#like!! how would These bitches know??? personally. my folks hardly got my name down before i peaced out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

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here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want?

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic.

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days.

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours.

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much.

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment.

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

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Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk.

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog.

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them.

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway.

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine.

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care.

You were comfortable and content.

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered.

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too.

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes.

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion.

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by.

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse.

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance.

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows.

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures.

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly.

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger.

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished.

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego.

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office.

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood.

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk.

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods.

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up.

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way.

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control.

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath.

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks.

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on.

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.”

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants.

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you.

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you.

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you.

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming.

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state.

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold.

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe.

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body.

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?”

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment.

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you.

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you.

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut.

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically.

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back.

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed.

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him.

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides.

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty.

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?”

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock.

“Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.”

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best.

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him.

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded.

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way.

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily.

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit.

“You’re my good girl.”

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his.

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably.

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god.

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.”

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw.

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been.

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness.

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips.

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted.

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings.

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech.

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue.

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right.

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back.

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet.

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them.

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained.

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat.

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full.

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in.

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer.

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest.

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it.

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks #hawks smut #hawks fanfiction #takami keigo smut

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queen-scribbles · 4 years

Text

Full of Surprises

Here we go, first Inquisition Commander!Fenris AU fic. :D I’d like to thank @lethendralis-paints for introducing me to the idea, and promise there will be Fenris POV in later pieces; this one just wound up sticking with the Inquisitor’s for basic set-up. ;)

---

Kerith Adaar was a hard woman to rattle.

The nature of her business called for a certain level of implacability; being able to roll with new information or circumstances as if you’d planned for them from the start. These were the most bizarre “new circumstances” she’d ever found herself in--sickly green hole ripped in the sky vomiting demon, sealed by the same green now shimmering under her skin--and she’d managed to keep her head through it all. Adapt. Like she always did.

Which made it almost hilarious that the thing to throw her off when demons, murder accusations, and the wreckage left of the Temple of Sacred Ashes couldn’t do it, was an elf.

In her defense, this was not just any elf. If his appearance--snowy hair and dull white tattoos that trailed down his throat to vanish under his armor--wasn’t enough to justify her surprise, there was also the fact he was an elf. In a position of obvious authority. In an organization begun under the auspices of the Chantry. The Vala-kos had done enough jobs for Chantry-affiliated persons, Kerith was well acquainted with how many of them viewed... others.

She managed to curb her curiosity through the ensuing conversation among her new advisors--spymaster and ambassador, both human, and the elven commander. Best to remain focused on the more important issues; how things stood after the Chantry denounced them, spirited debate over what they should do next and who they should ally with to close the Breach for good. Given their shaky standing in the eyes of all available options, it was decided all they could really do was meet with the one person currently willing to speak to them; a Chantry Mother working out in the Hinterlands. There were already scouts in the area attempting to make contact, Kerith could depart as soon as she received word of where, precisely, to go.

With that decision made, they all went their own ways, to attend their own business. Kerith shivered slightly as she stepped out of the chantry’s warmth, weaving sideways to avoid collision with a huffy nobleman in the doorway. He grunted something rude under his breath but she ignored him in favor of pulling her coat a little closer. Her time spent in Ferelden had not accustomed her to cold as much as she would have liked.

Kerith made her way through the village, secured supplies for the pending trip to the Hinterlands, and conversed with some of her new allies as she wandered before finding herself down at the training ground, not entirely by accident. She leaned against a post meant to hold a training dummy and watched her--well, their, this wasn’t just about her--apparent military commander lead what remained of the Inquisition’s forces through rapid-fire drills. He’d armed himself with a greatsword after leaving their council meeting, and wielded it with grace that spoke of hard-earned skill. Just one more angle to the enigma he presented.

“You have good form, Commander,” Kerith commented when there was a pause.

He flicked a glance in her direction, barked for the recruits to take a break, and then joined her. “Fenris,” he reminded her. “As I said before, the title is unnecessary. Did you need something, Herald?”

Kerith shook her head as she pushed away from the post. “Just getting to know people. And it’s Kerith; this ‘Herald’ business is unnecessary as well. I’m not that special.”

“Are you certain?” Fenris asked with a dry chuckle. He nodded toward the soldiers he’d been training. They were all staring at them--her--and a few whispering to their fellows. “They seem to think you are.”

“Wonder if that’s due more to what I am” --she tapped one of her broken-off horns--”or who I am, the Herald of Andraste, who glows and can close the little demon-spewing holes in the sky.”

“Hopefully the larger one as well, if all goes to plan,” he said, inclining his chin toward the greenish shadow that marred the clouds about them.

“Hopefully,” Kerith nodded. The Mark pulsed faintly, in time with the Breach, and she curled her hand into a fist. “And hopefully soon.”

“Indeed, I believe that would please everyone.” Fenris loosely crossed his arms and arched a brow. “But you said you wanted to talk.” One side of his mouth curved briefly higher. “I suspect you have a specific topic in mind?”

“You would be correct. A couple actually, if you’ve the time.” She ran a hand over her hair, capturing one of the narrow dark grey braids to absently weave between her fingers as she continued. “How did you wind up here?”

“I walked,” he deadpanned. “Or rode, when it better suited.”

Kerith rolled her eyes but laughed. “Enlightening. Though I meant more how did an elf get named military commander for a Chantry organization?”

He shook his head. “It isn’t.”

“I know it’s--we’ve--been denounced as heretical now, but that is how it started, isn’t it?”

Fenris gave another small shake of his head. “It was begun by Cassandra and Nightingale.”

Kerith snorted, picked at the end of her braid. “I’m pretty sure, as the Right and Left Hands of the Divine, Cassandra and Leliana are considered part of the Chantry. Or at least were; that may have changed with the whole ‘founding a heretical movement’ thing.”

“But they did not begin the Inquisition to be an arm of the Chantry; it was in answer to a threat. While they would have welcomed the Chantry’s support, this”--he paused to gesture at Haven and their set-up--”was their intention regardless.”

“With or without approval,” she murmured as she tipped her head in easy concession. “Still, folk like us are hardly the typical first choice of Chantry types, you must admit, no matter how well-suited. Especially for positions of authority.” She flexed her Marked hand and muttered, “Not that they got much choice with me...”

Fenris chuckled. “Kerith, you’ve spoken to Cassandra, have you not?”

She nodded. “Only a little beyond the council, but yes.”

He fixed her with a dryly amused stare. “Does she seem the sort to care in the slightest if her actions are typical in pursuit of her goals?”

Kerith laughed. “Can’t say she does. And I see you’re just as skilled with words as you are that sword.” Tattooed, eloquent, combat-trained... She shook her head with a rueful smile and muttered under her breath in qunlat, “Where did she find you?”

“Antiva,” Fenris answered in common with a faint smirk at the surprise Kerith didn’t try to hide. “Hard on the heels of a particularly nasty band of slavers. She made an excellent case, and I could leave my pursuit in... very capable hands. Ones I trusted to get the job done. So I left with her, and we returned only a few days before the Conclave was due to start.”

“Mm.” Kerith pursed her lips. It was a straight forward story, if notably light on details. But she could pry for those later. “You speak qunlat?”

“Yes.” He cocked his head, studying her. “I must admit to being equally surprised you do. From what Nightingale had found, you were raised Vashoth?” He waited for her nod of confirmation. “I would not have expected that to be something passed along to you, under those circumstances. Most who leave the Qun wish to abandon it entirely.”

She smiled thinly. “Some parts of your heritage you just can’t avoid.” Others you don’t want to. “But it came in handy once I was looking for work of my own. Vala-kos were the only ones who’d have me, and some of them don’t speak much common. But we all know qunlat.” She scuffed a foot through the snow, then arched a brow at Fenris. “Where’d you learn it?”

He averted his gaze out over the lake. “I... spent some time in Seheron. It’s always useful to know the local tongues of anywhere you find yourself staying long.”

“It is,” Kerith agreed. “Seheron also where you learned to fight like that?”

“One place of many,” Fenris replied with a small shrug, his crossed arms tightening fractionally.

She was well-versed enough in body language to pick up this was not a favored topic, at least not for public discussion. “I learned from many places as well,” she said, her hand drifting toward the hilt of one dagger. She let a beat of silence pass before changing the subject. “You really think the templars are the better option for dealing with that?” She jerked her chin toward the Breach.

“I do,” Fenris said with a nod, the tension that had stiffened his spine starting to bleed away.

“Cassandra and Leliana made a good case for seeing if the mages can’t give the Mark more power,” Kerith said, part idle comment, part seeing his response.

He shook his head. “Better to attempt suppressing the Breach itself than tempt mages with more power.”

There was a vehemence behind the words that made her raise a brow, but she decided against pulling that thread just yet in favor of staying on track. “You believe they can? To the extent we’d need?”

“In sufficient number, yes,” Fenris replied, rolling his shoulders.

“That’s the trick, isn’t it?” Kerith chuckled ruefully. “It’s hard to find sufficient number of anything right now.”

He answered her chuckle with one of his own. “That’s what we have you for, isn’t it, Herald?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Well played, Commander. I’ll do my best to drum up a sufficient number of allies, whichever course we pursue.” She looked up at the Breach again, bit her lip in thought. “It’s so big,” she murmured to herself. She curled the braid’s tail around her thumb. “Can’t imagine what it’s going to take to close that son of a bitch....”

“It will be quite the effort, whoever you call upon for help,” Fenris said, running a hand through his hair. “Will you have to open it again, as you did last time?”

“Void’s teeth, I hope not,” Kerith groaned, shuddering at the memory of the Pride demon they’d had to battle, one of very few things that had ever made her feel small. She rubbed her forearm subconsciously, even though the remembered wound had been healed with nary a scar. “I don’t relish the thought of another fight like that.”

“Understandable.” His weight rocked foot to foot and back as he recrossed his arms. “It was quite the battle, from what I hear.”

“Would likely have been worse if not for those of you watching our backs,” she returned with a half-smile. “But yes. It... was not fun. And I hope nothing similar is required to close it for good.”

Fenris hesitated the briefest moment before voicing his thoughts. “If it were, the templars would also be a great help in that fight.”

“...as opposed to mages, who would perhaps be more vulnerable to demons.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s something for me to consider, since mine will apparently be the final word on the subject.”

“You are the one with the Mark,” he shrugged. “You are the one who can close the Breach. That lends your word on the matter extra weight.”

“Just what I always wanted,” Kerith said wryly, which earned a chuckle. She glanced at the restlessly shifting soldiers. “I’ve taken enough of your time, I’ll let you get back to it. I appreciate the conversation.”

“As did I,” Fenris replied, inclining his head respectfully.

He returned to training the soldiers as Kerith walked away, and she couldn’t repress a smile when she realized he’d learned as much about her as she had him. And with hardly a direct question. You’re just full of surprises, Commander Fenris. She didn’t know who to thank for dropping him in their laps--Cassandra, probably--but she had a very good feeling about the Inquisition’s military commander.

Surprise that he may have been.

#queens fic #commander fenris au #f!adaar #fenris #oh god here we gooooo #dai #and there WILL be later pieces bc i love the concept of this au #i just dunno when they'll materialize bc we're moving into ''must write christmas present fics'' territory #now to figure out his hairstyle....

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mycupoffanfiction · 4 years

Text

Wolf of Winter

Witcher!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Jaskier gets you to come to the inn, only for you to find your closest friend Bucky has returned from hunting in Toussaint, resulting in some unspoken feelings coming to light.

Warnings: A bit of mutual pining, some kissing, lots of fluff, soft Witcher!Bucky

Word count: Approx 1700

Masterlist

A/N: Hi loves, this was requested by @sherlocked-bitch, I hope you enjoy 💖 Please note this is more based within the video game universe rather than the TV show, though I have kept Jaskier’s original name, but there are hints that he owns the tavern in Novigrad like he does in the latest game when he’s a bit older.

I may do a Witcher!Bucky smut piece if people are interested 😏

Walking through the doors into the tavern, you smiled upon seeing your good friend, Jaskier who immediately waved you over to him. “There you are! You took your sweet time to get here.” He complained as he rushed up to you, too impatient to wait for you to come to him. “It’s five minutes past the hour, Jaskier, I’m hardly late.” You snorted and smiled as you followed your bard friend across the busy tavern floor. “Why exactly did you call me here?” You asked as the bard rather animatedly shoved a tankard of Sodden Mead into your hands. “Drink up!” He diverted, patting you on the back as you glanced down at the mead, noticing it was cloudy and he must’ve gotten it from the bottom of the barrel. “I’ve been reduced to barrel scrapings now, is that it Jaskier?” You teased with a playful smirk as you followed the bard around the side of the counter towards the back room. “It’s all we had left, be glad we even had some mead, or I would’ve given you that Redanian lager.” He retorted and you pulled a face at the mere thought of the bitter drink. “I thought so.” Jaskier giggled, walking you both through to the back of the tavern, away from most of the bustle and drunk folk that lingered near the front.

You paused when you set your eyes on the Witcher that sat at the table in front of you, dark chocolate brown, unkempt hair thrown back into a half bun with the lower layers hanging loose, a few shorter strands framing his strong features. He looked up from the tavern bench he perched on, hand clasped around the half full tankard on the bare wooden surface, jaw lined with scruffy, slightly out grown facial hair. “Bucky.” You breathed out his name in surprise, almost forgetting that other people were around you as well. The Witcher looked up at you with a slight smirk, streaks of white hair becoming more obvious when he leaned forwards into the low torch light. “You’re back.” You whispered, haphazardly plonking your tankard down onto the table as he stood from his seat, opening his arms for you. Throwing yourself against his chest, Bucky stumbled back and grunted softly, a barely there smile on his lips as he embraced you, his closest friend. “Hello darlin’.” He spoke quietly as he held you. “How was Toussaint?” You asked, voice muffled a little against the leather pauldron strapped to his shoulder. Bucky breathed in your musky, floral scent before letting out a hum. “It was good, sit down and I’ll tell you about my trip.” He gestured at the seating next to you both and you reluctantly parted from the warm embrace to settle down opposite him. You talked for hours about contracts he took in Toussaint, dealing with an illusive higher vampire as well as the time he spent staying in a vineyard. Hours passed into the late hours of the evening, Jaskier having excused himself to sit with another well known Witcher who frequented his tavern. Bucky groaned as you placed down your last card onto the table in front of him, empty tankards long forgotten in your game of Gwent. You had managed to win another round, much to Bucky’s discontent and he felt as if he was losing his touch. “I really thought askin’ other people to play Gwent with me while I was away would make me better, but fuck, I think you improved since last I saw you.” He grumbled. “Oh sure, I improved, maybe you’re just getting rusty.” You teased, pointing at him as he gathered up his deck to shuffle his cards, watching as you did the same. The normally stoic Witcher smirked and shook his head at you. He’d improved over the years, learning to allow himself to laugh after he realised it made others uneasy that he could barely even crack a smile and his response to humour had once just been a grunt, which to be honest, was still the common response you got. Bucky sat back in his seat, picking up his tankard and sipping at the last drops of ale that sat at the bottom. “Y’know,” He paused, voice low and deep before he tipped his head back to get another drop of the ale before slamming the tankard down onto the table. You raised your brow, waiting for him to continue as you leaned forwards on your elbows. “I missed playing Gwent with you.” Bucky admitted, meeting your gaze with his deep blue cat eyes. You smiled as you tapped your deck of cards against the table, lining them up perfectly before you dropped them into the small wooden card box Bucky had bought you from the local Novigrad carpenter for your birthday one year. “I missed it too.” You sighed, though the thoughts that sat in the forefront of your mind didn’t come out, despite you wanting desperately to tell him. The words clung to your throat. I missed you. You wanted to say it, but the nerves took hold, making them feel thick and heavy on your tongue and you sunk back, elbows sliding off the table. Bucky could sense it, he could feel your hesitation, the want to say something you couldn’t muster the courage up to speak. He could feel how uneasy it made you and his intense gaze missed yours by a second as you turned away to get up. “I’ll head upstairs.” You painted on a smile, grabbing your card box as you swung your leg over the bench and stood up. Bucky was too quick for you and circled around the table quickly, stepping into your path and blocking you from leaving. “I wasn’t done yet.” His voice was deep, warningly so as he gently rested his hand on your shoulder. You looked up at the Witcher, eyes meeting his, lips parting slightly. It always felt good to be this close to him, to be able to see all of the details perfectly. Jaskier sang about Geralt, but he also sang about Bucky, the Wolf of Winter, the only other Witcher to have survived the most intense mutation, the whitened hair streaks among his brunette hair to give truth to the legend. “You were going to say something, what was it?” He asked and you internally cursed his observant mind, his ability to practically feel your thoughts and you narrowed your eyes at him, watching as he gave you a questioning look. In truth, Bucky was sure he knew what was on your mind, he’d even asked Jaskier to call you to the tavern for him in the hopes of him being able to admit his feelings for you. And while he was a fearless Witcher, capable of killing monsters and beasts and maybe a damn army of men, he struggled with his feelings. He wasn’t scared of them, but he was afraid to lose you, the one person he constantly longed to see, the one person he wished he had the courage to ask to go with him on his travels, the one person he dared to admit to himself that he might even have feelings of love for. As he watched you fumble about with your words, unsure how to even get them out, he sighed, letting out a soft grunt, your stuttering and beating around the bush ceased when you felt him gently stroke the backs of his calloused fingers against your cheek. Bucky leaned in slowly, lips parting as he met yours, feeling you lean up to him, your hands pressing softly against his chest as he captured your lips in a sweet kiss. The bustle of the cheerful folk at the front of the tavern suddenly seeming so quiet, your entire focus on Bucky. The hand that rested on your shoulder moved down to grasp your waist, tugging you impossibly close as he kissed you, pouring all of the feelings and emotions he could into the kiss, making up for what he couldn’t get across with words with the clear love and gentle passion he displayed to you. Bucky’s lips moved softly against yours as his arm circled your waist, holding you against him, your fingers sliding up into the soft, brown and whitened hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly and he groaned, pressing the plush of his lips against yours before slowly pulling away. His eyes met yours, dark and warm, taking you in with a loving gaze. “I um- I was going to say that I missed you, that I always miss you.” You finally replied to his earlier question, feeling the warmth of your interaction creep up your features, blossoming in your cheeks. “I missed you too, sweetheart.” Bucky gave you the warmest smile you’d ever seen from him and you grinned up at him, your fingers still intertwined at the nape of his neck. “I don’t want to be away from you.” He admitted quietly. “Neither do I, Buck.” You replied, voice soft and sweet as you leaned into his touch, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek. “I want to by your side, if you’ll let me.” Bucky spoke lowly, the air quiet and heavy with a loving need as you stood in the back corner, isolated from the rabble. You took in his words, the tension hanging in the air between you was thick, but not uncomfortably so and you smiled up at him, meeting his deep blue eyes as you leaned up on your toes. “I’d love to be by your side, Bucky.” You whispered to him before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, the gentle, slow movement of your lips against his sealing the response and he hummed against you, holding your waist tightly as he kissed you back with the same gentle intensity. Parting, the Witcher glanced down at you, the corners of his lips curving up into a soft smile, knowing he’d do everything he could to make you happy, finally admitting to himself that he loved you and you loved him, even when he had deemed himself unlovable. But to you, he was very much lovable and he was yours as much as you were his.

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#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #witcher!bucky #witcher!bucky x reader #the witcher #Witcher AU #the witcher universe #witcher fic #Bucky Barnes #bucky #bucky fanfic #marvel au #jaskier

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altcvnningham · 3 years

Note

1, 3, 5, 15, 18 and 20 😳😳😳😳

thank you for the ask!!! (also superior url omg 👁👄👁🤲🏻)

also my answers here are suuuuper long, because i’m a rambling idiot who’s way too involved in my OC’s. so uhhhh sorry in advance,,,,,

1. what radio station(s) do you listen to?

Vana’s a Samurai stan. She wishes she wasn’t. But, y’know, Morro Rock it is. Once upon a time when she was an even angrier teen, though, she’d listen to shit just like Ritual FM.

(My music taste is all over the place, and though blues is technically my fav bc i love old music, i never listen to it in 2077. So I switch between Body Heat, the Dirge, Vexelstrom for like 2 songs, and ofc, Morro Rock. But of all stations, there’s at least one song that i HATE so I can never stick to one for a whole ride sknsksjsjs)

i think i got the names right?? Idk yall i dont have it in front of me ndndndndhjs

3. how did you feel about Johnny that first night in the apartment, and how does it differ from what you feel now after everything?

so i’m gonna cut a read-more here because i decided to just lore dump Vana x Johnny here so uhhhhhh rip also //SPOILERS//

Vana is an extremely, seriously private, guarded person. Before Johnny, Panam, Kerry- Jackie was the only person she’d ever truly let near her, to get to know her. So obviously waking up to someone else living inside her fucking head was one of the worst things that’s ever happened to her. Her past is also something she’s not particularly proud of, so Johnny getting to witness all that is traumatising. Getting Johnny out of her head was priority number one, even if digging the chip out would kill her.

But after getting fucked over by the VBs, and both of them thinking she was gonna die, Johnny takes her to that abandoned hotel in Pacifica- it’s the first time he’s given her even a sliver of kindness, and the first time she’s ever openly expressed her fears to him, even if he could already sense them before. Oaths and promises are something she holds to incredibly high importance, so obviously when Johnny gives her his dog-tags, ‘proof of my promise’, she never, ever lets them go, never takes them off. (she still doesn’t. they keep her grounded. holding them to calm herself has become a reflex, for whatever reason.)

Everything just seemed to slowly change after that. For two people who hate vulnerability, it’s the only thing that helped them actually see each other. As the Relic continues to take over, they both understand each other more, feel each other more- and eventually it becomes hard to discern where Vana ends and Johnny begins. In cliché Johnny x V fashion like yeah duh it goes further,,,, cockwhore!Vana,,,,,, but with that they also start to become extremely possessive and jealous over one another- Johnny immediately on the defensive about whoever comes close to her, Vana selfishly hiding and keeping Johnny’s existence to herself, even if it slows the hunt for a remedy to the chip- to the point of seriously toxic co-dependency. It’s full of volatile ups-and-downs, fights and make-ups, and Vana almost comes to like the fact that she never has to explain nor hide what thoughts and feelings pass through her mind, no matter how dark or vulnerable. She prefers most things to remain unsaid, but values the fact that they both have a clear, transparent understanding of each other regardless.

But there's also... softer moments. When Johnny puts aside his ego for once, he learns to like the quiet that Vana does, brief as it can be sometimes. He'll sort of just... stay around the room, even if just to procrastinate retreating back into her head, because they realise they like each other's silent, wordless company. He'll wake her up from nightmares, hold her neck and kiss her back to sleep, or until the sun comes up, if she can't. It's all tender things they often pretend doesn't even happen, out of pride, I think, but they both know deep down that those are really the best parts.

Comes to a place where she suddenly hits a wall, and realises, I don’t want him to leave.

She’s never the same again after Mikoshi.

(But uhh anyway fuck V I’m horny on main for Keanu so i was here for the whole riiiiiide yeeeeeee)

5. how do your loved ones (LI, found family, etc) feel about you being a merc? or if you’ve given up the life now that everything’s finished, what was their reaction?

Vana grew up in a rich corp family, and after all the shit she’s endured just to appease her father, don’t think anyone could hate corps more than she does (some details of her past here!!) So when Arasaka kicks her out and Jackie finally convinces her to start merc work, it’s amazing how quickly she slips into the role, almost like she was made for it- an anonymous face within the city, free to roam and drift as she wants, relying on herself and herself only.

Vana works quickly and quietly enough (though not at all with clean hands), relying on stealth and netrunning, so she doesn’t cause too much of a noise that’d have her loved ones (rare as they are) all too concerned. Judy isn’t scared Vana’d be caught in gunfire, because when Vana works, her targets rarely know she’s even there. She’s smart, cunning. Panam appreciates that these skills have helped her out, so she can’t complain. River- who is unfortunately more fond of Vana than she is of him, given that she’s not too comfortable at accepting affection- isn’t too happy about the life she leads, but hey, it’s her skills as a merc and as one of NC’s most adept netrunners that he even stood a chance of finding Randy as quick as he did, so he feels indebted to her for that. Kerry thinks it’s fuckin awesome that she gets to do as she wants and provides for herself, bestieeees

Given she isn’t all that close with many people- keeping her distance and all- the only people who seriously worry about her are folks like Vik, Misty, and Mama Welles, especially the latter two, who knew how much Jackie meant to her, and how easily she cracks under the weight of grief. The only thing, really, that concerns everybody around her, is how insatiable her bloodlust becomes, and how much she'd throw away just to try and quell it.

Johnny’s just in it for the ride. Rather she work for herself than a filthy corp, anyway.

