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familyfriendlyweed · 3 years

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late night snaps (quackity x reader)

a/n : before we get into the story, i wanted to thank you all for such support on my first post - i only posted it yesterday, and got a hell lot of likes and reblogs and even gained 23 followers, which is insane for me (or maybe i just don’t know how tumblr works, haha)! anyhow, i’m really happy you guys enjoyed it <3

it was 02:37 and you were editing your newest video. you had no idea it would take so long, though! even if you were used to staying up very late, you knew you have to put away your laptop and go get some sleep.

saving the video as a draft and shutting your computer off, you started to blindly search for your phone, since your eyes didn’t get used to the darkness yet. finally finding it, you turned it on to set an alarm for the next morning when you suddenly saw a snapchat notification from ten minutes ago. it was from Alex. you curiously unlocked your phone and tapped the little notification to be led straight to snapchat.

idiota : hello mamacita

your face instantly lit up in a childish smile. you started to type your response eagerly like it wasn’t 2 am and you didn’t have online classes tomorrow.

you : why hello there, el señor

you saw Alex’s silly bitmoji pop up as he started to type.

idiota : what is my chica bella doing up so late?

you giggled, getting comfortable in your bed - this meant a long chatting session on its way.

you : YOUR chica bella? when did that happen?

idiota : ANSWER THE QUESTION!!!! >:((((

you : fine you big baby, i was finishing editing a new video

idiota : hmm i see, i see

you : what about you though? u should get some sleep!!! :(((

Alex’s bitmoji started typing, then stopped for some reason. you lifted your eyebrow at that. then he continued, but it took a while for him to finish.

idiota : why, i just couldn’t fall asleep when you were on my mind all the time, mi amor

your cheeks grew red in an instant. you knew you could handle jokes pretty well, but this was quite too much. Alex never got so far as to actually flirt with you.

you : eh??? what drugs are u on

idiota : the only drug for me is you mamacita

you snorted. you had no idea if he was being serious or not, even if the second option was more likely.

you : literally go to sleep wtf

idiota : i’d sleep better if you were by my side ;)

this was enough for you - you felt as if you got one more message like this from him, you’d die from the hotness in your cheeks. setting your phone down, you made your way to the bathroom before bed.

you came back five minutes later, only to see your phone full of notifications from Alex. your heart was thumping really hard, you weren’t used to this, but you opened snapchat anyway.

idiota : mamacita?

idiota : ....

idiota : mamacita, don’t joke w me like that

idiota : did you really just leave me on read wtf

idiota : i’m sad come back :(((

and at last, there was a snap from him. you were quite scared at this point. with a shaking hand, you opened it.

you laughed so hard that you seriously thought you’ll have a seizure. still laughing, you snapped a selfie with a cute filter on (you really thought you looked horrible at the moment), captioned it with “your chica bella had to take a piss u simp” and sent it to Alex.

he opened the snap almost imediatelly and started typing afterwards :

idiota : mamacita!!!! you look hermosa!!!!

you : that’s because i have a filter on lmaoo

idiota : mamacita don’t let yourself down, you are so beautiful :((

you started to text a sarcastic reply, but stopped. for some reason, Alex seemed like he was being truthful. he wasn’t joking around when he called you beautiful, that was too affectionate.

you : ...really?

idiota : si, si! <3

you tugged at your lip in a thinking manner. true, you had feelings for Alex, but you never thought he had something similar to you. or maybe... maybe he was just supporting you as a friend. figuring that was probably it, you texted :

you : thank you quacker B]] ur also v handsome

idiota : mamacita likes me!!!!!😍😍😍

you smiled sadly. Alex was definitely playing around. you got lost in thought for a few moments, thinking about how would he act if he was actually in love with someone. would he, perhaps, be more mature? that would be very weird to look at.

finally coming back to planet Earth, you looked at your phone only to see that Alex has written a shit ton of messages again :

idiota : i want to see you, mamacita

idiota : it’s fine if u don’t want to, you’re probably going to sleep anyway...

idiota : but maybe let’s meet tomorrow?

idiota : mamacita?

idiota : ....

idiota : i’m coming over <3

your heart gave a leap of embarassment and surprise. why would he even say that?

you : wait what

you : wdym “i’m coming over”

you : no tf ur not

you : go to sleep

idiota : doesn’t mamacita want to see muah???

you : no, that would be awesome, but you should go to sleep, really :(

idiota : y/n, i already told you, i can’t sleep when you’re on my mind

you froze in spot, staring at your screen for what felt like an eternity. did he just call you by your name? you knew he only says it in serious situations. deciding to change your tactic, you started texting seriously :

you : are you like... for real now?

you : because i know you call me by my name in serious situations, but maybe it’s only a prank, so just answer me truthfully, okay?

Alex started typing, it took even longer that before, but at last you saw his message, this time without caps, spammed question/exclamation marks, nothing silly at all :

idiota : i am serious, y/n. believe me, this is not a prank. i just really wanna see you.

your heart skipped a beat or two, your face renewed its redness. you felt as if you were dreaming.

you : okay... i’m really glad. come over, please

idiota : thank you so much

you started pondering in your head - how did this happen? how did this silly conversation turn out like this?

but what if Alex texted you because he wanted to come over in the first place? after all, he knew how shitty your sleep schedule was. that would be awesome, you thought, a small smile dancing on your lips.

you checked the snap map only to see Alex about 100 meters from you. wait... what? 100 METERS??? was Alex near your place the moment he texted you for the first time?

you jumped up, starting to tidy up your messy room up, only to remember you look like poop at the moment - hair messy, face tired, clothes scrunched.

exhaling heavily, you tried to change your appearance quickly - you ran into the bathroom, brushing your hair panickily. then you wrenched the makeup bag open and started to rummage through it trying to find some mascara or something...

ding ding!

you froze, your eyes widened. he was already here, what the hell?!

you quickly put on some mascara, ran into the hallway while brushing your face with your hands from stress (completely forgetting you have mascara on, somehow) and unlocked the door.

Alex’s figure was dark, since the lightbulb in the corridor wasn’t working, and it almost gave you a fright. but as soon as he engulfed you in a warm hug, the tension in the pit of your stomach vanished. you hugged him back almost unsurely, but smiling.

“hello, mamacita”

you giggled. for some reason, you got the strongest urge to cry. probably from happiness, but it still was confusing to you. nevertheless, tears started running down your cheeks, mixing with mascara, probably making you look like you were going to a halloween dress up party.

“hey, why are you crying?” Alex asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“i look horrible.” you laughed, wiping your tears away.

“nooo, why won’t you listen to me? i already told you you’re beautiful.” he said with a cute pout.

“alright, alright, i’m very beautiful, let me down now.” you said, noticing that he was still holding you in his arms tightly.

“whatever the chica bella says.”

he put you down.

“aren’t you going to turn on some light? i feel like i’ve gone blind!” Alex exclaimed jokingly and you giggled.

“i’m like a bat, i hate much light, sorry. buuuut i could turn on this little lamp.” you said, making your way to your desk and turning on a cute little lamp the shade of warm pink.

“perfect.” Alex said, eyeing you in light now. you thought he’ll make a comment about your awful mascara-stained face, but he said nothing, just smiling and looking at you in awe, like you were some princess in a ball dress instead of a tired college student in messy shorts, an oversized t-shirt and two different socks, because you couldn’t find a pair of the same ones.

“perfect.” he repeated, shrugging with a smile on his face, like seeing you was everything he needed.

you laughed and hugged him, muttering a “thanks for coming”. Alex didn’t hesitate and also hugged you, holding you as close as possible, as if he let go of you, he’d drown and would never come back to be by your side again.

little did you know, he felt the exact same way.

#quackity #quackity x reader #quackity imagines #quackity imagine #dream smp imagines #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt imagines

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vodkassassin · 3 years

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world state: refresh, chapter 1

Summary: Something goes wrong with the plant body contingency plan, and Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua both end up perishing. However, it appears that the System isn’t finished with them, yet. And with their new promotions, this life they find themselves in seems more like a well-deserved vacation. / Back in their previous world, the people who knew them are still in mourning. And some of them are not willing to let them go.

—

“Dude! I thought the plan was to not die!”

“I —!”

“All that work for nothing! And you didn’t just fuck up, you had to drag me down with you? I thought we were bros, man. I thought we were cool!”

Shen Yuan shrinks back, watching him with wide eyes. “Why are you yelling at me?”

“Am I yelling?” Shang Qinghua crosses his arms and turns away. “I am just so sick of dying, bro! I thought we had a contingency, so I wasn’t worried, but now! What the fuck was that?”

“I couldn’t just,” Shen Yuan reaches up and pulls at his hair in aggravation. “I couldn’t just let that happen to Binghe!”

It’s kind of weird seeing him with such a slight build and shorter hair and big eyes a bright blue, when Shang Qinghua has long since become used to the broader shoulders and taller build and long, pin-straight hair of Shen Qingqiu. Shen Yuan’s got some curl to his hair. His eyelashes go on for days.

This must be how his bro looked like back in the real world. Or, their first world. After all this, there’s no way in hell that Shang Qinghua can call the world they’d just left fake or pretend.

He wishes he could.

Shang Qinghua makes a face and squints at his friend. Should he even call him that? After all, he… “You literally committed suicide. And you took me with you. Without asking! Bro, we’re both dead!”

“It’s not my fault that the plant bodies didn’t work!” Shen Yuan wails, and Shang Qinghua jerks back, stunned. Well, it seems that the cool and collected poker face of Shen Qingqiu had been left behind with the body itself. “You told me it was ready! And I didn’t ask you to stand so close to me when I detonated!”

“How was I suppose to know that’s what you were going to do?!” Shang Qinghua shrieks. He points an accusing finger at the other man. “We had a plan, you jerk! I kinda expected that we’d, oh I don’t know, go by it? Just a little bit? Play our parts? You changed the script on me without even giving me a cue!”

“Stop talking about it like it’s a stupid movie!” Shen Yuan says, and oh man his eyes are round and tearful. That’s not fair. “Binghe was going nuclear on us, Airplane! What was I suppose to do, let him destroy the world? Because you and I both know that’s what was about to happen!”

Shang Qinghua flinches back. He ducks his head and hunches his shoulder, looking away with a glare.

Shen Yuan sighs. He clears his throat, and says, “... I’m sorry I took you with me. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I tried to wait until you were out of range, but….”

Shang Qinghua sniffs.

“The only person capable of surviving a blast like that would be the protagonist.” He sullenly admits.

The both of them are silent at that. Shang Qinghua glares down at the vast expanse of blackness that surrounds them, leaving nothing to be seen but each other, somehow untouched by the dark. It almost seems like it might be a dream, but Shang Qinghua already knows what death feels like, and that had been it.

Can he even call himself Shang Qinghua anymore, if he’d left the body of that identity behind?

“I hope it was enough to fix Xin Mo’s influence on him,” Shen Yuan murmurs worriedly. “We’re not around anymore to mitigate the damage or direct the plot. What’s going to happen now? What if our absence means that the canon plot takes over again? Was it all for nothing?”

Shang Qinghua — Airplane drops his shoulders, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly. He feels way too old for this. Why can’t death be the final rest it was suppose to be? Why does this keep happening?

“Where even are we?” He asks.

There’s a familiar ding that echoes endlessly in the void around them. Airplane shares a glance with Shen Yuan, both their expressions bearing the same look of dread and exasperation.

“Why?” Shen Yuan bemoans.

“We’re not done?” Shang Qinghua demands, feeling suddenly furious as a window, slightly too light against the inky blackness, pops up before them. “Are you kidding me?”

He turns away from the blinding brightness and covers his face, muttering furiously under his hitching breath. It’s not fair! What are they, slaves to the System? Airplane is so tired.

“What,” he hears Shen Yuan breathe out beside him.

There’s a tug on his sleeve — they’re both wearing the same robes they died in, resized to fit their new (or rather, their old) bodies but just as dirty — and he turns to glance at his friend, only to find Shen Yuan gaping at the System window in astonishment.

“Airplane,” his friend insists, eyes wide. “Airplane, read it.”

With a put upon sigh, Airplane turns back toward the window and squints at it.

Congratulations, Host 74 and Host 81! Due to your exemplary efforts to rewrite the plot of World-0690, both of you have been promoted!

“What,” Airplane gapes. “A promotion? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Keep reading,” Shen Yuan urges him, eyes still round in shock.

In compensation for your hard work and the troubles faced in World-0690, Hosts have been given the choice of their next assignments!

“I don’t want to,” Airplane whimpers. He turns away from the half-read window and throws himself at his friend.

Shen Yuan lets out a sound of surprise as he catches him, and a hand automatically goes up to pet at Airplane’s head as he buries his face into Shen Yuan’s neck.

“I — Airplane? What’s — ?”

“I don’t want to do it again,” he says, eyes stinging. Fuck, he’s crying. He squeezes his eyes shut and clings to his friend. “I don’t want to. I’m done. I don’t want to anymore. Shen Yuan, I don’t want to!”

“Shit,” his friend mutters. The hand in his hair is comforting, stroking back and forth in a heavy pet.

Airplane sucks in a deep breath, which is a mistake, because it immediately bursts back out of him in a jarring sob.

He’s just so, so done. He doesn’t want to! He isn’t sure what he does want, just that he doesn’t want this! Please, please don’t make him! Not again! Airplane is done!

Shen Yuan speaks again, louder this time. “Airplane, listen. It’ll be different this time, okay? It’s giving us a choice!”

“I don’t want to,” Airplane cries.

“Um… How about I read us the, uh… the options. Okay?”

He sniffles. It’s not like there’s a decline button, he checked before he even started reading the damn window. This isn’t fair. This is so goddamn unfair.

Shakily, he nods his head against Shen Yuan chest. “... Okay.”

“Alright. So, um… option one is to be reborn with a system in a new world that requires a rewrite. It’ll be like how we ended up in PIDW, but we’ll have to read the plot beforehand so we know what we’re going into.”

“No,” Airplane jerks back, glaring up at his friend fiercely from beneath his damp lashes. “I will not be born again. I’m not growing up for another time. My childhoods in both worlds were shitty, I’m not letting myself be a child again, Shen Yuan!”

Shen Yuan gives him a weak smile. “Third time’s the charm?”

Airplane just continues to glare at him. The other man drops the smile and sighs.

“Yeah, okay, it’s a definite no to option one. I don’t wanna go through infancy or, hell, puberty again, either. So, option two…”

Airplane is quiet as his friend gazes up at the window and rereads their options. He refuses to turn around and look at it. He doesn’t want to see it. He’s so sick of the fucking System.

[Host….]

Fuck.

Shut up.

[This system apologizes—]

Shut up, shut up, shut up! Aren’t we done with you? Haven’t I finished what you wanted? Our mission is over, right? I don’t want to talk to you! Leave me alone!

[....]

“Okay, option two,” Shen Yuan says, eyes fixed on the window. Airplane lets his forehead drop to rest against his friend’s shoulder. “We can transmigrate into already written lives, fully grown bodies. Our task in that case would be to help stop the end of the world.”

“Fuck that,” Airplane and Shen Yuan both scoff at the same time.

Airplane draws back from his friend’s embrace to share a grin with him.

“I’m sick of responsibilities. How many options are there?”

Shen Yuan glances back up to scan the window. “There’s a few pages worth… Hey, System?”

There’s a ding. Airplane directs his gaze determinedly on his friend’s face and doesn’t look behind him.

“Can you filter the options?” Another ding. “Okay, filter out all options that require us to play a prewritten character or save a world.”

Ding! Airplane watches avidly as Shen Yuan’s expression smooths out into something pleased. The other man glances back down at him, and then blinks when he realizes that Airplane has been staring at him the entire time. He coughs, and pink flushes over his cheeks.

Airplane feels a smirk crawl onto his face. “Aw, bro. You know, you’re pretty cute like this. Is this how you looked like back — uh, in our first lives?”

Shen Yuan’s blush deepens. “I — uh… yeah, I think so? I don’t have a mirror, so I can’t be one-hundred percent sure…”

Then, the other man smirks back at him, a teasing light entering his bright eyes. “You’re not too shabby yourself, bro. Actually, you’re freaking adorable. If I knew this was what Airplane Shooting Toward the Sky looked like, I’d have never even tried taking your papapa scenes seriously.”

“You never took them seriously anyway,” Airplane scoffs, fighting off his own blush. He stares into the inky blackness of the void instead. “Besides, no one should have taken them seriously.”

“Eh? Why?”

The smirk crawls back over Airplane’s face, and he glances up at Shen Yuan from beneath his eyelashes. “I’m ace.”

Shen Yuan pauses. He stares down at him, speechless for a few long moments. Airplane lifts one hand to hide how his smirk has transformed into a grin. His shoulders shake with amusement.

Finally, Shen Yuan’s face breaks into incredulousness.

“You —? Are you serious?” The man wheezes. He reaches out and slaps a hand against Airplane’s shoulder, and then does it a few more times. “Are you fucking serious? A joke! The entire thing was a joke this whole time? Airplane, I’m gonna fucking kill you, oh my god!”

Despite his words, the slaps are gentle. Shen Yuan still has one arm wrapped around him in a hug.

Airplane bursts into laughter.

“I mean,” he giggles. “The story itself wasn’t a joke? But the reader count skyrocketed after the first smut scene, and the subscriptions mirrored that. I was just a starving college student, bro. I hadn’t eaten in three days, I needed some cash.”

Shen Yuan’s hits cease, and a serious expression overcomes his outrage.

“Was it really that bad?” He quietly asks.

Airplane bites his lip and looks away. “It’s been worse than that, but… Yeah. It’s what helped me make the decision to lead PIDW into the stallion novel genre. I kept the actual story to myself and just focused on writing what the subscribers demanded. It was a huge blow to my integrity as an author, and there were a lot of times that I hated myself for it, but I was too hungry to care most of the time.”

“Shit,” Shen Yuan presses a hand over his mouth. Airplane looks away entirely before he can see the pity that’s likely to be in his friend’s expression. “That’s shitty, man. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” he shrugs. “After being born into it, though, there’s a lot of times I wish I’d just gone with my original draft. Starving would have been better than… a lot of what happened, back there as Shang Qinghua.”

Shen Yuan’s arm tightens around him. His hand finds its way back into Airplane’s hair.

“Hey,” he says, quietly. “What’s your name?”

Airplane snorts. “Shang Lei.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He buries his face into Shen Yuan’s chest and laughs. “No, that’s my name.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?”

He smacks Shen Yuan in the arm, grinning. “Yes, I’m serious.”

“You hack writer. You’re so original, I’m in awe.”

Airplane rolls his eyes and snuggles into his friend’s hug. “I’d offer to let you read the original PIDW, but I don’t have it with me, and I think it would hit differently now that we both uh, actually know most of the characters personally.”

Shen Yuan makes a face. “Man. I’d totally read it, too, if it wasn’t for that. And besides, the way you wrote Binghe... that’s not him. Not anymore.”

“Yeah. You raised him differently.”

There’s a quiet sound, like sniffling. “I … I don’t think I did such a good job,” Shen Yuan whispers, and his voice is thick.

Airplane closes his eyes.

“Anyway.” He says. “Our options?”

“... Right.” Shen Yuan coughs. He straightens up. His arm tightens around Airplane like one might clutch at a teddy bear. Airplane accepts it. “Um…. The filters have narrowed down the list quite a bit. How do you feel about being reborn as forest hermits in a farming simulation become reality?”

“Um. Pass. I’m not much for manual labor.”

Shen Yuan laughs. Airplane can feel the way his body trembles with it against him. He smiles and rests his head into the crook of his friend’s neck.

“Yeah, neither am I. Uh, there’s…. Demon Lords — nah, that’s R18. We know how that goes, and since you’re ace, no thanks. Um, there’s actually a lot of otome-type worlds. Weird. System, filter out those ones.”

Airplane yawns. He’s still feeling upset over all of this, but he’s come to a decision.

Whatever new world they end up in — and goddammit, it’ll be together — he’s not going to allow Shen Yuan convince him to let himself become attached to the characters this time. He’d done so well, in the first half of his life as Shang Qinghua, keeping himself distanced from his peers and enemies alike. Life went by quick and mostly painlessly, when you didn’t connect with anyone. The real pain came after Shen Yuan talked him into seeing the people of that world as actual people.

It was lonely before then, sure. He’s not sure the hurt that came after was worth it, though. Plus, this time he’ll have his bro at his side. That’s all he’ll need.

“Oh, hello.”

He pulls back from his friend’s comfy embrace to look up at him. “Find a good one?”

“I think so,” Shen Yuan tells him. He’s smiling up at the window, and he’s got one eyebrow raised. “This one is ‘Become Game Masters of an ARMMRPG.’”

“Eh?” Airplane frowns. “... Doesn’t it mean, uh, a VRMMORPG? Like in anime?”

“No. This one is Alternate Reality Massive Multiplayer Role Playing Game. Instead of being a virtual world, in this… story, I guess? In this story, the player characters are actually people capable of dimensional travel. Each ‘game’ is a different dimension, and the people can only die in their home dimension. From the description, it’s basically the same as the synopsis of your run of the mill VRMMORPG anime, except the virtual games are real worlds.”

