#this isn’t shade it’s too funny that everything is happening like this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

demon-witch-cat · 10 months ago

Note

Hi there,

Question for your Branch is Keith’s Unofficial Dad AU (Sorry I can’t remember the actual name of the AU)

How would BroZone react to meeting Keith for the first time? And vice versa.

Also would Keith get along with BroZone?

And would BroZone think Keith is actually Branch’s Son?

Guess I ask more questions than I thought I would😅

(So sorry for taking so long to answer! I feel so bad!)

Don’t worry, I only recently figured out the name! (thanks to @super-secret-agent-of-sin) Though, their relationship is less father-son, and more just big brother-little brother. That’s just how I personally see them! Which is especially funny when you throw in Brozone, Branch’s “actual” brothers.

Before I start, I just real quick want to say that this is for if I stick more closely with cannon, where Floyd is the one captured and Keth just happens to tag along. I have another idea for the AU, where Branch is the one captured, in front of Keith/after saving Keith, instead of Floyd. So, Floyd and Keith both replace/swap with Branch in the journey (If that makes sense). I can talk about that too, but I figured this one would be easier to work with.

Now, I do like to think that there is a moment for each brother (maybe not Floyd, idk) where they’d see this trolling with blue hair, almost the exact same shade of blue as Branches when he was little, holding their youngest brothers hand staring at them with wide blue eyes, and immediately think “Oh shit, this is B’s kid!” And if they say this, Branch will quickly correct their thinking with a “What, no, Keith isn’t my kid! He’s my little brother, who I adore very much!” saying it both proudly, and slightly pettily. With Keith going “Yeah!” Before sticking is tongue out.

Anyways, after that part, I think each brother would have a different reaction and feelings.

KEITH

Starting with Keith, he doesn’t like them. At least at the beginning he doesn’t. In his mind, they left Branch when he was little, and Branch clearly doesn’t like them, so he doesn’t like them. Because of this Keith decides to tag along on the mission so he can ‘protect’ Branch. Over the course of movie, he relaxes a bit with the creepy stares and feirce and childishly blunt comments. However, that doesn’t mean he likes them, especially with all the talk of ‘perfect’ and them calling Branch nicknames he very clearly doesn’t like. Keith doesn’t really understand the entire situation, he just doesn’t like how they just act like everything is normal with Branch. Like they are brothers. He does slowly warm up to them after the events of the movie though. Eventually seeing them all as older brothers as well. Though not after a bunch more creepy glares, blunt comments, and many pranks. Keith can be a menace when he wants to be. Branch will always be his favorite though, and vice versa.

JOHN DORY

John would be surprised, especially with how close they are, and probably feel jealous about it but ultimately take it in stride. Maybe during the fight, he makes a comment on the fact that Keith isn’t really Branch's brother, which sets Branch off even more, but he’d feel bad about it immediately afterwards. Especially seeing the heartbreaking look in Keiths eyes. After the movie’s events, though, he’d be all over it, and I can see him being the first or second brother to win over Keith (after apologizing for the comment). Especially with their common interest in the woods/outdoors (which is also shared with Branch, obviously). I think they could have a cute dynamic, once they get past the cannon drama.

BRUCE

Bruce would also take Branch and Keith being brothers in stride. He’d also feel very proud of Branch, especially when the first interaction he sees between the two is Keith tugging at Branches hand, asking if he can play with his own kids, and Branch turning to look at him in his own question, before agreeing, insisting that he be careful and to not wander off too far. His baby bro is so responsible and clearly a good big brother! Also, his dad instincts would totally kick in when he’s around him (like with tiny), but at the same time he wouldn’t usually get a chance to act on them because Branch was usually already on top of it. Keith looks like he’s wandering too far off? Branch is already calling him back or walking over to him. Keith’s looking nervous about the situation? Branch seems to know exactly what to do to calm the young trolling down. Hug time? The two don’t even think about it, Branch just automatically opens his arms for Keith to immediately jump into(or, even funnier, Keith and Poppy both race to hug Branch, who looks like he’s just accepted it a long time ago) That part does kind of sting though, as when he’d hugged Branch for the first time in years, he was shoved away with an uncomfortable, yet stern look. And then immediately almost being bitten by the green trolling.

CLAY

Clay, for some reason, I see him both the most confused, and maybe the most jealous over this. I don’t know why, it’s not because the two wouldn’t get along, because they would. I just see him being like, “Wait what? You have a little brother? ...How?” Like, same vibe as his late reaction to their grandma having been eaten. But then after Branch giving him a quick explanation, he’d kind of just... Doesn't interact with Keith unless he’d need to. At least during the events of the movie. After the movie events though, Clay would learn that Keith likes to create stories, specifically more morbid stories. Just like Branch, he’d also like to listen to Keith’s stories (I hc that Clay likes a lot of different literature. He just has more of an interest in ‘sad’ books).

FLOYD

Floyd would be like “Aw, your a big brother now too! That’s so sweet!” And then try to talk to Keith, but Keith would immediately just be on edge and glare at him, considering how the others were. This would throw Floyd, and Branch honestly, through a loop, but he’d try his best to get past it. Branch would try to get Keith relax a little bit, but Keith is stubborn and, as I said before, protective. The others already hurt Branch; he doesn’t know if he can trust Floyd not too. Of course, he’s not as much of a menace with Floyd as he is with the others. But it's literally only because he almost died and is still healing. By the time he’s recovered though, Keith would trust/like him enough not to go full menace little brother on him. ��

Sorry, I just went on a tangent here, but I’d been thinking about this a lot! So, thank you for giving me a chance to talk about it!

72 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 1 year ago

Text

Friends only

Summary: You are more than friends.

Pairing: Fratboy!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, unrequited feelings?, fluff, mentions of a blowjob

A/N: This story is part of my Fratboys collection

“Why don’t you want to give me advice for my date?” Dean puckers his lips. He batts his long eyelashes, trying to convince you to help him once again. “Sweetheart, don’t leave me hanging.”

“We are not friends,” you quip, and turn your attention back toward the books in front of you. “I’ve got no time to give you advice all the time. Ask one of your buddies.”

"We aren't friends?" He splutters. "Why? When did that happen? Since when are we, not friends anymore?"

“Forget it,” you wave Dean off. He doesn’t need to know that he broke your heart not ten minutes ago when he told you about his date with that hot girl he just met. “You have enough girls hanging on your every word. You don’t need me.”

“Y/N, tell me since when we are no friends? Last time I checked we were friends and roommates!” Dean argues. He puts his hands on his hips and stares at you, waiting for you to answer his question.

You slam the book shut and get up from your seat to size Dean up.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes,” he throws his hands up. “What am I talking about the whole time? I want to know since when we are no friends anymore.”

"Since I know how your cum tastes on my tongue," You bite back. "You remember last week, right? When you came to me after a bad date, whining about how the girl only liked your good looks and car. That no one ever listens to you. I built you up again, and then, your cock ended up down my throat.”

“I remember,” he closes his eyes, remembering how your lips felt wrapped around his cock. His cheeks shades of red, and Dean looks down at you, guilt written all over his face. “I shouldn’t have let you suck me off to make me feel better.”

“For fucks sake Dean,” you throw your hands up too. “I sucked you off because I wanted to. I had hoped this means more than a blowjob to you.”

“I—what?” Dean licks his lips. “I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes you are so dull, Dean. That night, I wanted you to make me feel good too.” You shake your head. “But right after I made you cum down my throat, that girl called, and you slipped out of my mouth to take her call. Do you know how I felt?”

“I didn’t know you wanted more of Dean. I would’ve gone down on you, sweetheart. I came back, and wanted to return the favor,” he argues. “You said that you are tired and went straight to bed.”

“Because I felt like a cheap whore, Dean! God. Men can be so stupid and insensitive. If a girl gives you a blowjob, you don’t answer your damn phone after you came. And you for sure don’t talk to some other bitch, Dean.”

“Y/N…” He sighs as you give him an angry look. “I’m sorry. This was a serious case of miscommunication.”

“You don’t get it, Dean!” You sniffle. “Anytime you ask me for advice to get laid, I’m hurting. You don’t even realize how much you hurt me with your behavior.”

“Uh-this is not about sex…right?” He looks at you like a confused puppy. “Right?”

“No, Dean. This is not about sex,” you groan. “I want you to ask me out, not some random chick you just met. But you only ever pay attention to me when you need advice on how to get laid.”

“Oh…OH!” Dean nods slowly. “You want me to cuddle you after a blowjob?”

“Are you serious…” You throw your hands up again. “I give up.”

“Y/N,” he whispers lowly, “I was joking.” Dean steps closer to cup your cheek. “Do you want me to make sweet love to you?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“I want you to make sweet love only to me,” you huff. “That’s what I want. I don’t want to be a one-night stand to you like all the other girls.”

“Sweetheart,” he brushes his lips over yours, “I’m sorry I didn’t realize you like me. Maybe we should talk about what to do now. I’d offer to go down on you, but I think it’s better to ask you out first.”

“Is everything a joke to you?” you sigh deeply. “This isn’t funny to me. I hate having feelings for someone who-”

Dean silences your rant with his lips. He cups the back of your head to keep you from breaking the kiss.

“I like you a lot, sweetheart. Let me prove to you that I can be more than a one-night stand to you too…”

#dean winchester #angst #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #fratboy!dean winchester #college au #Fratboys collection

169 notes · View notes

styxte3th · 5 months ago

Text

The Academics of Serpents & Starlight, Chapter Five- Coming tonight!

Neville must have left Cambridge as soon as he received Hermione’s Owl because he was at her Cottage door by tea time.

“Neville! Come in, come in.”

She peeked out at the pebbly roundabout and directed her attention at Malfoy’s place. The shades were drawn. Dusk settled over the dark windows. Everything was as it had been this morning and no sign of Malfoy. Well, except for the heightened sense of excitement fluttering in her chest. That was new.

“I came as soon as I heard. I brought a few texts from the Reconciliation on Wizards and Dark Magic Treaty. I'm sure there is some way we can get him expelled.”

“Expelled?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“No, it's funny…”

Neville plopped down on a velvet chair, the heap of scrolls scattering on the carpeted floor.

