#i think. i will read anything this author writes
Note
Using a random number generator for the angst prompts: 20 Starved + 30 Dangerous Temperatures
... and Leo, of course.
OH GOD OK
uh so. I had an idea. and I decided to write it for this ask I got forever ago. And then, uh.
it really
really got out of hand.
This is a pretty dark fic (even for me) and at the current moment in time it is hurt/no comfort. I do intend to write a part 2, probably tomorrow, but as of the time I'm typing this author's note I've been writing for around 5+ hours straight and I need to take a break! So please, if you don't want to read all this without the comfort included, feel free to wait for the next part before reading! I'll link it and the end once it's posted.
Content warnings: Kidnapping, confinement, psychological torture, nonconsensual voyeurism (I guess this is the best way to put this; Leo isn't doing anything sexual but it's still violating), mild violence, HEAVY ANGST, Leo just having the shittiest time possible.
I HOPE?? YOU ENJOY??? hahahaha....
btw this is set between S2 and the movie (though tbh its canon compliance is... /waves hand)
-----
When Leo imagined himself getting captured by some kind of shady, quasi-governmental agency intent on imprisoning mutants, it was never anything like this.
When he let his mind go there, he always pictured that he would be strapped to a table. Maybe muzzled. That scientists would stand over him, scalpels and drills in hand, and start to take him apart. That they'd examine him piece by piece, and wouldn't give him any anesthesia while they did it.
But there is no table, no muzzle, no restraints at all. He's just in a room.
Well, a cell, technically - the steel door is locked, and there are no windows, no furniture but a bare cot in one corner and a lone toilet in another. But it doesn't really look like a cell. It looks like a room.
A very, very white room. White walls. White ceiling. White tiles (with white grout, even). The toilet is white, a roll of white toilet paper on the floor next to it. The only things that aren't white are the cot and the door and Leo himself.
They took his gear and his weapons, because of course they did. Since the door is steel, he already knows he's not breaking it down; he gives it a half-hearted slam anyway, just to say he tried. He should be able to just portal out, except he hasn't learned how to use his portals without his swords to channel his ninpo through, and there's nothing in here with him that he can use to make new ones.
So he's stuck. He's going to have to wait until someone opens that door for some reason. Or, of course, until his family swings by to pick him up. Though, if possible, he'd like to escape before that happens. The image in his mind, of sitting outside his cell and grinning at them as they arrive to rescue him, is too cool to pass up.
He's not sure how long it's been already. He knows that they knocked him out after ambushing him, and he doesn't know how long he was unconscious. The heavy molasses feel of his head and arms when he woke up suggests that he was drugged. It's wearing off now, though, which means he has a clear head to take in the all of nothing that's in the room with him.
He sits on the cot he woke up on and waits for something to happen.
There's no way for him to tell time, but he thinks it's an hour or so later when there's a sudden beep, and then the sound of a metal panel sliding up. It's a slot near the door that has just opened - inside the revealed alcove is a bottle of water.
He comes to it curiously, taking a long look around the bottle. The slot doesn't open straight through, and even if it did, it's not big enough for anything more than his arm or a foot to fit through. He thinks it must function like an airlock, or maybe they slid the bottle down from somewhere above - he feels around just in case, and finds that the slot is enclosed on all sides but his. Probably his airlock theory, then.
As soon as he removes the bottle, the panel slams shut again.
"You're really determined to keep me in here, huh?" he says to whatever hidden cameras are watching him. He carries the water bottle back to his cot, but doesn't open it, instead setting it down on the floor by the wall. The paranoid part of his brain, the one that doesn't miss a trick, is reminding him that drinking the water is probably a bad idea. Who knows what they might have put in it?
He sits on the cot for awhile longer. Still, nothing happens.
"I'm getting pretty bored in here," he says for the audience that must be somewhere. "Come on, you have a one of a kind turtle in here, and you don't even want to talk to me?"