“Sure, but if they’re real worlds, then what does being a Game Master mean?”

Shen Yuan grins down at him.

“Hey, Airplane,” he says. “How do you feel about being an actual god?”

—

Luo Binghe curls up on his throne like a child might sit in their mother’s lap, but there is no warmth to be found for him in this position. He clutches his knees to his chest and fights off another bout of these ceaseless tears. What’s a throne worth, what’s the seat of an emperor worth, what is all the power that he’s spent years accumulating worth, if Luo Binghe himself is actually useless regarding what truly matters?

He’s the king of an entire realm, territories a-plenty in the human one as well, but none of it matters anymore.

Nothing can matter, not now.

He launches himself off the throne, startling the line of servants that kneel on the gilded floor. He ignores their jolts and their gasps of surprise, turning on his heel to leave the room entirely. It’s only a few doors deep into the private wing behind his throne, a room in the center of his palace that is more secure than any place else in all the world.

He throws open the door, and catches it before it can slam shut. He closes it with barely a whisper.

It feels wrong, making too much noise in this room. Being too loud.

Shizun never liked it to be too noisy.

Luo Binghe’s eyes sting as he approaches the shrouded and still form that lies on the dias in the center of the room. He kneels before it, and then lowers himself further to press his forehead against the cold stone floor.

“Shizun,” he whimpers. “This lowly disciple is so sorry. This scum will repent for as long as it takes. Binghe will kneel for eternity if that is what it takes. But please, please. Come back.”

His voice cracks on the last word. It echoes quietly in the room, bouncing off the walls and reaching back to him until all the Luo Binghe is able to hear are the reverberations of his own useless please.

Just like every time before, the form he kowtows to is silent and unmoving. Cold. Dead.

Luo Binghe has made the worst mistakes, and there is no way to fix them.

[Read ch. 2]

#scum villain's self saving system #world state: refresh #cucumberplane #shen yuan #shang qinghua #vodkassassin fanfiction

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failedintsave · 3 years

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Ok fine, fine ok. It's Nategaar hours around here today, and I need it to stay out of my current project so here's me purging it from my system til it resurfaces with vengeance in probably like a day.

You Spin Me Round

The rattling of the window panes was audible even over the bass of Murderface's boom box, rain blowing almost horizontally in tropical storm gales. But seasoned Floridians weren't afraid of a little stormy weather, as proven by the groups of drenched partygoers who continued to filter through the door of their crowded apartment.

Nathan weaved his way through the sea of bodies, returning from the keg with four Solo cups balanced overhead, trying his best not to spill everything down his arms. He squeezed into the corner where most of his band stood gathered around a wooden cable spool he'd taken from his dad's hardware shop, the tabletop littered with a scattered deck of cards, an overflowing ashtray at it's center.

"Who the fuck are some of these people?" He grumbled as he approached, passing out beers to waiting hands.

"Shit, man, idunnoe. I invited some chicks from deh show, and I know Magnus told some folks to come back, but deh rest?" Pickles shrugged. "Stuffs closin' fer deh weather I think, people lookin' fer something ta do."

He grunted, handing a cup over to Murderface next to him before reaching across the table to pass the last beer to Skwisgaar wedged between two fawning groupies.

"Shoulda put someone at the door to take money for cups, they're draining the keg." He took a slug of foamy beer, glaring down into the contents. "And there's no room to play games or do anything."

"Juscht play drink-the-beer, who needsch a game for that?"

"Auuuggh that's boring. And besides, I'm really good at that game and we'll run out of beer faster."

"He ams gots a good points."

Pickles rubbed his chin in consideration before snapping his fingers, a proverbial lightbulb going off over his head. "I gaht it."

He scurried off, slipping easily through the throng of bodies towards his room. They watched him disappear, barely a glimpse of fiery red hair visible over the shoulders of their so-called guests. After a few minutes he reappeared with a Cheshire grin and a green bottle of whiskey. He held up his first two fingers, a single die pinched between them.

"Alright, I've gaht a game fer us. First step, we empty dis bottle." He cracked the top and handed it to Nathan. "As you were deh inspiration fer dese shenanigans, you may do de honors."

"Perfect." Nathan tipped the bottle back and took a long pull, passing it off to Murderface to share around the circle as Pickles continued.

"Next t'ings, we need a couple extra players, ot'erwise dis will get real predictable quick." He stood on tiptoes, waving over a few familiar faces from their show. He flagged Magnus down, but the guitarist didn't move.

"What do you want?" He shouted across the room.

"Come play a game!"

"What game?"

"Russian roulette, whaddya think? A party game!"

"What game?" Magnus repeated, moving slightly closer.

"Spin deh bottle!"

That stopped Magnus in his tracks. "Nope. Not this again. Fool me once, shame on you. Hard pass."

Murderface sputtered as he handed off the bottle down the line. "Hold on, what wasch that?!"

Ignoring him, Pickles threw his arms up at the goateed guitarist. "Why not?!" Magnus shook his head and turned back, melting into the crowd. "Ah yeh fuckin' killjoy, fine den!"

Nathan frowned, tracking the bottle's progress around the circle. "Uh, Pickles. Why exactly did you think we'd wanna play that? Together? Do we look like middle schoolers?"

"It's fun! Dere's stakes!" He slapped the die onto the table, smirking around at his audience. "Me an' Tony an' de guys made up dis version back in deh day."

Skwisgaar wiped his mouth on the back of a slender wrist, handing the liquor down to the woman next to him. "Sos you always play deh kissingk games wif your bands?" To Nathan's ear he didn't sound put off, merely curious.

Murderface, meanwhile, was less impressed. "That'sch totally gay! We can't play thisch together, what'sch wrong with you?!"

"Eh, it's just a goof we made up, touring ain't all blowjobs and snortin' coke off tits, sometimes ya just wanna have fun." Pickles reached out and poked Murderface in the belly. "Wouldja lemme finish explainin' deh rules before ya quit?"

The bottle made it's way back to the drummer and he tilted his head back for several long chugs, holding the glass up to the light and sloshing the liquid around. He nodded and handed it off to Nathan again with a wink. Frowning, Nathan took another long draw. He wasn't going to be the first of them to back down from this idea, even if it was stupid.

"Okey, so here's why dis game is different. Dere's two parts." He indicated the die and the bottle with a flourishing gesture. "First you roll de dice. On a one, two er three, it's normal rules. Little smackaroonie. No big deal. Four an' five, ya elevate it a little bit. Makeout, pull some hair, whatever."

"Oooookaaay I think maybe Murderface was right about this." Nathan looked around at his bandmates. True there were almost twice as many girls at the table than them, but he wasn't sure he cared for the odds.

"Schee?!"

"Oh waaaaah, you buncha babies! Yer the one who said you were bored! Let's see whet you can come up with!"

"I'll plays."

Nathan's head jerked to face Skwisgaar across the table. The blonde wore an amused smirk as he focused on Pickles, a faint flush on his cheeks from the alcohol. He cocked his head to the side, accepting the drummer's challenge, golden waves cascading over his shoulder as he moved. Of course that smug bastard would play, this game sounded like a routine Thursday for him.

With a heavy sigh, Nathan's eyes shifted back to the drummer. "Alright. So what's six?"

Pickles grinned impishly. "Oh we call six 'Make It Look Good.' Thirty seconds on deh clock or til ev'rybody else makes ya stahp."

"What the actual fuck, Pickles."

"Ah-ah! Lemme finish! You have options!" He ticked off on his fingers. "One through three you can skip fer a shot. Four an' five you chug a beer. And six…"

The group around the table leaned as one, craning their necks expectantly in the drummer's direction. His eyes flashed as he snickered.

"If you want outta six, yeh gotta run a naked lap around the apartment building."

Thunder boomed outside as if to punctuate the final rule.

"Schon of a bitsch. We need more schotsch if we're doing thisch. I'm gonna get fucked up."

Pickles produced a second bottle and slammed it down on the table in front of him.

"Where were you keeping that?"

"Don't ask questions, are we playin' or what?"

The initial bottle finished it's second loop, landing in Nathan's palm again. With a grunt, he slugged the last of the booze and slammed the bottle onto it's side in the center of the table.

"God I wish there was room to play pong right now…" he picked up the dice and rolled.

The game didn't go nearly as badly as he'd expected, and after several rounds of making out with hot girls and taking shots to avoid kissing his bandmates Nathan was really starting to enjoy himself. Defying statistics, the only six rolled so far had been between two of the girls, and they'd all cheered like hooligans.

And then the fickle dice gods reconsidered their influence.

"Alrights, my toirns." Skwisgaar, who hadn't yet opted out of any of his rolls but was starting to get fairly tipsy regardless, snatched up the dice and shook it in Nathan's face, squinting one eye and grinning. He dropped it, four pips staring back up at him. Laughing, he gave the bottle a rapid spin.

It whirled and Nathan found himself holding his breath, eyes glued to the bottle, a little confused about what he was hoping would happen. Slowly, slowly the neck of the bottle came to rest pointing at Pickles.

"Uh-ohhhh, ya think the keg is tapped? Ya might be outta luck pal." The drummer laughed, pumping pierced brows at the blonde.

"Pfffft, shuts up." Skwisgaar leaned past one of the giggling girls, seizing a handful of Pickles' shirt and hauling him forward into an open-mouthed kiss. Nathan stared as they pulled apart, his skin heating and head swimming with whiskey.

"Well okey den," Pickles stroked his chin, nodding sagely. "Now I see whet all deh fuss is about, nyeheheh."

Swaying upright again, Skwisgaar clumsily flung his hair back over his shoulder. "Whats can I says, I ams a master ats everyt'ings I dedicates my times to."

"Scho like, two thingsch."

"Ams better den no t'ings."

"Hey!"

Nathan zoned out, staring at the table for the next few turns, snapped back to attention by Murderface's repeated 'No, no, no no!' as Pickles rolled a three and landed on him.

"A'right, yer turn Nate." The drummer smirked, sliding the bottle and the die across the table.

"Ugh, are we still playing this? When is it over?"

"Aw aments Nat'ans havingk any funs?"

He raised his eyes to the willowy guitarist across from him. Skwisgaar's thin arms were crossed over his chest, hip popped jauntily to the side. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his high forehead from the dense mugginess of the apartment, a teasing smile playing over his lips, bruised pink from being crushed against Pickles'. With an effort, Nathan tore his gaze away and redirected it towards the table.

"Fine. Whatever." He started the bottle spinning with more force than necessary, rolling the dice as it rotated.

Six.

Shit.

The rest of the table was already hooting in glee as the bottle spun down, slowing, taking an agonizingly long time to stop. Finally it came to rest at twelve o'clock.

Pointing at Skwisgaar.

The table erupted.

"OH SCHIT! Can't drink your way outta thisch one!"

"Nyeeeeheheheheh! Now's tha real show!"

"Oh dear sweet lord." Nathan covered his face with his hands, cheeks burning already.

"Hey you have an advantage, everything he does looks good."

"Why t'anks you, what was you names again? Monicas?"

"Yeh could always take the second option agin?" Pickles offered, biting back a laugh as he patted Nathan's shoulder.

His heartbeat throbbed in his ears, and something like pre-show jitters fluttered in his stomach, arms and legs tingling.

"Huehuehuehhue, ams lookingk pretty nastys out dere." Skwisgaar's drunken chuckle was underlined by another peal of thunder, window panes jumping in their casings. "Yous gonna gets blowed away."

Fuck that.

He dropped his hands away from his face, narrowing his eyes at the smirking blonde. "Fine. You dildoes want a show?"

His audience yelped as he reached down, grabbing the edge of the wooden spool and throwing it aside, playing cards and ashtray scattering to the floor, bottle toppling to the ground and shattering. Nathan lunged forward, relishing the shocked widening of blue eyes before impact.

Fighting against muscle memory of past football tackles, he grappled Skwisgaar against his broad chest, wrapping his arms beneath the other man's flailing limbs, his palms cradling bony shoulder blades. He walked the blonde backwards into the corner, pressing him into the wall.

"Timer! Start deh count!"

"No don't, I've scheen enough already, augh!"

As Skwisgaar recovered from the initial shock of being sacked, the natural showman in him awoke. Fire coursed over Nathan's scalp as calloused fingers threaded into his hair, holding his head steady as Skwisgaar turned to deepen the kiss. Nathan's clenched jaw unlocked and his lips parted before he could overthink it.

"...seven, eight, nine..!"

The sound of their onlookers counting faded into the background, drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears. He pushed a knee forward between Skwisgaar's thighs, catching a long leg as it wrapped behind his and hiking it up to his hip, leaving the blonde standing one legged like an albino flamingo.

"...fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen..!"

Skwisgaar bit down on Nathan's bottom lip and something in him broke, a cage door swinging open on its hinges. A growl rumbled in his chest as he reached down and grabbed the guitarist's other leg, hauling it up to his waist, lifting the other man from the floor as easily as he would carry groceries up from his car.

"... twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six…!"

Fingers clawed into the material of his shirt, scratching against his back. The sudden urge to carry Skwisgaar away from the party, to drag him back to his cave like a neanderthal, blindsided Nathan and his muscles locked. Sensing the end of their performance, Skwisgaar sighed into his mouth, the pressure of his lips softening as he started to pull back.

"Thirty! Dat's time!" Pickles howled a laugh. "Holy shit guys, dat's game. Ain't nobody gonna top dat act, even if you hadn't broke deh bottle!"

Nathan opened his eyes as they broke off, the heated blue gaze in front of him driving any and all coherent thoughts from his brain. Gingerly, he released one of Skwisgaar's legs, then the other, white boots touching down on the floor, toe-heel, toe-heel. Standing once again under his own power, a slow, crooked smile stretched across Skwisgaar's face, a breathy chuckle shaking his shoulders once. It took every ounce of willpower Nathan possessed to tear his eyes away from the curve of those full lips, and he turned to face the other two members of his band.

Murderface had his eyes squeezed closed, cracking one to peek. "Isch it over? Are they done?"

Frowning, Nathan grunted through his nose like a bull, stomping forward to snatch the second bottle of liquor from the bassist's hands. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he retreated wordlessly to his bedroom, passing Magnus on the way out.

The older guitarist shook his head, curly mane swishing. "I coulda told ya… every time Pickles tries to pl--"

"Just. Don't." Nathan pushed through the hall, evicting the gaggle of strangers standing around in his room and slamming the door behind him.

Hours later, after the storm had slowed to only a downpour and the party had fizzled out, Nathan lay awake on his back, staring at the ceiling. From the second his door had closed behind him, his brain had flipped from a crawl to light speed, hurtling through thousands of moments from the last couple of years, all of them centered on interactions with his lead guitarist. Slender fingers brushing against his own as he passed the tv remote, blonde hair tickling against his arm as they drove with the windows down, the nervous fluttery feeling in his belly at the sound of a dorky, throaty chuckle.

Nathan ground the heels of his palms against his eye sockets hard enough to see stars. How long? When did these thoughts start popping up? And when had he started stomping them down, locking them away without acknowledgement? Sure, Skwisgaar was hot, he wasn't blind, he could admit that much. But this wasn't that, this was...he didn't know what this was.

But he needed to find out.

Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, he crept out to the door directly across the hall. He started to knock, then paused, not wanting to wake anyone else in the apartment. Nathan turned the knob and cracked the door enough to wedge his face into the gap.

"Hey. Psst. Skwisgaar, you in here?" Another thought struck him, an irrational jealous pang vibrating through him. "Uh, you alone?"

The red glow of a digital clock was the only source of light in the guitarist's bedroom, a faint silhouette shifted on the bed, backlit in flashes by the blinking 12:00.

"Nat'ans?" came a groggy voice from the covers. "What ams you doing up? What times am it?" He rolled to check the useless clock and groaned in exasperation.

"Can... can I..?" He didn't wait for an invitation, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, leaning back against it and clutching the door knob like an anchor.

As his eyes adjusted he could see Skwisgaar sit up, scrubbing a hand over his face as he tried to wake up. Nathan chewed his bottom lip, the flesh tender in an not-unpleasant way. For the second time tonight his mind blanked on him completely.

"What's de matters?"

He swallowed. "Uh."

"Nat'ans?"

"Uhhhh."

Skwisgaar waited, studying him in the dark, giving him time to organize his thoughts. It was something Nathan had always appreciated about the Swede, having (mostly) learned a second language, he understood the occasional difficulties Nathan ran into expressing himself verbally.

"I uh. Earlier."

"Ja."

"I didn't. I didn't think that."

Skwisgaar shifted on the bed, turning to fully face Nathan, still waiting patiently.

"That it would…"

"Hm?"

Nathan inhaled deeply through his nose, forcing the last words out in a rush. "Wouldbelikethatthefirstime."

He waited, certain that Skwisgaar would brush it off, dismiss it as nothing, a game. Or worse, that he'd laugh. Nathan held his breath, ready to bolt in embarrassment. This was stupid, he was stupid, what had be been thinking, it had been a game, it meant nothing.

"Ams you sayingk you wants a do-overs?"

He could hear the smile in the other man's voice, cadence low and teasing, but without cruelty. Playful.

"I-I uh." He'd used up his words for the day, instead opting for a jerky nod.

A ghostly white hand reached out in the dark, forefinger crooking, beckoning him.

"Come heres den." As Nathan shuffled forward he could see Skwisgaar's eyes shining like a cat's. "Ams a firm believer dats practice make perfects."

#skwisgaar skwigelf #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #william murderface #dethklok #metalocalypse #nategaar #the tickets were confusing how did i board this ship?#this game is a version i played in my early 20s #you know the days when everyones dumb and extra h*rny 😳#anyway that's the fic let them all kiss ok bye

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sleepdeprivedheretic · 3 years

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Heart of the Wild (Ch.1)

Notes: Here I am, with my favorite tropes and high-key copying the plot to my other fic, Wild Heart. Oh well, I had fun chilling and plotting it with my friend, @mha-girl674 while listening to Celtic Woodland music :3 This story is basically a little self-indulgent “re-write”, but Wild Heart is still up and it’s own fic <3

Pairings: Taishiro x reader, a little bit of Kirideku, and Miro x Tamaki next chapter

Setting: Hybrid Au in medieval times? Ig? Like they have villages and stuff. Idk, imagination :3

Warnings: Self Indulgent Spicy Plot with consensual and self smut thrown in around here and there. Characters are over the age of twenty.

Trigger Warnings: Heats, terrible parents (of the reader), and fear of non-consent, but there is no no-consensual touching, just chasing from an unknown character.

Hot breaths panted into the chilly air from within your chest. You couldn’t feel anything, other than the white heat burn within your feet and legs from the blistering cold. You’ve been running for who knows how long, heart screaming within your chest at the thrill of finally being free, and what a stupid decision that this was.

It was in the middle of winter, and you’ve chosen now to escape. It was smart as well as stupid, for your parents, thinking that they had you metaphorically tied to a tight leash, would have never expect you to rush out into the cold dead of the winter night.

They were wrong, but you were suffering. There was no food, lest hardly any shelter or warmth. Your scrap of a tattered cloak, barely weathered the unforgiving wind and snow. Yet, trudging on was the best bet, it was the only bet.

At least the cool weather flushed down your heat, but not the scent. Being within a tundra had scared you; not only that there were more ferocious, bigger hybrids that could smell you out, but as well as it was so open. Nowhere to hide, plenty to run, and you’ve practically already exhausted yourself, your natural cycle to breed didn’t help matters, either, for it drained energy, as well.

Was this better than having your parents keep a constant watch over you? Planning to hand over you to who knows who, in exchange for some pretty fabrics and seeds? Granted that you’ve thought this through in what seemed to be a million times, but you didn’t know what laid outside of your little nomadic tribe.

Gritting teeth, leaning against a boulder, you gasped as pain shot through your leg. You were use to traveling with your tribe, carrying things for miles, but not running in constant fear into the vast unknown, perhaps miles away from any place that was safe.

A low whine had cut you out of your thoughts, your head swerving around as a musky scent had now reached you. A fox was staring at you intently, licking his bottom lip as his hands clenched the boulder just ten feet away. Your own rabbit ears folded back in fear, yet his scent had sent yours screaming. Of course, your stupid inner omega was processing the idea of settling down in the tundra raising fox kits, but you weren’t having it.

It was tempting to just lay down and rest, but not get bent over by the first stranger that you saw, especially one so wild looking and probably was more feral than your clansmen. You bolted. He gave a short yip of frustrated shock, and he chased.

This is what you had been fearing for your whole life. If it wasn’t in the back burner of your mind, it was the hungry looks that your clansmen shot your way, the way your parents were only interested in you as a future bargaining chip, and of course, the prospect of getting used by a stranger, and bearing unwanted kits.

It upset you, and undoubtedly made your resolve to choose your own mate, even greater, if you wanted one, at this point. You didn’t know where you were going, all you knew was that in your fear, the scent had gotten closer, giving the fact that the arctic fox was practically nipping at your heels. You yipped in surprise as pain shot through your foot, after suddenly tripping over a branch, the ground closed in as you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the impact of the fall hit your arms and side as you tumbled a little ways.

