyes still rimmed red. He took a shaky breath. “We- we need to get the Peacock Miraculous back to Fu. And- and I want to get Nathalie to a hospital - to somewhere safe.”

Nino’s eyebrows drew together. “What about-?”

Adrien shook his head. “I can’t move Mom. I don’t know what’s going on with her, it might not be safe. I HATE leaving her there, but- but I’d hate accidentally hurting her even more.”

“I can take the Miraculous to Fu,” Rena chimed in. “It’s not like I don’t know where Nino lives, and I can hide myself better than you two can.”

Chat nodded. “Th-thanks. We’ll head back afterwards, so just be on the look out.”

------

Rena Rouge slipped through Nino’s bedroom window.

Hm… you know, if she got to keep her Miraculous, she had the feeling this wouldn’t be the only time she got to do that…

She shook her head. Focus Alya! You can think about sneaking over to see your boyfriend later!

Besides, it’s not like she actually NEEDED to sneak over. She was more than welcome at the Lahiffes, just as Nino was treated as one of the family over at her own house.

Still… sneaking over held a certain allure to it. It just felt exciting to get together in secret, even if it was something they could do normally.

“Rena Rouge? Where are the others?”

She jumped about two feet.

So the whole “don’t get distracted by your own thoughts” plan had failed.

“They’re fine, just taking Nathalie to a hospital before heading over here.” She fiddled with her flute, opening up a hidden storage compartment within it. These weapons were absurdly versatile. “I was assigned with bringing this back to you right away.”

Fu leaned in, getting a closer look at what she had in her hand.

“The Peacock Miraculous-!” he gasped, looking shocked… and a bit scared?

Maybe because it was broken? It’d already put one person in a coma and may have hurt a second one after all.

Gingerly he took it, as if afraid it would leap over and bite him.

“Are… you okay?” she asked.

He sighed. “Miraculous should never be misused. This one especially. I learned that the hard way.”

Wait, what? “You’ve used it before? What happened? Does it have anything to do with how Hawkmoth got ahold of it? How-?”

She stopped, noticing Fu’s pained expression. “I- I would prefer not to talk about it. Please. Not unless I have to. I made a big mistake when I was young, one I cannot take back. One that I’ve had to live with every day since then. I do not wish to relive it while I’m awake, when I already cannot escape it while I sleep.”

Her stomach curdled with guilt. “...Sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

This wasn’t the first time this had happened though. Sometimes she got started talking, asking questions, investigating, and it took a little while for her to realize that the other people around her were getting uncomfortable or bored, or that something else was going on with them that she needed to pay attention to instead.

Luckily everyone in class was pretty understanding. Most people had had the experience of getting really excited or concentrated on one thing, to the exclusion of everything else. It was just a little more pronounced with her than with most of the others - though Max could give her a run for her money, with how utterly engrossed he ended up being in whatever project or activity he decided to work on.

Fu examined the brooch. His eyes lit up. “I think I can repair this.”

Alya blinked. “Wait, seriously?!”

He nodded. “So long as I have the right tools and potions at least.”

“...Would these happen to be materials the Lahiffes have on hand?”

“How do you feel about retrieving some things from my shop while I start?”

------

Chat Noir and Carapace climbed back through Nino’s window, having dropped Nathalie off successfully.

Luckily people didn’t usually question two superheroes when told to keep an eye on a woman in an enchanted sleep.

Adrien thought about telling them that she had been working with Hawkmoth, but couldn’t quite make himself do it. Not when she’d apparently objected to his latest plan, with his father even knocking her out to ensure she couldn’t turn on him.

She still shouldn’t have covered up for him all this time, nor helped him near the end of Heroes Day, but… but he just couldn’t make himself turn her in.

Laughter thundered from the direction of the living room.

He and Nino looked at each other questioningly. “Do your parents like watching comedies?”

Nino shook his head. “Haven’t found a lot of good ones.”

They entered the living room.

“Have there always been this many bottles and…” Adrien picked up a round flat object that had fallen on the ground. “Gongs in here?”

“Oh, you’re just in time!” Fu greeted them, looking happier than Adrien had ever seen him.

Not that he’d seen him very often.

“In time…?” Adrien asked, confused.

“We’ve been working on fixing the Peacock Miraculous for the last few hours,” an exhausted-looking Alya told them, leaning against a nearby doorway. “Repairing Miraculous takes some weird things.”

“Does this have anything to do with the laughter we heard earlier?” Adrien asked.

Fu nodded. “A tear of joy! Ladybug helped me discover that secret ingredient.”

The mood instantly dimmed.

“Any word on her?” Adrien asked.

Alya grimaced. “A few sightings, but no havoc just yet. I think they’re trying to find us first instead of baiting us out. Hawkmoth doesn’t have a lair to retreat to this time, no safety net if he fails. I can see why he’d be more cautious.”

“At least it buys us some time,” Adrien noted.

“Speaking of that…” Alya turned to Fu. “Is it ready?”

He nodded, carefully unwrapping a small cloth bundle.

“The Peacock Miraculous…?” Adrien said.

It looked a little different from before, the colors more dark blue and purple rather than the traditional peacock coloring from before.

“This is hardly the first time a Miraculous has been damaged,” Fu said. “Luckily the Grimoire contained detailed repair instructions.”

“So then…?”

“It can be used safely now.”

Adrien grinned, moving to put it on. Fu stopped him, holding up his hand. “Just because it can be used without harming the wielder does not mean it should be used carelessly. The consequences of creating a sentimonster without firmly understanding what you put into it can be disastrous.”

“What do you mean?” Adrien asked. “Doesn’t a sentimonster just do what you want?”

Fu shook his head. “Sentimonsters are created based off of emotions. The Peacock Miraculous wielder’s explicit intentions play a large role in determining what kind of creature is formed, what it’s like, but their hidden emotions can distort those intentions.

Fu fiddled with his hands, making motions to turn something on his wrist, stopping when he realized he no longer had the Turtle Miraculous. “If you are say, hungry when you make the sentimonster, and… and angry at the Miraculous, at what they’ve done to your life, you can create a creature that- that will stop at nothing to devour all the Miraculous and anyone who gets in the way of that goal.”

Judging by the way Fu’s voice was shaking, Adrien doubted this was purely a hypothetical.

He may not be the only one coping with losing people.

Gently he reached out, putting his hand on Fu’s shoulder. “Thank you for telling me. Do you have any advice?”

Fu took a moment to compose himself. “Do not concentrate on hate or destruction. Try to set your mind to something else instead. Something that’s less likely to go out of control.”

That… may be difficult. Whenever he thought of his father, betrayal and fear roiled in his gut.

If he was going to create a sentimonster, he needed something to counteract his feelings towards his father, even if the sentimonster was meant to help him defeat Hawkmoth.

What calmed him? Made him feel safe?

Ah!

“Claws in!”

Plagg spiralled out of the ring. Adrien threw him a piece of cheese, then rummaged through a different pocket.

Nino blinked. “You really weren’t kidding about carrying Marinette’s Lucky Charm with you everywhere, huh?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Marinette made it, how could I not?”

Nino gave him an exasperated look. Adrien couldn’t understand why, the logic seemed obvious to him.

Alya just smirked.

His friends had weird reactions whenever he talked about Marinette.

“I don’t think we can do this alone,” Adrien said, putting on the brooch. “It took the three of us, PLUS Ladybug and Queen Bee to have a shot last time, and Hawkmoth still has Panther with him. We’re gonna need some help.

Duusu, spread my feathers!”

Adrien transformed, his skin turning blue, a blue tuxedo tail coat replacing his usual clothing.

Holding up Marinette’s Lucky Charm, he concentrated.

We need help.

The three of us can’t do this by ourselves.

We need something strong, something that can turn the tides of battle, even when things seem hopeless, like Ladybug does.

His eyes locked on the four-leaf clover on the bracelet.

Marinette gave him this bracelet when he kept on losing to her. Truthfully he knew that the bracelet had nothing to do with her wins, but the kind smile she gave him as she handed it to him, her soft voice as she told him to just try playing with it…

Whenever he saw the charm, he remembered that moment.

How she’d just earnestly wanted him to feel better, even if it was just over losing a match.

She was so smart and brave too. How could he forget the way she helped with Evillustrator, volunteering to go on a date with an akuma? Heck, she was even the one who figured out how to escape Evillustrator’s trap!

If the sentimonster could be just a little like her, they might have a chance.

He infused the feather with his emotions, touching it to the lucky charm.

A purple mass began to form in front of him, lengthening out, forming five off-shoots that began to resemble…

...Was that a human shape?