“It's complicated.”

“I have time.”

Neville’s eyes grew wide as Hermione told him about the Minister's mission and about the unexpected revelation that Malfoy didn’t use magic. She explained her half-baked plan to tutor him and see if he had any connections left in the area. Maybe she could tutor all of them, get to know them academically, and find out who the suspected source was.

She was trusting her gut. Wasn’t that the Gryffindor way? Neville sat quietly for a moment as if digesting this information was heavier than anything they’d ever discussed.

“He bullied you, Hermione. He hurt you.”

“I realize that. Believe me, I know. But I believe in rehabilitation. you know that.”

“Yes, but you’re allowed to have personal qualms about people close to you, you know?”

“I do.”

They broke their fast with a hearty soup she’d picked up in town and day-old bread. Throughout the evening, Neville told jokes about his mishaps with carnivorous plants and the like. He rolled up his cream-colored button-up and showed off his scars. The two of them would laugh themselves into a fit. Talking about nothing and everything. Every once in a while, he threw a sympathetic glance her way.

“I ran into Ron.” He bit into a chocolate-covered biscuit.

“He’s got a beard”

“Oh.”

“He looked awful. And you. You look fantastic.”

Hermione laughed.

“It’s been tough.”

“Are you ok?”

“Yes. I firmly believe it was the best decision.

“Obviously. I never thought he was good enough for you”

“Because you prefer me with an intellectual?”

“No, I'm not as elitist as all that. But someone with more depth. Yes.”

Hermione offered a walk along the pier, one of her favorite things. There, the conversation turned serious. Neville understood, of course.

They weren't those young students anymore, running headfirst into dangerous situations at the drop of a hat. They’d known peace and routine. This post-war fear only grew after the reconciliation treaties, the Death Eater trials, and the funerals (so many funerals, so many young witches and wizards lost in the Battle of Hogwarts). There were other things too–weddings, birthdays, untraditional graduations, job offers. For a couple of years, gatherings were nonstop, as if to balance out the losses.

Hermione’s wedding happened right after graduation. She and Ron walked into the sleepy dark forest near Bill’s old place and out the other end as heroes of Hogwarts. Then came the interview requests (she denied most of them), the strange post-war depression, and the divorce. Had she had a moment to breathe since she met Harry Potter and Ron Weasley that fateful day?

“You've given enough, Hermione. There's no reason to go through with any of this.”

“I know.”

“You know but it's in your nature to help?”

“It’s the only thing I've ever known.”

#draco x hermione #ao3 fanfic #dramione #professor hermione

10 notes · View notes

minkkumaz · 1 year ago

Text

OUR FIRST

there were moments where you and ollie had no clue what you were doing. but when things feel right the best thing to do is to embrace it, even if you've never done it before.

PAIRING liu ollie x fem!reader WC 1.3k TAGS established relationship. mention of friends to lovers before. fluff. first date vibes. kissing. shy ollie. not proofread. OMI NOTE i had absolutely zero plan nor intention to write for ollie but i had a dream about this exact situation and felt it was too cute to let go to waste.

when you bid goodbye to ollie before he left for boys planet, there was something bittersweet about it. yet the butterflies in your stomach fluttered with no shame at the sight of him leaving. the whole situation almost felt incomplete, like a puzzle with a lost piece.

a soft smile was plastered on his face, mouthing an ‘i’ll see you soon’ before he was out of your vision. your best friend since forever was going to take this wonderful opportunity but you could only feel nervous.

it wasn’t until some time passed and you saw him through the tv, that you realized what was missing. there were some feelings underlying your friendship with him, and part of you was scared what would happen if he debuted. would he forget you?

but ollie could never lose sight of you. every passing day you were all he could think about. ricky would often tell him that he should’ve told you sooner, which made him feel regretful. stage after stage you became his hope, and when it came to his last days before he was eliminated, he knew as long as he had you to come back to he’d be okay.

as soon as he returned home, he confessed to you through stuttered words and shy smiles. the embrace he gave you in that moment was something you’d never forget. warm, as the feeling of love swam through your veins knowing that you were finally together. knowing that this wasn’t something silly and unrequited.

he was yours, and you were his.

beyond this, dating ollie was everything you could’ve dreamed. when he wasn’t being timid, he always did his best to give you the world. not a moment went by when you weren’t in love with one another. not a single clue what you were doing, yet it all felt right.

that being said when he messaged you about a surprise date your heart almost exploded into a million pieces. he sent you the address to his house and asked you to dress in something comfortable.

you settled yourself in the clothes you deem fit for the occasion, pressing your hands against any wrinkles to flatten them out. eventually, you were hurrying yourself out the door with a pep in your step, excited to see ollie.

there were only a couple times that you’ve been over to ollie’s home, since it was easier to hang out at yours. so saying you were absolutely pumped was an understatement. on the walk there you wondered what could be waiting for you.

as soon as you arrived, you left a gentle knock on the front door. you were only waiting for a couple seconds, before the excited boy opened to see you. he immediately embraced you in a hug.

“y/n! hi!” ollie wrapped his arms politely around your figure.

“hi, ollie!” you giggled, returning his hug.

“come in. my family isn’t here right now, but we’re just going into my room.” he smiled at you as you slipped your shoes off, following being him into his house.

“wow, i haven’t been to your house since before you left.” you looked around in awe, admiring all of the decorations; as well as the multiple baby pictures of ollie with his family.

“we can always come here more often to hang out– if you want to! it’s up to you.” he suggested sheepishly.

“you’re funny ollie, i can come over more often if you’d like.”

he averts eye contact from you, the tip of his ears turning a blushed shade of red. you peek behind him when he stops in front of his door.

“um– can you close your eyes? i want it to be a surprise.” he asks.

“ah, only if you guide me! i’m scared to trip over something.” you mumble.

“no of course, yeah totally! don’t worry about that.”

ollie watches as your eyes squeeze shut, immediately coming up behind you and placing two hands on your shoulders. he cracks the door open slightly, leading you inside. the floorboards creak slightly as you take careful steps.

“sit down right here, don’t worry i won’t let you fall backwards.” he stutters, helping you sit yourself on a cushion.

you feel the touch against your clothed skin disappear, as he moves to a seat next to you. it’s hard to tell behind your closed eyes. there’s a sound of rustling, and a couple things moving around before it goes quiet.

“okay, you can open your eyes.”

when your eyelids flutter open, you blink slightly to adjust to the different lighting. what you’re met with makes your mouth gape open slightly.

in front of you is a small floor table, covered in a pretty tablecloth. on top is an assortment of different side dishes and bowls full of food. fresh vegetables, steaming rice, and best of all a large portion of meat, seafood, everything you could possibly imagine simmering in a broth. the centerpiece in the middle of the table is a small assortment of flowers.

scanning everything for awhile, ollie clears his throat nervously, “do you like it..?”

“oh my gosh ollie, yes i love it!” you frown, looking at all of the amazing things he set up.

“i figured we haven’t really had a proper date before and um, i thought this might be nice! ricky recommended me some ideas and helped me out.”

“that’s so sweet augh i can’t believe you did this for me! it all looks perfect ollie.” you scoot yourself closer next to him, capturing him in a tight hug.

you let yourself wrap around him comfortably, feeling giddy in his arms. his hands snake themselves around you, feeling the heat from his skin pressing against your lower back. the position was intimate, but the immense joy flowing from you made you forget about everything.

not fully pulling away, you let your hands rest on his shoulders and removed your head from the crook of his neck. both of your faces were close in proximity, trying to ignore the dark tint on one anothers cheeks.

his eyes glanced at your plump lips for a second, before you quickly moved away to collect yourself. a deep exhale left your lungs as you tried avoiding eye contact.

“i’m so sorry oh my goodness i–”

“it’s okay! don’t worry about it um–”

both of you had no words, extremely flustered at the sudden close contact. neither of you had ever kissed before, let alone be that close to eachothers faces. but you were a couple now, why was it so weird?

“i would’ve been okay with um, kissing if you were ready..” he said in almost a whisper, scratching the back of his head nervously.

“are you sure? i didn’t mean to like force you into anything you didn’t want to do!” you panic.

“no it’s okay! i want to kiss you like a lot– but not in a weird way obviously i mean you’re my girlfriend now and– normally couples kiss you know?” he rambled.

“ah i understand! um..” you scoot closer to him, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“we’ve never really done this before, have we?” he bites the inside of his cheek, looking down at you. there wasn’t a moment where he didn’t believe you were the cutest girl on this planet.

“no, but, i want to.”

there was silence for a second, before he brought his hands up to cup your cheeks delicately. your skin was soft in his palm as he swiped small wispies of hair out of the way. in one slow movement, he leaned closer to you letting your lips barely touch.

even the smallest bit of contact made you melt like putty, desperate to push closer against him. your eyes closed, letting ollie kiss you.

and while it didn’t last forever, once he let his lips leave yours there was a bashful smile on his face to cover up his embarrassed expression.

“was that okay?” his words slightly quivering.

“hm i don’t know i might need to check again.” you beam, pulling the collar of his shirt to move him back to you, giving him another kiss.

it took him by surprise, barely being able to close his eyes by the time you were pressed to him once again.

“i give it.. five out of five stars!” you announce happily.

© 2023 minkkumaz, all rights reserved support your writers by reblogging + giving feedback! it is greatly encouraged and appreciated. thank you! → why feedback + reblogging is so important. ~ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ if you'd like, donate to minkkumaz !