It didn’t take you long to recuperate, as you scrambled backwards, fearing for the worst yet to come as your back had hit a solid trunk of a tree. Surprise had hit you, for the fox stopped dead in his tracks. Once a musky scent, was now flooded with dread as he stared onward behind you, and then back at you. As if making up his mind after a mental process, he growled in frustration as he let out one last angry yip, before running off.

Relief had wafted to you, slightly, but you were left with more questions than answers. The tree of all things against your back, and the way the fox had fled in fear, motivated you to turn around. It was a forest, to your utter surprise and shock. Running in a blind panic, you weren’t aware of your surroundings, just the pure fear mixed in with your inner omegas snapping demands to breed, had made you rushed and unfocused.

By the way the stretch of lush pines and firs, had the forest itself look so dark and intimidating. You had an inkling that the snow and cold, and possibly even sunlight, hadn’t reached within it’s mysterious depths, and it looked oddly inviting. You knew that the fox had fled for a reason, and that it was a stupid idea to even think of venturing inside, but you were out of options.

You didn’t want to freeze to death in the snow, after all. Steadying yourself up against the bare cedar you’ve bumped into, you took a step forward, wincing at the pain from your hurt ankle and sore legs. However, the lure of the possibility of safety, was more strong than your will to just lay down. Inching forward into the darkness, you let the trees within guide you. It was dark, at first, but of course, trees could only give only so much shade. Dim, was the more correct use of the word as you inched closer and deeper within the forest’s heart. Despite the atmosphere, the birds were singing to their heart’s content, as you could hear the sound of rushing water in the background somewhere.

You jumped a little as your foot brushed up against something soft. Green, you couldn’t help but stare in awe at the little patches of grass and clovers littered across it’s floor. It was cold, yes, but not as cold as it was outside the fortress of trees. In what had seemed eerie and intimidating at first, now had filled you with an odd sense of serenity and calmness. The area around it had an odd, yet highly welcomed earthy smell with a splash of something sweet in which had you relaxed and sated the crawling of your heat.

Why did the fox fear this place? It had seemed so safe. The hairs of the back of your neck had stood up as you stilled. It had took you longer to realize, that the forest’s unique scent, didn’t belong to the forest at all. Eyes widening in realization, your hands gripped the tree that you were leaning up against. Fate, so far, was kind to you, and although you didn’t want to push your luck, you were hopeless and out of options. Was it a bear? Even then, they usually didn’t let their scents be covered in trees like this. It was baffling, as well as a mystery to you, and you wanted to find out.

Yet, exhaustion had finally taken it’s toll onto your weary body as you could feel your remaining strength just physically drain from you. Tired, hungry, scared, and hurt through the array of emotions, your body had decided that you were going to rest, whether you liked it or not. As you collapsed onto the forest floor, a shout of surprise echoed as your world turned into black.

…………………

“-tch. Annoyin’ bunnies an’ their heats.” A huff of annoyance broke out into the silence. Once dark, life had filtered through your senses once again as the scent earlier, was the strongest here. Crackling of fire, warmth, and the scent had awakened you as you cracked open your eyelids.

A house, you couldn’t help but wonder in awe. The fireplace had created a warm atmosphere against the darkened room, lighting up a place of comfort and furs from non-hybrids. You yourself, were in a bed, bandages were wrapped around your hurt ankle and arms as warm blankets had covered you. What had caught your attention most in the lit room, was the tall figure of a man stirring something within a kettle, back turned against you. What had surprised you most definitely, were the orange and black appendages that were his ears and long, swishing tail.

A tiger? You had wondered. They were rare, here, and more rare if they were orange, those being in the east, not the north. Oddly enough, fear didn’t prickle you, but your heat, just stirring awake with you, had. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have, already, not literally save you from the cold and bandaged your wounds.

Not wanting to startle him, you rustled a bit, letting the bed creak a little to get his attention. An ear of his flicked as he then turned around, giving you the full view of your mysterious stranger. Curious amber eyes, soft blonde hair, he wasn’t big, but he wasn’t slim, having a hefty amount of a belly fat on him, due to the winter. Years of work had shown on his shoulders, creating muscle mass as well as around his arms and upper chest. Only what has been covering him, was a loose pair of pants. You had to furiously mentally beat your heat and thoughts down with a stick as he then spoke.

“Ya look like a mess.”

And there it was, the trickle of slick leaked out of you as your face burned with embarrassment and shame and you then covered your face with a downy pillow. A huff of surprised laughter at your expense made you peep out and give the best glare that you could manage, yet the stranger just gave you a grin.

“I must say, yer lil’ reaction’s a bit different from a lotta other beings bein’ near a tiger. Name’s Taishiro.” To your utmost surprise, he let out a please little purr as he then turned back to the kettle. You gave him your name.

“So, why is a lil’ thing like yerself doin’ out in the middle of here?” He pondered, as if he already knew the answer, but for conversation’s sake, you enlightened him, watching his tail swish with annoyance at your parents, and ears flickering with interest as you explored the forest.

“What about you?” You turned to ask. His back stiffened a little, as if caught with surprise at the notion.

“Came from the east, lookin’ for a new start in life away from my parents. I knew that a lotta others would fear me, but I didn’t know that they’d avoid a whole forest ‘cause of me,” He then took a wooden bowl and ladle, dipping the curved spoon into the bubbling stew as he continued.

“-granted, I made some friends, even adopted some younglin’s. Strangers just usually don’t come ‘round here.” He finished, pouring the delicious smelling broth into the bowl, tucking a wooden spoon in it as he turned around.

It was an odd atmosphere, and you were pretty sure that you weren’t dreaming, but for your sake, you went along with it.

“Are you lonely?” You asked bluntly. He froze, and then gave an indigenous huff as he set the bowl down at the table closest to you. Ears flattened and tail swishing, at first you thought that you made him angry, but he avoided your curious stare as he looked rather nervous.

“Ye’re pretty wordy for somebody who jus’ woke up. Ya must be starvin’, here. T’s not much, but I figured that ya might be hungry.” He changed the subject as he gestured towards the bowl. Telling him your gratitude, you gripped it, lifted a spoonful of the soup, and took a sip. To your surprise, the sweet taste of carrots had mixed in heavenly with the starchy potatoes, crisp lettuce, and the slight bitter bite of spinach.

“It’s delicious.” You admitted truthfully, not missing the way his ears picked up at the compliment.

“Thanks to the trees blockin’ the cold, ‘s not hard to grow yer own food. I might be a predator, but I can live without meat.” He rambled, There was so much to say, and many questions left unanswered, but you knew that you were on borrowed time, until your natural cycle would bite back with a vengeance, later. He must have known it, too.

“The worried look on yer face is a dead giveaway, Hon. I never housed somebody in heat, before, but don’tcha worry ‘bout it. Ya can stay here fer a while, seein’ that a hurt ankle might take longer to heal. I ‘ave some friends that I can stay with.” He rambled, but you looked at him with pure confusion.

“You’re giving up your home temporarily? For a stranger?” You asked, baffled. At this, his tail swished, as if a little shy.

“Temporarily. I don’t know what yer plans are in the future, but the forest doesn’t belong to me, ya can hang around an’ have yer own place, within the depths. I couldn’t just leave somebody there, sufferin’ and the brink of death, anyways.” He murmured lowly, but you could hear it clearly. Warmth that wasn’t heat, clouded into your chest at such kindness from the stranger. He was a stranger, yes, but you felt as if you could trust him fully, giving that his actions of helping you and not asking for anything in return, had screamed volumes.

“Thank you, for everything.” You blurted out, and the corner of his lip twitched upward at your honest gratitude.

“Not a problem, Sweetheart.”

…………………….

He knew the dangers of housing a slick, hot-blooded omega rabbit, of all beings, had included. What he didn’t expect, was the general bluntness and forwardness of the little thing. Not as timid or shy, but generally open and forward with emotions. Being in the early stages of heat, right now the bunny was coherent, but he knew that it would only last for so long before the true, ugly nature of one’s natural heat cycle, took over.

“So, here’s what’s gonna happen, Hon. I’m going to stay far away. It’s fer your safety. I might prowl around my area and scent everything, keepin’ unwanted guests, away, but I’m not gonna barge in on yer privacy or be too close to the house.” He told you, laying out a plan. You nodded, setting the empty bowl aside as you listened closely.

“-believe it or not, I know somebody who could bring ya rations an’ talk with ya after yer heat spells. He’s a dwarf rabbit, an’ already mated to somebody who I see as a son of mine. Since he’s an omega, like yerself, he should be more immune to yer smell. Green hair an’ freckles, can’t miss’im.” Taishiro explained, and you listened with interest, seeing that you weren’t truly alone in your being as well as dynamic.

“Sorry that we won’t talk, much, but I thought that I’d best introduce myself ‘fore ya wake up alone and scared.”

“I’m not scared.” You admitted, and he huffed.

“Now, ye’re not, but if ya woke up alone an’ in a stranger’s house, ya would be.” He argued, and you let him win, seeing that you were too caught up in emotions, and just wanted to process everything. Noticing your state, he gave out a chuckle.

“Alright, I’ll see ya later, when yer heat’s over. Ya kinda intrigue me, a lil’ bit, so I’m hopin’ that ya might stay, a lil’ while longer after yer heat.” As soon as he admitted it, his ears flattened with embarrassment as he huffed out a sigh, the apples of his cheeks reddening as he swiftly turned around, opening the door, closing it swiftly behind him.

You bit your bottom lip. For an apex predator who was lethal as well as dangerous, he was almost as soft as a kitten, and you hoped that, at the very least, the two of you could be friends.

………………

You were weak, you huffed, panting out hot air as one of your hands gripped the pillow, harshly. Usually, you didn’t have a face, or a body in your images as you tried your best to sate the flash of hot emptiness. It has always been nothing but hot and drowsy images of the blurred shapes of your pillow and furs in the past, leaving you unsatisfied and on the brink of frustrated tears.

This time, you had kindle to feed that ever demanding fire of yours, licking sharply at the heels of your feet as you were on the brink of the edge. Smooth muscle, soft fat, warm amber irises, and that twinge of a smile, had pinned your focus. You felt guilty, but you couldn’t help it, nor could you think clearly of anything nor anybody else.

He was so friendly and helpful to you, and here you were, ruining his bedding and furs with your slick, fingers deep within you, wrist hurting from the desperate climb, but no full relief avail. Your body couldn’t had waited, as soon as he left with that calming scent, a spike had hit you in where it had hurt, the empty ache shooting up in full demand.

Where was this man? Your inner omega screamed, but you harshly shushed it, focusing on the edge, and how to clean the sheets, afterwords. In your blurred state, you knew that you had hardly knew him, but already, he was so far the perfect embodiment of what most beings had wanted in a partner. You admitted freely, that you were no different.

Letting out a small squeak within the bitten pillow, harsh relief shot through you, as you clenched on your fingers desperately, your body trembling and tears pooling from the corners of your eyes at finally, finding a sudden rush of relief.

You huffed, calming down from your euphoric high as you palmed your face against the pillow in which smelled exactly like him. You were in too deep, you couldn’t help but think, a little guilty for desecrating the hospitality by literally cumming onto his blankets with him in your mind.

……………………….

#Taishiro Toyomitsu #Fatgum #Fatgum x reader #Abo #Hybrid beings #Bunny reader #Tiger Tai #High-key copying my other works but hey I love this trope #I put up warnings #Celtic music does wonders to the imagination #They're like in a frozen medieval land idk #Smut #More details in next chapter

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moved-attre · 3 years

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Here is my review of Cyberpunk 2077! It is a bullet point list of what I liked, and did not like about the game. I mean no offense in my writing, and am, of course, willing to be educated if I am wrong about anything! But please do not send me anonymous hate. I know many fans and haters of this game can be very, uh... So take it all with a grain of salt, and form your own opinions.

This is very long and likely boring so if you manage to make it to the end, I will be very impressed! Also, I may ramble or repeat myself, sorry. There’s more bad points than good, since the game is very glitchy and I couldn’t not mention the glitches I have experienced.

Obviously, this contains major spoilers! 👁👄👁

I’ll start off by saying, this is a game where you will likely not get what you expected. If you expected Cyberpunk 2077 to be a game filled with features that were never before seen, to revolutionise the gaming industry as we know it and become the most iconic video game ever made... You will not get that. If you expected it to be the worst, most irredeemable video game ever created that you’ll hate... You will not get that, either. If you expected a game that is a fairly standard RPG with some impressive graphics when played on a high spec PC, albeit with some bad glitches and a wonky story with lots of potential, then you’ve got it!

Pros:

The majority of the voice acting, such as in V, Johnny and Viktor, was very good and emotional. Viktor in particular made me tear up! And the way V manages to sound almost like Johnny with the subtle accent change was amazing!

The character’s such as Takemura, Jackie, the LIs, Johnny, Viktor, Misty (I could go on) and even many random NPCs were interesting! I wanted to know them and loved their relevant missions. The best ones were unromanceable, of course, but that’s what imagination is for.

THE ALDECALDOS! I love them! A found family, and I wish there was more to do with them other than Panam’s missions and a few side missions. I love found family, and I’m disappointed V couldn’t form their own, so I’ll take what I can get and love the Aldecaldos, even if V can’t join them until the very end. Panam had the best missions of all the LI’s, even if the last one felt very abrupt. (At least, on her friendship route.)

Night City felt alive. There was always plenty going on, it felt like a real city, and it could be beautiful.

Jackie and Corpo V’s friendship was lovely. I loved their “To this!” inside joke, and I loved how Jackie roasted V but would jump to their defence in a second. It didn’t feel forced at all.

There’s lots of environmental storytelling. The atmosphere of a city choking to death under it’s own pollution/corruption was very apparent in the areas not lived in by the rich. Lots of homeless characters, violence, drugs, absolute poverty, trash (The dump! I felt sick just looking at it, and I couldn’t even smell it! Poor V, though.) and general apathy from a lot of the residents really sold the concept.

Johnny and V’s dynamic was the best part of the story! I hated him at first, but slowly came to enjoy his commentary and advice. His interactions with V were very funny at times, and thoughtful at other times. He was an interesting perspective for the player to consider, while still being an asshole you could dislike for much of the story. He has some really emotional scenes and I played a V that viewed him as a friend, so it was really nice hearing him call V the closest person he’d ever had. They became so devoted to each other! CDPR did good with this element, but I can’t help wishing for more. The dynamic had so much more to give, and a romance/happy ending could have worked.

And to add on, the mission where Johnny takes over V’s body to go on a bender was great! I loved all the moments to play as Johnny in V’s body. All the symbolism between them was so good. Every mission matters, and you can replay to look closer at details! He also comments on other side missions with no personal relevance to him, which was neat.

All the enemies had unique names. A minor detail, but it made me feel some guilt over killing them. 🤣 I think all character’s had unique names, which is such a nice detail.

The soundtrack was incredible, I loved every original piece and radio song. I have several saved on Spotify, which is big praise coming from me! I very rarely listen to video game soundtracks.

V can adopt a cat! 🐈‍⬛ It was adorable, and Johnny’s interaction with it made me tear up!

The size of the map was good, not too big or too small. I got about 100 hours of play in by exploring, which is pretty good to me! I got lost a few times, but always found something interesting to do in the meanwhile. I loved the Badlands especially.

Some of the side missions, particularly the more mysterious ones involving investigating deaths and the cyberpsychos, were very enjoyable! I’m a big slut for mystery, and there were some interesting cases to figure out. I wish we could’ve done missions like that with River, though, especially once he becomes a PI.

I was complaining about the lack of aliens in CP2077, but I suppose we did get a couple space themed missions which was pretty fun. I still want to go experience going into orbit, though. 👽 Or the moon!

Separating voice and body in the CC was a good idea, even if it was handled a little strangely. I’ll talk about this more in the ‘Cons’ section below!

Act 2 was my favorite part of the game, but it blended weirdly with Act 3 and that put me off. I am nostalgic for Act 1, but not eager to replay it because it felt so slow... I’m not sure on this point! I liked Act 2 because the story picked up and I was excited for more, but the more I got wasn’t as I expected. So, yes, Act 2 was good.

The scenery is very beautiful, and sometimes the outside lighting is absolutely perfect. The Arasaka parade mission was lovely to look at. I always stop the car and watch the sunrise/sunset, and I like going out to the Badlands to look at the stars!

An addition to that, is the lighting in some main quest missions. Very noir! It made for some beautiful screenshots. (Of which I sadly can’t share because my game doesn’t record well on medium settings. 😳)

The motorcycles are fun to drive! Mainly because I can zoom in between cars and Jackie’s motorcycle has a lot of sentimental value, as well as other vehicles like Johnny’s Porsche and Jake’s car. You can open the trunk to dump bodies in, which was a cool detail., and each one drives differently!

There could be amazing attention to detail, such as making Jackie look like his mother. I expected his mother to be a randomly generated NPC, but she was completely unique. It’s the minor things like that which stood out to me the most.

The scanner was a fun tool and very useful! I liked being able to find alternative ways to do a mission, it felt more realistic than the standard “massacre everybody, pick up an item and get out” fetch quests normally seen in RPGs. I could sneak in a tunnel or a side door! Perhaps irritating and unnecessary to some, but I liked it. I love utilising every possible option.

The interface color changes if you have Johnny controlling V’s body. Another small but good detail! The game is good with the minor details.

The sex scenes were not... awful. I expected much, much worse! I expected fully animated first person porn. Instead, I thought they were fairly realistic and intended to be romantic. Still very awkward, though, and unnecessary.

When they didn’t glitch, the animations were very good. Not as impressive as I hoped, probably because of glitches, but in line with other AAA games like Horizon Zero Dawn, I suppose? I noticed Judy’s animations in particular as being good, and Johnny had lots of unique ones too!

The clothing options are very fun, I like the holographic items and “Bitch” clothes, hehe. Also including Hijabs! 🧕 Great idea, and more games should do that.

The diversity of the NPCs was welcome. I enjoyed seeing Native American, Asian, Black and Latinx NPCs who weren’t there just to suffer! They would occupy important roles in the story, such as Fixers or friends/romance options for V, so they were pretty much unavoidable! It felt very natural, and they helped Night City feel more realistic.

Adding to that, the different cultures included were interesting too! I liked the Haitian characters in Pacifica.

The photo mode is pretty good. Not as good as I expected, the camera angle presets were useful but the filters weren’t very good. I liked that the photo mode could be used in cutscenes, though! It was standard, and I hope more bits will be added in for it.

A lot of the glitches are hilarious, but I recognise not all will share that opinion so I’m just adding this down here. The T-Posing NPCs are a highlight for me. Call that the Skyrim effect.

Cons:

No NB gender options/No pronoun options. Would they/them have been so difficult to implement?

No body or height sliders. There’s so many fat character’s in the game! Why can I not make my V fat? Or muscular?

Gender restrictive hairstyles and clothes. Come on, guys, it’s 2020/2077! Aren’t we beyond gender restrictive appearance options?

No tattoo parlours, no plastic surgeons and no hairstylists for V to change their appearance. I don’t understand why a CC was included at all, since we spent the majority of the game in first person. It reminded me of Far Cry.

The main story started off strong, albeit slow, picked up in Act 2, then felt very rushed in Act 3. The point of no return was very abrupt!

The celebrity cameos felt very gimmicky. The one exception to this is Keanu Reeves, who did a very good job as Johnny. Genuinely brought tears to my eyes at times... but Grimes was just embarrassing! Why was she there! A talented VA could have done Lizzy Wizzy much better, giving her actual emotions instead of just monotone “boredom”.

I don’t know what the point of owning apartments is. You can only sleep in V’s bed, what is the point of looking in the mirror? V has no use for their terminal in their apartment, they never get any messages after the first time they meet Johnny. It was so unnecessary, especially when there’s several across the map. I can access the stash of weapons and clothes from my car! Why would I ever need to go home? Judy gives me her apartment and I’m like, girl, I’m never visiting unless you have a mission to give me.

Also, there are no penalties for not showering or sleeping. I wanted character’s to comment on that! Call me stinky or tell me I look exhausted!

V doing side missions makes no sense, and no explanation is given for why we can do them. Why would V, who is dying and has precious few days left to live, be driving for hours on end to deliver packages and shoot random criminals? When they could be figuring out how to survive the biochip! Who the hell would care about a some extra money or buying every available car for sale, when they’re dying of something that could be preventable?

Some side missions were either very poorly done or obviously majorly glitched, since it felt like they skipped important parts and I was often very confused at the end of them! For example, the Corpo V side mission was so short! I expected to be able to hunt down Abernathy and get revenge for V and Jenkins, but instead, I shoot some random assistant I don’t even remember? And that’s it? Done in 2 minutes! If that! What is the point of that? I didn’t even have fun! Also, what happened to Garry? I wanted to save him but V just never follows up on it.

And, I wish we got closure with T-Bug. The fact that V never bothers to find her body and give her a proper burial was just poor form.