After Mikoshi, losing Johnny, making it to the major leagues, she fuckin... just doesn't care anymore. She hates the big glass house that was practically forced onto her (reminds her too much of her stifling corp childhood), she hates that she has 20 cars that clog up her garage and not just her trusty red Yaiba Kusanagi, hates that folks keep giving her all this shiny golden shit that she doesn't want, like any of it's worth a damn. Since then she's hardly in one place- never at home if she can help it, and either wanders aimlessly around the streets and crashes over at Kerry's to sleep through grief. It isn't the merc life she wants to leave, but major leagues turned out to be a glittering pile of dogshit she wants no part in. She only really stays there because Jackie would've wanted it.

(i’m a lazy bitch like i don’t wanna be a merc. i wanna be one of those cute npc’s with the glowy earrings and bunny backpacks and skimpy plastic skirts, who picks up noodles on the way home to go watch watson whore. in my ideal life i am NOT the main character snnsmsnsks)

15. which NPC is your bff?

Kerry. Kerry is Vana’s ride or die. No fucking questions asked. Kerry’s the only person (besides Johnny, i guess) as close to her as Jackie was. He’s really the only person that ever gets her to smile, like really, stupidly, goofily smile, and despite being almost complete opposites, they just understand each other so well. Whenever they need something, they're the first person they'll call. Happens so often that just as Vana sifts through her contacts to find his, Kerry's already calling for her first. They're practically joint at the hip.

They both live loud, fast lives, but also know how to make time for silence and introspection, something they both need to stay grounded. Vana doesn't buy into his zen-wellness-yoga crap, but sure, she tries copying a couple moves while he's doing it on a lazy afternoon, before scoffing how this is fuckin' dumb and retreats back to the couch. Also, as much as she hates being reminded of the wealth that came with her corpo upbringing, she loves using up all his expensive products, and tends to klep a bottle of his shampoo when she runs out. Cute how she thinks he doesn't notice.

After what happened in Mikoshi, she practically lives at Kerry's place, just dozing away miserably as he lounges by the pool, or curl up on the couch to mindlessly watch his old Samurai tapes (he doesn't like it much, but if it helps her through whatever shit she's going through, he's not gonna take that away from her). On better days, when she actually pulls herself out of bed, he teaches her to play guitar, slipping in a couple tricks Johnny taught him. Funnily enough, the whole thing helps him find some closure too.

( me,, I need a girl like Panam in my life to endorse all of my stupid ideas )

18. what’s your dream cyberware (either something that was shown in lore that wasn’t available in game or mental creation of your own)?

I don’t have access to the tabletop lore stuff rn so i’m gonna pull this out my ass jsjsns

Anything that helps Vana become more deadly at stealth and netrunning. The most eddies she’s ever blown are on increasingly powerful cyberdecks, cooling systems, netrunning gear she can comfortably slip on under a jacket and boots- she likes convenience and functionality, but she needs it to be comfortable, too. She’d fucking kill for anything that lets her scale silently up walls and across ceilings, though- like a spider- and anything that lets her get her hands reeeeal bloody, but quietly. Guess that’s just called a knife, though.

(Me?? Fuck uhhh man i just want synth-skin that looks normal but also shimmers all pink n cute. Literally wanna be an edward cullen sparkly lookin mf. Also, i’m sorry but scanning shit w Kiroshi’s are so dope that’s literally all i want?? Idk i’m boring and mantis blades freak me out uhh)

20. is there anyone you’re crushing on that’s unavailable? (yes this is the “what romance option(s) are you foaming at the mouth for” question)

Answered here :)

(And i’ll say it again, PLACIIIIIIIDE,)

#ask #vana #vana lore #i am #SO SORRY #that this is so long #u ask me ab my OCs it's bound to happen #thank u v much for the ask!!#i had a ton of fun!#:D

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eiirisworkshop · 4 years

Text

InuYasha Fic (working title “Sesshomaru The Babydaddy)

For Good Intentions WIP Fest, details of which can be found @goodintentionswipfest

Years ago I had an idea for a fic about Sesshomaru having a half-demon kid; like I think I might have been in middle school when I first started this. I’ve poked at it a few times over the years, but now that the InuYasha sequel is out and brushing close to my idea in some key ways I doubt I’m ever gonna find the motivation to finish it, just feels redundant since it’s been so thoroughly jossed. And I also don’t want to watch the sequel, because it’s too close and I know I’ll like my idea better, because it’s my idea.

***

He ran his fingers through her long, raven hair and she ran hers through his white. No one in the world could see them—no one needed to. Only the sliver of moon bore witness as it shown through cloud and canopy, bleaching the earth in pools of silver. She was soft, fragile, unafraid. She very nearly frightened him, and she knew it. He liked it.

In the dark it was easy to forget—or, at the very least, ignore—that they were from opposing worlds. In any case, they didn't have to forget for long.

She woke to the warmth of morning sun filtering through the boughs of the wild cherry tree beneath with she lay on a white kimono that was not hers. She knew without opening her eyes that she was alone.

Inuyasha yawned and stretched as he walked.

[The gang talks, Kagome is on break from school. They get to a little, remote villiage.]

Sango glanced around, eyes narrowed. “You know how people tend to stare at InuYasha like they're worried he's gonna eat them?”

“Yeah...?” Shippo said.

“The people here are hardly noticing him.”

[IY says something about prefering this situation to being attacked/chased]

“Sure, but it's strange.” Sango frowned. “It makes me nervous.”

[Miroku drags IY over to question an old lady at a well.]

Miroku: “Hello, ma'am. My friend here is a half-demon, did you know that?”

The woman set her now-full bucket on the ground. “Mhm, figured so, him looking like that.”

“Hm.” Miroku released his grip on the squirming honyou. “And that's not....interesting or alarming or anything?”

The old woman shrugged. “Sort of used to it.”

InuYasha stopped himself a hair's bredth from throttling the monk. “What d'you mean you're used to it?”

“Inn keeper's daughter's the same way. Pretty little thing, real sweet long as you don't make her mad.” The woman laughed, grabbed her bucket and started down the street. “Folks 'round here can't agree if that girl's fire comes from her mama or whatever dark thing begot her!”

[The gang decides to go to the inn]

InuYasha kicked the inn door open with a bang. The only person in the dimly lit room didn't even jump. She just looked up with a smile from wiping down a table and bowed politely. “Good afternoon, welcome. Do you need a table, a room, or both?”

The girl was slim, young—no older than thirteen—but tall for her age, with a thick white braid hanging down to the small of her back. She was dressed in pale blue umanori over an orange kimono with tied up sleeves, a bright spot of color in the mostly drab room. Small, canine ears poked out from the bandana tied around her head, and she looked through her too long bangs with large tawny eyes.

InuYasha stalked up to her, invading her personal space, and started sniffing. She leaned away from him, eyeing him like he was crazy. “Uh, I'll get my mother.”

She darted to the stairs and out of sight.

“You didn't have to scare her like that,” Kagome chided.

“It smells like my brother.” InuYasha crossed his arms and made a face of disgust.

[The girl (Hoshi)'s mother comes down, introduces herself as Akiko, mention's Hoshi's name too]

“Why the hell does your kid smell like my brother?”

“No idea.” Akiko crossed her arms. “Why does your brother smell like a twelve year old girl?” She shifted her focus to the rest of the group. “You here for supper or for the night? Or are you just here for your friend to make trouble?”

[So much stuff and things happen. Not sure how long passes. The gang leaves town. They're not far out of town when they happen to run into Sesshomaru]

“You!” InuYasha stabbed a finger at his brother. “You hypocritical son of a bitch!”

Sesshomaru leveled a look of disdain at his father's younger son. “What are you talking about?”

“You've got a half-human kid!”

[Sesshi has a “pics or it didn't happen” reaction so they all head back into town.]

Akiko looked up from were she was keeping book at one of the dining tables. “I thought you were heading out of town.” She spotted Sesshomaru. “Oh.” She stood gracefully. “You.”

Sango tilted her head toward the demon. “Told you.”

“It means nothing that this woman recognizes me,” he said coolly.

“You're full of shit.” Akiko rolled her eyes. “What the hell happened to you arm?” After too long a beat with no answer forthcoming, she shrugged. “Well, I guess you only need one....”

InuYasha cringed, catching the [sexual] side of her meaning. “Do you have to say things like that?”

“Can you get over it that I slept with your brother?” she shot back quickly then crossed her arms and turned to the full demon. “

[Stuff and things. Hoshi comes in.]

“I'm done with inventory—” Hoshi stopped talking abruptly and went very still. One of her ears twitched.

Beside Kagome, Sesshomaru stiffened, eyes widening. For a long moment, no one breathed. Then, in a single flash of motion almost too fast to follow, Hoshi had crossed the room, stepped up onto a chair to augment her height, smacked her sire across the face, and fled upstairs. Instantly, Sesshomaru bristled and snarled; a drop of blood oozed from one of the three long welts on his cheek where Hoshi's nails had caught him.

“Hey!” Akiko shouted and banged a hand on the table. “Calm down. You break anything in this building, so much as gouge a table, and I'll take your other arm off. You put a single scratch on my daughter and I will end your life. You hear me?”

He clenched his fist but otherwise feigned composure. “I hear you.”

“Good.” Akiko headed for the stairs.

[much stuff and things, IDK]

[Sesshi gets drunk at some point]

“Can we talk?” Akiko asked softly.

“Cruel, giving me the illusion of choice.”

“Oh, you have a choice.” She crossed her arms. “You can say no and walk away. I wouldn't suggest it, though.”

He inclined his head slightly.

She nodded. “Walk with me?”

“Very well.” He offered her his arm. She took it and they set out along the path.

[Akiko explains that Hoshi does have valid reasons to resent Sesshomaru for]

“I don't blame you for not being here, even if I sometimes wish you had been. I never expected you to stay. I knew when I lay with you that you wouldn't.”

“Then why did you?”

She smiled. “It was exciting.”

They stopped on the path in the shadow of a large conifer. He disengaged their arms and touched her face. She met his gaze unwaveringly.

“Why aren't you frightened of me?”

She shrugged. “My mother used to say that you don't avoid the river just because you can drown.” She smoothed one of her sleeves. “One need not fear something just because it's dangerous so long as you respect its power.”

“Mm.” He studied her a moment before leaning to kiss her.

She pulled away. “Don't do that unless you mean it.” He started to respond but she cut him off. “I mean, unless you care.”

He took a small step back.

“Things are different than they were. I'm different. I'm a mother, a business owner. I have obligations and responsibilities. Before, I was girl with next to no prospects and no expectations. All I wanted from you was whatever you were willing to readily give.

“For now, you're just passing through. But if you kiss me, or anything else, you make yourself a part of things here. You do that, and you'll be making a promise you had better not make unless you've every intention of keeping it.”

The corner of Sesshomaru's mouth twitched. “I want you.”

“Too bad.”

He grabbed her shoulder roughly. She smacked him across the face and took several steps back, away from him.

“Don't you dare!” Akiko shouted. She lowered her voice to a snarl. “Do not manhandle me. You've no right. You get to touch me only if I let you and only how I say.” She straightened her clothes, drew herself up regally, and started back toward the inn.

InuYasha hopped up over a bolder, and there was Sesshomaru, sitting on the ground, eyes closed, back against a cherry tree. A soft breeze blew through the clearing, stirring both their hair. Without opening his eyes, the elder brother said, “What are you doing here?”

“Heh.” InuYasha crossed his arms. “I was sent to go make sure you're not killing anything important.”

“I'm not killing anything at all.”

“Good. So, tell me to fuck off and I'll go back and say you told me to fuck off and I'll leave you alone and you can leave or whatever.”

Sesshomaru opened his eyes and looked up at the sky. “Humans are soft.”

“Uh.” InuYasha blinked at the non sequitur. “Yeah, they're squishy and fragile and weak—all the shit you give me hell for being when I'm not. So what?”

“I didn't mean to frighten her.”

“So tell her that.” He snorted. “I don't care.”

“I could kill you.”

“Sure you could.” Akiko put away the freshly scoured cups. “So could your brother or any of his friends or my brother. The ability to kill is not unique, Sesshomaru.”

“I would enjoy killing you.”

She rolled her eyes and reached for more dishes. “Are you trying to make some kind of point?”

“I could kill you. I know I would enjoy doing so. But I don't want to.”

“Mhm?”

“I would prefer you remain alive.”

She snorted, halfway to a laugh. “If you're trying to be affectionate, I appreciate the attempt, but you're really bad at it.”

“I've little practice.” He stood, crossed the room, took a bowl from her hands, set it down, and touched her face. He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

“Watch the claws.”

“I know.” He tilted her chin up gently.

“You've done much for me,” he said softly. “Borne and raised my child, when you need not have kept her....”

“If I'd given her up, who would have taken her? Most childless bakers aren't looking for hanyou babes.”

“That's not what I mean by 'kept.'”

“What do you mean then?”

He fingered the ruff at his shoulder and glanced at her sideways. “I know women have methods for...handling situations.”

Akiko looked to the floor. “Yes.... But they're unreliable and dangerous and, I decided, not worth it.”

#fanfic #inuyasha #sesshomaru #good intentions wip fest

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theangrypokemaniac · 4 years

Text

Contests Part 2/2

6. Loser Jessie

Screechy harpie Jessay has even more of a raw deal than Mavis and Dawn of the Dead.

From the outset I knew she'd never be champion, but she ought to rise above the tiresome berks clogging up procedure.

Sufficient popularity at Pokémon Towers ensured the girls were allotted coverage of all their award ceremonies. They had a moment in the sun.

What has Jessie in comparison?

I can't recall Hoenn, but I don't expect it was much.

Sinnoh however carried naught but a single paltry episode.

This for a main character.

This for someone there from the beginning.

This for an ardent fan favourite.

This for a wench who, should we include all her various mutations, has featured in more installments than either of 'em.

But no, treat Jesseee as worthless, even lower than Dawn's groupies. It's not like anyone watches it for her.

Looking back, it's obvious what they were intending to do come Unova.

What's the score then?

• One paltry Contest on screen.

• A couple happen elsewhere, marked by a few seconds per mention when the script oh-so generously moves away from the thrilling main plot.

It's gotta be the small-town concerns for Jessuhleenuh, nothing major. She deserves no better.

• One won by James, so not hers. Press her inadequacy upon us!

• One obtained as a gesture of pity from Kate Middleton.

And how did that work? What's the good of allowing 'Dawn' entry again?

She'd already qualified. If winning here, that gives her six, therefore there aren't enough Co-ordinators for the culmination.

And when Jessie showed up with a Ribbon recorded as belonging to Dawn, how was she taken as fulfilling the quota?

The slapdash way these Contests are run!

God forbid Jess should be shown as excelling at anything. It must be scraping into the final undeservedly.

Bitch gotta know her place.

7. Bumpkin Jessie

...

Ain't no description I can give that don't rhyme with 'hit', or variations of the theme.

You thought the shafting Jessica got coverage wise was bad enough? Yer ain't heard the 'alf of it.

Sinnoh was a period of peak Moron Team Rocket, where the one surprise was how stupid they could be.

You may remember an early episode when James designed her clothes for the catwalk. She thought it'd complement his work by applying lipstick all across her mug.

Obviously Jessie would do that, clueless as to how make-up functions.

Come on kids, she's thick!

Even at that numskull nadir it's difficult to comprehend anyone choosing this get up without severe duress.

Picture the scene: you debut on stage, before an audience of thousands and television cameras, in an event preoccupied with superficiality.

What do you wear?

• Giant, oversized glasses out of fashion since the Seventies.

• Bootlace tie last worn in the nineteenth century Wild West by a barman serving sarsaparillas.

• Colour scheme of brown and orange, the nation's favourite hues.

• A man's old shirt fraying at the cuffs.

• Voluminous apron dress.

• Massive yellow bows last seen decorating an Easter Egg. Always a winner.

• Heavy, clod-hopping boots.

• PIGTAILS!!!

Even the name is unattractive.

Ah yes, very common for those under six. Unheard of later.

You have reached puberty haven't yer Jessie? I can't tell anymore.

They couldn't get enough of that combination in Cosmo, which is why it's no longer in print.

Not only is Jessie denied success, she's deprived of the chance to be pretty in a realm where nothing but that carries weight.

Worse, given how her face disintegrated, this is the best she's been for five generations.

Yeah, because the inbred milkmaid style is such a good look, eh?

SEXAY!!!

8. So Long, Tsundere

Remember tsunderes? What happened to 'em?

The curse of Pokémon was draining the well of inspiration too quickly, throwing away interesting characters as mere guests.

This is particularly noticeable regarding the ladies. Back then, we got Misty, Jessie, Jessibelle, Cassidy, Aya, Giselle, Tyra, Sabrina, assorted crones Brutella, Nastina and Lacy, plus Joy, Jenny and Dame Ketchum provided parental authority.

How did a series that began with ball-breaking birds like that end up with insipid, glassy-eyed dullards like Zuhreena, Banana Lana, Marsh Mallow and Lilliput?

Ooh, Zuhreena is a pwincess!

Ooh, Banana Lana bwows big bwubbles!

Ooh, Marsh Mallow wuvs phallic waddishes!

Ooh, Lilliput won't pwet wanimals bwecause of Secwet Pain!

Can you imagine such weak specimens finding any place in the anarchic atmosphere of the classics?

It's SO boring!

Where's the punch? Where's the human spirit?

Where's the entertainment gone?

This squishy attitude began in Hoenn. Misty left, Jessie's hair symbolically changed from volcanic red to pink, and Contests introduced a cuddly theme where glitter glue and sequins are top priority.

Every sharp corner, every jagged point has been filed smooth. Now its substance hasn't the hardness to even develop edges, not when it's all cushions and candyfloss, where catching Pokémon rests on them deigning to grant permission, rather than 'avin it out.

Tsunderes, exuding untamed charisma and independence, besides a soupçon of danger, simply don't fit the cardboard box we habit now.

Nor do yanderes, kuuderes, tsuntsuns, or even derederes. It's just nothing but smiley-smiley creeps.

I wouldn't mind any of these tropes as long as there was some sign of colour to be had.

9. The Sacrifice of Misty

Misty bid farewell under the feeble justification that the lack of a longterm goal made her vulnerable to sacking.

Such a line uttered as if her own choice, being beyond them as writers to invent a purpose.

This implied her replacement would have an exciting quest aiming for excellence, something just beyond Misty's capabilities.

What did we get?

Dressing up and collecting Ribbons!

Is that...is that it? Is that the great idea? Is that all the girls are worth?

I lost Misty for THIS?!

Perhaps it makes no difference. By Hoenn they'd rendered her a leaden blandness sucked dry of all that made her special.

Going by the greasy-toothed bastardisation that swanned up in Alola, Misty was simply too wild for the safe, stifling atmosphere of today.

Her departure ensued she remains frozen as a funny, beloved presence, unlike those she left behind.

Now there was a lucky escape, as once the fanny-flapping starts, the bints have it on the brain.

May had Max to beat on the side, but Dawn developed monomania.

Hardly an episode went by without some reference to Contests, or how today's plot spurred her on to the next opportunity.

Yer need help, love!

Rather than Ash's new friend being a fascinating person who so happened to enter vanity projects, the competition defined them to the exclusion of life.

It is but moths drawn to the candle flame waiting to engulf them.

Contests are this world's version of Tom Riddle's diary: they promise sympathy and validation, but they eat your soul.

Like Tumblr.

10. Completely Unoriginal

Seems to me it wasn't so much Misty had no goal, it was more that Contests were the supposedly hot concept wedged into an existing property.

If earlier aspects failed to accommodate the invader, the onus certainly wasn't on the new kid to change. Oh no, stuff it in and chop off whatever gets in the way.

In the eyes of the post-Shudo regime, Misty was too volatile to last, and so had to go.

What idiots.

She's a tsundere. The softer, more feminine side is a defining component.

Would it really have been so problematic to retain her as an entrant? If Jessie can, why not?

Even if failing to fit, so what? Since when was established characterisation a barrier?

Isn't twisting likeable folk into unrecognisable pods the modus operandi of the writers?

That canon is immaterial, and must always give in to whatever fancy they currently have?

Well then, what's the big deal in infantilising Misty to promote it rather than pensioning her off?

Viewers will be more invested in the challenges awaiting a familiar face rather than a stranger.

What reduces the above to the risible is the original Misty and Jessie both participated in the Princess Festival.

All Contests are is that very scenario on repeat and robbed of all meaning.

Think about it:

• Beauty round

• Battle round

• Jessie loses

Same bloody thing.

Not only have I got to suffer this draining spectacle, it's got the nerve to possess not one iota of fresh ideas!

Contests are a low rent rip-off. The Princess Festival had a worthy reward in the shape of one-of-a-kind Dolls.

It'd already been revealed that ordinary Princess Dolls were ruinously expensive, therefore the special Pokémon edition have to be priceless.

What d'yer get for the trouble of a Contest but a bit of plastic tat taped to bargain basement frippery?

And they demand you get five of 'em!

Contests themselves were then resurrected as Showcases, although mercifully slimmed down to only three, with the emptiness ramped up in compensation.

Perhaps ironically, Princess Versus Princess is one of my favourite episodes. I love its critique of female avarice and accurate portrayal of clothing sales as reminiscent of the zombie apocalypse.

I don't mind the Festival as a single adventure, but I may have felt less favourable had it been a constant presence.

Except it isn't the competition at stake. This is a framework to explore Jessie and Misty as people.

Through its device we learn their history and therefore how they came to develop as the girls we know.

The setting serves as an opportunity for both to confront the misery and isolation of their childhoods, with the promise of overcoming that old torment with the balm of victory.

In the final, they aren't so much battling an opponent as fighting to be free of the past.

The tragedy is only one can be granted that reprieve. The other must remain unhappy in the ruins of memory.

It matters, unlike vapid Contests, where posturing is king. What depth can they provide in comparison?

Despite identical content, they are inverse counterparts, with the Festival presented as merely a light affair concealing a rather dark tale of neglect.

Contests however are paraded as this worthy nourishment for body and mind, a major point in one's journey towards enlightenment, when all they really amount to is an organ grinder and his monkey arsing about for the slack-gobbed plebs.

Bread and circuses.

Best of all, Misty won, not some side twat, as it should be.

Note how Jessie dressed: in delicate, vivid robes and golden decoration. The boys thought her beautiful.

Not as a gormless dweeb you'd cross the street to avoid!

And why the need to disguise herself anyway?

The Twerps had no issue with Jessie of Team Rocket joining the fun back then, so what happened?

At least she received the consolation of gaining Lickitung as a friend, with James and Meowth desperate to comfort her.

What do Contests bring? Sod all!

#pokémon #team rocket #contests #misty #jessie #kanto #princess versus princess

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rcris123 · 5 years

Text

“Sebastian...” Myra exhales, and it feels like the world’s above to topple over his head.

It’s been so long since he saw her...

“You look well.” Her hair grew longer; it was combed in a braid and looped around at the back of the head. He had so many questions: “Is he...”

“Ruben!” she calls out and steps just a little back, then she looks at him ice cold: “Could ask the same of you, Sebastian.”

Isaac soon made his entrance, drawing near his father’s side and Myra shot the boy an even harsher glance:

“Ruben!” she calls out again. Footsteps: “Sebastian, I don’t want you here.”

But he gotta try; it’s been so long: “Lily... How’s Lily?” he misses her. He misses her so terribly much.

And it comes flooding back, but he doesn’t have time to reminisce-

“She’s gone-”

Sky fell with the roll of thunder above: “What do you mean gone? Myra-” Ruben returned with a wad of cash in his hands. “Myra, where’s our daughter!?-” Arthur drew nearer, hands outstretched.

“Our daughter is of no concern to you.”

And now he’s held back: “She’s my daughter! You son o’a bitch- WHERE IS SHE!?!”

Myra retreated back into the house while her new husband pulled out his pistol. Arthur held him firm, pulling him back. Sebastian huffs in the restrain, rain down-pouring from stray lock of hair.

“You look like a sensible man, bounty hunter.” Ruben talks, monotone, calm. The bullet runs in the socket when the gun’s cocked.

“I do try my best...” Arthur speaks.

Sebastian breaks free from the man’s hold and scoots off in the other direction, getting right back on Ashley. Isaac follows and Arthur’s last. But there ain’t no road ahead in his fury, in his grief. He lets the horse do as he pleases and he bolts. Judgment’s as clouded as his vision-

“Watch it!” Ashley neighs; he pulls the reins and that person still stumbles to the ground.

“Excuse me, mister.”

Sebastian gets down from saddle, stretches a hand to help but the feller swats it off. Last straw. He can’t handle it. He picks out a cigarette, lights it, plops it in his mouth and drags long and hard until he feels like coughing from all the smoke in his lungs. It’s still pouring and all he can do, all he has left to do is to miserably slide down the side of a building puffing tobacco. His hands tremble, his lips too.

“Sebastian-” Arthur rushes to him, leaving his mare damn near the middle of the goddamn road. Isaac’s just behind him.