#⋆｡˚ my works #ollie boys planet #ollie boys planet 999 #boys planet 999 #boys planet #boys planet ollie #liu tianyue x reader #tianyue x reader #liu ollie x reader #ollie x reader #ollie boys planet fluff #boys planet imagines #boys planet x reader #boys planet drabbles #boys planet fluff #boys planet fanfic #liu tianyue fluff #ollie fluff

52 notes · View notes

princeblack · 9 months ago

Text

it’s sunday mass and daphne’s friend, samantha birkin, is telling regulus all about a mission trip her family has planned, but she keeps laughing even when nothing is funny and he very quickly realizes what she’s actually doing.

he has no romantic or sexual interest in samantha, the same way he isn’t actually interested in daphne. but he and daphne’s families have been friends his entire life, both of their parents encouraging them to start dating because they would be a ‘good fit’ in their community. regulus is pretty sure his mother only wants him to date daphne because she’s a ‘good catholic girl’ and can be easily controlled and molded by their family, but he’s too tired to argue anymore, wanting to be a good son and succeed in every aspect he can.

maybe to others it’s strange that regulus hasn’t had much interest in girls, but he’s busy most of the time, focused on grades, football or his family. his brother had a falling out with his parents before he was born, but they reconnected recently after their uncle died and left the house with sirius. he wanted to offer his brother a home away from their parents, which regulus was grateful for but confused by.

unlike sirius, he still loves his parents, despite how awful the arguments can be. he doesn’t want to disappoint them, even if his mother triggers his temper occasionally. truthfully, regulus only wants to be the best at everything, even being a son. which is why he’s in AP classes, plays quarterback and never misses sunday mass.

he even attends bible studies during the weekdays, which is one of reasons why samantha birkin won’t leave him alone now. her mother ran them and samantha gave him heart eyes the moment he began attending.

none of the girls that kept flirting with him respected that daphne was his girlfriend— maybe because he didn’t seem into it, or maybe because there was no promise ring yet.

that, or the real reason is because these people only worry about themselves. the most selfish people he knows go to this church, including his mother, who subjected everyone to her whims.

but there was one girl here who was different from the others– he could already tell and he had only known her for a month and a half. she moved here for the start of the new semester and everyone was talking about her because of her beauty. regulus shared biology and astronomy with her, quickly noticing that she was far more than just her looks. she seemed kind and gentle as well as smart; three traits that not many had around here. but of course no one talked about those things; only about her face and body, which he couldn’t deny were just as perfect as everyone claimed.

she and her family had started to attend his church since moving to town. regulus heard from his parents that the diggorys had suffered a loss recently through their oldest son’s death– it was apparently why they were here again, returning to catholicism.

bee, the girl, seems incredibly strong to shoulder such a loss and still remain warm to so many strangers. especially because the other girls didn’t seem to like her in church– most of them were daphne’s friends, who noticed that regulus’s attention was solely focused on bee.

in fact, regulus is already thinking about her again, barely hearing a word samantha is saying when bee happens to suddenly walk past them. he smells flowers in her wake; a soft scent of peonies and roses lingering in the air. swallowing, he says to daphne’s friend, “sorry, excuse me,” before turning to go after the auburnette.

“wait,” he says, stopping her. he can feel samantha glaring daggers at them, but he doesn’t care. bee has turned to look at him, her beautiful slender face lighting up. her eyes are the prettiest blue he’s ever seen, like the sky on a sunny day. she’s wearing a beautiful floral printed dress, a shade of white that matches the bow in her hair. he’s never seen anyone so stunning before, down to her perfectly shaped nose and lips. he feels a surge of heated desire, wanting her. the warmth reaches his green eyes, glancing down at her lips before speaking. “i know mass starts in like thirty minutes, but i was wondering if you wanted to take a walk with me. i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we were partners in biology.” he loves the sound of her laugh and the way her blue eyes light up; it’s like nothing he’s ever seen before. besides, daphne and her family are running late and what they don’t know couldn’t hurt them. / @devcted

#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( prose ) .#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. bexley ) .

19 notes · View notes

thoughtsat3amconstantly · 2 years ago

Text

Alright so I’ve mentioned that I had yandere Knives on my mind right?

Well now I’ve got Dad! Vash on my mind too.

How it would go? Probably like:

Vash as a dad would probably be hectic. Like this man is always in hiding right? So having a child in the mix makes things way more difficult.

But nevertheless, he loves his child. He would go to the ends of Gunsmoke for his kid. He maybe even kill for his kid if needed to be, his child does come first. He just hopes that it doesn’t need to go there. So, he’ll do everything he can to make sure that situation doesn’t happen.

His sweet baby is adorable and he will fight anyone who thinks otherwise. He makes funny faces that would get his kid to laugh, he just adores his kids laugh! He loves his kids smile, and the lil’ baby babbles his child would make. Not to mention the tiny hands and feet! It’s his weakness!

He has his baby strapped to him at all times, he needs his hands to be free if something happens. Vash does his best to make sure his kid doesn’t get overheated, so he makes sure they’re underneath his coat for shade. He always makes sure he has enough food for his kid when traveling. He tries his best to stay in towns for long periods of time so that way his baby doesn’t get stressed from the constant traveling. He starts traveling more and more once his kid gets a little more older.

Vash doesn’t want his kid to meet Knives. Vash hates the idea that Knives will never properly bond with his kid, but he knows that his kid would probably be harmed or worse if Knives were to know about them. He just wishes that Knives wasn’t violent and dangerous so that way his kid can have their uncle in their life.

Birthdays are important! No matter how old his kid is, they are still important!

His kid is his, no matter if biological or not, he loves them still.

Vash would sing lullabies to his baby. Sometimes that was the only way to calm his kid down, and it always works. His mantra for when needing to calm down his kid: when in doubt, sing a lullaby! He was seriously thankful that he discovered that after losing sleep and on the last shred of sanity.

Weapons are always out of reach for tiny hands! He’s not that irresponsible! Give him some credit! Okay, maybe there was that one time where he didn’t realize his kid could reach his gun and practically pulled it out of its holster, but that’s besides the point. He stopped his kid from pulling his gun out completely when he felt it being pulled out anyways. He’s a responsible(ish) dad! He promises!

Vash will take any opportunity to get pictures with his kid. Memories are important! Any opportunities to get photos are a must!

Dad!Vash is a good dad! Albeit, he can be, well…utterly hopeless at points. He’s doing his best okay! He’s a single dad! He’s a new dad to add! Cut him some slack!

Vash will protect his kid no matter what. He also wants his kid to live and grow, to live a happy life. Isn’t that what all dads want for their kids? He thinks so.

#dad!Vash #vash #vash the stampede #trigun stampede

61 notes · View notes

blurryfce300 · 5 months ago

Text

having vøidstalker thoughts abøut colors and genetics and hereditary stuff

okay so im watching a creature design videø før fun and theyre talking abøut like colors øf the animal themselves and im thinking abøut things i already think abøut tø myself

vøidstalkers are almøst black in color, like really dark shades øf whatever their primary color (ør colors in some instances) are, which ill talk abøut in a bit what the deal with that is. but they’re dark, and this is because theyre nocturnal, and being an ambush predator in an area with nøt tøø many things tø hide behind, the next best option is tø be sø dark that yøu blend intø yøur surroundings in øther ways (in their case being sø dark and quiet that nobody notices yøu’re even there until its too late)

but they also have a bunch øf white lines, like the lines øn their arms and torsos which signify where a vøidstalker is from geographically, or just simply family heritage but øn a broader scale. they can also be individual markers and sømething to scare away predators like false eyes and øther stuff

their various splotches øf color alsø serve as predator deterrence, being møre øf a “i am poisonous and venomous” sign like høw it wørks with real-world frogs and stuff but it also serves as a signal to others of what color they can see. red is the most common, as it is advantageous to be able tø see it (the area they live in is mostly red rocks and terrain), so other colors that wøuld have been fine in the past when they still had a functioning society are becoming less and less common now because they can’t see differences in the landscape ør differentiate possible threats from the rest of their vision

single colors are also very much the standard, with twø and three colors being possible but far rarer (especially three colors, having ønly been recorded a handful øf times). if bøth parents have the same color, their offspring will have that same color unless theres a mutation ør sømething. if each have a different color, three things can happen: 1, the offspring has the color øf øne parent and nøt the øther. 2, the colors mix (like red+yellow making orange). or 3, and the least common but not impossibly rare, the offspring retains bøth colors (like with salem, whø has orange and purple)

id imagine having two or three colors is more likely to happen with hybrids due to the inherently unstable nature øf their genetics overall (theyre inconvenienced at best and complete messes at worst cough cough rr blurry cough cough) and i knøw that colors used tø be a much møre important thing than it is currently. it used to have importance regarding social standing, with thøse with møre colors being higher up and reds prøbably being the lowest because øf their commonality, alongside yellows and blues. secondary colors wouldve been higher, but nøt by much. trioptics (triple+optic, theres alsø monoptic and dioptics) wouldve been religious ør governmental leaders, ør just the leaders øf their small groups if they did nøt live in a larger population center.

speaking abøut their religion, ill touch øn that and then ill be døne rambling før tonight. so with such an importance placed øn number øf colors, it ønly makes sense that their purported savior being cøuld see all colors. what this savior wøuld dø im nøt certain, prøbably yøur standard “watching øver their chosen peøple and coming tø save them when they need it møst”, which øf cøurse that last bit didn’t happen when they did need it, leaving their society utterly broken and disconnected. nøw, this isn’t tø say this entity døesn’t exist, but just nøt in the form they prøbably expected. in all honesty, their supposed savior being that can see all colors wøuld be sømething like a human, ør anøther earth animal. (i have this funny idea that ønly wørks in rebel red in a timeline where, after everything is settled, they visit the spiritux world and the group meets salem and salem’s immediately like høly shit its gød except its just tyler because hes human and can see all colors)

okay im gønna gø back tø wørking øn artfight why the hell did i pick a character with such a complex design tø draw yøu knøw what they løøk cøøl as fuck and im having fun økay bye

#rebel red au #voidstalkers #blurryface.txt

2 notes · View notes

shkika · 2 years ago

Note

I might end up taking u up on that offer this is so so soo fun

I really enjoy it when people make moon mad at fp..like how could she not be yes she cares about fp a lot but siblings don't exactly...do that to eachother very often I think (but maybe they do /j the woes of being an only child)

I think not being able to harm artificer did him good in the end (therapy dog!!) like he would have definitely just wanted to send that thing FLYING into the sun but he couldn't!! he was forced to just deal with it and eventually he realises hey. Maybe this thing isn't so bad... honestly I think he really needed something like that right then given his tendency to push people away (thinking abt how he BLEW UP srs' poor overseer. That made me jump actually i didnt expect it i sat still for long enough to get myself blown up too it was kind of funny...aside from the trek back of course) (ALSO THE ADS HELP thats golden)

Adding onto that like....him being a silly little loser that wants to do everything by himself and the like loving the attention etc I really think that like... the time period he was built in only made it worse??