#ladycat #Miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe

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lilfellasblog · 5 years

Text

Lights Out

Summary: Logan's job consisted of many important things critical to Thomas' life. There was no room for error. He cannot make mistakes.

Until he makes a big one.

A/N: If you liked this, please reblog. It is the only way to help this fic reach a wider audience. This is a Tumblr ask! Thank you to the anonymous asker who waited patiently for me to write this, and then continued to be patient because I was trying out the queuing thing on Tumblr and accidentally made it so this posted here the next day. WHOOPS!! Sorry anon! You’re amazing and so kind and I REALLY hope you enjoy this fic!! I decided that since Virgil is usually the one getting hurt and needing comfort in these fics (esp in mine LOL), I wanted to switch it up for you so you could have something unique! And I figured that the central conflict in this story would also make it a little more unique for you! I hope you enjoy!

TW: crying, insecurity, self-doubt, negative self-talk, power going out and being left in the dark, mention of panic attacks, very vague allusion to a probably unsympathetic Deceit. If I missed any let me know!

Word count: 1864

AO3 here!

Fic Masterlist here!

Logan was hunched over his desk, in a posture admittedly not the healthiest but he could hardly be bothered. Thomas had three projects with outside channels and he had to update his Sanders Sides web series soon, even with the deal with Marvel. That, on top of meetings with his company, planning a video schedule for the second channel, and managing household necessities and bills, and one might find Logan rather frazzled.

(Thankfully, Patton had helped take over grocery shopping, meal planning, and cooking, only corresponding with Logan on the budget. It was one less thing Logan had to worry about.)

His forehead and back were tense, his eyes were terribly dry, and his mind was racing. His hands were shaking as he jumped from one task to the other, adrenaline flooding his system. Normally, he wouldn’t get to this point. However, with how scheduling with his company and outside individuals and companies for meeting and filming had gone, he’d been on high alert for almost two weeks now. Logan desperately hoped that the schedule would come together and Thomas would get a small break from filming and meetings; he’s seen the strain it’s taken on his Host and on the other core Sides, and they were running ragged as well.

Logan checked over the schedule Adri had sent them and compared that against the rest of the crew’s schedule.

Yes! Finally! This can work, I just need to mark this down and-

Suddenly, panic sweeps through the mindscape along with shock. Logan quickly rose up into Thomas’ realm to see… nothing. It was completely dark. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he heard Virgil rattling off possibilities that would inevitably end in their demise, Roman declaring he’ll slay any intruder that dares threaten them while offering to serenade everyone, Thomas trying to calm him and Roman down while he looked on his phone to see what was going on, and Patton tripping over things in the dark while he tried to comfort Virgil.

Logan was frozen stock still, realizing instantly what had happened.

I forgot to have Thomas pay his electric bill. The website was taking too long to load, so we were going to work on it another time when the website wasn’t so slow. This is my fault. They are upset and panicking because I have failed in organizing Thomas.

His heart shattered as he listened to Patton lead Virgil through breathing exercises.

I have caused my boyfriend unnecessary distress due to my incompetence. Such a simple oversight on my part. A foolish oversight. One that would not have happened were it another Side.

Roman was checking the perimeter of the apartment for intruders, hand on his sword while he sang Make a Man Out of You under his breath. Normally, he’d be belting out songs at the top of his lungs, which only went to show his level of distress. Thomas was realizing what had happened and looked at Logan, with only the light from his cell phone screen to see.

Thomas, Virgil, Patton, and Roman deserve a better Logic. I am clearly incapable of managing the simplest things, and now we have had our power turned off. Food will begin to rot, and we just went grocery shopping. This has impacted the budget. The increased stress of not having electronics will be incredible, and the lack of air conditioning in the Florida summer may cause health concerns. This is my fault, and my fault alone. I am incompetent.

Logan sank out to his room to figure out how to survive until the power came back on. He didn’t hear Virgil calling his name.

/////

Logan had been staring at his desk morosely for a half hour, shoulders hitching and silent tears dripping down his stoic face as he observed the chaos his desk had become.

I cannot manage Thomas’ schedule. I cannot manage his bills. I cannot manage his household needs. I cannot focus to even begin to help Thomas manage while the power is out. What good am I? I am no good. I am useless. A useless, dysfunctional Side who only makes Thomas’ life more difficult. I make him unhappy. I make the others unhappy.

Logan’s felt his chest tighten and a painful lump form in his throat. His face began to crumple despite his best efforts. Just then, several tentative knocks sounded at his door.

“Come in Virgil,” he called, managing to keep his voice mostly calm.

Virgil opened the door and walked in slowly, assessing the situation. He knew Logan rarely got this upset over something, and to tread carefully.

“How’d you know it was me?” he asked lightly.

“Your knocks are tentative, compelled by your concern to make sure you’re not interrupting someone. Regardless of how upset you may be or your level of need, your first concern is always the convenience of others. It is admirable to a point, though foolish after that point.”

Virgil huffed out a laugh. “Thanks L.”

“You are welcome.”

Virgil’s face softened at Logan’s factual response and his complete overlook of sarcasm. That was always one thing that could calm Virgil; Logan wouldn’t keep anything from Virgil or misunderstand something he said. Logan took what Virgil said at face value and spoke to him in a direct manner. There was no guessing his intent or the “true” meaning of his words, no chance to get it wrong, no chance to accidentally upset him because he didn’t read between the lines correctly…

Virgil shook his head to clear those thoughts from his mind. There was no use dwelling on the past, and it wouldn’t help Logan now.

He cautiously walked closer to Logan. “I saw how fast you got out of there. Couldn’t see your face too well though. How are you holding up?”

“My spinal column is intact.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Talk to me babe.”

Virgil patiently stood next to Logan in silence for several minutes, letting Logan gather himself and his thoughts, breath still hitching with the occasional sniffle. Emotions did not come easily to Logan, so processing them and figuring out how to express them were two challenges that required his full attention without interruption. And as much as Virgil wanted to comfort his boyfriend already, if Logan felt he didn’t express his feelings properly or felt that something was unresolved, there would be no making him feel better.

Finally, just as Virgil’s anxiety began to grow, Logan spoke.

“My job encompasses many things. I am the language center of Thomas’ brain, I manage his work schedules, and I assist in the management of household chores. Notably, this includes ensuring bills are paid on time.”

Logan paused, and Virgil didn’t dare say a thing.

“If Thomas had a more functional Logic, he would not have forgotten to pay his electricity bill. We were in the process of paying it, but I decided that the website was taking too long, and therefore we would return to the task at another time. Not only did I fail to notate that in our budget, I also failed to set a reminder to check the website at a later date, and I did not remember to ensure we paid our bill.”

Logan’s voice began to wobble as he stiffened his back, attempting to control his expression. “As a result, Thomas’ health may be at risk, we may have to throw out food, which will impact our budget, there will be a late payment and reconnection fee which will also impact our budget, there is increased stress on all of you, you nearly had a panic attack, Thomas will have to work exclusively at the office, and his sleep will be disrupted.”

Logan choked back a sob, his voice coming out thick. Virgil felt his face growing hot and pressure building behind his eyes, threatening to make him cry. “I am an incompetent, useless, harmful Side. I do not perform my job adequately, and as a result you all now must suffer for it and attempt to successfully think of how to survive until power can be restored.”

Virgil waited a moment to see if Logan would continue, audible sobs choking off in Logan’s throat. When Logan didn’t continue, Virgil put a hand on the back of Logan’s chair.

“Can I give you a hug Lo?”

Logan sniffled and nodded as a sob finally escaped him. Virgil pulled Logan up out of his chair and had to catch his intellectual boyfriend as he collapsed into Virgil’s chest. Logan was letting out heart-wrenching sobs, self-hatred and grief echoing around the minimalist room. Virgil held onto Logan tightly, rubbing his back and swaying them, his own tears flowing down his face at hearing his boyfriend so anguished. They stood there for 10 minutes, until Logan’s sobs began to peter off.

The genius pulled back slightly. “M-my apologies, I did not mean-”

“If you apologize for needing to cry, I am going to physically fight you!”

Logan let out a watery laugh, which mended some of the cracks in Virgil’s heart. Virgil wiped away his own tear tracks, then reached up and gently swiped his thumb over his lover’s sharp features before returning his hands to Logan’s shoulders.

“Babe, how many times have you helped me come down from a panic attack?” Virgil asked rhetorically.

“Since I’ve known you, 867 times.”

Virgil was stunned into silence for a moment. “...holy shit. Okay, and how many times have you helped redirect the three of us so we could actually be useful for Thomas?”