And it’s the boy that lunges into his arms, fully aware of it all. Cigarette’s dropped on impact and his arms wrap fully around Isaac, squeezing him tight to his chest. And he lets loose. Head bends into the boy’s clothes and the sobs are violent. Arthur’s hand is on his back, rubbing gently.

“She’s gone-” he heaves... “She’s gone-” He’s trembling whole. “I thought-” The cigarette was still smoking on the ground, half wet; he picks it up and tries to draw in another inhale. “I thought at least she was alive-” Smoke rolls out into the rain just as frantic as he was.

Arthur sat down at last, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and Sebastian leans in. Isaac’s still clinging to him:

“You got us.”

“We got you.” Arthur reiterates, as if they were some family, but that’s no consolation right now. Not when his daughter was...

He can hardly stifle the sobs, bends his head backwards to breathe through his mouth.

“That day...” Sebastian starts, gaze lost somewhere, barely registering the way raindrops fell from the shingles. “That day that they found out I was... who I was, and threw me out into the streets.” Another draw from the half wet cigarette; it’s barely smoking at this point, hard to breathe the tobacco in. “Lily ran after me as they dragged me off. She didn’t run away. She would have clawed her way to me... They slapped her, dragged her to her mother. And I watched...” He runs a hand through his soaking wet hair. “They beat me.” Isaac squeezed Sebastian tighter then. “They beat me a step away from death. And I didn’t know what they did to her... But I wasn’t-” A sharp inhale as he holds back another bout of tears. “I couldn’t save her... My little girl...”

Arthur nestles him against himself; his forehead to Sebastian’s temple. And for a while they laid there silently.

Until a man stopped to look at them: brown robes, a shaved head.

Brother Dorkins approaches them carefully before bending down:

“My friends, do you need any help?”

He pulls away from the embrace, it’s stinging in his chest. No more. Does he have to beg for it? Isaac’s looking back, still clinging to his clothes.

“We’re fine, Brother.” Arthur says.

“Out in the rain like this? Let me at least offer you shelter.”

And Arthur looks at him.

“A warm meal.” Brother Dorkins continues.

“Thank you...” Arthur says but doesn’t move a muscle. He seemed so unconcerned with the predicament they were in. He ain’t pulling away, ain’t trying to deny. Sebastian’s clenching inside; today’s looking a lot like the day he lost everything, and not even his cigarette’s smoking. It hurts. It’s been 5 years and that’s all he’s ended up becoming, and still the judgment hurts. And when one thought ain’t selfish he realizes that Isaac being here like he was damns him too.

He shuffles the boy slowly away when getting up:

“Can we trust you, Brother?” A step forward. “Can we trust you ain’t gonna turn us in to the police or some freak house.” He’s more sad than angry.

And Brother Dorkin’s looking kind down at them: “How can I? You are a good man; you saved those people from slavery and offered them assurance. I heard they made it safely back to Mexico.”

Sebastian almost forgot about them; he nods, letting wet hair fall in his face. Arthur was up just behind him.

“Please come.” Brother extended a hand out; there still ain’t enough trust between them.

“We said we was fine.” Arthur intervenes.

The man’s arm hangs down: “You seemed like you needed help and I would be glad to return some.”

The man knew damn well what was going on and was proposing them refuge and still he can’t quite believe that. Who would be honest; who would be good to someone that ain’t. Neither him, nor Arthur are decent folk, least of all by the laws of that Holy Bible of theirs. It’s cruel. Sebastian huffs; right now he keeps fucking forgetting Isaac is there, like the ain’t tethered to that boy...

He liked, no, loved the kid. Boy gave him a second chance at parenthood, and in his selfishness he forgot about him... ‘cause his queer misery had to come first.

“I’m afraid I’m pretty fucking lost-”

He knows Arthur’s looking at him concerned.

But they ended up going to that church – Sebastian first, Arthur and Isaac in tow. He knew it; it was modeled after one in France he heard. But never went inside, always bowed his head and walked past. Now, however, under its roof, it felt oddly quiet and calming, as if air stood still. There’s incense; it smelled pleasant. Isaac stuck to his father like glue and he’s thinking none o’em ever been in a church before. There’s only a few other people there, sitting in silence.

There was a nun lighting candles in what he believes to be the altar, right underneath the Icons. She turns to look at them once the doors click closed.

“Can you help me with some blankets, Sister?” the monk said.

The woman looked them up and down, then rushed behind the altar, soon to offer them some. Arthur wrapped it around Isaac first and the boy soon rested on a bench in the first row, his gaze darting all over, silently admiring the architecture and paintings. Then when Arthur sat down, boy scuttled over, laying his head on his father’s shoulders.

Sebastian stood.

“Take a seat, mister. Please.” Sister said.

But he was still feeling like this wasn’t a place for him – and still he got to know Arthur inside a crumbled church.

“I’m a sinner, Sister.” He said as he finally sat down.

And she laughed, bent in a little and whispered: “But we all are.” And then she gave a cheeky smile.

He just shook his head and Arthur lays a hand on his back, a faint rub between shoulder-blades. Man ain’t looking entirely convinced they should be here in the first place, his eyebrows drawn together in what felt like the first time he’s ever seen him this focused. Sebastian puffs out air and closes his eyes. It’s hard... ‘cause he’d lean in if his body won’t grow cold with a shiver at the thought of loving another man in front of God. And still, somehow, it felt like Arthur had more courage than him.

There’s a faint choir in the background now; people rehearsing their lines upstairs. And Sister returns with three bowls for soup and bread.

“You’re looking pretty worn down, good sirs.”

None of them touch the soup yet, but now that it was given to them Arthur urges the boy to dig in, while picking up the conversation:

“We’re just lookin’ for a bit o’ shelter till the rain passes over.”

“Yes, it’s quite the storm we caught ourselves into.” The nun says. “Soaked the boy to the bone i see.”

Arthur stiffened and Isaac picked up his head:

“I’m a’right.” Said the boy.

“And you’re always welcome here.” Sister said.

Sebastian turned his head and pursed his lips; Arthur bowed his head as well.

“Oh, don’t worry.” She continued. “I’ve known this neighborhood for a long while. I know what that necklace means.” Arthur covers it with a flash of a snarl. “This is a place of love.”

Was it? With all the people- Sebastian grunts.

“Ain’t God who said sodomy is sin?” Arthur asks after a while.

“Well he did. ...Maybe. But I believe love is not sodomy.”

Arthur bobs his head, bares his teeth, this time it more resembles a smile: “I’ll think about that...”

“Would you mind if I leave you to it then?”

“Not at all, Sister...”

“Name’s Sister Calderon.” She smiles again and returns to her chores-

Gunshots. Police whistles.

Arthur shoots right up, Isaac looked at him mortified. Sebastian’s slow to catch on but when the man walks briskly towards the door onto to sprint the next moment he’s out, he understands. He dashes afterwards.

It’s chaos. Lawmen everywhere. And it’s madness that spurs the into action; ‘cause Arthur wasted no time galloping after the trolley they were shooting at; sure enough, Dutch was inside:

“Arthur! Isaac!? What are you doing here!?”

“Trying to save ye’r ass, ain’t that clear?!” He was angry; and anger made him deadly.

Lawmen fall under their rain of bullets. Arthur asked him to flank the left side of the trolley while Isaac remained by his father’s side. And he hears Micah gagging on his own laughter from inside.

“Will you shut up!” Arthur said followed by the boom of the repeater. “Bet this was your goddamn doing.”

“Lay it off, Morgan-”

“QUIET!” Dutch shouts. “We got other things to worry about just now!”

“Well maybe we ain’t got lawmen to worry ‘bout if Micah ain’t been here-”

The man cackled: “You think about that cock you got stuck up your ass-”

And Sebastian would have turned right then, loaded and shot that greasy excuse of a human in the mug.

“Micah, slow us down!” Dutch commanded over the chaos, and truth be told it’s only now he noticed the trolley picked up significant speed. “Slow this thing down!”

Micah moved with the characteristic ruckle, pulling harshly on the lever. The three of them were falling behind. Ashley neighs panicked; there’s still bullets flying past them. He tries to calm the stallion with words, aiming for the next shot.

“Thing’s broke!” Micah shouts.

Even from this distance the way Arthur clenched his teeth was audible.

“Isaac, scoot!” Father calls out to his son; the boy doesn’t waver-

The sound of the crash is infernal. A whole wagon got destroyed on impact; driver flew on the ground, horses ran loose. And the three of ‘em are watching as if the whistles of the police ain’t right behind them. It takes Ashley spooking again for Sebastian to resume shooting. But Arthur rode sharp to the overturned trolley:

“Dutch!”

A rushed look back at them; Dutch crawls out of the wreckage. Another shot; Isaac’s backing him up.

“Get on the horse. All o’you.” Arthur urges. “Micah you ride with me.” And this one is more of a growl.

That kid, Lenny, hops on the back of his stallion and Dutch on Big Sir. The frenzy keeps on going; horses are spurred to a gallop.

“You ride, we shoot!” Lenny says, reloading his revolver.

“Glad we’re still friends, Morgan.” Micah cackles on the back of Ghost, unloading his pistols in the Lawmen still behind them.

“You know what they say about keeping your friends close-” Arthur bellows, before pulling out the repeater and shooting the Law that congregated before them: “Ahead!”

Sebastian takes a sharp turn: “After me!” Father and son turn to follow: “Heading for the bridge.”

Lawmen are still dying: ahead and behind them. Their horses pull in a panic. Aiming comes harder and harder the longer they race.

“SHIT!” He almost pulls on the reins; the bridge is blocked by no less than 5 mounted lawmen.

“Use this!” He heard Dutch from behind; he handed Isaac some lit dynamite. Boy throws it.

Arthur reloads his repeater- Flames combust, the air carrying over the heat to their faces. Horses bend their necks to shield themselves from it, but they pass through. The bridge cleared, the corpses laying down half burned.

“You see anymore?” Lenny asks almost quietly.

“Just keep going!” Dutch beckons.

The ride back is quiet and tense; Arthur’s huffing in anger so loudly it’s on par with that of their mounts.

He stops right before Shady Belle, dismounting.

“What the hell happened back there!?” Arthur was livid. “Dutch?”

And the man didn’t reply. Instead, Micah jumped down from Ghost; and part of Sebastian hoped that mare will hitch a hoof in the bastard’s side.

“What you think we did?” Micah heaved. “We’ve been making money, Morgan, something you seem unable to do as of late.”

“And how much you’ve got?” Arthur continues, approaching Dutch, who barely climbed down from Big Sir.

“We each got... 15 dollars. And probably a quarter.”

Micah’s face slopped.

“It was a set-up, Dutch.” Arthur’s voice mellowed out at this point, more concerned than angry. “What you thought was gonna happen when Valentini, who gave you the tip, ended up dead at the party?”

“He set us up.” Dutch nods. “Played me like a yokel, from the grave.”

Sebastian’s rather surprised the man had the decency to admit on his mistake; he felt like he had enough pride to do the opposite.

“And I ain’t even been the one to kill him.” Dutch then looks at Sebastian, gaze dark under heavy brows.

“It would have happened either way.” Sebastian says, dismounting at last. “Maybe alive he would have been more-”

“You set the law on us.” Dutch argued.

“He did no such thing.” Arthur’s tone became harsh again and he made a step between Dutch and Sebastian. “He was held captive for days, you know he was, Dutch.” They stare at each other for a moment: “Would you’ave told me the same thing had Colm come lookin’ after I escaped?”

“Arthur- Son, you doubting my care- my love for you? Arthur?”

Arthur turns away and paces off: “Yeah... And what ‘bout the others, Dutch? We was supposed to be helpin’ folk, not puttin’ ‘em in graves!”

“I say we cut ‘em loose, Dutch.” Micah intervenes.

Dutch’s eyebrows knit together.

“They’re only slowing us down. So many mouths to feed that don’t even put any penny in. There ain’t ever gonna be enough money to get ‘em all out-”

“Then you’ave broken the only promise you made these people.” Arthur stood his ground.

Dutch throws one last glance at them, the three of them: Arthur, Sebastian and Isaac, especially Isaac; says nothing more and walks away.

“Dutch?” Micah hisses at the man, then whips his head at all those left, growls: “Ye’r bootlicking ain’t always gonna work.”

“Look who’s talkin’.” Arthur responds as the man walked away, and the moment he did, Arthur let out a deep sigh and rushes to his son: “Isaac, you okay? You ain’t got hurt, did you?”

“It’s fine, Pa. I’m all good.” And still the boy tugs at his father’s hand to hold his own.

“Now that was one big mess...” Lenny, who all of them seemed to have forgotten was there, spoke.

Arthur strides to him, searching his satchel and Sebastian knew what followed.: “Kid, you gotta get yourself out.” He’s handed money. 100$ by the looks of it.

“What?...” Lenny looked confused.

Sebastian intervened: “This thing ain’t gonna last much longer, you saw what just happened.”

“With all due respect sir, you ain’t been an outlaw. It’s all I know.”

“You’ll find something else. Ye’r still young.” Arthur cuts in.

“World out there ain’t for the likes of me. Arthur, I’m a negro. It ain’t that easy.”

But something clicked in his head, maybe spurred by that Sister Calderon and that one small kindness, ‘cause in all that frenzy he ain’t got the time to think about it all: “Maybe.” Sebastian puts a hand on Lenny’s shoulder: “I know a doctor, travels with a caravan, his name is Renaud. He’s a negro so I don’t doubt he’ll give you an apprenticeship if you ask.”

Lenny falls quiet and blinks: “Where’d you know this guy?”

“He’d stop in Rhodes every so often – you see that town ain’t got no fucking doctor, so he was a lil’ blessing.”

“Weren’t you a... what were they called, up in Saint Denis?...”

Too close, but Sebastian can’t blame him: “For the past five years, yes, but before I was a Sheriff in Rhodes. Until they found out.”

Lenny nods, a smile on his face: “From Sheriff to Outlaw; who would’ave thought.” Sebastian returns the gesture with a flap of his arms. “And you think there’s a way back up there?”

“Worth the shot. I’ll go find him and talk to him, ‘kay, kid.”

“Well damn. I. Thank you, Sebastian.”

“Go get some rest, Lenny!” Arthur chimes in. “You earned it.”

“For 15 dollars? Yeah. Sure did.”

“Don’t mention it.” Arthur shakes his head and seems to remember that they’re soaked to the bone: “And maybe we should be gettin’ a change of clothes.”

A nod. With that shooting he almost forgot that he met Myra today, and once that thought returns he stands still, breath cut. But that tender hand that’s placed on his back coaxes him gently forward; Arthur ain’t letting him behind. And there’s a pang inside his chest now and steps come more determined. The rain stopped. And it’s faint, in the distance, as they get inside the house:

“I’m losing them, Hosea...” from a Dutch crumpled over himself, head resting in his palms, next to Hosea.

Arthur’s hand guides him forward still: they should allow the men the same privacy they’ve been wishing on themselves. Upstairs, man wastes no time throwing his clothes off, the boy’s next.

Arthur’s bare-chested looking for something for his son: he hands him a shirt and trousers.

“Don’t peek!” Isaac teases, turning away and into a corner, undressing.

Arthur’s still rummaging through his chest: “And now some clothes for you.”

“It’s fine-” Sebastian’s handed a stripped white shirt, then a pair of jeans and a coat.

“Here, hope they fit you.”

Heart slumps further into his chest; he should have lost it all, ‘cause that’s how it felt: painful, acidic and hollow between his ribs and into his gut. And Arthur’s there... He sits down on the edge of the bed, half undressed. Father and son both look at him as if already knowing what was up; he’s only known them for a month, a month and some weeks tops. Isaac rushes to his side, flings himself on the bed:

“Everythin’ okay, Pops?”

He can’t help the snort; that boy was smart beyond his years:

“Lily used to call me Daddy-” tears roll down involuntarily. Isaac snugs up to him and he can’t help holding the boy to his chest. He’s gonna get those fresh clothes wet again.

Arthur approaches carefully and sits down beside them. There’s a sob right there. Isaac hugs him tighter. Sebastian pats the boy’s back:

“You got us... Just like you got me, remember when-” Sebastian kisses the top of Isaac’s head as he spoke, eyes shut tight, tears spilt.

Arthur started rubbing his back and he ends up leaning into the touch. Guess, in the end, they were all just a bit desperate for some family.

“I got you...” Sebastian repeats, hoping this time he’ll actually believe it.

“Ye’r our good ol’ stubborn buck.” Arthur chimes in. He still didn’t change in new clothes, remained with his massive chest uncovered.

And he leans further in, the three of them remaining like that for a while; it’s still hollow, but not nearly as bitter. He can’t believe it, not yet, ‘cause it ain’t like he deserved any of this. There’s been other men, some women too, but he ain’t been a prostitute for love, least of all for family. ‘cause he fucked that up anyway. Myra… he felt like the luckiest man to have been able to meet a woman such as her, especially in a little town that down South, among the Grays and Braithwaites. He loved her his own way, but he did. But in the end that did not matter. Sebastian wasn’t and will never be more than that man who fucks men. Duty was ripped from him, fatherhood was ripped from him, love, home, himself.

And even now he left all his clothes back at the molly-house...

“Maybe we should be getting some sleep...” Sebastian tries, brushing away some rogue strands from Isaac’s face, sniffing in a sob of his own. “It’s been a rough day...”

“You get yourself dressed first, Seb.” Boy says. “Else you catch a cold.”

Arthur chuckles, as if he ain’t naked himself:

“Now we ain’t lettin’ that happen.” And he presses his face close to Sebastian’s, breath’s fawning down on his jaw. “Gonna keep this mister all warm.”

It’s something seeing Arthur affectionate when they’re all alone, and quite another seeing him like this now, with his son right there. ‘course the boy takes note:

“Ain’t saw Pa tender like that with anyone.”

“Ain’t been tender...” Arthur admits almost with regret – that man loves his son, keeps at nothing telling him the truth.

“Ain’t been tender either.” Sebastian answers as well.

“But you’re now.” Isaac continues. “And Pa’s happy-”

“Com’ere, kid.” Boy shifts and climbs next to his father: “Always been happy.” He ruffles Isaac’s hair. “ ‘cause you been here.”

“Ye’r even happier now. Can tell that. Seb’s too. Gotta give him some hope.” Isaac looks at them both as if he’s the concerned parent between the two of ‘em. “I’m no kid no longer, gotta be somethin’ I can do to help. For all them years Pa’s raised me. Ain’t been easy, know it ain’t-”

“Isaac-” Arthur clutches him further.

“But I wanna know you ain’t doin’ it all alone.” Boy continued fierce.

“He ain’t alone...” he dares cut in.

“And you ain’t either, Seb.”

Seems they’re all on the brink of tears, but he smiles: “You’re one real special kid.”

“Was just taught well-”

“Nah.”Arthur cuts in. “That’s all you.”

Isaac pouts: “You never win do you?”

A scoff: “That’s what fathers’re for!”

Now it’s a frown, a shove: “Shut up!” Arthur laughs, and he finds himself chuckling as well.

Then a loud growl of guts:

“Uh-oh, mister. Go get yourself somethin’ to eat.”

Isaac springs up almost offended, exists and runs downstairs.

“Ain’t you hungry too?” Arthur asks only a while later.

He shakes his head: “Gimme a smoke and a kiss and I’ll be fine-”

The fumble of fabric and a box of cigarettes' flipped open at his disposal. He takes one out; lights it.

“You ain’t got a lucky one.” He comments before a long drag.

He ain’t got time to exhale it; Arthur’s mouth is on his own, palms cupping his face. Ask and ye’ shall receive was that saying...

With one hand he pushes Arthur’s chin up, smoke escapes from lips. Still holding him by the throat Sebastian mounts onto his lap, pushing the man ever slightly towards the wall. Cig is still between the fingers of his other hand. The spark in Arthur’s eyes: unbearable. Another drag in before his nerves give out again and he loses the courage he got doing this. He dips down for another kiss, hands roam for barely a moment; they’re still half naked-

He lays down more or less climbed over the other; puffs a smoke in and out again before speaking:

“Thank you...”

Arthur steals his cig for a moment; with how hard they’ve been smoking it it’s already almost wasted.

“Ain’t would’ave been here without you.” Head leans on top of his own and it lasts a while. “We should get dressed...”

“Yeah.” Before the boy gets back.

The peeks are to be expected; dimly lit and half clothed is all they’ve got for a look of each other. And Arthur is large: wide shoulders with muscles that run deep, chest just as wide, short brown hair covering the length of him, the occasional blemish and plenty scars. By comparison Sebastian ain’t much to look at: ribs are noticeable by this point and it felt like meat hung off o’him.

“You should be eating more.” Arthur comments, fitting his shirt: a blue, stripped one that’s looking like it’s been worn since Isaac was a child.

“And smoking less...” Sebastian chaffs; Arthur’s clothes are loose on him – the shirt at least. “Gonna end up with one hell of cough if I catch the age of 50.”

“You gonna be an ol’ man, Sebastian. Just look at Uncle. He’s thrivin’!”

A hum: “Didn’t get to meet him up close.’

“But I bet you smelled him.” Arthur hangs the coat in the corner.

“Hmm, thought that rancid smell was just Micah.”

And the man laughs loudly: “Well you ain’t wrong ‘bout that.”

Okay, he’s proud of that one. It’s slowly bringing him some sense of calm. And:

“You’re looking good.”

Arthur spins around and looks at him with the softest of smiles: “You too. Keep it.”

It’s too big for him... Sebastian lets the first 3 buttons open.

“Thank you...”

Mi amor. It sprung up in his thoughts like some headache-

Door swings open with a creak and Isaac trots in with 2 plates of stew, bread, cheese wedges and what looked like whiskey.

“Eat up!” Boy hands them the plates.

“Why thank you, Isaac.” Arthur gives it a sniff: “Venison stew?”

“With mushrooms, carrots and potatoes. The usual.”

“Should be getting Pearson something to work with.”

“Remember when you hunted that bear?”

“Don’t remind me!”

Sebastian sits down and digs in; it’s really tasty although sort of lacking in seasoning:

“No, please do, I wanna hear that story.”

Arthur groans: “Went with Hosea, and Isaac, some time back this spring and tried to hunt some big bear he saw. Scared the old man half to death that thing.”

“And then it mauled you.” Isaac added.

“Yeah... We ain’t got to bring the beast down so after Hosea left I gave it another shot. It got real pissed. But I survived.”

“Seems to be a trend with you two.”

“More Pa than me- See this why I need a helpin’ hand ‘cause you ain’t lettin’ me help and you always end up bloody.”

Arthur got grim all of a sudden: “Would you rather get mauled ye’rself, son?” Isaac sat quiet followed by a meek apology. Father sighed: “I’m tryin’ my best, Isaac...”

“I know... And we all got each other now.”

“Yeah.” Sebastian smiles.

Lily’s there. It looks like Rhodes in spring, the flowers have bloomed. She’s smiling, wind blowing her hair everywhere; her mother tied only the bangs at the back. He misses her... He misses her so dearly. And now she’s happy-

But her eyes grow wide, blood drains from her cheeks and she runs to him. Endlessly. He’s feeling the sinking in his chest, there’s noise in his ears. She looks to be screaming but he ain’t hearing her.

Hands, hands on him and it’s harder to breathe. All over him, fingers crawl at his skin. He shifts. He squirms.

There’s a knife next to his holster; they’re fighting his hand-

“UGH-”

That didn’t sound like-

“Arthur?...” Sebastian jerks awake.

The knife tumbles from his hand down to the floor.

“Arthur?-”

Man was holding him firm, his face contorted before it mellowed: “You okay, buck?”

“I-... You!” His arms sweep over Arthur’s back in search of scratches- sure enough...

“Get ye’rself together. Ye’r okay...”

“Fuck-” he exhales, pulls Arthur into his arms. “What have I done?”

“You’ve been writhing in ye’r sleep...”

“No, I-” He cups the man’s face, looks him in the eyes. I hurt you...

And Isaac’s staring at them both, as wide eyed as Lily in his dream, no, nightmare.

He gets up from the sleeping bags, looks for something to stop the bleeding he caused; health cure, alcohol. He sees the shaking in Arthur’s arms as he’s propping himself up like that. Isaac keeps on being mute.

“It’s a’right, son, go to bed.” Father tries to reassure, but boy springs out. Arthur sighs, when the boy joins him: “You know what happened.”

“A nightmare.” Isaac’s voice is meek.

“I’m sorry...” he apologizes at last.

“Never do it again, Seb.” Boy warns, sternly, staring him down; Arthur laid on his abdomen now, letting Sebastian pull the shirt up to get a look at the cut he’s put on the man’s back. “Never. Promise me.”

He looks him in the eyes: “Never again. I swear.”

“Go back to sleep, Isaac. Please...”

And this time he listens; tucks back inside the bed.

“I’m sorry.” Sebastian says again.