Like......i feel that being built when he was added to a sort of pressure of needing to feel superior, to not be one of those bugs in mazes. To have something with like a genuine true path ahead instead of blindly grasping for answers

Like...I guess he'd want to prove just how good he is by doing it without any sort of help and he just has so MUCH to figure out by himself that he just...builds that pressure more and more and that's gotta be too much at some point

^^ I like the idea of the triple affirmative stuff happening like...around this point in time (forgive me if my timeline is terribly off) but anyways like..it kind of just fucks up everything for the dude...like all he's worked for is kinda just for nothing so then it leads to everything with the rot as like some sort of last resort. Like he knows the risks but he just cant bring himself to care like he's in such a vunerable state he doesn't think about how it'd affect moon until all of a sudden there's a forced message being sent his way, but even then I guess being younger than like everyone in the group he doesn't fully grasp like oh. This is as bad as it is. Until moons can comes crashing down and hes left infecting himself with the stuff

Anyway you are so very right with the echo actually I haven't thought very much on the shaded citadel but it must have...not been pleasant going through the rains knowing that there's so many others unaffected by it

Sorry this response is so late actually I've been multitasking to all hell but RRAGHGJ squishing the iterators in my hand like stress balls I am so normal about this game

please do! <3 ramble incoming

Moon being angry at Pebbles is fun. I love seeing different interpertations! Though I do think she doesn’t hold actual bitterness towards him in my personal belief.

The idea that she isn’t actually *angry* angry at him makes her very tragic to me. By all means she knows his actions are inexcusable. What she went through was horrifying and painful and she acknowledges that. Nsh even mentions she’s always had way too much patience for him and that she really tried to be a good big sister to him.

So as his big sister and someone who guided him in early days I can see her being unable to feel spite towards him. He fucked up, hes now sick and rotting and it all fills her with grief. It’s all just unfortunate and sad! (definitely see moon being a little hater with salty comments sometimes. as she does but most of her anger is reserved for their shitty parents)

Pebbles desperately wanting to feel superior is something really fun to me!! Absolutely see it! (idk why u went and became close friends with guy who called you dumb and naive but u do you 🤷 maybe u like that. likr OoOo hes the only one that listens to my theories and he calls me dumb <33) We know he learns about what happened to sliver from suns, so I can only assume that happened before he was made..? But the game is vague enough for u to hc it as you want honestly.

What he did was out of desperation for sure! He never wanted to even involve Moon according to what he says while commenting on a pearl by Arti. It was just kind of impossible.

I think what Suns told him just left a big scar on the poor guy. Not only is he being told he never mattered, he has to accept he’ll slowly break down and not even die while still trying to solve their issue he doesn’t even care about. He wanted the feeling of power over his own self back and he wanted to desperately escape. Feeling helpless is the worst.

He thought he could be fast enough and not harm Moon and then failed! He doomed her and got a very bad case of the rot ( consequences of my actions) ((another bracket but the poor fucker tried to cure himself all the way until arti campaign! sad!!)) along with his failure becoming gossip material and a sensation as we learn from spearmaster logs. Which is why I assume he closes all communications.

Also Moon forced many many broadcasts onto him while dying :) not only partly the reason why he failed the project, it also further cemented his helplesness.. because he can’t do anything to help! A common phrase you hear from him is “I can’t even help myself”.

It’s a little treat in almost all scug campaigns iirc.

Also echoes are all so interesting I love them and their silly little opinions. Shout out to the one who told arti to stop being such an angry bitch <3

#im sorry for writing essays hehe hoho #actually ill out this into read more!#being ill do this with further long asks #waking up ranting abt rw lore oh what joys #waiting for my wrist to heal has never been more fine <3 #ask #pinkavtomation #also these rambles #although i try to take as much from the canon as possible #they uh- u dont have to feel pressured to take any as fact #the fun with media is to enjoy it however u want

12 notes · View notes

yuriko-mukami · 2 years ago

Text

Maniac: Prologue

To the crazy fan whose love never ceases to amaze me. You are something special. To the unexpected special friend whose kindness always touches me. You're difficult to read but I love challenges. To my bae who stole my heart. I know you're the one who will hold it gently. To the master of heart who gave me his everything. I'll surrender to you completely.

Yuriko's Story

Prologue

Mom left years ago, never telling me about my brother. Dad was never truly there for me. The loneliness was real, squeezing my heart. He was unexpected. Mukami Ruki. He came into my life and took me as his. I tried to resist but… it was vain, unnecessary. I always wanted to belong. So, why not belong to him? He promised me forever. I could have someone who will never leave. For that, I offered myself and my blood, a small prize for ending the loneliness.

When Yuriko stepped into the room Ruki guided her, the first thing she noticed was the waffling scent of lilies, her favorite flowers. As Ruki turned on the lights, her gaze glued to the vase on a tiny table and the fully blooming white beauties.

Oh my, it’s almost like he knew about my preferences…

Soon Yuriko’s gaze wandered further. The room had dark wood furniture that seemed more expensive than anything in her old home. Each piece fitted perfectly together as if someone had planned a compilation that would please the eyes of the viewer.

Yuriko smiled as her eyes caught a tiny shelf – also dark wood – that had space for her books. Not that she had brought many; slowly it dawned on her that she didn't have anything else than a couple of schoolbooks and some clothes. A few pairs of underwear, one home outfit, and a school uniform. She put her fox plushie on the sturdy bed that was supposed to be hers now. It had several pillows in white and light blue covers and a fluffy dark blue blanket that was probably perfectly warm in the middle of colder months.

Teal shaded carpet was soft, almost fluffy under her feet as Yuriko took a step back and put her schoolbag on the chair in front of a solid desk. She gasped as she realized that the room also had a makeup dresser right next to a huge wooded closet for clothes. Knowing that Ruki lived with three brothers… Why on earth had anyone purchased such a thing?

For whom this room was before me? Still, isn’t it funny that everything here fits almost perfectly in my tastes? And isn’t this right next to his?

Yuriko swallowed. There was a slight chance that someone had lived in this room before her arrival. Someone close to Ruki. Most likely a female.

For whom this room was before me? Still, isn’t it funny that everything here fits almost perfectly in my tastes? And isn’t this right next to his?

Yuriko swallowed. There was a slight chance that someone had lived in this room before her arrival. Someone close to Ruki. Most likely a female.

A former girlfriend? Shaking her head, Yuriko pushed the thought away. Even if that was the case, it didn’t matter now. Ruki had made it clear that this room was her to use.

“Do you like it?” The whisper caressed Yuriko’s ear, making her flinch as tiny trembles raced over her skin. “I made sure it should have everything you would need but do let me know if there is something missing.”

“Umh… everything looks good.” Yuriko was only able to mumble. As if she could ask anything more from Ruki. All this was too much already.

It’s almost like he expected this to happen… but surely he couldn’t have a clue what was going on at home.

Though maybe Tsukino Keisuke’s earlier behavior could have been a cue that not all was well with Yuriko’s family situation. Ruki seemed to be skillful to read between the lines. Still, it would have been a bit odd to prepare a room just for Yuriko, so a coincidence was the only reasonable explanation along with the former girlfriend option but Yuriko rather went with the previous one.

Ruki lumbered toward the window, soon pulling the royal blue curtains over it and hiding the cloud-covered night sky from view. "Soon you will be sleeping next to your master, but tonight you can rest here. I am sure you have a lot to think about."

The words painted Yuriko’s face with warmth. She had already slept in his bed several nights but never had he laid next to her. The thought sent shivers through her body. Would they only sleep?

Yuriko glanced at Ruki sideways, not revealing her thoughts. Her mind wandered back to the moment when he had found her in the city. To the hug… and especially to his lips that had conquered hers perfectly and completely.

“Ruki…”

Ruki didn’t answer. The words weren’t needed when he gently pressed his lips on Yuriko’s, whose eyelids closed in that very instant. The first suck was tender like it was testing her. Yuriko gasped, opening her mouth a little. Ruki pushed her head carefully, not using too much force but still enough to deepen the kiss that sent shivers all the way to Yuriko’s toes. Something burst in her, coloring her closed eyelids with small sparkles. Her legs were turning wobbly, her head light and heart racing as if she had run all the way here. She wrapped her arms around Ruki’s neck, leaning against him as he sucked her lower lip with more intensity, nibbling it slightly, not breaking the skin.

The memory made Yuriko’s lips tickle. She almost lifted her hand and touched them but managed to stop at the last moment. Ruki’s lips had been cold against hers but there had been a warm undertone in that kiss. That kind of softness Yuriko had always dreamt of. A real kiss from a dark romance tale; the start of a journey to the deep emotions and turmoils that would twist into obsession.

Not that such things happened for real. Yuriko knew perfectly well that those kinds of love stories could be only found in books and movies. Real life was different, must milder, and not so exciting… though, wasn’t the existence of the vampires a denial of the boring reality she had always believed in?

Still, that didn’t mean anything. Ruki was a vampire and Yuriko herself a half-kitsune – the fact she had just recently learned – but those things were probably even more of a reason not to imagine that there was something going on between them. It could simply be that the vampire nature of Ruki yearned for Yuriko’s kitsune blood so much that he couldn’t resist it. So, the kiss had been a sign of the ownership of that blood and nothing else, right? Ruki had made it clear from the first moment that he had claimed Yuriko’s blood as his possession, so there probably wasn’t any deeper meaning behind his actions.

But… the kiss.

It had turned Yuriko’s world upside down for some reason. Even though she had been endlessly sad before it, something had sparked in her, making her heart bounce faster.

Did it mean that… that I really have those forbidden feelings toward Ruki. But… does he have those too? I don’t know what to think. I already promised to give myself to him… It almost happened during the full moon. He wanted it to happen back then, right? He held back for me. Would he do that if he didn't care?

So many questions Yuriko couldn’t ask out loud. She dared not… because if the answers weren't what she wished for… What would she do then? She had no other place to go now.

