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sunshinetoshi · 3 years

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New Dad Moments

Kuroo Tetsurou, Oikawa Tooru, and Tanaka Ryuunosuke

A/N: lots of self-indulgent fluff and some hq boy chaos. Tanaka’s was so funny to me like picturing it but it’s also half the length of the other two oops. pregnancy/labor/delivery and slight language (like really slight)

KUROO

You and your husband were taking your new baby boy home from the hospital. You sat by the hospital window, holding your son close as you waited for Kuroo to come back from packing the car. Your baby was blinking up at you and you felt your heart could combust right there. You started talking to your son, telling him how much you loved him. His little eyes looked sleepy but it made you smile how much they looked like Kuroo’s eyes. “I wonder what you’re going to be like when you’re all grown up.” He squirmed a little in your arms and you softly stroked his little arm. “Are you going to grow up like your dad? What do you think? If you do I know you’ll have an amazing heart, just like him.” You placed a small kiss on his head. You turned when you heard a soft knock on the door.

Tetsurou smiled at you two adoringly, “Let’s go home.”

After settling all your things you three had a moment to relax on your bed. “He’s so beautiful,” Tetsurou whispered.

You nodded in agreement. You couldn’t believe your baby was real. You were mesmerized. You were brought back to reality when you heard sniffling next to you. You looked at Kuroo. “Hey why are you crying?” you cooed.

Tetsurou had been especially emotional since he first held his son. Just this morning you caught him crying as he rocked his baby boy.

Kuroo used the sleeve of his sweater to wipe at his runny nose. “I love him so much I can’t comprehend it.” He furiously tried to wipe away his tears. He chuckled, “Damn it, I keep crying.” His eyes went wide and he slapped his hand over his mouth, “Damn, I just cursed..” Another look of realization hit him. “Aw, shit I just said damn again! Aghh wait I can’t stop! Motherfu-”

You quickly gasped and whacked him on the chest before he could finish, “Tetsu!”

A strangled noise fell out of him and his face went pale. “Y/N,” he threw his head onto your shoulder in despair. You tried to comfort him so you smoothed his hair. You knew he didn’t mean it and you knew he would be feeling way worse than needed.

He started mumbling apologies to you and to the baby. He eventually quieted and your thoughts replayed what just happened. You erupted into laughter and Kuroo sat up again. You started cackling so much tears were escaping. You tried to calm yourself down so you wouldn’t be shaking the baby too much. But Kuroo joined in on the laughter and it took a while for you guys to quiet up.

Eventually a calm took over the air again and you two were back to admiring your son. You felt so much joy and you almost started laughing again thinking about what Kuroo did. You spoke up and leaned your head closer to your baby, “Hey little, remember that thing I told you in the hospital. Maybe you don’t have to grow up to be exactly like your dad, hm? Less of a potty mouth perhaps.”

Kuroo’s chest rumbled in amusement. “Hey,” he chided. He lifted his son’s hand lightly, “Dada will do his best, okay buddy?” He turned to give you a smile and you felt flustered by how much love he looked at you with. “But I would not be opposed in the slightest if he turned out more like you. I think that would actually be really, really lovely.” He leaned toward you and placed a soft kiss on the cheek.

It was your turn to get emotional.

OIKAWA

You weren’t getting a lot of sleep with the new baby. You thought your pregnancy brain was bad but the sleep-deprived parent brain was working its way up to first place. One morning Oikawa wrapped his arms around you and told you to go take a nap. A long nap. Your head sank into his chest and you let out a deep breath. You pouted and looked up at him. Brushing his hair back you told him, “I can’t. I have to do the laundry, I have to make lunch, I need to give her a bath. I don’t think I have the time, love.”

He gently shook his head and tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, “Make time. Laundry, lunch, baby. I got this. You need rest.”

Your heart swelled and your body wanted to immediately say yes to the proposal for sleep but you observed Tooru’s face. He wasn’t faring much better in the sleep department either. “Are you sure?” you asked him.

“Positive.”

You kissed him and made your way to your bed, sinking into sleep faster than you expected to. When you woke up you felt like a million bucks. Then your parental instincts went into high gear when you heard crying. You jumped out of bed but calmed down when your brain told you that it wasn’t your daughter. Then you recognized that the little sniffles were little Tooru sniffles. You found him in the baby’s nursery. He was rocking her around her room.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Oh hey sweetheart, you look refreshed,” he placed the baby into her crib.

“What’s wrong? You’re crying,” you say as you wrap your arms around him and look over at your little baby girl.

“I was just thinking. And I started crying,” he let out an embarrassed laugh.

“Well what were you thinking about?”

“One day she’s going to grow up.”

“Well we just have to cherish these moments then hm.” You gave him a tight squeeze before releasing him.

He turned to face you. He was pouting. “But Y/N, you don’t get it. She’s going to grow up and she’s going to be strikingly beautiful and intelligent like you and brilliant and hardworking like her daddy and then everyone at her school is going to flock to her but I already know she’ll be stubborn and she won’t want her amazingly kind and handsomely-aged dad to butt in. But someone’s gotta keep those crazy hormone-filled teens straight so then we’ll have to resort to asking Iwa-chan and then he’ll say ‘You owe me Shittykawa’ and then he’ll come and be an amazing uncle. He’s just going to show them that scowl and scare them off but then somehow one of them is going to weasel their way into her life and then they're going to confess and then they’ll start dating and then she’s going to get married. And she won’t be this tiny little baby anymore, oh Y/N I don’t know if I can take it. I’m not ready to walk her down the aisle.” He pulled you into a bear hug.

Your jaw dropped. These dramatic moments from Oikawa were few and far between since your highschool days and this was the most elaborate one in a while. You wanted to laugh but you wiggled your arms free so you could rub his back. You kept your hold on him until he lifted himself up. You brushed your fingers against his face and you wanted to frown looking at the dark circles under his eyes. He clearly needed a nice nap too. You ran your fingers through his hair. “If it makes you feel a bit better I don’t think she’s thinking about relationships at two months old.”

He cracked a smile, “She better not think about relationships until she’s thirty- no, forty.” It made you chuckle. He grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it. His smile was big now.

“Are you good?”

He nodded. “I made chicken.”

“What?” you giggled.

“For lunch,” he bent over the crib and gave your sleeping baby girl a kiss on the head and then made sure the baby monitor was on. Grabbing your hand he headed for the door, “Come on.”

“Okay but after lunch you are catching up on your sleep.”

TANAKA

Tanaka has always treated you like royalty, and pregnancy was no different. In fact it was probably even more extra during pregnancy. Will drive miles for the food you’re craving, give you massages, he did whatever he needed to make sure you were comfortable.

And now you two were in the hospital after your water broke. During the contractions, Tanaka gave you his hand to squeeze. And he kept encouraging you, giving you affirmations. After a particularly big contraction he smoothed your hair back. “You’re doing great, babe.”

“Thank you,” you gave him a smile.

He kissed you, “You look gorgeous.”

You laughed, “I look so gross right now, I feel so gross.”

“Well then you make being gross look really good.”

When it was time for you to start pushing Tanaka insisted you keep holding his hand. A big push came and you squeezed his hand tight. “Ow, babe that hurts, that hurts.”

The look of pure murder on your face when your head whipped to look at him as the baby was literally crowning out of your body.

His soul leaves the stratosphere. “You know what,” he puts his hand back into yours, “just break it.”

You grabbed it as the midwife told you to push again. As much pain as you were in you didn’t want to be mean to your husband one bit much less hurt him so you tried not to squeeze it too hard but something in your body told you to give an extra hard push and you couldn’t help it.

A small squeak escaped Tanaka before he crumpled onto the floor. You may have crushed his hand.

“Ryuu!” You tried to look over the bed at him but you were GIVING BIRTH.

“I’m okay, I’m okay. Keep going, beautiful. Baby Girl is almost here,” he groaned as he tried to pull himself back up.

#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #kuroo #oikawa #tanaka #kuroo x reader #oikawa x reader #tanaka x reader #kuroo tetsurou #oikawa tooru #tanaka ryuunosuke #i love you tetsu💛#tw pregnancy #☀tara writes☀

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thegoodgayshit · 3 years

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Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Willow Talks Us Into Trying Strategy Four

Tracking the sow was the easy part. Figuring out how to kill it without getting speared by the one non-severed tusk? Luz was slowly realizing that part was going to be a lot harder.

They’d left Demophon’s farmhouse, traveling down the path the Crommyonian Sow had fled through. It left huge tracks everywhere it went, so they were able to catch up to it multiple times. But the sow was clearly smarter than it looked. Every time it realized it was outnumbered, it would flee, leaving Luz and her friends chasing after it. After multiple attempts, they’d eventually been able to corner it by a little creek where it stopped for water.

Unfortunately, Luz had not been quick enough when she charged, her legs still sore and exhausted from the hike, and when the sow charged it slammed into her, sending her sailing into the creek.

It probably would have speared her right through with its tusk if Willow and Amity hadn’t gotten it to turn at the last second. Luz was alive, but now she was soaking wet and horribly uncomfortable.

Once the sow realized it was once again outnumbered, it fled, and Luz had been helped out of the water by Gus. She stood on the bank shivering, turning Aletheia back into a ring and looking at her friends in despair.

“How are we supposed to kill this thing if it keeps running?”

“We need a concrete plan,” Gus said, but he was looking just as winded as Luz felt. “The Crommyonian Sow was notorious for running until the hunters were too weak to keep chasing it. It would retaliate the second they stopped to rest.”

“That’s it! That’s our strategy right there,” Willow said, turning to look at Gus. Her face split into an eager smile. She sheathed her kopis, glancing to the tree behind them. She hummed, scanning it for a moment before nodding. “Luz, Amity, go sit in that tree.”

Luz’s legs were already protesting. “You want me to do what?”

“Relax, I’ll get you up there,” Willow chuckled, walking over to one of the bushes underneath it. She closed her eyes, curling her hand and pulling the thick roots of the bush downward, collecting them in a pile before twisting her hands and intertwining them together. When she finished and opened her eyes, Luz realized she’d somehow made a flat surface out of literal branches.

Willow really was something else.

“Get on, quickly!” Willow said, and Luz’s eyebrows lifted. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Willow, she trusted her with her life, but that definitely didn’t look like it would be able to hold both her and Amity’s weight.

“I can’t hold it for long, hurry!” Willow insisted, and Luz was snapped back to reality when Amity grabbed her hand and dragged her to the bushes.

“Come on, Luz!”

She was dragged over to the bush, and Amity was the first to step on it. It seemed to wrap around her ankles, stopping her from sinking. When Luz stepped on it next, it morphed around her weight, and she was surprised by how solid it felt.

“Ok, up you go!”

Willow raised her hands, and the bush rose up, allowing Luz and Amity to reach out and climb onto the thick double branch extending from the stump of the huge tree. The two of them got comfortable as Willow lowered the bush and returned it back to how it looked before. Luz and Amity’s feet were dangling off the side, the second extending branch resting almost like a backrest behind Luz and Amity’s shoulder blades.

Luz had climbed trees before, so she wasn’t exactly frightened of heights, and the branch was only about eight feet off the ground. But she noticed that Amity was clenching the branch of the tree tightly between her hands.

“Are you okay?” Luz asked gently, reaching over with one hand to rest it comfortingly on her shoulder. Amity grit her teeth and nodded.

“Yeah, just give me a second to adjust…” she mumbled, and Luz nodded, turning back to Willow and Gus on the ground. Gus had popped his tent in a can, but it was clearly only for show. Willow was sitting just outside the entrance to the tent, her knees propped against her chest.

“So, what exactly is the plan here?” Luz called, and Willow chuckled, looking up at Luz affectionately.

“Capture the Flag strategy 4,” she said, and Luz’s eyes widened.

“Oh!”

Willow lifted a finger to her lips, and Luz got the message. Keep quiet.

Strategy 4 was something that the three of them had been working on for the game the week after they left for their quest. Gus, being smaller than Luz and Willow, was going to stand in the open and wait to be attacked by another camper. Then, Luz and Willow would leap out from their hiding place and disarm the camper, taking them as their prisoner. Gus reckoned they could have taken out a sixth of the enemy campers by the time the game was done.

Now, the Crommyonian Sow would be their enemy camper.

Willow and Gus got comfortable, leaving Luz and Amity sitting up in the tree waiting. Luz distracted herself with the sounds of the birds in the trees before sunset and the colors of the summer forest around them. At some point when Luz looked down at her other friends, she thought Gus might actually be sleeping, leaning against Willow’s shoulder as the pair leaned against one of the rocks in the clearing.

It was peaceful, and Luz had no idea what to do with herself. She fidgeted nervously, not really realizing she was doing it until Amity caught her gaze and frowned.

“Luz?” She said quietly, and it was Luz’s turn now to jump. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Luz said quickly, doing her best to keep her voice down. “I’m just… thinking I guess. It’s almost dark, which means we have less than a day to find Hestia and save her.”

“We have enough time,” Amity insisted, reaching over and touching her hand. Luz felt her body relax at the touch. “We’re less than three hours out of the mountain now. Once we kill the sow, we can get some rest and make it before the afternoon tomorrow. We have too.”

“You especially,” Luz added, and the uncomfortable swirling in her belly was starting to return. “I feel like I missed something back at Demophon’s. You… made a promise and something weird happened.”

“I swore on the River Styx,” Amity explained, her face twisting with an expression Luz couldn’t read. “It’s… one of the biggest promises you can make in our world. It’s an oath that can’t be broken, by either mortals or gods.”

Luz had a very bad feeling about what Amity was implying, and she swallowed. “So… when you promised to free Hestia…”

“I can’t back out,” Amity said, confirming Luz’s worries. She bit her lower lip, and Luz felt another terrible sinking feeling in her stomach. “I have an obligation now.”

“Why would you do that?” Luz asked, shaking her head. It seemed like a big risk for Amity to make on the fly, especially since they’d only just met Demophon.

Amity fidgeted like she wasn’t sure how to answer. She eventually just sighed, tearing her gaze away from Luz and towards the slowly sinking sun setting behind the trees.

“It’s not like I’m not already trapped. I’m stuck in this prophecy with you whether I like it or not.” She suddenly turned her head, her eyes wide. “Not that I don’t like that we’re in a prophecy together, it’s just that in general they kind of suck, and-”

“I get it,” Luz quickly interrupted, though it was impossible not to keep the blush off her face when Amity cleared her throat and started again.

“Anyway… what I meant is that deep down I already know that this is what I have to do. So what difference does it make to swear it? It was worth it, just to see the look on Demophon’s face when I did.”

Luz remembered it. The glittering in his eyes, the way his shoulders rose. The way it had inspired Willow and Gus in a way Luz’s speeches sometimes did. She remembered her dreams, and all the times Hestia would stand firm, and not give into Belos. She remembered the times she’d looked in Luz’s eyes, and reminded her why she was on this quest to begin with. Why Hestia still had the strength to keep fighting against Belos.

Hope remains, and so I remain.

Amity gave Demophon hope. And that to her was worth the consequences of an eternal oath. It was the most selfless thing Luz had ever seen.

The fluttering in Luz’s stomach got worse, but she knew this time it wasn’t from nervousness. It was something else entirely, and it shot right up in Luz’s stomach to her chest, ringing in her ears.

Luz had never wanted to get closer to anybody in her entire life. Something on Luz’s face must have changed because suddenly Amity was blushing so brightly it went all the way to her ears.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Amity breathed out, and Luz’s gaze flickered up from her lips to her eyes. It was then that she actually realized that she’d been looking at Amity’s lips. How long had she been staring at her lips?

Luz’s mouth felt dry, and despite the blush creeping up her face, she kept her eyes locked with Amity’s.

“I just think you’re amazing.”

Amity clearly hadn’t been expecting that. Her blush was now taking on a purple color, and her mouth opened and closed like she was trying to figure out what to say.

Luz didn’t want her to say anything at all.

She leaned in, closing the gap between them, and kissed Amity.

The first thing Luz noticed was how soft Amity’s lips were. They fit right between her own as her eyes fluttered shut, and for half a second it was all Luz could focus on. But then Amity made a surprised little sound in the back of her throat, and for a moment Luz panicked, ready to pull away.

She didn’t need to. Amity’s surprise quickly faded, and Luz felt her left hand slide up to Luz’s face, her thumb gently pressing against the line of Luz’s jaw as she returned the kiss. Luz’s heart hammered in her chest as the pressure from Amity’s own lips increased, and Luz reached forward to gently steady Amity from her position in the tree. It slipped around her waist, and then there was nothing but Amity.

Just Amity’s hands on her face, and her lips on Luz’s. The smell of lavender and mint despite the hours of hiking, and the feel of Amity’s waist under her hand. She wanted to get closer, and she probably would have if leaning any closer wouldn’t have resulted in her falling out of the tree. So she settled for wrapping her arm as far around her waist as she could, inching Amity closer to her.

The hand on Luz’s face slid down to the back of her neck as their position shifted, and Amity changed the angle of the kiss, somehow managing to get impossibly close to Luz despite the awkward position. Luz’s brain short-circuited, unable to do anything but just kiss her back.

Eventually, Luz had to pull away just to take a breath. Her eyes opened, and she saw Amity looking back at her. Her gold eyes had darkened, and she was just as out of breath as Luz, her lips parted as she took in quick breaths.

She looked beautiful.

Luz felt herself begin to smile, unable to control herself. She had just kissed Amity Blight.

And when she saw Amity’s lips pull into a smile of her own, she wanted to do it again.

Luz might have done it. She might have leaned back in again and kissed her harder, and try her best to repeat what was probably the best moment of her entire life.

But obviously, she was still a half-blood. She was never going to get that lucky.

“RHEEEEEEEE!!!!”

The noise itself startled Luz so badly she would have fallen out of the tree if Amity hadn’t reacted fast and wrapped her arm around Luz’s stomach. The Crommyonian Sow came sprinting through the trees and barreling towards Willow and Gus, mouth open, eyes glinting murderously. Willow hadn’t leaped into action and dove out of the way with Gus, and the sow charged right through them, barely missing.

They scrambled to their feet, weapons drawn. The sow huffed furiously, its eyes bearing down at them and shifting back and forth as they got closer and closer. Amity touched her bracelet and drew Dikē.

“It’s going to run,” Amity whispered, her eyes widening in horror.

Gus, thank the gods, seemed to put two and two together. With an angry yell, he charged on the sows left, sending it into a startled backpedal towards the tree Luz and Amity were waiting on. Luz and Amity tensed, waiting for just the right moment.

“On three,” Amity whispered, slowly pulling her sword from her belt. Luz nodded and reached over, her hand hovering over Aletheia.

“One,” she said as the monster took two steps back.

“Two,” the sow turned tail, realizing it had been tricked.

“Three!”

Luz and Amity leaped off the branch, and Luz’s knife appeared in her hands. With a ferocious scream, Luz spun the knife downwards, landing on the sows back and digging the blade right into its neck. Next to her, Amity hit the ground gracefully, stabbing her sword right into its side.

The Crommyonian Sow screamed in pain and dissolved into dust, and Luz landed with a thump on a pile of it, still clutching her knife in her hands.

“Alright!” Gus whooped, throwing his spear up into the air in delight. Willow sighed in relief, sheathing her own sword and shaking her head fondly at Gus’ excitement.

Luz exhaled, brushing dirt off her shorts while turning her knife back into a ring. She heard footsteps from behind her and turned her head to see Amity walking up. She had sheathed her xiphos and extended the hand not wrapped around her shield. There was a deep blush on her face, and Luz was suddenly reminded of what had happened right before the sow burst through the clearing.

She was feeling a lot less brave now.

When she took her hand and let Amity pull her to her feet, she hoped the red on her face wasn’t too obvious.

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly, and Amity cleared her throat.

“Uh, no problem.”

“Guys!”

Luz’s attention flickered back to Gus, and she couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved at the interruption. That kiss was still lingering in the back of her brain, and she knew that if she thought too hard on it right now she wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else.

She had kissed Amity.