“It ain’t like you wanted it to happen...” Arthur siad, then groaned as alcohol got poured onto the wound. “You was fighting something.”

He’s gentle in the way he taps the blood away.

“More undead.” Sebastian admits. “I think... I thought of Lily...” Hands become unsteady, tremble. He stops.

Arthur takes the cure from next to his bent knees, flings it open and drinks it; another grimace: the taste is bitter, but they’d be knowing best...

“How’s she look like?” Arthur asked.

“Black hair; she got her mother’s eyes though.”

“She sounds like a lovely young lady then.”

“Was-”

A hand grips his knee:

“Maybe she just ran away.” Arthur tries to reassure. “Woman said she was gone not-”

“You know how it’s out there-”

“I survived, John survived, Abigail, Tilly, we all did and we’ve been running since we were still kids. If she’s out there and anything like her father she’ll be fine.”

Heart skips a beat; ain’t no one complimented him like that...

Thankfully the cut ain’t deep, should heal without stitches; but he wraps some cloth around it so hopefully it ain’t getting infected. Sebastian lays down again and pulls the man up into his arms; Arthur’s almost soft, but the size of him climbed on top of his chest made it hard to breathe. But he wants him close, close as can be; palm over the where the wound should be as if it’d bring comfort. He hurt him... and it’s all he’s got... He dares sneak a kiss on the jaw, breath’s still shaking. There’s a caress over his cheek that he dares lean into.

He wants to say it; it burns on his tongue:

“Perdóname-” he slips without wanting to. Arthur nudges him with his nose, eyes half open again: “Forgive me-” Arthur opens his mouth to speak. “I love you.” Head presses towards the others.

“Guess I loved you for a long time now too...”

Isaac’s probably still listening in.

The guilt is still all there, pounding at his ribs with force. It’s starting to feel like the same scenario’s repeating itself, slower this time, yet faster. He knows, or feels like he knows what’s going to happen. He had to love to lose. And now it felt somewhat like healing, so Sebastian just had to stab and maim it until it turned on him- If he ain’t loved Joseph, if he didn’t go through- He died. Lily died. Or got lost God knows where... And died.

Arthur, Isaac they might just die as well, just ‘cause he got involved-

Look what he’s done!! He clutches Arthur further, gaining a soft groan; tension’s released. He acted like he ain’t hurt but that ain’t changing the fact that he was... Arthur... what a man that was. It came so easy and yet so goddamn hard, ‘cause he’s hardly the man for him if for anyone at all. He loved him, he maimed him just now...

Thoughts spin and spin and heart’s all bitter ‘till morning comes, and Sebastian ain’t knowing if he even slept at all.

It’s early when he hears Sean yelling about some injustice that’s been done to him. Arthur ain’t looking all awake yet so he tries to slip out to take a peak out the window.

“Why the hell can’t I go?”

“Someone’s gotta look after the camp.” Hosea said.

“No shit, and ye leave me who say’s the poorest on guard duty?”

Hosea turns sternly: “Would you rather be caught and tortured again?! Do as I say for once!”

Sean’s mouth hangs open. And to Sebastian this smelled like a robbery. A big one. He should wake-

Arthur’s right behind him, still not completely sober:

“You a’right, buck?”

A nod: “How’bout you?”

Almost the faintest groan: “Just about the same. What’s goin’ on down there?”

“Think they’re fixing to rob something.”

Arthur’s mellow expression changes to panic. He rushes downstairs; Sebastian’s in toe. By the time they’re there Hosea was inside with Dutch, studying a map:

“The distraction will buy you all the time you need-” Hosea talked until they saw the both o’em come this way. “Arthur, Sebastian, you two’ll be helping me with the distraction.”

“I don’t know...” Dutch says.

“It’s the right plan. I know it is. I’ve tested it as much as it can be tested.”

“I know. I just...” Dutch looks at them on the stairs like there’s something he should talk about but can’t. “I’m nervous, I suppose.” He bends his head back over the map: “I suppose that’s it...”

“You’re never nervous, that’s been my job all these years. Arthur, Sebastian, come take a look. The patrols will all be going this way. Me and Abigail will cause a distraction, that will hopefully keep the police busy, and in case it’s not enough Arthur and Sebastian will help, and that’s your opportunity. Karen, Tilly, Abigail they all said the same thing: there’s only one armed guard.” Hosea bends over the map: “It’s this and we’re gone Dutch. You found the man with the boat already. We’re all set.”

It almost pains Dutch to look at Arthur, or both of them like they were, and still: “Arthur, what do you think?”

“We linger around here we know we’re dead.” Arthur says. “Guess that don’t leave us much choice. But as Hosea said, if the police don’t take the distraction bait we’ll be there to give you as much time as you can get.”

Sebastian ain’t sure about all this, but it doesn’t look like Arthur’s much convinced either, but waters were still after yesterday’s mistake and he’s guessing they’re trying to keep it that way. He hasn’t known them for very long but it feels as if Hosea wasn’t the drive behind most plans – something about that makes his chest feel tight.

“A’right...” Dutch grumbles. “A’right.” He stands up. “This is it, gentlemen. The last one. Look smart. Travel light.”

Someone somehow washed that suit he got for the boat job, so that’s what he ends up dressing into. Isaac’s looking at them only half confused; much rather worried.

Hosea busts into the room upstairs:

“Sorry, fellers.” He looks like he ain’t even minding them, turns to the boy: “Isaac, you get all your belongings ready and wait for them at the crossroads to Caliga Hall.” Hosea hands Isaac a gold bar.

Arthur frowns: “What’s this about?”

“I fear this might go wrong...” A sigh; old man rests on the bed. “This job, it can be done. Doesn’t mean we can do it, but we have to try. But it might go wrong. I know I spurred Dutch into this one. It’s reckless, I know. But Dutch’s got no more patience and you ain’t got either, Arthur.”

“What you mean?”

“Sebastian, the boy... Maybe we should have let you go a long time ago.”

“I ain’t wanted to leave. This gang means everything to me-”

“This is the last job.” Hosea reiterates. “You’ll get out. And I’ll see that the rest get to as well.”

“John? Abigail, Jack?”

“I talked it over with Dutch. Their bags are all packed. So you better get them done yourselves.”

“You sure ‘bout this...” Arthur’s as perplexed as he’s worried. “What if it ain’t go as planned?”

“Doesn’t matter. Not to you anyway. John, you; you’ve got families and this feels like the end of the line. You either jump off now or risk tumbling off the edge if the tracks don’t stop-”

“Hosea, I ain’t giving up on these people-”

“I know. I know... Dutch knows. It’s gonna be fine.”

And Saint Denis awaits them: Hosea and Abigail in a wagon then Arthur and himself go on ahead. 15 minutes claimed Hosea, and only now is he starting to realize he’s never gone robbing his entire life – and that leaving alone the fact that this was a bank, a city bank. Heart begins to drum inside his chest and thoughts keep spinning: it felt wrong, or more like it felt like it was gonna end in a disaster, on the other hand something in him yearned for the promise of a fresh start somewhere, with people he’s grown to love. And he meant a truly fresh start, with money in hand to make something of themselves, so they ain’t ending up in a whore house in some city’s slums. He couldn’t bear that thought, not for Arthur, let alone his son.

In a moment of clarity he understands: that’s what Dutch did to them all, what this life did to them all. It offered the promise of some paradise despite everything that assured them to the contrary. Shootout after shootout and they still went on. And Sebastian too now lived inside that thrill with that exact same hope: get out with just enough money...

He was afraid...

They were headed right to the police station and while he was lost in thought on their way here Hosea explained to Arthur that he just needs to distract the police’s attention for long enough until he plants ‘something’ – namely some dynamite somewhere.

“I ain’t playing the married man, Hosea.” Arthur protested barely above a whisper.

“Fine then. You wait outside and keep a look-out. Sebastian?”

He knows where this is going: “Oh, I’ve been married for almost 10 years to this lovely woman.” He’s guessing he’s faked an affectionate marriage for long enough to know how to act it.

Hosea nods almost pleased.

Arthur dismounts; there’s plenty police around so he goes on to pretend buying a newspaper to read while he leans on the wall opposite. The lawmen throw Hosea a look as he tells Abigail something about meeting her and her wretched husband back at the wagon once they’re done with the complaint and heads around the back. They would have followed-

Arthur stops them, pointing the newspaper in their faces asking obnoxiously about some news there.

Him and Abigail enter the station. He had to invent some statement didn’t he?

Sebastian leans over the counter:

“Good morning, mister, I’m here to report a criminal.”

The Station Chief laughs: “Any proof on that statement, sir?”

“I think that professor Ruben’s been killing people.” This wasn’t a role, was it?... He wants to blame that man for the undead, he wants to blame him for the death of his little girl...

“That feller.” The chief twirls his moustache. “Sure, mister. But he’s got a permit to house mentally unstable people-”

“And you think he’s not experimenting on them-” Sebastian gets just a tad bit louder than he should have, somehow it feels right to put blame on him even if it’s barely above a gut feeling.

Abigail puts both her arms on his shoulders: “What my husband’s meanin’ to say’s the water’s gone bad where we live.” Eyes open wide, he didn’t make that connection yet, and he hopes what she said was going strictly off intuition. “Our kid’s got rashes all over. He’s got rashes all over. An’ I fear he’s losing his mind too.”

Chief twirls his moustache again: “I see... Well there have been people reporting poor water quality these days so I guess we’ll have people look into it.”

“It’s that man...” Sebastian growls, more or less acting. “I swear it is.”

“I’ll... I’ll look into it, mister. Ma’am. Good day to you.”

“Come now, this business’s getting you all upset again-” Abigail suddenly stops talking. Through the window she saw someone – and he couldn’t put his finger on it, but that man sure looked familiar...

Ross. He worked for the Police here 5 years ago. And he’s looking like he caught conversation with Arthur. A look back at Abigail and he strides forward, outside.

Arthur looks at him and whatever tenacity he had on his face turns, sorrowfully, to despair.

Ross gazes at Sebastian, crooks his lips in a smile and turns back to Arthur, who had his head even lower and eyebrows further drawn together than before.

"So you really aren't going to tell me what that bunch of yours is up to in this town right now? I know they’re here."

Ross had his back turned. Pistol is slowly taken out of the holster and he gives a nod to Abigail to mount up and get the hell away-

Police whistles: "WE FOUND ONE!-"

BOOM!

Revolver's cocked and shot. Ross stumbles down while both o’em lose their balance from the shake of the explosion.

"ARTHUR!"

"Hosea’s-" the man protests, mouth hanging open.

“Isaac...” He had to, ‘cause Sebastian has no other way to convince him and they must get the hell outta here.

And Arthur listens, mounts back up on is mare and rushes forward; he follows. Man’s in a blind rage and panic and he’s heading towards the bank.

“Arthur-”

“We have to tell them they’re here, it’s a trap-”

“And what if they’re right behind us and we take them to the rest?” voice is low and it’s a shot at reason he ain’t sure he can reach right now.

An alarm’s been set off behind them and the streets crowd with lawmen and people in fine suits - he reckons Ross’s men. And he ain’t quite sure if he managed to deal a fatal blow… But there’s other things they need to worry about right now. Arthur’s hands loosen on the reins; Ghost shifts to a trot.

“You got any ideas?...” he sounds hopeless, and if his heart’s breaking up further.

“Get a scoped rifle and something with enough bullets. We’re gonna get on the roofs.”

Arthur’s confusion is only in his eyes for a moment; he lets Sebastian lead while he takes out his weapons. They’ve turned left already while escaping the law; if they were to go forward they’d be reaching the bank, tipping the police and Ross off as to where the rest of the gangs are. So they bear a harsh right between the factory deposits. He dismounts, rifle with him and Arthur follows. They flee the horses and duck between the buildings to a fenced off corner. Up they go over it, landing on some crates on the other side. There’s some workers that throw them terrified looks, but say nothing as the pair of them dashes through an entrance, then right ahead, past the corner of an office and through another archway.

Stairs ahead. They climb on those that were glued to the wall until they reach the scaffold stairs above and up again until they reach the top.

“What now-”Arthur’s out of breath and he feels there’s no way they could climb any further.

The bank is just on the other side.

“COME OUT! IT’S OVER!” They hear a voice from down there.

It’s the final straw; Sebastian cups his hands and squats a lil for support: “C’mon up.”

Arthur huffs, runs forward, climbs up and pulls his weight on top. Sebastian barely gets his head out of the way of the man’s swaying legs. Arthur throws him the end of his lasso and helps him on the rooftop. There’s one more hurdle that they pass the same way. The shooting already started in the meantime.

Arthur freezes once he gets to look down:

“They shot Hosea...”

A man dressed like him was laying bent in the middle of the street.

He doesn’t ask anything of Arthur, not now. Sebastian puts the scope to his eye and starts sniping the riders that come in from the main street. Arthur soon follows suit; his anger made him deadly. There’s wagons coming in from the side of the bank now; some don’t get to jump off.

It keeps going and going-

Another boom of a dynamite going off. They were trying to escape on the side. And if that was the case the two of them up on the roof can’t help much...

“They got Gatling Guns...” Arthur growls takes his eyes up from the scope, huffs and aims. Sebastian’s going for the driver. Local police is starting to join, and he’s thinking they should hold them off until they realize it’s them up there.

They’re finally spotted. Arthur puts the gun away.

“Reckon we should get outta here.”

“I think they escaped through the side of the building-” Some gunshots from somewhere further, sounds clear as if it were on the rooftops.

Arthur purses his lips, bends his head: “Goddamit!”

But they slide down from where they were and almost break their bones getting off the rooftops; then downstairs and out in the streets again. It’s quiet here for now, the commotion moving deeper into town. He whistles for the horses.

“We should probably get out of here-”

Arthur puts a harsh hand on him.

“We’re going to get his body back.” Sebastian straddles his shoulders with both arms: “We’re no use to them now, and if we don’t go we’re gonna be dead.” Arthur turns his head lips puckered, eyes shut tight. “Your life is more important... Isaac-”

“Okay.”

Their horses trot up to them; soon enough they’re out of the city, with Isaac waiting on them at the crossroads.

“Everything okay?”

“No.” Arthur’s grim. “Hosea got killed...”

Isaac’s eyes grow wide and his mouth hangs open: “... What they’d do to him-”

“Shot most probably-”

“We need to find a safespot until the law calms down.” Sebastian intervenes.

“Wha-What ‘bout the others? They okay?” Panic makes the boy’s voice tremble.

“We don’t know...”

“We can’t just go and leave them-”

“We ain’t!” Arthur’s voice raises, then a defeated sigh.

“But we have to wait first. Or else we might get shot ourselves.”

They both go quiet and don’t move a muscle. So it’s up to him to spur Ashley forward.

They end up somewhere across the Kamassa river by some abandoned shack. He can’t ask anything of Arthur, grieving like he was. Man just sat crouched against a wall, the boy to his side, a hand on his back. How could Sebastian not find himself by their side, one arm looped around Arthur and his frame as close into his own. And as soon as they’re all a pile, sobs come violent, shaking the man from his core. Arthur buries his face in Isaac and son snugs into his father. The second time in two days.

There’s soft kisses on Arthur’s temple, no words; they’ve spoken all they needed to the other day back in the rain. Isaac sits up after a while and tries to chip away at the planks blocking the home’s entrance, then kick some rocks. The two of ‘em sit cuddled for a while longer, forehead to forehead, in silence until the boy speaks up:

“What we gonna do now?...”

“Wait.” Sebastian tries to reason, but the boy simply nods.

“What if that kills the rest o’em?...”

“Dutch’s probably got them all someplace safe, it’s what he does...” but Arthur didn’t sound entirely optimistic saying that.

Silence. Some skidded stones:

“How long’re we gonna wait?”

“Don’t know.”

Boy returns to his father’s arms, and it’s him who breaks down into tears now: “Uncle Hosea... He said we gotta get away...” boy hiccupped with the sobs. “Why he said we gotta get away when he- Why HIM! All he’s been was a good man.”

“That man raised me like a father... The father I ain’t ever got.” Isaac clings to his clothing.

“We gotta find him... Burry him...” Isaac sniffs.

“We’re going to.” Sebastian leans in to rub the boy’s back.

Isaac flinches but eventually leans into the touch: “I’m afraid.”

“Me too, son.” Arthur confesses.

“Guess there’s still room for one more.”

Isaac pulls into his arms: “I’m sorry.”

“You got nothing to be sorry for, kid.” He runs fingers through the boy’s unkempt hair.

They wait a while longer, roasting some mature venison, before setting out further through the bayou on the north side. It seemed that in those rural parts the law ain’t as heavy. They considered going further into the city, starting from the slums. Half an hour later they did; propped themselves in a bar he knew, right across from the flea market.

They ordered drinks, looked out the windows, checking for police or what Arthur described as the Pinkertons. The barman was real helpful, tipping them off that they’ve been here and searched but left and he heard something about them checking all the trains that came and went.

They sat there hours, but barely drank 2 glasses of whiskey between the two o’em.

Sun began to set and at last they decide, with large brimmed hats and new coats from the back of their horses, to set out along the main roads of the city. There’s local police everywhere. No Pinkertons, not yet. They bear left by the park and past the stables. And here’s where workers were being questioned by the well-dressed men: detectives. They should be heading in the other direction. There’s few people on the streets.

Police whistles. And a black man running from the docks onto the train tracks and stumbling, falling. That was Charles, and Sebastian rushes forward.

He’s there before the Pinkertons catch up; color’s drained from his cheeks and he’s sweating as if from fever. And he dares call out to the detectives:

“What’s the problem, misters!”

“That man’s a bank robber!”

“And I see that he’s clearly unwell. You sure you got the right man? There’s plenty Negroes around- Or is that how you came to that conclusion in the first place.” He’s already down from the saddle, helping Charles up on Ashley. A glance back at Arthur, while the Pinkertons stutter to find their words: he’s walking past calmly as if nothing’s happened and they don’t know each other.

“That ain’t it, mister! There’s been a curfew. Restrictions!”

“What happened that I ain’t heard about?”

One scratches their chins, looks at the other as if the man before them is irreparably stupid: “Big bank robbery, mister... Ain’t you heard the gunshots?”

“Been working on a boat all day. Just got back barely 20 minutes ago. Ain’t known nothing.”

The Pinkertons keep throwing each other glances and hopefully his story seems plausible. Charles struggles up the horse at last and Sebastian mounts next. He almost got away.

“Sir, I’m afraid I can’t let you go with that feller-”

“I’m taking him to the doctor. He’s unwell. Haven’t you seen he can’t even stand!”

Detectives mumble something between themselves about him being or not being the man from the robbery, something about face, color, clothes. They look Charles up and down but from the angle he’s managed to stow him on Ashley’s back no obvious blood could be seen. The men conclude that they must assist him in taking the feller to the doctor. Sebastian obliges; God knows how long this man’s been bleeding. It was quite the wonder he was still alive after all this. Arthur trails just a bit behind them now.

Charles can barely speak, only mutters a ‘thank you’ as he barely holds onto the saddle.

There’s no one at the doctor’s when they get there. The detective is all eyes on how Sebastian helps the man down from the saddle, until he crumples over, falls face-first on the concrete with a throwing knife stuck in the back of his skull. Arthur signs him to get in as he takes care of dumping the body between some bushes. Isaac tags with them and not his father.

Arthur finds his way into the office soon after they’ve admitted Charles in. Beside a ticking clock, it’s quiet. And it’s got them all the more worried – people should be screaming getting treated for bulletwounds...

Doctor gets out at last, telling them that man’s lost quite a lot of blood and he shouldn’t travel far if at all.

Somehow they managed to get the man still breathing to camp then inside, Arthur deciding to offer him the bed in his own room. Abigail was back as well, but they really needed the information Charles could provide them about how it all went down.

Arthur sits down just a bit away from the bedside: “I’m sorry, Charles. Wish I could’ave done more...”

“Oh Arthur...” it’s quite the wonder to hear him speak so brutalized. “If it weren’t for you we might have not gotten out at all...”

“I ain’t done nothing-” Sebastian squeezes the man’s shoulders and Arthur looks up.

“Do you have any idea where the other are?” he asks afterwards.

“They were headed to the docks to board a boat somewhere.” Man heaved. “I distracted the men there so they could escape-” sentence is punctuated by a groan.

“You shouldn’t talk as much, maybe...” Arthur spoke up.

“Are you alright?” Charles still asks.

Arthur just bows his head, so it’s up to him to reassure: “Yeah... I think so at least.” Charles huffs as if at last relieved. “You should be resting.”

And they should be planning a way to get everyone else somewhere safe...

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 tag #sebastian castellanos #the evil within #sebthur #isaac morgan #myra hanson #tew ruvik #ruben victoriano #van der linde gang #I'M SO SORRY HOSEA #also... 9k...

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fusion-ego · 4 years

Text

So... 2019, huh?

((LONG post ahead!))

This year has really been something, hasn’t it? I had to quit my second job ever because of my back problems (along with other shit lol), I hardly wrote anything all year, and I started in on my Bachelor’s degree. I moved 1600 miles cross-country to Arizona and I’ve been down here for six months now! I had to leave my Markiplier Nudes Calendar™ back in Illinois because I forgot to take it off my wall before I left and it probably got thrown away by the landlord :c, I let my parents borrow a credit card for the move down here and went into debt as a result of almost single-handedly financing the move, had several breakdowns, and despite my best attempts I haven’t been able to get a job yet, but I’m still trying!

A lot of things happened this year.

I turned 20.

I started liking myself again after years of literally hating myself and that quickly advanced to me loving myself again. Turns out I’m pretty cool, even if I am annoying as fuck.

Turns out that having primarily depressive episodes and not having the motivation or desire to take care of myself doesn’t make me any less of a person. It doesn’t make my struggles invalid just because I’m the one not taking care of myself. It turns out, taking care of yourself is fucking hard sometimes, especially if the combined symptoms of your mental and physical ailments put you in a position where everything feels like too much.

It also turns out that taking care of yourself is difficult when you’ve spent your entire life (or at least the parts where you actually had friends) putting all of the wants and needs of your friends and loved ones above your own.

Taking care of yourself is hard when you were raised to be The Strong One, who doesn’t break down and who doesn’t have any issues, thanks. The one who, sure, they haven’t showered in a week and they feel like crap because they haven’t eaten, but you don’t need to know that! You just go eat and take a shower, hun, The Strong One is okay.

It took until this year for me to learn that being The Strong One didn’t mean I couldn’t break down sometimes. It didn’t mean I couldn’t take time for myself and that I had to be available all the time for my friends. Setting boundaries has been a learning experience for me and everyone else in my friend group, I think. I think I’ve cried more this year than I have since I was a kid, and you know what that is? Growth.

And honestly, I’ve really gotta thank my lovely fiance @goreyglitches for some of that. I am petrified of crying when anyone can see or hear me. I was raised to be The Strong One and The Strong One doesn’t cry. I conditioned myself to not be a “crybaby” and to never, ever, ever cry. And I know that’s bad - repressing negative emotions just makes it worse in the long-run. I figured that out with anger and tried to fix it long before I tried to fix the crying issue, and this year? This year Tobi’s helped a lot. I trust him, and I feel safe with him, so when he shuts the door and pulls the covers over us and holds me and tells me it’s okay to cry, I cry. And I am so grateful to him for that I don’t think I even have words.

And @ashencreations has been a wonderful friend this year, as always, even if both of us have been having issues this year. They’ve, I think, been one of the people I vented to the absolute most and they’ve been a real peach about it and even if I don’t have a whole lot of energy to talk sometimes (most of the time) they still love me and are accommodating of my issues. That’s pretty cool! I know a lot of people who can’t talk to people they’ve dated in the past and I have to admit I wouldn’t have been surprised if we fell out this year, but here we are - finishing another year as best friends. They let me have my space and they check in to make sure I’ve eaten and slept and showered. And I try to do the same but my check-ins have been a little lackluster this year while I find my boundaries so oops for that. I’ll try harder next year!

And really, I have to thank everyone who’s stuck with me through this year. My friends and my followers and even just folks who know me because I’m mutuals with someone they’re friends with - all of you. I know this year has sucked and I’ve been really annoying and I’m constantly asking for money, so thank you for sticking around. I’m trying to get back into the old swing of things and I’ve put in about a billion applications and I’m in University, can you believe that? You guys being patient even when I’m annoying has been really helpful. This is especially true of the folks in Lexi’s server who have to see me venting all the time. Y’all are darlings and I’m sorry I keep dragging my shit in there lmao I’ll try not to so much next year.