Logan smiled wryly. “I believe that number is beyond my reach.”

“Smartass. How many times have you helped Roman refine a script?”

Logan frowned and tilted his head. “I’ve done so for every script, you know this.”

“I know. And how many times have you helped Patton work through and accept his feelings?”

Logan hummed in thought. “309 times.”

“Logan, we’ve all fucked up on our jobs and needed your help. You’ve managed to carry that, plus your own responsibilities, really fucking well. You’re allowed to fuck up every now and then. Let us help you for once. Please.”

Logan sighed in defeat, unable to resist the pleading look in Virgil’s eyes. “Very well.”

“Hey, L.”

“Yes, darling?”

Virgil stepped closer to Logan, their chests nearly touching. “You do so much for us. One mistake doesn’t make you a failure. It makes you human. And no one's mad at you. Not Thomas, not Roman, not Patton, not me.”

“Technically, I am a metaphysical human.”

“It makes you a metaphysical human. Come on, you’ve been working yourself to death lately. Let me take care of you for once. How does a back massage, some tea, and some cuddles sound?”

Logan smiled softly at Virgil, the smile meant only for his boyfriend. “I would love nothing more than to spend this evening with you.”

Virgil smiled back and kissed Logan, slow and sweet. He didn’t stop until he felt some of the tension melt from his boyfriend’s shoulders. And he didn’t stop taking care of Logan that night until he was asleep, fully relaxed, on Virgil’s chest.

#sanders sides #analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #fanfic #thomas sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #unsympathetic deceit #tw deceit #crying #kissing #fic #fanfiction

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reddie-fangirl24 · 5 years

Text

Eddie, The Patient Chapter 2 (A Reddie Fanfiction)

Link to the Previous Chapter

“And continuing on... um, from where we left off yesterday... the war had devastated... the entire world...”

Most of Eddie’s students’ tired expressions resembled his own. Usually starting off the period walking down the aisles of the five rows of tables like he normally did, Eddie sat down at his desk, feeling as if he were going to collapse to the ground. His muscles felt so achy. And anytime he opened his eyes he saw twice the amount of students that he had, causing his unsettled stomach to lurch.

Realizing that he had closed his eyes for a second, Eddie jumped, straightening himself to make it look as if he were well. Would his students notice, was the question? Some of them were playing with their pencils while only a few were fully attentive, wanting to learn.

“Um... who knows the date on when the war ended? William?” Eddie asked a student who wasn’t raising their hand.

“Um... September 1, 1945?” he answered shyly, sinking into his chair like a turtle.

Eddie hardly paid attention to the answer. He barely cared about what he was teaching. “Very good.”

“Wait, Mr. Tozier, Will is wrong!” Bethany, the teacher’s pet, spoke up from the front row. “It was September 2nd, 1945! Not the 1st!” she confronted William making the embarrassed young man hide behind his arms.

Ugh, please don’t shout. “Right.”

“Mr. Tozier, I have a question!” Another boy spoke up.

“Go ahead.” Mind over matter. You are strong. You are brave.

“Why didn’t we just time travel into the future or to the past and stop the war like that? Isn’t that what they could do in Back to the Future?”

Now, Eddie noticed that it was his favorite ‘class clown’ student who loved to stir up trouble. He was very intellectual but refused to show it, constantly making jokes every week, interrupting his lessons. What was he going to say? Didn’t he marry a class clown? Oh, no, the clown. He didn’t want to think about that nightmare right now.

“Okay, let’s move onto history reports,” Eddie suggested, struggling to smile. One little movement and surely he’d be ill.

There was an echo of groans and ‘I don’t want to’ responses that floated around the room.

“But, Mr. Tozier, your lecture is supposed to go until 9:15. It’s only 8:55!” A student pointed out.

Was it only 8:55? “Well, I figured we have a lot to get through. James, would you like to go first?”

This would be easy. He had this group of students until quarter to ten. And then his next class had the same project. All Eddie had to do was listen and grade the assignments later when his mind wasn’t so muddled. If he remained as stiff as a statue that awful feeling in his stomach would go away.

His student walked to the front of the room. “For my assignment, I wrote about George Washington. He was famous in history because...”

“... Rosa Parks is my idol. We should all recognize Parks for her courage...”

“... Without Edison, we wouldn’t have any light...”

And next, it was the class clown’s turn. Did he actually have his paper finished? Why were his eyes spinning? “My report is on Charlie Chaplin, one of the greatest silent comedians of all time!”

Why did Eddie leave the house this morning? There was no way he was going to get through the rest of this day, feeling his stomach churn. Clutching at his gurgling stomach, Eddie felt himself sweating and yet feeling chilled to the bone at the same time. He hardly had the strength to lift up his own head. Peering out the window, the sun dipped behind the clouds. Oh no, would he have to walk home in the rain?

“... Charlie Chaplin starred in many movies, even directing and acting at the same time!” His student went on.

Charlie Chaplin. Oh, yeah, didn’t Richie give a report on Charlie Chaplin all those years ago in class? But only... oh, God, no he couldn’t think about that disgusting moment!

“... His life was like a roller coaster...”

Roller coaster. Richie forced him to go on a roller coaster one summer with himself and the other members of the Losers Club. Somehow his mother never found out about it. If she ever did she would have skyrocketed into the moon, breaking it. It was the worst experience ever! The ride was so terribly fast, jerking from side to side, going upside down, falling down a steep vertical drop. And the spinning. And spinning. And spinning...

Oh, God, I shouldn’t have imagined that! Before Eddie even had the chance to pray, he leaned over the side of his desk. Unbeknownst that the janitor moved his trash can during his nightly chores, Eddie threw up all over the floor.

Eddy’s classroom was in an uproar, shouting in disgust, jumping out of their seats, and looking away from the disgusting sight. The student who was giving his report at the front of the room almost tripped himself up backing into a wall.

His head spinning, Eddie felt dizzy, groaning. He clutched at his stomach, in pain. He felt a hand fall on his shoulder.

“Mr. Tozier, are you okay?” His student Bethany asked him.

Eddie’s stomach heaved again until there was nothing. As tears trickled down his cheeks, Eddie finally realized what had happened as his students were talking to each other. Feeling his throat close up, Eddie didn’t realize that he was being led out of the room by Mrs. Allison, the principal of the school! Luckily, she was walking in the halls when one of his students caught her attention.

“Everyone out into the hallway. Molly, go get the janitor! Mrs. Gregory, can you look after Mr. Tozier’s class, please?” Mrs. Allison called into a classroom across the way from his.

Trembling, Eddie held his head in complete and utter shame, tears falling from his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. He threw up right in front of his classroom! Teachers never got sick! Especially in front of their students!

The utter reactions of shock and disgust from his students broke his heart. How could he let something like this happen? Now he was going to get other people sick! Parents were going to think that he was an irresponsible man for coming into work with the flu once they heard the news. He felt so stupid for coming to work knowing that he wasn’t well.

“There, there, Eddie, the worst is over...” Mrs. Alliston warmly assured him, giving Eddie a tissue to clean off his mouth. She wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulder. Although Eddie almost towered over the woman, he couldn’t keep up with her speed. He half leaned against her for support. Oh, he was such a burden. The hallways felt much longer than usual.

“L-Look at what I did...” Eddie uttered shamefully, trying to breathe normally. Slow and steady breaths. Almost reaching into his pockets, Eddie remembered that he didn’t need that useless inhaler. It was so hard to get used to that, even after five years.

“It’s alright, dear, it happens to everyone. You’re going to feel a lot better once you lie down,” she smiled at him. It was only to hide how disappointed she was. While Mrs. Alliston was a friendly woman, Eddie always feared how he was doing as a first-year teacher. No matter what she always told him how great of a job he was accomplishing. She even became somewhat of a mentor figure to him. Like a mother.

As soon as he was in the office the nurse immediately sat Eddie on a bed with the crinkly white paper used to protect the bed from germs. He cringed not knowing how many other sick students had occupied this bed. Oh, he was already sick. The nurse’s office was never his favorite place. That’s why he always avoided having to go to the nurse during his time as a student.

It was always his mother who decided if he went to school or not, even if he had the smallest cold. Even Myra obsessed over some little thing when he’d cough. He was surprised that he was never held back feeling as though he missed so much school one year. Eddie never had the say to make his own decision if he wanted to stay home or not.

“Do you think you may be sick again, Mr. Tozier?” The nurse asked holding a thermometer to his ear. She was very friendly offering him water to rinse out his foul-tasting mouth and even avoiding students coming into the office.