Gus had retracted his shield back into a watch, and he reached under his button up to clip the spear to his belt. “That was awesome! We have got to use that during capture the flag.”

“That was really dangerous, Luz,” Willow chimed in, narrowing her eyes disapprovingly at her. “You could have hurt yourself jumping on its back.”

“It just felt like the best way to do it,” Luz said with a shrug. While the landing hadn’t exactly been pleasant, her legs didn’t hurt now any more than they had during the hike.

“You did the same thing you did with the Mino- er, Pasiphae’s son,” Gus added, holding out his hand for Luz to high five. “You’ve got a signature move!”

“A really dangerous one,” Amity muttered, and when Luz looked over at her she was looking just as disapproving as Willow had.

“A signature move is a signature move,” Luz shrugged, but she was unable to keep the grin off her face. “It’s not fun if it’s not dangerous.”

Amity sighed, but even though she was shaking her head Luz could see that Amity’s eyes had softened affectionately. The swirling in her stomach returned. “You’re impossible.”

“We should probably rest for the night,” Willow said, and when Luz turned to look at her she had this confused furrow in her brow. Her gaze flickered back and forth between Luz and Amity, and she saw Amity clear her throat and look away. “It’s almost dark, and we won’t be able to see a thing anyway. This will probably be our last chance to get any kind of rest before tomorrow.”

“Alright!” Luz said, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. She turned and started walking towards the tent, already on board. “I can’t wait to actually get some rest, my legs feel like they’re going to fall off.”

But of course, whenever a demigod thinks they can expect what happens next, something changes. Luz didn’t even make it halfway to the tent before the first arrow flew, scraping past Luz’s ear and landing with a thunk in the tree behind the tent.

Luz spun quickly, drawing the sword version of Aletheia, doing her best to cover herself, but then another arrow went flying past her thigh and managed to graze it. Her leg exploded in pain, and she gritted her teeth to try and keep her vision from spotting out. Gods that arrow hurt.

She stumbled back to her friends, who were all standing there, weapons drawn and ready, eyeing the trees from where the arrow had come. But no more arrows flew, and instead, the forest was eerily quiet.

Luz fought to control her breath, doing her best not to look down at her thigh. A gasp of pain came out of her throat as she fought to control herself, but with every second that passed, the wound just seemed to get more painful. There was now numbness crawling up her leg and into her hip, and she was unable to stop the next cry of pain, dropping to her side on the ground and clutching at it.

“Luz!” Amity exclaimed, kneeling down next to her. Her eyes widened as she took in Luz’s leg, and she turned to look out at the forest.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!”

It was quiet for another second before a group of figures walked out of the trees. Luz’s vision was going blurry, but she was pretty sure there were twelve of them, and they were all clutching bows. The closer Luz looked, the quicker she realized there was no way they were human. Well, at least not from the waist down.

Considering they had the lower half of a horse, Luz was almost positive that they’d been tracked down by the centaurs of Mount Pelion.

#the owl house #lumity #luz x amity #Percy Jackson AU #shelby speaks

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eirian-houpe · 3 years

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Storybrooke’s Best Kept Secret

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Past Abuse, Angst, Romance, Eventual Smut

Summary: Ruby has a secret, even though she doesn't know she does, until one day she bumps into the one man who can carry the secret out of the cottage in the woods - though not literally. Now that he know the secret, however, what will Jefferson /do/ with it, and what would it mean for Storybrooke if he were to tell Gold? Is Gold even awake... And what might happen if the Dark One discovered the truth?

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 2 - To Live the Lie...

“I’m going to follow this track,” Jefferson told her. “Either you can come with me, or go home. It’s your choice, but I’m going.”

Ruby stood, caught in indecision as she watched Jefferson’s retreating back, his coat almost flying out behind him as his strides grew longer; adopted his own, usual, gait. Something about his determination finally broke through the fog that was gathering in her mind. They’d been talking about something, hadn’t they… someone?

“Wait!” she called out; watched his steps slow again and found herself almost trotting to catch up to him.

When she reached his side, he turned to her with an expression of intense suspicion on his face, sparking in his eyes, then he asked, “So… Ruby… what will we find at the end of this track, pray tell?”

Ruby frowned. Why was he so interested in reaching the end of the track? Why was he asking her what was at the end of it when she’d already told him she didn’t…

The track turned a bend, and Ruby felt a shiver go through her, and she tipped her head up, staring at the gap in the trees ahead where wisps of smoke were drifting through the air, from Belle’s fire.

Belle!

She would hate that Ruby had brought another person; never forgive her.

She suddenly hurried ahead of Jefferson and turned around, trotting backwards as he strode forwards, a sheepish look on her face as she said, “Actually, I’ve just remembered. Scatterbrain, me. There’s nothing at the end of this track except the creek, a-and… the path to the well, so—”

She stopped, as Jefferson abruptly stopped walking.

“You said,” he began, and then seemed to change his mind as he reached out to take her shoulders, gently, but his grip was uncompromising. He leaned down to look directly into her eyes and said, “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not, I—”

He moved her out of his path, and hurried on ahead, his strides long and determined.

“Oh,” Ruby grumbled, and hurried to try and catch up to him. “Please don’t. She won’t want to see you, and… and she’ll think it’s my fault, and—”

They broke from the wooded pathway and into the clearing, occupied by the tiny cottage, with its fenced in garden, beautifully tended, and the figure kneeling in front of one of the flower beds, a tiny little hand rake in her hand.

As Jefferson came to a sudden halt again - and Ruby almost collided with him again - Belle leaped to her feet, a look of… Ruby couldn’t quite decide what exactly, surprise, horror, surprised horror at her friends betrayal?

“Belle, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— He… I… I bumped into him on the road, and he insisted.”

Belle shook her head, and then, first looking between them, she appeared to fix her gaze on the man that had put them both in this position.

“Jefferson!” Belle said, almost breathless.

He felt as though a giant fist had just gut punched him, and all the air flew from his lungs as Belle called his name. He had no idea what he expected to find as he followed Ruby along the track into the forest, but this was about as far from anything he could have imagined as anything in all of the realms.

“Belle,” he managed hoarsely when he had gathered enough of his senses to speak, by which time Belle had pulled off the gloves she was wearing, hurried to the gate and threw it open. She was running toward him with a mixed expression of disbelief and relief, and—

“Jefferson,” she repeated, and threw herself at him so he had no choice but to catch her, wrap his arms around her and hold her almost as tightly as she was holding him. He realized then, as the tears gathered in his eyes, that he had never been so happy, and so angry both at the same time, as he was in that moment.

“I’m here,” he said, ridiculous even to his own ears, as his mind raced. He couldn’t imagine what lies Regina had put into Belle’s head, but he doubted it would be anything pleasant.

“I thought—” Belle began, drawing back but still clinging tightly to the lapels of his coat. “I never—” she drew a breath. “You’re… alive.”

Jefferson frowned, beginning to get a knotted, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Of course I’m alive,” he said softly, his voice full of his dread and confusion. “So this is where she’s been keeping you.”

“Keeping me? She?”

“Regina,” he all but spat the queen’s name.

“No, no Jefferson, you have it all wrong,” she all but sang, and his sinking feeling sank lower as she cupped his cheek in her hand and told him. “She saved me. She was the one who freed me, brought me here and gave me this cottage, a place to live.”

Jefferson felt as if the world were spinning sideways. He knew the truth of course - remembered as he remembered everything - well, almost everything - how Rumplestiltskin had sent her away, that part he didn’t understand, and how Regina had captured Belle just as she would have returned to the Dark Castle. It would have lifted the despair into which his friend - and sometime employer - had fallen. He knew that the queen had kept Belle in her tower until she had cast the curse, and then… then he’d lost track; tormented by more important, more personal, and painful things.

As if she were reading his mind, Belle sharpened his focus, but blurred some very intentional, very important lines, as she asked almost desperately, “Paige… is she here? Our little girl? Did she escape too?”

Jefferson’s gut lurched again as her question spoke volumes of the twisted, evil machinations of the queen. Worst even that he could ever have believed. He knew Belle couldn’t help it; what she believed was what Regina wanted her to believe, but it made him feel sick with worry, with confusion, with indecision and with anger. How dare she do this to them, to him. Wasn’t Grace enough leverage to ensure he fulfilled her every wish and whimsy?

“Paige…” the name felt like ashes in his mouth, but he forced himself to go on - for now at least. There was no telling what else Regina had worked into the curse, that he might fall foul of triggering if he didn’t… play along. “…is fine. Living in town.”

Belle frowned, “With you?”

“No.”

The question, and his answer stabbed him like hot needles through his heart, and he fought the sob that caught in his chest, and not to lean in to the very real, human caress that Belle brushed against his cheek, where her thumb, her hand, still rested.

“Why not?” she asked softly.

“It’s… complicated,” he managed, and then reached up to lift her hand away from his face and hold it gently in his own. “When you’re… better,” he said, thinking there would be hell to pay when the curse broke and everyone awakened, “you’ll understand.”

“I… trust you,” she told him, “but… I… miss you.”

“I miss you too, Belle,” he told her, and that at least was true. He missed her smiling face, the way she would chuckle at his playful, only-half-serious antagonistic banter with Rumplestiltskin. He missed the cold nights when he and Grace would stay warm within the castle. Missed teasing her about her love for her ‘beast.’ If only he could somehow awaken Rumplestiltskin, bring the truth to him. He would know what to do. Oh, how he would turn the tables on Regina then; hoist her with her own petard.

“But… darling,” if he were going to do that, he would have to keep it as much of a secret as Belle’s presence here in the woods that he and she had met, had spoken; that he knew Regina’s sick and twisted truth. So, he tried the endearment, tried to imagine what he might have called her, if she had truly been his love, “you must tell no one that you’ve seen me. I wasn’t supposed to come, and they’ll be angry.”

“But—” she said and he face creased in sadness.

“They warned me that it might hamper your recovery,” he told the lie that he imagined might be the truth if this madness were truly the circumstances in which they found themselves. “Too much, too soon.”

She took a deep breath then, and he could see her push back her sadness and gather her resolve even as she lifted their joined hands to her cheek, and nuzzled at his fingers. He fought not to snatch his hand away, instead he lifted their hands to his lips and bestowed a chaste - and appropriate to their friendship - kiss to her knuckles.

“I have to go,” he told her.

“I won’t tell,” she assured him. “I want to get well, so that we can be together again… all of us.”

“I want that too,” he said, and it was truthful. He wanted nothing more than for Belle and Rumplestiltskin to be reunited, and for him and Grace to once again spend evenings by the fire with their dearest friends. “More than you can know.”

#Rumbelle #AU #cursed storybrooke #past abuse #angst #romance #eventual smut #Storybrooke's best kept secret #i will always write jefferson

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linkspooky · 5 years

Photo

day 23 - quirk

decay shigaraki was born with a quirk that decayed everything his five fingers touched / @villainmonth / by @inumaqi @linkspooky

“Hey you, freak.”

With these hands. “You walk outside looking like that and expect not to get your teeth beat in?” He destroys.

“Th-the hell? Are those hands? Y-you. You fucking monster.” Everything.

A vague white shape, from a distance it’s just a blur, a ghost. Then five fingers appear in his vision and close over his face. He tried to scream out, but he notices he has no lower jaw and the words decay away with the rest of his face. The last thing he catches sight of is his own ashes blowing away in the breeze and then nothing.

“I don’t like you.” Shigaraki said, and for a reason as flimsy as that he took another human life. His days filled with fighting. He trained to become a terror. He never made any provocation, but yet others picked fighs with him; and on top of that each day the ones who did so called him, over and over a monster. He was already beginning to understand that there was no place for him in this world, that he no longer looked forward to anything the world could offer.

He was an outsider. He was never meant to be part of this world. If society knew what was inside of him, the terrible urges that made his body itch they would have rejected them from the start. That was what All for One told him. The only person who would ever forgive him. The only person who ever bothered to save him. If he were to die the world as a whole would be better off. He could do nothing but observe the world from the outside, and he could not touch it because it would begin to decay. All he could do was most likely continue living this worthless life. And no wonder it all irritated him.Everything, everything he saw irritated his eyes and turned them red and he wanted to scratch them until there was nothing left but empty sockets in his head.

He was not meant to have a family to begin with. He touched them and they were destroyed. He was not meant to have friends. He was not meant to feel kindness. All things that made others smile in life just irritated him.

He was allergic. He was allergic to living itself. In that situation, it was no wonder others looked at his face and called him a corpse, he was no more than being dead alive. He didn’t want to cry, and he did not want to smile, because his heart could not hold onto those feelings. Those feelings slowly decayed away inside of him like everything else. He was incapable of hope, and he did not even despair at what the world had done to him. He just continued to live a life without any meaning.

There was only one person in this world who was like him. There was only one person who did not believe his quirk was wrong. He stopped him from from cutting off his fingers one by one. They shared a last name because they were the same.

♚ “Good little children don’t judge people by their quirks!”

Shigaraki remembered being told by that once. In a different life, when he attended school. When he pretended to be a child. But whatever he touched with all five fingers he decayed.

What kind of child was he?

His quirk was decay. What he touched rotted away slowly. Sometimes Shigaraki believed that his quirk was not limited to his hands, but ran through his whole body. His insides were rotting away slowly. They festered. They filled the air with a horrible stench. Formeldahyde. His skin dry. His nails too long and broken. His hair was starchy, pure white, and no longer had any of the color in life.

Whatever was inside of him. Blood. Organs. Muscles. Tendons. Bones. It all rotted away a long time ago. There was only an empty husk left, and that too one day would crumble. That was why he felt nothing, nothing more than this persistent itch. Perhaps the reason why the itch hurt him so deeply, left scars underneath his skin was because it was the only thing he could feel anymore. If a deaf person could suddenly hear again, the sound of a pin dropping would be shattering. He was not meant to touch anything, not meant to feel anyone’s touch, because they would decay away before he embraced them. He who was meant to be numb, have his nerves deadened underneath his skin. To feel cold like a corpse.

The smallest touch would burn him. He felt nothing, and then he felt everything at once. He felt like he wanted to vomit. Shigaraki scratched his ass with four fingers as he got ready to shower. He had to be careful, he used two fingers to carefully remove his pants.

“Pain in the ass quirk,” Literally. “Asshole got his ashes all over me.” He thought for a moment. “Haha, ash-hole.” He was never going to tell anyone else in the world he laughed at something that stupid.

The ashes of the man he had just killed had gotten all over his body. Shigaraki did not mind filth, he lived with several trash bags tied up in his room because he did not want to bother to take them out. He never threw anything away and hoarded everything All for One gave him. But he did not think that room with a mess at all. Even living like this, his hair uncombed mess falling over his face in frayed white pieces. He did not think he looked like a mess at all. To Shigaraki, the image of “dirty” in his mind was other people. Even after he killed that man he refused to go away, his ashes were still there. He always lived with a layer of white ash over his skin, clinging, clinging, clinging to him. No matter how much he cleans himself he’s always going to be absolutely filthy with other people. That white ash covered his skin and turned him pale, and he forgot what he looked like underneath. Even after death, people’s hands still clung to him. He could feel those hands all over his body. They were touching, touching, touching him. Every time a hand touched his naked body they left a mark, and he was covered in the handprints of other people smeared all over his naked skin. A flat hand once struck his face. He felt his nose get crushed under it. Again and again, repeatedly, without stopping. That hand hand grabbed his face, and he felt like he was bruised underneath his skin. Everyone could see it.

A hand on his face. A hand left by father. A hand throttling him.

He was a person who decayed everything he touched, but he felt those hands touching him, and he himself started to fall to pieces too. He was broken by those hands.

Shigaraki scrubbed furiously in the shower, but that was not enough. The ash was still there, clinging, clinging, the dead were still clinging onto him even as he continued living. He stumbled back out of the shower and scratched at his skin. He could feel hands around his neck. They tightened and tightened. He felt himself suffocating by those hands. His neck, his skin, the tendons in his neck, his airpipe, his throat, his veins, his arteries, and then the bones of his neck, they would all decay away and then be crushed between the fingertips of the hands that choked him. He furiously fought back against those hands, scratching his neck.He raked at himself again and again with his own claws trying to pry those hands off, until he felt something wet on his neck. He had scratched his skin off again until his scars reopened. If only he could keep sratching until it all peeled off. If only he no longer had to have skin, and everybody could see what was rotten underneath. He pulled clothes over his body because he had to. “I still look like shit.” He muttered to himself. Seeing you in the flesh you look creepy as hell. Creepy motherfucker.

He remembered Dabi’s words. “Shut up, scarface. Shut up, shut up, shut up.” As if the guy with half of his skin sewed on should be talking. He probably burned his own body just by using his quirk. Shigaraki stared at all five of his fingers looking at the palm of his empty hand. “We weren’t born with the right specs for our characters. We need to die, and then start again at character creation.” These hands were going to destroy everything. He did not care what happened after that. What happened to him. If he died, if he lived, he just did not care. He just hoped god did not fuck it up as badly next time when he was in the character customization menu. “It’s like… I don’t feel anything, anything at all. I just don’t care anymore.”

Shigaraki said surveying himself in the mirror. If he became the king, if he was loved by everyone, if he was despised by everyone, it would make no difference to him, because he did not feel anything. But, Shigaraki felt everything. He felt so much he wanted to vomit. He lurched over the sink and vomitted up empty gastric juice, because he sometimes skipped meals to try to curtail the vomitting. His ribs were showing and there was no food in his stomach, but he kept spitting it all up. He felt something else crawling up from the back of his throat. He began to choke terribly, scratching at his throat again to try to open it up from the outside. If he tore a hole in it he could breathe. Shigaraki looked up in the mirror and it looked as if the whole world had heat waves running through it. Everything warped. Everything was twisted up, just like him. Then he felt something like his body was going to split apart at the seams. A hand broke through the back of his throat, and pushed its way through his mouth. He sat there was his mouth forced open, five fingers reaching forward. Not just his mouth, he felt them inside of his body as well. Hands were digging around on his insides, trying toe scape, and they did, they burst forth reaching out of him. It was like these hands were growing from his flesh. No, it was like several people were inside of him, all trying to claw out and escape at once. His mother, his father, his grandmother, his grandfather, his older sister. They were all inside of him, all still with him, and their hands were still clinging to him. Those hands were pulling him from every different angle, like they wanted to pull him apart. Take a spider in your hands. Spread its eight legs out. Then pull off each leg one by one.

He was nothing more than a mass of writhing hands, and flesh, flesh slowly ripping with a squelching sound. He is flesh, torn at the sinews. Shigaraki retched His whole body convulsed, and so did his world as he collapsed forward on the sink, hitting his head against the ceramic. The only thing that brought him back to reality was the feel of his own blood dripping down his forehead. When he reached out to touch it with three fingers, he realized there was nobody here but a mirror, and him covered in his blood. “Idiot. Don’t you think your skull’s broken enough already?”

He muttered to himself. Sleepy. So sleepy. So sleepy he could ream when he was awake. Long stretches of drool fell from his lips and he did not even notice. His face looked half asleep but his body still continued to move, still continued to live, meaninglessly.

“Haven’t slept in four days. Shit. I forgot.” It just slipped his mind. Maybe it fell out through the crack in his skull from all the times he tried to split his skull open. He had been up all night playing a game again. “But the game was so fun. Don’t wanna sleep now.” Tired. Tired. Tired. But he could not sleep. He was slowly decaying away, he looked like a corpse, but he could not die. “When it’s game over, I can sleep as much as I want.” Shigaraki Tomura smiled. There was still a kid inside of him, but one day that kid would decay away too.

#tw: gore #tw: self harm #zeldi drabbles tag #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #villain month #villain month 2019

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apologies-in-advance · 3 years

Text

scene bucket #5(?)

marion: why do we never get percy with feeling

feelings*

kristin: ?

marion: this kid has problems

and

we never talk about them at all canonically

kristin: yeah, idk

like there are (that i know of) two instances of ptsd

in the entire series

which, okay, kids book, but still

he's like seventeen (and so are the rest of them)

they've seen who knows how many deaths. like...

marion: isn't it a YA book tho?

kristin: yeah

but

i think it was targeted to like 13/14?

idk...

marion: harry potter has death plots and people bleeding out and george being rightfully upset about fred

but like

pjo is just yes we have problems in the subtext

kristin: that is one thing i missed.

that i want.