I’m especially thankful, though, I think, of the people who are still with me after so many years of knowing me. Like Ran and Ness and Zare and Comedy and even Em, even if we don’t talk. I mean, Em probably the most - she knew me when I was such a shithead that it’s kinda laughable now and yet she’s willing to be mutuals with me now. That’s pretty funny. (Hey, Em, guess who’s still trying to figure out how to write that TMNT thing and make it as interesting as the original idea was?) And of course I’ve known Comedy since elementary school but we didn’t really get close until high school and then I dropped off the face of the earth for like a year lol but she’s been a peach the whole time I’ve known her. And Ran’s been around for a while, we’ve known each other long enough that he probably still remembers when I went by Al. And Ness, who doesn’t have tumblr to my knowledge, well I’ve known her since diapers and she’s going to be the Maid of Honor at mine and Tobi’s wedding when we have the money to do a real ceremony - I would have filled that place at her wedding, too, if her sister-in-law wasn’t a needy bitch who had to have that position or she’d pitch a fit and ruin the entire wedding. And like, don’t even get me started on Zare, who was there when I was the worst shithead I’ve ever been and somehow still likes me even all these years later. I introduced myself to this man as Prussia, y’all. I introduced myself to him as a fallen kingdom because it was easier to pronounce than my legal name.

(It may have also been because I was into Hetalia and projected onto the character really hard because of all the “I’m awesome!” and thought it would help me be more confident, and also perhaps because my legal name being mispronounced led to a lot of people knowing me as a different fallen kingdom so it was a haha funny joak to me)

Also, this year, a certain vine-man turned youtube-man made a video that really, really spoke to me. Thomas introducing Remus and having an entire episode about intrusive thoughts and ‘bad’ creativity was - it meant a lot to me. Because since 2018, when I started writing Ego stuff, I haven’t... Well, I used to write a lot of dark stuff, y’all. I wrote violent shit because I wanted to and it was kinda just my Thing™. But after I started writing Ego stuff I started feeling like that was problematic, like it was a bad thing that I wanted to write nasty stuff like that. No one did anything to make me think that! It was just that, well, that kind of violence just... Seemed out of place. I’ve been in the process of writing a 146K+ word, 43 chapter fic containing ritualistic cannibalism, murder, unsafe sex, and various other nasty things since 2017 and I spent a terrifying amount of time feeling... Bad for that last year and this year. I’ve had to re-learn that it’s okay to write nasty stuff (no matter the moral issues other people take with it) because exploring not-so-great things in fic, especially to cope, is one of the many points of writing fic. And I’ll be honest, my dumpster fire fic was something I was writing to get through my associate’s degree because it was a new and terrifying experience and the prominent theme of running away was a feeling I was dealing with in tandem at the time. Remus’ introduction reminded me that dealing with intrusive thoughts and exploring the ‘bad’ creativity doesn’t make me a bad person, it just means I have nasty ideas and even the best people can have those. At least I can turn them into something I’m proud of writing.

So, going forward, I’m not going to shy away from writing my nasty stuff, and in 2020 I’m going to try and finish Trial and Error. I haven’t updated it since August, 2018, guys, it needs a new chapter.

And on that note, I don’t usually make New Years’ Resolutions. I never saw the point in the past and it wasn’t something super encouraged by anyone around me, so it never seemed important. But I’m making a resolution this year.

Over the years and years of writing, I’ve encountered something I think every writer encounters - I stopped writing. Now, I’m not saying I don’t write. Obviously I do, and have been, for a long time. I’m saying I don’t write like I used to. In 2013/2014 I wrote a 36-chapter Sly Cooper fic featuring an OC that still gets hits to this day, and I wrote it over the course of three months. I started it in November 2013 and it was done and put aside by the third of January 2014. It’s still one of my favorites! But the chapters are short, the storyline needs work, I didn’t spellcheck anything or even remotely try to keep my timeline completely straight. It was the first multi-chapter story exceeding 10 chapters that I ever finished. I wrote a chapter a day, as long as I was capable of doing so, I posted it, and I never looked back. It’s not a great story, but it’s one of my favorites. I loved it then and I love it now. And that’s something I don’t do anymore! When a fic doesn’t live up to my expectations, I don’t love it like I love that old fic, which did not at all live up to my expectations. My perfectionism has developed over the years and it has killed my creativity. I can still make cool stuff, can still make things I like, but it’s not the same anymore.

So my resolution is, in 2020, I’m going to write.

I’m going to write like I used to, but I’m going to put all of my experience into it.

I started writing in 2008 or 2009, maybe even before that - if I can recapture the love I had for it then, then I will be in great shape. I didn’t spellcheck back then and frankly I kinda sucked at writing even in 2013/2014, but if I can love writing like I did then and put all of what I’ve learned into it? Holy shit. I mean, I’ve been rewriting that old Sly Cooper fic for the past couple weeks, so it’s not exactly a mystery how much better things will turn out if I pour my much better spelling and grammar, my better ideas, my better commitment, into my fics going forward. All I need to make them great is to love doing it.

So in 2020, I’m going to write.

2019 has been a wild ride, and I’ve written less than half of what I wrote in 2018, not even counting all of my Ego requests for either year. I’ve spent the last three days in a mad dash to reach 100K written this year on AO3 by writing 30K before midnight tonight. I have 5K left! But even breaching 100K I won’t be halfway there. In 2018 I wrote 225.6K on AO3, not counting Ego stuff. And I think that’s because I haven’t loved doing it like I used to - the fact that I’ve loved the fic I started in order to make my “30K by tonight” goal and I haven’t let myself have enough time to agonize over whether it’s “good” or not has a lot of effect on how much I’ve written. My wordcount per hour has, like, doubled because I actually wanted to work. So I’ll reach my goal by tonight and still have time to celebrate at midnight.

So, again, thank you to everyone who’s stuck with me through this crazy year. Things haven’t been great, I’ll be honest, but I’m hoping next year will be better. They’re already off to a good start - my dad and I have a plan for him to start paying me back for how much money we spent moving here, and if I can get a job it’ll only get easier and it’ll only get better. And on top of that me and Tobi have plans to legalize our Marriage™ in September. It won’t be anything big - we’re waiting to have a real ceremony until we have the money to make sure Zare and Ness and Ran can come. But if all goes well, on 9/20/20 we’ll have the legal shit sorted out and Tobi will officially be my husband so that’s just another thing to be looking forward to.

Happy New Year, y’all! Hope you all have a good one. I speak a good 2020 into existence and I won’t stop until I get it.

#happy new year #long post #personal #sort of #new years eve 2019 #new years 2020

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punkscowardschampions · 4 years

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Ava & Buster

Ava: Are you lot en-route? Buster: 'Course Buster: But we've had one foot out the door for like half an hour, honestly Ava: Good, 'cos I have presents Buster: Yeah? Buster: Pot of gold or what, like Ava: Hardly appropriate for a two-year-old Ava: None for you, soz 💔 Buster: I'd argue it's very appropriate Buster: All the shit he needs haemorrhages cash Ava: You were warned Ava: Extensively Buster: And I ain't sorry I didn't listen Buster: They can all try and sue me Ava: Enter an arena where they aren't the experts? Ava: Doesn't sound like mum and dad Buster: No such arena exists, clearly Buster: Know it all, have done it all Ava: Your degree must be a waste of time then Buster: You'd have to ask 'em what they reckon Buster: But I'd wait til they've got a few more drinks down 'em first, get closer to the truth Ava: Ugh, shut up Ava: You know they're proud of you Buster: Yeah yeah, blah blah Buster: But are you proud of me? Real MVP and everything Ava: When you get your cap and gown Ava: Funny wig, even better Ava: I still only got stuff for the kids and Ri though Ava: I'll chase a 🌈 down ASAP Buster: You're alright Buster: Already got a girlfriend, don't you? Buster: No need to get gayer just to wind me up, Nance has got that covered Ava: Ha, don't even chat to me about annoying Buster: I won't Ava: 😏 Ava: No, you're meant to ask, idiot Ava: You're so lucky you only have a son Buster: Tell me then Buster: I want a girl next Ava: Well she's not coming back, not that I'm surprised Buster: What bullshit excuse did she go with this time? She's got too much work on, girlfriend drama or she just hates fam functions SO MUCH Ava: It was column A presented but 1000% came across as column C Ava: She can be so Buster: I know Buster: Did she try and buy you off with an NYC trip that ain't gonna happen just like the last one didn't? Ava: Twin telepathy is real, yeah? Ava: 🙄 Buster: Fuck that and her Buster: I told you before, when you actually wanna go I'll take you Buster: Then you only have to see her a bearable amount Ava: I know Ava: It'd be interesting to see how long she could hold a conversation with me but yeah Ava: won't happen so Buster: Longer than she can with me or dad, probably slightly less time than she can with mum, depending what mood they are both in Buster: That'd be my bet Buster: Chin up, the good twin is finally on his fucking way Ava: Sounds about right Ava: Good time to tell you to call her yourself later or do you want a drink before you process that? Buster: Bad time to be forced to remember that I told Rio right at the start I wouldn't drink when she couldn't Ava: Honestly, I thought this kid was PLANNED Ava: She couldn't Christmas or New Year either Buster: She was planned, just not by me Ava: 'Course, you would've factored in drinking Ava: Must be their gay agenda Buster: There's loads of shit I'd have factored in Ava: That's your upbringing talking Buster: Shut up Ava: It is though Ava: Personally, I agree its better than the more the merrier approach too Buster: You'll personally be waiting a load more years before you make me play uncle then, yeah? Buster: Good Ava: Ugh Ava: Don't be making me 🤢 just because green is the colour today Buster: Gotta Buster: Who the fuck is there to be jealous of when we're us? Ava: You couldn't go the more traditional routes, no? 🍾🥂 Ava: Seeing as I'm NOT pregnant or being a very supportive partner to someone who is Buster: Come on, who am I? Buster: And you can leave me out of your rites of passage, I've cleaned up enough sick in the name of being a supportive partner Buster: Grace'll hold your hair back for you Ava: There's no need to be old AND boring 😏 Buster: Fuck off Buster: Counting down the days til I can drink you under the table Ava: Dad lets me Buster: There's nothing dad won't let you do Buster: Got him well wrapped around your finger, like Ava: It's not my fault I'm the most lovable Ava: Do better 😋 Buster: That's the one title you can keep Buster: Got all the love I need, cheers Ava: 🤢🥰 Ava: N'awh Buster: Lyla didn't wanna come and hang with the extended fam then? Ava: Wouldn't do that to someone I liked, would I? Buster: Depends how much you like her Ava: Nah Ava: That's all a bit heavy Buster: Well yeah Buster: It would be a trial by fire Ava: Then pissed on Ava: then set on fire again Ava: I like having time away when I come here, you know Ava: Not attached at the hip Buster: I know Ava: I'll send her a hilarious postcard or something Buster: You sounded like Nance there Buster: No need to miss her at all Ava: Fuck off Buster: You're right she'd never write it Buster: Half her holiday would be over before she got the words down Ava: 😂 Ava: Rude Buster: It's fuck all I wouldn't say to her face if she ever bothered to show it Ava: Can no one in this family be nice Ava: Honestly Buster: Come on Buster: I'm nice to you Buster: You ain't even bought me a present Ava: I know, I'm very lovable Ava: Have you got me one? Buster: Yeah but you ain't having it now Ava: Yeah right Ava: I know who gets last word in your house Ava: and Rio is nice to everyone Buster: She's nicest to me and she always does what I say Buster: So you might wanna think again Ava: That's entirely too much information, thank you Ava: you owe me double as compensation Buster: You ain't having two bottles Buster: Keep the first one down and then we'll talk Ava: Challenge accepted Buster: Good Buster: Don't really wanna have to disown you before the day's out Ava: Least there's enough of 'em to fall back on should you get the urge Ava: I'll survive Buster: Keep that quiet around mum, it's still them and us with her Ava: Sounds familiar 🙄 Buster: You're bound to hear it yet again by the time she's had a few Ava: Not if I have anything to do with it Buster: Sounds like you've got a plan Ava: As planned as a party should ever be Buster: Yeah Ava: 💃🎉 Ava: Hurry up Buster: Traffic's worse than London at its finest right now Buster: Everyone on the road's either already wasted or angry they ain't Ava: Stay safe Buster: 'Course Buster: Speaking of, where you staying tonight? Ava: Tipsy childcare is better than no childcare Ava: No need to beg Buster: Shut up, I'll drive you is all I'm saying Ava: Cheers 💙 Buster: I'll cash the IOU when you're sober, like Ava: Better cash it before I cash my 2nd present then Buster: Forget it for now, it's a holiday Ava: That's what I've been saying Buster: You ain't gotta tell me, even if today I can't play as hard as I work Buster: Still not a fucking amateur Ava: Still a McKenna Buster: First and best Ava: Hardly Buster: If we're going by mum's them and us viewpoint, there's hardly any competition Buster: Just you and me, kid Ava: Well I'm just saying, Granddad is gonna be fuming Buster: Everything you learned about wrapping dad round your little finger you got from watching me with him Buster: I ain't worried Ava: Pfft Ava: My baby blues are bluer and my pout is poutier Ava: I'm the new model, boy Buster: 'Cause you need 'em to fall back on Buster: I'm just that good Buster: you're the youngest model that's all Buster: Due a spectacular fuck up about now Ava: You wish Ava: On all counts Buster: Nah, I'm rooting for you Buster: 'Course I am Ava: Mhmm Ava: Dead convincing 😏 Buster: I always am Buster: Wig or no wig Ava: So soppy, you Ava: Have title of my best big brother Buster: That's a copout but whatever Ava: And fussy Ava: Alright best sibling but that isn't much more of an achievement really Buster: Don't worry about it Buster: I know how great I am Ava: Yeah yeah, blah blah Buster: Get me the least shit sounding soft drink and I'll believe you Ava: If there's anything being tragically underage has taught me Ava: 👍 Buster: Cheers Buster: See you in 5 Ava: Bring your cute kid Buster: I taught him how to say “Sláinte” earlier so you'll be able to rate my achievements for yourself Buster: He ain't just a pretty face Ava: 🥺🥰 Ava: What a face though Buster: I can't take all the credit Buster: He takes after his mother Buster: Tell her how good she looks when we get in, yeah? I'm living a nightmare Ava: 'Course Ava: I've got a girlfriend, remember Ava: I know the drill, just amp up period level love 1000% for a pregnant bitch Buster: My wife ain't a insecure teenager Buster: But I appreciate the sentiment Buster: Just don't call her a bitch ever again Ava: I say it with love Ava: from one to another Ava: but got it, I'll remind her she's old Buster: Don't Buster: It'll be your funeral Ava: 😂 I only like winding you u Ava: p Ava: Don't need anyone crying on me Buster: Good Buster: I don't need to be breaking up any girl fights Buster: Especially when I've taught you both everything I know Ava: Even if me hitting a girl is more acceptable than you, I think everyone draws the line at a pregnant one Buster: Fine, I don't wanna pick you up off the floor once she's knocked you out and do a concussion test after someone pours a pint over you to bring you round Buster: I was trying to soften the blow of how it'll play out since I'd be powerless to stop the actual Ava: And I thought you were in the festive spirit Ava: 🙄 Ava: I'll take back this virgin cocktail, like 😏 Buster: Not without any spirits in me Buster: You'll have to take what you can get Ava: Few folk songs and you'll be well into it Buster: Voice of an angel, obviously Buster: Could've been a choir boy if not for everything else Ava: You took living vicariously a wee bit hard with the name already Buster: You'd have preferred me to name him after a silent film star, yeah? Ava: That was pure wishful thinking 🙊🤐🤫 Buster: Fucked over as my boy's been by not being named Rudolph Valentino or Roscoe Arbuckle, I reckon he'll be alright Buster: Cheers though Ava: I think Fatty murdered someone Ava: so as far as aspirations go, you're in the right direction Buster: I always am Buster: Never a misstep made, no matter what mum and dad say Ava: Alright 👼 its St Paddy's not confessional Ava: and the priest would be rare pissed off if you waltzed in and said you'd never done anything wrong 😂 Buster: He'd be a fine one to talk Ava: The drama of it all Buster: Again, I don't need to be told Buster: There's a kid here asking for you, except shouting's more the word Ava: He gets it 👏 Ava: 💃 Buster: Come out before he legs it in

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ravencromwell · 4 years

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On Rage and Complexity interwoven with disability and queerness as filtered through Sarah Gailey's "maybe novel"

I've drifted into posting much of my more personal/metaish content on my dreamwidth In an effort to try and be better about cross-posting, thought I'd put a bit of meta up here first for a change.

We lament, often and at great length, about the kind of tales we'd like to see: with more diverse characters, yes, but also well-rounded diverse characters. As Liz Bourke concisely opined recently :

It’s troubling, sometimes, how much the issue of “good representation”—and the arguments around it—slides towards a pervasive sense that creators must depict people who are good and right and do right. It’s not necessarily an explicit dictate, but there’s an unspoken undercurrent, a sense that to portray ugliness, unlikeability, fury—to portray people who have responded to suffering with cruelty and bitterness and rage—is to be complicit in one’s own vilification. And to be vulnerable. Justify your existence is the sea we swim in, always against the current.

To be unmarked by compromise, to be without sharp edges that sometimes cut even when you don’t want them to—because the world is what it is, and sometimes what it is teaches you that the best defence against being hurt by cruelty is a really quick offense—is to either be very young or hardly human. But when we come to fictional portrayals, well… As you know, Bob, Bob gets to be seen as a difficult genius, where Alice is seen as a bitch or a Mary Sue.

And as insightful as that essay is, I'd argue that a central factor it overlooks, or doesn't articulate as well as I would like, is that the more intersections of marginalization your identity rests upon, the more that unspoken pressure kicks in. I certainly feel and see it, as both a queer and disabled person, and I have friends who feel that weight even more heavily--that internal voice policing their own writing even stronger when they're brown and/or queer and/or coming from decolonized places; even heavier if/when they and their compatriots are still untangling the effects of colonialism and modern neoimperalism. And so it becomes vitally imperative for all of us, using whatever privilege we have to work in concert to expand what characters can be portrayed in mainstream fiction. And oh, aint that an easy proclamation to make; doing the work, though, is far harder.

So y'all can imagine my overwelming delight when the Bourke essay and twitter convo that sparked it--linked to in essay and so very much worth a scan--dropped on the same week as my introduction to Sarah Gailey's maybe book Every bit of what I read of Gailey's makes my love of her work slowly, steadily increase, but to be perfectly honest, this's probably my favorite thing of hers so far. It's the thing that tugs sharpest at my heart, that I see so much of my own experience reflected in, and it's only two fuckin chapters in But even if Gailey never writes another word of this--for which a large chunk of me will mourn--, it'll still be one of the most special things I've encountered for being, in western lit terms, a masterclass in putting the characters we wanna see in the world. (I insert that caveat because I know well that folks like Viet Thanh Nguyen are doing astonishing, under-appreciated work in nonwestern litfic. But the genres I'm most familiar with, western scifi and fantasy, have a long way to go to catch up.)

There are, so far, four--maybe five? I can't quite tell--characters in this novel. Three of 'em have serious, life-changing disabilities, and one of them is delightfully, tragically queer. And they're all allowed to be wonderfully vicious and complicated. Just look at something like:

Cory Jefferson is a hunched-over curled-up boy with bones too long for his body and a jaw you could use to shovel the ashes out of a fireplace. His chest has the caved-in look that comes with growing tall before you can grow wide, and his hair is long enough to want cutting but not long enough to look like it’s long on purpose. His hoodie sleeves have holes in them, and the bottoms of his jeans are frayed from walking, and all his fingers are missing, cut off at the bottom knuckle a year ago on a night he can’t remember no matter how many Thursdays he spends looking back and forth between Piper and Ethan.

"I think we should go back," Piper says. She’s chewing on her thumb, and Cory is staring at her thumb while she chews on it, probably because that used to be his nervous tic. Piper used to nag him about it.

Piper Durham has a spine as straight as a plumb-line dropped down a well. Her dark hair falls past her shoulders, less straight than it used to be, and with a few strands of white that weren’t there before. She’s thin enough to look hollow, and pale enough to look scared. She wears large black sunglasses with scratched-up lenses. She wears them because they cover up the holes where her eyes used to be, back before the night a year ago that she can’t remember no matter how many Thursdays she spends chewing on her thumb.

"That’s a bad idea,” Cory snaps. “That’s the worst bad idea I’ve ever heard, and every time you bring it up you sound stupider."

"I don’t hear either of you coming up with something smarter,"Piper snaps back, and then she immediately closes her mouth. She’s biting her tongue, literally biting it, you can see her doing it, and then she flinches again and stops doing that, because biting her tongue is even worse than what she said.

Ethan’s hands rise from his lap. After a silent moment, Cory translates for him, so Piper can hear. "Ethan says it’s okay. He says not to worry about it. He says he’s used to people saying stuff like that."

"Sorry," Piper whispers.

Across from her, in his own folding chair, Ethan signs it’s okay again. Cory doesn’t translate this time, and the decision not to translate is a hateful one. He watches with narrowed eyes as Piper, who can’t see Ethan’s hands and will never see them again, returns to chewing on her thumb.

Ethan rests his square-fingered hands on his crossed legs and sits back in his chair, his every movement controlled. Some would call him poised. Some would call him that. He wears dark jeans, like always, and a button-down shirt, like always. His fingernails are short and clean, and his sandy-blonde hair is short and clean, and his shoes are polished and his clothes are pressed. He wears a clear plastic face mask to help heal the skin grafts on his face — his face, which was cut away from his skull in one tidy sheet. He does not speak because he has not had a tongue for a year, not since the night he lost his face, which is a night he can not remember no matter how many Thursdays he spends watching Cory and Piper hate each other.

These are people not made saintly by their experiences, who fuck up and apologize, and honestly still fuck up. But who're trying, in their deeply jaded fashion, to show solidarity after this horrific experience they've all been through. They have so many rough edges between them that it'd be impossible to navigate a room between them without cutting yourself to ribbons. Three disabled characters, never put on pedestals, allowed to be as complex as any able-bodied person. It's something still so astonishingly rare that it brought me to weeping this afternoon and meant more than I can say.

And to have these three disabled characters get language this evocative and gorgeous--to have Ethan dress so sharply! when to so many people disability translates to a disconnect from cultural touchstones like fashion. As someone who loves and wants to adopt men's fashion, that, too, meant so much. Every word of this is just so lush! I can't decide whether it's the description of Piper's spine or Cory's caved-in look that comes from growing tall before you can grow wide I love most as a descriptive passage, but to see disabled characters get this kind of attention is breathtaking.

And then there's this description of queerness, from our resident ghost:

The girls fascinated me in death the same way they had in life. For all my sixteen years alive, I was hypnotized by the way a girl can move through a room fast and subtle, like a secret moving through a church during service. The way girls laughed, the way they wrapped their hands around things they wanted to own, they way their eyes got sharp when they were angry. The way they smelled. Boys always seemed the same to me, all of them echoes of each other, all of them saying the same three sentences over and over again, all of them looking at each other with the same eyes. I could never tell the difference between them, not really. But girls. Girls.

It mattered to me while I was alive, but it didn’t make a difference in the way I lived my life, which was a regret I chewed on when I’d worn my other regrets into pulp. The town was small, and everyone knew everyone, and by the time I knew I wasn’t the only girl who watched girls the way I did, I’d been dead for too long to do anything about it. If I knew then what I know now, maybe I would have said something to Molly Two-tone, whose real name was Molly Tutonne and who had straight black hair that fell between her shoulderblades as black as roofing tar, who had bright green eyes and a laugh that you could hear from a block away. Molly Two-tone, who came to my house after I died and stood in the kitchen and whispered that if I was there and if I could hear her, she wanted me to know that she wished she’d kissed me when she had the chance.

There wasn’t a thing I could do to let her know I’d heard her. All I could do was watch her cry, and then watch her leave, closing the door quiet as she could when she went. She didn’t ever come back again.

God, that description guts me every damn time. There're so many of us for whom that metaphor applies: death can be substituted for disapproval or fear or a million other things that separate us from our queerness. I don't know if there's any way for our ghost to have a happy ending, or even something close to catharsis, but Gailey confronts the mess and complication of queerness in ways I've rarely seen.

And getting back to the original point of marginalized characters not being allowed to be cruel, look at this fucking gem on Piper:

Maybe I knew, when Piper walked in with Cory and Ethan. Maybe I knew she was Piper’s granddaughter. Or maybe I saw Piper and thought, for a breath-held instant, that Molly had come back to see me again. I lost track of time more and more often as the years went on, forgetting sometimes how far I was from my life. Forgetting that it had happened one hundred years before, and not just that instant.

When Piper eased the front door open and stepped inside, waving her hand in front of her face to ward off cobwebs, she looked just like Molly — that long black hair and those jewel-bright eyes, and a mouth with a smile hidden at the corners of it. But once the moment of hope melted away, I could see the differences between Piper and her grandmother, and there were plenty of them. And then two boys walked in behind her, and they shut the door.

Piper turned to face them, and she let that hidden smile loose, and it was a different kind of smile than I’d ever seen on Molly’s face — bright and sharp and cruel, ready to have that cruelty dialed up as far as it needed to go. When I saw that smile on Piper’s face, I knew.