“I don’t know!” Eddie sniffled, hugging himself, shivering. First, he was warm. Then freezing. He had to admit that he felt a little better. But, not for long. That unsettling churn came back. And it hurt. Being sick was never fun after the injury. Even just the slightest sneeze hurt.

“Calm down, Mr. Tozier. Being upset makes your stomach feel worse. Oh, dear!” The nurse was shocked in the instant she looked at the thermometer. “You have a fever of 102! You poor thing. Here, put your legs up, lie down. Would you like a blanket?”

Eddie nodded. His hands felt like ice. He felt like a kid once more, barely able to form words as tears leaked from his eyes like a waterfall. Tears weren’t helping his case. In fact, they did make him feel worse. Eddie felt that burdensome churn again, clutching at his stomach and sitting up, covering his mouth. On instinct, the nurse grabbed the trash can. Standing at a safe distance, she encouraged Eddie who painfully regurgitated into the trash.

Afterward, she helped him lie back down, this time covering him with a blanket. It wasn’t big enough, leaving his feet uncovered. Eddie felt so lightheaded that he didn’t even care, his head in terrible pain. It wasn’t as worse as his abdomen. Pain surged all around, making him moan. If only he had his prescribed pain medication with him.

A flustered Mrs. Alliston came into the room, having overheard. “Eddie, I’m going to get your husband on the phone. He can come and take you home.”

“No!” It hurt too much to yell, so he lowered his voice. “Don’t call my husband, please?” Eddie begged.

“Why not?” Mrs. Alliston asked alarmed.

“Richie is busy with rehearsing for this show. And he is very stressed.” It hurt Eddie to say that. He wanted Richie here now more than anything. No, he couldn’t ruin any more of Richie’s shows. Richie would be furious with him. That was the last thing Eddie wanted, feeling as if he were getting in the way of it all.

“Could you call my friend Bill Denborough or his wife, Audra? They live in the L.A. area. Their names are listed in the emergency contact, too.” That was all the energy he had left to speak, closing his eyes unable to stand the light in the room. His head hurt and he felt so exhausted, ready to fall asleep at any moment.

“Sure, Mr. Tozier. Don’t you worry about anything. Get some rest. Is there anything that you need right now?” the nurse asked.

My husband. “No,” Eddie’s voice cracked with a heartbreaking sob.

The nurse comfortingly patted his shoulder. “It’s all right. You rest here. Call if you need anything.” Before leaving she pulled up the garbage can. Thankfully she turned off the lights.

Eddie was left alone in the little room. How could he let this happen? He was going to get fired he knew it! His boss was masking how angry she was. A first-year teacher sick. In front of his class. How embarrassing.

All Eddie wanted to do was snuggle closely next to Richie, smelling his wonderful cologne. When was the last time they snuggled?

Their schedules hardly coincided. Richie had so many shows after another, coming home late when he had already fallen asleep. And then when he’d wake up for work the next morning, Richie was fast asleep, tangled in a strange pose and snoring lightly.

Sometimes Richie even traveled being gone for close to a week. Before he became a teacher, Eddie went with him. It was the best time. Staying in hotel rooms, eating at the best restaurants, and just getting to spend time together, further bonding in their relationship. He adored those memories.

Succumbing to sleep, Eddie closed his eyes listening to his boss get in contact with Bill.

#Reddie #IT Fanfiction #Reddie Fanfiction #Eddie Kaspbrak #Richie Tozer #bill denbrough #It Chapter 2 #It 2017 #It movie #clowns #sick fic #The Losers Club

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aliceslantern · 5 years

Text

Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 9

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Chapter summary: The revelation of Ienzo's relationship with Demyx throws Even badly, forcing him to confront his humanity and the past.

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

---

Uselessly, Even sits, trying to come to terms with… all that. He’s feeling dizzy himself, and he honestly cannot tell if it’s his actual physical condition or not.

The boy’s health matters above all. Ansem must be given a stern talking-to, though doubtless he’s so used to overworking himself that he wouldn’t have noticed anything undue in Ienzo.

Ienzo. Oh, child, what are you getting yourself into? Of course, now that he’s no longer a Nobody, odds were he would have come to these feelings sooner or later--it’s only natural--but he’s so emotionally immature that something like this would only end poorly. And is Demyx even capable of giving the boy what he needs--an understanding of his mind and how it works? Intellectual stimulation?

Have they actually been working on a project, or have they instead--

Do not dwell on that.

Ienzo can’t handle heartbreak. Likely at the moment, neither of them can see the consequences facing them.

Even feels sick. It must’ve taken him hours to figure out why--time where he gives said troublemaker more fluids, more glucose, Demyx stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes all the while--but eventually… he does.

Ienzo is not a child. He’s grown now, and will surely have adult wants and needs (as much as it reviles him to think about). But so like a child, he’s not yet capable of understanding those needs. He’s probably never had to feel anything like this, doubling the trauma if things go south.

Even’s own son never got to grow up. He would be perpetually five, a ghost whispering in the background, fading more day by day.

This is uncharted territory. He does not know how to be of use.

Ansem needs to know--if anyone can convince that boy of anything, it’s him.

It feels odd, after all these years, to approach him first. Worse still, to find him at the computer at the hearth of their old lab. Knowing the genesis of all this is so close only makes him feel sicker. “Master. A word.”

His head snaps up, likely at Even’s odd tone. “Is something the matter?” Then, immediately. “Where’s Ienzo?”

“I have to talk to you about that.”

Ansem stands; and stumbles. Without thinking, Even grasps him to keep him upright.

“You need rest,” he says.

“I… am aware. And I shall. But first you must tell me what’s going on. I’m not fond of this new flair for the dramatic you have, Even.”

“I’m only as dramatic as the lot of you,” he spits. “Come. I’ll take you back to your quarters.”

He knows he’s been here recently, but only with the others; seeing it on his own gives him a new perspective. He’s spent so many hours here, over the years--arguing, brainstorming, simply conversing with someone at his level. He feels something like… nostalgia? Bittersweetness? He plies Ansem with water, sinks onto one of the chintz chairs. To Ansem’s tired eyes he explains, “Ienzo’s very unwell.”

“I know you’re concerned about his mental state, as am I--”

He scowls. “I mean the boy collapsed, Ansem.”

Perhaps it’s the use of his first name, but Ansem just blinks. “Is he--”

Even stands and begins pacing. “Where to even begin? Dehydrated as a desert--blood pressure of the dead. Had such a bad nosebleed it looked like something out of a tawdry horror novel. His heart was starting to palpitate--likely if this continued for any longer, he might’ve--” He stops cold, his anger cooling. “It’s lucky he was not alone when it happened.”

“But is he--”

“Stable. Asleep. I gave him a very mild tranquilizer to calm him down, and his body will take care of the rest.” He crosses his arms tightly. “This has to stop. I know you desperately want to be close with him again, but simply indulging the boy won’t do any good. It’s going to take--more work.”

Ansem has turned very pale. He holds his glass of water tightly.

He takes a deep breath. “There’s something else you have to know.”

“...Which is?”

“Demyx and Ienzo’s liaison--”

“ You’re going to fault them for finding friends in one another?”

“--it’s more than just that. They’re…” He can’t bring himself to say the word.

Ansem gets it. “...Oh. Well.”

“There’s no way this can end well. The boy’s gone through so much--both of them, actually--can he really take much more?”

“I’m afraid you know them both better than I do.” He sighs heavily, swills the water around in his glass. “I know you want to protect him, Even.”

He feels weak, tired now.

“I am not happy about it either. But he also… has to be given the space to make his own decisions.”

“They both have trauma they haven’t come to terms with--Ienzo doesn’t--he’s never had to feel such things. I’m afraid--”

“I know, Even. And it’s touching you care so much--for a moment I almost saw the old you.”

He can’t stop himself from admitting, “I feel as if I never have enough time--and yet I’m also doing nothing more useful than waffling. Which I suppose… is all I ever did.” The realization saps the strength from him. “Hiding behind my research… foolish, prideful, passive. I… All I’ve ever done is hurt people--especially those I considered the most dear.”

Slowly Ansem says, “I wonder why it is you feel this now.”

He rests his face against his palm for a moment. He feels overwhelmed, on the verge of dissolving. Remorse closes a fist around his heart, making it almost impossible to breathe. He stands, feeling the ground pitch a little--a sear of pain cuts through his chest. Before he loses consciousness he realizes this is exactly how the boy felt.

---

It hurts to breathe. “Easy. Steady, now.” He’s eased carefully into a sitting position. He wonders if he hit his head on the way down; a splitting ache makes the light hurt. He gasps a little, pressing a hand against his brow. “Are you alright?” Ansem asks.