(which probably makes me horrible, idk)

marion: no i kind of want it too

kristin: xD

are we bad people?

marion: no

i think we just want someone to finally be sad

kristin: yeah

marion: bc these kids are like

always happy

bar leo who canonically is depressed but they NEVER SAY IT

kristin: right

like, for example, i feel like with all those deaths (especially, for example, like Bianca and Beckendorf) and with Percys fatal flaw

he'd really beat himself up

like, more so than in the books.

and like Hazel literally was in the underworld.

and even though she was in the fields of asphodel. i feel like that would mess someone up.

marion: hazel faced discrimination

uhM

kristin: eurgh

i've always wanted to explore that, tbh

like, i have this thing that when she finally comes back, she asks Nico where a bathroom is, and he shows her

and she's like "that's not funny"

because there's different colored people in there, too

marion: oh

that's

that's kind of depressing

kristin: oof.

sorry.

idk, its just how i always imagined it going down.

marion: no no you're right

im just

kind of sad

that that would happen

kristin: yeah, ik

marion: to cinnamon roll hazel

kristin: (literally one of my favorite characters)

marion: *sob* i cant deal with this

:'(

this genuinely makes me want to cry

i dont-

how????

kristin: you imagine how hard it would be for her to have to adjust to like having a brother

that was

eurgh

sorru

*sorry

( i don't know if the term white is offensive or not)

marion: nah

kristin: okay, okay just checking

marion: poor cinnamon roll

kristin: D:

marion: i want to hug her and never let go

kristin: sammee

marion: ndfowendonwefon hazel is best

kristin: ikr

marion: hazel deserves best

kristin: yes

like she had to watch her mom die

in front of her

and she thought it was her fault

marion: hazel has angst, percy has angst, leo has angst

like her fatal flaw is guILT

angst budddiees

marion: :[

the angst trio

they cry themselves to sleep and pretend they're ok!

kristin: stOP

that's soo sad.

marion: everyone tries and subsequently fails to get them to talk about their problems

kristin: yeah, ik.

and they're just like, i'm fine.

Stop! Get some help!

marion: we're fine *sobbing*

kristin: through their tears

like, the rest of the seven can hear them crying through the thin walls of the Argo but nobody says anything

marion: *whispers* trauma? never heard of her

kristin: whose she?

honestly, though, like *sighs* it's so sad

marion: hahahaha...

kristin: haha.

*sighs*

like, the fates or whatever terrible being is in charge, just throw these kids and a satyr

on a flying boat

to destroy the earth

in order to save it

marion: and only one of them is mostly ok

actually coach hedge seems ok

kristin: yeah

maybe a little wack-o

but...

otherwise, fine

marion: so 2 out of 8

kristin: (unless we're counting nico)

marion: 2/9

kristin: Who, i think doesn't get as much appreciation as he should

reyna?

marion: 2/10

kristin: ooh, yes

oh, gods were making it worse

marion: 1/5

uhm that's pretty small

thalia?

2/11

kristin: sTOP i feel nico should get more recognition, though. like, he went

through tartarus.

alone.

marion: i think he and will are a focus in toa

but idk

kristin: (informercial voice Only 2 out of 11 demigods per year are mostly okay)

yeah idk either

marion: hey coach hedge isnt a demigod

kristin: CaUsE i HaVenT rEaD iT

oh no.

oops

...

marion: only 1/10 demigods are estimated to be mostly ok

one

out of

kristin: -that's-depressing-

marion: ten

kristin: one

out

ten

marion: low statistics

kristin: the weight of the worlds

*words

(like the weight of the sky on Percy and Annabeths shoulders)

marion: imagine the demigods making an 'into to chb!' video

kristin: uh oh

marion: and they're like so what's so great about being a demigod? and they all have fake cheery voices and blah

percy's just nothing. nothing is good about being a demigod. have fun dying before 18.

i literally barely made it.

they're like

can i quit?

no. no you can't

kristin: can i be fired?

marion: no.

please?

dang it

uhm

kristin: but you can die

have fun!

marion: how is that bETTTER

kristin: *whispers* it might be

nO WHAT HAVE I DONE

...

marion: i dont like the brutal honesty in this conversation

kristin: :/

i don't either, honestly.

*hA honestly*

*brutal honesty?*

*no? okay i'm sorry*

marion: *sob*

kristin: no, i'm fine.

they're all fin

marion: just fine.

kristin: loOK what i found

" The cab sped west. Every gust of wind through Death Valley sounded like a spirit of the dead. Every time the brakes hissed on an eighteen-wheeler, it reminded me of Echidna’s reptilian voice."

tlt

marion: i-

my dude

get some help

perCY

kristin: he doesn't need it

'member?

marion: YES HE DOES

HE FRIGGIN NEEDS THERAPY

kristin: " She made one more attempt to speak, but the sound was gone. Her image melted away. If it was my mother, I had lost her again. I felt like drowning myself. The only problem: I was immune to drowning."

" The last thing I remembered was sinking in a burning sea, knowing that Tyson was gone forever, and wishing I were able to drown"

marion: IJBUWFDWBJVH GCWDBIUWS

he wants

DrOWN

himself

and he would

kristin: " Thing is, as I was choking just now, I kept thinking: this is payback for Akhlys. The Fates are letting me die the same way I tried to kill that goddess. And … honestly, a part of me felt I deserved it. That’s why I didn’t try to control the giant’s poison and move it away from me. That probably sounds crazy"

that was blood of olympus!

marion: NO NO NO NO NO NO NONO NONONONO

kristin: yEAH

he was talking to Jason

after they were underwater or whatever

marion: and jason did nothing????

bRO

kristin: he said

marion: help hIM

kristin: Jason thought back to Ithaca, when he was despairing over the visit from his mom’s spirit. ‘No. I think I get it.’

THEN

they act like nothing happened

Percy studied his face. When Jason didn’t say any more, Percy changed the subject.

marion: :[

jASON

kristin: >:{

marion: jASON ASNd PERCY

kristin: D:

marion: iowahdnbxcunejwqzhs UGGYUSKNM

kristin: wonder how many more examples there are....

marion: oh no

my stars

kristin: ik

this is depressing

marion: wow

kristin: what about Frank though?

or PIPER

like he dad got kidnapped

*her

and then like she finally saved him

and he was like you're a hero

and then she had to ERase his Memory

marion: oof

true

kristin: like, it's obviously not as bad as the others

but still.

marion: yeah

kristin: *exhales*

DD:

im sorry

one more

" " She shook her head. ‘I’m not Caesar. After finding Jason’s note in Diocletian’s Palace, tracking you down was easy. I only did what I thought was necessary.’ Percy couldn’t help smiling. ‘Reyna, you’re too modest. Flying halfway across the world by yourself to answer Annabeth’s plea, because you knew it was our best chance for peace? That’s pretty freaking heroic.’ Reyna shrugged. ‘Says the demigod who fell into Tartarus and found his way back.’ ‘He had help,’ Annabeth said. ‘Oh, obviously,’ Reyna said. ‘Without you, I doubt Percy could find his way out of a paper bag.’ ‘True,’ Annabeth agreed. ‘Hey!’ Percy complained. The others started laughing, but Percy didn’t mind. It felt good to see them smile. Heck, just being in the mortal world felt good, breathing un-poisonous air, enjoying actual sunshine on his back. Suddenly he thought of Bob. Tell the sun and stars hello for me. Percy’s smile melted. Bob and Damasen had sacrificed their lives so that Percy and Annabeth could sit here now, enjoying the sunlight and laughing with their friends. It wasn’t fair. ""

marion: i-

sang it

dang it

kristin: you sang it

marion: a nice wholesome moment turned into angst

kristin: ikr

DID YOU

SEE

THAT THEORY

about Zoe and bob?

marion: ?no

kristin: HOLD ON

this is game changing

this is what i'm talking about

Bob's a titan.

He's related to Atlas, yes?

You know who else is related to Atlas? Zoe.

Bob=related to Zoe

You know what her last words were? She said 'I can see the stars again, my lady.' before Artemis turned her into a constellation.

Constellation=Stars

'Tell the stars hello'=Tell my cousin/sister/relative hello

marion: *SOB*

i cant do this

kristin: In Greek mythology, Iapetus was a Titan, the son of Uranus and Gaia and father of Atlas

marion: pjo and hoo have too much angst for my pathetic heart

kristin: s

so... bob is zoe's grandfather

marion: aw........

kristin: balling like a baby

marion: *SOBSBsbhsbejdbfeid*

kristin: YES

marion: you cant do this to me

kristin: i'm sorry

marion: i cant do this

this makes me so depressed

osinfdejnd

how

kristin: i have no idea

marion: bob and zoeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

kristin: D':

yo, imagine how Annabeth and Percy would react if they figured it out

marion: no nonOnONOnONONoNOn

kristin: I think they'd break

at least percy

marion: percy is sad

kristin: eurgh

marion: it's too much

kristin: you know what the worst part is?

marion: what

kristin: his friends don't even know it

they probably think he's actually fien

*fine

marion: i-

what...

hold up

nopr

kristin: they just think he's this upbeat optimistic sarcastic person

makes people laugh because it's a tension releaser

marion: ,'(

kristin: eurgh

marion: get some help, already

kristin: you know what they should have?

a camp therapist. like some Apollo camper, or smth

marion: something

kristin: yeah

for those who would be WILLING

*cough* not percy *cough

he'd be like I'm fiiine

marion: i dont need therapy

kristin: ha

yeah

marion: yup

kristin: Perce, you sure?

yep

marion: uhm

yeah just gonna

go now...

kristin: *shrugs* okay. whatever you say

*walks away*

marion: *sob* yeah im fine

kristin: they don't even turn around (cus they can't hear him [cause it was internal])

marion: *internal breakdown*

kristin: (meanwhile, on the outside) *grins at whatever dumb joke Jason told him*

*or Leo

marion: :')

kristin: just

fine

whAT ARE WE DOING

marion: poor perce

kristin: Dx

marion: percy is the type to get shot in the stomach and tell them to go look at annbeth's papercut

kristin: but, yeah srsly

Exhibit A

"‘You still claim him then?’ Zeus asked menacingly. ‘You claim this child whom you sired against our sacred oath?’ ‘I have admitted my wrongdoing,’ Poseidon said. ‘Now I would hear him speak.’ Wrongdoing. A lump welled up in my throat. Was that all I was? A wrongdoing? The result of a god’s mistake? "

Exhibit B

" ‘Your mother is a queen among women,’ Poseidon said wistfully. ‘I had not met such a mortal woman in a thousand years. Still… I am sorry you were born, child. I have brought you a hero’s fate, and a hero’s fate is never happy. It is never anything but tragic.’ I tried not to feel hurt. Here was my own dad, telling me he was sorry I’d been born. ‘I don’t mind, Father.’ ‘Not yet, perhaps,’ he said. ‘Not yet. But it was an unforgivable mistake on my part.’"

marion: ah and then the mr.brunner incident

kristin: Oh! yes

#pjo #hoo #scenebucket??#suicide #depressed

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capitainedoulios · 4 years

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Vatt'ghern Sidh (aka it’s my bd and wanted to give something back)

Read on AO3

Geralt learnt from a young age than Witchers couldn't become knights, and elves even less so. There was nothing chivalrous about killing monsters and remaining in the shadows of humanity, nothing courageous about following the role set upon himself. He would walk the Path until he couldn't, be the one standing between humans and non-humans while ostracised from both.

Over the years he grew accustomed to the Witchers' reputation. He stopped trying to correct the rumours and defend himself when someone shouted at him or used physical violence. No good came from it, so he ignored it, and when he couldn’t, he left. He preferred the blessed quietness of the forest rather than the hateful stares of ignorant peasants.

He didn't understand why Jaskier wanted to follow him. The heroism and romance he proclaimed in his songs were elaborated fantasies. His work was harsh and brutal and a constant reminder of how gruesome and merciless the world could be. Geralt didn't want that for the boy. The baby fat had yet to melt from his face but still he already sought adventure and stories to tell to a crowd despising their kind. That was why he kept pushing him away, despite the odd fluttering in his chest whenever the bard did something idiotic, which was fairly often.

It came as a surprise to meet another elf living through humans like he belonged there, blinding bright colours screaming at anyone who dared say anything. It came to no surprise that he started fighting whoever dared to spew insults about Witchers in his presence, despite Geralt’s numerous attempts at letting it go.

Geralt should’ve have known someone persistent like he was would succeed in getting under his skin, sooner or later. Years went by with him at his side, his everpresent humming softening his edges until he found a way to his heart.

“Bitter is the wind tonight, it tosses the ocean’s white hair.” The bard was strumming his lute by the fire. “I long for the… eh, that’s no good.” He scratched the line in his notebook, his fingers stained with spilled ink. “Geralt, what does hair rhyme with?”

“Air,” came Geralt’s gruff reply as he continued cleaning his sword from crusted blood. The silver blade gleamed in the moonlight.

“Really? Could you try any less to be helpful?”

“Your quest for rhymes doesn’t seem to ever end. I’m not a literate like you are, so I can also offer care. Not that I do.”

Jaskier sputtered, mouth opened, but had nothing to say. Instead he pouted and put down his lute in its case. “Keep telling yourself that if it reassures you in your strong Witcher impersonation, darling,” he mumbled to himself, not caring Geralt could still hear him.

He hid his small smile by discarding his sword to instead grab some oil he used on his scars when they pulled and were irritated.

“Solitaire,” he piped in as he pulled his sleeve up to expose his forearm. He recently had used it to block and it had awakened old injuries. “Despair.”

“Are you going to throw every rhyme at me?”

“Share.”

Jaskier snorted and came closer to take the vial from him, sitting between his spread legs like he belonged there. Geralt’s heart sputtered, heat spreading under his breastbone. Jaskier accessed the scar and the dry skin around it, dragged a gentle hand on it. Geralt held his breath, his other hand clasping his knee not to touch.

“Stare,” he whispered. Jaskier looked up, his blue eyes obscured.

“Go on, proclaimed illiterate,” he said, his voice lower than usual; intimate. He put a few drops of oil on his fingers to warm it up before spreading it on Geralt’s forearm, starting to massage it in.

“Unfair.”

“Unaware.”

“Jaskier, I…” He followed the urge to press his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, his thumb brushing against the hollow of his throat where a nest of chest hair peeked from his chemise. “I do care.”

Jaskier smiled and dropped a kiss on the scar. “I know.”

It was the natural course of things to pull the bard to him and kiss him until they’re both panting, clutching to each other. Geralt smiles and nuzzles his cheek. He basks in the feeling of his warm body pressed against his, his arms curled around his waist. He smells of the sun.

Jaskier splayed his hands up his back, hummed. “I don’t think I want it to rhyme. Rhymes can be boring.”

Geralt laughed and kissed him again, relishing the taste of his mouth and his sweet quiet moans. The bard pulled away and he chased him with a groan, wanting more, but he gently pushed him back with a hand on his chest.

“Geralt, does your oil have magical healing properties?”

He looked down at his arm. The pain was gone, because there was no more scar. He touched it, to make sure it wasn’t an illusion. “It doesn’t. I’ve had that scar since before I met you, I don’t… What have you done?”

“Me? I rubbed your skin with the oil and that was it. I did hear from a few people I have magical fingers, but I doubt that’s what they meant.”

Geralt grabbed and pushed the vial in his hands. “Do it again. Here.” He pushed the collar of his black shirt aside to expose a thick, hypertrophic scar. Jaskier sighed but repeated the same gestures. After a few minutes of staring at it, nothing happened.

“I don’t understand. Perhaps it was another potion, or a mix of two?” Jaskier started supplying, when Geralt grabbed his arm.

Oh.

“You kissed it,” Geralt realised with a pang. He’d heard of this, a long time ago, a silly tale of soulmates soothing each other’s pain with their love, but thought it was just another fairytale meant to the romantics of this world. Not for witchers, never for them.

Jaskier was older than he was, had been a bard for most of his life, and with the way he’d grown still, such tales were shared among the poets’ social circle.

He bent and kissed the scar, his lips hot on his skin, and Geralt had to refrain a shudder. If this was real, it meant Jaskier was… He couldn’t fathom the thought, but this could explain how he couldn’t deny him anything.

Jaskier softly gasped. “It’s disappearing,” he exclaimed. “It’s completely gone, Geralt.” He hugged him, leaning heavily into him. Geralt returned the embrace and they stayed like that for a long moment, the realisation sinking in.

“I need to kiss you as well,” Geralt finally said. “I believe you have a scar on your hip?”

“Mm, I do. Oh.” Geralt fell to his knees before him and stared up at him through his lashes. His hair trailed on the ground but he hardly cared about it at the moment.

“May I?” He asked, pressing his nose into his stomach to smell him.

“Of course.” Jaskier stroked his long white hair and teased his long ears, flicking the ends in a way that managed to be tender.

Geralt lifted his shirt, his fingers seeking the knitted skin. He could still remember how Jaskier got it, a contract that had turned to be much more dangerous and resulted in Jaskier distracting an enraged spectre. The injury was serious but elves were tenacious and resilient, as history proved it. Now nothing remained but a silver line running down his flank to his hipbone. He pressed delicate kisses along it, encouraged by Jaskier’s reaction. The bard’s heart was thundering loudly. He trailed towards his belly button, loving the feel of the soft hair there.

“So?” Jaskier gulped. “Is it gone?”

“Mm? Oh yes.” He slid his hands up his chest to his pectorals to thumb his nipples, the waft of Jaskier’s arousal filling his nostrils. “Completely gone.”

“That’s good. I suppose I have a lot of work ahead of me then. I’ll have to kiss almost every inch of you. A real hardship that will be.”

Geralt unlaced his trousers. “I’ll be all yours once I’m done with you, love.”

The only way for your scars to disappear is when your soulmate kisses them goodbye.

Ko-Fi | Writing Commissions

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #elf geralt #elf jaskier #non-human jaskier #soulmate au #my writing #my art

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putmeinachair · 5 years

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I am a very intense person, even though I have a tendency to look for logical explanations and act rationally. maybe it’s a real mania, I actually don’t know, but when I like something, I love it. when I enjoy something, I become obsessed with it. and I feel a lot of feelings towards it. this is a text about how an obsession saved and then changed my life.

***

The National has been my obsession for the past 6 years or so. I first listened to them between the end of 2010 and the beginning of 2011 – I don’t quite remember – and my first album was High Violet. I liked it but didn’t love it at first. I remember the first song from the album I really loved was Runaway: I loved how dramatic Matt’s voice sounded, as well as the whole imagery of bleeding and fighting and being led to the flood. I kept listening to them and enjoying their music, but that was it. when they announced a show here, I decided to listen to other albums and went to Alligator. that was when they got me. I immediately fell in love with Secret Meeting, a killer opener, its absolutely beautiful follower Karen, and that fucking hymn Baby We’ll Be Fine (which later would become my first tattoo but I will post about that another time). I became a fan – but was still a broken college student, so I missed the show. it killed me. seeing the videos of acoustic Vanderlyle destroyed me, and I promised I would never ever missed a National show again.

7 years stand between these events and my first show. during this time I became really obsessed with them. in 2013-14 I had a major depression crisis, and Trouble Will Find Me got me through it, holding my hand and translating my feelings of despair, anger, sorrow, and exhaustion into songs. I felt hugged, comforted and understood. as I got better I dived into Boxer and this is why I have such a strong connection with it: it represents this transition I went through, from completely fucked up to minimally able to address and deal with my mental health issues. it followed me in a sort of calm phase in my adult years, and it always warms my heart. when I thought about taking my own life – which was not that frequently but happened more than once – or just hoping I would somehow die, I am not exaggerating when I say that what stopped me was the feeling that I could not die without seeing The National live at least once. that was literally what I thought. so I guess I am not being dramatic when I say the saved my life, huh?

the release of Sleep Well Beast came as a reminder of this, and it all happened so fast I couldn’t even process it. I was working too much, immersed in my master’s degree, slowly sinking into depression again. and then one night I couldn’t sleep, I was worried because I had classes the next morning but was still awake, then they changed they published a video on twitter. I freaked out, checked my facebook and they changed their profile pic. it was happening, they were coming back, maybe I would have the chance to finally see them – and they did, I did.