I knew that she was nothing like Molly at all.

This's a character who is gonna shortly be disabled, and she's allowed all her sharp edges and I will never fucking be over it. This's a novel of sharp edges, not pulling a punch in deference to its subject matter, not doing a thing to make its readers comfortable or reassured. It's all the ferocity horror should be, with probably my favorite insight being:

When there is a house that no one will ever live in again, people bring their secrets to it. They hide things there — treasures and secrets and sins and violence and love. They turn it into a place to be cruel to each other, because they’re afraid, and fear slaps a dial onto cruelty and turns it up as high as it can go. They turn it into a place to want each other, because fear puts a dial onto want, too. They turn it into what it is, and without them, a house is just a house, no matter what happened there. It’s just empty.

a two-chapter masterclass in writing representation we wanna see.

I was a disabled child told to be kind, not to make folk nervous or bristle at their pity. To know my limitations and stay quiet, not rock the boat and I wouldn't be hurt or scorned more than was expected for my disability. They're lessons I'm spending much of my twenties unknotting, and this vicious, many-toothed novel has wrapped itself round my heart even in its infancy.

#book babbling #disability stuff #queer stuff #my meta #sarah gailey

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nicolewrites · 5 years

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but i see you (more clearly than ever)

exams? final papers? nah, take my contribution to fjorester week instead.

Rating: T Genre: Friendship and Romance Characters: [Fjord and Jester L.], Beauregard L., Caleb W. Words: 7,348

"Fjord didn’t know exactly when it started, so all he knew was that he was so, so screwed." / fjorester college au written for fjorester week 2019

AO3 | FFN

Fjord didn't know exactly when it started, so all he knew was that he was so, so screwed.

Jester danced around the kitchen humming loudly and smiling. Molly danced around with her and the pair of them laughed and entertained themselves. The kitchen smelled delicious and that was thanks to Jester's famous cinnamon bun recipe that was in the oven.

Fjord had just been working peacefully at the table, minding his own business, when Jester had arrived at the house unannounced with a bunch of newly made, not yet baked cinnamon buns. She had gone straight to the oven and put the buns in. Molly had emerged from the basement shortly after because he smelled Jester's baking.

Now, Fjord knew he would be lucky if any of his work was sensical, much less legible, because he couldn't tear his eyes from Jester. She looked carefree and happy and her smile made the whole room glow.

Just as Fjord was resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get any work done, one of his other roommates, Caleb, poked his head into the kitchen.

"Ah, so Jester is here. I was wondering what the smell was," he commented, stepping into the kitchen and sitting across from Fjord at the table.

Molly laughed. "Yeah because god forbid any of us actually be a good cook."

"Hey," Fjord said indignantly. "Cad is a great cook."

Molly waved dismissively. "He's also at home for the break, so," he pointed out.

Fjord shrugged. His fourth roommate, Caduceus Clay, was a gentle soul who was quiet, but not quite as timid as Caleb. Caduceus had elected to spend Reading Break with his family at home, leaving the house to Caleb, Fjord, and Molly.

The four of them were certainly an odd group who one might not expect to be friends, much less roommates. Molly was a theatre major with the largest personality Fjord had ever known in a person. Caleb was a history and political science double major who buried himself in books and his studies most of the time. Caduceus was studying plant biology and was probably the most insightful person Fjord had ever met. Fjord himself was studying marine biology.

As it stood, there should have been absolutely no interaction between the four of them, but they had connected through mutual friends: namely, Jester and her roommates. Jester was studying visual arts and roomed with Beau who was in her third year of undeclared arts, Yasha who studied general sciences, and Nott who was in engineering.

Fjord had met Jester on the first day of orientation in first year. They had been in the same orientation group and Jester had been ecstatic to find out that Fjord was also from the West Coast. From there, Jester had become one of his closest friends and had been the one to really bring their group together.

Jester and Beau were roommates in first year so when there was Jester, there was often also Beau. Fjord and Beau had become friends pretty quickly too. Jester met Molly, and subsequently Yasha, through hers and Molly's theatre class. Caduceus and Jester had taken a first aid course together in second semester. Beau was actually the one who met Caleb and Nott since she shared a history class with Caleb.

The eight of them had become a tight-knit group of friends mostly thanks to the outgoing efforts of Jester and Molly, so when it had come time to look for student housing for second year, they had split into two groups: the girls and the guys. As it worked out, they had managed to find houses on the same street.

It was common for people to show up unannounced or to crash on couches or share beds. After a crazy, not-so-fun high school experience, it was still a bit baffling for Fjord to have seven incredibly close friends on whom he could rely. Still, Fjord considered his relationships with Beau and Jester to be the closest and most important.

And Jester was currently a source of serious internal conflict for him.

Jester was pretty, very pretty, and everyone knew that. Fjord had known that since the moment he had met her and she had made a stupid joke about how the two of them ought to stick together because of their non-human complexions. She was funny and passionate and protective of him and the rest of their group of misfits. Jester had a sweet singing voice and a knack for showing up unannounced at the boy's house to bake for them or watch movies or just sleep over.

And Fjord, in all of his stupid glory, had come to the very frightening realization that he was desperately in love with Jester. But, she was his best friend and even though she had a tendency to flirt, Fjord knew that she flirted with everyone and had given no indication that she liked him seriously.

So he desperately tries to quash his feelings for her, but it was moments like this, where Jester was being carefree and utterly herself, that Fjord could hardly take his eyes off of her.

"Hey, Jester," Molly said suddenly, perking up. "I got the new Mac palette this weekend, do you want to come experiment with some of the shades with me while these things bake?"

Jester squealed. "Um, of course I do." She turned to Fjord and Caleb and winked. "No touching my buns until they're done!"

Fjord's sanity momentarily deserted him as all he could think of was a different kind of bun, but when he managed to snap himself out of it, Jester and Molly had disappeared to Molly's room and Caleb was staring at him.

"What?" he demanded, his cheeks feeling hot.

"You are sweet on Jester, ja?"

Fjord stared down at his textbook and didn't reply.

"You should tell her because Jester will not be single forever."

Fjord glanced up and gave Caleb a flat look. "And I should take love advice from you, why?"

Caleb shrugged. "Molly and I have at least spoken about what is between us. You have avoided all discussion of Jester since you realized your feelings."

Fjord chewed on his lip and went back to his notes. "I'm won't mess anything up," he said finally.

He was saved from further discussion about his hopeless crush by Beau waltzing in the front door, accompanied by Nott.

"Sup, bitches. I heard Jester was baking."

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Ja, she is making cinnamon buns. Molly and her are discussing makeup downstairs."

Beau crinkled her nose. "Ew, makeup."

Nott slipped off her shoes and slid into the chair between Caleb and Fjord. She glanced at what Fjord was working on and wrinkled her nose.

"I still don't know how any of you are studying biology, it's clearly the worst science."

Fjord shrugged. "At least I have a major."

Beau laughed and feigned offence. "Hey, I strive to be undeclared as long as they'll let me, if only just to piss off my folks."

Caleb shook his head. "You are ridiculous, Beauregard."

"Oh, the full name! I'm so scared!" she teased. "What were you idiots talking about before we showed up?"

"Nothing," Fjord said at the same time as Caleb said:

"Fjord's crush."

Fjord's face flooded with heat and he glanced nervously at the door to the basement.

Beau laughed. "Ah, the hopeless infatuation continues."

"Shut up," Fjord grumbled and dropped his head to the table, landing it with a thud on top of his textbook.

Three days later, Jester had appeared at the house unannounced again. She had strolled in without a care and walked into the living room where Fjord was watching TV.

"I'm boooored," she announced loudly.

Fjord looked up at her and blinked awkwardly. She was wearing a sparkly, low-cut shirt and skin-tight jeans. She had obviously been planning on going out, so he wasn't sure why she was standing in his living room. He tipped his head in confusion and she mirrored him for a moment before apparently remembering what she was wearing.

"Beau bailed on me because Keg's going to be there and she refuses to acknowledge that they had a thing, so now I have no one to go with since Molly and Caleb are actually hanging out for once." Jester pushed her lips into a frustratingly adorable pout and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Are you here to convince me to go out with you?" he asked hesitantly.

Jester waved him off. "No, I don't feel like going out anymore. What are you watching?" She crossed the room and dropped onto the sofa next to him.

Fjord unpaused the TV and his documentary resumed. Jester laughed as she realized.

"Only you would watch ocean documentaries during the break, Fjord."

He shrugged. "It's relaxing," he explained.

Jester shrugged and snuggled in next to him. Fjord tensed momentarily before relaxing and tucking his arm around Jester. She was naturally very touchy and they'd been loosely cuddling while watching movies since first year, so it felt comfortably normal.

Unfortunately, Fjord struggled to focus on his movie much since Jester was warm and comfortable as she tucked into his side. He refused to look down at her, keeping his eyes focused determinedly on the TV because otherwise, he was looking right down her clubbing shirt.

About half-way through the movie, Jester yawned and Fjord realized that she was probably not comfortable in clubbing clothes while lying on the couch. He retracted his arm slowly and Jester looked up at him, looking confused.

"Come on," he beckoned, pulling her to her feet. She followed him without question as they headed to his room. Jester scuffed her toe along the hardwood and Fjord thought he detected a flash of nervousness in her violet eyes.

He walked to one of his drawers and opened it, pulling out a loose t-shirt and grabbing a clean pair of sweats. He turned and offered them to Jester and she beamed at him.

"I'll just," he gestured back towards the living room and Jester nodded, a smile curling up her lips.

Fjord headed back to the living room and tried valiantly not to think of Jester changing in his room. When she re-emerged, he realized that he had made a mistake. His clothes were huge on her, swamping her, but she had cuffed his sweats five or six times to make them an appropriate length. She rejoined him on the couch, snuggling into his side.

"Thanks, Fjord," she said sweetly.

Fjord's arm wrapped around her like it had a mind of its own. "You're welcome, Jess."

Fjord woke up to early morning light filtering through the curtains of the living room and falling across his face into his eyes. He blinked and moved to stretch out his arms before realizing that there was a weight pinning him in place. He glanced down and was surprised to see Jester curled against his chest.

They were slotted together on the dingy couch with her head resting between his shoulder and his collarbone, tilted so her horns didn't stab into him. Fjord's arms were loosely wrapped around her waist and his right hand was brushing against pale blue, bare skin. The giant t-shirt he had loaned Jester had ridden up just enough that his fingers were grazing her bare hip. He shifted his hand quickly and tried to keep his face cool.

It definitely wasn't the first time Jester had fallen asleep on him, but it was one of the only times Fjord had also fallen asleep with her and it was definitely the first time that he'd found them in such an intimate position subconsciously.

There was a blanket stretched up across them too that definitely hadn't been there when they were watching the documentary. The TV was also turned off and that meant that one of Fjord's roommates had seen them which meant that he was never going to live this one down. He could always try to play it off on Jester's naturally happy and affectionate personality, but the blush he'd inevitably get would give it away.

He gently lifted his hand to Jester's shoulder and squeezed. She mumbled something under her breath but stirred. After an awkward second, she blinked her eyes open and they made eye contact. Fjord smiled uneasily, but Jester just beamed at him with her usual bright smile. She lifted herself off him and slid to sit next to him. Fjord swung his feet down so that they were sitting on the couch side by side.

Jester started untangling her hair from her horns and without thinking, Fjord reached over to unwind a lock on the horn nearest to him. Jester gave him a quiet thank you and they worked silently for a moment until Fjord dropped the last smooth lock of Jester's dark hair. She turned to face him, her curls bouncing and she grinned again.

"Sorry for falling asleep on you, Fjord," she said brightly.

He shrugged. "It's no big deal. As long as the girls weren't going to worry about you for not coming home?"

Jester waved him off. "It's definitely fine since I told Beau I was coming over, definitely."

Fjord stood up from the couch and tilted his head to the living room. "Breakfast?"

Jester beamed. "If you have anything edible. Otherwise, I'll steal from Molly."

They walked into the kitchen together and saw Caleb sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee while flipping through a history textbook. He looked up and didn't even bat an eye at the fact that Jester was there, so Fjord figured that he had been the one to give them the blanket last night.

"Good morning Caleb," Jester greeted brightly. "You're up early considering that you and Molly got home pretty late last night." Fjord caught on to the teasing lilt of Jester's words and he turned away, feeling heat sting his cheeks at the mere ghost of a thought about his two roommates.

Caleb just shrugged, the innuendo rolling off of him easily. "We were actually at your house for most of the evening with Yasha and a skulking Beau. Molly ended up crashing there so I suppose we have temporarily traded roommates."

Jester laughed and Fjord's lips twisted into a strategically hidden smile as he kept his back to his friends.

"So you just fell asleep watching the documentary?" Beau asked as she helped him reset the bar.

Fjord shrugged. "I mean, I assume. I just remember watching the movie and then I woke up in the morning." He laid down against the bench and braced his hands against the bar.

As Fjord began his reps, Beau watched him as a spotter. "And you're one hundred percent sure that there was nothing else involved?"

Fjord paused and let the bar fall back against the rest, narrowing his eyes at her. "What are you getting at?"

Beau raised her hands defensively. "Hey man, I'm just saying that her wearing your clothes and you guys sleeping together like that is awfully couple-y."

Fjord sighed and gripped the bar again. "This is Jester we're talking about. She's like this with everyone."

Beau stared down at him, folding her arms over her chest. "If you keep talking yourself out of it like this, I don't know if you'll ever be brave enough to do anything about it."

Fjord didn't reply and just finished his last two reps before sliding out from under the bar and sitting up. Beau rolled her eyes at him and turned away.

"If you hurt her I will kick your ass, Fjord, gym buddies or not."

Fjord nodded. "Yeah, I know."

"Good," she replied stiffly. She jammed a finger in his face. "So man up already."

"Jester wants to know if you need anything from the grocery store while we're out here," Beau asked.

Fjord flipped a page in his book. "No," he said into his phone. "I'm good."

"Alright, well you're not going to bail on pub night again, are you? Because I, for one, have been really needing this drink all week."

Fjord laughed. "No, Beau, I won't bail on pub night. I'll be there tomorrow."

There was a muffled voice in the background that sounded like Jester over the rumble of her car. Beau snorted with laughter. "Yes, I won't forget to remind him." There was a brief pause as Beau's attention redirected to him. "Jester wants you to wear that grey shirt you have because it brings out your eyes and we're going to be taking lots of pictures apparently."

Fjord glanced over his shoulder at his bed where the grey shirt was folded next to black jeans that he was already planning on wearing to the pub. "Tell her I will."

There was another pause before Beau cackled again. "Jess, I should just give you the phone but I'd rather not die while you drive or have you get a ticket. Fjord, Jester said some very flattering things that you'll hear tomorrow again, so that's that."

"And everyone is coming, right? Caduceus gets back later today and Yasha's still around?"

"As far as I kn-JESTER, YOUR-" The call cut out suddenly and Fjord's eyes snapped to his phone screen. His screen was blank with no evidence of the call he had just previously been engaged with.

Fjord unlocked his phone and opened his call log. The call had been terminated from the other end, leaving Fjord confused and concerned at the panic that had resonated in Beau's voice before the call dropped. He placed his phone down and took a deep breath. Beau and Jester were adults. They could look after themselves and they would call him if they needed anything from him. Plus, Beau was known to freak out easily and hung up midway through conversations more than anyone else he knew.

He turned his phone over and tried to go back to work, but he found his attention kept straying from the comprehension questions in front of him. Fjord rubbed his brow and tried to forget the sharp fear he'd felt when he'd lost contact with them. He opened a new tab on his laptop and pulled up the university website so he could check on some due dates.

Finally, he managed to focus himself back and get to work on his project for his lab. He managed to work for an hour, but he was interrupted by a knock on his door and he looked up sharply. Caleb was standing in the doorway, his shoulders hunched with tension and his lips pressed firmly together.

"Hey, Caleb, what's up?"

"You haven't drunk anything today have you?" the redhead asked quickly.

Fjord shook his head. "Just coffee and water," he answered honestly.

Caleb nodded. "Good, well I'm meeting Mollymauk and Nott and need a ride somewhere if you don't mind."

Fjord closed his laptop lid and stood up. "Yeah, sure, I can get my groceries for the week now too."

Caleb turned and walked away without another word. Fjord grabbed his car keys from the hook by his door and followed his roommate. He pulled on his boots and slid on a coat. Caleb led the way out to Fjord's car and slid into the front seat. Fjord started the engine and glanced at Caleb.

"So, where to?"

"I'll direct so you just have to drive," Caleb replied cryptically.

Fjord frowned. Caleb was a private person, but he wasn't usually this short or secretive about things, especially if he was meeting with Molly and Nott. He pulled out of the driveway and followed Caleb's directions.

The further he drove, the more he began to notice a creeping worry appear in Caleb's guarded expression. Generally, Fjord recognized that he was being directed to the city centre and specifically the East District. He thought momentarily about notable places in the East District and came up with City Hall, the city library, and the main city hospital.

"Turn left here," Caleb instructed.

Fjord got into the left lane and realized that he was turning towards the hospital and away from any other notable locations. A stone sunk in his stomach.

"Caleb, why are we going to the hospital?" To Fjord's dismay, his voice trembled a bit as his mind raced wildly.

"You should park," Caleb said, avoiding the question.

Fjord pulled into the nearest parking spot and Caleb immediately got out of the car. Fjord followed him and watched his roommate cross the road towards the hospital without pausing. Dread curled around Fjord's insides, but he followed Caleb as soon as his car locked. They headed for the emergency doors and panic threatened to fill Fjord, so he stuck as close to Caleb as he could considering the fact that his roommate was moving with incredible purpose.

Caleb strode up to the receptionist and asked something that Fjord missed before immediately turning and walking down the hallway to a patient area. The receptionist gave Fjord a sympathetic look and he hurried after Caleb.

Fjord spotted Beau at the same time as Caleb did and panic blossomed in his chest much more fiercely than before. Beau was lying on a hospital bed, her arm in a sling and her face set in both worry and pain.

"Beauregard!" Caleb called out. Beau's eyes snapped to them and relief blossomed across her face.

"You're here!"

"Beau, what the fuck happened?" Fjord asked desperately.

Beau didn't answer right away and Fjord noticed that her eyes were rimmed with red and puffier than they should have been. "God, we were both distracted with talking to you and there was a guy who couldn't stop and he just hit us. The car's wrecked and it was a mess. Both of our phones disappeared and we were taken here. The only number I know by heart is Caleb's so thank god you're both here." Her words were quick, slurred, and slightly panicked.

Cold fear curled so tightly around Fjord's stomach that he was almost sick. "Beau, where is Jester?"

Beau just shook her head. "We rolled and we both screamed and other people were yelling and everything was so loud, but Jester, she didn't move. She was stuck and then I just remember sirens."

Before Beau could elaborate any further, Caleb straightened and nodded to a doctor that was walking towards them. The man was holding a clipboard and scanning a chart, but he looked up as they approached.

"Ms. Lionett, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah," Beau replied.

He flipped up a page and creased his brow. He looked back up at them and took in Fjord and Caleb. "Your friends?"

"My family lives far away and Caleb was my emergency call," Beau said shortly.

The doctor nodded. "Of course. I'm Doctor Grint, and I've just looked at your charts. We'll be able to get your arm fitted into a cast soon enough and I'll get someone on gathering your prescription while you wait for that."

Beau nodded slowly, glancing at her arm as if she had just remembered it was injured. The doctor looked like he was about to leave, but Beau jerked her good hand up to catch his attention again.

"Doctor, where's my friend? Jester? She's the one who was driving the car."

The doctor's previously neutral expression softened a bit. He glanced at something on his chart and looked over his shoulder down a hallway. "Ms. Lionett, I was informed of your accident and I must admit, you and Ms. Lavorre are lucky to be alive, much less have walked away from the crash with the injuries that you did sustain."

Fjord frowned. "Doctor, please, where is Jester?" he prodded gently.

Dr. Grint nodded. "Well, she's in surgery right now. She is going to be fine, but she's obviously not able to take visitors at the moment. I promise, if it's still during my shift, I will let you all know when she gets out of surgery since she also has no family nearby, I'm assuming."

"That's right," Fjord mumbled. He desperately wanted to see Jester to make sure she was breathing and that she was going to be alright, but he knew the best thing he could do for her right now was to wait with Beau for her to get out of surgery. "Thank you, Dr. Grint."

The doctor smiled. "It's a really unfortunate accident that befell you, and I assure you that Ms. Lionett here will be back on her feet in no time and Ms. Lavorre will be on the road to recovery soon as well." With that, he turned and walked off, returning to his rounds.

Caleb glanced around the open room. "I am going to see if they have any chairs for Fjord and I, and I am also going to call Nott. She and the others will want to know that you guys will be okay."

"I'll go help you find chairs," Fjord offered quickly. Right as he turned away from Beau, her hand reached out and grabbed his wrist.

He turned back to her and her ears pinkened. "Hey, uh, actually, would you mind waiting with me? I really hate hospitals and the hour before you guys got here was the worst."

Fjord felt his lips twitch into a smile. "Don't like hospitals? I thought you spent all your free time in one?"

She scowled at him. "Good one," she said dryly. "I don't choose to be here, asshole."

"With all the fights you pick, I can beg to differ."

Beau stuck her tongue out.

It was around an hour and a half later–thirty minutes after Molly, Nott, and Yasha had arrived–when Dr. Grint finally returned. By this time it was getting later in the night and the emergency waiting room was emptying out. The group had dragged all the chairs that the nurses would let them around Beau's bed, but Nott was still sitting on the armrest of Caleb's chair. The whole group looked up as the doctor approached and he raised an eye at the addition of three more people.

"Found some more friends, have you?" he asked Beau.

"These are my other roommates Nott and Yasha as well as my other friend Mollymauk."

Dr. Grint nodded. "Right, well we're ready to put your cast on now, Ms. Lionett, if you'd like to come with me. And your other friend, Ms. Lavorre, is safely out of surgery. She is going to be fine, but she'll be here for a couple of days under observation. She's still asleep at the moment, but one of you is welcome to go in and sit with her for the next half hour until visiting hours are over."

"Fjord will go," Nott suggested quickly. Fjord tensed in his seat and narrowed his eyes at the goblin, who stuck her tongue out in response.

Hearing that Jester was out of surgery and was going to be fine had lifted an invisible weight off his shoulders, and though Nott's comment irritated him, his desire to see Jester was a lot stronger.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Where is she?"

"1014," the doctor replied. Beau stood up from the cot, limping slightly and followed the doctor away to get her arm cast.

Fjord glanced at the rest of the group briefly again. Molly rolled his eyes and waved him towards the occupied rooms. Fjord nodded and headed towards the recovery rooms. He walked slowly down the halls and let his breathing even and relax and some of his stress fade. He scanned the room numbers and very nearly walked right past Jester's room, but he saw it at the last second.

He stopped outside of it and looked through the small window. His friend was lying on a cot, hooking to an IV, with her chest rising and falling slowly. He couldn't make out much from through the glass so he steeled his nerves and opened the door.

Naturally, Jester didn't stir, so Fjord closed the door behind him and sat in the visitor's chair at the side of the bed. Up close, he could see stitches closing a gash that ran up into her scalp and several other small scrapes. There was some slight deep purple bruising forming on her blue skin around the stitches, but he couldn't make out any other injuries above the blanket she lay under.

Her hands rested atop the blanket, crinkling the thin material, and Fjord stared at her fingers. She had on dark red nail polish with a white smiley face dotted onto the ring fingernail. The IV and heart monitor were both clipped to her right hand, and Fjord sat on the left, so he didn't have to look at the plastic fingertip.

The monitor beeped smoothly and methodically, and Jester slept.

Fjord reached out and carefully cupped Jester's hand between both of his own. He swallowed roughly and internally reminded himself that she was alive. She was hurt, but alive, and he had to be grateful for that.

"Wake up soon, Jester, even if it's just for my sake," he whispered gently.

She didn't stir at his words and Fjord kept his eyes trained on her face while his hands cupped her slim fingers. He sat with her for as long as the hospital staff let him, but left when they told him visitor's hours were over.

He walked out into the main room and saw that Beau, Yasha, and Molly were gone, but Caleb and Nott were in conversation with a half-elf nurse at the counter. The goblin perked up when she saw Fjord before she abandoned the conversation to run up to him.

"How does she look?"

Fjord exhaled. "Okay, I guess. She's asleep and she should be fine."

Nott nodded. "That's good. Yasha and Molly checked out with Beau and are bringing her home. Caleb and I were just sorting out Jester's emergency contacts."

Fjord glanced at Caleb who appeared to be concluding his discussion. "Actually," he mumbled.

Nott waved him off. "We listed you as first to call, don't worry. They'll update us when she wakes up, or we can come back at 11 tomorrow when visitor's hours start again."