“Clearly not,” he spits. “All along I thought…”

“What?”

“That the boy was being dramatic…”

“Ienzo?”

“Demyx.” He takes his weight back from Ansem. He’s on the study floor. “It is exquisitely painful.”

“What is?”

One pinch of pain and all of a sudden he’s revealing things he shouldn’t. “You know very well our hearts are not yet whole,” he says. “All these fainting spells on his part… I guess I’m not an outlier.”

“So you were feeling.”

“As if one can make it stop.” He takes his own pulse. Surely enough, it’s racing. “Damnit…”

“You’re not well either, are you?” Ansem asks gently. Even can’t read his expression either. “I thought you were self-aware enough to understand hypocrisy.”

The surge of anger he feels brings the pain back, but he stays conscious. “The only thing that is certain is that I truly understand nothing. ” He tries to stand, stumbles.

“...You should not go anywhere in this state.”

“I’ll be fine.” He sounds breathy, and can’t fight Ansem when the man sits him gently on the loveseat.

Even can feel it coming; he shivers. And the last thing he needs is Ansem to witness him like this.

“Are you cold?”

If anything, he’s sweating. But he admits in a pathetic voice, “Yes.”

Ansem drapes a blanket around his shoulders, one that smells vaguely musty. Even keeps his eyes on the floor, fighting the rising tide inside of him. It’s going to happen whether you want it to or not. “You struggle,” Ansem says quietly.

Even can feel the cutting retort on his tongue, but it’s like flash paper, gone in an instant. “Don’t you?” Then the words are spilling out of him like he truly is some kind of puppet. “How do you do it? Just--go back to the way things were? How can you bear to look at me? At us ? Why are you letting us stay here? Aren’t you angry?”

His expression is curiously neutral, diplomatic. He may be king no longer, but he’s dusted off the mask. “The situation is rather complicated. I’m horrified at what you’ve done. But Even, you’ve been my friend for thirty-five years. As though I can forget that at all. Nor does it make it easier to see you like this.”

“Some friend I was, to let this happen.”

“You cannot ignore the truth of Xehanort’s manipulation. Of the darkness.”

“...The darkness merely brought out the truest parts of myself.”

Ansem flinches. “It… does.”

They hold eye contact for a long, long time. Ansem breaks the silence first.

“I believed Heartless… Nobodies… all of your discoveries were abominations. That they needed elimination. Even those with sentience were just… tools I used in my vain attempt at revenge.” His hands are both outstretched. “Much like you… I gave myself a new name… covered myself in a new garb… and hid behind my so-called work, claiming good intentions.” He looks back at Even. “We’re not different, Even. Had I been in your shoes, on the ground with Xehanort… who knows what I have done? And were you in mine… would you have been able to stop me?”

The tide threatens to choke him now.

“Maybe we can’t find forgiveness in each other. Maybe we’re not meant to. But to… forsake one another is not much better.”

He gasps out one sob, clapping a hand over his mouth.

“If you don’t allow yourself to feel, Even, you can never hope to be any better.”

How truly odd a mental breakdown is, he thinks. He feels almost as if he is watching himself, a shaking, weeping wreck. Simultaneously numb and in agony at the same time. This must be how Ienzo felt, while Even was recovering from his wounds; overwhelmed, uncontrollable, utterly weak.

“Don’t fight it,” Ansem says. “Just let it be.”

More painful yet, to be consoled by him. “I betrayed you--and all you stood for. I betrayed… Ienzo . He said he wouldn’t touch the boy. Why did I ever--”

Ansem frowns. “Xehanort?”

He’s said too much. Even feels how tightly he’s curled up, face parallel with the ground. “Who else? But he… he felt no… anxiety, no overstimulation. Now I’m afraid--” Afraid of what?

Perhaps, simply, afraid.

He sits up. Ansem offers him a clean handkerchief, a glass of water. “I should like to go see Ienzo myself,” he says softly. “You stay here as long as you need.”

Of course Even leaves as soon as Ansem’s out of earshot. He’s beyond humiliated.The fever, brief as it was, has left an unpleasant film along his skin, and so he bathes, winching as he brushes scars, the strange numbness and hypersensitivity.

The towel he’s draped over the mirror has fallen; he sees himself. His skin is a patchwork. From his collarbones all the way to his feet, brittle scars cover him.

It’s no less than what you deserve.

He dresses and falls into a restless sleep.

---

For a while he feels numb. Even sleeps a lot; it seems like his strings have snapped, and he can’t move. He can’t tell if he’s merely just exhausted, or if this is his depression worsening. He considers pharmaceuticals; but when he checks his stock, he finds everything expired. Figures.

He decides he must go to the marketplace, to get some supplies. See what he can find.

“Where have you been?” Dilan asks. “Feel like I haven’t seen your mug in some time.”

“I’m afraid I was feeling rather ill,” Even tells him. It’s the truth, at least partially. “I fear I wasn’t taking adequate care of myself, and needed rest. Ienzo’s collapse was something of a wakeup call.” Despite his sweater, and coat, he’s shivering, and he isn’t even outside. Is this because his BMI is too low? Or is he merely unused to feeling the cold anymore, after being Vexen?

“Yes.” Dilan sneers. “I’ve heard about that.”

“Oh?”

“Impossible not to. They’ve been practically joined at the hip since last week.”

“...Have they.” He feels that swell of anger, of concern.

“It’s not all that surprising. This is just a flash in the pan; nothing more. Warm bodies, you know? That’s all I care to think on the matter.”

He feels another swell of disgust. “...I feel similarly.”

“Where are you going?”

“My supply of medication is expired. I need to seek out more--considering it seems I’m the one for such things now.”

“That woman Aerith is a healer. Perhaps you might get what you need from her.”

Even chuckles. “I’ll feel better with what’s proven.”

Dilan shrugs. “Would you mind particularly if I joined you?”

Why? Even nearly asks. “...If you must.”

It’s colder outside; more jarring. Even winces, adjusting the scarf at his throat. “I forgot about these winters,” Dilan says. “Say what you want about that godforsaken castle--at least it was well-insulated.”

“Those coats were rather warm, weren’t they,” Even mutters. But the thought of putting one on repulses him.

He chuckles. “No, I do not wish to be young,” he adds, shaking his head. “These things are… difficult enough as it is. I don’t know how either of them are sane.”

“Clearly, they aren’t.” I don’t feel much better off. “But if Ienzo wants to get hurt… well, I’m to let him make his own decisions, aren’t I?”

“He is twenty,” Dilan points out. “It was bound to happen sometime.”

“I’m not sure if you agree, but I… feel so very odd, being here.”

His expression darkens. “Yes,” he says. “But where else would we go? And--what else would we do?”

"I can't tell you. I feel as though…" He trails off.

"You've no idea where to begin?" Dilan offers.

"...Indeed."

"I can… tell. Even, my old friend. Please do not take offense. But whenever I've seen you recently… you seem so besides yourself."

"I… am not offended." He smiles wryly. "I'm merely realizing the all-too-human costs of what we did."

Town is approaching. For their own protection, soon they will have to lower their voices.

"I've been rereading our Organization reports," Dilan says. "I didn't realize you had so many."

"I'm afraid with my… unseemly departure, close to a year is missing--arguably the most cataclysmic year."

"Isa left a relatively detailed record. You needn't worry too much." The frozen ground crunches a little under his feet. "All those Heartless that were made--that I made--the people who were killed because of it--"

Even touches his arm. "Peace," he says softly. "You and I… are much in the same boat." Streets begin blooming around them. "You have to forgive me, Dilan."

He raises his brows. "Oh?"

"That day in the cemetery… I've known you over twenty years, and yet I could not recall who you lost."

The memory softens his face. "I'm afraid I'm--frightfully sentimental," he murmurs. "I had a twin, once. I used to… visit her on our birthdays. She was quite young. The thought of having missed so many… put things into a sort of perspective. A human pain."

Even furrows his brows. "Oddly… it was my worry for another that helped me decide to atone. The bonds." He shakes his head.

"Ienzo." Not a question. "You always had a soft spot for the boy."

"I wonder often if he's the by-product of some parental instinct of mine."

"...A replacement for your son?" He thinks, fussing with his jacket cuffs.

"Perhaps."

"A heart has room to love more than one." He shrugs. "Though--essentially the boy is your son . "

"I'm sure if he heard that he'd disagree." Even stops cold.

Dilan frowns. "Even?"

"We've… betrayed him, the three of us. We…"

Dilan puts his hands on Even's shoulders. "I… know."