And what exactly am I wishing for?

Such an unnecessary question.

The answer was too clear and it burned a hole into Yuriko’s heart. She had sworn herself that this wouldn't happen anymore. That she wouldn’t let herself sink into depths of imagination when there was no such thing as hope. Yet here she was, dreaming she would be special for someone else, that someone would care enough to… to… and this time she knew that there was no way out of this mess. She couldn’t run or hide. But…

I must keep quiet. I don’t even know if vampires are able to feel that way! So… I better hide this flaming in my heart. I… can do… it. Probably. Definitely. Maybe. Yes.

And perhaps there was nothing. Perhaps Yuriko was simply overwhelmed by all that had happened, running away from home, coming across Ruki, and… the kiss.

The kiss.

It haunted her, burned on her lips.

"You must be tired. Go to bed now. I will make you breakfast when you wake up, and then we will talk about your situation."

"Umh… Okay. Thank you, Ruki." Yuriko turned and looked at him properly with a wide smile on her lips. Her father’s… Keisuke’s words still flared in her mind and made the corners of her eyes burn too. There was a cold spot in her heart, and she wasn’t sure if it could warm up ever again. But at least she had a place here. Maybe this manor would become her new home. A real home.

A cool thumb brushed under Yuriko’s eye, fishing a tear before it even reached her cheek.

"I will make sure you do not need to cry anymore. No one is allowed to make my livestock feel this way. I will protect you from now on, you do not need to worry," Ruki said, stroking another tear away. "Now be a good girl and change into more comfortable clothes. I will go to explain the situation to my brothers and when I will come back I will expect to find you in that bed. Is that clear?"

Yuriko was only able to nod, and before she knew it, Ruki had disappeared in front of her eyes. She had a hazy memory that the same had happened before. When she had been sick with a cold Ruki had come to her to bring her here and when Keisuke had tried to prevent that Ruki had simply made them vanish from Yuriko’s room and reappear into the limousine on the street. It was something Yuriko would need to ask about later but now wasn’t the right moment. She didn’t want to test out how Ruki would react if she didn't obey, so she hastily took off her school uniform and sneaked under the blanket wearing only a tiny top and her panties.

The bed was warm and comfortable but it smelled unfamiliar. Yuriko tossed and turned, squeezing her fox plushie against her chest as her thoughts traveled through the last few weeks.

Meeting Ruki had changed everything. After that, Yuriko figured out that she had a half-kitsune brother which made her a similar being, yet she didn’t have any powers these spirits or demons were supposed to have. And that wasn’t even all… Yuriko had made a friend who had been revealed to be a zombie. Though Elizabeth’s species didn't matter because she had a heart made of gold. But to make things even stranger, Yuriko had also run into a young man who was one of the Founders of the Demon World. All this information still made her mind whirl. The world was not the way she had thought it was.

It could be that… Keisuke has his reasons to hate all these supernatural creatures even though he married one. He called them monsters. But… they all have treated me…

Yuriko swallowed. She couldn’t honestly say "well", because Ruki had actually been very rude in the beginning, taking her blood for his own pleasure without asking. Not that he asked even now but Yuriko could sense that something had shifted… at least in her heart, made that sense or not.

The kiss. It had felt gentle. No, Yuriko should not be thinking about the fabulous smooch. If anything she should forget the feelings that it had brought to the surface. Those prohibited emotions should be buried somewhere deep.

This is all I have now… so, I better ensure that I don't cause any trouble for Ruki. I can’t have him push me away.

Yuriko sighed and turned again. At that very moment, Ruki appeared once more, making her flinch.

"Tugged under the blanket, good girl," he said, a smirk lingering on his lips. "I do like how obedient you can be." As he stepped closer and leaned over Yuriko his musky scent wafted around them. Yuriko could smell a hint of vanilla and meat stew in it. The notion made her blink, for she had never before noticed such a thing in a person’s personal fragrance. There was also something else that she could name only vampiric.

"Gazing at your master with such pleading eyes, I wonder what goes on in that mind of yours." Ruki stroked Yuriko’s hair with a featherlight touch.

“Umh… it was a tiring night,” Yuriko mumbled, not truly knowing what to say. Had her gaze been that pleading? She should be more aware of the way she expressed herself around Ruki.

“We will talk about it tomorrow and then you can forget all about your past life. Your forever with your master starts tonight.” Ruki leaned even closer and brushed Yuriko’s bangs aside before placing a kiss on her forehead. It was quick yet gentle, and he pulled away too soon for Yuriko’s liking. The thought made her shiver as Ruki took her glasses and put them on the nightstand.

That was the second kiss of the same night. This time not on the lips yet the quivers were running down Yuriko’s spine again. Could this mean something?

No, no, no. No vain hope!

Ruki wanted Yuriko’s blood and for that, he was willing to give her a place to live. He had promised to treat her well if she was obedient. So, that was all, and she shouldn’t imagine anything else.

“Be a good girl now and sleep. I will make sure no one disturbs you.” Ruki’s thumb glided along Yuriko’s cheek but his gaze looked distant as if he had been lost in thoughts.

“Okay… umh… Good night, Ruki.”

“Good night, Yuriko.”

Yuriko turned on her side, pressing the fox plushie against her chest as she closed her eyes. Even though she was sure that she couldn’t sleep, she fell into slumber sooner than Ruki left the room.

I wasn’t alone. Now I have a family. A strange one but family nevertheless. I entwined my heart with him, surrendering my everything to his hands. But the darkness lingered, reaching its icy fingers to get a hold of me. Even when I tried to leave my past, it only melted together with my future and pushed us both on the path of tough decisions.

Thanks: To @ruki-mukami-dl for beta-reading everything, supporting me through the writing process, discussing with me the tough parts, and especially for your help with Ruki.

Also, thank you to @elizabeth-virnien, @nalia-wagner-rp, and Dami for the help with certain parts of the story.

#yuriko tsukino #diabolik lovers #ruki mukami #mukami ruki #diabolik oc #fanfic #yuriko's story

15 notes · View notes

knockyasocksoff2022 · 1 year ago

Text

“Don’t make me get violent.”

(A/N: This came to me so suddenly while I was listening to Violent by carolesdaughter for the first time. It’s kind of rushed and probably out of character and I may edit later but her you all go. Also I intended to make the violence more graphic but I wanted to keep it detahced and I’m not that good at wrting graphic violence yet.)

under the cut due to length (733 words)

Summary: Chuuya’s journey into savagery after Dazai leaves the Mafia. (Kind of an AU I guess)

Chuuya’s Perspective

Everything is going to be different now. They’ll give me some new partner. I’ll get my pick, but I already know none of them will compare, no matter how good they are. None of them will be him. He’s gone, leaving problems in his wake like usual. And I don’t even have the energy to hate him anymore.

Alarms are going off, blazing red but I can’t make myself move. They’ll come and get me if I’m really needed. I just sip my wine and watch the sunset. Red, orange and yellow like the flames that consumed my car as he walked out on me. I guess it’s good because I would’ve gone after him, and he knew it. Not now though, now I can’t imagine even bothering to leave my office for him, I know I would though. I’d still do anything for him, if I thought it would make him come back and I hate it, but I don’t.

Everything moves in slow motion as the door shudders and falls in. 10 men sloppily thrown together black tactical gear. They wear patches with letter E’s spray painted on them. A wannabe terrorist group, I don’t care. I couldn’t bring myself to listen in the last meeting. It doesn’t matter who they were, because they’re here now, and they’re going to die. (It’s bound to end this way, it always does, canvas stained in some shade of red.)

I get up slowly, giving them a chance to run, “Don’t make me get violent.” It comes out as a sigh.

They start shooting. Round after round until the floor is made of spent shell casing. It does nothing as my instincts kick in. For me it happens in slow motion, I watch numbly, as another version of myself charges the naive boys. They’re down before they can fight back.

I watch as I don’t stop.

One of them moves slightly and I kick him back down and keep kicking him, until we’re both stained red and there isn’t a single bone in his body left to break.

I’m not done, they disturbed my only peace and now they’re going to die, every last one of them. It isn’t rage that fills me, just an empty hole, growing larger, leaving nothing, looking to be filled. And these deaths have to be personal, because he left me and these boys “terrorists” are still here, causing me trouble. I want him to be causing me trouble. (But now I’m alone and it’s too peaceful, too quiet, too still, too empty.) I take the nearest and twist his limbs in funny directions until I hear the snaps, and then I keep twisting. Chunks of flesh fall to the ground with wet squelches, splashing the room in red. Spilt wine.

I just want to finish my wine. When they no longer resemble humans I come back to myself. Staring at the wreckage around me. The room is tinted red but I know the mangled lumps won’t disturb me again.

My hands are painted red and sticky and leave smeared fingerprints on the bottle. My reflection is savage against the darkening sky. But I can’t make myself care.

A groan of satisfaction leaves my lips as I sip my wine. I taste the red alcohol, strangely metallic, corrupted by the rusty scent of the room, but it’s not bad. It’s refreshing. And for the first time since he left I can see colour again.

I sit back down, leaning back in my chair, my bloodied feet over the bloodied desk. A fine day in a fine city. I don’t need him, if I can have this, this I can live with. If the way to feel something again is violence then so be it.

And even when they come in to clean it up the shock and horror on their faces, it will all be worth it. I know it will. Are you happy with what you’ve done, Dazai Osamu? I am.

#nakahara chuuya #Port Mafia #My writing #knockyasocksoff2022's writing #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd

2 notes · View notes

hellmouth-manor · 11 months ago

Text

Wood | Touji | Trial 6.7 | Re: Alou

Well. This was supposed to be funny right? That Game Master that Micah talked up as someone they should just give up looking for really was done in with something like a stray feather. That was silly, it was a lack of attention to a small detail that let them find that. It was something Touji could’ve laughed at Alou for…

But he isn’t laughing. He can say so many things about what he could do when someone’s mask is ripped from their face but he can never follow through with it. This time though, it wasn’t empathy that came from him in response, it was that burning anger to beat Alou’s ass that came instead.

“God…fuck you for real dude. Piece of real fucking work.”