I dived into their discography again, I relived each song, each album, each emotion. I fell in love with each single they released for the new album, I embraced SWB as if it were a new friend I had connected immediately with, and it embraced me back. a few months later they announced they would come to Brazil for Lollapalooza (and this week I was reminded that two years ago I bought my first ticket to see them!). a solo show was announced later and I got to see them twice in the last week of march. after that, my life changed completely.

and that is why I am writing this text: I want to talk about this, I want to write about each show I’ve been to and each show I will attend in the future. I want to scrutinize the setlist, talk about my connection to each song, my experience seeing them live, seeing my favorite songs live. that’s what I will start doing in the next days because I miss writing and I miss expressing how I feel about music in words. but I needed to write this first. I needed to explain where all this comes from, so it can make sense. I don’t even know if there is anyone actually reading this but I honestly don’t care. I am writing this for me, so I can look back in a few years and see how I was saved by this band, how they changed my life completely and how I am making peace with being intense. because they taught me how to do it.

***

I am just now, at the end of writing this, realizing that today is Thanksgiving. we do not celebrate this holiday in Brazil but I always liked the idea that it is not a religious thing, it is about people and how they affect your life and their surroundings. so I can’t miss the opportunity to say I am deeply thankful for music in general but especially for The National, their music, their art, their passion, their connection with their fans, their community. it feels really good to be a part of this.

#The National #sleep well beast #trouble will find me #boxer #alligator #depression #cherry tree

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the-constant-project · 5 years

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Interview with a Magical Girl

What was my childhood like?

I don’t remember much of my childhood. Not due to it being bad or something overtly traumatic, it was just average (Upon discussing stuff with my therapist, I have since learnt this is not true in the slightest.). I was neither particularly skilled academically or physically, though I soon learnt later in life that this was due to how my brain worked. A smart little awkward cookie who just couldn’t handle the pre-packaged Baked Goods that was expected of all younglings. I was bright, devoured what I read and caught my interest, but it didn’t suit what the Adults expected, and thus I was branded an outcast. The interest in cephalopods definitely didn’t help with my peers either, atleast not until my 20s. Eventually the growth hormones kicked in (Fuck being a teenager. Those who miss those days are either incredibly delusional, or they lucked out during their teenage years. Lucky sods.), and changes wracked my form. Some grew interested in the other sex, others were interested in the same but kept quiet about it. Whereas I......just wasn’t interested. There were times when desire would flood my body, but I was lucky that I had read about what hormones could do to me, so I understood what I was feeling would only be temporary. The few who truly did spark something, recoiled from me upon learning so, due to either them having only been faking friendship with my for whatever reason teenagers do so, or preferred us being friends. I was fine with the latter, it was nice knowing how I could interact with them. It was the former that started the process of breaking me, of learning the difference between being a person, and being an object. And it was the loss of all of them at the end of my final high school year that started the cracks in my psyche. I had spent my formative years making myself into someone they all liked, actively avoiding the things that, upon reflection, would define my adult life. The realization I had wasted my formative years on people who had been happy to drop me once they didn’t have to deal with me.............hurt. I had denied myself, and torn myself into the wrong shapes, and it had not been enough for them. I don’t remember the couple of years between High School ending, and starting my stagnant job. I just remember the hate, the rage, the pain and the anguish. Its still there, buried deep. I have long since accepted those parts of me. Those parts of me help when something tries to break me again.

You may have noticed I haven’t mentioned my family. My mother is a good woman, who has had the world repeatedly try and beat her down and break her. It succeeded, but she refused what it gave her and fought her way back to something resembling normalcy. Atleast, as close as she can manage. My siblings.....I resent them for how they were growing up, but I’ve since come to terms with them and we enjoy a nice peace between us. Not living in the same house helps a lot. We won’t speak of the man who put me in a hospital. He’s lucky my mother and I still, for some unknown and most likely fucking stupid reason, allow him to stay in our lives.

My stagnant job was just that.....stagnant. I was one of their better employees. But I was neither Good Enough(tm), nor did I perform the needlessly complicated social rituals needed to bypass the Good Enough(tm) necessity required for getting promoted.

I was secluded, but it helped me start healing. But it stagnated at some point, and I became stuck in a rut, unable to leave.

It wasn’t until my Ikō-ki came that my life truly started.

************ Whats an Ikō-ki, you ask? I’m not sure myself, to be honest. I was alone in my tiny apartment, my own little stagnant marble of reality, when it just appeared with a flickering of the light, a strange dark metallic rod, eldritch tendrils of energy keeping it afloat. The ‘head’ of rod is vaguely bulbous, with 8 undulating bands forming the patterns along its length. Heh, it just occurs to me, but it kind of looks like someone had attached a small octopus to a rod (This is how I knew it was mine.) It called itself an Ikō-ki. The strange mind voice it uses to talk to me is a strange blend of my masculine voice and a Japanese accent I’ve never had, and if it weren’t for the fact I hated how the words sound when they come out of my mouth, I would call it a soothing voice.

They seem to help transition small pools of stagnation, based on the stories it has shown me. My Ikō-ki (I can’t help but claim it as Mine) has shown me multiple stories: a princess become a prince and bring ruin to their prosperous yet corrupt state; a young boy became the Belle of the town and helped reunite the warring clans within falling in love with each of their heirs and tying their futures to one another; an adult who claimed bloody retribution on those who had claimed their body against their will. But those are the Phantasmal stories, the ones meant to bring hope to those who have fallen to despair, to give them the motivation to rise above the masses or to sink deep into their minds and bring forth a new dawn for those who follow their darker paths.

But that was not meant to be my Story, atleast, that is my hope. I want my story to be a stopover, like the smaller stories of local heroes and vigilantes, of those who guard the dreams and become the nightmare that nightmares fear within the dreamscape, those who sleep the wakeless dream and help heal the minds of their peers, of those whose only job is to look after their Ikō-ki until it comes time for it to move on. I’m getting off track. My mind can’t help but wander when I think about my Ikō-ki.

My Ikō-ki is a strange magical artefact that most likely either originates from Japan, or spent enough time there that it has permanently affected its.....mind? I’m still not sure how its ‘mind’ works. My Ikō-ki definitely has its own mind, since while we share tastes and opinions; it has since developed its own opinions and tastes, which I find fascinating. The small few others we’ve encountered have ranged from nothing more than inanimate magical objects, to semi-autonomous drone-like constructs, to full-fledged sentient beings. They seem to specifically be attracted to women, since I have yet to see any we’ve encountered with a masculine form. But considering they make us physically transform when we use them, I can’t trust what I see, I can only take the words of the strangers who are in similar situations to me. ........did I not mention I can transform? From the sounds of it, My Ikō-ki was surprised at how accepting I was of the concept. I had grown up watching cartoons of girls being able to transform into magical warriors, so this was just my childhood dream coming true.

My new form.......is too much for my liking. Don’t get me wrong, I love the design of my outfit. The cephalopodan dress is the stuff of eldritch nightmares, all dark blues, greens and browns, endless flowing in non-existent currents, the great red Mantle headpiece towering above me, 4 larges tendrils wrapped together like hair, ready to flare up and be used if needed.. The ammonoid shield stands tall and impassable, its eternal spiral unyielding to any. The strange spraying creature on my right wrist, at time filled with a viscous ink that flows through air as if underwater, yet capable of delivering a highly venomous bite to anyone who isn’t me if they venture to close (This strange symbiote seems to share a link with me, since I’ve recently learnt that, if threatened outside of my magical girl form, my bite can be just as venomous). But as with the strange curves of all cephalopods, my own body becomes much fuller, curves appearing where I typically lacked them. While gorgeous, it’s not my thing. I prefer being on the ‘less filled out’ side of the body spectrum. Though if the only downside to my form is that its curvier than I like, and I get a awesome cephalopod aesthetic as the positive, I’ll take that deal. I’ve seen some of the lingerie others have been saddled with. What do I do with this form?

.......just watch it move and react. Its more cephalopodan than human, and its fascinating watching the eldritch form just.....move. There are times I go exploring the city, and stopping some of the worse crimes if I stumble upon them. But exploring the dreamscape is what I mainly do. Redirecting the mental eddies and currents around me, helping keep their lives just that little bit less miserable. .......I once tried to probe into That Man’s thoughts, to see why he put me into the hospital. I couldn’t handle what I found, and now I fear to dive into anyone else’s mind. If I’m a Magical Girl, who do I fight? Thats a hard question. In theory, The Decline. The literal concept of humanity falling into entropy. But as My Ikō-ki has shown me, The Decline just haven’t been active lately. My Ikō-ki is of the belief that we’ll see a resurgence in the next few years, given the state of the world’s political climate. But at the moment, I’ve mainly been ‘fighting’ other Magical Girls I’ve encountered. Not to the death or anything. Only some of the newer girls try that, due to a rise in darker media. But those of us with experience quickly weeded out those thoughts. At most, We spar and train. As I said, supposedly The Decline is coming, and someone needs to be ready. I’m hoping my shift will be over by then, but it can’t hurt to keep the others who have an active interest in protecting the world on their toes. Also helps keep me fit and in top form, when some of the more ‘morally straight laced’ Girls come and ‘hunt me’.

Why do I get hunted?

Because I have the Power, yet I don’t do anything obvious with it. Plus, as you can tell from looking at me, they ‘normal’ girls consider me an aberration. I once asked My Ikō-ki if Magical Girls were inherently good. He told me that each magical Girl is different, and we all walk different paths. Most walk the lighter paths, and some are consumed by that light. I walk one of the newer paths. Because it is new-ish, and isn’t inclined towards ‘The Light’, they get it into their heads that theres something wrong with me, and I should be purged to allow my Ikō-ki to pass on. Its not their fault. Society has taught them to fear the alien and the unknown, and one of our baser instincts is to fear what hide in the Dark. But thats why I walk the Darker path. I shall shield those outside of the Dark from their own fears. Luckily, I haven’t had to kill any of them. I almost did once, when I learnt my symbiotic sprayer could bite. The problem with young creatures with venomous bites, is that they don’t know how to regulate their venom. That girl was lucky the Medical Girl was nearby. Five more minutes and her lungs would’ve been paralyzed. *************

#magical girl #Its been a while since I wrote anything #This also hasn't been well edited since I wanted to just release it before heading to bed #I miss being able to write like this

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unholyhelbig · 6 years

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Bechloe Prompt - Chloe always invites Beca to hang out over the weekend, in hopes to get closer to her, but Beca has always declined and always says she's busy but never what she is busy with. Deciding to follow Beca one weekend, Chloe never expected it to lead her to a literal grave. [Or where Beca visits her late mother every weekend to clean her mother's final resting place]

[A/N: I changed it a bit, IM SORRY]

—> SUBMIT PROMPTS HERE

The grass was dead. Its once green blades had faded to a sickly brown- a brown so dull that it reminded Chloe of eyes that had flickered of all curiousness. She could feel the cold, understand why the plots of land looked like a nuclear war site, but still, it made her stomach clench in worry.

She listened easily to the sound of rain beating against high hanging branches. The leaves weighted heavily with the thick coat of water. A few chilled drops hit Chloe on the back of her neck, the young redhead wiping away the liquid at first before caving to her resolve. Now a stain soaked into space where her cotton shirt met her fleece jacket.

This rain would be good, Chloe thought, for the plots that were headed by sharp stones long forgotten. Even with the rain, she could tell that the moss spreading along limestone was due to abandonment. They were cracked, with rust stains leaking onto incorrigible words.

She couldn’t’ tell how long the graveyard had been here- but judging by the old markers, and the even older wrought iron fence that surrounded the property- she knew it had to be four times her age.

Purple wisteria plants wound themselves up the sharpened iron spikes. The lavender flowers had dulled out, a few sparks of color moved against budded vines. They looked like they could house thorns; like they had been stripped of all color and belonged with the dead buried beneath sheets of dirt.

Chloe couldn’t help but lift her chin up to try and see past the light drizzle.

Beca couldn’t’ be here. There was no reason for the young woman to drive herself to an old graveyard in the early morning hours. She had pulled her black car as far into the parking lot that she could get it before stalking out into the rain.

The older of the two held off for a few moments, she found solace under a sweeping willow tree with low hanging moss that clouded her from the icy sheets that began to form against the very dead grass that Chloe couldn’t push from her mind.

Her feet were sinking into the muddy base of the tree, her full body weight leaning against the bark that had been formed in the same edge of time that a shovel first broke the ground in front of her.

She watched silently as Beca came into her view. She had reserves about following her out into the country like this. It felt too invasive like she was breaking something special between the two of them; but after the multiple times that Beca had quickly canceled her plans before burying her words into coffee, Chloe knew that something was being well secured.

The woman was dressed warmly. She had a grey sweatshirt on, covered by a black leather jacket. Beca wore fingerless gloves, even from here, Chloe could tell that her breath pushed into the wet air like a football player running drills.

She held flowers; big bursts of color that came in the form of earth-shattering oranges, and yellows so vibrant that the petals were drawn from the sun itself. The reds dripped in subtle despair, thorns drawing out their own drops of blood.

The brunette took a stilling breath before she knelt down in front of a grave; one far too old and crumbled to have sentimental meaning. Yet, Beca closed her eyes, depriving the world of the golden color that they radiated. She pulled a single flower, a zinnia, Chloe mused, from the bundle before placing it carefully against the base of the stone.

Chloe blinked dumbly before her eyes scanned the rest of the yard. She stepped closer to the hidden edge that she hugged- closer to the sheet of moss that kept her hidden in the clutches of the dead. She gasped, almost silently.

There was a brush of color against every headstone in view; hundreds of them. They were people forgotten, they were people that were written about in the history books and may be remembered in the town history. But no one came to visit them anymore, most family members buried a few feet away.

Beca had haphazardly left a flower at every single grave.

The redhead bit the inside of her lip to keep tears from drawing at her waterline. Don’t make such a big deal, Chloe. Beca would tell her. She would tell her to swallow it down, and that it was just an act of kindness no one would really appreciate but the dead.

“You followed me out here?”

She drew in a breath quick enough to cut her throat, deep cobalt eyes flicking up to meet honey ones. She hadn’t even heard Beca approach, not the crunch of the slowly freezing ground of the breath that hung so heavily in the air. “Jesus.”

“Sorry,” She flushed “I suppose I’m used to being the only one here.”

Chloe swallowed thickly before she reached forward and grasped the collar of Beca’s jacket. She pulled the girl into the shade, it was cooler under the foliage of the willow tree, but it was darker, the two of them standing close in a shared space.

“What are you doing out here?” She said, voice raspy. She kept her fingers around the collar of the sweatshirt. “You’re going to catch your death.”

Beca cracked a small smile, eyes flicking to Chloe’s lips “I don’t know, it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“You do this every weekend?” Chloe asked “You put flowers on every grave? Why?”

“If I don’t, who will?”

It was a simple way to answer a question with an equally as echoed one. Beca seemed mighty smug to Chloe. Chloe who wasn’t the slightest bit mad at the young brunette. Her hand still clenched the bouquet of flowers in frozen fingers. Her eyes were dull, and her nose was running, but Beca didn’t’ seem to notice.

“These people,” She swallowed roughly “They don’t have anyone to care about them anymore. They don’t have a legacy written in stone… and I just, I think that’s a sad existence. To be forgotten, you know?”

There was a beat of silence.

“No one deserves to be forgotten.”

Chloe knew all too well, letting her stare flick towards the headstones. No one seemed to mow the grass against the base of the stones, no one seemed to scrub the rust or trim the weeds. But Beca had thrown herself out here every single Saturday for god knows how long.

She moved her fingers against the side of Beca’s face, swallowing roughly as she traced her touch across Beca’s lips. Their breath mingled, Beca leaning into the warmth that Chloe offered with a simple gesture. A simple gesture that paled in comparison to laying flowers against graves.

The rain was wetly draped over her bone structure, eyes sharp as Beca inhaled carefully. She tilted her eyes to the side. She had a tender look in her eyes, one that pushed Chloe forward- that drove her into a pure madness. She needed to feel every inch of Beca’s skin. The emotion in her actions, in her kindness, pulling at her.

Chloe ghosted her lips of Beca’s. She felt the cold numbness of the rain, tasted the earthy essence that the girl presented as the two melded into one another. Beca lifted her hand, curling her arm around Chloe’s neck as she continued to clench the flowers in hand.

The world seemed to cease existence the moment their lips touched, Chloe letting tears flow unchecked against her cheeks. The two couldn’t’ tell, couldn’t fold away from each other as emotion seeped into an empty graveyard, where nothing mattered, but a bouquet of flowers, and a pension for kindness.

#Beca Mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe fic rec #fanfiction #request #angst #pitch perfect

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septic-dr-schneep · 6 years

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JSE Fanfiction - In Time of Need (Part 23: Fission)

Summary: Marvin goes to great lengths, crosses great boundaries, and makes great personal sacrifices for the sake of his brothers. He’s going to save Jameson, no matter what it takes.

Marvin genuinely wished he could say the dark magic was unlike anything he’d felt before but if he had, he’d be lying. The only reason he had hidden this book in the pocket dimension was so he would be able to resist the temptation of using it again…so he wouldn’t have to reveal to the others that he’d ever used it at all. Even holding it in his hands again made the hairs on his arms prickle with discomfort and unease, but his grim determination outweighed those feelings. It was exercise, nothing more. The sooner he began growing stronger in it, the less uncomfortable it would be.

That didn’t mean the journey was going to be anything near pleasant. He had sequestered himself in his room, kneeling over the book where it lay ever so innocently on the floor in front of him. Not long ago, Robbie had watched him summon it and had asked if he could look at the pictures. Naturally Marvin had refused him. Just thinking about seeing them again with his own eyes made his stomach roil.

Resisting the urge to flinch, he leaned forward, ghosting a cautious hand over the cover. It felt ridged and uneven under his skin, as if there was a design on the cover, but nothing was visible in the yawning blackness of its sleeve…It wouldn’t reveal itself until he opened it and his intentions for the dark magic were revealed.

Dare he do this?

The longer he kept his hand on the cover, the longer he hesitated, the tighter his throat got. He swallowed with difficulty, blinking hard and forcing his focus to the reasons why. He could only imagine how loud Schneep’s screams had been as they echoed the blows Anti rained down on his battered body for endless hours of endless days. Were the screams he let out now as he woke from nightmares any comparison?

Too many times he’d seen the brokenness in Signe’s eyes as she hovered by Jack’s bedside, the silent pleas as she bent to kiss his forehead, and the despair which broke her that much more when he didn’t react. Perseverance and hope were long gone. The only reason she kept coming back was because she knew how much it would break the Egos if she didn’t, and how much it would break Jack when he woke—if he woke—and she wasn’t there.

He watched Chase’s slow fade. He was buckling day by day, his smile wavering more and more as bearing the responsibility of Jack’s role wearied him. He had always been good in front of a camera and he had always been better at lying, but Marvin had heard his voice break on the outro sometimes and as soon as the camera was off, he’d seen him hurl the headphones aside and curl into Jack’s computer chair, hiding his lookalike face.

Jameson. Oh, Jameson, staring in terror up at those monitors, alone, helpless, with no idea of what he was seeing. Marvin didn’t want to remember the creeping horror he had felt that night, but he knew Jameson was experiencing the same. Marvin had been with Jackieboy and Chase when he saw it—relatively safe. Jameson had no one—no one to explain, no one to comfort or save him, no one to break the cycle.

Marvin needed to be the one.