He swallows. "Let's finish this errand."

---

"Errant" is the right word for it.

Even sits at the desk in his quarters, a frightful numbness overtaking him in waves. He had no luck finding antidepressants; not that it could've cured him anyway. He's never felt quite this woeful. But every time he thinks he's understood it, he realizes more ugly truth.

I am irredeemable.

A gentle knock at his door. "Enter," he says tiredly.

It's Aeleus--Even breaths a small sigh of relief. "We've been invited to dinner," he says. "Up with Ansem. Ienzo's cooking."

His heart aches. "Oh… I… see."

"I can tell them if you're in the middle of something."

"I'll go. Better than subsisting off of toast."

Aeleus nods, but remains there. Even turns towards him in the chair.

"You've more to say."

"Why do you think the three of us grew apart?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Who? Myself, you, Dilan?"

"You, me… and the boy." He drops his eyes. "I was… reflecting on my time in Castle Oblivion. The three of us… all we basically did was argue with one another.”

“Until we all started dropping like flies, you mean?” Even asks. He sighs.

“I’m afraid to say I did not feel much for either of you.” He drops his eyes.

Even nods slowly. “I experienced much the same,” he admits. “The moment I became Vexen--the first time--I could feel that I had been ostracized from all I ever cared for. And in the moment, it was… liberating.”

“To not have to care?”

“...Yes.”

“It was,” he says softly. “Wasn’t it? But then again… to have those feelings back… it seems only right. Natural.”

Even can’t help but agree, despite the pain it’s causing him; his concern for the others is the only thing keeping him here. (In the castle? Or--)

Do not dwell on that.

“Shall we walk together, Even?” Aeleus asks.

“Of course. I admit.” He sneers a little. “I am curious to witness this trainwreck in motion.”

They set off. After a moment, Aeleus says, “I know you are worried for Ienzo’s heart,” Aeleus says. “I am too. But at the same time… if something makes him happy, however brief, are we justified in trying to take that from him?”

“He’s already so mentally fragile, I fear--”

“Aren’t you? Aren’t we all? Aren’t bonds supposed to help with all that?”

Even scowls, irritation rising in him. “Who knows,” he mutters. “I surely don’t, apparently.”

Aeleus, either stung or out of tact, lapses into silence.

It’s odd. The table has been set, neatly; he can see Ienzo conscious for the first time since he’s collapsed, in civilian clothing, his skin a normal color again, bustling around the kitchen. Demyx hands him a serving platter. Even observes them warily, notes that Ansem and Dilan are doing the same; but neither boy seems to notice. Ienzo laughs at something Demyx says, a sound Even hasn’t heard in a long time (if ever?). Demyx looks at the boy with… something, something that isn’t quite lust, it’s much too soft.

Oh dear. It’s worse than he could’ve thought.

They settle in for dinner; Demyx sits in the spot that normally Even gravitates towards, unaware of the decorum. Nobody mentions this. Nobody talks about much of anything, actually, and for a while the only sounds come from the gentle scrapes of spoons against bowls. Demyx and Ienzo both keep their eyes on their plates.

Even can’t help himself. “I see you’re feeling well, Ienzo. What is it you’ve both done to keep yourselves busy?” He tries to keep his tone affable, but he sees the dangerous look in Ienzo’s eye and Demyx’s blush, only further confirming-- you’ll just torture yourself.

“Not much you’d find of interest, I’m afraid,” the boy explains. “Resting, mostly. We both were lacking winter things, so we’ve spent some time in town. That’s about all.”

“I am sure we’re all glad to see you back in good health,” Even says to him. “I just hope that this new development does not cloud your judgement going forward. To be young and… caught up in such matters, can no doubt impede your critical thinking. However natural it is.”

Ienzo sets down his teacup. He’s blushing, but the frustration in his voice is undeniable. “Clearly you have thought on the subject, and I appreciate your concern. But I feel as though I am just as able to take on my research as I ever were. Not that I have asked for your advice. Should you have more to say on the matter, please let us discuss it in private.” After a moment, “You needn’t worry about me anymore,” Ienzo says, a bit more gently. “I… I’m not the little boy I was.”

He shakes his head. “I will always worry about you,” he says. “After all, I’ve so much time to make up for.” It’s the most personal thing he’s said to him in some time.

He softens a little, but says no more. After a rather awkward silence, Demyx speaks. “Anyone want seconds?”

The boys remain around long enough to be polite; they do the dishes and take their leave ( do not think about what it is they’re going to do). Revulsion makes his stomach sour.

But Even finds it’s actually more awkward with them gone; without the drama of the relationship as a buffer, it’s the four of them together alone in a room for the first time since…

No, can’t be. Is it?

Since the last time they were all together in the basement.

Even considers excusing himself as well, but Ansem breaks the silence. “I believe we all are… concerned in our own ways,” he says slowly. He poured himself a glass of wine at the beginning of the dinner, one that is still untouched. “But it’s only right to allow the boys to be human. You’ve been rather defensive, Even.”

Dilan smirks. Even isn’t sure how much wine he’s had, if he’s drunk. “What was it you said? “I’ve so much time to make up for?” Rather softhearted now, aren’t you?”

“It’s what I have to hold onto,” Even admits, startled by his own candor. “Almost all else is lost.”

“We can’t pretend things didn’t happen,” Aeleus says. “Master, I…” He bows his head. “No apology I offer can ever be enough.”

What little humor Dilan’s found fades; he drops his eyes, twisting the ends of one of his braids. “Some code we were supposed to uphold,” he mutters.

“You’ve all separately come to me, in your own way. But truly… I am not an innocent victim, as you may suspect.” He chuckles. “You remember the man who called himself DiZ?”

“That thorn in our side?” Dilan asks, incredulous. “That was you ?”

Even knows this was what Ansem was alluding to, but still feels somewhat surprised. Despite himself, he laughs, too. “Never pictured you as a vigilante.”

“Anger was all I had keeping me going. This shouldn’t be a surprise--we’ve all spent too much time with darkness.”

“Was it revenge you desired?” Aeleus asks.

“Revenge… death… who knows?” He shrugs.

“We needed to be taken down,” Even says, to the floor. “Though sadly for you--all of us save Dilan were already gone before you put your plan in action.”

“I was after Xehanort-- Xemnas .” He sneers. “The fool. I sure felt something about him when I found him. I thought it was something good. I should’ve known what was going on the moment he arrived with darkness.”

“What’s the saying--“hindsight’s 20/20”?” Dilan shifts his weight a little.

“And I’m king no longer. I have no authority, no title… I’m merely a foolish old man, weighed down by memories of the past. Are we not all wretches?”

He’s right, but Even can still feel something like fury. “So what, are we to not even try?” he spits. “Are we just to--waste away here in this castle, sealing ourselves up and getting nothing done? Avoiding one another like the plague--and ourselves more?”

“What do you propose we do, then, Even, since you know so much more?” Dilan hisses. “Try to assist the townsfolk we’ve terrorized? How will that be of any use?”

“Retraumatizing,” Aeleus whispers, his eyes on his knees.

“You both have a valid point,” Ansem says. He seems unnervingly calm, but Even can see the tension in his jaw; the mask is back on. “To merely sit on our hands and do nothing would in and of itself be another atrocity. Yet… the landscape of this city has already been so scarred by what we’ve put in motion.”

“We?” Even asks, incredulous.

Ansem meets his eyes. Behind the cool diplomacy, Even can see something like fire. “You think I did not realize what could happen?” he asks. “Once you began studying the darkness, I’d heard by then it could change you, morph you into something… less. But I’ve known you all for years, handpicked you for your various specializations… I figured… no, they’re friends of mine, they should simply be better. I could’ve stopped it--instead I chose to sit behind my title, my supposed… power, over you. In every single aspect, I’ve failed.” He hasn’t raised his voice, in fact was quite soft spoken. But when he stops speaking, the silence is especially notable. “In a way we suit one another, do we not?” He’s addressing them all, but it’s Even’s gaze he holds. “Four grown men--intelligent, educated--and all we can wreak is havoc.”

He’s had enough. “I refuse to believe this is all we’re capable of.”

“How can you help anyone if you can’t even help yourself?” Ansem levels, and for the first time, despite the very calm cadence of his voice, can Even feel the depths of the anger the man has for him.

Very well.

Without another word, Even gets up and leaves.

Let them suffer together. They deserve it.

#beyond this existence: atonement #even (kingdom hearts)#ansem the wise #dilan #aeleus #ienzo #demyx #beyond this existence

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egg-emperor · 5 years

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Sorry I'm asking about this again, especcially so soon after your answer yesterday. But I'd like to know the more romantic headcanons between your self insert and Eggman (like how they show each other affection, etc.)