Fjord looked down at Nott and felt a tiny smile twitch his lips at her thoughtfulness. The two of them didn't exactly see eye to eye, but he nodded to her in respect and thanks. "I can pick you up tomorrow if you want to come sit with her with me," he offered.

Nott sighed. "I really, really wish I could, but I have a design team meeting that I cannot afford to miss. I know you'll update me when she wakes."

"Yeah," Fjord agreed. Caleb was walking towards them now. "Let's go, I'll drive you and Caleb home."

Fjord reclined in the plastic chair and tapped his pen against the corner of his mouth. He had brought his textbook with him to the hospital and was working through a couple of problem sets while he sat with a still Jester.

She hadn't woken up overnight, and Fjord had been sitting with her since visitor hours started, except for a brief break for lunch where he swapped with Molly.

He drew a circle around the definition in the question and frowned. The word he recognized briefly from one of his other readings, but the context of it was entirely new. He flipped back a couple of pages and observed the diagram displayed across most of the page.

"Your tusks are really coming in, aren't they?"

Jester's voice was quiet and tired from his left and it startled him into nearly dropping his book. She had tilted her head marginally in his direction and her violet eyes were trained on his face. She blinked a few times at him like she was still processing and Fjord shut his book, depositing it onto the floor.

"Jester!" he breathed.

"Hi Fjord," she replied softly.

Fjord reached out and took her hand. He squeezed it tightly and she weakly squeezed back.

"How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Jester replies immediately. She broke their eye contact and looked around the room briefly. "And confused," she added. "Am I in the hospital?"

"Do you remember what happened?" Fjord asked, his brow creasing.

Jester pressed her lips together while she rearranged her memories. Her lips formed a small 'o' and she shut her eyes briefly. "We got hit. Beau and I, in my car."

Fjord nodded. "According to Beau, you guys flipped and rolled and all the windows were broken and the doors mangled enough that you couldn't really get out." He saw hurt flinch across Jester's features momentarily and he squeezed her hand to comfort her gently. "But, Beau is okay, and you're going to be fine soon enough."

Jester exhaled deeply and then flinched. "Ouch, ribs are not good." She pulled her right hand up and touched her head gently. Her frown tightened. "Head's pretty bad too."

Fjord dropped her hand and stood up. "I'll get a nurse. They should know you're awake."

"You won't leave, will you?" Jester asked shyly.

Fjord smiled at her. "Not unless they drag me away." He crossed the small hospital room in two strides and was reaching for the door when she replied.

She relaxed into the bed a little and nodded. "Yeah, okay, well, I'm glad you're here now."

Fjord had already opened the door, but he paused in the doorway and looked back. "Me too, Jester. And I'm really glad you're okay."

"So far," she teased.

He laughed and slipped out of the room. Jester was going to be fine and he finally felt like he could breathe again.

It was a couple of days before the hospital was ready to release Jester, and it was Saturday, just two days before classes started again, when she called Fjord from the hospital and asked for a ride home. Naturally, he dropped everything he had been working on to pick her up.

She already looked better as her bruising was fading and her hair did a good job of hiding the stitches along her face. Jester grinned when she saw Fjord before turning and thanking the nurses before making her way over to him. Fjord opened the passenger side door of his car and beckoned her in.

"Thank you, my Prince Charming," Jester teased.

Fjord rolled his eyes, but walked around and got in the car himself. As he was fastening his seatbelt, Jester grabbed his arm, excitedly brandishing a new phone in his face.

"Look! Mama sent this to the house yesterday after she heard about the accident and Beau dropped it off for me."

Fjord smiled at her. "Guess we're going to have to make a new group chat to include you again then, aren't we?"

Jester punched his shoulder lightly. "There is no group chat without me anyways. I'm the life of this party."

Fjord chuckled and started the car. "So, where to? Home?"

Jester's smile dropped a little. "Actually, would you mind just going for a drive? I kind of want to look out from the top of the hill."

Fjord pulled out of the pick-up area and onto the main road. "Sure, I've got nothing else to do today."

Jester directed him through town and made him stop momentarily so she could pick up some pastries from a local bakery before they continued towards the largest hill in the city. They made easy conversation about school and what had happened while Jester was in the hospital as they drove to the peak.

At the top, Fjord pulled into the lookout parking lot and parked right against the railing. Jester jumped out of the car and ran to the edge, gripping the wooden railing in her hands. Fjord followed her, a little more slowly, but he studied her as he approached. She had her chin tilted up to catch the breeze and her eyes closed.

"You know," she murmured, "I thought I might never feel this again when I was in that car."

"Jester," Fjord said gently.

She shrugged. "I'm here though and I feel alive. I'm grateful to Beau and the firemen and the hospital staff. I'm still here, and I get to be here with you." She looked at him when she finished and her cheeks were dark with a slight blush as her eyes twinkled.

"I'm glad you're here," Fjord said firmly. He stepped a little closer to her and placed one of his hands over hers.

Jester's eyes widened a little bit, but then her cheeks darkened and her grin split even wider. She turned back to the view and squinted out over the city. "I can see the university from here," she declared proudly, lifting her hand out from under his to point out the familiar cluster of buildings.

Fjord instantly felt the loss of something when Jester moved her hand. She didn't look at him again, just kept staring at the city, so Fjord tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the railing, facing his car and the road.

Jester was quiet for a long moment after that before she spun her whole body to face him suddenly. "You know, this whole experience would have been so much worse without everyone. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't had you guys when I was in the hospital."

Fjord exhaled sharply. "Well, if you and Beau hadn't been talking to me, you probably wouldn't have even been there."

Jester frowned instantly and threw her arms around him, catching him in an unexpected and fierce hug. "Don't blame yourself. I was trying to say that I'm thankful for you guys. No blame-game," she ordered him.

Fjord slid an arm around her to squeeze her back. "Yeah, okay."

Jester lifted her chin and grinned at him victoriously. "I think all of us will be friends forever. Our group of crazy friends, the Mighty Nein!"

He laughed at her and nodded. "At this point, I can barely imagine school, much less life, without the team."

Jester poked him in the chest. "And us west-coasters have to stick together above all else."

Affection bubbled in Fjord's chest. "Of course," he replied easily. "Always."

The party was loud. The rainbow lights flashed erratically and the music was loud enough almost to make the walls tremble. People were yelling and laughing and singing and dancing and it was a bit chaotic, to say the least.

Fjord clutched his drink and leaned back against the wall. Molly had dragged Beau off to play some chaotic drinking game in the other room and Caleb, Caduceus, Nott, and Yasha had all elected not to come to the party. Jester was apparently around somewhere, but Fjord hadn't seen her all night.

He had almost come to the decision that he'd rather just leave and join in on whatever tame event the other members of the Mighty Nein were having at the boys' house when a familiar figure broke from the crowd and approached him. To his dismay, it wasn't Jester or even Molly or Beau.

Avantika was pretty unfairly pretty with curly red hair, sharp features, and an attractive body. She was in his program and in a bunch of his classes. They had talked a bit in first and second years, but they were partners in a biology lab this semester, so they interacted a lot more recently.

Fjord knew what flirting looked like and Avantika was incredibly flirty, but he was still taken a bit off guard when she stepped right into his personal space and ran a finger down his chest, smirking.

"Mr. Strong and Silent, over here, aren't you?" she teased.

While Jester's flirting usually made him warm inside, Avantika's just made him a little uncomfortable. She stayed firmly in his personal space, expression coy and apparently waiting. Fjord pressed his shoulders more flatly against the wall to try and escape, but she followed him determinedly.

After another moment, right as the lights flashed, Avantika surged up and kissed him firmly. Fjord felt her lips on his, cold and sticky from alcohol for a long moment before she pulled away. One of her brows cocked expectantly, but Fjord could only focus on the face that he had finally spotted over her shoulder.

Jester, clutching a plastic water bottle, was staring at him in a mix of hurt and disappointment. Jester's eyes searched his face for a moment longer before she spun and disappeared into the throng of drunk university students.

Fjord immediately pushed Avantika away and followed her. He shoved his cup into the hands of a completely wasted Sabian as he pushed by, and kept walking. He caught the briefest glimpse of her horns slipping out the front door and he darted after her. She had already reached the sidewalk in front of the house by the time that Fjord had made it through the front door.

"Jester! Wait!"

At the sound of her name, she paused and looked over her shoulder, surprised. She tensed when she saw him, but didn't walk any further away as he approached.

Fjord stopped right in front of her and placed both of his hands on her arms at her side and peered at her, concerned. "Where are you going?"

"Home," she replied shortly. She dropped her gaze from his and looked stubbornly off to the side.

"Jester, what did I do?"

"Nothing!" she cried, her voice a pitch higher than usual. Fjord lifted a hand and turned her face back towards him, his brow furrowing. Jester sighed and shut her eyes. "Shouldn't you go back to Miss Avantika and her pretty hair and eyes and body and lips?"

Realization sparked in Fjord so suddenly he was surprised that he didn't catch fire. "Jester, I don't like Avantika," he said slowly.

She opened her eyes and frowned. "Didn't look that way! I've spent three years trying to make you like me, and yet you still don't even see because here she comes with her perfect hair and her confidence and you're just kissing her!"

Fjord laughed shakily. "I don't see you?" he questioned. "Jester, I am head over heels for you. I see you in a light that I've never seen anyone else in, ever. You're radiant and special and beautiful and everyone knows that I'm obsessed with you. Avantika initiated the kiss and I, frankly, wanted nothing to do with it."

Jester's violet eyes widened dramatically. She appeared to be completely stunned into silence. Fjord laughed again, feeling tension drain out of him as he was filled with a reminder of how much he loved this girl.

"I'm crazy about you," he repeated. "And I see you, more clearly than ever, tonight," he said gently.

Finally, something clicked in Jester's mind and she stepped forwards, perching on her tiptoes as she kissed Fjord tentatively. Fjord's hand shifted to cup her jaw and he pulled her closer, sliding his other arm around her waist. He kissed her back for a long time and this kiss felt warm and right and perfect in every way.

After a long moment, they broke away breathless, but Fjord didn't let Jester move further away from him.

"You're serious?" she asked softly.

Fjord pressed his lips to her forehead. "As serious as Caleb is the night before a paper is due."

A small smile curled up her lips. "Okay."

She leaned up to kiss him again and just as their lips met, there was a whoop of joy from behind them, and they broke apart, startled. Molly and Beau were both standing in the doorway of the house, grinning like crazy people.

"It's about damn time!" Beau cheered drunkenly.

Fjord pulled away a little bit, his face burning, but Jester slid her hand into his and squeezed it tightly. He glanced at her and she smiled radiantly.

"I see you too," she whispered. And it was true and it was good.

#the writing section #fjoresterweek #the mighty nein #critical role #words: 7.3k+#genre: romance #rating: t #genre: friendship #fjorester #character: fjord #character: jester #character: beau #character: caleb #ship: fjorester #critical fiction #nicolewrites

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thefatdrunkdragon · 6 years

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The Worst RPer I have ever met (Nemo Saga Chapter 6)

Okay, so here we go with another standalone Nemo chapter that discusses the one thing about Nemo. His fucking temper.

As demonstrated in the Spooky RP, Nemo has a short temper when it comes to people actually messing with him or belittleling him. Now, it’s understandable that in RP’s you can sorta make a character based on people you don’t like and have em be killed off or defeated. I havent had much RPs about those but Nemo’s case is that he resolves everything with vauge threats and murder.

For example, before the Spooky RP, Nemo first met the Dragon Cafe Crew.

The Dragon Cafe Crew is composed of the following:

Rubelle “Ruby” Black - The Chubby Dragoness

Calvin “Cook” O’Hara - The Alcoholic native of Philly

Jill Xhiao - The Shy Panda woman.

Oswald “Ozzie” Hempshey - A fat East End Drake

And Dexter “Dex” O’finnigan - The Irish Yang to Ozzie’s Cockney Yin.

Out of all of those, It was Ozzie and Dex who didn’t come to immidietly like Nemo. And in character, they like to mess around with other people. So let’s say that Ozzie and Dex make some dumb jokes about the Vampires or admit that “We ain’t really friends.” What does Nemo do? He brutally murders Ozzie and Dex. But has them revived. If this were a moment in an RP with a good friend of mine, this scene would not be as brutal and would be played off for poorly done dark comedy. But Nemo was very serious about it. He really REALLY hated Ozzie and Dex simply because they didn’t wanted to be his friends right away. It get’s better.

Another example comes when a Zombie Virus is loose in Puerto Rico. Aiden thankfully survived in a farmland, enjoy the spoils of the apocalypse and the catharsis it brings. God-Nemo, offended that Aiden can rebel in a bit of normal power fantasy in a role play, calls him an evil man who doesn’t want anything to change so he decides to leave Aiden to his lonesome... with a fucking bomb that is suppose to kill him. I playfully have Aiden Brush off his death as cartoonish as possible, but Neem’s says “no no, let him die.” And I’m like “Excuse me bitch? I couldn’t kill YOUR characters but now you want me to let you kill mine because he thinks differently than you? FUCK YOU!”

It was after those two events that Nemo realized he shouldnt be having his marty stu kill me for not agreeing with him, he decides that he needed to add excuses for why he was killing me. And I mean excuse that would justify why he would kill my characters. And those excuses came in the form of either Demons or Rabies, and no matter what happens, there is no signs of that behavior until AFTER killing my characters.

While it wasn’t murder, there was an obvious threat of murder for this next example. Nemo kept bringing up a Mercy Brown Video Game (Which Only Exist to him) and he made moments where he tried to act like he was some Big shot letsplayer and blahblahblah. I have never heard of this game but Only had small understanding of what it was about, so I decided that, since I was into Zero Punctuation at the time, to make a sort of faux Ben Yatzee Review of a game. I didn’t do the whole thing because Its a fake game within an RP but the first few minutes was just me channeling my inner yatzee.

The small thing I wrote as Ben Yatzee:

Ben Yatzee: i hardly do reviews about indie horror, my last one being too scary to even continue. But when you have a cult of people simply worshipping an unknown horror game for being a bloody masterpiece, you end up witth your entire fanbase asking you to review. While i really dont take request, the number of people desperate for my thoughts on the game is just staggering so here we go...

Ben: Mercy's Autumn Nights is an indie horror game created by who else? Mercy brown. The title should be so completly obvious that she made the game as its not enough for her to simply put her name in the credits, you need to make it pretty bloody clear she made it.You play as, big surprise, Mercy blooming Brown as she tries to escape an angry mob thats chasing her down. Why? I dont fucking know?! Maybe mercy brown, being the obvious killer vampire, killed some people and she just not doing a good job at hiding it. Or maybe she hasnt showered in a while and the villagers are just getting sick and tired of smelling her greasy hair...

*ben continues to critize the games story and the use of mortal things when the character plays as mercy, complements the graphics and the controls.*

Ben: in conclusion, the next time someone sends me a request, my answer will simply just be "Mercy Bloody Brown!" Why? I dont care, its there. Have a nice day, internet.

Nemo took the Review as an offense and tried to get in contact with ben yatzee because they talked to each other once for a while like a year. Neem’s words, not mine. And this is ignoring the fact Yatzee has Social Anxiety. Ben tried to explain to Nemo that his video is only there as a means to both critique the game and be a comedy but Neemo kept trying to convince Yatzee it was a good game and that he was a good youtuber, ignoring the fact Ben reviewed the game not the Youtuber. But it was after being presented with Mercy Brown and the grave and how annoying he was, Ben basically shut him off, the video still remained though so no one won.

Mercy’s response:

Mercy: That takes care of it. See ya.

I told nemo that it didn’t really change anything and that the thing was just a video talking about the game, not him.

Neem’s Response

Nemo: I see. But if we see another negative video about us, you know what we'll do to him. He'll never know.

Like I said, It may not be a violent moment, but he generally demonstrates the same kind of mentality the secret police has. Censoring any form of criticism and killing off those who don’t like him

I already presented one example in the spooky rp but there is also another major example with this small rp moment. It was during the mercy saga, and it was a moment where "our dear friend and vintage American sweetheart Mercy Brown” contracted a disease just to get us to feel bad for her and give her some attention. Aiden and Ruby, not wishing to risk getting the mary sue sickness, decide to come in Hazmat suits. It’s as exaggerating as it sounds and for the time, it was just played for giggles. But later that day, she got better and Aiden und ruby had nothing to do, so they decided to call a helicopter to pick em up. This big fucking osprey shows up, lands on the garden but no one takes off because it turns out, one of the guys in the osprey, Dave, was getting married and everyone took the opportunity to celebrate it... while still in the osprey and still on Nemo’s Lawn.

Nemo, understandibly tried to get everyone out of the lawn but they ofcourse couldnt listen due to the fucking loud music inside it. He later got a megaphone, letting the message get through to them and forcing em to take off. It was there were a drunken Dave decided to just walk out on the osprey doors and flip nemo the bird, sealing everyone’s fate with that gesture.

Nemo’s Words after the vtol flew off:

Nemo: Yeah. That'll teach you how to disturb some neighbors, you mind-fucked bitch.

Nemo went flying in the air (Somehow) and gun down the entire vtol. Killing or injuring everyone, and leaving Ruby and Adrian in a catatonic state. He later flew back and acted as if nothing happened. Before that, he made a comment that was suppose to sound like the kind of snide remark of “Oh, I wonder how that horrible accident happened” kinda That is until Kate shows what happened , and this was the one time posession was actually close to making sense but since the RP always had Nemo act like a normal person and showed very little signs of posession, making this the only time he actually had it plan off.

Nemo’s word’s after being shown what happened?

Nemo: *whispers and closes the door* Oh my God. What did I do? What did I do? *drinks a can of A&W Root Beer* I'm getting crazy. I need blood. *licks his own lips and chewed his own lips. He grabs a meat and eats it and there was blood spilling on the floor* Master Velora. You promised me eternal life! And you did.

Funfact: Before Velora became a Valentine Girl and was part of a trio of marceline clones, she was supposed to be evil.

Pretty soon, Nemo suddenly had demonic powers and ordered his vampire clan to make the world a supernatural place for vampires and werewolves, and he will assend to become a Vampire God. Starting a fucking apocalypse and building a castle for him in Rhode Island.

When Kate, freaking out over what the fuck was going on, Nemo tried to be as hidden and “evil” as possible while signs were made quite fucking obvious he was starting a vampire apocalypse. But then when asked why the fuck he started fucking armageddon, here’s his response:

Nemo: No. Not ending the world. It's my parents. My parents should pay for what kind of stuff they did to me. Sending me to dangerous places and tormenting me. They have gone too far.

... At no point has Nemo’s folks EVER appeared in the RP. And Let’s not forget, He was fucking 19 at the time, so...

The apocalypse breaks out and the world seems like it was going to be in for one dicking of a terrible time. But we got to remember an important Detail: This is Nemo’s world.

How it really happened:

*Then Nemo was almost killed. But then he was fighting against a Wendigo. A Native American cannibal creature. People were watching Nemo and the Wendigo have a brutal fight in Providence, Rhode Island. He grabbed his medieval sword and stabbed at the creature and killed him. The Wendigo was killed and everybody was saved. Nemo thought it was himself, but it was a Wendigo. So Mercy had to send him to a church in Exeter, Mercy and the priest got rid of the spell that cursed him for so long. Nemo was finally saved and happy. He can now live however he wants. Even Kate was happy that he is now saved. His friends and family was happy that he's not possessed anymore. So in December, in Mercy's house, the presents are under the Christmas tree and everybody was having a good time. Nemo was waiting for all his friends to come.*

Well THAT CAME OUT OF NOWHERE!

After the battle:

Nemo: I hope nothing possesses me again.

Mercy: God will always be there for you.

Nemo: I know.

....

This was the stupidest thing to have ever happened in RP history and I just needed to share it with you all because this was fucking insanity

The point is: Nemo is a violent dick. Anything that doesn’t apppease his ego simply results in a death setence and later revival so that you can apologize to him and kiss his ass. And to be fair... it’s fucking scary. And it’s only made worse with the following subject: The Line between reality and fantasy.

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celticnoise · 6 years

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Yesterday, when I logged out early, when I wrote what I said would be my final article of the day, I was pretty sure that the club was not about to reward Moussa Dembele for his act of petulance by giving him exactly what he wanted, but there was a part of me that had to acknowledge that after a FUBAR few weeks there remained one last chance for those running Celtic to spring a final, horrible, surprise on us and I said so in the piece.

So it proved, on a night when the manager’s entire plan for the season was upended completely.

Let not one person try to kid you that we even managed to save face. The people who brought us to last night’s sorry pass claim to be united in the decision: I am glad to hear it because they own it, collectively, in all its majestic awfulness.

Dembele did no more than Boyata did and he did no more than the directors did and they did no more than Brendan himself decided to do. All thought it appropriate to let their private grievances become public. I agreed with Rodgers at the time; in hindsight he unleashed chaos on our club when he spoke so publicly against it. Everyone else followed suit, and we ended up exactly where I thought we might.

After all, when the men at the very top are bitching each other out in the media why wouldn’t the players get similar ideas?

Brendan Rodgers had a case.

Of course he did.

Save for a handful of holdouts folk with their heads so firmly lodged up their own posteriors that they can’t see sunlight, very few people in the Celtic Family believes that our manager was given even token backing for his plans for the team.

The signings have been a joke, to be frank, and are a damning indictment of the way our club is run above the manager’s level.

Lawwell, in particular, has a lot to answer for.

He gets an article all to himself tomorrow, after the game. He needn’t be under any illusions about how the vast majority of our supporters feel about him right now; he’s outlived his usefulness, and to be blunt perhaps that statement should have been written sooner. He has performed well on the commercial side, but this whole summer has been such a car-crash, with him at the centre, that it’s impossible to escape the impression that this is someone with way too much belief in his own PR, a guy who’s nowhere near as smart as he and others thinks he is, a guy perhaps nowhere near as good as he’d have us believe.

The commercial department isn’t just one man, after all, and Lawwell is not a miracle worker, he’s a guy selling something very special, something iconic.

The job does not require super powers, although the totality of the screw-up he has presided over in this window certainly suggests that he’s in possession of some warped ones. It should be impossible to make this big a mess and still have the nerve to show your face. Look out for a press tour, to his own hand-picked toadies, very soon in an effort to spin this as something other than the disaster it is. It’s way too late for that now, though.

Short of his resignation statement, he has nothing to say that most of us want to hear. It would be better for the stability of this club if he fell on his sword.

So yes, Brendan was 100% right to be pissed off and I believe for the most part that the fans have a right to know what’s going on the club.

But it was also an act of selfishness. It was an act of petulance where he put his own feelings before the good of the club. The timing of it reeked, on the eve of a mammoth tie when the team appeared to be flying and in good form. It was like someone opened the air valve on our mood; the positivity started bleeding away at once.

Brendan Rodgers is a smart enough guy that he should have the personal skills and the strength and conviction to fight his corner inside the club and leverage his achievements into getting what he wants. That he doesn’t have the juice to achieve that is deeply disturbing on any number of levels.

And it got worse, of course.

When an un-named person on Celtic’s board – and I know who that person was by the way; there’s no point to my writing that name, it can only do more harm – told Chris McLaughlin of the BBC that they were equally pissed at Brendan they poured gasoline onto the fire and so a bad day story rolled over into the next day and provoked a swarm of articles and pieces about how the cracks were appearing at Celtic Park … and the media was correct to write those.

For the sheer unprofessionalism of that act, the man responsible for it should have had his backside chewed on the floor of whatever posh hotel suite Desmond stays in when he comes over here. That person should have been put on notice; do it again, and you’re done.

Some of that person’s comments, both to McLaughlin and to other journalists in the days to come, stunk of an ego and arrogance that nearly defies belief. Suddenly the finding of raw footballers of potential and their transformation into top class performers who could be sold on for big bucks was the board’s success and not that of the scouting and coaching team. Appointing Brendan Rodgers was proof of their genius, and his achievements became theirs.

Nowhere did the articles mention that they had appointed Delia as well, and his two calamitous European campaigns. Nowhere did they mention that the same people helped drive Neil Lennon out of the door of his dream job.

(They also hired Lennon, an act of unpardonable folly which, fortunately for all of us, worked out better than I ever expected it to. I remain flabbergasted that our club took such an appalling and un-necessary risk as to hire a complete novice at a critical time. They escaped proper scrutiny for that and they shouldn’t have. It was proof of their diabolical complacency and lack of strategic vision. Only when Desmond himself intervened did we bring in true, proven, quality and in spite of Brendan’s love for the club we have no way of knowing how long we’ll have it.)

And of course, when the indiscipline at the top is so obvious that filters down to the players and Boyata’s public spitting of the dummy was hardly unexpected. What was unexpected was his decision to down tools, and at that point he should have been booted out of Celtic Park to the first club that would pay us a transfer fee.

But instead we made the problem worse when he was welcomed back to the squad, when he was named in the team, when he was cheered onto the park by some of the fans and then lauded a hero for a goal against Hamilton. I said in the piece on the afternoon of the game that we had lost a part of what made us special. It was a matter of time before a much more important player decided to air his own grievances in public by hankering for a move via the media.