The endings were not... good. There are technically 6 different endings, all wrapped up into 3 parts. In my opinion, the best ending is the one where V kills themselves and has a very “Arthur Morgan watching his last sunset” vibe. It made me cry. Another good ending is having Johnny take over V’s body forever, as you can really see how much Johnny has changed as a person thanks to V’s influence. But they still felt very... eh and the story just never got that boost it needed, ending before it could take off. In the “best” ending, the Nomand ending with Panam, V ”survives” but has only another few months to live. So they die off screen. Satisfying? Uh, no. Not at all. There’s no possible ending where V has any hope of survival, but I much preferred being there with V until the very end. I disagree with the people calling Johnny’s ending the “bad” ending, because it really isn’t! I ignore all of this of course, and my V is living happily ever after.

I kind of hate that CP2077 has this illusion of options when some are clearly intended to be chosen more than others. Judy and Panam have the best endings in term of romance. Why bother with River and Kerry? Kerry is more of a fling than an actual romance, and is met very late in the game at a point where you can ignore him completely and just end the game, and River’s romance is so glitched that many people can’t even do it fully, and in every ending he dumps you, so it feels like none of it mattered to him despite him being the most “domestic” of the possible LI’s...

Takemura’s ending! He died in my playthrough, because the game didn’t tell me I could save him. That really annoyed me. Also, I recognise that V is in no place to lecture him, and there is some wisdom to his quote: “You speak against corporations yet offer no valid alternative.” But, Goro, bro... anything is better than fascist mega corporations keeping most of the city in absolute poverty, while waging devastating wars against other mega corporations? I wish we could have opened his eyes a little. There’s a good, even ground between Takemura believing Corps to be doing the best for humanity and Johnny being willing to kill 12k people for a revolution. This game went a little “capitalism is bad, but the alternative is worse!” at times, in my opinion. I wish more could have been done against the corporations, instead they just kind of... exist... in the background. And I know, “Realism! “ because we live with massive corporations like Amazon in our lives and can do fuck all about them but we’re not V. V is an absolute unit who survives death multiple times... I wish there had been two paths, like do Johnny’s path and work against the system or do Takemura’s path and work with the system? Sort of like The Witcher 2?

You know how in Saints Row, The Boss has homies they can call on for help? I wanted V to have homies to help them out in fights. It felt pointless building trust with the Fixers only to not have them help out at all with fights against the NCPD/Militech/Arasaka in their territories.

The stealth mechanics are not good. They are funny! But not very good. Often, It’s better to just attack and save yourself the trouble of sneaking only to get caught by a guard who can see through the back of his head.

The fact that you cannot get arrested and have someone bust you out of jail. Maybe RDR2 set my expectations too high, but I thought this would have been included.

I’ve read about the cut content, and I’m really disappointed they weren’t included in the game. Wall running would have been amazing! And the police hiring mercs to hunt V down? I would have loved to see it! 😔

Driving cars is terrible. Just awful. Sometimes, you crash. Other times you’re flung up into the air and break through the sky into the void, spinning for all eternity.

River’s glitched romance deserves a special mention. The relationship just drops off suddenly and you cannot interact with him properly again. It does not affect the main story at all, so you wonder, what was the point? The text messages also glitch and V will sent messages that you can’t control, leading to disappointing dialogue, like with Joss.

The romances in general were just not all that impressive. I was expecting something great, considering there was only 4 and thought they’d really affect the main story, but I’d only recommend Panam and Judy. I would have played the game just as well without romances, and they felt very unnecessary but I wanted to do one to get the most possible story content. I think we should all leave romances in RPG’s as the exception, not the norm. Some studio’s can do them well, other’s cannot. CDPR cannot, in my opinion...

Obviously the many glitches and bugs, several of which are game breaking. I usually have to reload a save at least once an hour, because an NPC won’t talk to me or I can’t move the mouse to select different dialogue options! Or my gun won’t equip, so I die.

The AI in general is very bad. Sometimes cars will stop in the middle of junctions for no reason, causing you to crash or mount the sidewalk to get past, meaning you’ll likely run someone down and get a police warrant. NPCs just walk from one end of the road and back again, over and over on a loop. It’s very creepy!

The lighting, mostly inside buildings. Everything is pitch black! Why does V not own a flashlight? The amount of enemies I’ve barrelled into and alerted because I couldn’t see is too much.

The lack of dialogue choice, it was less interactive than what I’d been told to expect. There was only two or three options, with one only ever rarely being unique to one of V’s three possible background choices and most will yield the same results with a few exceptions, like avoiding combat.

V’s personality is already decided by the game, and is not really customisable. Do not expect full control over your V’s personality, as they are very much a canon character and exist outside of your (limited) choices. I didn’t expect Baldur's Gate 3 levels of customisation, but I did expect something more like Dragon Age 2’s dialogue wheel? Nice, Sarcasm and Angry? You know?

Obviously, the seizure inducing scenes were very dangerous. I get a headache whenever I have to do a braindance, and I wish it was skippable!

Accessibility as a whole is very much an afterthought in this game, I think. The subtitles are in “speaking English”, so instead of: Hey, how are you? It’s: Heyyy, how’re ya? It is often difficult to understand, and sometimes I just couldn’t work out what was being said.

It’s nitpicky but I wanted to do a pacifist route and I realised you can’t, you need to kill certain character’s...

The main “villains” such as Yorinobu and Adam Smasher were very forgettable, and V had no personal stake in taking them out. I honestly forgot all about them. Takemura was talking about revenge and I’m like, who? Who are you talking about? Why are we kidnapping Hanako Arasaka, again? Johnny, why would I bother killing Adam Smasher? If they’d personally murdered Jackie, then yeah, I’d understand! But all V needs is to remove the chip and I don’t know... I just didn’t feel anything.

So, to summarise: I think CDPR were out of their depth. The long, very long, troubled development process was an indication of this before the game was even released, and the story I’ve experienced in the game is proof enough. I don’t think they knew what they wanted from this game, and as a result, we have a game that is honestly very confusing and frustrating with a story that always got close to gripping, but never quite makes it. All in all, I found this game to be pretty average. When the bugs are ironed out, I will think better of it. But as it stands, if I had to score it, I would give it a 6.5/10 or maybe 7/10. Good concept, somewhat misguided execution. The best part of the game was the Johnny/V dynamic, but I wasn’t satisfied with how it ended. They needed more time together! Anyway, it will be interesting to see what happens next.

#cp77 spoilers #cp77 critical #cyberpunk 2077 #I’ve already been vagued about a few times for my CP2077 opinions so I expect more to happen now I’m posting this hehe

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creatvresoftheniight · 3 years

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morrigan + jules. ( @wildhcartcd. )

Jules visiting Morrigan at work should not have been as much of a surprise as it was for the witch and really, she should have been expecting this return to form sooner rather than later. Though she couldn’t pin exactly when, at some point in their friendship the pair had settled into a comfortable routine of sharing what time they could spare around their lunch breaks together during the week, spending nearly all of it griping about their respective issues with their jobs and shooting silly looks at Gale when he could stand to participate or listen in on their conversations. Morrigan would always say that she was entirely convinced that Julie had it much worse than she ever would (how could one compare a theatre teacher’s woes to that of a surgical intern’s?) and she’d state as much too before barreling into her fifty third recount of her stint in the hospital when she’d been a child and how terribly awful she’d acted toward the staff; she’d always end the story by declaring that she’d promised never to act quite so insufferably again, and by that very same evening she’d have broken that vow.

Jules never seemed to mind, however, and perhaps that was why Morrigan looked forward to their discussions the way that she did.

Well. Not quite. To say that she ‘looked forward’ to any time she could spend with Jules Wright was a gross understatement at best. One she’d come to terms with a long while ago and one she’d become (for the most part) particularly good at playing down. No one else needed to know about the way Morrigan’s chest liked to collapse in on itself when she caught the barest glimpse of the youngest Wright, nor the way her skin seared to life at an accidental brush of the hand. No one else needed to know, though the witch so very badly worried that they would each time she smiled too wide in Julie’s presence or laughed too hard at one of her jokes or stared too long at the dimples carved into her cheeks. With that in mind there was no reason today would be any different.

Though she’d never say so Morrigan Flores still found herself shocked to see the she-wolf so readily out and about in public, specifically braving the Thunderdome that was the high school she worked at, given the ordeal she’d been through in the last seven months or so. Jules, Gale, Marlo and the uncle to the Wrights, whose name repeatedly slipped her mind, had been through it and had been gone long enough for the witch to start fearing the worst though she’d made a stubborn point of not allowing anyone else to see just how distressed the kidnappings had made her. The Averys and the Wrights had suffered more than she ever could have, no matter how close she claimed to be to two of the victims in particular. As a result, she’d told exactly no one about the flashes of dream and reality alike that had filtered into her mind whilst she had slept, quietly cursing her still juvenile psychic abilities each morning afterward. She’d done just the same when she’d accidentally made contact, brief though it had been, with Gale, both unable to provide any useful information and unsure if it had even been real or simply her own subconscious showing her what she had most wanted to see.

Her fruitless attempts to make the connection again had been convincing enough for the witch to accept that it had been the latter.

She supposed none of that really mattered now, with Jules standing in front of her, alive, breathing, and looking as unfairly perfect as all the Wright siblings tended to. “Julie,” she managed to force out after realising that she’d possibly let her stare linger a moment too long, voice soft and playful in contrast to the rough yells that travelled through the halls into the empty classroom they were standing in-- and to the rather harsh giggles that came from the doorway. The witch immediately sighed at the sound and fixed her sternest gaze on the younger faces that poked in through the doorway. While she certainly wasn’t the most intimidating creature, Morrigan had managed to pick up a few tricks here and there, and her stare had become intense enough to cause the three girls to shrink back slightly. “Emily, Nicole, and Harper. Why am I not surprised?”

Another giggle bounced off of the walls, before Nicole spoke, and the other two, emboldened, chimed in as well:

“We’re going to class, Miss Flores, promise!”

“Yeah! We just wanted to say hi, is all.”

“Right, we’re definitely going. We’ll say hi to Mr. Beringer and Mr. Wri--” At that point, Harper made sure to roughly elbow Emily in the stomach, effectively silencing her while Morrigan resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Well, I don’t imagine Mr. Beringer much likes his students being late, and I don’t imagine any of you can afford to take your time getting there without a hall pass. All three of you, go. Quickly, or you’ll end up with a week’s detention.”

Enthusiastic nods were traded, though Nicole couldn’t seem to hold back one last remark, glancing over at Jules and grinning slyly: “Have a good afternoon, Miss Flores.” And then they were gone, their laughter echoing.

Morrigan was fairly sure she’d never blushed as hard as she did following that comment.

Clearing her throat and anxiously reaching a hand up to card through her hair, the witch slipped out of her teacher persona, trying very hard to seem as unperturbed by her students taking every available opportunity they had to mess with her in regards to Jules as she assumed the Wright wolf would be. How they’d managed to figure it out, she’d never know. It wasn’t as if she’d been public about her affections for the other woman. Had she? No, surely not. No one else seemed to know and if they did, they hadn’t said anything. “Sorry. They’re still less than pleased to be back at school. I’m sure you remember what it was like for us.” Morrigan did her best to appear unaffected and cool as she sauntered around to lean on her elbows against the desk in the front of the classroom, lightly tapping the toe of her shoe against the carpeted floor as she drew in another breath to speak.

“Can’t say I was expecting a visit today. Missed me something fierce, did you?” It certainly wasn’t helping, the way she encouraged herself by engaging in strange, quasi-flirting, but it seemed like the only safe option. Too serious and she’d lose her mind, the dam would break and she would let all of her feelings spill out. Too casual and she’d lose it just the same, going mad in forgoing the closeness with Jules she so treasured. The in-between was hardly much better, mind, but it worked for the time being.

Deep down Morrigan knew there’d always be a small part of her that longed for the day when the other’d freely say that yes, she had missed her, and mean in the way the witch wished she would. It was the sort of silly fantasy she found herself entertaining when the nights got quiet and her phone would light up with a text from the she-wolf; those were the moments when she felt so painfully certain that what she wanted was more real than it seemed, that she wasn’t imagining things and Jules had been staring back, she had meant to brush her fingers over the small of her back, and her racing thoughts hadn’t been unfounded. It all seemed to make such perfect sense in her head.

Except, of course, for the glaring fact that Gale would sooner eat glass than allow his best friend to corrupt his little sister.

And Gods knew it hurt to admit but frankly, Morrigan agreed with him.

#「 windham — communication 」 » starters.#「 morrigan — communication 」 » starters.#「 morrigan — general 」 » morrigan flores.#「 morrigan — communication 」 » interactions.#「 windham — residents 」 » jules wright.

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thebibliosphere · 5 years

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What cleaning tips would you prioritize, for someone with dust/pollen/mold allergies? I bought a vogmask today in defiance of the seasonal pollen surge, and google has a lot of "do this, do that" to keep allergens down, but I can only do so much. How to you keep the balance between "destroy alllll the allergens" and "whoops I'm out of spoons and can't feed myself now"?

Vacuuming is my main priority in the house to keep on top of my extremely awful dust allergies. I need to vacuum every day or I’ll be having constant reactions, though unfortunately my illness means I don’t always have the spoons/energy to vacuum every day (and neither does ETD), which is actually why we bought our robot vacuum. We spent a long time saving up for our stronk robot daughter, and we love her. Not least of all because she helps keep my airways open.

Knowing how expensive that is though, I know it’s not an option for everyone, so here’s a way to combat your allergies and also give yourself some literal breathing space: if you live in a house with multiple rooms, pick one and turn it into your safe zone. Most folks choose the bedroom for obvious reasons. Try to keep the tops of any surfaces clutter free (something I fail at miserably but I’m working on) to make it easier for dusting—and always make sure to use a damp cloth to dust with so you’re not just sweeping it up into the air and into your lungs. Furniture polish isn’t necessary, and some folk find the scents irritating. Damp cloth to remove dust, and if it needs it, dry cloth to buff. Try to keep paper books in the bedroom down to a minimum as well as the pages attract dust and if you’re not able to dust your books regularly, mold spores can form. E-readers are ideal for folk with serious dust and mold spore allergies for this reason.

Also try to make a point of vacuuming that room once a day, or once every second day if you can. If you’ve got long drapes in the bedroom (like we do, rip) you will also need to try and vacuum them once every month or so if your allergies are bad. A better option for many folk with asthma and dust allergies is roll down linen blinds that can be wiped down with a damp cloth every now and then.

Pay attention to the corners and skirting board too and try to get them while dusting with the damp cloth. Or use an attachment on your vacuum. I usually do this once a week when I’m also doing the bed linenes, which is also a big thing for dust allergies, so make sure to wash your bed linen at least once a week. Skin and dust gets trapped very easily in bedding and dustmites love that. Washing them on a hot setting should kill any dust mites that tried to make it their home. Tumble drying also kills the little feckers.

Also if you can? Absolutely invest in a hepa air filter for that room and just leave it running 24/7, and make sure it’s one you can change the filter on/have access to clean it. It’s amazing what a difference it can make to the air quality, especially if you leave the door shut. Walking into our bedroom for me at night is akin to walking into an oxygen tank from how much more breathable the air is compared to the rest of the house. A reputable air purifier with a hepa filter will run from anywhere between $40 to $300+ Go by square space purified by size in relation to your room, not necessarily by price. The one I have in my bedroom is a PureZone and I think it was $99. I’ve had it for a year and only just now had to change the filter on it.

Also if you have a rotating blade fan, either ceiling or floor stand, make sure you clean the blades regularly. Those things are the devil for spreading dust around.

If your vacuum cleaner is a trigger, like mines is cause it’s a canister one that blows dust up into the air while in use and when emptying, you may also want to look into a water filter vacuum, which is something I am actually doing. The way it works is instead of using an air filter, the dust is sucked up and captured by a water filtration system that turns the dust into, well, sludge. When it needs changed you empty the dirty water out and fill it up again, kinda like a steam cleaner that doesn’t steam or get hot, but very effective at eliminating any chances of dust becoming airborne during use or maintenance.

Steam mops are also a good thing to have for things like hardwood or vinyl/tile where dust residue can linger even if you can’t see it. I have a LIGHT ‘N’ EASYsteam mop that comes with a detachable nozzle thingy for steam cleaning things like the couch, so you can kill any dust mites that might be inhabiting soft fabric surfaces. You can also buy a carpet/rug attachment for the mop head, so you can also treat the carpet to a dust mite killer steam treatment, without actually getting your rug/carpet wet or damaged. I love mine, and I use it for a lot of cleaning tasks that would otherwise require a lot of elbow grease that wears me out easily, such as say, cleaning the grout on the bathroom tiles where mold can build up and become a problem.

Also just as a more general tip if you have central air for heating or air con, and you are the person in control of the furnace, make sure you’re swapping the air filter out on it once a month. Don’t bother with the fancy $30+ allergy ones there’s no proof they work any better than buying 12 cheap ones at $3 a pop and changing it out every month. In fact the dude who services our furnace told us that the allergy filters are actually too fine for most furnaces and can cause air clogging issues. Swapping out a cheap $2 filter once a month is far better for both your wallet and your furnace. Also consider having your vents professionally cleaned in the spring and fall. We found out we had a lot of dust and mold in our vents when we first moved in and it absolutely caused havoc with my allergies till we just sucked it up (no pun intended) and paid a company to come shove a giant vacuum into the vents and get rid of it. I think we were about $250 for a full vent system clean. It was amazing how drastically it changed the air quality in the house after we got it done. Which reminds me, I need to call and get the air vents cleaned.

So yeah, how to survive with allergies and not use up all your spoons? Keep one space and make that your priority. And for days when keeping on top of things is too hard, air purifiers are your friend and well worth the investment. Also this may seem obvious? But don’t wear outside clothes to bed. I know some folk who when they come home just face plant on top of the covers still in their clothes, but this tracks outside dust and pollen into the space. Always change from outside clothes to indoor clothes before face planting on the bed. Also during peak pollen season? Try to shower before getting into bed so you don’t accidentally track pollen into your bed sheets. I know it’s not always possible, but it does help.

If you’re like me and you have a lot of clutter and shit and are currently staring round your room in dismay, don’t worry about doing it all at once. I’ve been slowly decluttering and allergy proofing our bedroom for a year. Any little bit of progress you can make toward creating yourself a safe zone is progress and you will reap the benefits of it. As for the rest of the house? Same rules apply. Take your time with it and maybe try to assess high areas of clutter that may be a source for dust and mold spores to form. For us we’re about to start looking into getting book cases with glass doors on them to try and cut down on how often we have to dust the dragon hoard of books in the corner. It’ll probably take us another six months, but that’s also six months of time for me to sort through the pile and give some books into charity or the second hand store.

Anyway. I hope some of this was helpful, and I’m sure others will have some great ideas in the notes. Just remember that some progress is better than no progress and you don’t have to do it all at once, and there’s things you can invest in to help. Good luck! And remember, Oppy the Not-A-Roomba is rooting for you, and so am I!

#chronic health tag #disability #life hacks #life with allergies #how to clean with allergies #queued post

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daffodilsssss · 4 years

Text

The Last Thing I Do

Summary: Yeri loves Joy, Lucas loves being loved and Mark loves his life just the way it is right now.

But nothing can ever stay the same forever. So if you had to choose, would you rather risk everything you thought you needed, to try all the things you never thought you would be able to do? Would you try to do something you never thought was possible?

A/N: Hey so this is my first fancfiction. Cross posted on AO3 (this is my backup basically). Trying to post weekly but don’t hold me to it.

AO3

Chapter index:

Chapter 1

Summer in New York is different. It’s just different from anywhere else on Earth.

I mean, that’s a bit of an obvious observation. Literally no two places are exactly the same, and New York is definitely one of the most unique places in the world no matter the weather. But there is a certain beauty in the oppressive humidity summer brings. The world becomes weightier, people move slower, time seems to congeal, and moments last much longer than they should. Summer is the season of innocence, of childhood, of beach parties and bonfires. The heat feels live a warm hug from a parent, or an arm thrown over your mid-section as you lie, now awake in bed.

Yeri stares at the slanting light filtering in through the blinds as Joy softly snores beside her ear. These were the moments she wished could go on forever. Just her and Joy, blissfully co-existing. No responsibilities, no past, no future, just the perfect now.

She could hear shuffling and chatter in the hallway now. Laughter and more footsteps in the kitchen before the switch of the radio being turned on and some overplayed Top 40’s hit instantaneously blasting through the apartment.

“Who’s gonna wake them up today?” she heard Seulgi sigh as her spoon clinked against her cereal bowl. Light but trudging footsteps approached the door before a loud knock reverberated off the hardwood.

“Hey, Squirtle, Bigfoot. Get up already!” Wendy shouted through the door.

Joy’s breathing stilled, before she rolled over on her back groaning. “We’re coming!” She replied. Yeri turned over onto her other side to face her now.

“God, I hate that song.” Joy said, bringing her hands to rub her face as she gradually regained consciousness.

“Good morning to you too, I guess.” Yeri lightheartedly snorted.

“Good morning,” Joy placed a kiss to her cheek. “Sleep well?”

“I always sleep well when I’m with you,” Yeri stood up from the bed. “We should seriously get up now though.” Joy groaned and rolled over onto her side as Yeri opened the blinds fully now, peering down onto the miniature-sized people visible from their penthouse view. “Fine, I’m getting up. You get breakfast I'll be out in a minute.” Yeri smiled again as she walked into the hallway.