Time passes, slow and quiet. Leo goes through periods where his anxiety spikes and he starts to wonder if he's been abandoned by whoever brought him here, before the boredom eventually numbs the anxiety back out. Another bottle of water is eventually delivered, and this one he keeps in his hands after retrieving it. It's completely unlabeled, not even a "Use by" date printed on the bottle itself, so it doesn't provide much mental stimulation. He spins the bottle to make little whirlpools inside, because it's something to do.
He's trying to make the fastest whirlpool he can when he hears a sudden click, different from the beep of the water bottle hole, and he looks up just in time to see a large section of the wall in front of him turn black, and then light up to show the room beyond his cell.
He jolts, setting the bottle aside. He knew they must be watching him, but somehow he didn't catch that part of the wall was a whole window.
His audience isn't very large - five people, unless there are others he can't see. Two wear lab coats, two wear fatigues... but the one who comes to stand directly in front of the window is wearing a black suit, with steel rimmed glasses. He leans forward, and speaks into a small microphone.
"Inmate 24365," says the suited man. "I am Agent Bishop, of the Earth Protection Force. My subordinates tell me that you can speak and understand the English language. Is this correct?"
"Qué?" Leo asks.
Bishop does not look amused. "Inmate 24365," he says, "you have two options. You can cooperate with me, answer my questions, and we will make your stay here more comfortable. Do not cooperate, and we will make your stay uncomfortable. Do you understand?"
Leo pretends to hem and haw over this. "How comfortable are we talkin'?"
"I'm sure you would like some dinner."
"You know, I'm not really hungry." He says it to be difficult, but it's actually true - the uncertainty of the situation has put his stomach in too many knots to want to eat anything. "Maybe if you offer me some comic books? Or a TV?
To Bishop's credit, his face doesn't so much as twitch. He keeps his steely eyes locked on Leo. "Answer our questions, and you will receive food. Do you understand?"
Leo stays noncommittal. "What are the questions?"
He's expecting Bishop to ask about his family. He's not expecting what comes next.
"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave?" he asks. "How are these gateways accessed? What kind of defensive capabilities do the yokai have?"
Leo keeps the surprise off his face. Bishop thinks he's a yokai.
This is, overall, a good development. Bishop might not know about Leo's family, then, or at least not know that they live on the surface. This means the Earth Protection Force likely isn't pursuing his brothers, which means they will be safe until they can help Leo get out of here.
He doesn't let the relief show through, either. Bishop doesn't know anything, and now Leo just has to ride out the next few hours until the calvary arrives.
"You know," he says, "I think I'm good with my current levels of comfort."
If Bishop is mad or frustrated or dismayed by this choice, he doesn't show it. His expression stays stony as he stares in at Leo, sizing him up.
"Very well," he says after a few more seconds. "I will see you tomorrow, then."
The window goes dark, and then turns stark white to match the walls. Leo wants to go over and tap at it, see if it feels different when he touches it, but knowing that Bishop is surely still there, watching him, keeps him rooted to the cot.
He goes back to making whirlpools with the bottle. If they aren't going to entertain him, he isn't going to entertain them, either.
-----
Another water bottle comes some time after his talk with Bishop. He finally opens this one and takes a cautious sip. Nothing tastes off or strange, so he drinks more. They don't want to feed him, but they're fine keeping him hydrated. No reason to stay thirsty, then.
He wishes the water calmed the anxiety still roiling in his stomach, but if anything it just makes him feel even more energized. He bounces his foot and surveys his room again, looking for any weak spots or access points. He can't see anything, though, other than the areas where he knows the water bottle hole and window are; even the vents that relentlessly blow cold air into the room are well hidden.
Knowing that there are people standing just outside his cell watching him, like some kind of zoo animal, puts him on edge. The window is so big that he's pretty sure the only blind spots are either directly underneath it or right by the door on the same wall. After debating it, he leaves his cot and sits on the floor underneath the window, surveying the room from a different angle now and still coming up empty. At least they're going to have a harder time staring at him.
His eyes catch on the toilet in the corner, directly across from the window. It's not in the blind spot, and realizing this makes his insides lurch uncomfortably - hopefully he has a chance to bust out before using it becomes necessary.