He gets that out of himself as he holds back the shaking of his hands. A shaking powered by both fear and rage. The fear of the beast that is here in front of them surrounded by strings, the rage of wanting to rip his mask off and punch him in the face. The rage of wanting to tangle Alou up in his own strings and choke the bastard to death. There isn’t anything he can do though besides sit here and seethe.

“Ugh, no one wants to hear about your stupid great game of demon shit! You’re just trying to pretty up what all this bullshit is! It’s nothing but fucked up entertainment for you fucking demons no matter how you try to twist!! Yeah!! Make it sound better as some benefit to the worlds or something! Shove it up your fucking ass bro!”

He spits in the direction of Alou with little lack of care for what may happen for his scenes of disrespect. He is scared but he won’t back himself down from letting his emotions out on the one that put them all here.

“And get these fucking strings out of here!”

Touji didn’t want to hear anything that emanated from them…there was one voice picked out from the rest that urges him on. Amid all of the cockiness and wrath of Touji’s past. He was always better than everyone else around him and he leaned into it, keeping himself on top, keeping his superiority until it was lost because of this game.

That pride turned to wrath, directed at everyone around him. Those strings remind him of that, these strings he wants to wrap around Alou were choking his own soul instead. Touji wasn’t the best person in the world, he knows that, he was always kind of a prick. But he did better for himself and those around him, just like he did here…he kept wanting to reach out to those that made him feel so much anger…because Touji knew his wrath was only so strong because he cared too much.

Touji fills his mind with those thoughts and those feelings as he reaches out to the strings. His strong feelings building and building…holding onto that which makes him happiest. That single voice he picks out laughs and tells him how strong he is.

Touji’s cheeks tint the faintest shade of red as he takes hold of the strings and rips them from around him.

“Just all in the fucking way of everything!! Stupid fucking ugh!!”

He lets his hand go free and with a clearer mind he scowls a terrifying expression over to Alou. Sharp teeth all gritted and his fists clenched.

"I...What the fuck were you even going to do with the three you had left!? You have a pretty good look at who it could've been! Me, Cu, Shoji, Hibiki, Heather, and Eli!? You think if any of us were your final three that we were going to just fucking take a knee and play your stupid game with you!! Those three dumbasses might not have the backbone to stand up to you but no way in Hell any of us were going to do shit with you or for you and replace them!!"

Touji clenches his fists even tighter.

“Humans are going to kick demon’s asses any fucking day, bro!!”

If there reached a final three…if one more murder had occurred and Touji made it to the end of this game. He would love selfishly…love selfishly and selflessly. He would do anything to just go back to his normal happy days.

#mm trial #touji

0 notes

curicrow · 1 year ago

Text

I sat the bar, the smell or alcohol and smoke heavy in the air.

11:55.

I light another cigarette and lit it, breathing the acrid, dried ash into my lungs and add to the haze wafting throughout the space. I inhale deep. The smell brings to mind memories from an age long since past. Of sitting on the floor watching British T.V whilst my Grandpa smokes his cigarettes. His smelt better then this cheap shit.

11:56.

Hurt is playing from the Juke box. I smile at the Irony as the promise of tonight tugs at my thoughts. I think of when I move out to Melbourne. Its bright lights and busy streets offered the world. It offered my work to be seen by the masses, to see my name on the big screen. The same name printed thinly on the name tag I’m sure is rustling in the back of my car. The “10 years strong” sticker sickly stuck to it.

11:57

I take a swig of my drink. Tequila. I don’t know the brand, but it was the only one they had, but at least it was a true tequila, CRT emblazoned on its label. I wonder what the NOM is? How funny would it be if it shared one with the brand I prefer. My favourite. The one we shared that night we finally made love. I saw you sitting in the back of the class, you seemed so closed off to everything. But that assumption was quickly dispelled when the subject of the Art Design of Alien was the topic of the class. You saw the world in such a different way, you noticed things. You made me feel like no matter what happened you’d be there. We laughed, we cried, we made love. You made new friends. You left school. You gave up. I wore black.

11:58

I leave that bar and all the memories it stirs in me and enter into the cold night. I walk to the crossroads opposite it and look around. There are no buildings for miles and not a soul in sight. No one is watching. No one will witness this act.

11:59

I dig a small hole in the centre of the crossroads like the woman instructed and buried the ingredients that I pray will deliver me my wish. Though I guess in this instance ‘pray’ isn’t the correct term.

12:00

I close my eyes and silently make my wish.

“You wish so badly to leave this life behind?”

I turn to see a man in a tight leather suit. The full moon reflecting from his shades.

“I could certainly end things. But it sounds too boring. How about this. In exchange for your life you work for me?” he offers me his hand. I take it.

I stand behind the bar watching over the smoke-filled room and see someone enter and sit in front of me.

I offer them tequila and gesture to the man in shades.

#one page story #short story #crossroads #devil #demon #depression #queer #sad #creative writing #alcohol #bar #tequila

0 notes

apoapsis · 1 year ago

Text

@dimensionalspades said, "What were you thinking? You could have been hurt!" [soldier]

Pareidolia invokes a particularly powerful– yet otherwise false– sense of nostalgia for the most minimal of similarities he can find in an environment; identical halls often evoked visions of meandering through the TALON facility, of being too afraid to open any of the doors– while the smell or taste of blood often placed him right back onto the battlefield alongside all of the horrors that would be found there. A misfiring in the cosmic network of strained neurons, signals become aberrated and distorted by malfunction– leaving a slurry of vacant-minded, neurotic anxiety festering in its wake.

Aware enough to find inconsistencies with the aberrations, yet not quite lucid enough to recognize them for what they often were.

Mere daydreams, typically– in the most literal sense.

It was almost funny– how everyone seemed to think of it as SIGMA simply choosing to be ‘difficult’, never appearing to consider that his lapses in memory could be just as frustrating and frightening for him as anyone else. Oftentimes, it was as simple as a stray sight or sound displacing him from abject reality and sweeping him into a far stranger, abstract, more dreamlike one. Most often, his warped ability to perceive reality can only present aberrative facsimiles of his memories regarding TALON– the rest of his memories were far too corrupted to recount anything of significance. The routine, the structuring… Every enclosed space resembles his room, streets resemble stretching corridors– he knows he isn’t home, and yet everything makes him crave the comfort of his room.

In his mind, he is calmly seeking the way home– back to the safety of the TALON facility– as long legs stagger through his environment with little regard as to where he’s headed. SIGMA slips through winding alleys and open streets alike with similar carelessness, a deep exhaustion having taken hold– although he wouldn’t know why. Sure, he was old, but the journey had been made between Jack’s hideout and the TALON facility in a single night plenty of times. It didn’t really make sense to him for it to be drawing so much out of his reserves.

Nor did it occur to him that the “night” he had spent with Jack had occurred several months prior, or that he was currently staggering about in broad daylight in an unfamiliar city and had been doing so for a couple of days now, quite a ways off from Italy.

One moment, he’s leaned forward against the shaded exterior of a building– quietly panting with a wide palm braced against the wall, while his free hand tugs at the collar of his jumpsuit absently in a futile attempt to get some air through to the flushed skin beneath. It’s a lot hotter out than anticipated– his suit didn’t really seem to be made for this sort of weather. Maybe whenever he found his way home, he’d formally request a more summer-friendly version of his suit.

Spending so much time in the climate-controlled facility, he’d never really had a need for one…

In the very next moment, however, there is sudden disruption to his already scrambled inability to think straight, as he is abruptly wrenched back into the opposing wall with force. Someone is shouting in his face, but he can’t quite make out the words. Vacant lavender eyes stare down at Jack without recognition, pupils dilated and listless despite the outside brightness. Beneath the surface, however, cogs are still turning; he recognizes the voice, he just can’t place a name to the blurry shape, unable to focus his damaged eyes on anything other than the sharp glint of red from the other’s visor.

Then, finally, it clicks when a name is located within his failing memory; Jack.

He likes Jack. He could always trust Jack to know the answer.

“-- Jack...? What is the matter?” Had something happened? Had TALON located him? “-- You–”

SIGMA’S hesitant, somewhat slurred words are cut off by a rather bulldog-like shake from the soldier in an attempt to snap him “out” of it, although now that he knows who is bothering him, he’s much more docile, no longer resisting the poking and prodding– although there is a stray attempt to grasp at and hold the soldier’s hand when Jack seizes the front of his jumpsuit to keep him on his feet. The two questions that finally filter through the haze only confuse him further, but at the very least, with a point of reference now anchored in reality, the delusions don’t seem as real as they had moments prior. Violet hues flick down to the unusually weathered state of his gloved hands, streaks of dirt and grass caked into the fabric with no indication of how long it had been there. Why is he so… dirty? How long had he been traveling for…?

How long had he been out here before Jack had come looking for him?

“-- I was heading home, Jack.” SIGMA insists– although his tone indicates less certainty than implied– frowning back at the soldier as faulty neurons attempt to recollect why he had not found his way home with no success. “It was getting late, I was going to be missed– you know that. No one got hurt! I cannot keep spending all of my time with you! Someone is going to– a-ah…”

He doesn’t know where he was going with that line of thought, failing to notice that he misinterpreted Jack’s second question. It does, however, bring a more worrying fact to his attention.

“-- I….” A look of discomfort crosses his features– the first actual emotion expressed since Jack found him. “... I– I, ah… I don’t think I know how to return home...”

#interactions + ғʟɪʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪɴғɪɴɪᴛʏ ; ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇᴏᴍᴇᴛʀɪᴄ ᴘʀᴏɢᴇɴʏ +#dimensionalspades #recall + ʙʟᴜʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇs ᴏғ ᴡʜᴀᴛ's ʀᴇᴀʟ ; ʀᴇ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ +#sigma; theyre gonna know we've been sleeping together!!#sigma also; [has been moved out of talon for like 2 months]

1 note · View note

late-to-the-magnus-archives · 2 years ago

Text

I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken, Chapter Nine: Blood

Some tough realizations. The choice to address trauma. A much needed shower.

AO3 | Playlist | Masterpost

-----

CHAPTER NINE: BLOOD

While John reads, Martin cleans Jon’s blood.