Irene was standing by the coffeemaker scrolling through her phone and Seulgi seemed completely absorbed in her breakfast sitting on the island.

“Good morning, hags.”

“Good morning problem child.” Irene called back, not looking up from her phone.

“Wendy’s in the shower and me and Irene are next.” Seulgi said through mouthfuls of overpriced Whole-Foods granola.

“Cool. What’s with the cereal I thought you were starting a diet today?”

“When’s the last time you met a person that got fat off eating muesli?”

“Granola.”

“Muesli, there’s a difference.”

“Granola, and no there’s not.”

“There is, muesli is healthier for you.” Seulgi said through another spoonful of mushy grains.

“Oh! Ok so one is pretentious and one isn’t.”

“Guys, it’s way too early to put whiskey in my coffee right now so could you both do me a solid and shut the hell up for 20 minutes?” Irene said finally looking up from her phone.

Yeri sat down at the island, grabbing a bowl and Seulgi’s box of cereal. A new song began playing through the room as the door to the bathroom squeaked open and Seulgi scarfed the last of her food before rushing to take her place.

“Hey,” Wendy said walking through the kitchen still drying her hair. “what’s on the agenda today?”

“Nothing much,” Irene took a sip from her coffee as she leaned over the counter. “Taeyong needs people for a job on Friday but other than that there doesn’t seem to be anything else going on.”

“Ooh, intriguing,” Wendy half-spoke into the fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice. “who’s going?”

“Looks like it’s all hands on deck,” Irene hummed, opening the message in question. “Just us and 127.” She explained. “Oh, except for baby.”

Yeri let out some mixture between a groan and a sigh. “Seriously? Why do they keep treating me like a child? I’m 21. I’m older than Haechan for Christ’s sake.”

“Calm down Sappho,” Wendy deadpanned. “No one treats you like a baby, you’re a hacker. There’s no reason for you to go on these missions.”

“Who the hell is Sappho?” Yeri raised her eyebrow towards the blonde.

“She was this famous lesbian poet in Ancient Greece, didn’t you learn about her in school?”

“Well Wendy I don’t know how to break this to you,” Yeri’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “but I’m actually a high school drop-out.”

Wendy simply shrugged, popping a slice of bread in the toaster. “Fair enough. I could’ve sworn I learned about her in sophomore year though.”

“Aw, looks like your mind’s starting to go grandma.” A high-pitched melodic voice rang out through the hall.

“Oh my God! She’s returned from the grave!” Wendy raised her arms in mock horror as Joy stepped into the room. A now accustomed warmth began forming in Yeri’s stomach as she glanced at the still disheveled Joy, unconsciously tugging her lips upwards at the sight. There were a lot of things that were weird about Yeri and Joy’s relationship, too many to discuss in a single sitting with any therapist. But sometimes it would hit Yeri, at the most random of moments, just how much she really loved her. Like this morning, her long and usually sleek black hair was currently pointing at different angles, and her cheeks were still red and swollen from sleep. But still, Joy made butterflies form in Yeri’s stomach like it was there first-time meeting. (Well, actually maybe not their first-time meeting specifically. As that moment had been tinged with fear and self-hatred. But certainly like butterflies that form in that new, perfect glow of a budding relationship.)

Yeri had never really been in love until she met Joy, but she was almost certain she could never love anyone more than she loved her. Statistically speaking, only a fraction of a fraction of high-school sweethearts stay together in the long run, but that had never fazed her. Statistically speaking, only a fraction of a fraction of all people are involved with an international Korean organized crime syndicate, and yet here they were. Joy was Yeri’s reason to get up in the morning, her reason to go to sleep at night. Of course, she loved the rest of the girls, they were closer and more caring to her than her parents had ever been. But Joy was the real sun Yeri’s Earth revolved around.

“Kinda hard to sleep after your delightful wake-up call Seungwan.” Joy said reaching for a glass and the near-empty carton of juice.

“Oh? Would you rather we removed the door to your room altogether?” Wendy chuckled.

“Ah yes, I'm sure you’d love that Wendy,” Joy’s voice turning low and seductive. “But you don’t have to try that hard, if you wanted to watch us then you could’ve just asked.”

“Straight girl seduced by sexy lesbians,” Yeri laughed. “sounds like the title of a PornHub video!”

“One day!” Irene suddenly interrupted. “All I ask for is one day without anyone talking about their sex lives while we’re eating! Why is that so hard to ask?”

Seulgi existed the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Irene leaving the trio in the kitchen in their own again.

“Look, just start getting dressed already. We’re leaving in an hour.”

Denial is funny. Honestly, it’s probably one of, if not the most ironic emotion.

Because on some subconscious level you know that you’re lying to yourself. And because you know what you’re doing is wrong, your actions change. You tell yourself over and over everything is fine, thinking you can ignore your problems out of existence. Driving past the exit signs you see because you don’t really believe in that upcoming cliff. And at the same time, you doubt your whole reality. “Is this real or am I overreacting?”, “Are they ignoring me or are they just not in the mood for talking?”, “Are we becoming closer or are we actually drifting apart?”.

Sometimes, in a relationship, people begin to grow apart. This can be one person’s fault, maybe both, maybe neither. Maybe the place you were, whether it was physical or mental, just doesn’t exist anymore. And you just can’t make your relationship work anymore. It’s fundamentally broken.

The drive to SM’s New York building had been uncomfortably quiet again. Joy’s hands were locked in a vice grip on the steering wheel. Her face in an impassive, disinterested glare at the road. The silence in the car weighed heavily on Yeri’s shoulders. It had been like this between the two of them for a while now. When they were both alone and awake, they didn’t speak as often. Overbearing, it didn’t let her relax. The uncomfortable tension between the two of them was suffocating, like smog. Conversation never really broke it, sex didn’t either. But it was one of the only ways she felt she could really make Joy happy these days. Her naturally vibrant and humorous personality seemed to disappear when it was just the two of them. One minute she would be laughing and friendly and only a few minutes later she would be terse, everything Yeri did seeming to annoy her in tiny but apparent ways.

Yeri knew that the better option here was to confront Joy about these issues. But she couldn’t work up the nerve to ask her. Acknowledging their problems, shattering the illusion that everything was ok had never worked out in the past. When Joy would hide the messages on her phone from Yeri, promising to her that she had only slept with someone for work purposes. Telling Yeri she was the most important person in the world, only to ignore her for days afterwards. Saying she was beautiful only to criticise every aspect of her appearance in excruciating detail. Sure, Joy had faults. But that didn’t mean she was a bad person. Yeri knew the real Joy, behind the constantly happy facade. The one whose parents always told her she was a disappointment, who escaped a conversion camp in her teens, who took a scared, friendless girl under her wing and gave her a new life.

Yeri was a tumor slowly killing Joy’s spirit. It was painful to think about, but it was the truth. Yeri was never good enough for Joy, and she knew this. To bring their problems to the forefront risked Joy coming to the realization that she didn’t want Yeri. And that would, as far as Yeri was concerned, be a fate worse than death.

So here they were again, outside the glass walls to the lobby of their grey-bricked office. The building stood so tall that looking up from Yeri’s eye level the building seemed to stretch directly into the sky.

“Bye,” Yeri hesitated. “Love you!” she called out again as Joy continued on unfazed to her section inside the building. Getting on an elevator several floors up Yeri moved through the same set of hallways to her desk in the I.T department. Logging into her computer, about the take another look at the schematics of a new bomb 127 were planning on using to break open a safe, when a fluffy mop of dark hair suddenly came into her eyeline.

“Morning Yeri,” Jungwoo said. “Taeyong said he needs to see you.”

Yeri paused for a moment in confusion. “Taeyong? Like right now?” It was barely 8 o’clock, work had just started.

“Apparently,” Jungwoo said, taking a seat across from her in his cubicle. “He said it was urgent.”

Yeri stood up and began walking towards Taeyong’s office. Taeyong was the leader of NCT’s 127 unit and was the only member with a private room. Taeyong himself, despite his job position, was without doubt one of the least threatening people in the world. But past experience had proved that Taeyong never asked for a private audience to deliver good news.

Yeri’s stomach began to twist in knots as the knocked on the door to Taeyong’s office. Pushing the door open when she heard a faint “Come in.”

Taeyong was sat in his chair, posture ramrod straight and hands folded diplomatically in front of him. There were two chairs facing him, the one on the right already pre-occupied by a tall head of slick-backed hair.

“Good morning Yerim, please take a seat.” Taeyong said through tight lips. Now that she was sitting next to him Yeri could remember meeting this other man before. He was gigantic, maybe several years older than her but still had a boyish face, brown hair combed back with gel and dressed in a well-fitted suit. He must take pride in his appearance.

“You two have met each other before? I assume.” Taeyong said. “Yeri this is Wong Yukei, alias Lucas. He’s in the China-based unit of NCT, WayV.”

“Nice to meet you.” Lucas said extending his hand for Yeri which she shook.

“And Lucas this is Kim Yerim, alias Yeri. She’s a member of SM’s ‘Red Velvet’ Specialised Foces team.”

Lucas’s eyes seemed to light up in acknowledgment of Yeri’s position. “Wait, you’re a member of Red Velvet? I thought there was only 4 members! How old are you?” Clearly his looks were well-suited to his childish personality if interrupting Taeyong was anything to go off. Though the low baritone of his voice was completely mismatched to the whimsical cadence at which he spoke.

“I’m 21 and I’ve been a member since 2015, I work mostly in the hacking and mechanics field, so I don’t go on missions often.” Yeri said.

“Actually, I’ve called you both here today to discuss your positions in your respective groups.” Taeyong said, clearing his throat. “I’ve been informed by my superiors that you’ve both been chosen to move up from your current stations into more, permanent features of your units.”

Yeri’s breath stilled in her chest, eyes widening in shock and elation, a quick glance at Lucas showed a reflection of her own emotions on his face too. For years, Yeri’s future in SM had remained uncertain. It took a long time to build up trust within an organized crime company, even with a friend on the inside. And while Yeri was by all means satisfied with her current job with the I.T crew she knew that she was just a cog in the machine. Easily disposable if she ever got too loose-lipped. ‘Permanent’ in SM meant you were acknowledged for your skill and importance. You could always rely on your fellow co-workers to have your back if things ever went to shit. It was a policy better than any 401k and it was never guaranteed and it was fucking hard to get and it was right in front of her right now.

“Of course, this move is conditional,” Taeyong said. “You’ve both been trained in firearm use, and Lucas your accuracy as an assassin is greatly admired by your superiors.” Taeyong paused briefly looking at them both before sucking in a deep breath.

“So, you have both been tasked with assassinating Mark Lee.”

There was a beat of silence in the room. Taeyong’s lips were set in an emotionless, straight line. The shock didn’t resonate in Yeri’s mind. Nothing did. Her head felt empty, she didn’t even look t Lucas to gauge his reaction. All she could do was stare into Taeyong’s deep brown eyes. Searching for any emotional reaction from him.

“Unfortunately the task is not optional.” Taeyong said. “Mark has been told to meet you both in a private location at 7pm tomorrow. You will both be given a handgun and a bulletproof vest, as is standard. You will use these to kill him. Once he is dead you will each have to cut off one of his fingers so we can verify his identity. After this, Yeri,” Taeyong looked at her directly. “you will activate a bomb which is to be detonated several minutes later. If all goes according to plan the bomb should destroy all evidence of the assassination. You are to return to headquarters immediately, with the fingers, and then you can officially be welcomed into your permanent position as a member of SM. Are there any queations?” his voice was neither malicious nor regretful. He sounded composed, business-like. Not at all like he had just given a detailed account of how his two co-workers were going to murder a member of his own unit.

“Why are we both being asked to kill him?” Lucas said. “Assassinations are nearly always safer with just one person.” Yeri looked at him now, his eyebrows were knit together in what seemed like confusion. This oddly enough did relax her slightly; this abrupt assassination didn’t appear to be desirable to him either.

“Well firstly, you’ve both proven yourselves to be totally loyal to SM in the past,” Taeyong said. “but the main reason you’ve both been asked to ‘take care’ of this person in particular, is because you both have an emotional attachment to this person.” He stood up from his desk, circling his juniors in a slow pace. Keeping as much eye contact as possible with them. Taeyong had never intimidated Yeri in the past. He had only ever been kind and friendly to her, even in the workplace. Even at work, he always looked after her like an older brother. And despite their current circumstances she could still feel a calming aura radiating out of him.

“The reason permanent positions are so scarce is that the opportunity to become one doesn’t present itself often. Both of you trained together with Mark Lee,” Yeri winced at the mention of Mark’s name. “and it has been decided that he has become too much of a liability to keep anymore.” Taeyong sat back down in his seat before opening a drawer and pulling out two brown envelopes and placing them in front of Yeri and Lucas.

“Those are your instructions, memorize them.” Taeyong looked at them both again.

“I want to be clear with you two,” He said. “There is no option to refuse this assignment.” Yeri glanced at Lucas again, for the first time he was looking at her as well. “You’ve worked hard to get where you are now, this is the ultimate test of your loyalty to your fellow members. But I have faith you will both come out the other side.” Yeri’s throat went dry, a painful throbbing stated pulsing from her temples.

“So, do you both agree to it?” Taeyong said.

Kill Mark Lee or die? Mark Lee or you. Yeri had 1 second to choose the most important decision of her life.

“Yes.” Lucas replied, releasing a soft breath of air. Mark Lee or die? Mark Lee or die? The question began repeating in Yeri’s mind incessantly. She realized they were both watching her now. She had to decide.

“Yes.”

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love-and-monsters · 5 years

Text

Alien Encounter Pt. 2: Taste Testing

Here is part two! Posted a day earlier than expected because I finished a day earlier than expected. Hope you enjoy!

Seven days. I had guessed that it would be around four days for a rescue team to come get me. It had been a week. And there was nothing.

No transmission, no lights in the sky, nothing. Not even a signal of some kind that they were looking for me. Not, I supposed, that there were many ways for them to get a signal to me without my ship. But that was not the most pressing concern in my mind. The more pressing concern was that I was slowly starving to death.

“Don’t eat alien food” was one of the first lessons drilled in emergency training. There was almost no way to tell what was safe and what wasn’t. Food that once species could eat with no trouble could kill another in minutes. Humans were a pretty hardy and adaptable species, but even we could easily be offed by eating the wrong berry.

I had some food. I’d grabbed some nutrient bars, a standard space ration, before I’d left the ship. Three bars a day provided enough calories and nutrients for the average human. I was a little smaller than most people, if also a little stockier, so I estimated that about two bars a day would be enough for me. Before leaving the ship, I’d only managed to grab sixteen.

Sixteen bars. Eight days. I’d cut down on the bars after the fifth day, but even with only one bar a day, I still had only four days worth of food left. Four days and I would need to start taking some serious risks.

There was a clicking, scratching noise as Valain scrambled back into the house. I turned my head toward him as he entered.

“How are you doing today?” he asked, swinging his bag off his shoulders and placing it on the ground.

“Fine. Relatively speaking.”

Valain glanced at me, ears pinning back against his head. “How fine, relatively speaking?”

I sighed. “I had one of the bars. I can maybe deal with eating only half another one today.”

“How long do you think you can survive on those bars?” Valain asked. I rubbed my hand over my face. The question was persistent, almost daily. He seemed to believe that if he just kept asking, the answer would change.

“I don’t know,” I said. “If I go down to one bar a day, I have a little less than four days before I run out entirely. Half a bar a day and I have like, seven days. After that, I have, I don’t know. Little less than a month?” Valain frowned, tail twitching. “Uh, that’s about thirty days.”

“Oh.” Valain sighed. “That’s not too bad.”

I cut my eyes at him. “If I’m here for more than a month, I’m probably going to die here. There’s not a rescue coming at that point.”

Valain’s tail drooped. “Oh. No.” He chewed on his lower lip with his pointed teeth. “It has only been seven days. I’m certain they’re coming for you.” He gave me a hopeful smile.

“Mmm,” I grunted. “Sure.”

“Don’t give up,” Valain encouraged. He crept closer to me, flicking his tail out against my leg in what I guessed was a comforting gesture.

“I haven’t given up. There’s just not much I can do.” I glanced at him as he padded across the floor. “How was your patrol?”

“Nothing exciting. I saw one of the other guards.”

“Really?” Valain had explained to me the guard system. Apparently there were eight towers around a large city-state, four for the cardinal directions and four for the ones between. Each guard needed to patrol the spaces on either side of their tower to ensure that there was no trouble, from animals, enemy soldiers, or what-have-you. Sometimes, the guards crossed paths, but more often it was a solitary job.

“It’s not unusual to see other guards. We didn’t talk much, just exchanged some hellos. I asked him if he’d seen anything unusual in the sky.” Valain’s ears drooped. “He, ah, said he hadn’t seen anything.”

I returned my gaze to the ceiling. “Yeah, well. That’s kind of what I was expecting.”

“I’m sorry,” Valain said. “Is there anything I can get you? Maybe some water?”

Water, at least, was fine. Valain’s water was boiled and filtered, which removed pretty much all the pathogens and microscopic creature that could kill me. I was grateful for that small mercy. “Yeah, water would be nice.”

Valain took a cup from one of his cabinets and filled it from a spigot on the wall. He’d explained to me how electricity and water were carried up through metal pipes attached to the trees. It was a fairly clever system, I had to admit. They utilized the trees well.

“Here.” He pressed the water into my hands. My fingers trembled around the glass. I’d grown unusually shaky within the last few days. Low blood sugar, I assumed.

I sipped the water slowly. My stomach snarled, grinding against my insides. I was hungry, so damn hungry. Valain began to empty his pack, pulling out small piles of fruits and berries he’d foraged from the surrounding area. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from them. My mouth watered.

Valain caught my eye and followed it to the food. A look of guilt crossed his face. “Sorry,” he murmured, shifting to block my view. I turned my head away.

“It’s not your fault,” I said. Valain sighed, tail twitching as he looked between me and the pile of food.

“Did you have more food on your ship?” he asked. I nodded. “M-maybe we could try to dig it up?”

“Maybe. Except I don’t remember where I crashed and there’s no way to find it now,” I said. Valain’s tail and ears drooped. “The only thing we can do now is wait.”

And wait we did. For five more days, we waited. After the second day, I dropped to half a bar a day, but my supply still exhausted itself far too quick. I was running out of food and of time.

Things hit a head when I stood up and simply blacked out. I came to on the floor, with Valain holding a cool compress to my head. “Hold still,” he said, when I attempted to sit up. “You nearly hit your head.”

I groaned. My head spun and I could feel the awful, queasy pain of hunger stretching through my body. It felt like someone had hollowed out my middle, leaving a yawning chasm inside me. “I can’t do this shit anymore.”

Valian’s ears flattened against his head and his eyes widened. “Pardon?”

I propped myself up on my elbows. “We’re going to have to start taking some risks.”

He bristled, or at least did something similar. The fins along his head stood straight up and his ears pinned to his head. His tail snapped back and forth across the ground. “What? You can’t!”

“We’re running out of choices and food,” I said.

“You said you could live up to thirty days without food,” Valain said. “Someone could come in that time. You told me you could die if you ate food here.”

“Maybe. I could maybe die. There’s a chance that I won’t.”

“That’s too much of a risk!” Valain’s voice lifted in pitch, straining under stress. “You could wait until your ship comes-”

“If my ship comes, which is looking less and less like a real possibility at this point. Look, if I wait the thirty days before trying any of your food and I have a bad reaction, I will die. Even with the medicine that I have, I’ll be too weak and starving to survive it.” I locked eyes with Valain, staring him down. He quailed under my gaze, looking down at the floor. “This is the best shot we’ve got.”

Valain hissed, ears and tail twitching wildly. “This is a bad idea!”

“I know it’s a bad idea, but we’re between two bad decisions right now. I know that you want to be passive about this, but I need to do something or I am going to go stark raving mad here!”

There was a long moment of silence. Valain crouched on the floor, tail curling around his legs. I slumped back against the wall, panting. My head spun a little from the exertion of yelling.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked. “Really, really sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Valain nodded. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

It took a little time for Valain to gather up the different kinds of food he had stored in his house. The selection wasn’t terribly wide. “Guards are supposed to gather their own food,” he said. “We’re supposed to live separate from society, on our own. It’s like a test. So all I have is what I could find in season.”

Most of the food was plant-based, though I couldn’t tell if they were fruits or vegetables, or if those distinctions even meant anything on this planet. There were a few hunks of meat too, but given that two were tinged with purple and the other was a strangely rusty red color, I decided to avoid them.

I spread my own stash out in front of me, consisting of four capped syringes and a bottle of twenty pills. “Okay, this is important,” I said. “Listen carefully, all right?” Valain nodded. “These syringes are for allergic reactions. They’ll stop one dead. If I start getting red blotches on my body and I start gasping for air, then you stick me with one of these, fast as you can, got it?” He nodded. “Good. These pills are emetics. They’ll make me vomit. If I start getting really sick after eating something and the shots don’t work, give me the emetic. It’ll make me vomit. Hopefully, that’ll get whatever’s making me sick out of my system and I’ll recover.”

“But you don’t know for sure?” Valain said.