Gritting his teeth, he pried the book open. The pages fluttered and hissed, the essence of the words slithering down the margins in branching streams to find his fingers. His body seized up as soon as they made contact, swirling eagerly into the whorls of his fingertips and the creases of his palms. The pages wanted him to hold them, to take control over them again, but it was too much too fast; they were moving beyond his grasp before he could tighten on them. The words literally weighed into his skin, dragging him down so his elbows were on either side of the book where he gripped it as spells materialized in cramped coils over his hands and wrists and forearms, nosing intrusively underneath his three-quarter sleeves.

“Stop…” he gasped out. They didn’t, letters curling over the curve of his biceps and stinging the crest of his shoulders like thousands of tiny spiders. Some of the letters reached the base of his neck and then tumbled, spilling over his collarbones and down the center of his chest to tighten around his abdomen, drawing a sharp, shrill cry as they impatiently unraveled the stitches there.

Wet warmth spilled down his stomach as the wound reopened, but he wasn’t focused on that, shuddering, whining and arching his back as the magic crawled through the incision into his chest. From there it took ahold of his lungs, squeezing and releasing them opposite to every breath he took; every time he inhaled, he couldn’t find any air and every time he exhaled, air forced its way into him. His eyes swam dangerously, his head falling lower under the sheer pressure, pain and pleasure.

Lightheaded—too dizzy—No, no, don’t black out! Don’t…don’t…

When he pried heavy eyes open again, the first thing he was aware of was the lingering scent of old paper pressed against his cheek. It took him a few seconds too long to register that his head had fallen against the open tome and when he tried to lift it, it was a struggle. Pushing himself up on weak, sore arms, he took a moment to let the headrush subside. He had the distinct sensation of waking up from a sleep that was too deep, the kind that left him wondering if he was late to something important. More critical at the moment, however, was the fact that his skin was bare—as were the pages of the book in front of him. Tentatively he flipped through it, finding that a little less than half of them were blank.

Last time he’d tried this, he recalled in amazement, he’d only managed to absorb the power of seven pages before he went under. Granted, he had vastly improved in his magic since then, but a few pages short of half was better than he had expected. Cautiously examining himself, he reached a hand under his shirt and probed at the wound. The stitches were intact. Had he imagined they were torn out or had the magic returned them once it seeped into his body?

He didn’t feel awful, but he certainly didn’t feel well. His skin seemed too thick over his bones, as if it had closed in and tightened on him, polarizing against the outside world, and his thoughts were…dazed, disjointed.

He had to perform a spell. He had to see if it had worked.

The next several hours were spent summoning and charming various objects around his room, crushing them under the pressure and then building them back up. The more he practiced and built his confidence, the clearer his mind became. For the first time in a very long time, it felt as if he was seeing all of the angles. His magic responded faster than he had even summoned it; by the time he felt comfortable, every particle was sliding through his hands with only the smallest of efforts. At long last he swallowed stale nausea and rose, joints cracking and resettling as he turned grim thoughts to the kitchen.

When he got there, he did have to stifle a small, knowing sigh. Robbie had taken all of the dolls out of the sink and had clearly spent a long time playing with them; they were strewn all over the kitchen in odd, contorted positions from whatever game he had subjected them to. Robbie looked up when Marvin came into his field of vision, a grin breaking out on his face.

“Marm, I play game!” he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet with the Schneeplestein doll clutched tightly in one hand. As Marvin glanced at him, however, he stopped up short, recoiling a few steps and returning to a crouch just as quickly as he’d left it.

“Robbie?” Marvin prompted, eyes narrowing in puzzlement. The zombie squinted at him in return, gradually tilting his head and shuffling back a few inches farther toward the dining room chairs, as if he were a dog that hadn’t become reacquainted with the company yet.

“Marm…” he repeated pensively, blinking a few more times before sitting up straighter, the guardedness in his expression washing away in favor of proper recognition. “I play game!”

“I can see that,” Marvin concurred, picking up the doll in his own image and turning it back and forth in his hands. “I’m going to be taking this one away now, okay? You’ll still have the others to play with.”

“’kay!”

Maybe I should be insulted that he wasn’t too attached, the magician mused wryly as Robbie hurried over to the Jameson doll and nestled it in by the Chase. Or maybe that’s a relief. Either way, he wasn’t about to let that stop him. As he made his way down the hall toward the lab, he flexed his fingers, letting the doll hover in midair over his palm as he murmured his spell. It shivered, twitched, and then set to thrashing back and forth as he placed his free hand over its face, focusing the blood and the magic to it. As he tore at its core, he could feel the sick glee, the rage and the utter hatred that had been poured into it, creating a bitter taste of iron at the back of his throat.

W͜h͢o do͡ ̧you͞ ̴think͠ y̵ou’ve be̷ȩņ watching a̷ll̡ t͠his tiḿe͠? J̶ust ̨m͡y ͠pu͡p̛pets!

Back and forth the doll shook between his hands—back and forth, back and forth, back and—

Well, there are no strings on me…

He was breaking something that was meant to be untouchable, he realized, a thrill of rebellion and resolve coursing through him and bringing strength to his fingers.

No…strings.

With a weighty thud and a poof, the doll sprang apart at the seams, bits and pieces of the yarn tangling around his fingers as they fluttered toward the floor. Marvin blinked at the strands, a slow smile lighting his face as he turned his hand and flicked them off his fingers before moving on.

While his smile dissipated by the time he eased the lab door open, his cautious hope hadn’t. Signe was bent over Jack’s bedside as usual, holding his hand against her cheek. Whether that was to warm him or for her to absorb his warmth, Marvin didn’t know, but he kept his coming quiet so he wouldn’t startle her.

“Signe…?” he ventured, drawing her attention.

“Oh. Hey, Mar—” She paused then, looking him up and down with the same perplexed expression Robbie had worn. “You look different somehow. Your…” Laying Jack’s hand down with gentleness, she rose, moving closer to peer at him and then reeling back slightly. “Your eyes! Your pupils are violet!”

Startled, Marvin promptly swept his hands together to conjure a mirror, eyes widening as he lifted it. “Well, would you look at that,” he concurred, trying to keep his voice even for her sake even as he thought back, wondering just how long he’d been sleeping in contact with that book. Letting the mirror dissolve away in a shimmer of dim sparks, he glanced back over at her. “I tried something new with my magic,” he explained vaguely, hoping it would be enough to appease her. “I want to see if I can expand my power, actually do some good with it. Maybe I can help Jameson shake off what’s happening to him. But first I wanted to check in with you.”

“I’m…I’m the same,” Signe sighed, shrugging despairingly as she glanced back at Jack. “Seán is the same. I don’t know what else to do for him, Marvin. I just want this all to be over.”

“Well, I’m going to see if I—” Marvin paused then as the door to the bathroom off the lab squeaked and Chase emerged, wiping his wet hands off on his jeans. How had Marvin not noticed his medical bed was empty? Either way it was too late now. Chase stopped up short when he saw him, his hands stilling their movement.

They stood across from each other in silence for a long series of beats and then Chase shifted uncomfortably, murmuring, “How’s your face?”

“Fine,” Marvin answered, keeping his voice even.

“I…didn’t mean to give you more stitches.”

“I know.”

Pursing his lips, the younger Ego glanced between him and the floor a few more times before remarking, “You…you look a little weird.”

“So I’ve heard. I’m just trying something different with my magic…I’m going to try and bring Jameson around.”

It struck a blow to Marvin’s heart to see Chase’s head come up so quickly at that. “Really?” he gasped, disbelief and hope lighting his face for the first time since he’d emerged. “You think you can? What’re you gonna do?”

“It’s a different form of magic than I’m used to, but I’ve been practicing for the past several hours and I think I’ve gotten a good hang of it. I was able to destroy a little relic that Anti left for us to find.”

“You’re serious?” At Marvin’s nod, Chase breathed a hurried sigh of relief, surging forward a few steps. “And you—you’re sure it’s safe for Jem?”

“Well, it’s about as safe as an operation,” Marvin admitted, glancing sideways at Schneep. “There could be complications, but if it works, it’ll save Jameson’s life.”

A broad range of emotions swept over Chase’s face at that and Marvin knew that they were thinking the same thing: the last time there had been an operation involving Anti, it hadn’t gone in favor of the patient.

“I’m going to try,” the magician repeated at last, keeping his voice steady. “That’s all I can promise.”

“I guess that’s all I can expect,” Chase concurred softly, his expression wavering somewhere between guilt and admiration. Marvin didn’t plan on letting him hover there for long, turning on his heel to leave and only pausing when Chase lunged forward and caught ahold of his arm. “Marv, bro, I’m sorry. I wasn’t right; you’re not a coward. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

“Thanks.”

That was all that needed to be said between them. Chase let go of his arm, following unobtrusively as Marvin strode down the hall toward Jameson’s room. The entryway shimmered and sparked with cruelly bright green light, layer upon layer of protection spells to keep anyone from getting in—or out. Marvin pressed his lips tightly together as he pressed his hands against the barrier, waving them down with a cascade of violet anti-light. He could feel the shift toward confusion in Chase over his shoulder, but the vlogger didn’t ask and he didn’t answer.

As he’d expected, Jameson was sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring vacantly through the doorway at them as soon as it swung open. Suppressing a shiver, Chase crowded against Marvin from behind, whispering the youngest Ego’s name and receiving no response.

“I’ll need you to stand back,” Marvin advised pointedly as he moved forward, shutting the door behind them, and Chase hurried to stand by the wall on his left. “I’m going to be trying something I haven’t before so it’s not gonna be like anything you’ve seen from me. It may scare you but you can’t break my concentration even if you’re worried about him, okay? You need to just let me follow through, even if it looks like it’s going bad. If you try to break us up, it’ll go much worse, I promise you.”

“Okay,” Chase breathed, looking back and forth between them with agitated apprehension.

“Chase…” Marvin hesitated, trying to search for the gentlest way of making his point. “He’s probably going to scream. A lot. He’ll seem like he’s in a lot of pain and I know you’ll want to go to him and try to help, but you need to restrain yourself no matter what you hear from him. Got it?”

“What about what I hear from you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Steeling himself, Marvin summoned twin bursts of magic in his hands, off-color magic that shimmered in the way heat creates a mirage on asphalt. “Just be ready to help him when he wakes up.”

The moment he threw his hands out and his magic made impact with Jameson’s chest, the younger Ego fell back against the mattress with a heavy thud. He was only limp for a second or two before his body seized, twitching and thrashing and arching silently for almost a full minute as Marvin started shifting his hands back and forth, as if he were pedaling them. Jameson’s tremors were like a wave; he had to find the rhythm, the motion, he had to be in tune with it.

As soon as he found his balance with it, he began murmuring his spell and Jameson fulfilled his promise. The screech he let out made Chase jump and clap his hands to his ears; it was the audial equivalent of broken glass against rusty sheet metal, but there was a garbled, staticky undertone to it that reminded them exactly who this was. As Marvin pressed closer, the screaming was all too quickly drowned out by what he could sense in Jameson’s head: static, dread, the clamor of thousands upon thousands of fans struggling to escape Anti’s hold even as they tried to contain him.

The room faded away as he let his eyes close, envisioning the chaos he was wading into. He could feel some of them running, slamming into him in their desperation to escape but he held firm like a cliff face bombarded by the high tide. Every blow echoed in his ears, marred by thousands of voices—younger, older, softer, louder, hoarser, thicker, weaker, braver—all of them tangling together, crying out against Anti’s control.

In the midst of it all, he had to find Jameson. As soon as the tide of escapees subsided, he found purchase, sprinting into the gray-white storm before him. He could see them in front of their monitors, their screens, fingers flying back and forth in frantic attempts to reach each other, to rally. Their faces were obscured, represented by nothing but glitching avatars. He saw phantom children, puppets without strings, thespians, pilots, ravens, sick patients, warriors and keepers, but no matter how close he drew to them, he couldn’t touch them. They glitched out of existence when they were still just out of reach.

It could have been years before he located each and every one, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a brief flicker of blue against the blinding snowstorm of static. Shielding his face as the whirlwind intensified, he plowed through it, calling out as he distinguished Jameson in front of his own screens.

“JJ! Jameson, can you hear me?!” Every step became a greater struggle; the static was burning his skin now, each particle like pellets of hail, but even as he bled he continued. “Jameson!”

When he finally reached the monitor, his heart stuttered as he saw the cords striped up and down Jameson’s arms and legs, binding him to the chair. There was a thicker one synched tight around his throat and his eyes were streaming tears, unblinking as they stayed fixed on the monitors.

“Jameson!” he hollered again, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it desperately.

“Hh—” Jameson wheezed, stiffening in pain as the cord around his throat tightened. “Help me…Help me, p-please, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

His voice, Marvin realized, eyes widening. That wasn’t Anti’s voice. There weren’t any speech slides to read, but that was his voice, soft, shaky and shallow. This was Jameson’s mind, the one place he could speak for Marvin to hear. “We’re getting you out of here,” he swore hurriedly, bending down to examine the cords, trying to follow them to a source, but their path led far into the storm where he couldn’t follow. “JJ, you need to look at me.”

“I—I can’t.” Hyperventilating, Jameson shook his head as much as he was able, panic and anguish filling his voice as he whispered, “I’ve tried, Marvin, I’ve tried, but I can’t look away—!”

“You can, you have to! I can’t help you unless you look at me,” he pleaded desperately, clamping his hands around the cords securing Jameson’s nearest arm. “You need to—”

“Re̷t̨ak̶e co̶ntrol͜?” Anti finished for him in a mocking sneer as he flickered onto the screens. “Suc͟h a ͢p̧ity you ́haven’t ̛hea͜rd͢ t͘he news!̡ T͠his is ͡m̡y͢ ̡doma͢įn. The poor ļítţle̴ ̧puppet́'͡s̨ ̕nǫt͜ strong enou̡gh, c̨h̀a̢rme͜r—and nei͟th̢er a͝r͜e y͞o̴u.”

Jameson was weeping now, his bindings hissing and slithering like inanimate serpents, and Marvin grit his teeth as he tilted his head and squeezed the one under his hands. “Is that so?” With those brief words, he sent a sharp, powerful pulse of magic into the cord, causing one of the screens on the right to flash and black out. Anti’s form contorted and spasmed in turn, drawing a screech from him as his body didn’t recoalesce as well as he would have liked.

“W̛h́a͡t—W҉h͜at͝ ̀i͜s th͠is?” he snarled, his head and shoulders twitching and breaking up as Marvin tore the dying, sparking cord away from Jameson’s arm, leaving a bruised stripe behind in his skin.

“An intervention,” he hissed. The second cable was thinner, easier than the first, and the magician couldn’t help but offer a savage grin at the slew of enraged curses the Glitch spewed at him as the rest of the screens on the right went black. Before Marvin could lunge for the cords on the left, however, a crackling, contorting arm burst from the blackened screens, barely tangible until it managed to latch onto him by the hair.

“Yoú ̛t͞hi̧n͡k͡ you ̴a̢nd ̢you͝r charms ca͢n cu̡t hi̧s stri̶n͝ģs?!” Anti howled, wrenching him sideways by a fistful of his hair and crashing his head into the screen’s glass, wringing a pained cry out of him. “You’ll n̵eve̴r be s̷t͢ron͘g̢ e͟no̡u͜g͘h tǫ hęlp him ͝w͜h́ile h͟is̷ bod̸y is͡ ͞mi̸n͟e!” His clawed fingertips sank deep into Marvin’s scalp, drawing blood as he dragged his head into the screen a second time, then a third, then a fourth, accentuating his words. “You’l̸l͠ ne͘v͜er—be ̧ri̢d̶—of̴ m̛e!̴”

“Stop, stop, I beg you!” Jameson screamed as Marvin buckled, vision swimming as he hung from the Glitch’s grip on his head. Whatever Jameson’s next plea was, he never got the chance to voice it; the cables around his left arm abandoned it, joining the one around his throat and doubling, tripling its grip. Even as his hands were freed and he scrabbled at them, he couldn’t escape the stranglehold, gasping noiselessly for air that couldn’t reach him.

Terror, desperation, helplessness—all of it transformed into a surge of adrenaline so sudden and deep in his chest that Marvin was moving before he had even registered thought. Black lightning and thunder exploded from him as he tore away from Anti’s grip, snatching at his glitching arm and wrenching it down and out with such force that he could feel the cracking in his own bones.

Anti’s howl held far more shock than anger this time and Marvin reacted, twisting it the other direction and earning another sickening crunch. The screens below it cracked, spewing sparks of electricity, and Marvin’s black magic infected the rest of them in less than a moment. The world around them heaved and the storm of static billowed wildly out around them, funneling into a tornado. Marvin kept his hold on Anti’s damaged arm even as the rest of his body thrashed and twisted and broke with such force that it was nothing but a spatter of static and blood on the screens. He could feel him, he could feel the agony he was causing him, and he knew it was enough.

“I EXPEL YOU!” he roared. The monitors shattered, Anti screeched, Jameson gasped for air, and Marvin was thrown back into his body in Jameson’s room.

“Jem, Marvin?!” Chase cried out as Jameson slumped back against the soft surface underneath him. Marvin followed suit with the nearby wall, struggling to recover his balance. His head was still throbbing from the impact against the screen.

“I think—I think it worked,” he managed to choke out as Jameson stirred, blinking dazedly up at the ceiling as he tried to get his bearings. Marvin was expecting Chase to lunge to Jameson’s side as soon as his eyes opened, but the vlogger stunned him by rushing to him first, throwing his arms around him. Though his tender, aching body burned at the contact, Marvin was too shocked by it to push him away.

“Thank you,” Chase whispered tremulously. “Thank you so much, thank you, thank you.” With that he parted from him, hurrying to JJ’s side and snatching up his hand as he struggled to sit up. “Jem? Jem, you’re okay, you’re back with us now! H-How’re you—how are you feeling?”

As soon as he was upright, Jameson locked wide, tear-filled eyes with the magician. Though he didn’t say a word, the older Ego knew his question: Had that just happened? Rubbing his neck, Marvin gave him an exhausted nod, and Jameson quailed, hiding his face in Chase’s chest even as he reached a quivering hand past him, toward the one who had saved him.

Stumbling over on trembling legs, his heart still racing madly in his chest, Marvin sank down next to them, clasping Jameson’s hand between his own and bringing it against his chest as he leaned, letting his forehead fall heavily against Chase’s shoulder.

Together, they breathed.

#youtube #jacksepticeye #fanfiction #youtube fanfiction #marvin the magnificent #chase brody #jameson jackson #dapper jack #antisepticeye #signe hansen #robbie the zombie #angst #feels for days #hurt comfort #marvin's magic #this boy's incredibly dangerous #don't mess around with him #violence

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the-progress-bar · 5 years

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You Wore Out a Path Recap

I haven’t written something this long in … well, I don’t want to check.

The Inception

I don’t remember where the idea for this came from, specifically. I wrote the beginning of the first chapter for Camp NaNoWriMo, along with a whole slew of other FE:A material. It turns out that I’m extremely bad at writing linear narratives, given the absolute mess and if you say goodbye is to straighten out and more casually in the boy across the hall.

Chapter One

The fairy tale was written first actually. I filled in around its scene breaks with Robin being in a Bad Mental State™ as a way to carry this. weird, meandering fairy tale. Also, there’s a much more comedic story in the works that involves Grima and Robin again and I wanted to do something more serious on that vein at the same time.

He strikes to the south east. For some reason, Donnel didn’t stay in the armed forces as Robin hoped but went back home for good.

Donnel! I love Donnel for the sheer comedy of some country boy latching onto the Shepherds, which is otherwise comprised of nobles, and him being able to take on a whole battlefield by himself, leaving the rest in the dust. But he doesn’t stay in Ylisstol and Robin and I are forever sad over that lost potential.

Thunder crumbles around the spirit. They press a stone into the prince’s hand and sighs.

Here’s an instance where it’s clear that I didn’t outline the first chapter at all nor was I thinking about how the pieces fit if I expanded the story. This stone was supposed to do your normal fairy tale shenaniganry with like. Blessings and shielding and magical properties. Then I completely lost that vein and only left the part in where spirit!Robin basically gives Chrom, the prince, their heart. Good job, me. This constantly bothers me, but I also don’t have the motivation to rewrite this bit.