We had decided to reward disloyalty with a Hooped jersey. It made the club look weak and at the mercy of events. And I knew the vultures would come.

Apparently, nobody at Celtic did because although it’s been looming in front of us since the night he scored twice against Manchester City there was no plan for replacing him. And please, nobody waste my time saying Edouard. The manager couldn’t have made it more clear over the summer that he planned to utilise both of them.

I wrote multiple pieces on how excited I was, and how excited the coaches were, about the planned change in the playing style – and which we saw coming together in pre-season, which would have seen the French Connection unleashed on team’s home and abroad.

The club knew there was a chance that Dembele would go, and we were not in the least bit prepared for that when it happened.

That is scandalous in and of itself.

What’s even more scandalous is that in spite of their protestations to the contrary, there is ample reason to believe that the club itself was perfectly relaxed about Lyon’s interest. They allowed Dembele’s people to open at least tentative talks with the club; don’t forget, part of the problem here is that Dembele knew, roughly, how much money he was losing with every day he was at Parkhead.

If there was a plan being followed in this window I don’t see it.

If there was a strategy unfolding it is one that is so complicated that, try as I might – and believe me, I did – I couldn’t follow it at all.

Sell Dembele, but keep Boyata who we allowed to do what no other player would have been able to.

Chase a player whose club would never sell him to us, and waste time on that instead of moving on to alternative targets. Let Mulumba rot on the dole for months and sign him in the last two days. Mess the manager around so much he got desperate, and thus burn all the goodwill from a second successive treble when the chance to hammer the last nail into Sevco was right there.

The window ends with our team weaker than it was and that’s hard enough to take, but football fans deal with that all the time. It’s the way the club has been weakened by the last few weeks that really burns, that really hurts. We have allowed ourselves to be embarrassed by Rod Petrie, bounced around by Boyata and finally humiliated by Dembele who is telling the media that he forced our hand, as if that was something to be proud of.

Our club is less than it was as a result of the last month. It has been left looking flat-footed, one paced, unable to think more than one step at a time. We have been done up by agents and players, our reputation as tough negotiators completely swamped, and if Dembele and Boyata’s people are believed by others in the game the damage will be worse than that; we’ll be seen as dishonest and untrustworthy to boot. It is a calamity.

If Lawwell had the ability to analyse this from an outsider’s perspective, he would go today. But he will be here after Rodgers has gone, and it’s that, and not the Steven Fletcher fiasco, for which he will be remembered forevermore. His legacy is in ruins.

But our signings in this window have been so poor, our options so limited, our performance so dire that the Gods demand a blood sacrifice and there’s an obvious one and frankly his position is absolutely indefensible, no matter who his mates are.

Look at what we’ve got; Izzy was at the club two years ago. Bain was playing for Dundee. Mulumba was at Kilmarnock. Arzani was foisted on us by City and Lawwell’s son who works there. Benkovic’s been on the radar for at least a year. Morgan was at St Mirren. Only Edouard and Compper suggest that any kind of real scouting has been done in the last twelve months and the German has been a disaster of epic proportions all on his own.

As it stands right now, Lee Congerton is offering us less than Compper does. His performance has been diabolical. If he isn’t cleaning out his desk as I write this there is more wrong at Celtic Park than this article will ever be able to properly convey.

https://ift.tt/2LLiLmT

#CelticNoise #Celtic #CelticFC #TheCelticBlog #News

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wingsy-keeper-of-songs · 6 years

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Prior Engagement

I thought I’d do a little follow-up to my one-shot of Nora getting proposed to. Needless to say, she and the good doctor are going to have a few words. I hope you enjoy!

She stared at him for a good minute or two, hardly able to speak. The man in grey removed his hat and regarded her with a rather self-conscious smile.

“I expect you’re quite upset with me,” he began. “I can understand that.” Oh, she was tempted to slap him hard like she’d done to Beauregard. She really was. But she couldn’t muster the strength to hit him.

“I’m sure,” she seethed softly. “I’m sure you understand completely.” Dr. Schultz’s face fell and his expression turned sheepish.

“Please understand that what I did, I did for your own safety.” He said. “I couldn’t guarantee you’d be safe with me if I allowed you to continue to travel with me.”

“So leaving me out here on my own was your way of protecting me?” She asked, arms akimbo. “You abandoning me at your nearest convenience was selfless?” He winced at the quiet venom in her voice.

“Please understand that what I do is not fit for a lady of your standards,” he said. “I go after the worst dregs that American society has to offer. I chase them, I track them, and I kill them in cold blood. I do these things for a living, and it is no living that any woman should have.”

“I am not some delicate damsel in distress!” She yelled at him. “I am not some helpless maiden on top of a mountain!” Again, he winced. “I thought that the two of us were partners, that you considered us equals.” She calmed down a little. “But it appears that I was wrong. You thought me as weak as anyone. You left me here to ease your own conscience. But do not pretend for a moment that it was for my sake.” He seemed insulted by that. Good, she thought.

“You just don’t understand,” he was saying. “The reason I left was because I wanted to ensure your safety. I could very well have dragged you back to Louisiana to stand trial for your crime, but I didn’t. I didn’t do this because I knew you deserved better. You didn’t deserve to be caged and left to rot.”

“Have you any idea what I’ve endured here?” She was yelling at him again. “Do you know what these small-minded folk say about me? About why you left me here with a thousand dollars to my name? I’m a fallen woman, Dr. Schultz. They thought me your whore. And you left me here because you were done with me.” He looked quite embarrassed and very insulted by this.

“Nora, I would never have…I couldn’t…I never thought that would…” he was searching for the proper words. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have…”

“You wouldn’t have what? Left me here?” She demanded. “I’m sure you would have anyways. After all, you only are used to looking after yourself.”

“That’s not what I mean!” Schultz was shouting now. “I left because I couldn’t bear to let anything happen to you! I have been on my own for five years. Five years! I could hardly let anything happen to the first person I consider a friend!”

“A friend would have written to me. A friend would have asked about me and made sure I was all right.” She glared at him. “You did none of these things. You have no right to call me your friend. What I am to you is an asset and nothing more.”

“Would you please just listen to me?” He said fiercely. “I did write to you. Every chance I got I wrote a letter. It is hardly my fault that you didn’t get them!” She paused then and regarded him curiously.

“You…you wrote to me?” She asked. He nodded.

“Of course I did. Why would I not? You were far more than a failed bounty to me. As I have said, I have been on my own for five years. I very well couldn’t forget someone who considered me something like a friend.”

“But I…I never got…you…” she trailed off and then her eyes went wide. Beauregard had mentioned something earlier, about how she might have had a relationship with Schultz. There was no way for him to know outside of the rumors unless… “I’ll be goddamned!” She yelped, making him jump.

“What?”

“That son of a bitch stole my letters!” She exclaimed. “That’s why he said that awful thing to me! He must have read them and thought…oh, I could kill him! I could really kill him!”

“Would you cease your dancing round the subject and explain to me what you’re talking about?” Schultz asked, looking annoyed.

“Oh, this jumped-up, pompous idiot of a suitor came to me today and asked me to marry him.” Nora explained. “I turned him down multiple times, but the man just wouldn’t take no for an answer. He mentioned something concerning you, and I’d thought he meant the gossip, but no. He would go through my mail, the prick. Oh, the arrogance of it all, thinking I belong to him! Had I a permit, I’d shoot him in a heartbeat! And after having the audacity to call me a whore!”

“He sounds charming,” Schultz deadpanned. Nora calmed herself down and she sat at her table in a slump.

“I owe you an apology.” She told him. “I’d thought you’d ridden off and forgot all about me.” Schultz sat across from her and took her hand in his.

“Keep you apology,” he said gently. “Had I known what was going on, I would have gotten here sooner. The reason I’m here today was because I never heard from you. I thought something must have happened.” He gave her hand a kindly pat and she sighed deeply.

“Devil take me, this town is going to be the death of me.” She muttered. “If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve made a relatively nice living, I’d leave with you.” He looked away from her.

“I have entertained the idea,” he admitted softly. “But as I’ve said before, my line of work is very dangerous. The only thing I can offer you is death. It is all I have left.” He sighed and seemed very tired. “If I were to go back to my previous occupation, I would have you along in a heartbeat.” Nora appreciated that.

“Well, we both know I’d only get in the way.” She said. “I mean, I am rather ornery at times. I would be quite the endeavor.”

“You’re no endeavor, Engelein.” He replied with a smile. “I have never considered you such.” She smiled back at him and glanced away.

“I’m glad for it,” she said. “Well, I don’t suppose you’ll be needing a place to stay, would you?” He nodded.

“I could get a room in the inn,” he said. “To avoid suspicion.”

“Nonsense, if I’m going to be known as the town whore, I’m living up to it.” Nora said firmly. “You will stay with me and I’ll hear no arguments on the matter.” He chuckled, knowing very well he’d lose that debate.

“Then here I’ll stay,” he said. “I have missed you, you know.” Her cheeks turned pink, but it may very well have been a trick of the light.

“Like you miss a rock in your shoe,” she laughed. “But the sentiment is appreciated.”

#django unchained fic #wingsyfic #christoph waltz #tagging the fandom #dr king schultz #honestly the man puts nora through so much #getting yelled at is the least of his worries

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therobincastle · 6 years

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Go Mad For a Couple Grams || Self-Para

TW: Drug Use

ur comin tonight right?

havent seen u in forever

where r u ???

dont bitch out on me dude

Robin chewed his lip, staring down at his phone and all the incoming messages. Some of his old “friends” who worked on the same studio lot as Daemon Above were having a get-together and word got out that he was back in town. They had all been texting him nonstop all night and even though Robin was yet to reply, he hadn’t completely ruled it out. Maybe this would be a good thing. He was back in the real world finally, and what was wrong with going out with the people he used to go out with? Other than the probability of him falling back into his old habits...

Deciding to just throw away any leftover inhibitions he had, Robin grabbed his dagger from underneath his pillow and strapped it into his belt, throwing on a long shirt and jacket to cover it. He texted their family driver to meet him at the end of the drive and grabbed his wallet and keys before slipping out of his room, shutting the door quietly behind him. The lights were all dimmed in their unneccessary-because-there’s-literally-two-people-living-there-three-story house on the beach, Robin’s steps slow and careful so he could sneak out without getting caught.

“Robiiiiin,” Dove’s slow drawl rang out from the hallway behind him. Shit. He turned to see his mother exit from the kitchen, frowning at him with a glass of almost-finished wine in her hand. “Sweetie, where are you going? It’s late.”

Robin resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and he refused to look guilty, even knowing that his mom could always tell when he was acting. “I’m going out. Is that a problem?”

She sighed heavily, leaning against the wall as she sipped at her glass. “Who with?”

“Just some friends,” Robin shrugged.

“Which. Friends?” Dove asked slowly, her usually pretty features screwing into something more pained. “Robin, we talked about this.”

“Bullshit,” Robin sighed. “I need to go out, Mom. How else are people going to think nothing’s going on with me if they know I’m back in town but not even allowed outside of the house?” It was sound logic, more to a manager than a mother. Robin hoped she was swaying more to the former tonight. “Come on, I’ve wrapped on Buddy Holly, can’t I enjoy my time back in LA?”

“Baby...” Dove pouted, walking over to him. She ran her fingers through his curls, tugging worriedly at his ears. “I want to trust you... If I let you go, you have to promise me you’re going to make good decisions, and that you’ll be home before your new curfew.”

Robin flashed a cheeky grin. “Three a.m.?”

She gently smacked the side of his head. “Two. I want you back before two. And you leave your cell phone here and off. You have Drachma, so Iris Message me as soon as there’s an emergency,” she kissed Robin all over his face until he managed to wriggle free, crying out in embarrassment. He jogged down the long driveway, entering the code to their gate so he could slip out into the neighborhood. His driver was smoking a cigarette in front of the SUV.

“Hey, Maurice,” Robin greeted as the man opened the back door for him. “Why don’t we sit up front together?”

The man looked slightly surprised but smiled and shut the door, now offering him shotgun. “Good to have you back, kid.”

They pulled up to the apartment complex, Robin promising he’d be back out front by 1:45 so they could get home and that he’d have his mother call him if he ended up needing to go home earlier than that. He could already hear music blasting from the loft as the elevator doors opened on the correct floor, the door unlocked. There were about fifty people all hanging around the apartment. Robin’s appearance had a ripple effect, people too high, drunk, or both to notice his arrival right away. Slow yells of recognition rang out, varying jeers and rough hands giving him a greeting. He recognized some of the people but didn’t know them by name, looking around for the kids he did know. There was a pile of them all sitting on a king-sized bed on the floor in the corner of the room.

“Rob, man, you made it!” Flynn, cried out, jumping off the bed to grab him. “Holy shit, you got tall! You’re looking skinny too,” he grabbed at Robin’s arms and gave them a shake.

“Yeah, yeah,” Robin brushed him off, kind of annoyed because he thought he was starting to build a little muscle thanks to camp.

Flynn flung an arm around Robin’s shoulders, dragging him over to sit on the bed. “You remember Arissa, Vic, Marnie, Jules?” he pointed out all the people and Robin nodded despite not really remembering them at all. They were all in their early twenties, none of them actors like Flynn, just friends he made through the scene. “Dude, Jules got the nastiest shit bro, you gotta try it, it’s life changing,” He leaned over the nightstand and grabbed a razor blade to make a line of whatever mix of cocaine and probably Adderall on the table for him. Robin felt ill just looking at it.

“Ah, actually man, I’m not really down for that tonight,” he scratched the back of his neck.

Flynn scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, Robin. This isn’t like last time when that shit messed you up for two days. We got this from a way better guy, not shady at all,” he finished up the line and pushed a straw into Robin’s hand. He tossed it aside on the bed, Flynn flashing him an annoyed look. “What the fuck, man? Next you’re going to tell me you don’t what a shot of top-shelf tequila next.”

“I don’t,” Robin said stiffly, standing up now. “Listen, man, I just came here to hang out, I don’t... I don’t want anything.”

“They allllll say that,” one of the girls, Arissa or Marnie, he wasn’t sure since these Instagram models all started to look the same to him. “You’ll change your mind after you try it.”

The other either Arissa or Marnie sat up now where she had been draped over the edge of the bed. She wasn’t wearing a top and her make up was smeared. Robin decided to focus his attention on the false eyelash clinging onto the corner of her lid for dear life. “Didn’t you guys hear? Lil birdie here has been locked up,” she slurred.

“What, like house arrest?” Flynn scoffed before snorting the line he had just insisted Robin take. He started making another two immediately.

“Rehab,” the girl corrected before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“No shit,” Flynn said with wide eyes, looking at Robin. “That true?”

“Of course not,” Robin scoffed immediately, crossing his arms. “Just been working on personal projects right now.”

“That why you get kicked off that dinky zombie show?” the other guy on the bed snickered. A few other party-goers had wandered over, all vying for more of whatever these drug-mongers had holed up in the corner. More of their attention was starting to shift to Robin, as blurry and incoherent as it was.

“I wasn’t kicked off,” Robin denied with a clenched jaw. “I left. It was a mutual decision.”

“Lay off him, guys,” Flynn crowed in annoyance before looking back at Robin. “Listen, kid, I believe you!” He starts prepping a needle now, one of the girls climbing over and sitting next to him like a patient lining up for her flu shot. “If you’re not one of those bitches who gets sucked into that rehabilitation bullshit, then take a hit.”

Robin shook his head. “I’m just gonna leave if this is how you’re gonna be, you dick.”

Flynn stared at him coldly, looking him over again. “This ain’t a good look for you, Baby Boy.” He turned to everyone else on the bed as he injected the girl sitting next to him. Robin watched the way the needle sank into the skin, wondering how many collapsed veins the girl already had. He watched the plunger sink down, hardly hearing what Flynn was saying until he came back to himself. “...what happens when you go to rehab, folks.”

“I wasn’t in rehab!” Robin shouted over the music. “What the fuck is wrong with me just trying to get clean?” He crossed his arms uncomfortably over his chest. His faded track marks were starting to itch just watching the administration in front of him. People were staring now, the interaction sobering them up somewhat. Robin could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his ears going red. “Whatever. Just get me a fucking blunt if that will get you guys to lay the fuck off,” he groaned. He had cut himself off cold turkey, and the strong stench of marijuana hanging in the air was like a secondhand high that his body craved more of.

It’s not that bad. A puff or two isn’t that bad. You’re not backsliding. No one at camp will have to know and these people will keep their mouths shut.

“No,” Flynn chuckled, reaching out to stop one of his friends who was holding a roach out to Robin. “No, no, no. You wanna prove you weren’t in rehab?” He scraped together another line. “Bump this shit.”

“I already said--”

“I know what you fuckin’ said,” Flynn interrupted. “But I know it’s a fuckin’ lie if you’re gonna stay up there on your high horse now that you’re too good for a little fun.” He held out the straw again. “Now shut up and snort the damn coke, pussy.”

Robin angrily snatched the straw from him and bent over the table, immediate drunken cheers of approval coming from the onlookers. Robin hesitated, looking at the dusty little line of coke. He thought about what happened when he was angry and frustrated with someone. How easy it would be to turn one deadly look on Flynn and make him wish he hadn’t tried to threaten Robin’s life, his career. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to make him pay-- teach him a lesson. Use his powers to drive Flynn to be locked up in a place much worse than rehab. He deserved to have his mind turned inside out, that dark impulse sneaking up on Robin’s clear and sober mind.

Then he thought about his mother’s face, covered in tears as he shook him awake, a needle still poking out of his arm. Melody’s kind smiles every time she helped him work through the withdrawal symptoms. Penny screaming at him almost two years ago that he needed to quit. Dean and Aaron’s endless support no matter how frustrating or annoying he was.

The burn felt great.

“Atta boy,” he heard Flynn mutter under his breath as Robin stood back up, wiping his sleeve across his nose.

“Yeah, whatever,” Robin dropped the straw to the table and walked away. It would be a matter of time before the reality of his situation sank in on him, but Robin didn’t mind. The high was supposed to be fun, right? It was the calm before the storm, and Robin did feel calm. Sated enough to forget how close he was to using his powers on Flynn.

There wasn’t really anywhere to go in the studio apartment, but he managed to slip outside where another group sat on the balcony, all smoking weed. They greeted Robin with lazy waves and grunts, not paying him any mind as he sank down. He stared out blankly at the city below, a beautiful and ugly place. His hands were trembling now, Robin lowering his head between his knees. “Fuck, I can’t believe I just did that,” he breathed softly. “Fuck me. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit!” He kicked his foot out angrily, his sneaker colliding with the railing with a metallic shudder.

The group glanced over at him at he turned his face away, embarrassed by his outburst. “Yo, kid,” one of them called over to him. “You look like you could use some of this.” Robin didn’t need to look over to see that he was being offered some pot.

“I’ll pass,” Robin said, swallowing back the bile in his throat. He didn’t like how hard it was to say no.

“You sure?” someone else asked. “It’ll help. I’ve got, like, a vape if that’s-- Shit, kid, your face.”

Robin looked fully at them now, brow wrinkling in confusion. He suddenly felt a warmth pooling against his shirt collar and turned to look at his reflection in the glass sliding door. Blood was gushing from his nose and he hadn’t even felt it. “Shit--” An irony tang sat on his lips as he scrambled to his feet, holding his sleeve over his nose and mouth. He stumbled back into the apartment, looking around for a bathroom. There were people milling around outside of it, a couple of girls doing more lines on the bathroom sink when he burst in. There were cries of annoyance asking him to knock, their irritation going ignored as Robin yanked on a toilet paper roll to get enough to mop up his bloody nose. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he said as a soft mantra, clutching it to his face. The girls quickly hurried out of the bathroom, leaving the sink open. Robin clutched the stained surface to hold himself up, slowly lifting his head to look at his reflection.

Crimson was still smeared across his nose and chin, Robin running some water to try and wipe it away. “You’re a fucking moron, Castle,” he muttered to himself. The anxiety from before was coming back tenfold then, Robin’s eyes welling with tears. “Why did you do that?”

He knew exactly why. It wasn’t the peer pressure. It wasn’t the stupid double-edged threat of having to snort coke just so other people wouldn’t find out about his addiction. It wasn’t even the difficulty of recovery.

He did it because he wanted to.

Robin emerged from the bathroom, grabbing hold of the first guy he saw with a roll of something lit on the end. “Can I?” he asked dryly. The guy just nodded and pass him the joint, letting him take a pull. He coughed on the smoke, feeling his eyes sting as his lungs protested the sensation they hadn’t had to feel in a while.

Getting high won’t fix this.

You’re making it worse.

Stop now, you can still get home and sleep this off.

Mom’s going to hate you.

Robin sat outside of the apartment, back against the wall. No one paid him any mind as they came and went, a few dirty looks from neighbors who weren’t happy about the party inside but weren’t going to call any cops about it. It must’ve been 1:45 because as he sat there in a daze, he could feel a large man pick him up and sling him over a shoulder to carry him downstairs and put him back in the car, letting him lay down in the backseat. “Oh, kid...” he heard Maurice’s voice as a distorted echo, the world around him blurry and confusing even as he was helped into his house.

“Mom?” Robin called out in a weak voice. No answer. He closed the door quietly behind him and shuffled into the kitchen to get some water. There was no comfort food to be found, not in their kitchen. Robin caught his reflection in a hallway mirror as he made his way for the stairs. There was still some blood on his shirt and his eyes were bloodshot, hair messy. “Idiot,” Robin muttered, ascending all the way to the top step before he heard his mother’s voice from below.

“Robin?”

She sounded sleepy. Maybe she had stayed up after all. Robin contemplated rushing to his room. How was he supposed to face her like this? Still coming down off his high, throat raw and face pale. He backed up slowly, peeking into the den to see her lifting her head up from behind the couch, an empty wine glass tipped over on the glass coffee table.

“Robin, sweetie, how was your night?” she asked sleepily, yawning as she rested her cheek on the cushion. “Come here, baby.”

“I... I’m really tired, Mom,” Robin said, lip trembling. Fuck, his voice sounded so shaky.

“Just come here,” she requested again, softly. Robin turned and walked the rest of the way down the stairs, slowly going over to her. She looked at him sleepily, a slight frown clear on her face that would probably look more severe had it not been for the botox. He stood stiffly, feeling dead on his feet as she reached out to hold his hand, her own grip lazy. “I’m so proud of you, darling. I know how hard this has been and I’m glad to have you home.” A warm smile.

He flung himself down into her lap before he could stop himself, immediately bursting into tears. You stupid fuck up. He sobbed against her for what felt like hours, Dove rubbing his back and carding her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he cried into her chest, heaving to catch his breath as he wept. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, baby,” she mumbled, hugging him tightly against her. “You don’t have to be sorry. You got home before curfew,” she pat him on the head before sinking back onto the couch, letting him curl up into her. She doesn’t get it. “I know it’s tough but I knew you could do it. I knew that camp would be good for you,” she yawned and rested her chin on top of his head, quickly falling back asleep. She has no idea what you’ve done. “And I’ve been thinking... I think you’re ready to come stay here for good.”

Robin had been waiting to hear those exact words for months, but now it just put a bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t deserve this.

Robin didn’t sleep well that night, and it wasn’t because he was curled up on an aesthetically pleasing and wholly uncomfortable couch with his mother. He woke up fully and alone sometime around ten. “Mom?” he croaked, looking around their open concept home. There was music playing softly from another room, but that didn’t mean much in their household. Robin eventually made his way upstairs, his poor decisions last night weighing heavy on his heart.

Without really thinking through the motions, he grabbed his largest duffle bag and started packing. He threw his dagger in last before hooking the huge bag over his shoulder. As he trudged down the stairs, he was mumbling to himself, trying to figure out the wording of a note he needed to leave for his mom... Maybe he wouldn’t leave a note at all. Just disappearing would be easier on the pains in his chest. Maybe he could make some bullshit up in a week about how he missed camp or something.

Maybe she’d even pretend to believe him.

Robin’s hand was on the front door knob when he heard footsteps behind him. “Robin?” his mother inquired softly, rounding the corner from the kitchen. “Where are you off to? I was about to make breakfast-- or maybe we could go out? How about that gluten-free bagel shop you like so much? We should get you nice, well-balanced meal before your photoshoot today--”

“I did coke last night.”

Dove stood there, frozen. Robin almost couldn’t bear to meet her eye and be subjected to the heartbreak written across her face. “Are you joking, sweetie?” she asked softly, her voice breaking delicately over the question.

Robin chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling a tingling prickling at his ears. There was a phantom burn in his nose, a reminder of his transgressions from the night before. He shook his head and turned away from her. “I’m gonna go back to camp for a while.”

She didn’t reply, and her silent disbelief was too much. Robin wrenched the door open and didn’t look back.

#:)))))#//im evil #pantheon self para

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