“This is kind of trial and error. These are the only things I have that might work. It’s the best shot we have.”

Valain stared down at the medication, then glanced back up at me. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

I frowned. “Come on. You said you had medical training.”

“Yes!” Valain yelped, throwing his hands up. “I have some basic medical training using medication I am actually somewhat familiar with on my own species! Not emergency medical training for a completely alien species!” His voice trembled. “I can’t do this!”

“You have to. I need you to do this for me.” Valain gave a low groan, covering his face with his hands.

“No. No! What if you die?” He struck me with a look so pitiful it knocked my off-balance. “I don’t want you to die!”

“I don’t want to die either, but we don’t have a ton of options here.” I sighed. “It’s been almost ten days. The ship… I don’t think it’s coming.”

“You don’t know that,” Valain said. I bit down on my lower lip to stop it from trembling and took a deep breath. My eyes stung with tears. Valain blinked at me, hackles lowering. “What is it?”

“I don’t know that the ship’s not coming,” I said. My voice was only just barely steady. “But I have a damn good guess that it isn’t.”

Valain stared at me. “Why?”

I sucked in a deep, slow breath, forcing down the lump that had formed in my throat. “So, there could be a few reasons the ship would be delayed. One is that they’re having trouble scrambling a team for whatever reason, but that would have only lasted a few days. The other issue could be that they’re having trouble finding my personal signal on the planet, but that should have been resolved by signal fire. They flash a morse code in the sky and I can flash a signal back to tell them where I am. But neither of us have seen anything like that, so it’s not that one. Which leaves only two other options.”

There was silence for a moment. Valain stared at me. “Those are what?”

I took another slow, deep breath. I had managed to successfully crush back the threat of tears, leaving my voice emotionless and hollow. “Option one is that the distress signal never fired off. That means that no one knows where I am or what happened. There is almost no chance of a rescue at that point. People just don’t have the resources to scour all of space to find out where I went.”

Valain swallowed. “Ah. And the other option?”

“Option two is, uh.” I hesitated. “So, uh, I told you what my job is, right?”

He nodded. “Courier.”

“Right. I do deliveries for really rich people. They pay a lot for a speedy delivery… and for discretion.”

Valain’s eyes narrowed. “Discretion,” he repeated. “That’s a very nice way of saying you smuggle.”

“Look, it’s not technically illegal,” I said. “It’s just a teeny tiny bit underhanded. Just a little.” Valain’s eyes narrowed further. “It was a job and it paid well, all right? Most of the stuff I delivered was above board, it’s just that there were a few times where maybe a family ordered something and I was just kind of supposed to not look too close.”

Valain glared. “What kind of stuff were you not supposed to be looking at?”

“Not, you know, weapons or anything really illegal. Mostly controlled substances that you’re supposed to pay fees on for interplanetary shipping, or you can’t have more than a certain amount. Stuff the company could always have a little wiggle room for plausible deniability. The last package I delivered was supposed to be some kind of plant, a fungus that grows on a planet a long ways away from here. They produce spores that can be synthesized into a really nasty drug, but I’ve heard it gives you an amazing high. Works on almost every species too, which is rare. Anyway, the fungus is also a really good material to make durable, waterproof fabric out of, so people still sell it, but it’s supposed to be sterilized. Made so it can’t produce any more spores and people can’t breed it and get spores from those new plants. But, uh, the shipment I brought in… well, it’s hard to tell for sure, but I think these ones might have been the unsterilized variety.”

“You smuggled space drugs,” Valain said faintly.

“I smuggled plants. If someone else makes drugs out of them, that’s not my fault,” I snapped back. Valain’s glare told me he didn’t agree, but he just shook his head.

“What does that have to do with how you ended up here?”

“Okay, so, the people who sell the drugs are a part of a very rich, very powerful family. And there’s a solid chance that, if they know that I knew what they were doing, they might have decided that it’s less of a risk if I’m on an alien planet.”

“You think your ship was sabotaged by the crime family you smuggled drugs to,” Valain said.

“Well, no. The ship probably wasn’t sabotaged. If they’d wanted to get rid of me, they would have rigged the ship to explode or decompress or something. Nah, I think this is them just taking advantage of a bad situation. It wouldn’t be too much trouble to pay off someone to just say my ship dropped off the grid. That happens sometimes. People just get lost.” I trailed off, chewing at my lower lip.

“And if they did that, no one will look for you,” Valain murmured.

“People might look for me, but space is pretty big. They wouldn’t know where to start. It’d be a lost cause.” I looked down at the ground. The air was hot, but I felt ice working its way through my veins. “Valain, I don’t think it’s likely that anyone’s coming.”

A heavy weight pressed into my side. I jumped, struggling not to fall over from the sudden heaviness. “Valain, what are you doing?”

He had hopped over to my side and snuggled up against me like an oversized cat. His skin was incredibly smooth and slightly damp. The edges of his ear fin tickled against my cheek. His chin pressed against my shoulder. “I’m sorry.” His voice wavered like he was on the edge of tears himself. He pressed more firmly against my side, nearly pushing me over.

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” I said. “I’ve been coming to terms with it over the last few days, I guess. Just realizing that no one is coming for me.”

Valain made a mournful chirruping noise in his throat. He wrapped his arms around me. It was the first time I’d gotten a hug since… when had I been hugged last? My chest ached and it was suddenly hard to swallow.

“So, uh, we should probably start figuring out which of these things I can eat, huh?” I said. My voice trembled and I had to clear my throat a few times to steady it.

Valain slumped back. His ears twitched and pinned against his head, but he offered a smile regardless. “If you’re ready, then we can try.”

He stayed next to me as I turned back to the selection of plants in front of me. After a moment, I picked up one that looked like an oversized pear. It was covered in a yellow-green skin and was surprisingly hefty. Valain watched, coiled like a spring, while I raised the fruit to my mouth and gave it a sniff. It didn’t smell like much.

I took a deep breath and let my teeth sink into the skin. It tore away easily and the flesh underneath was fairly meaty. Juice dribbled down my chin as I ripped a chunk away. Inside, the fruit was a pale yellow-orange and textured much more like a peach than a pear. It tasted slightly acidic, like an orange, or a particularly sweet lemon. The flavor wasn’t my favorite, but given how hungry I was, it took effort not to immediately gobble the whole thing down.

Valain was still staring at me, one of his hands hovering over a syringe. “Well?” he asked in a voice strained by nerves.

I swallowed. “Nothing yet.”

His hand retreated from the syringes, but did not go all the way back to his side. “Yet?”

“Well, I might have a reaction later, if it metabolizes as a poison or something,” I said. Valain shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself.

“You’re so… cool about this,” he said. “It might kill you.”

“Might not, too,” I said. Valain snorted.

“Regardless,” he said, moving back to my side. “I think I’m going to stay close to you tonight.”

I ate little else that day, except a few bites of a nutrient bar. Valain stayed next to me the entire time, almost close enough for our sides to brush. His tail swished back and forth over the floor, making a soft whooshing noise every time it moved. He looked a lot like a tense cat, eyes wide and locked on me constantly.

When I woke the next morning, Valain was curled up next to me. His side was pressed firmly against mine, though he was facing away. I sat up and his eyes opened. He blinked at me and yawned.

“I’m not dead,” I said, grinning. Valain grinned back.

“No. You’re not.” He sat up. “Does that mean it’s safe?”

“Probably.” Valain’s ears flattened and he gave me an anxious look. “Well, I’m not so severely sickened by it that one bite kills me and I don’t feel sick at all, so hopefully that means there’s nothing too wrong with it.”

Valain looked unsettled, but he sighed. “I have to go out on patrol today. If I find more, I’ll bring them back.”

“Yeah. I’ll eat as many as you can get. It’s probably good to get my strength up before I start eating more dangerous things.” Valain nodded and pulled a few more of the strange fruit out of a cabinet.

“Have as much as you like. I’ll be back soon,” he said. He lingered for a moment longer like he wanted to say or do something else before he scrambled out the door and down the tree.

The process of trying new food was slow. Gradually, I picked something new, ate a few bites, and waited. Often, it was fine. And then I got cocky. I took several bites out of a melon-like item before I realized that by throat was closing up.

Valain acted within seconds, slamming a needle into my thigh as soon as I tumbled back. He even inserted his fingers into my mouth and pulled out the partially-chewed chunks of fruit there.

My throat loosened and I felt my stomach churned. “Basin?”

Valian’s ears twitched toward me. “What?”

“Basin, or I’m going to vomit on your-” I retched and my body heaved as I brought up chunks of barely-digested melon. Valain hopped back a few paces and waited for me to finish before approaching again.

“Sorry,” I rasped when he returned to my side. “The shots usually induce vomiting too.”

“It’s all right.” Valain eyed the vomit unenthusiastically. “I’ll clean up. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re sure?” I asked. Valain nodded.

“Don’t worry about it. Go lie down.” He nudged me when I didn’t move. “Go on. Lie down.”

After he finished cleaning, he walked over to me and lay down at my side. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” I rasped. “Not great, but okay. I mean, my throat hurts, but I can breathe, so that’s a plus.”

“That is usually a plus.” Valian lay his tail over my legs for a moment before tucking it back against his body. “We had to use one of your shots.”

“I know. We’ll have to be more careful now. Might take a few days off from trying new stuff. Just to be safe. We’ve already got a few things I can eat.”

Valain let out a shaky breath. “I might not go on patrol tomorrow,” he said. “I don’t have to go every day. And I want to make sure you’ll be all right.”

I frowned. “You don’t have to. I’ll be all right. That was probably the worst of it.”

Valain shrugged. “I still want to, though.”

I could have protested, but, strangely, I didn’t want to. I appreciated that he wanted to stay with me. “Okay. If you want.”

Even when I wasn’t looking at him, I could sense Valain’s smile. He lay down next to me, side pressed against mine. I stared up at the ceiling as a comfortable silence fell over us.

#monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster x human #exophilia #alien #alien lover #my writing #I think this is the longest story I've written so far #I very much enjoyed writing this one so I hope you all like it

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shawnsorangeglasses · 5 years

Text

For Aesthetic Purposes

1k words

I just took a literal crash course in eyebrow threading, so please read this. I legit knew nothing past tweezers, I’m so educated now.

Pairing: Shawn x Reader

Warnings: swear swears, a cheeky straddle, nothing crazy

Based on a imagine post by @matchamendes , where you’re an esthetician and finally convince Shawn to let you do his eyebrows.

——————

You sat curled up on the sofa staring at Shawn across the room. He was sat in the day window strumming a new ditty on his guitar, minding his own business. One leg was tucked under his thigh while the other swung back and forth on the plush window seat. A purple and pink sky back him and soften the light in the living room. The whole picture in itself was a renaissance painting.

As beautiful as it all was, you couldn’t help but zone in on his eyebrows. His fuzzy, fuzzy eyebrows.

You loved those little caterpillars on his forehead, and they were damn near perfect, especially compared to yours when untrimmed. It’s not like he really needed his eyebrows done. And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder what they might look like if he just let you sharpen those edges a little. Just a little.

“What (Y/N)?,” Shawn asks, not even bothering to pause his musical exercise. “You’ve been staring at me for ten minutes like I have two heads.”

The words refuse to leave your throat. You were more impressed that he noticed you were ogling him. Truly it was your own fault for thinking you were being inconspicuous behind your latest copy of Better Homes and Gardens. You didn’t even subscribe to Better Homes. You didn’t even have a garden. It was an impulse buy from a street vendor earlier today.

“I-I’m not s-staring,” you stammer.

“You are and you look pissed. Did I forget something again?”

“No no, I’m not pissed at you, I just-” You words fall short of the truth, getting caught in a lip bite. “Nevermind, it’s dumb. I’m just being weird.”

You hide behind the magazine in your hands. Shawn stands up, setting guitar down against the wall beside him. He walks over to your spot on the couch and stretches across it so that his head falls your lap. He turns up to look at you, peeking at you from underneath the pages.

“Why’re you staring at me, (Y/N)?”

Even laying down on your lap, he could pull that cotton-laced tone out of nowhere and make your toes tingle.

You toss the magazine on the coffee table. Then you turn your focus back to your boyfriend’s face. He’s still expecting an answer. You push his tuft of curls back with both hands, settling your thumbs on either brow and brushing them straight. You look him directly in those big brown eyes.

“Just let me do your eyebrows,” you whisper.

Shawn inhales sharply, rolling his eyes to the back of his head. He sits up only to fall slack against the back of the couch. “(Y/N), what is with you and my eyebrows? I’ve already said no a million times.”

“I know, I know, I know, but like for real,” you sit up on your knees, cupping his jaw in your grasp. “I just want to see what you’d look like. This one time, please? Pretty please?”

He takes hold of your wrists. “You’ve told me it hurts, why would I torture myself like that?”

You scrunch your nose up. “Torture is a bit of a reach, Shawn.”

He rub his face in exasperation. “I don’t even get why people pay real money to have this done.”

“Well for a bunch of reasons. For me, it’s cathartic. And to look like a bad bitch.”

“A bad bitch, eh?”

“And for the small price of a little pain,” you flash some finger guns, “you can be a bad bitch too.”

Shawn glares at you, biting down on the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile. You nod excitedly, feeling an agreement coming on. You had him. He stands up to pace the rug for a moment. He looks at your eager face again, lips in between his teeth.

“This is a one time thing, (Y/N),” he says firmly.

You spring from the couch in excitement and take his hand to lead him to the bedroom where you kept all your supplies.

“Okay, go wash your face real quick. And put a headband on.”

Shawn shuffles into the bathroom with a shake of his head. You skip over to your dresser to grab your kit. The sink water starts running as you lay out his options. You sanitize and set everything up on the duvet.

He returns to the room, headband on and face clean.

“Lay down here,” you pat a spot on the bed, trying to make him feel welcome. He did not.

“Normally I’d be more than happy to join you in bed,” he says as he occupies the space. “This is bullshit though.”

“Stop bitching and lay down. I’ll be quick.”

You pick up the wax and spool of thread then turn around to face Shawn. His eyes are shut and his hands are folded on his chest. “Which one do you want to do?”

He sits up on his elbows. His eyes bounce between the products in your hands. “W-Which one hurts the least?”

“They all kinda hurt, bub. I’m pulling hair out of the thin skin on your face.” You examine the items in your hand. “The wax has to be heated up though.”

He sighs and flops back on the bed, “Fine. Do the strings.”

You pick up your mini kit and sit next to his head. Shawn lifts his head onto your lap again, remembering this is how you would do it with your sister whenever she visited. You take one of your round brushes and just start straightening out the hairs, exposing the unruly ones. Then you start tying and twisting some thread together.

“Okay, you ready?”

“Wait,” he says, “can you at least straddle me and do it?”

“I don’t normally straddle my customers,” you say coyly. “It’s very inappropriate.”

“(Y/N), please?”

“Would it make you feel better?”

He nods. You oblige him and start working. Unfortunately you can only get about three hairs before he’s wriggling and writhing between your thighs.

“Ouch!” Shawn looks at you like you just slapped him. He taps his face to look at his fingers multiple times, searching for blood.

“You are not bleeding,” you deadpan.

“Jesus Christ, I have to do this twice?!”

“Yep and you already said yes, no backsies.”

He lays back down again, visibly trying to relax. You make a second attempt, only for it to fail. You both apologize to each other at the same time.

“You gotta distract me,” he insists. “Talk to me.”

“What were you playing on the guitar earlier?” You go back to work again, this time faster. He twitches with every tug.

“I don’t know— ow — it might be a new, uhm, a new song but— ow, shit— but it’s still kind of— ouch, FUCK— s-still up in the air.”

“I’m almost done with the bottom,” you promise with a giggle. “That’s the hardest part.”

Shawn handles the second brow better, probably after adjusting to the pain. His hands took residence on your hips, fingers anxiously tugging at the hem of your short shorts whenever you pull a more stubborn row of hairs. He starts saying funny little things like, “Am I supposed to feel sleepy?,” or “At least make ‘em look like Dua Lipa’s.” You’re starting to think you broke him.

In a few minutes, the worst is over you’re doing the finishing touches with a pair of detail scissors.

“Alright,” you murmur as you wipe away the excess. Just so it doesn’t bother him later, you apply some aloe gel to soothe his skin. His eyes are still closed so you just barely plant a kiss on his nose, and they flutter open.

“You’re all snatched and done, baby. Wanna see?”

Shawn sits up, pushing you further back on his lap. He brings two fingers to the now tender part of his face, careful not to mess up your work. You swipe a magnified pocket mirror from your kit and present it to him. He blinks at his reflection in awe.

“Whoa,” he coos, turning his head side to side. “So this is what it feels like to be a bad bitch.”

His smile was a mile wide, which felt like a good sign. At least he wasn’t upset with the end result. Although, now you were kind of missing those rough edges that greeted you every morning.

“How do you like it?”

“I don’t know. It’s, like, it’s different but it’s not? I look like an Instagram filter.” He pulls a face in the mirror, wiggling his eyebrows like he just figured out how to use them. You try not to gush all over him. “Do you think anyone will notice?”

“I sure hope so,” you say, “You didn’t make it easy.”

“I have a live interview tomorrow too.”

You pat his cheek. “You’re welcome.”

Shawn wraps his arms around your waist again. He puckers his lips a little, beckoning yours. You softly lay a little love on them, just long enough to feel the brief exhale from his nose.

“We should do this again sometime,” you purr.

“Fuck no,” he says quickly. The both you burst into a laughing fit.

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes writings #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes blurb

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holdmedownlaw · 4 years

Text

2019 – the year I hope could be the start of my renaissance.

Some people know I have chronic insomnia. I often talk about it with my family, friends and those others whom I think should know about it. But nobody really knows how difficult it is to be battling such illness. The suffering is unspeakable; much worse than I can ever describe it. Allah knows.

It started the night before my birthday in 2008. I couldn’t sleep not because the following day was my birthday but because it was my first day in College. I thought it was just that normal night when you don’t get to sleep “because tomorrow is a special and you are so excited about it.” So I went through my first day in college tired but I still had fun nevertheless.

I did not able to sleep again the following night. This time I was alarmed. What could be wrong why I couldn’t sleep? I went to school again the following day but this time I can hardly managed the exhaustion.

I was not able to sleep again on the third night. I started to feel my heart pounding so hard to the point that it made it more difficult even to just calm myself down. I tried not to lose myself. I’m going to a see a doctor tomorrow, I said to myself. But I didn’t. I am so worn out after that day. Maybe I can finally sleep tonight. But still I had no luck. I started to feel incapable of sleeping. I was getting crazy. “God, I have not slept a single minute for four consecutive nights. I would trade everything to get my eyes shut for even just a few minutes,” I complained to God.

The morning came and I never felt so awful in my life. Later that day, Dad accompanied me to a doctor. I explained how I feel and how I struggled to get sleep. What the doctor did was just gave me a prescription. It was a sleeping pill. To be honest, I was cynical if it could help me get sleep. I believed deep down I needed more than just a pill. I took the pill and tried to sleep. It didn’t work! That time I knew I was screwed.

The torture continued for many, many days. My life was never the same again. As about my studies, I still continued to attend classes despite my deteriorating condition. I just took every class-break I got for rest. And what I mean by rest is that I just lay down and close my eyes and tried to get as much energy as I could get without sleeping to keep me going.

I was able to endure over a month of sleep deprivation. And then there came one night, I was talking to myself, “This is my fate. This is what Allah has ordained for me. I have to be strong and accept it.” I recalled stories of sacrifices of Prophets to keep my spirit alive. While expecting a long night, just like the other previous nights, I closed my eyes. The next time I opened them, I saw the morning light through the small window of my room! I finally get the much needed sleep! I’ve never been so grateful in my life! All praise is due to Allah!

Sleep came back to me but the fear of not being able to sleep didn’t leave me. Every time night falls, the chance of getting a good night sleep is like tossing a coin. And so it did not really last long before insomnia came back again. I was just like given a few nights to breathe and then get back to wrestling again. It has continued to be the case since night of June 13th of 2008.

And just when I thought insomnia could be my only health problem, there came anxiety. It was like that monster who wanted to hurt my almost lifeless body, mercilessly. I did not know what kind of anxiety disorder it really was. I didn’t consult a specialist. I didn’t want to. I just knew I have it. I couldn’t maintain an eye contact when talking to people. Imagine how devastatingly awkward was that and its negative impact on my social life. I lost a lot of friends. My ordeal served like a filter machine that made me identify who my real true friends are.

Sometimes I sweat excessively even in cold weather. I could remember one time in class my seatmate touched my arms and she felt I was soaking in sweat in a fully air-conditioned room. Goodness!

Many years of my life since anxiety touched me were nightmares. It took a great toll in every aspect of my life – relationships, jobs, studies, etc.! Anxiety also made me become critical of myself – my actions and decisions – which I was not used to be before. And when a person sounded so harsh in criticizing himself in front of his friends or family, imagine how brutal he is to himself in the privacy of his head. Although there were many days I had thoughts of harming myself, I never attempted to. But my devastating health condition made me begged God many times to either cure me or just take me.