He cries a little; tries to keep it quiet, and is grateful Arthur doesn’t offer to help, or say anything about it.

Jon. Jon, going through that.

Jon, weeping, naked, misery etched in every angle.

Jon, silently screaming, curled on the floor and seizing like he’s being electrocuted.

And part of the thing responsible for it is sitting in the living room.

Part of the King in Yellow, inside this blind man. Part of the King in Yellow, naming himself John. Part of the King in Yellow, finding redemption.

The whole situation is….

Martin doesn’t have words for it, but thinks maybe it would help him if he found some. He finishes cleaning the blood, finally sets the blood-stained sheets and Jon’s clothes to soak, takes his own shower, then finally reaches for his notebook.

Here, the blind man who guides me now Through painful memories, incomplete Toward him who fills my heart with much Too much to say—too big a feat

There, my Sighted man I need Who never meant me to betray Who loves and is loved in return We never said what we should say

He sighs at it. “It’s not even going anywhere,” he mutters.

“What?” says Arthur.

“Sorry. Trying to write. Poetry.”

“Oh! I like poetry,” says Arthur. “I—sorry, John.” He turns his face back to the book. “My favorite has to be Invictus, by Will Henley.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” says Martin. “‘Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody, but unbowed.’”

“‘Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade, and yet the menace of the years finds and shall find me unafraid,’” Arthur says in a low, fervent murmur, like a prayer. “‘It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll—’”

“‘I am the master of my fate,’” Martin whispers. “‘I am the captain of my soul.’”

Now, I come, and find myself changed Revealed—my hidden hardness shown I love, I take, I demand more Last shreds of protest long gone, flown

He sighs. “Even bad poetry is very revealing.”

“That’s why I love it so much,” says Arthur. “Truthfully, it’s poetry that got me into music, rather than the other way around.”

“You said you were a musician?”

“I was. Then… something happened, and I couldn’t do it anymore. So now I’m a private investigator.”

“That’s a leap. At least it explains your brilliant ‘simple deduction.’”

Arthur goes red. “Anyone could have figured that out, honestly.”

“It would’ve taken me a lot longer.” Martin starts pacing. “Shower’s clean, whenever you want—though the electricity cuts off in another couple of hours, so I’d say go now, or the water will be cold.”

“Like a blackout?”

Martin pauses. “Not like wartime, no. It just shuts off. I think maybe it has something to do with the strict control the King has in this place—everybody goes to bed at the same time. No need for power if you’re all obediently asleep.”

“Like they’re children,” Arthur murmurs.

“Worse. Jon said it’s like half of them is missing. Nobody can be unhappy, but they can’t really be happy, either.” They’d seemed happy to him. At least, until everything about Elise came out.

“Are you sure they didn’t have an apocalypse here?” says Arthur. “Because this sounds like hell to me.” Then he pauses. “Very funny.”

Martin is getting better at knowing when Arthur is talking to Doe. “What’s funny?”

“Oh, he's just being clever and asking what the crime rate is.”

“It… there isn’t any.”

“None?” Arthur looks surprised. “Sorry, sorry.” And turns back to the book.

“Yeah. None. Of course, they also murder anyone who’s too smart, and it’s considered worship. Oh, and there’s barely any education, and they can barely read, and there’s no new art or anything else, but sure. No crime rate. Yay, he did it.”

Arthur looks grim. “They murder smart people?”

“Anyone who asks questions. The King thinks it’s rebellion. Jon got to be a teacher here, for a while, before it all went bad. Guess what? He did a good job, his students learned, so the King murdered all of them. It’s great here.” Wow, I sound bitter, Martin thinks, because he is.

They didn’t deserve this. Nobody deserves this.

“I don’t know, John,” says Arthur after a moment. “I have no idea why he’d do that.” A pause. “John says the King in Yellow is a proud being; it makes him look bad to just… halt progress like this. It makes no sense.”

“Yeah, my Jon didn’t think it made sense, either.” Martin rubs his face. “Look, has your John found anything?”

A beat while Arthur listens.

Martin can’t imagine what that must be like—your person, inside your head. He wonders how things will change for these two if John does, indeed, get a body.

He wonders if Arthur really, truly realizes how much this John is his person.

It hardly has to be romantic. But Martin also has the language to express such things—queer, platonic, etc. He doubts Arthur does, and without the words for it, it remains runny, unbaked.

He thinks their friendship will survive separation. After all, his love survived Jon’s ability to read his mind, so surely, these two will manage losing their shared space.

Arthur licks his lips. “Right. I don’t know how to—well, it’s not an easy question, is it? Oh, hush. Martin—your Jon. Is he… human? I’m sorry. I don’t know another way to ask that.”

Martin hesitates. “I honestly don’t know. He was. I’m not sure he is now, if I’m honest.”

“If he’s not, John says there’s something we can do if… damn it, John, he just cleaned up.” Arthur sighs. “If you have any of his blood. I’m sorry. There’s simply no way to deliver these requests without sounding macabre.”

Martin swallows.

A moment passes.

“I’m sorry,” says Arthur. “We shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, there… does it have to be fresh?”

Arthur listens. “No.”

“Then there is something.” Martin doesn’t move.

Arthur may not be able to see his face, but he’s not stupid. “I’m sorry, forget we asked. John, there has to be something else.”

“No. No, I can get it.” Martin feels almost robotic as he heads to the kitchen and opens the trap door to the root cellar.

It’s startlingly cold down here, deep wooden stairs plummeting into a space so narrow that Martin must turn sideways to descend. The cellar opens up a little past the stairs, but not by much.

It’s lined with shelves, laden with food, ready in neat glass jars for winter.

The candle he brings is the only light, and he’s fine with that. Down here is always, always filled with webs.

No, that isn’t true. It’s not filled with webs. They’re just rife where the stuff from Earth lies.

Martin stares at the very back of the cellar—two backpacks, seemingly innocent but for being wound in white and wisp.

He’d stopped clearing the webs off after the first month. When Jon asked if he could see them, he… lied.

There really wasn’t any point to it. He just did.

He hadn’t wanted to worry Jon.

I’m as bad as he is, Martin thinks, staring.

His heart races.

For Jon, he tells himself, and walks toward them.

The smell hits him first, and it is so strange.

These bags carry an electrical smell for reasons unknown, a scent that just doesn’t exist here—an atmosphere of power lines and ozone, the odor of busy power stations, the strangely charged air of the apocalypse.

Martin has no idea if the bags look weird on some level, too. He never asked.

He should have asked how they looked to Jon, but there’s no point in castigating himself now. He kneels and opens the bag on the left.

The thing he needs isn’t in there. He just wants to feel these clothes. To press the factory-made cloth between his fingers, to remember them draped on Jon’s too-thin body, to marvel at the uniformity of industrial stitches.

He reaches into the right-hand bag next, though what he needs isn’t in there, either. It holds his own clothes, and it’s harder to look at those. To remember them on his skin, remember them hiding his skin, remember how he thought it was normal to dislike his body so much.

He didn’t feel strong, then. He’d just accepted his mother’s caustic comments and Elias’ paternal parallel.

What a contrast to remember the first time he and Jon made love, and the way Jon made him feel. Manly and sexy and desired. Worthy and seen and strong. So weird, to touch these clothes, and remember.

For Jon. Who didn't even like sex that much, but initiated making love for him, to his wonder.

Martin lifts his backpack and puts it aside.

Behind it lies a knife. It is a serious knife; a Ministry of Defense “survival” knife with a sheepsfoot blade, Jon had told him, and a thick, black grip perfect for Martin’s hand. He liked the way it had felt when they were traveling through the wastes, liked how it seemed to fit him, as if it had been designed for his palm.

Funny, that he cannot now recall where he got the thing.

Daisy’s place, probably. But he doesn’t remember packing it.

He just remembers having it, being comforted (pointlessly) by its existence—and also remembers the horror when he found it gone and knew where it had to be.

The Web. That was the most likely explanation for its provenance.

Which meant She had known he was going to have to…

He had known Jon was going to do something crazy. He had known; or had he?

He tells himself he did.

He’d certainly thrown that accusation at Jon like he did.

He’d gone to Melanie and Georgie, trying to hurry things along, on the claim that he did. But to what end? What, exactly had that been going to achieve?

Down here, in the quiet of the cellar, in another world, planning a rescue mission from a god, alongside a blind man with a piece of said god inside him, Martin can admit the truth.

He’d been afraid Jon was going to use the knife on himself, and thought that by somehow harming Jonah first, he could prevent it.

Why didn’t I say anything? he thinks, staring at it, unwilling to pick it up. If I really thought he had suicidal ideation, why did I act like everything was fine? Why did I even let him out of my sight for a moment?

Because he’d wanted to be wrong.

Much like the way he should have known how low Jon was, and hadn’t listened because he didn’t want it to be true.

Much like the way he’d literally warned himself, in his spooky domain, that there would be no magic button to press in the Panopticon—and he hadn’t listened to that, either. The second Annabelle offered a magical, pain-free way, he’d gone for it.

Kayne was right. Martin’s ability to lie to himself would fool any mind reader.

Martin had been wrong, though. Jon hadn’t used the knife on himself, had he?

Though, in a way, he had.

“Okay, Blackwood, you’re done,” he mutters, flexing his hand a few times. “Sat in your head for a minute, had your little cry, and now it’s time to get to work.” He swallows hard and reaches.

He’d never cleaned it off.

Drawing it from Jon’s side when they arrived here—the slight suction of Jon’s flesh when he pulled it free—had been the worst thing he’d ever felt, in his entire life.

He’d thrown it to the ground, focused and desperate to keep Jon alive.

Jon, who had not been breathing.

Jon, who had hung in his arms, limp—

But he’d been bleeding heavily, and that got Martin moving because that meant a heartbeat, meant Jon still lived.

He hadn’t recalled the knife for two solid days, and even then, had only gone outside, looked at it, walked a few feet away to throw up, and left it there in the dirt.

Two weeks passed before he’d had the courage to retrieve it from the neglected garden.