He freezes at Frederick’s stare.

I sincerely love Frederick for reasons that are spoilers for a giant FE:A fic I have in the works, but he’s also so, so fun to wind up.

Chapter Two

So, now I had to actually sit down and outline how this story went. Just a bunch of sentences jotted down, but enough to make me realize how bizarre the geography in this game is. Like, what even is going on with the story’s timeline? Do you know how long it takes to move an army over a continent, when its fastest mode of transportation are horses? I never get how they’re able to run from Plegia over to Mount Prism, then back to the opposite side of the continent and onto Grima’s back. Did Grima just wait for Chrom and co. to arrive? Like, they’re extra enough, but Nintendo, come on.

Let me just say, the FE:A world map has been a permanent fixture in my browser for months and I’m glad to see it gone.

Chrom sinks onto the bed and stares at the coat in his hands.

It’s been almost a decade.

The reason it took Chrom so long to appear among the character tags is because he wasn’t supposed to appear. Not until the last scene. Somehow he snuck into the open and close of the rest of the chapters and I didn’t kick him out.

“I died, Frederick,” Robin snaps. “Please leave it alone.”

Rereading the earlier chapters, I’m a bit surprised myself about how bitchy and defeated (?) Robin is. Being possessed by Grima sucks, and so does slowly turning into a dragon-human thing, but wow boi. Normally my characters are more on the “body slam our problems into submission” side of the spectrum. It all works out eventually, but for a while I had to deal with the nasty problem that apparently only the female characters have any of their shit together.

“Blood magic is a sorry inheritance,” his mother said sadly, thumbs rubbing at the brand on his hand.

I hope you all love Modron as much as me, because I love her and aggressively ignore how Nintendo did her dirty by including her as a key character in a whole bunch of fics coming down the pipeline. Though in this particular fic, her presence snuck in while I wasn’t watching, but not enough to recreate the Chrom situation.

The fisherman knocks on the wooden door of his younger brother’s stone house.

I planned on putting a fairy tale of my own creation into every chapter, with each linked in a tangentially narrative way to Robin’s family. Obviously that didn’t happen. This tale was supposed to be involving Robin and two Morgan’s. That plan derailed immediately.

Chapter Three

Robin’s daughter greets Chrom in Chon’sin’s silks and lacquer, the twists of dark purple contrasting her currently golden hair.

I keep making Say’ri a lesbian. That point doesn’t come up in this story, because Chrom wasn’t supposed to take over so much, but Morgan and Say’ri are together by this point, even if that gets muddled a bit by their weird work relation. I’m just saying, like father, like daughter.

And yes, Morgan dyes her hair. This is more established in the remix I wrote out of boredom of yet another chapter of Robin and Frederick yelling at each other in the snow.

“It’s a wonder your wayward mother never tried fleeing the continent all together,” Grima says.

At this point, I just accepted that I had no control over character barging in because they felt like it. Grima kept the story interesting at least, or else this whole plot would have been the slowest, most boring road trip ever.

At the cost of bloating this chapter and shoving out some other content I initially wanted to cover.

Due to Ferox’s waveringly official stance of neutrality, we spent a few years moving back and forth here.

[Cackling laughter]

Lon’qu and Olivia drop unannounced into the unoccupied seats at the table while Frederick and Robin waited for their dinners.

This scene is … weird. A slight mess. Originally, Lon’qu and Olivia had the same level of screen time as Donnel and Nowi did in the first chapter. But I already had the outline sectioned off into five chapters and writing even more scenes on boats was not a good usage of my time. Presumably, the khans got word that Robin and Frederick were back and heading to Valm and since Lon’qu and Olivia were already in the area with the same destination, they decided to do a favor and sent a message ahead.

What are the Ferox kids doing in Valm? Spying Something, wasn’t important.

A hazy memory of before. Sumia stumbles into Robin’s shoulder, the two of them laughing, drunk on wine and mirth.

In my drafts, there’s half of the fairy tale that was supposed to go in this chapter. Sumia drunkenly tells an equally sloshed Robin the story as they stumble around in the castle. It’s a more standard tale paralleling Modron hiding her children from the Grimleal and made much more sense than whatever was happening in the last chapter. Unfortunately, I cut it out because certain parties used up too many words when they weren’t even supposed to appear.

Chapter Four

Chapter four and five were supposed to come out back to back because I assumed I’d have time to write over the holiday break. As we all know now, that didn’t happen, like so many of my plans.

More importantly though, at this point I realized that Robin needed to start getting his shit together, fast.

A beat from Grima’s many wings carried them on the hot winds blowing off the fires below, covering several hours march in a fraction of the time.

This passage from the bad timeline is one of those sections I wrote nearly immediately since it just clicked. (The other significant passage is the final scene.) Honestly though, I was starting to have a hard time not repeating the same imagery and words over and over again. My grasp of English and vocabulary has never been anything to write home about, first language notwithstanding, and I literally had to pull out the thesaurus a few times in the later sections so I wouldn’t keep writing “scream” but completely forgot what other words existed. Linguistics amazes me, but it is so not my department.

Is it anger? Is it despair? Is it exhaustion, ascending to the Exalt’s throne alone, …

How to Tell I Wrote a Section by Hand Rather Than on My Computer: when the sentences get long and on this roll of phrase after phrase after phrase, that’s me with a pen. This whole section from Chrom was handwritten on my then-new iPad to test out some software.

By this point, I accepted that Chrom was just going to Be There and started working on his scenes to also try ramping up the tension in the fic by going backwards in his history to when the grief gets rawer and rawer. you wore out a path isn’t primarily about grief or depression, but some of those beats snuck in?

Chrom is a Mess™ at this point.

They dream feverishly.

What the fuck was this section.

“How am I supposed to keep this army and your father alive if you won’t tell me what happens? You’re one of our greatest sources of information and you refuse to share with anyone. Stop hiding.”

I hate! This dumb trope! Of not sharing info when traveling back in time! What’s the point of time traveling with the express purpose of changing history and then not! Changing history!

I have strong feelings.

By private captain, Robin means pirates. They must find pirates to board with.

This was entirely for my own amusement. There’s no other reason. Another key sign that my characters are getting a handle on their lives is that the writing starts getting snarkier.

Chapter Five

If by some future machination, the count increases to three out of three, he’s going to wholesale stop trusting magical mountains.

Case in point about the snark.

The master revived, the blood burning, the sacrifice slain, the master revived, the lORD, the FelL DRAGON, death, glory, the gOD and its vessel, returned, returned.

It turns out, messing with AO3’s formatting to have some font fun is a pain in the ass involving work skin shenanigans. The picture work skin already failed to do its job, I wasn’t going to wrestle with another skin just for this sentence. How it’s supposed to look:

A good two-third of this chapter just all came at once, in a sudden dash of productive writing. The muses are fickle that way.

Back on the point about how I Did Not Outline, there were a few items I wanted to reappear through the narrative. Elements from the fairy tales come back in this fight, for example. Another point I decided in the fourth chapter when writing the opening scene are the cathedrals.

(Disclaimer: I’m not religious and thus don’t know the full symbolic significance in cathedrals. What I know can be distilled into: You Thought New York Construction Was Slow? and Very Pretty Because Very Important and Yes, The Organ is Behind You and Very Loud. Not a lot.)

“Why do you fight for Chrom?”

Robin getting interrogated on this point keeps coming up in my fics, but the scenes are always fantastic short bursts that are good at breaking up a section that’s been running too long.

Suddenly, Robin is quite literally on fire.

I already drew the picture. The boy’s on fire. There was a good explanation when I first thought this up, but then when it came time to writing the scene, I forgot why, and my outline didn’t have any notes. Bonds? Naga’s flame? Dramatically dissolving Grima’s marks from Robin’s body? All of the above?

“One last tale for the road,” Modron says to her son, …

Modron’s name. I’ve seen people taking cues from Morgan and going with Morgana, but I’m a contrary soul that always resists whatever fandom decides is a good idea. This works out well half the time.

Morgan and Morgana led my brain to the Arthurian legends, and I decided to see what some of those character’s mothers were called. Went to Wikipedia, clicked a bunch off links radiating from Morgan le Fay and somehow landed on Modron? She’s interesting. Nor did I know about the DnD Bill Cipher thing.

Normally, though, I would not have started with a Welsh name. Some of the name choices for Plegian characters have vaguely Middle East origins (which is a completely different discussion about real world politics in that casting decision) and I would have started there.

I’m not a linguist though. Or someone that knows about naming conventions. So.

Now he stands grounded and as well rooted as the Mila Tree, the fire traded for a calm glow and Robin’s so grateful.

And this line here, this line here, is the sole reason I humored Chrom kicking his way into the story. This final scene was one of the first things I wrote after deciding to expand past the first chapter.

Look at these two dumb boys growing up.

In Conclusion

[staring at my file archives]

Have I ever actually finished a multi-chapter fic before?

#long post #i am #wordy #you wore out a path #I like it when people do these these notes/director cuts #so i'm gonna too #fire emblem awakening

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nsfw-bnha-and-dangan · 6 years

Note

Kiibo, Ouma and Komaeda reacting to an S/O that self harms (mainly cutting). Hope you feel better soon!

You literally picked three out of my four faves somehow, damn! Sorry, I only just now saw this, I was going through the ask box for any last non smut things and caught it! I hope this turns out good, I’m going to be shoving a bunch of headcanons in it. And thank you, I slowly feel like I’m doing better! Also, I did headcanons, I hope that’s okay! Warning for Ouma’s, as it does involve the actual act of cutting within the headcanons. Also, I got out of hand with his, and its probably pretty OOC, so I apologize!

Nagito Komaeda:

When you revealed to him that you had on and off issues with cutting and showed him your scars, he knew the feeling

In the past, he’s struggled with the same urges, although it was more with self-degradation than actual physical cutting

But still, he understood how you felt, so when you got up the courage to show him, he hugged you gently and rubbed your back, kissing your tears away

“Y-you aren’t disgusted with me?”

“I could never be disgusted with you, (Y/N), no matter what. Especially not over something I understand so personally.”

“R-really?”

“Of course. I love you so much, and a few moments of despair that you’ve felt won’t change that. I want to help you discover your true hope if you’ll let me! I can only hope that trash like me can help you feel better when you feel this way, okay?”

You nodded, poking his side lightly for talking about himself like that, but you did manage a smile

“I wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with this…”

“How about this? The next time you feel like you want to hurt yourself, will you tell me? I promise I’ll try my best to help you get past this, I know you can, even with me by your side.”

“I-ill try… But you too, okay? We can, um, help each other?”

The two of you wound up cuddled together for hours, him rubbing his thumb over your scars as you talked, falling asleep in a little pile on the bed

Kiibo:

“Hey, u-um, I need to tell you something…”

Kiibo looked up from what he was doing, smiling warmly at you

“Of course! Whats the matter, sweetie, you look upset.”

You sat beside him on the couch, slowly rolling up the sleeve of your sweater and showing him the thin but numerous scars on your wrist

“What happened? Did something hurt you?”

“S-sort of… I cut myself, Kiibo, a-and I haven’t for a couple months but lately, I’ve been having urges and i-it scares me so much!”

You were crying now, Kiibo more than confused and trying to pull you close

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, I promise you’re alright! I don’t really understand what’s the matter, but I’m here for you, alright?”

You wrapped your arms around his metal form and cried as he ran his fingers up and down your back

As you cried, he took the time to research what you had been talking about

If he had the function to cry, he would be bawling by now, after learning what exactly you meant

When your crying died down he pulled you back a little, meeting your gaze with a worried expression

“I looked into self-harm just now and… I understand why you’re scared. It scares me too, knowing that you feel as though you have to do that to yourself and the roads that it can lead to.”

You sniffled and wiped your eyes, grimacing when you saw how you had dripped tears all over his chest plate

“S-sorry… I didn’t want to upset you or worry you… I j-just-”

“No, no, its okay! I wasn’t saying that to make you feel bad! But… I would like us to make a plan for this. I want to help you get better, but I’m sure it won’t be as easy as it sounds. But will you let me try?”

You nodded softly, feeling his arms go around you to hold you close

“Its okay to slip up, but I want you to try to find me first. I’ll listen to whatever your having issues with, ill do whatever you need me to do to keep you safe. I may not understand this the way a human might, but I think I understand emotions well enough to help you. If not, we could always see about finding someone professional for you to talk to, okay?”

“T-thank you… I was scared you would think I was horrible or weak or something…”

Kiibo shook his head and pressed a kiss to your hair, draping a blanket over your shoulders and tucking it between the two of you so you would be more comfortable

“I have never, and will never, feel those things about you. When I think about you, all I feel is love, so much that it can overwhelm me. I want you to be happy, and I will do everything to make that happen.”

Kokichi Ouma:

The two of you had planned to go on a date that day, you were supposed to pick Ouma up at noon but you had never shown up

And when you didn’t answer any of his texts or calls, he decided to drive over, both worried and annoyed

Your front door wasn’t locked, so he waltzed in and found your bedroom, not bothering to knock at this point

“Heeeeeey! Why did you stand me up? I was waiting for you for forever, no one forgets the Uliti-”

He paused, finally realizing what he had walked in to

You were crying on the bed, blood all over your shirt, especially at your wrists, and you didn’t seem to notice him at all

There was a bloody razor blade beside you and Ouma’s first move was getting that out of your reach, you finally noticing his presence

“F-fuck! Ouma, this i-isn’t-”

“Don’t talk right now, let me clean you up first.”

You just hiccuped and nodded, your wrists stinging as he got you on your feet and into the bathroom, sitting you up on the sink and stripping off your bloody shirt

“K-Kokichi-”

“Hey, it’s fine, don’t worry. Just relax, we’ll talk when I’m done with you, okay?”

He rolled up his own sleeve to show you a set of pale scars, giving you a reassuring smile when you started tearing up

“This is going to sting like a bitch, sorry.” He muttered as he cleaned the cuts on your wrists with peroxide, making you cry out and jump

As he got the blood off of you and bandaged your wrists, a few tears slipped down Ouma’s cheeks, but he kept the reassuring smile on the entire time

Soon your wrists were both wrapped up and he was guiding you towards the bed, only to notice that there was blood on the sheets

“Go find a shirt, (Y/N)-chan, ill get these off!” He grinned, stripping the bed and finding a new sheet, plus a nice warm blanket

Before long you two were cuddled together, Ouma wrapping his arms around you tightly

“Why did you do it, (Y/N)? And don’t lie, I don’t want to hear lies.”

You nodded and sat up a little, your wrists still aching and your eyes burning from so much crying

“S-sometimes it all just hurts… I cant control anything and I hate it! And I feel so alone and i-its just… I just want to make it hurt m-my way…”

You burst into tears, nails digging into your palm til Ouma took both your hands and held them in his own

“I get how that feels, its been a long time, but I remember. But if I stopped, you can too.”

It was the most serious you had ever heard Ouma talk, not a giggle or lie anywhere to be heard

You tried to pull yourself together but the tears just kept flowing when you remembered what he had gone through, even if it was in the past

“Whoa, whoa, hey! It’s okay! How about this, you promise to tell me when you feel like you want to do this again. I don’t care when, I don’t care where, ill find you and make that urge go away. I love you so much, I know that I like to mess around and I lie, but that will always be true.”

He lifted your face to kiss you softly, wiping your cheeks till the tears dried and you weren’t crying anymore

“Can you do that for me, my beloved (Y/N)?”

You nodded, squeaking when his hands drifted to your sides to tickle you

It was brief but merciless, you laughing till your stomach hurt and begging Ouma to let your free

“What was that? I cant hear you, (Y/N), you’ll have to speak up~”

“A-ah! Kokichi, l-let me gooooooo! I’m -a-ah!- I’m gonna die if you k-keep tickling me!”

He grinned and pulled back, laying down with you on his chest so he could easily pet your hair

“Nope, no dying allowed! No supreme leader lets his lover die! And besides, ill cry if you die!”

He gave you puppy eyes and you smiled a little, nuzzling his chest. “Liar.”

“Nope! That one’s true!” He was back to his normal self, for the most part, playing with your hair as you both let the silence wash over you for a bit, till you spoke up

“Sorry for ruining our date today, if you wanted we can still go out…”

“And move when I’ve got you on top of me? Nope! We’ll go out tomorrow or something! Oooooh, I can take you on a DICE heist!”

Ouma giggled at his own joke, but it did make you smile despite the pun.

“Thank you for helping me… No ones ever really cared…”

“Well, I do, so get used to it! I’m not about to let you be sad, that would be really shitty of me! I love you, and I always will.”

#Anonymous #sdr2 #ndrv3 #kokichi ouma #kiibo #nagito komaeda #sdr2 imagines #sdr2 headcanons #ndrv3 imagines #ndrv3 scenarios #ndvr3 headcanons #tw self harm

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cheez-ka · 6 years

Text

LOVE YOURSELF 轉 Tear 'Singularity' THEORY

*mentally prepares self*

BTS THEORY- after watching it like three times so it doesn't explain _everything_ but-

(IMP NOTE: THIS WAS DONE WITHOUT PROOFREADING VERY LATE IN THE NIGHT)

BASICALLY, Taehyung knew/found out/can feel Jin controlling him (specifically when Jin made sure Taehyung didn't commit murder by sending Hoseok to stay with him) and now he's calling out for Jin, who he knows as some weird force thing making him do things he didn't originally plan on doing, to stop doing that.

random stuff I've noticed: - the room Taehyung is in is the one in the Japanese MV of I NEED U in the exact spot Jin kind of fell apart in - 2:33 SMERALDO FLOWER (remember Jin's tweet) *read more on it here: https://aminoapps.com/c/k-pop/page/blog/the-meaning-of-the-smeraldo/02Ik_uQr53QkR66PnzBRwGmDz45on the smeraldo is a fictional flower- it's literally just a white flower painted blue- but here, and in all the music videos you see a flower in, it's white, the original color. This may mean innocence, with the lack of color, or this may signify (in this video at least) Taehyung's untainted memories (in other words showing that Taehyung realized Jin was controlling him, thus chasing out the blanket Jin put on Taehyung's mind, or the artificial blue dye put on the white flower). (more on this later- just remember it)

*lyric analysis* (crap this'll be long)

"sound of glass breaking/I awake from sleep" Taehyung didn't know that Jin was controlling him to avoid murder until after a while (given as he successfully didn't kill anyone) because of the brainwashing (yeah I'll just call it that) Jin did that put Taehyung in a haze was strong, but that was shattered by Taehyung's stronger feelings of hatred, vengeance and the like.

"a sound full of unfamiliarity" Apparently, Jin had continued to control Taehyung's actions even after the whole murder thing was avoided, something Taehyung never really noticed but now-

"try to cover my ears but can't go to sleep" -he can consciously feel Jin taking over.

"the pain in my throat gets worse/try to cover it/I don't have a voice" Taehyung realizes that he can't do anything that the "sound" (which is Jin) doesn't approve of.

"today I hear that voice again" more mind-control from jin yay

"it''s ringing again, that voice" Jin's apparently strong af because he has the power to control a guy's actions daily while also trying to deal with five other people's problems as well as functioning daily. mulitasking level 1000000000000000

"a crack again on this frozen lake/I dumped myself into the lake/I buried my voice for you/over the winter lake I was thrown/a thick ice has formed/in the dream I shortly went into" bOIIII he didn't pass natural science did he bc he threw himself into the fckin oCEAN or was it a sea

BUT metaphorically speaking this may show that Taehyung willingly let Jin inside his head. Most likely Jin had promised something like "oh all your dreams will come true I'm your fairy jinmother and you're princess cinderatae" and that's why Tae went into a "dream", aka a dream-like state where Jin had complete control over Taehyung.

*OH AND THE ICE IS THE CONTROL JIN HAS OVER TAEHYUNG- this is important for later **the lake is control over Taehyung or the place Taehyung is held captive while Jin's doing his reform work on the boy.