My family started to notice although I never told them about it. Sadly, the core of stigma covers our home. I tried to learn more about anxiety and discovered that one in every four persons has anxiety. I also sought inspiration from people who advocate mental illness. Indeed, it is true that when you see others fighting the same battle and more if they fight to voice out what the society has always neglected to address, you feel a little better.

Fast forward to year 2019. Its been already 11 years of seemingly endless struggle. Then, in the dark came a friend who has her own story of struggle with anxiety. She became my classmate in law school in my third year. She said she was experiencing panic attacks. Honestly I felt glad there was someone in law school who can somehow relate with the situation I am in. From then, we talked frequently about mental illness until one day I opened up to her about planning to see a specialist. I never thought about seeing a Psychiatrist before. It was not in my options. My parents would not approve either. They’ll kill me for worrying so much about what people would say if they find out I am seeing a Psychiatrist. But I was already in my senior year in law school. I had to seek professional help to survive law school.

Then one day, that friend of mine discovered a Psychiatric clinic located near the school. I expressed my desire to make an appointment with the doctor and she enthusiastically offered to do it for me because she said she personally knew the doctor’s secretary. I accepted. I didn’t ask but I speculated she was also planning to get checked but it turned out later that she engaged the services of another Psychiatrist. Maybe she just wanted to know if the Psychiatrist she referred to me is preferable to her. Kinda weird but I didn’t really mind given the fact that people like us who have anxieties really do things weird.

But before I got to have a meeting with the Psychiatrist, I had to go through my parents first and convince them to let me get professional help. My father was strongly against it. He said people would mock our family because one of its members is mentally ill. Nonetheless, I insistently convinced them to be more open to talking about mental illness and overcome the stigma until they finally permitted me to consult a Psychiatrist. What happened with my meeting with the Psychiatrist was different than what I expected though. I thought that before the doctor issues the prescription, I get to share first the entire story of my struggle - how it started, how it has been affecting my life, how I have been trying to cope up, etc., – sort of a counseling. He did ask me how I felt but the questioning I thought was too fixed and limited. It seemed he did not want a long conversation. I could somehow understand because he still had a long line of clients to treat after me. He diagnosed me with General Anxiety Disorder coupled with panic attacks. Then he gave me four medical prescriptions. I have to take four medicines a day! That was the first time I have to take that many medicines a day and probably the most ever in my life.

The following night after my meeting with the doctor, I took the bedtime pill. I was glad with the result. I had like 3 to 4 hours of sleep. That was much better than not getting sleep at all. I didn’t feel perfectly rested but that was a great improvement!

I continued to follow the doctor’s advices religiously and I have been feeling better and better as time goes by. Although I have not really been satisfied with the consultation processes with my Psychiatrist because I think he has not been therapeutic in terms of our doctor-patient relationship, his professional advices have actually been effective so far. One problem I have with one of the prescriptions though, particularly the bedtime pill, is that it has made me extremely dependent on it. I fear that my drug dependency will become permanent but my doctor said he’ll eventually slowly reduce the prescription if I get in the right health condition.

Moving on with my health condition, I am now very happy, Alhamdulillah! I am slowly getting back my self-esteem and confidence. I can now look straight in the eyes making me enjoy communicating to people. The heavy-head feeling is gone. I still struggle falling asleep but at least I still able to get good enough sleep which provide me just the right amount of energy to accomplish my daily tasks. I think it is safe to say that the best decision I’ve made with regards to my health was getting professional help. It cannot be more true to me that sometimes what we are ashamed of to do (address mental illness) is what will actually make us better. By the way, I have been watching motivational videos which I’ve found greatly beneficial.

In Shaa Allah, I will continue to get better and get back the life I have been yearning for years. I have suffered so much damage and destruction in many parts of my life over the past decade. God-willing, I will have the time and health to fix them.

There are many lessons I’ve learned from my years of battle with insomnia and anxiety. I would have never learned the importance of addressing mental illness as a societal issue if I never went through it. The most important though is to keep up the faith in God and to never give up. When you feel pain; when you are tired; when you feel like giving up; when you feel like quitting; when you look around you and nowhere do you see anything remotely looks like success; when it’s all dark; just keep up the faith and believe that God has put you in that darkness for a reason and that after that darkness, you will come out stronger than ever befor

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moseswilhelm · 5 years

Text

Now that you’re all gone, I’ve got a few squishy bits to air out. I don’t feel normal. Whether that means quirky or broken or eccentric depends on the day or hour or seconds between the particular anxiety of waiting on someone to respond to a long string of text. Internally, I’ve cycled between deciding if I am alien, demon, mutated evolution, a plaything of God, a challenge, or just plain old mentally ill. We can guess the healthier option, but there isn’t much use or fun using that.

Knowing you’ve lacked socialization in your youth doesn’t really mean much in trying to solve that problem in the same way that knowing you were just shot won’t help close the wound. What I am trying to say is I wasn’t socialized when I was young and that consistent distant feeling from your peers comes from that. Hearing that you think differently, or have an interesting brain is a nice little compliment albeit a little condescending. Unfortunately, you can’t really monetize excellent explanatory metaphors without the true meat and potatoes of capitalist society: focus. Arguably, effort and hard work and all that, but the measurement of how much you’ve put into something gets a bit blurred when you’ve somehow acquired detail knowledge of the economic turmoil that initiated the Pontic Wars. Someone please give me money for that. Easily an entire week got a bit lost in trying to understand centralized economies in the classical era and not one person paid me. Outrageous. I think writing was my way of trying to accomplish that level of usefulness that we are all trying to achieve. I knew that whatever I went through as a kid helped me develop an approach to understanding things in a unique way, but this is arguably not even useful to myself let alone the world as a whole. Unfortunately this hobby/career is top tier ADD nightmares and require a level of focus and drive comparable to Stephen King just ripped on coke. I neither have the proclivity for weird child orgies and dog monsters or coke. Well thats a lie, coke suits me just fine but my scantron has enough bubbles filled out and I’m already late turning in my “how much of a trainwreck are you” buzzfeed quiz. I see you, red squiggly telling me that “thats” needs an apostrophe. Fuck off, this is art and I refuse to change. Hey, what do you think happens when you’re told that confidence has to come before... y’know... actually being proud of yourself? Arrogance and self-absorption, obviously. You learn very quick that empty confidence is just as meaningless as no confidence, so to kind of fake it you have to really inflate things you have no right inflating and they are inflated on a scale comparable to those around you. Which is arrogant! Its awful! People can do different things at different levels and still be valid! Confidence is valued at an extremely high level to the point where the confidence to present yourself is a bit more important than the character you are supposedly proud of... evidenced plenty by the folks in the public eye known specifically for their charisma and yet somehow failing to actually be a person worth being around. That said, it can get tangled up in actually being proud of yourself. Shocking, I know, but you can’t really lump people who have characters worth being proud of to those just decent at faking it. Faking it. I know imposter syndrome is a thing. I am certainly not really alone in the concept of “oh god I’m faking it” so I won’t really pretend I have some magic insight on the concept (I’m lying I’m absolutely going to present myself as someone with Answers welcome to the fucking show) but when does “holding it together” and “how you present yourself” become imposter syndrome. “Hi this is me who has to be this way in order to balance between seeming different enough to stand out but not so different that you feel disgusted at the concept of change, nice to meet you” I mean what the fuck is a person anyways. Thats not a question. Not even a rhetorical one so if you answered aloud in your head I’m sorry but my psyche is not emotionally prepared for audience participation right now so clam up. Finding yourself is always a precarious as hell phrase because that often means one of two things: 1. Learning not to care about how others feel about who you are, despite all evidence of existence point out that this is the absolute most important aspect of your life 2. Presenting the parts that you were afraid to present to people. Look, I get it, you can’t please everyone and I’m not really here to talk about how to please anyone. In fact, I’m not even here. This is a lucid dream you’re having in your chair and shortly you’ll wake up and not remember if you were sleeping at all. Its fine, you’re fine. You have to please someone though. I think we underestimate the value of the tutorial level of life regarding this. You are given a set amount of people who are, usually, just going to be pleased by your existence. This always sets up your expectations of how that looks, how it feels, and how important it is. I mean imagine if right now I decided to criticize the immense value society puts on children. You’d hate my fucking guts! “Look at this asshole, kids deserve to be cared for” To be clear I don’t disagree with that. I think a lot of the current “you are valid” rhetoric is based on the concept that adults deserve to be cared for as well. This sorta rounds off my point that attention and reassurance is an important part of being cared for. In my opinion, this gets overlooked very often in favor cheap performative actions like hitting a heart button and oh my god I’m like a baby boomer writing for the new york times okay hold on I promise this isn’t a cynical criticism of millennials. People want to be heard. Importantly, people want to be understood. Spicy hot fucking take. Its a bit more than “this person knows who I am” although thats precisely how its framed. People want to be cared for, and this means knowing the... other person knows who they are caring for. Ah holy shit this is why I use metaphors. You have a snickers bar and you are hungry. Congration, you done it. Its the middle of the day and you never had any breakfast and frankly your bank account could use a break from pleasuring Starbuck’s atm reader so you somehow found the last snickers bar in a box you bought off of impulse bought off of Amazon and immediately regretted because it was gone two days later. Or so you thought. As you threw away the cardboard you hear the tell-tale tumble of a forgotten rod of peanuts and caramel that must have gotten jammed in the back of this thing. It was, however, 7am and you had to get to work and maybe having bubbleguts while dealing with people is not your recipe for a good day so you throw it into your purse or bag or whatever the fuck and move on. “Lunchtime” rolls around and as you do the mental gymnastics required to find the conclusion that food=energy in between bouts of fury over why your workday insists on starting at 8am and how you can’t seem to cope with falling asleep early enough for that not to matter, you remember your snickers bar. Reaching into whatever bag you put it and coming to the horrifying dread of realization that you left this bag in your car in fucking July, you find the sweet sugared respite in a corner. Squeezing it a bit just to test, you are surprised to not find it in the horrible (and yet delicious) state of melted confectionary. Your stomach grumbles a bit as you fidget with the perforated candy wrapper, vaguely thinking to yourself that it might be interesting to read the ingredients as you eat this thing like that isn’t going to fill you with inexplicable Eldritch dread. Nobody needs to know they are ingesting something that might have been made in a facility that also processes every other nut you can think of, delightfully shortened into “tree nuts”. I wonder if anyone has cross referenced all the allergen warnings to deduce which candies are made in the same factory, or if that information is just freely available. What if we kissed in the snickers production facility??? haha jk but...? Anyways, as your mind cycles through a list of stale memes you manage to unsheath this uncut chocolate delight from its wax(???) plastic prison and proceed to take your first, and arguably best, bite into this lunch. Your teeth sink softly into it, as you would expect. In fact, expectations haven’t really filtered into your skull soup you call a brain, so all manner of things can just slip through your recognition. Not this, however. Instead, fireworks of electric signals screaming “BITTER POISON” shock your brain from its previous state of vaguely functioning. Now you truly see the color of light, feel the air cocooning your skin, the squirm of your organs in your belly. Full panic ensues. You are not human, you are animal, and you have taken in a poison thing. You spit it out right there on your lap. You stare at the sad and ruined chocolate mutant nestled grossly in between your legs as your brain high fives itself for saving your life before frantically scouring your subconscious for whatever Vine gives it enough dopamine to not just fucking kill yourself right here. What happened? The fugue of panic washes your perceptions with a mixture of justifications for this travesty. It probably just went bad, but that didn’t taste spoiled (you consider yourself a mild expert having scraped clean many an old collection of halloween candy collections in August the year after the fact) so maybe it melted and rehardened? Baking stuff is weird so maybe that broke down some of its components. You pick it up (holy shit that is slimy. Of course its slimy, just touch it) and its insides look fine. I mean, how often do you examine the insides of a partially chewed bite of snickers? No weird colors. The remaining chocolate lasagna brick also looks exactly what you’d thought it be. You jokingly think to yourself that maybe you had a stroke but despite the apparent hilarity of that possibility you do the smile thing in the selfie camera of your phone. Everything seems fine, but now you’re getting mad that some turn of events has just ruined your perfectly good slab of sugar and fat that surely would have made the rest of the day bearable (and full of indigestion) Now that is a metaphor.

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zaney-hacknslash · 6 years

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FallOut Prequel - The Funeral

“Matsuda!” I hammered against his door for the third time, swallowing down my concern with the quickening beat of my heart. “Open up!”

Ide sighed. “Should we call the landlord?” And then added, dryly, “Or do you want to break it down?”

“Call the landlord,” I muttered, even though I really wanted to break it down. After two days of Matsuda ignoring my calls, and now refusing to answer his door…

Well, I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he’d been so messed the last time I saw him, I didn’t even know if I should have left him alone in the first place.

With the interrogation going on, I didn’t have much choice…

I forced that thought away—there was no point in thinking about it now—Boko seemed content to leave us alone, for now. Best to focus on the present. Harder than ever, I knocked again, while Ide fished out his phone to call the landlord, but the door suddenly sprang open, and Matsuda stood there, blinking out at us from the dim interior of his apartment.

Damn, he looked worse than I expected, eyes bloodshot, skin pallid, forehead creased in what could only be described as annoyance.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “what?” a stark contrast to the way I would have expected him to greet any guest, but to have the two of us at his door should have sent him into a state of mania, prompting him to all but drag us in, scramble around trying to make everything perfect. Neither of us had ever come to visit him before.

“Rough night?” Ide asked at last, stuffing his phone back into his blazer. “You’re getting a little old to drink yourself into a coma.”

Shrugging, Matsuda turned to lead the way inside. “Yeah. Right. Come on in. Or whatever.”

Exchanging a quick glance with Ide, I followed him. “You know…”

My words got lost as I stepped into the apartment.

For being such a knucklehead, Matsuda had always been surprisingly organized, keeping his work space perfectly arranged—papers meticulously stacked, pens upside down in their cup—his car spotless, inside and out, and, for a thirty-year-old guy with no girlfriend, I’d seen the other night that he kept his place unexpectedly tidy.

Today, blankets hung over the windows, and beer bottles had invaded every available surface. Dirty dishes, swarmed by flies, waited on the coffee table, and he’d left his suit in a puddle not far from the door. No, it wasn’t awful, but it was worlds away from how I’d seen it when I brought him home, just a few days ago.

“What’s up?” Matsuda wondered, rubbing his forehead like he was exhausted.

I stared at him. In his t-shirt and sweats, hair messy, lips frowning, he almost looked like a different person than the annoying kid I’d spent the last six years working with. I’d never seen him without his suit pressed and his nails manicured.

“The funeral,” I said at last, because there wasn’t time for much else. “It’s today.”

Normally, I knew he’d smack himself in the forehead, scream about how he’d forgotten, and rush around trying to get ready as quickly as possible, apologizing over and over for inconveniencing us. Today he cocked his eyebrow, skeptically almost, and mumbled, “It’s tomorrow.”

“No, Matsuda,” I assured him, patiently, “it’s today.”

Still, he shook his head. “You told me Friday.”

“This is Friday,” Ide supplied. “The funeral’s in an hour.”

Silently, Matsuda studied us, as if expecting to find out we were joking.

“I tried to call you,” I explained. “Where’s your phone?”

“Oh.” Matsuda scraped his fingers through his hair and shrugged. “Somewhere around here. I don’t think I charged it yesterday.” His foggy tone gave me the impression he didn’t quite remember yesterday, and I wondered where the hell Thursday had gone inside his mind.

“You live on that thing,” Ide pointed out. “You forgot to charge it?”

“I didn’t…forget. I just didn’t.”

This was beginning to feel like an alternate dimension. “Well, get dressed,” I ordered suddenly. “We’re gonna be late.”

“I don’t really want to go,” he admitted, still in that far away voice.

Normally, I think I’d say, so don’t go, turn on my heel, and continue on my way—I didn’t have the patience for all this—but today, I said, “No one wants to. It’s expected of us.”

Very slowly, Matsuda tilted his head back and forth, weighing options in his mind.

“It’ll look suspicious if you don’t show,” I added.

Still, he didn’t move, so I reminded him, “We have to act like things are normal. Light was a fellow officer until the very end.”

“Right,” Matsuda muttered at last, not sounding convinced. “’Kay. Hang on.”

Like a ghost, he drifted down the hallway, shambling, unsteadily, to his bedroom.

Immediately, Ide and I locked gazes, his somewhat wide. “What the hell,” he whispered. “Is he drunk?”

Drinking was a usual past time for Matsuda, as far as I knew; but then, most men his age were like that, and I’d never seen it affect his work performance. I’d certainly never seen him lose an entire day of his life to the bottle. I scanned the gloomy apartment again. There were enough empty beer bottles around to make it seem like a reasonable conclusion. “Hung over, maybe.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t go.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want anyone asking questions.”

If even one person wondered, why’s Matsuda not here, the lies I’d so desperately crafted during the debriefing could start to crumble.

He’s too upset to be here. Why? He’s taking Light’s death really hard…

Matsuda had liked Light, and Soichiro, enough that people might take that explanation at face value, but on the off chance they couldn’t get their heads around Matsuda neglecting to show respects to a fallen officer, they could start putting things together.

“I won’t risk it. He’ll just have to pull himself together.”

Skeptically, Ide frowned, but said nothing.

Matsuda returned in a smart, black suit, hair wet from his shower, but more miserable-looking than ever, all the life and shine vacant from his eyes, as if the real Touta Matsuda had gone somewhere and sent us this hollow proxy in his stead.

As he put on his tie and shoes, I debated whether or not I should say something to him, but even if I should, I didn’t know what, or how. I’d never seen him so unhappy.

A couple years ago, he’d gotten a little weird on us. He’d found this girl he really liked and threw himself at her. Ide and Light had tried to coach him—Mogi and I had tried to stay professional—but Matsuda wouldn’t hear it. He’d liked her, that was that, maybe he’d even wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Way too fast, he’d been pushing her to move in with him, maybe because work was so time-consuming and he’d just wanted to force a happy ending. After a few months, she’d dumped him, hard, and rumor had it she’d even cheated on him first.

Those were some dark days. The four of us had watched Matsuda plunge headfirst into work, refusing to think about anything else, to the point of not eating and looking utterly sleepless. Every day, he’d had a new theory about Kira, some more sound than others, as if trying very hard to think of the case and nothing else. That, at least, had been better than the alternative of losing his motivation altogether, but what unnerved us was the quiet that had crept into the spaces he usually filled with cheerful small talk. No bragging about the latest piece of tech he’d purchased. No earnest, one-sided discussion of pop culture. No personal anecdotes about his Matsuda-esque misadventures around town. Nothing. When he wasn’t paying attention, Ide had even nicknamed the unnerving silence the Matsuda Void, and had complained about it regularly, though none of us had let on to his face that it bothered us.

Prior to that, I wouldn’t have expected the Matsuda Void to bother me. In fact, I would have imagined it to be a relief. In reality, though, it had annoyed me even more than his usual antics, because without his nonsense, we were just three overworked cops and a skulking serial killer, sitting in a dark room, chasing ghosts.

This, I decided, as I watched him fumble through his apartment for wallet and keys, was much worse.

As we headed down to the car, he asked, “Where’s Mogi?”

“Probably already there,” Ide told him.

And that was it. Unceremoniously, he sank into the back seat, and the drive was completely silent. Next to me, Ide seemed unusually nervous, smoking a lot and fidgeting, and I knew he didn’t want to do this either, but I kept silent, focusing on the road and the time. The setbacks at Matsuda’s place had cost us more than twenty minutes, and I had to speed to keep on schedule.

When we reached the temple, Matsuda stared out his window at the crowd of mourners filtering through the doors while Ide and I climbed out of the car.

“How am I supposed to do this?” he wondered, sounding like he was asking himself more than us.

In the bright sun, his eyes looked especially red, and I noticed a line of stubble down his jaw.

“Just keep your mouth shut,” I suggested, opening the door for him.

Gradually, his gaze met mine. It was strange, simultaneously sharp, teeming with raw survival instincts, and utterly lost, as if he barely knew who he was looking at. Hardness haunted it, too much like what I’d seen when he shot Light.

With a sigh, I took my sunglasses off and handed them to him. “Nobody’s asking you to give a eulogy. So just be quiet.”

At last, slipping into the aviators, he stepped out of the car, and Ide led the way toward the entrance, giving me an opportunity to hang back and murmur to Matsuda, “What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m at a funeral. I’m always like this at funerals.”

Irony wasn’t his usual MO, but it was hard to imagine he was being serious either, and I stared hard at him. “I’m talking about lying around your apartment for three days, not answering your phone, drinking.”

“Oh. In that case, I’m on vacation.” He choked up a pathetic facsimile of his usual smile that nearly made my stomach turn, and then asked, in a forcibly casual tone, “By the way, how are you?”

“It’s a little late for pleasantries,” I huffed.

Matching my stern tone from a moment ago, he said, “I’m talking about you getting dragged into an interrogation cell, held for three days, accused of killing Kira.”

Generally, he’d do just about anything for attention, but apparently, I’d annoyed him. I couldn’t help frowning at him. “I’m fine, Matsuda.”

He shrugged. “Me too.”

He was being difficult on purpose, and I didn’t know what else to expect. Again, I reminded myself I’d never seen him this way before, and possibly, he’d locked himself away and let his phone die because he wanted to be left alone. I decided to drop it.