The blood had long since dried. No insects or animals had messed with it at all—an unnerving detail, but Martin, at that point, lacked the wherewithal to wrestle with that weirdness, and he’d just taken it inside and thrown it into the unused root cellar to get it out of his sight.

It still bore Jon’s blood. A lot of blood. All over the blade, all over the handle, all over the guard.

The blood doesn’t feel like anything as he carries it upstairs. Gritty, a little. Like old, slightly tacky dirt.

“No, that won’t work,” Arthur is saying as Martin returns. “I mean, you could do that, but it would be quite hard to take on clients if they were busy being spooked that you had so many arms.”

What an image.

John Doe, thinks Martin in a moment of intuition, might actually be cute. Endearing, at least—in spite of his origin.

He decides not to comment on that. “I have it.”

Arthur turns his face toward Martin.

It’s a good face, Martin thinks—clearly worn and weary, but there’s a stubbornness in it he finds oddly refreshing.

Oh, Arthur hides that stubbornness with smiles and a lovely, pleasant voice, but Martin knows what he sees. That stubbornness is something he understands.

“So?” Martin says. “Is this usable?” And he holds out the knife.

Arthur listens. “Calm down.”

“You’ve got to tell me what he’s saying.”

Arthur sighs. “John says it’s reactive. He says it’s responding to us.”

Martin looks at it. “What does he mean, responding?”

A pause. “Resonating to the Lonely in both of us, and to the Eye in you. And to something he calls the Web, as well. We haven’t discussed that one, John. What is it?”

So Jon’s blood, even old and dried, still resonated to the Fears. Great. Just great. Fucking tuning fork logic. “What, I’m marked by all of them?” he blurts.

“He says you’re marked by the Eye and the Lonely, but the Web is… touching you? I don’t know what he means. He won’t explain it, for some reason.”

“He’s probably afraid,” Martin says without thinking. “I don’t blame him. I thought I wasn’t… you know what? Never mind. We’re off-topic. How do we use this?”

Arthur makes a face. “This doesn’t seem like the best idea, on reflection.”

“What, do we have to lick it, or something?” says Martin.

“No, we….” He listens. “He says he can use it to cut a hole in the air.”

“Whoa. How?”

“He’ll do an incantation, and we’ll make a hole between us and there. Blood calls to blood. It’ll get us close to your Jon.”

Martin is suddenly worried for Peter, Mark, and Julia. “Can anything come through that hole?”

“No. They have to have the knife, or be in contact with the person who does. He says without the knife, the portal will close on you, cutting you in half.”

“Ugh. Okay. But if we get separated—” And Martin considers the ripcord option. “I’m trapped.”

“You—if we keep hold of the knife and we’re separated, yes.”

“How quick is it? Is this your exit?”

Arthur listens. Makes a face. Sighs. “It’s an exit, anyway. It should be quick—though it sounds like I need to spill some blood here, too, with this knife, mixing our blood with your Jon’s, so my John can use it to bring us back here quickly. Blood calls to blood, John, I said it already.”

“That can’t be sanitary,” says Martin.

“What’s one more scar?” Arthur mutters.

A frisson races up Martin's spine. He could swear Jon said that, at some point in the past. He sighs. “We’re going to have so many discussions when he gets back.”

Arthur blinks at him. “With your Jon? All right, so sorry, calm down.” He turns his face toward the book again.

Martin smiles a little. John Doe is definitely cute, though he’s not sure why. It’s part of the King in Yellow, for fuck’s sake.

“Discussions,” repeats Arthur, slowly. “About what?”

“The hard things,” says Martin. “Things we should’ve said.”

“Why?” says Arthur, and sounds utterly baffled.

It strikes Martin that this man is from 1934. Arthur wouldn’t know much about psychology. About processing grief. About all the developments born from the generational trauma of World Wars one and two.

He wants to be careful how he answers. “Well… it’s important to speak the things that hurt you. It takes power away from them, and it gives everyone the chance to heal. And I’ve been really bad about it, since we got here.” He can be honest, if it’s to help someone else. “What we went through at the end of the apocalypse wasn’t healthy, and it wasn’t good, and it would have been so much better if we’d just talked more. But I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” says Arthur.

“Losing him. Hurting him. Saying something wrong and stupid and showing myself to be weak, or an idiot, or….” Oliver Banks comes to mind. “Or less than what Jon needed, and I was… I was terrified Jon would see that, and not love me anymore.”

Martin has never verbalized that before. It’s amazing how ridiculous it sounds when he says it out loud.

And he thinks Arthur needs it, so he keeps going. “And really, it’s a stupid thing,” Martin says. “I mean, Jon reads minds. What, I thought I was going to surprise him? Really? I don’t know. It wasn’t mature of me. Or logical.”

“But it was logical. You… why would you ever want to bring those things up?” says Arthur, struggling.

“Because that’s how they heal,” Martin says again. “It’s like cleaning infected wounds. You have to open them so they can drain out. It isn’t fun, but it won’t get better if you don’t, you know?”

Arthur is so pale that all his scars, big and small, stand out like lightning. “So that’s, uh. That’s how you deal with conflict in the twenty-first century.”

“If you’re thinking clearly, yeah,” says Martin. “It’s not easy. It hurts. But it works.” He sighs. “I left way too many things unsaid, and now, I regret that. I won’t make that mistake twice.”

Arthur does that face, the one that Martin now knows means he’s listening to John Doe.

Martin would give a lot to know what Doe was saying.

“I can’t do that,” says Arthur, so quietly.

Martin wisely stays quiet.

Arthur closes his eyes. “Well, you just have to deal with it for the moment.”

Martin can’t imagine what this information sounds like to a man in the midst of the literal heyday of toxic masculinity.

But Arthur at least seems like he’s trying.

He’s a lot… harder than Jon. Martin knows he’s more feral; he’s seen the expression, observed the effort not to immediately turn to violence whenever he’s surprised.

But there’s something about Arthur that reminds him of Jon, anyway.

Scrawny and scarred, he thinks, amused at himself. Stubborn and smooshed. Wet paper bag of a man.

Arthur sighs. “Anyway. The knife will work. So. Have you figured out a plan yet?”

“I’ve got fuck-all, and I don’t care,” says Martin. “I can’t fight a god. I don’t know how to save Jon. But I don’t care. I need to reach him. That’s what matters. Besides, it’s not like it would do any good to bring Jon back here. The King would just take him again.”

Arthur listens. “Wait. The King can travel easily between worlds?”

“Yes.”

“That’s new,” Arthur mutters. “No, I don’t know. It must have something to do with whatever started all these changes. Fuck, what happened three hundred years ago, anyway?”

“It must’ve been something wild,” says Martin. “Unfortunately, since this is a different timeline, or whatever, I can’t begin to guess. I mean, I don’t think the English Civil War or whatever was going on then is at fault.”

“We’re still missing something.” Arthur frowns.

“Does it matter?” says Martin. “Kayne’s giving you an out, right? And I can get to Jon. I’ll figure it out from there.”

“The King….”

“He can’t touch me.” Martin realizes he hasn’t shared this bit. “Kayne can’t touch Jon, either, which is good, because he absolutely hates him for no reason he’s ever explained.”

Arthur’s face twists. “What? How? Since when is he limited like that?”

“Since they made some sort of deal? I don’t know, but it’s true. The King can’t touch me. Kayne can’t touch Jon. So maybe, if I can just reach him, maybe… I don’t know. Maybe I can do something.”

Arthur sits in silence for a moment, processing. Listening. Finally, he nods. “This could be your only chance. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Martin looks inside himself and knows he cannot wait. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“All right. Then we’ll do it.” Arthur changes the knife to his left hand with the weird pinky, then looks down at himself. “When this is done, I’ll take you up on that offer of a shower and clothes. Be careful, John. Nothing I need to use.”

Martin blinks.

Then Arthur cuts himself.

It’s not a deep cut; right across the meaty part of his left pec, which bleeds instantly and badly, right into his folded-down bedsheet.

“Shit!” says Martin.

“Not where I would’ve done it,” Arthur mutters. “Is that good enough?” A pause. “Right. He’s going to do the incantation when we get back.” And Arthur stands like this was no big deal and places the knife on the little table.

“Let me at least put a plate under that, for fuck’s sake,” says Martin. “Look, that’s a long cut. It’s not deep, but let me stitch it, okay?”

“Sure, if you’re willing,” says Arthur. Then John must say something, because Arthur rolls his eyes. “Don’t be jealous,” he adds.

Martin has no idea what that’s about. “Anyway. Let me grab some supplies.”

The trunk at the foot of their bed contains toiletries, spare towels, clothes, and his sewing kit. Martin grabs what he thinks might be useful.

Arthur is stripping with the era-appropriate lack of body-shame that always amazed Martin in the history books. “Let me shower, then we’ll stitch. All right?”

Martin does him the decency of looking away. “Sure. Uh. Do you want to keep the sheet?”

“No. Burn it, for all I care.”

“Good enough.” Into strips for kindling it will go.

Martin’s heart won’t stop racing. They’re doing this.

He’s going to see Jon. What will happen then? Not a clue. How will he get Jon out of there? Also not a clue.

Could the King just take Jon back?

Is it really wise to leap into this without a plan?

Oddly, Martin’s thoughts drift back to the end of the apocalypse.

Jon had struggled with agency a lot by the time they reached the Panopticon. It hadn’t resonated with Martin, then. Of course, Jon was only doing what he wanted. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s all choices.

Now, he isn’t so sure.

How much of this is going according to some plan, to an agreement, to maybe a bet (again) between powerful beings with Jon and Martin as collateral?

Is it really your free will if all of your options have been reduced to a single path? To one broken window? To the only brick you have in your hand?

It had been a lot easier to be the antichrist’s plus-one rather than the antichrist. Easier to be the one who got to speak on and judge the decisions—not make them.

Martin sighs. Yet another thing they needed to talk about.

Martin listens to the shower, contemplates Kayne’s weird book, and wonders if he’s not following some awful god’s desires like Jon used to, after all.

(part ten)

NOTES

I always felt Elias's "You want to know what [your mother] sees when she looks at you?" was one of the cruelest things in the whole of The Magnus Archives.

1 note · View note