Jin told Tae that all his burdens would be gone if he "jumps into the lake" or hands the controls of his life to him but-

"my agonizing phantom pain is still the same" -despite all his problems seemingly resolved, Taehyung still felt pain. He just felt hurt no matter how much Jin tried to foolproof his whole plan to rid Taehyung of anything murder-related, hence the words "phantom pain". Hatred is too strong an emotion.

"have I lost myself/or have I gained you?" Now Taehyung's wondering if it was better with Jin in control or if it was better when he was on his own. Though it's true that with Jin his life goes a different path away from the blood and killing, that life that goes the better way isn't his own. It's a glass half-full or glass half-empty situation.

"I suddenly run to the lake/there's my face in it" Taehyung slowly starts to realize that he can gain back control of his life.

"please don't say anything/reach my hand out to cover the mouth" He tries to actively stop Jin from controlling him.

"but in the end, spring will come someday/the ice will melt and flow away" It was there he knew that Jin's hold on him will not last forever.

"tell me if my voice isn't real/if I shouldn't have thrown myself away/tell me if even this pain isn't real/what I was supposed to do back then"

*he probably says it in an accusing, pissed off tone

Taehyung remembers the actions he was supposed to take before Jin intervened (murder basically) and questions Jin's right to force his hand. Though his actions were obviously wrong (don't kill people kids) and he could've literally thrown himself/his youth away by being sent to jail, he felt strongly about them; he had the undeniable will to kill his father. That will still hasn't been shaken, in fact, it's been intensified now that he knows the whole truth about what he was supposed to do and what Jin forced him into doing instead.

WITH THE ANALYSIS FINISHED-

The whole scene probably went a little like this:

[in the flowery room with the pool in the middle]

"I had to take over Tae," Jin says, trying to get Taehyung to stop glowering in the corner. His power over the boy is slowly fading, Taehyung's dark, ugly feelings and unshakable will pushing him out. "It was the only way you wouldn't get hurt-"

"Hurt?" Taehyung laughs humourlessly, and turns to face Jin. The boy's eyes seem the same as they've always been since the older one took over, a haunting grey that shows he belongs to Jin.

But flecks of brown creep along the corners of his eyes, a dark, dark brown of his former self.

It scares Jin.

"Hurt?" The boy repeats loudly, scoffing with a cynical grin on his beautiful face. "If you didn't want me to be in pain back then, why are you hurting me now?"

He takes a step towards the one who owns him, the one who's locked him out of his own head and controlled his every action, the voice constantly whispering into his ear that's finally quiet. His crazed smile turns down into a disgusted look.

"Is my voice useless?" He yells and the other flinches. "Am I nothing but your doll to play house with?"

The other tries to open his mouth to say something but nothing comes out; this has never happened before. The flowers usually kept him happy, expelling their sweet aroma and putting him in pretty fantasies that would keep him occupied for weeks on end.

"You keep telling me that these feelings of mine aren't real, that it's just my imagination," he continues, tone increasing in intensity, his deep voice climbing higher, "but why do they hurt so much?"

Jin inches closer, slowly putting an arm around the despairing boy. With a flick of his hand the flowers around them bloom, setting the room in a pale pink haze as Taehyung slowly relaxes his tense muscles, his drawn up eyebrows falling.

"What was I supposed to do with them, if not kill their source?" He asks, softly, eyes fluttering closed.

He falls into the other's arms and they both sink down to the floor, his head on Jin's lap.

"What am I supposed to do..." He whispers before he escapes reality once again.

A tear falls out of his closed eye.

Jin sits there for a while, softly stroking Taehyung's overgrown black hair. It used to be a light brown, neatly cut above his ears, but the darkness has returned. It's taking over him again.

He lays him down on a bed of rose petals on the side and stands up. With a snap of his fingers the room loses its bright, comforting color. The pastel spectrum that painted the flora around the room have turned into all sorts of sickly, rotten colors from asphyxiated purple to dead black. Others simply looked bleached, traces of bright blue or pink showing up on the tips. Without really knowing it, he glares at the room, and the flowers seem to hang their heads in shame with how close they were to the floor. Even the walls, once tiled with lively colors that were easy on the eye, are now just newspaper pages stuck to grey cement and the wide windows that show nothing but the demons outside the room. It's getting harder to maintain everything.

His power is fading.

In the middle of the pool in the middle of the room is a small Smeraldo, just one indistinguishable piece taken off the many growing from the wall, save for one thing; it's not blue anymore.

It's white.

yea I write and I theory- I mean theorize

*cue shameless self-advertising*

[ wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/cez_ka ] [ tumblr: https://imnotkhael.tumblr.com/ ] [ youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-tcXpwDQzcESvThpCEN4bA ]

*dead laugh*

ok i’ll go to sleep now mom

youtube

#LOVE YOURSELF 轉 Tear 'Singularity'#bts #kim taehyung #I'M GETTIN FUCKIN HIGH #kim seokjin #bts theory #btstheory #theories #theory #bts love yourself theory #LOVE YOURSELF theory BTS #cries no sleep tonight

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sapphicalexaandra · 7 years

Text

Your Deepest Desires (2/4)

Pairing: Jace/Alec

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Summary: The meeting with the Seelie Queen didn’t go as planned, and now Jace and Alec have to face the consequences of their awakened feelings.

Notes: A Canon Divergence, rewriting of the Seelie Court kiss (and beyond), but with Jalec. Read tags for further information.

Chapter 2

“We are buried in broken dreams.”

Izzy’d had a long day.

Preparing the Institute for the Cabinet that was set for the next day between local Shadowhunters and Downworlders leaders, while its Head was away on an important diplomatic mission, wasn’t a piece of cake. Not that Izzy didn’t excel in this kind of preparations, or that she was going to complain about her brother trusting her with this responsibility after all her recent…issues. It’s just that these particular issues had lowered her endurance considerably; an exhaustion deep in her bones that not even her Stamina rune could quench.

Consequently, she was now looking forward to burying herself into her bed in the hopes of catching some sleep, which had become far too elusive lately.

She hadn’t been prepared for what she found there, however.

Izzy had seen her big brother upset, grumpy, intolerable, distressed, set over the edge…but the mess she found curled up on her floor half-hidden behind her wardrobe was hardly recognizable as the person she loved most in this world.

“A-Alec? What happened?!” She immediately rushed over, panic setting on her, as she knelt in front of him and laid her hands on his shaking shoulders.

Alec was covering his face with his hands, but when he reluctantly raised his head to blindly stare at her, the blotchiness and utter despair in his features was unmistakable.

“Did – did someone –?” she stumbled to ask, her sense of dread only rising. The Seelies were a difficult species to handle…but could a diplomatic mission really have turned out that bad? She felt her stomach twist in knots as she started imagining the worst scenarios that could’ve reduced her brother in this state. “…Magnus? Jace? Are they –?”

“N-no…they’re – fine,” came Alec’s cracked voice, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t seem able to clarify further at her inquisitive, frantic raise of eyebrows. He simply leaned – almost smacked – his head against the wall behind him, scrunching his face in anguish, breathing hard.

Izzy felt herself tear up against her strongest will.

“I’m here, big brother, okay? Whatever happened, you know you can count on me,” she shifted next to him, letting him rest his head on her shoulder, gripping his hands. “Anything you need…”

She held him as he kept on drawing in uneven breaths, his body uncontrollably shaking as he tried to contain the sobs threatening to burst out of him. It took a while before he had calmed down enough to let out somewhat coherent words.

“The – the Seelie Queen…sneaky, that one. A real – piece of work,” was all that he managed.

“What did she do?” she asked gently, mentally adding the Queen to her permanent blacklist.

“A test! Or they would all die – M-Magnus, J-J-Jace and the mun–vampire. Clary and I had to choose which one we wanted to…kiss the most,” he explained, laughing mirthlessly.

“A – kiss?” Seelies sure were creative. “Then what is the prob–?”

A pointed, piercing look from Alec reminded her of a very different conversation they’d had a long time ago.

“You – you kissed…Jace?” His lowered head was answer enough.

Of course, she had known of her brother feelings for his parabatai for a while now. She knew how much he had struggled with it, how much it had plagued him. Yet, at this point in time, after all Alec had gone through, it came as a bit of a surprise…

“Alec, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think…”

“Not as bad?! I kissed my parabatai in front of my boyfriend’s disappointed face! When I had thought – really thought that that chapter of my life was finally over, you know?” he blurted out. “That I had put an end to it! I’m – I’m happy! In a relationship for the first time in my life, with a person I like a lot! And yet, why is that – why can’t I just?!”

“Oh, Alec…”

He pulled back his hands from her hold to run them through his hair. “After all this time, nothing has changed! Why do I still have to love the only person in the world I’m literally forbidden to love! And – and who would never…”

“Alec, you can’t beat yourself up like this over it. You can’t help–”

Alec let out another sound, like that of a trapped animal. Leaning his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his hands again, his voice was muffled as he chanted, “Stupid – so fucking stupid…”

“Alec, no, don’t say that, you are not stupid.” She smoothly, but firmly, tried to pry his hands away from where they were clawing at his face. She waited till he looked at her thorough his bleary eyes. “You’ve had this feelings for such a long time, you can’t expect them to just go away. It’s really not been that long…it’s only normal that you still have some residual feelings…”

“Residual feelings?!” his voice peaked at his sarcastic remark. “Residual feelings I could accept, even deal with! But this?” he pointed at himself and his current state. “If these are just some residual feelings–”

“Then you need to actually give yourself time to move on! Not by just ignoring that part of you! Look – look at me, how I tried to sweep everything under the rag in the hope it would just go away. But it wouldn’t, it kept coming back stronger and stronger…”

“Then what should I do? How am I supposed to…?” he trailed on, unnerved.

“I would like to know as much as you, I would like so much to be able to help ease your pain right now, big brother…but it’s something you have to figure out yourself.”

Alec sagged in on himself. Izzy couldn’t see him like this.

“But I’ll be here for you, whenever you need me. I’m surprised you came to me so soon...but I’m glad. After how I’ve been –” she tentatively smiled at him, to see if she could spring a reaction out of him.

“Don’t mention it.” He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed on a spot in front of him, completely spent.

Izzy doubted her words could lift him up. Was this what it felt being on this end? So useless.

“You’ll get through this, okay?” She had to make him believe that.

Izzy went to cup his face, as a thought occurred to her. “How did the others react?”

He snorted. “I honestly don’t know. I kind of ran away. I couldn’t face them. Hell, Magnus will probably never want to see me again. And Jace will likely try to pretend nothing of importance happened…”

“You know they love you, right? I’m sure they – Magnus, especially – will understand. You need to go talk to him, you’ll see!”

“I highly doubt that…”

“And Jace! He wouldn’t want to hurt you in anyway, this won’t change anything between you two…”

“I know that. Do you think I don’t know that? But right now, I don’t need…I can’t look in his eyes and see his pity. I can’t look at him, hear him say ‘We’re brothers, of course we love each other!’ and just be okay with it…because a part of me – a part of me doesn’t want to move on, do you understand?”

Izzy, sadly, did.

“I still look at him and see everything I can’t have.” He closed his eyes again. “All the things I tried to bury…all the things I shouldn’t be feeling, they’re all on the surface now and I can’t, I don’t want to let them go just yet…I need some air.”

And just like that, he got up and started moving towards the door.

“Alec, wait!” She grabbed his arm to stop him. “Where are you going?”

“Just…out. I need to clear my head.”

Izzy went around him to look him in the eyes. “Are you sure you should be alone right now? I don’t –,” she tried to talk over his impending protest. “I don’t want you doing something stupid or...”

“Iz.” His expression softened, as he put his hands on her shoulder. “I’ll be fine.” His eyes were still red, and she remembered the sight of an unconscious Alec on the roof of Magnus’s apartment. She couldn’t be so sure about that.

“I promise,” he added firmly, seeing the concern in her eyes. “I won’t do anything stupid. Like you said…I need to figure this out on my own.”

Letting go was indeed one of the hardest things to do.

“Message me when you get back, then…please.” He nodded, and she hugged him.

Buried in her brother’s shoulder had always been one of her favorite places. He had always been her rock, like she had been his. Seeing him shaken like this, knowing how much he didn’t deserve this kind of pain in his life, hurt her more than she could say.

“We are knee deep without a plea”

Alec wandered the streets aimlessly, as if in a daze, the sinking feeling that had set on him since the moment he had realized, clawing at his insides non-stop. His sister’s comforting words had worked only for a short while, but, as the hungry tangle in his stomach slowly made its presence felt again, her advice had started to sound more and more impossible.

Why had he let Izzy see him like that in the first place?

After he had come out of the Seelie realm, not remembering in the slightest how he had got there, the sight in front of him – the lively and colorful park, the clueless passersby carelessly enjoying their everyday life – had felt so intensely separate from himself, more than it ever did. Where could he go among them, that would’ve helped him get his mind out of its feverish, panicked state?

Izzy had seemed as the most obvious, the safest answer. Izzy wouldn’t judge him, she would still love and support him, no matter how much he actually deserved it…feeling embarrassed in front of her was needless at this point. She had been there for him in this mess from the start, and he couldn’t help but hope she would be able to give some sense to the chaos around and within him.

He had felt, marginally, better, knowing that there was at least one person in his life he hadn’t irremediably disappointed and driven away. Nonetheless, he had already known she couldn’t do more than hold – or try to hold – his pieces together. The situation didn’t change.

Cause how could burying all that had resurfaced, which had caused all of this, be anything but good?

So, there he was now, desperately trying to forget, yet incapable of tuning out the memories that were still so fresh and vivid in his mind, as he barely noticed the roads he was taking or the people he passed, invisible and unnoticed. Like he had wished all his life to be as it came to the very thing that had just been shoved in his face that day…

Closing his eyes was a mistake. He could still see the scene, as clearly as it had happened, replaying in his head over and over again.

How the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind until it was too late…

How he had stood there, frozen, as a wave of all the feelings he had tried to repress and ignore all his life had come crushing down on him with a vengeance, smirking cruelly at him, making him realize exactly what he had to do…

How he had felt disgusted by himself when that hideous part of him rose to the occasion, claiming yes, take this moment, your one and only chance, make it worth it (and he had, by the Angel, he had), and, beyond all the humiliation, he had felt this fire inside of him, burning him with the strength to cross the distance and…kiss Jace. Really kiss him.

That memory now made him want to just dig a hole and bury himself in it, away from the wrongness of how…right it had felt. The rough yet smooth skin on Jace’s face as he reverently held it in his hands…the way their mouths had just fit together, the taste, the friction, the sensation of it still making him dizzy. He had lost himself to the moment completely, everything else be damned.

And Jace, Jace had kissed him back, he had opened his mouth to him and held him close like a lover would… which didn’t mean much, Alec told himself. There wasn’t much else Jace could’ve done in that moment, as well as the fact that he probably wouldn’t have wanted to hurt Alec’s feelings. He must’ve felt nauseated by it, by him; he just would never admit it to his face. He would be the one, if nobody else, to want to spare Alec that kind of humiliation.

Alec repeated this to himself as if he cared if Jace had or hadn’t liked the kiss; the first option was both impossible and something that wouldn’t change anything; the second was only reasonable. Letting himself fall into a biggest fantasy that he was living in would be his second biggest mistake of the day.

So why was he still doing it, knowing it would cause him only so much more pain when he had to start letting go of these feelings again? He should be doing it already…not thinking about them, not indulging in them, trying instead to fix the mess he had just made. That was the right thing to do.

But one moment held him back, a moment that had stuck with him more than anything else.

When he had opened his eyes as they let each other go, the face in front of him – with those mismatched, unfairly beautiful eyes staring right back at him, the swollen mouth that he had just kissed – had blinded Alec to the point where he could feel himself bleed out of all the…love he had inside. The knowledge that he would now have to lose that forever had caused a lump to form in his throat, that he had unsuccessfully tried to swallow down.

How could that be fixed? How could he face Magnus when he still tasted Jace on his lips and would like to taste him again (and again)? How could he pretend that hadn’t meant anything, when he could feel the opposite deep in his entire being?

Magnus would know the truth, as the Seelie Queen had done. Clearly, his deepest, most secret shame was marked on him like a constantly burning rune, its heat slowly consuming him from the inside-out.

And yet – what would dwell on these feelings bring to? Only more delusions and disappointment. He had known from that start, back when he had chosen to step into the circle of fire with Jace, that he would only end up hurting more people as well as himself.

His future was with Magnus, who he still honestly cared about and with whom he was building a solid relationship that he truly enjoyed. That should be his priority. If he lost that, he would’ve lost something good for nothing.

He would figure out a way to look Jace in the eyes again later…he would figure out how to forget him again later.

“I don’t want to know what it’s like to live without you”

Jace ran all the way back to the Institute, his companions far behind him, yet he still couldn’t catch up with Alec. Once home, he frantically searched for him in all his usual spots where he would go to hide: his room, the rooftop, a few backdoor corridors or empty rooms…he still couldn’t find him. He then turned to his last resort.

“Izzy! Have you seen Alec?” he asked, breathless, as soon as she opened her door.

“Hello to you, too,” she shot back, an eyebrow raised. By her worried look, by the way she took him in – with a hesitant, curious expression – Jace knew that she had seen her brother.

“Is he there with you? I really – really need to talk to him. I don’t know how much he told you…”

“He’s not here, he left a while back. And he told me enough.” Her tone was guarded, yet sympathetic.

“Do you know where–?”

“Listen, Jace,” she interrupted him, widening her door a bit more. “I think you should let him be for now.”

He blinked at her words. “Let him be? He must probably be feeling so bad about things he can’t control right now, he has to know it doesn’t change anything! Or that I – “

These thoughts had plagued him since he had seen Alec run away. His parabatai driving himself crazy over the entire thing, as if he was to blame, doing something stupid to make up for it or something…and the turmoil of emotions that had been coming his way from their shared bond didn’t reassure him one bit.

Jace had to find him. Tell him that he would always be by his side, that he didn’t have to feel ashamed about his feelings…he had known for a while now, and he had never stopped thinking the world of his parabatai. He had, admittedly, thought that they had more or less gone away, considering how happy he had been lately, with Magnus. And they had also never explicitly talked about it. Still, nothing had to change. They were parabatai, by the Angel, and they had been through much worse!

Yet, two piercing eyes at the back of his mind – staring into his soul, all the depth of the emotions in them openly shining through – put a nagging thought in him. How could things stay the same after witnessing, being at the receiving end of, the exact intensity of Alec’s love for him? He felt an ache in his stomach at just the thought.

“That’s exactly part of the problem, Jace,” Izzy cut in, stern, but not unkind. “He just – he needs space. To let what happened go, to let you go…he doesn’t need to know what he already does right now. His feelings…are not just something you can accept and move on from. You…they are a real burden to him! And he can’t deal with it if you’re always there, unaffected by all of it.”

“You think…I’m unaffected?”

To think that what he saw as his way of unburdening his parabatai could be perceived as him being unconcerned, as if he hadn’t as much at stake in their relationship, made him uncharacteristically angry at Izzy.

“I know that this is difficult for him! But I can’t just let him deal with this alone, not when I hurt when he hurts, not when it can drive a wedge between us…forever!” He swallowed hard at that.

“I hear you, Jace.” She put a hand on his shoulder, ignoring his troubled expression. “But if you try to push in, he’ll only push you back further. I’m not saying for much time, but I really think it’s better you left him alone…only until he’s ready to come back to you.” She smiled encouragingly at him, and Jace sighed, his anger fading, resigning to her logic.

Another thing he absolutely didn’t want was overstepping his parabatai’s needs.

“Just tell me – how was he exactly?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking,

Izzy’s smile turned into a sad frown, which told him more than she could say. “Go rest for a while, okay? You look like you need it.”

Jace could only nod and bid her goodnight.

Going to sleep turned out to be more difficult than Jace expected…or as he expected.

Even though at some point, the whirlwind of distressing emotions coming from his parabatai had settled into a subduing sadness, which meant Alec had at least calmed himself enough to not be overwhelmed anymore, Jace still felt worry tightening his stomach. He kept wondering where Alec was, if he had come back, wishing he could go check and talk to him if he was there, but not daring to, not after his conversation with Izzy.