They’re in a relationship but Eggman and Julian are aro spec so it’s not exactly considered romantic as a whole. I understand what you’re asking though, so here are some of the intimate/affectionate things they do together!

Julian wishes that he could just snuggle up with Eggman all the time and that’s what it always ends with after Eggman has totally been pampered by him. He uses his soft tummy as a pillow and it’s so cozy. 💜 Intellectuals know that Eggman only shaved for the Olympics swimming and that he generally doesn’t shave that chest and tum. Julian adores the bear fur!

No matter where Eggman falls asleep, Julian will join him. He could be somewhere he hadn’t planned like sitting on the couch, or even the floor somehow lol and he would join his side by choice. The exception is if he’s asleep in one of his chairs and there’s no room. It’s one of the only times Julian goes to bed alone. But it’s not without hugging the plushie that Eggman gave him of himself because he needs at least something that resembles him there.

If Julian gets in bed a little later, Eggman will pull him in closer like he’s a teddy bear while asleep. But Ivo himself is the real big cozy bear! 🐻 Once his arms are around Julian there’s no way he can get out so he has to stay put but he doesn’t mind being trapped. When he needs to get up in the morning, Eggman pulls him back in and Julian can’t resist staying anyway, even if he has a choice.

Julian loves being in bed in the darkness with Eggman pressed up against his back, his breath on his neck. He keeps him warm and he isn’t afraid of anything during those times, not even the dangerous man himself. Julian nuzzles him and when Eggman does it back, his fluffy mustache tickles him! That’s also why he often giggles when they’re kissing because his stache is so feathery soft.

It’s always a big deal when they’re going to be apart and Julian is the most dramatic, telling him how badly he’s going to miss him as he embraces him. Eggman likes to be fussed over because anything that makes him feel like the most important person in the world will do! XD This even happens when it’s just for a little while, like when Eggman is joining a race/Olympics/competition, etc. Everyone reminds them that it’s just for a few minutes, sheesh!

Also, even if Eggman finishes as something like the seventh place in a race, Julian is still so enthusiastically proud of him. He says stuff like “they might have won the trophy but they can’t win my heart like you have” and everyone nearby sighs sjgjsngkksmhd

Sometimes a plan calls for them to be apart for longer and Julian hates it but never complains or tries to stop Eggman from what he needs to do. He keeps one of his coats and the plushie that Eggman gave him of himself close while he’s away. The worst part is that Julian has to go back to merely imagining them together, just like the years before they finally got to meet. But as soon as they’re back together again they make up for it.

Eggman has no experience with attempting to comfort another and he also has difficulty empathizing but he doesn’t need to try. Julian appreciates his presence and the sound of his soothing voice alone, that’s all he needs. When he focuses on him as they talk about something else instead, all of his worries start to fade away and he feels calm.

Julian often sits and traces his fingers on Eggman’s palms and he holds and kisses his hands when his gloves are off. He’ll kiss them in greeting or just when they’re relaxing together. He loves those big bear paws, they’re what makes his touch so warm and comforting.

Eggman’s eyes are one of the most captivating things to Julian because they used to be such a mystery before he saw them and the light shade of blue is one of his absolute favorite colors! Much like Julian, Eggman can barely see at all when he doesn’t have his glasses on but he’ll still take them off often just so Julian can admire them some more.

Eggman knows how much Julian enjoys seeing him shirtless so he purposefully wears less around him and then teases him about his obvious reaction when he gets worked up. In public, he’d go shirtless or in an open shirt like Gus from Crazy Taxi just to fluster him lol and if it’s at home then he’ll just wear his nightgown and nothing else (or nothing at all but y'know 👀) because it’s also really comfortable that way.

Eggman knows that Julian can’t handle being teased but because he’s a meanie so he does. He smirks as he watches Julian become desperate for him to listen and understand his desires. Even though it’s already obvious how much he wants him, he pretends that he’s ‘not convinced’ to get him to further prove it. If he does it for too long Julian will get revenge with a tickle attack heheh

They mess around with each other a lot, Eggman always ruffles up the fur on the wolf’s head, messing it up right after it’s been brushed. Julian tricks Eggman by getting his attention and then boops his nose or squishes his cheeks when he’s least expecting it. Things like that usually lead to them getting each other back with a tickle fight. After that Eggman will stroke him being the most gentle he can be to smooth his fur back down and he loves it. 💜

They don’t go on traditional fancy dates because Eggman could think of far better things to spend his money on. They prefer to have fun at his casinos and theme parks where they play games and enjoy the nightlife, or go to Eggman’s various bases so he can show off his latest projects and Julian can admire it all!

#julian the wolf #Ik I didn't even say that much but I'm still blushing hfjgkghihhj #self ship #asks #my post #dr. eggman #eggman #dr eggman #dr robotnik

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lovehaswonangelnumbers · 5 years

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New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/december-2019-eclipse-time-major-shifts-in-your-foundation-communication-breakthroughs-walking-the-talk/

December 2019- Eclipse Time: Major Shifts in Your Foundation, Communication Breakthroughs, Walking the Talk

By Astromomma

Welcome to December 2019! How the heck are we already to the end of the year? December 2019 is where major shifts are a foot. We have now entered Eclipse time. Eclipse’s always bring major change and awakenings. Sometimes this change can come out of the blue and without much warning. Usually we feel the effects of eclipses, anywhere from 4-6 weeks prior or after the actual date of the event. Hang on as it will be quite a ride!

We begin the month on December 3rd/4th with Jupiter, the planet of: optimism, wisdom and faith, moving from his home sign of Sagittarius, into Capricorn. Capricorn, the 10th zodiac sign, is known to be: responsible, authoritative, organized, structured and “the boss”. Jupiter transiting through the sign of Capricorn, will bring an expansion in our ability to be grounded and create lasting and solid structures. Jupiter is technically not comfy in the sign of Capricorn, and it’s considered to be his “fall” position. Planets in their ” fall” tend to be a bit weaker and not as fruitful in their manifestation abilities. Because of this fact, Jupiter in Capricorn, will also bring some obstacles and barriers that must be confronted with hard work and tenacity. We will want to achieve and be super productive during this transit, but will also have to watch for the tendency to be rigid and stubborn in our approach to achieving such results.

Moving to mid month, on December 12th, the moon, which rules our: soul, emotions and inner core, becomes full at 20 degrees of Gemini. Full moons are always supremely emotional and conjure: completions, manifestations and endings. Gemini, the 3rd sign of the zodiac, rules: communication, adaptability, curiosity, intellect and child like play. The Full Moon in Gemini will bring finality to a situation or project and this ending will involve a lot of communication and flexibility. Our emotions will be strong but instead of “feeling” these emotions, we might want to intellectualize them to death. Major contracts could be coming to a close with new ones on the way. We will need to watch out for gossip or idle chatter with this Full Moon. Sometimes Gemini energy has the best ideas and plans, but fails to take the action to bring them to fruition. The Full Moon in Gemini will ask us to remain malleable and tap into our inner child for guidance and assurance. Holding back your tongue could prove to be difficult with La Luna in the sign of the twins, so remember to take 10 breaths before communicating anything of importance at this time.

On December 21st/22nd, the Sun, which rules our: ego, vitality and life force, shifts from the sign of Sagittarius into the sign of Capricorn. Capricorn, the 10th zodiac sign, as described above, is known to be: the patriarch, leader, old soul, wise grandfather, and go getter. The Sun’s entry into Capricorn, will add a more serious and grounded essence to our lives. While Sagittarius time was about inspiration and forming amazing new ideas, Capricorn time is about getting real and putting those grand ideas into a practical plan of action. No other sign can make it happen and “get it done” quite like a Cappy. We will be wanting stability and structure and half ass promises and ideals will take a back seat.

On December 25/26th, we begin the next Eclipse cycle. How appropriate that it happens on Christmas day. The Sun, which again, rules our: ego and vitality, becomes new at 4 degrees of Capricorn. Solar Eclipses, are new moons on steroids and bring: major and fated: beginnings, initiations and fresh starts. The issue with eclipses( either Solar or Lunar) is that they always bring change that is unforeseen and unexpected. The Solar Eclipse in Capricorn is here to bring a major awakening to our: work, foundations, structures and commitments in life. One if not all of these areas will be effected and it will bring a whammy of change. We might want to hold on to old patterns or situations but this eclipse will demand us to wake up and get moving on what isn’t working in our lives. If you happen to have a planet or point in or around 4 degrees of Capricorn( my South node is here) then this eclipse will be even more dramatic and life altering. The Solar Eclipse in Capricorn will be about starting an era of integrity and work ability. If these words aren’t in your vocabulary, they will be by the time this baby comes.