Just outside the temple, Mogi met us, looking twice as somber as usual in his dark suit and greeting us with stiff professionalism, though he raised his eyebrows at Matsuda, as startled by what he saw as I felt. “I didn’t think you were coming,” he said.

Matsuda took his time scanning the temple grounds, like he was afraid to run into someone he didn’t want to see. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

Next, Mogi turned to me, as if I’d brought the kid here against his will.

“You had a choice, Matsuda,” I told him, a little gruffly, ushering him forward. “You made the right one.”

“I guess…” he murmured, dubiously, and then going silent as he fell into step beside me.

Under the solemn hush of mourning, everyone filed into the temple to hand over their offerings and take their seats in front of the casket. It looked expensive; like Light, it was professional, but stylish, made from polished mahogany and gold, gleaming in the candlelight. An NPA flag had been draped over it, leaving only the window for Light’s face uncovered. Misa must have helped pay for it, I thought; Sachiko couldn’t have afforded it, not when she’d just lost her husband a few months ago.

Across the room, I picked her out, sitting with Sayu and Misa. Even from a distance, I could see how puffy her eyes were from crying, and I heard Misa sobbing uncontrollably, saying his name over and over. In her black kimono, Sayu looked placid, but she’d been more or less catatonic since her kidnapping. My stomach twisted to see the aftermath of what Light had done to his own family.

Unpredictable as ever, Matsuda had made the mistake of telling Misa that Light was dead. Luckily, I’d managed to inform Sachiko prior to that, even if it had been in the dead of night, after the first round of debriefing, and I’d been so tired I’d hardly had the presence of mind for diplomacy. Waiting wasn’t an option, though, seeing how Near had left me a voicemail earlier that day saying that the body was ready.

I’d never forget the way Sachiko’s voice had sounded as she’d murmured, “That can’t be. There must be some mistake,” in a quiet, dream-like tone, forcing me to regret, instantly, that I hadn’t driven to her house and told her in person.

In any case, I couldn’t be angry with Matsuda because I should have informed Misa the second I hung up with Sachiko, tired or not, and the next morning, when I’d managed to call Mogi just before getting dragged off to the station again, asking him to go and speak with Misa, he’d said simply, “Matsuda already told her.”

Possibly, for a moment after I heard those words, I had felt a stirring of anger. Here I was, putting myself through hell, trying to keep what little was left intact, and Matsuda seemed determined to sabotage it all. The whole way to the station, my mind had raced with terrifying scenarios, imagining what he must have said to her, worrying because she was an even bigger blabbermouth than him, certain, that, together, the two of them would expose everything I was trying to cover up.

Evidently, though, he’d done a reasonable enough job, and, likely, the biggest flaw in what he’d done was the tactless way he’d gone about it.

Based on how he looked today, I didn’t dare scold him.

The priest knelt down and began chanting while the rest of us shuffled in a line toward the altar. It was slow-going; Light had been popular, after all, and around us I saw dozens of colleagues and friends and what I assumed were former classmates, to say nothing of the people who’d been connected to the Yagami family for years. All here to pay respects to a man they’d thought was great before, and now, of course, he was a hero, a martyr even.

In front of me, Matsuda emitted a lengthy sigh and took off my sunglasses.

My mind wandered, again, back to my worries about him. The sensible side of me kept saying he shouldn’t be taking it this hard, but then the emotional side of me couldn’t quite accept that.

For six years, we’d lived the Kira case, spending more time at headquarters than anywhere else, and to have it end so suddenly could be jarring for him, leaving him unsure of what to do with his time.

To spite my, Ide, and Mogi’s best efforts to remain, mostly, professional, Matsuda had unabashedly made plays at creating friendships on the taskforce, giving people nicknames, bringing snacks or breakfast several times a week, trying to make fun plans when he could, never quite discouraged to the point of giving up. Light hadn’t been interested in it any more than the rest of us had, but still, Matsuda had evidently considered him a friend.

I couldn’t imagine all the dark feelings that must come from shooting him, but I hadn’t forgotten the way he’d stood over Light’s dead body, face stricken with horror, shuddering as he whispered over and over, “I shot him… I shot him…”

We drew nearer to the altar, and I glanced at him. The twist of his mouth looked more disturbed than ever, and he’d pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, fingers half threaded up into his hair. His eyes stayed fixed on the casket, like he expected the lid to lift and Light to climb out.

Everything combined was probably more than enough to drag him down to this dismal state, but what was I supposed to do about it? Already, I’d been through more than my share of crap, and even in that, I’d been helping him. If they’d been interrogated, Ide and Mogi would have been fine, but the falling-down-drunk Matsuda I’d dragged home on Monday night would have blurted everything out before he could even think about it: “Yes, I shot Kira, because Light betrayed us, and it really made me angry—I’m sorry.”

I’d told myself that even if it meant I sat there for weeks, I couldn’t let that happen.

So where did the line of my duty end? I’d done my part to protect the notebook and Kira’s identity. That should be the last of my concerns.

Unfortunately, once I stepped over that line, I found myself realizing new obligations, not as a police officer or the surviving senior detective on the Kira case, but as a friend, and even if I wanted to ignore that, I didn’t think I could now that I’d caught a glimpse of how badly he was doing.

Finally, after what felt like half an hour of waiting, shuffling, and brooding, Mogi and Ide marched to the altar to perform the ritual.

Kanzo took his time, kneeling in prayer and rising to bow to Light’s family, but Hideki hurried through the motions of the incense and paying respects to the deceased. This morning, he’d told me it annoyed him that Light was getting a hero’s funeral—as if he’d died in action—when he deserved disgrace, and I’d worried he might do something rude. At least, though, when he turned to Sachiko, he looked sincere.

After Ide, it was Matsuda’s turn, but he hesitated, shifting like he wanted to go forward, but couldn’t.

When he’d stood there several seconds, the man behind me politely cleared his throat, but we were near the end of the line. It shouldn’t matter if Matsuda took his time.

The priest chanted on, and I listened half-distractedly to the words from the sutra as he christened Light with a new name, checking around, nervously, as I realized I didn’t need Matsuda to do anything strange here at all.

Before I knew it, a moment too long had passed. Sachiko and Misa even looked up to see what had delayed the line, and I saw Ide and Mogi staring our way.

The man behind me whispered, “Sumimasen, Oniisan…” as if Matsuda had forgotten what he was supposed to do, but the kid gave no indication that he heard.

Finally, I hissed, “Matsuda.” When he still didn’t move, I went so far as to push him forward. “Go.”

At last, he plodded toward the altar, but passed it without a moment’s hesitation to approach the casket, where he stared down at Light’s face, fingers gliding over the glossy surface of the coffin.

Suppressing a sigh, I went and took his place at the altar, first picking up the incense, touching it to my head, and dropping it into the burner, and then knelt down in front of Light’s smiling photograph. He looked intelligent and charming, like always. That was how he’d gotten people to like him, trust him, and follow him, even to their own deaths. Even Soichiro.

I tried to shut out those bitter thoughts as I bowed my head and pretended to pray, but what was there to say on behalf of the man who’d thought he was god?

You really thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? You really thought everyone else was so stupid they’d never catch you, and you could just make up your own rules. Be justice. Well, I’m not sorry you’re dead. I’m sorry for your family, but you would have been executed anyway; you deserved that.

Bad prayer.

I doubt anyone’s listening anyway.

I’d seen shinigami, but a world where Kira was allowed to reign was a godless one.

Off to my right, I heard Matsuda profess, a little too loudly, “I am so sorry.”

I looked up to see that he’d approached the Yagamis, as he was supposed to, but he looked unhinged, damp eyes wild, straining toward them like he wanted to spring into their arms, face a mask of agony and regret. “I am so, so sorry,” he said again, voice tight like he was about to lose it, and the people around us began to murmur and shuffle nervously, as if his emotional honesty polluting the somber, ritualistic atmosphere spooked them.

“Dammit,” I muttered, getting to my feet.

“Sachiko,” he choked, as I lurched across the distance between us. “I’m so sorry. Misa…Sayu… I—”

“Okay.” I bumped against him, lightly, and took hold of his arm, half-scared the next words out of his mouth might turn out to be some misguided confession. “Okay. Easy, Matsuda-kun.” I patted his shoulder, watching his face until he’d heaved a breath and shut his mouth before I finally looked down at the Yagamis.

Sachiko and Misa gaped up at us, mouths hanging open, tears glistening in their eyes. Sayu was blinking like she’d just woken up.

“Please excuse him,” I begged, quietly, giving them the customary bow. “He’s not good with funerals.”

Sachiko inclined her head in understanding and uttered, “Thank you, both.”

And then I hurried him away, to where Ide and Mogi stood shaking their heads and whispering to each other.

“I told you to keep your mouth shut,” I hissed.

“I told you I didn’t think I could do this,” Matsuda mumbled, eyes cast to the ground.

“I didn’t know that meant you were going to make a scene.”

Instead of answering, Matsuda looked up at me, sadly, and like in the parking lot, I thought he looked strangely lost.

“Just keep it together,” I told him as we reached Ide and Mogi. “This is almost over.”

We took our seats to wait for the priest to finish his sutra and the rest of the guests to complete the ritual, and then people began to leave. As we made our way through the crowd, Mogi said quietly to me, “This is no good, Aizawa. He’s really messed up.”

I shot a glance at Matsuda, who was only just far enough away to not realize we were talking about him, but from the distant expression on his face, I got the feeling he could have been right next to me and wouldn’t have noticed.

“He’ll be fine,” I answered. “Once we get back to work and start investigating a new case, he’ll come around.”

After all, that’s what had happened last time. After a full week of enduring the Matsuda Void, the kid had suddenly snapped out of it, came in on a Friday, way, way too excited about the new sound system he’d gotten for his apartment, bragging about keeping the neighbors awake when we all knew he was much too considerate to do anything like that. We’d huffed and grumbled about already missing the silence, hiding our relief, and he’d gotten on like he’d never been depressed in the first place.

In passing, I’d wondered how long it had really taken for him to get over that girl. Obviously, buying a new sound system couldn’t have compensated for suddenly losing her, though he’d acted like it had, but it hadn’t been my business to check in on the matter. I’d told myself that as long as he pretended to be okay and kept working, it wasn’t my place to worry about him.

For all I knew, this would be more or less the same, and he just needed something new to get his mind off the old.

On our way back to my car, though, Matsuda suddenly stopped hard, face blanching almost completely white.

“Hey.” I took a step toward him, in case he collapsed. “What’s wrong—”

Throwing himself against a nearby planter, he hunched over, braced on the stone, and I heard him gagging and choking.

“Oh, sonnova bitch” I cursed, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

“Funerals with Matsuda,” Ide said dryly, lighting a cigarette. “Disrupts the whole ceremony, barfs all over the temple flowers.”

Mogi gave me a knowing look. “Something should probably be done before this gets worse.”

“Like what?” I wanted to know.

He shook his head, apparently not knowing either.

Shakily, Matsuda turned to us, wiping vomit from his lips with the sleeve of his suit. “I’m fine,” he mumbled in answer to our concerned looks. “Just hung over.” He even tried to laugh it off as he shambled forward again. “I really thought the funeral was tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ide asked, following him. “Would you have been any less of a train wreck tomorrow?”

Matsuda didn’t answer, and Mogi and I hesitated to exchange looks again. In his expression, I could see that he wanted me to do something, and even though I understood that it might fall under my jurisdiction, I just wasn’t sure what I should do.

For a little while, the four of us stood around my car; after a funeral, it made sense to go get a drink somewhere if we weren’t invited to the wake—one last toast to honor the deceased—but given that none of us especially cared to honor the deceased this time, and Matsuda had just thrown up in the planter box, no one must have thought it would be appropriate, and no one suggested it. Instead, we made small talk for ten minutes or so, and I noticed Mogi and Ide both casting wary glances at Matsuda, who stood silently, leaning against my car, forehead palmed in one hand. In a way, I think all of us just wanted things to be normal for those few minutes. Working on the Kira case had brought us a little closer together than regular coworkers, and the sudden change in dynamic was challenging.

Any time one of us so much as tried to draw Matsuda into the conversation, he’d simply jerk his head either yes or no, but he had nothing to say to any of it.

Finally giving up, Mogi announced he was leaving, said he’d see us in a couple weeks, back at the station. He struck out for his car. We climbed into mine.

“Two weeks isn’t nearly enough,” Ide grumbled as we rolled forward. The sky had started to darken with the threat of rain.

“I suppose,” I said carefully, “as long as we’re not going to disclose all the events that brought the Kira case to an end, we can’t expect the commissioner to give us any more than that.”

Dismissively, he agreed, “We’ll make do,” but he took a long look in the mirror at Matsuda, who’d slumped against the door to stare out at the incoming storm.

It would be good for him, I decided, to get back to work as soon as possible. Moping at his apartment wasn’t helping so far.

By the time we reached his place, the rain had started pouring, and I parked just outside the building entrance, frowning up at the overcast sky as I tried to think of something worthwhile to say to him before he hopped out and vanished back into his den of depression.

But Matsuda stayed where he was, giving me at least a few moments longer to think of something that wouldn’t be overstepping my boundaries or wouldn’t come across as harsh.

Ide drew deeply on his cigarette and contemplated the sky. “Sachiko looked bad. Losing her husband and her son in the same year…” He shook his head. “Terrible.”

“I can’t imagine,” I murmured, thinking of my own family.

“It doesn’t help she has Sayu to look after. Hard to say if that girl will ever be the same.”

With a breathy sigh, Matsuda suddenly leaned his head against the back of my seat and held two fingers out to Ide. “Can I have a cigarette?” he muttered into my upholstery.

We both looked back at him, surprised. “You smoke?” I asked. “Since when?”

“Just right now.”

Still studying him, Ide handed him a cigarette and went so far as to light it for him. Next, he offered me one, and I thought I might as well, just so long as my car aired out before the next time Eriko got in it.

Watching the rain through rolled down windows, the three of us smoked in silence.

“What are you going to do, Matsuda?” I asked, when my cigarette was nearly finished.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, sounding like, for once, he knew exactly what I was talking about.

“You seem really out of sorts,” Ide commented, in a cautious tone.

“I’ll be okay,” Matsuda assured us, and suddenly opened his car door. “Thanks for the ride.

Before either of us could say more, we were watching him stalk toward the building, huddled in his suit, finishing off the butt of his cigarette, strangely melancholy in the downpour.

“Do you believe him?” Ide wondered.

I waited until Matsuda had disappeared inside, trying to silence all my fears, and then nodded and put the car in drive. “I have no reason not to.”

#Death Note #Shuichi Aizawa #Touta Matsuda #fanfiction #writing #Hideki Ide

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ohmysparkle · 3 years

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Sounds like such a day! If you don’t mind me asking what kinds of makeup did you get? I used to be so into it then I just stopped, kinda bummed about it but I still do makeup from time to time. I actually wanted to be an esthetician but I think I’ll do that after I’m done with my teaching degree. Anyways glad to hear you had a good day!

-good taste anon

PS: You are hot!!!

Oh honey…

I bought everything… I am a mindless animal drunk on capitalism.

In general, I’ll list some of my favorite products:

Note: sorry if I get some fo the names wrong

Affordable brands:

Foundation: L’Oréal true match - light consistency but high pigmentation and buildable. This is my #1 foundation. Wet n wild has a similar kind and it costs less than 5 dollars - issue is the colors are a bit too orange for me. As you can see (despite the filters) my skin is veeeery olive/greenish, and I can go from being very pale one day to quickly getting a richer tan, but never a warm tone. Most of those pics have warm filters or lighting but you can see the difference well in some. If you have a similar olive hue, which I consider to be the hardest type to match, I suggest L’Oréal.

Lipstick: maybelline color sensation - available in every pharmacy. Different finished, every color imaginable, great texture and durability, buildable but very pigmented so you can make very soft looks or go full out. My #1 lipstick. Maybelline also has velvety liquid matte lipsticks that come in a rectangular clear tube, amazing consistency that doesn’t dry but looks matte . I use this as a blush too.

Primers: LA girl hd pro primer. It’s very velvety and seals every pore, I use this only in tricky areas like eyes to prep for heavy eye makeup and the tzone when I need lots of durability.

Setting spray: NYX and LA girl setting sprays. The matte finish ones come in similar black sprayers. I love these. SETTING PODER; LA girl, translucent. Application is tricky but it’s outstanding.

Mascara: tbh I’m extremely indifferent about mascara, I just use whatever I see from maybelline.

Contour/blush: in past years I’ve had milani blushes that I love. But now a days all of my contouring and blushes usually come from eyeshadow pallets since my skin tone is very hard to match and I find more colors and mixing options in eyeshadow pallets where browns and beiges are rampant. Tbh: eyeshadows, blushes and compact powder contours are formulated the same. The only difference is that the pigmentation in eyeshadows tends to be denser. I use lipsticks as blush too.

Eyeshadow pallets: Colourpop. Excellent colors, affordable. I love their magnetic palettes where you can add your own single colors. However, I find all their pressed powders to be very dry, therefore you have 1) a lot of fall out, 2) difficulty applying and 3) it takes a while to build up the pigmentation because of the dryness - but they are very well pigmented.

Eyeliner: I literally get the cheapest thing I can find and build onto it with eyeshadow. However, L’Oréal has great felt pen liners.

Eyebrows: I use a hair pomade for edges from Walgreens or the Colourpop eyebrow wax. Both tend to dissolve with the smallest bit of moisture but it’s the best look I’ve gotten so far. Everything else I do with eyeshadow and a bit of generic liquid eyebrow cream.

“Expensive”/Big brands:

I really don’t have a brand foundation I like. I have a morphe foundation I’m waiting to try but other than that I’ve hated them all.

Lipstick: KKW BEAUTY PERIOD. I was in awe at the quality of these. I bought about ten of them during her last sale. They are outstanding but the range of colors tends to be very limited and weird “trendy today but not tomorrow” types. Morphe has great liquid lipsticks across the board.

Primers: Fenty beauty hydrating mattifying primer, the original one she came out with. This is the primer I use on the outside area of my face where I apply foundation (so everywhere except eyes and sometimes tzone). It mixes so well with every product I’ve put on it. It feels super light and does not clog or cover pores, instead it hydrates the skin well but keeps it from getting oily.

Setting spray: the big classic MAC one is by far the best purchase I’ve ever made. If you have a bad makeup, this will turn it into a good one. I make eyeshadows into liquid liners with this, seal every look, transform a blush into a lipstick. This thing is what unicorns use to get their powdery unicorn glow.

Concealer: Mac 24h stay, lightweight formula but buildable so you can use it for everything. Tarte (I forgot the name but the classic one), extremely thick and completely pigmented. If you want a soft look you need to prep correctly or dilute this with some primer or something. But it’s a magic eraser for your face.

Blush: kkw beauty has powdery but creamy blushes that I fell in love with.

Eyeshadow (pressed powder): Kylie Cosmetics - I don’t know how the formula has changed, but these had been the best eyeshadows I’ve ever bought for years. I still use her original pallets daily, they are a must have. KKW Beauty also has great formulation but the colors tend to be a bit lackluster and a liiitle dry. MORPHE owns the eyeshadow game. Just get anything from them and you’ll be fine. A single artistry pallet from them will be all the eyeshadow you will ever need… which is why I have six of them. Bare minerals is another classic, but they are too pricy for the amount of product that it comes with, although by far it’s outstanding application and pigmentation.

Eyeshadow (cream or jelly): omg - kkw eye crayons are the most beautiful eye product I have ever bought. I have a hazel and a green one… I don’t know if she’ll relaunch them later but want an amazing product. Morphe cream eyeshadows also tend to be fantastic.

Eyeshadow (loose pigments): KKW ultrabeam pigments. Again, I don’t know if they will be restocked but I loved these. MAC also has great loose pigments as as far as I remember and I have used them and was pleased, but it’s been years.

“Famous” products I would not recommend:

Kylie lip kits: I own ten or so of these. The original launch years ago was amazing, but the subsequent ones have been horrendous. Horrible formula, looks like acrylic paint on dry lips with poor pigmentation and the bottle is half empty and dried up. Not worth a penny.

FENTY foundation: waaaay to pasty and dry. Literally dries as you dab it the first time. I don’t know why everyone loves it so much, it’s impossible to work with and its soooo heavy and dense.

Morphe brushes: really, I have never been so disappointed. They aren’t bad at all… they are just exactly like every other makeup brush but a little weird.

Glossier: everything from this brand is an insult to makeup. It’s basically putting transparent expensive stuff on your face and call it makeup that looks like you’re not wearing makeup - so maybe save the money and don’t wear makeup. Zero pigments and everything feels like it’s made out of Vaseline and packed into a toothpaste tube.

Kkw contour sticks: these were super popular and NO. Just NO. I’m biting my tongue because there is too much to say here.

Ysl, Chanel, Charlotte tilbury, and all that really expensive stuff - I swear it’s not worth it. For 95% of those products you can find similar and better ones for half the price from other brands.

I hope this helps! Let me know if you have questions!!

#anonymeows #good taste anon #lady advice from sparkle’s the cat

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