Thus, he was left on his own, and he tossed and turned in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position, when really all he needed was to stop thinking.

Cause now that the immediate problem could not be addressed, and the intensity of the initial humiliation, shock and panic had subsided, Jace had no more excuses to block his own whirlwind of emotions.

The fact of the matter stayed that Alec had kissed him and he…hadn’t disliked it. Which was a euphemism. He had genuinely…actively…enjoyed it.

Of all the years he had grown to know and love Alec, something like this had never occurred to him.

He remembered that time, a few years back, when he had first realized that what Alec felt for him was not entirely brotherly. He had been surprised, but it hadn’t seemed to him like that big of a deal. Sure, that kind of feelings were forbidden for parabatai, but he had personally thought it was only normal to have them. He and Alec were closer than most, so what if Alec had wished they were even closer? He had felt the same for many of the women he had been with. He knew pleasure, he understood sex, he couldn’t very well blame Alec for wanting the same for himself.

But Jace had never really understood anything. His flings had been just that…nothing that seriously mattered to him, nothing that could go against his father’s teachings.

To love is to destroy, and to be loved is to be the one destroyed.

No matter how much he hated to admit it now, Valentine had had that much influence in his life, in his choices, that even now it was hard to let those beliefs go, after they had been ingrained in him so deeply.

Until Clary, he hadn’t dared to let himself feel anything that resembled love, anything that could weaken him or the other person involved.

Except, that he had. He had loved – still loved – someone more than he ever did anybody else. And that person had always been Alec.

When he had first arrived in New York, he had felt himself grow attached to that kid who had welcomed him with a shy smile and an awed look. And he had let him in, he had let Alec see him at his most vulnerable, and in turn Alec had done the same to him. His affection for him eventually arrived at a point where Jace felt like he never would’ve wanted to be parted from Alec, ever. And that had driven him into a panic.

Remembering his pet falcon, the same fear he felt back when he still lived with his father had took ahold of him again. He was letting himself be weak, when all he was supposed to do was train to become the best warrior in existence…and that was when it had occurred to him.

Parabatai draw strength from each other and are the best in battle.

It had been the best, the only acceptable solution to turn around that fatal flaw in his life, and Jace had never looked back.

That was how it had always been: on one end, his bond with Alec, the deepest and most sacred thing in his life; on the other, the concept of ‘love’ he attempted with other people, but that had never really done anything for him. Or that only ended up in disappointment, like with Clary. Those were two things so separate and distinct, irreconcilable in his mind, that having them suddenly collide…had thrown him entirely out of the loop. He felt unhinged, his entire world turned irreversibly upside down.

Cause what if all this time…what if it had always been…what if he had unknowingly but consciously misinterpreted, masked his feelings, especially from himself, to try and put them in a box his father, if not approve, would accept…what if he had put Alec, and himself, through all of this, because he had let Valentine, and his fear of him and his judgment, rule his life…

Cause the truth was, he was now a burden to Alec.

He knew that wasn’t exactly what Izzy had meant, but knowing to be the reason of his parabatai’s distress hurt him profoundly. Feeling that their closeness brought him such pain was reason to doubt anything Jace held dear. Questioning if it might stem all from his own cowardice made him feel sick with himself.

In the end, the only thing he was certain of in those last moments before losing consciousness, swimming in a sea of burning eyes and warm lips, was that he couldn’t, wouldn’t lose Alec.

“Did we ever see it coming?”

It was late in the night, far too late for a visit to be polite, yet Alec couldn’t wait till the morning.

The door opened on its own after only a few knocks. He had thought he would have to beg his way in.

Magnus was on the other side, dressed for the night, a drink in hand Alec already felt guilty about, and a guarded expression on his face. He regarded him as Alec entered, nodding to himself.

“Magnus…” Alec started, a strain in his voice. He didn’t know how to finish. There were no words true enough, beside the truth…and that wasn’t acceptable. “I’m so, so sorry. I–”

“Don’t,” Magnus interrupted him, smiling at him.

Wait, what?

“There is no need for apologies.”

That was the last thing Alec had expected to hear. “But…”

“It was…a blow, for all of us,” his boyfriend continued, undeterred. “Especially you, I see.”

Alec felt far too conscious about his swollen face and shabby attire, but he couldn’t care about himself in that moment.

“It was a blow, but not a shock,” Magnus went on. “Or it shouldn’t have been a shock, you figure? This was the first thing I ever knew about you, beside that you were a good shot,” he hinted at a smirk.

The incident with the memory demon had also been burned into Alec’s mind and soul for all eternity, like this one would be. He didn’t need the reminder. He could painfully see the relevance, however.

“And we all forgot, didn’t we?” Magnus let out a light, bitter chuckle. “But I know, better than most at least, how people and the feelings you have – or had – for them, have the tendency to come back when you least expect it. What matters is how we deal with it.”

Alec took that as his clue. “I know! And I will - this will all be forgotten again, I promise. I – I might still feel something for Jace, but I honestly, genuinely care about you and I want this to continue…”

Magnus smiled again, and there was something sad in his smile.

“Is that really all it is? You ‘feel something’?” he put in, raising an eyebrow.

Alec was left gaping for words, in the desperate search for the right way to explain himself.

“Alexander…”

“Wait! You need to listen, okay, I–”

“Alexander…you don’t have to explain what you feel to me, and you don’t have to forget about it. It’s important that we don’t fool each other.”

“I’m not fooling you…”

Magnus came forward, snapping his drink away, and put his hands gently on his shoulders. Alec felt like he was living a fever dream.

“I know you aren’t, I’m not saying that. I’m saying that what happened today has shown that both of us have things we must deal with on our own. Both of our pasts have been brought up to us again in the most unpleasant of ways…and it’s neither of our faults. Seriously, Alexander, I don’t want you to blame yourself for what happened.”

Alec didn’t know about that. He didn’t know what to think either, what to feel. Should he be relieved? Magnus wasn’t mad at him. But his words…sounded final.

Was he ready to lose Magnus? Could Alec fight for his relationship? Should he? Did he want to fight for it? He had worked so hard to have it, and yet…

Not knowing the answer to either of those questions kind of made the next words simpler to accept.

“Trying to move on from someone with someone else…I’m afraid, it doesn’t really work. All the people involved often end up getting hurt…” Alec lowered his eyes in shame. “And it’s not fair to anyone. Alexander, look at me.”

Alec reluctantly complied. Magnus’s eyes were genuinely full of affection as he looked up at him, and Alec had genuinely grown to love him. Why couldn’t that had been enough?

“This is not goodbye…or it isn’t, necessarily. We’ll still see each other, won’t we? Shadowhunters-Downworlders meetings? And you can always ask for my help, you know that…I might not answer every time, but I’ll always be the High Warlock of Brooklyn and you the Head of the New York Institute. And I’ll always care for you. But I really think we need to take some time apart…and what do you know? If it’s meant to happen, we might find each other again.”

Alec closed his eyes then, as Magnus hugged him. What did they know, indeed?

It was pointless, to say the least, trying to filter all that he was feeling, as he morosely made his way back to the Institute. He had nothing more to do than resign himself to the cloud of foggy, grey sadness so eager to take ahold of his heart. He didn’t think it would ever go away.

So, what now? He couldn’t refrain from asking himself.

Funny, how things worked. If he had known that he would have to face the biggest humiliation of his life, fulfill his deepest desire and lose his boyfriend all in the same day, with one swift move…would the outcome have changed?

Doubting he would like the answer, knowing his miserable, pathetic self had everything coming for him, he mentally prepared himself for the next day when the Cabinet with the Downworlders would take place. It would be a feat in and on itself, but most of all he would have to do his job and act normal all while trying not to instantly implode at the sight of the people who knew.

Jace would be there running security…and Alec still didn’t know how to face him.

#my post #shadowhunters #jalec #jalec fic #my fic #seelie court kiss au #your deepest desires #my writing

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astarsdarkheart · 7 years

Text

Incandescence

Mustafar is the place where Jedi go to die. Most have forgotten that the fifth precept of their code can be taken literally.

Mustafar is the place where Sith are forged from the horror of their apprenticeships. Their masters always forget how their code ends.

A/N: Trying out cross-posting to Tumblr and seeing if anyone bites on that. The notes for this one are a little lengthy, so they’re going under the cut, with the bulk of the fic because this got ramblier than I was expecting when I started writing. This has also been posted on Dreamwidth, AO3 and Pillowfort.

Warnings for death/murder scene, mention of bodily trauma.

His old master’s silhouette blurred into the smoky darkness of the shadowed bank. He rocked and struggled forward, metal fingers slipping on the glass-smooth pebbles beneath him I hate you, I hate you that crumbled as his hand clenched around the soot-shards.

Hate from anger, from the burning in his stomach, the belly of the dragon that had now come to eat him alive. There is no emotion, there is peace. Thoughts melted in the furnace he lay trapped in. The silhouette vanished in the dimness, his last sight of his old master the faint gleam of his lightsabre in the roiling glow of the churning lava that surrounded him, drowning him in fire.

Suffering from hate, hate from anger, anger from no anger from no it cannot be anger from fear.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

Fear slipping like snakes through his ribs, tightening around the spark-heavy air that charred his lungs as he settled on the rocks. Metal in his arm screamed in protest at the heat and strain. It had never been built to bear his whole weight. He’d been the hero with no fear and now... fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate...

I hate you, I hate you, I was angry at you, I feared you, I feared for you...

The fire in the air closed in like a cloak of durasteel as the snakes in his chest tangled together in his heart, hissing their coldness as he shut his eyes against the searing dust in the air.

The flaws of the Jedi Order are spectacular. This man is but the symbol of its fall. One of their greatest, their most powerful, and they wished to hold him back.

That is where they fall, these Jedi. All those who seek power fear to lose it. They learnt that lesson, then decided that they would humble themselves – and that this, this... surrender of their greatest gifts, their most awesome ability would bestow greatness on them.

Greatness is power. And all those who seek power fear to lose it.

Let the hate burn itself to embers along with his flesh. There is no passion, there is serenity. Tongues of flame tested the edges of his flesh. His teeth gritted to keep the ash out of his throat.

I am not afraid! He did not fear death. He would not fight it now the dragon that had whispered in the night had taken shape around him. Trails of water ran down his cheeks only to steam away, Tatooine’s heat in the water, watch your water but did that matter now?

Nothing matters. Obi-Wan had walked away. Padmé would join him if she and the children survive. Nothing more to think, nothing more to feel. No need to fear death now.

There is no chaos, there is harmony. He would pass away in the fire that had welcomed him to life. The glow in his chest that had answered the hearth-heat of the twin suns. The fire of passion, of the love he’d once known.

Vengeful fire stripped the skin off his flesh. Unkind, hateful. Hate from anger, anger from fear, but what could this river of failing rock fear? All this furnace would ever forge was corpses. Like the suns he’d been born under and I am their son just ashes in the howling wind left behind.

There is no death, there is the Force. The flames had grown familiar. The dragon was close to gathering in the last of him. Like sinking into home.

A shame to waste an apprentice as powerful as this one. He will be easily manipulated, as he has been for years. And his injuries will require... special attentions. He will not trouble me.

It is only a matter of ensuring that he remains volatile enough to live. His presence is fading. Despair will engender passion, so long as he remains alive long enough for the flames he has sunk into to forge that despair into rage.

He must be reminded of our code. He knows the fallen Order’s one far better. Injured and distressed as he now is, he may forget which one it is he needs to remember.

A presence in the mist of soot. He lifted his head. The hiss of his own breath let heat stir the ashes around him anew. A dark figure shuddered into dim clarity.

“Listen, my apprentice.”

The dragon coiled tight in his stomach. Pebbles crumbled between his fingers.

“You will survive this, Lord Vader.” Sidious crouched down beside him, the flushed skin surrounding his scar of a grin. “Concentrate. Remember what you have learnt.”

Orders from his master but what will a master do when his slave burns alive save laugh more pebbles crushed under his hand.

Sidious’ hiss became a sing-song whisper. A lullaby for the dragon. “There is no peace, there is only passion.”

The dragon’s fire still seamed his skin. But he no longer shook, was no longer racked with convulsing shudders of pain. Passion, yet serenity.

“Through passion I gain strength.”

Breath gusting out like a breeze as his chest lifted from the glowing obsidian beneath. His tabards were charred though, hanging in crumbling strips. Fire and ice colliding in his veins, the chill of despair tempered by a burning certainty. Chaos, yet harmony.

“Through strength I gain power.”

Weights of what he’d lost held him down. Teeth gritted, jaw tight though it tore at weakened, ashy flesh. His eyes burned. But nothing else, not anymore. To burn was to give himself up to the dragon’s temptations. Emotion, yet peace.

“Through power I gain victory.”

In a flash of clarity through the soot and smoke-haze, he remembered. Padme’s shock as he’d asked if Obi-Wan was alive. Her agony as she’d collapsed. Obi-Wan’s horror. With the power of the flames gathering in flaring muscle as he drew himself upright, he understood it is, it is because I made it so. Like strings of an instrument the Force hummed its harmony with the realisation that made his jaw relax, letting the flying embers into him again. Ignorance, yet knowledge.

“Through victory my chains are broken.”

“Death, yet the Force.” Ghostly words whispered from beyond charred lips, a scorched throat. Sidious followed him to stand as he found himself balanced on something raw and hot, not flesh but something warmly akin to it, something the Force allowed to exist without contorting and crying out the way it did in Sidious’ heart. “The Force shall free me.”

This figure in its eldritch verglas incandescence is so unlike my apprentice that something must have possessed him. Anakin Skywalker is weak, fragile, bound too tight by his own fear to break away from what he knows.

This spirit that has taken his place... I do not know it for Sith or Jedi. The heat, the passion, is something that no Jedi would condone. And yet... the ice that seals the fire, prevents it from doing harm... and the fire fails to melt the ice. Perhaps this creature is a traitor. Certainly a blasphemy in its mixing of the Jedi’s failures and our code.

But he still speaks with Anakin Skywalker’s voice, though it seems his throat is near destroyed. No matter. Words are for those like Tyranus, who can make effective use of them. Not stuttering, rambling weak-witted things like Skywalker.

The words came unbidden in the singing of the Force. “All I asked of you was that you would help me save Padmé.”

“And if in your anger...”

“No.”

The dragon in his stomach, the progenitor of all those little serpents that hissed between his ribs, in his ears, had risen to roar again. A ghost-flesh hand outstretched to Sidious’ throat. The hood fell away to reveal the eyes that shared the colour of the wounded landscape as Sidious’ breath became a wheeze, a tortured hiss like the one his own scorched lungs produced.

“You fed that fear.” Fingers tightening, cold around the soot that couldn’t fly away in time. “And you mean to make it flare brighter even now!”

“Calm... yourself, my... apprentice.” The words weak between the gasps. As feeble as this master’s weakened by his own grasping at power body. “She... lives... for now. But without... you...”

“You would let her die.” Burn wounds blazed around the snarl that twisted his lips. Sidious twitched as his feet left the bank. Pebbles and soot slipped away beneath his boots, tumbling down the bank towards the river of fire that had spawned them. “I obeyed you because you told me you knew how to save her, and you would let her die!”

“You do not... know...”

“Ignorance, yet knowledge.” Sidious hovered among the storm of sparks in the air. The hot breeze tugged his hair over his eyes, but there was no more pain in the touch of hot rocks and burning air. Flurries of hot and cold, raining ice and fire, still spun between his ears. How long had he lain prone against the volcanic marble that lined the river? Padmé, Obi-Wan... they could be long gone but if I end Sidious’ rule here that is enough.

Flickering lightning burst in the air as Sidious twitched in his grip. “You are as foolish as your masters. Arrogant enough to think Jedi ways...”

“The Force shall free me.” A burning hand closed into a fist, holding Sidious aloft. The yellow eyes rolled to expose whites flecked with soot. No more masters. Just him and the Force and none of you will fool me again!

He has become something else entirely. This is no Jedi, to attempt to murder me this way. And yet... there is so little Sith in him. His passion, his rage, it is far too controlled.

Not controlled, perhaps, so much as channelled. He has learnt... control over the suppression that I was always given to think the Jedi favoured. Yet what disciple of the Dark Side would choose to keep their passion so repressed save one who

Sidious kept gagging as he stared, breaths heaving in his chest. So little of his flesh left unscarred, but he could stand nonetheless. Some beautiful trick of the Force but how long will it last?

His eyes narrowed as he glared at Sidious. At this other master who had promised things he’d meant to take away all along. He turned to the river of orange flickers between the crust of darkness.

A twist of the arm and Sidious was flung out into the lava. His robes pooled over the crust of the river.

Perhaps that last pathetic call he heard was one of agony. The Sith Lord vanished into the fire that had taken the living flesh off him.

He turned from the river. His strides made no sound, not a single pebble shifting under his feet. He lifted his left hand – Obi-Wan had cut away flesh and blood, but some phantom remnant of the limb made of fire frozen in place still flexed with the tendons that he could still feel.

The Emperor was dead, and the Empire barely born. What now? What crimes can I answer for when death has failed to touch me?

Death, yet the Force. Whatever lay in store for this Empire built on sand and sand is quicker to fall apart underfoot than these pebbles he could at least seek out Obi-Wan and Padmé. If they will still look at me.

There is no ‘light’ and ‘dark’. Only the Force, and the ways it can be twisted.

Life lives and it suffers and it dies only to form the dirt from which new life will rise. Touch the Force and it will give rise to life unlike what most would know as such. Is it an act of darkness to raise such things, things that were never supposed to live? Or is it an act of light, to give shape to something that will not suffer for the mere crime of daring to live? Is that not what the Force wishes, for life to thrive?

Ah, but the living Force is only one side of the story.

Artoo began to squeak as he approached, rocking forwards and backwards. Like the droid was seeking an escape.

“It’s just me, Artoo.” Careful of the fiery aether that seemed to have taken the place of his limbs, Anakin bent down and put his right hand, the one of cold metal, atop Artoo’s dome head. “It’s time for us to leave.”

Artoo hesitated, before letting out a series of rapid, inquisitive beeps.

Anakin shook his head. “I... I was wrong. The Chancellor made promises he never meant to keep.”

Artoo rocked forward, letting out a dejected bloop.

“I have to try to talk to Obi-Wan and Padmé.” Anakin sighed as he straightened up. No pain, not even in the scars covering what flesh remained.

Artoo’s beep sounded much cheerier as the droid trundled around to the back of the ship. Anakin managed a smile through stiffening scars as he leapt up and hoisted himself into the cockpit.

The Force swept up a ghostly breeze around him, carrying presences and feelings from Hutts only knew where into his mind. He sat back in the cockpit and shut his eyes, letting it all just sink in for a moment.

Two familiar sparks hovered somewhere not that far away – not by hyperspace routes, at least – dimmed by something heavy weighing on them.

Obi-Wan and Padmé. He sighed as he opened his eyes and started the engine. The absence of the lightsabre on his belt still bothered him. No use dwelling on it.

Death, yet the Force. He could carry on, even in the world that Sidious had left behind before it could begin.

The Force shall free me.

The train of thought here started with that post about how a suitless Vader would just be walking around like... 'the biggest dilf in the galaxy', I believe the phrase was? That interpretation isn't one I much care for. There's a post I have a vague memory of reading at some point that mentions that the poster's idea of a suitless Vader is one who takes the whole 'The Force shall free me' schtick from the Sith Code and runs with it, and then there's @jerseydevious discussing the whys and wherefores of the suit (recommended reading).

So, thanks to my pettiness about the idea that Vader sans suit is just a hot Vader, we now have a situation where Anakin turns into a semi-Force-ghost thing who can't make up his mind about which code he's following and the author goes off on a (relatively short, at least) meta tangent about his views on the Force. As you do.

#holocron data #fic #star wars #jama's fic #incandescence #i keep wanting to spell it 'incandescense' for some reason and it's getting irksome #i know how it's meant to be written stop typing it wrong fingers #in morsum ardeo

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