December 2019 is here to bring the beginning of major change to our lives. As we enter the fated and destined Eclipse time, everything is up for change and you might not see it coming. Capricorn deals with karma as well. If you have been playing a dirty hand, expect to see the consequences and it might not be pretty. If you have been learning the lessons and coming from a place of integrity, December 2019 could bring in unexpected rewards and triumphs. You can’t run from being responsible. That will be the major lesson for this month.

December 2019 wants to awaken you to the beauty and serenity of hard work and solid intentions. This month is here to shake us up to what really matters in life and what “walking the talk” is all about. This fated month asks you to remain calm and centered throughout all these shifts and changes. December 2019 is here to bring: change to our foundations, awakening of our inner fortitude and the tenacity to make our dreams a reality.

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warp6 · 5 years

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Rocky Myers, an intellectually disabled black man, is on death row in Alabama, even though the facts of his case suggest that he is innocent.

(Image description: Photo of Rocky Myers. End id. Photo source - Nation article, courtesy Kacey Keeton)

Sign the ACLU petition to Governor Kay Ivey

Rocky Myers, a 53-year-old father and grandfather, remains on death row in Alabama for a crime that evidence suggests he did not commit.

Rocky’s neighbor, Ludie Mae Tucker, was murdered in her home in 1991. Before she died from her injuries, she described her attacker to the police as a black man wearing a light-colored shirt.

Ludie Mae and Rocky knew each other; Ludie Mae’s cousin Mamie Dutton told a lawyer that, earlier that day, Ludie May had seen Rocky across the street and mentioned to Mamie that he sometimes came to her house to borrow ice. But when she spoke with the police, Ludie Mae did not identify her attacker as having been someone she knew. Rocky was described by multiple witnesses as wearing a dark shirt on the night of the murder, not a light one, and no fingerprints or other physical evidence connected him to the scene of the crime.

Another local man, Anthony “Cool Breeze” Ballentine, was originally implicated in the murder after multiple witness statements, until a longtime friend of his implicated Rocky after the police offered a reward for information.

Eleven of the twelve jurors in Rocky’s trial were white, and one of them openly called Rocky the n-word in an interview. While several jurors believed that Rocky was innocent, the majority wanted to convict.

(Image description: Stills of Mae Puckett, a juror on the Rocky Myers case who believed that Rocky was innocent, saying “Going into the deliberation room kind of had a cloud hanging over it already, because you knew you couldn’t – it didn’t matter what you said – you couldn’t get anywhere with certain people. They weren’t going to listen to anything.” End id. Stills taken from ACLU YouTube documentary)

Afraid that a hung jury would result in a retrial that could have fewer sympathetic jurors, the jurors who believed in Rocky’s innocence came up with a compromise to save his life: the jury would convict him and recommend a life sentence.

“The verdict came as a stunning blow to Rocky, who’d been convinced that the trial would end with his acquittal. “I was very surprised,” he said in a phone interview. “I thought I was going to go back to New Jersey.” - Nation article

However, the Alabama judge, who was up for reelection that year, then sentenced him to death instead using a now-illegal option called judicial override.

“In Alabama, state judges are elected by popular vote, and they often emphasize their “tough-on-crime” record while campaigning. According to another Equal Justice Initiative study, the use of judicial overrides to dole out death sentences in Alabama often spiked during election years. (…) In Rocky’s case, the judge who imposed his sentence was facing reelection the next year.

“Although the practice is now no longer permitted in Alabama, the law passed by the Legislature wasn’t retroactive—which means that anyone put on death row by judicial override stayed there despite the Legislature’s tacit acknowledgement that the practice was unjust.” - Nation article

Rocky remains on death row – despite more evidence pointing to his innocence that has come to light since his trial – because the lawyer representing him dropped him as a client without telling him or anyone else, causing him to miss the crucial deadline to file a federal habeas corpus petition after his appeal was denied.

“In 2003, [attorney Earle J. Schwarz] received notice that Rocky’s petition for a post-conviction appeal had been denied by the state. The next step was to prepare to file a federal habeas petition. “Federal habeas corpus review is a critical stage in a death-penalty case, because it allows death row prisoners to bring federal constitutional claims that were heard in state court but were not successful,” said Anna Arceneaux, senior staff attorney with the ACLU Capital Punishment Project. (…) “And federal court—where judges are appointed and not elected—is a very different atmosphere for a prisoner.”

“But by then, Schwarz had begun working at a new law firm, and inexplicably, he didn’t tell Rocky that his state appeal had been denied. (…) A year later, Rocky received a letter from the state attorney general’s office saying that he’d missed the deadline to file any further habeas corpus petitions and notifying him that Alabama would be moving to set an execution date. Rocky, who could only read at a third-grade level, had to ask another prisoner to read the letter aloud to him.

“In a recent interview, Rocky said when he realized what the letter meant, “It scared the hell out of me. I mean literally, I didn’t know what to do. I was shaking and I couldn’t breathe. A couple of guys calmed me down and told me what to do.” (…) “Schwarz later signed a declaration admitting that he “did not tell Mr. Myers I was no longer representing him,” and that he “did not inform Mr. Myers that I would not pursue relief on his behalf in federal court.” The Board of Professional Responsibility of the Supreme Court of Tennessee issued a public censure to him in 2005, saying that he “willfully neglected his representation of his client.” - Nation article

This means that Rocky’s current legal team has never had a chance to raise the evidence that surfaced in 2004 that local police, who had ties to the first suspect considered in the investigation, had bribed one of the witnesses against Rocky.

“The evidence that police in Decatur tampered with at least one witness was a bombshell. (…) In federal court, Marzell [Ewing]’s declaration along with Puckett’s account of the jury’s compromise verdict might at a minimum have called his death sentence into question, if not the conviction itself. But it still wasn’t enough. A federal judge ruled that Marzell’s new statement didn’t override Rocky’s failure to meet the habeas corpus deadline; even with the new evidence, the case was effectively closed. With the door to judicial review shut, the only remaining relief was—and still is—intervention by Alabama’s Governor Kay Ivey.” - Nation article

As of August 24, 2019, Rocky Myers remains on death row in Alabama.

‘“When I’m praying, I tell the Lord I’m terrified,” Rocky said. “I just don’t show it because it don’t do any good to other people. But inside in my mind and heart and stomach, I’m scared.”

“A former church drummer, Rocky attends services regularly, singing in a choir that meets once a week. His children are now grown, with children of their own, some of whom he met during a visit for the first time last year. Rocky says that being separated from his family has taken a toll: “It’s one of the worst things that I’m going through. I have grandkids that are growing up without me.” (…) “The only chance for Rocky to avoid execution now is a grant of clemency from Governor Kay Ivey. Both he and [attorney Kasey] Keeton know it’s a long shot, and initially he told her not to pursue it. “I didn’t want to be over here begging for my life and stuff like that,” he said. But Keeton persisted. “The fact that we are potentially executing a man who did not have his day in court because an attorney screwed up should give everybody pause,” Keeton said.” - Nation article

Nation article by Ashoka Mukpo

ACLU podcast episode on Rocky Myers (with transcript)

ACLU documentary “Rocky Myers Doesn’t Belong On Death Row” (6 min 18 sec)

“We were trying to get school records for him, and went to the Orange County school system several times. They told me there were no records – literally gave us a document that stated that after a thorough and, you know, absolute search of all records there was nothing for Rocky Myers.

“I happened to get a bit of a relationship with some of the office workers there and they ended up telling me that there was a place where they had just, like, thrown old filing cabinets in a storehouse. And those two women met me on their day off, on the weekend, to go through these filing cabinets and one of those women found Rocky’s school records. And it showed that – back then, the term was mental retardation, so it showed that he was in MR classes.

“She was jumping for joy. They were crying. We were so excited because it’s like, here’s the proof. And there’s a Supreme Court decision that says you can’t execute someone who is intellectually disabled. So we thought we had a win. And I was floored to learn that we weren’t going to win Rocky’s case on that.”

- Sara Romano, investigator on Rocky’s case, on the ACLU podcast episode on Rocky Myers

Sign the ACLU petition to Governor Kay Ivey here.

#rocky myers #I couldn't find a thorough post about his case here #and since the action item is a petition #it seemed like something well worth publicizing #so I've been working on this for a while #death penalty #disability #death #death cw

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