Though, he's not sure when that chance is going to come. If they have a slot to pass him water, they could use that to pass him food, too, so it's unlikely that anyone is going to open the door unless they need to take him out.
So maybe his fantasy of being outside when his brothers arrive isn't going to happen. Well, that's okay; he'll just be sure to make some other part of their escape totally rad. That will make up for the embarrassment of getting kidnapped a block from Run of the Mill.
(Seriously, some kind of ninja he is, to let a bunch of human soldiers sneak up on him.)
He drains the water bottle, then starts to roll it back and forth across the floor, like a cat batting at a toy. Leo's not sure what's worse right now: the worry or the boredom. There's nothing to look at and no one to talk to, just an empty room with him and his water bottles.
He's too keyed up to sleep, and the fluorescent lights are still on, anyway. He has no way of telling what time it is, so maybe it just isn't that late yet. And even sitting here, in the blind spot, the idea of closing his eyes while people are watching makes unease crawl up his spine. Staying awake is the easy choice. He'll sleep after he's out of here.
So he sits under the window and rolls his bottle back and forth, back and forth, with only the sound of plastic on tile to keep his thoughts company.
-----
The first three water bottles came pretty regularly, but now there is a very long stretch where nothing is delivered. Leo is starting to think maybe it really is night now. They don't turn off the lights in his cell, though, and he has no controls to do it himself. At least it helps with the whole "staying awake" thing.
Just in case they've decided to suspend his water privileges along with the food, he holds off drinking any more for now.
Speaking of food, his appetite has finally decided to return. His stomach starts to growl at him after several hours (he thinks) of sitting in the floor, an annoying emptiness in his stomach. Knowing there's no food accessible just makes the hunger sharper, but he puts it out of his mind the best he can with nothing else to focus on. He can eat once he's free.
Which should be soon. Seriously, his brothers have to be on their way by now, right?
He's pretty sure it's been the better part of a day, if not a whole day, since he was kidnapped. And, okay, he's willing to give them some leeway; it's understandable if they got a late start. He did storm out of the lair after his latest fight with Raph, and no one ever came to check on him when he did that. Understandably, he thinks, because who wants to be around Bad Mood Leo? Not even Leo wants to be around Bad Mood Leo!
But he'd already turned back into Good Mood Leo by the time he left Hueso's, so surely they knew it had been more than enough time. They would have noticed when he didn't come home. They would have realized something happened. They would be looking for him.
And if they're looking for him, they'll find him! Obviously.
His stomach growls again, and Leo leans his head back against the wall behind him. Maybe he shouldn't think of being at Hueso's. Now he just wants pizza. Pepperoni and mushroom, maybe, or Hawaiian. Mix it up a little with the barbeque chicken.
Another growl. He groans out loud.
He stays awake, twisting and crinkling the empty bottle in his hands, until another full one finally arrives.
-----
No chance to escape comes before using the toilet is necessary.
He tried to hold out, he really did, but he ended up drinking more water to stave off the growing hunger, and it's lowkey cold in here, which doesn't help. Still, the issue of the window sends an uneasy shiver up his spine, doubting that any people outside will feel the need to turn away and give him some privacy. Maybe he should have gone while he suspected it was nighttime.
(Maybe he shouldn't assume they ever aren't watching him.)
He stands up and walks over to the cot, giving it a light nudge with his foot. In a stroke of luck, it isn't bolted to the floor, and it's light enough that he can lift it. The black mesh it's made of is tightly woven, enough that not much is visible through it. It will have to do.
He picks it up and drags it over in front of the toilet, propping it up on its legs so it makes a small wall between himself and the window. It's hardly ideal, but the semblance of privacy makes him relax somewhat.
(He can't think about how there are surely cameras in the room watching him from all angles, making his attempt at a barrier moot. He knows better than anyone that sometimes pleasant lies are necessary.)
After he does his business, he leaves the cot propped where it is; it's not like he's sleeping on it. There's no sink for him to wash his hands, but he's never been the strictest about it, anyway (much to Donnie's disgust). He returns to his spot under the window, squeezing the water bottle to the rhythm of the first song that comes to mind.
Only two verses and a bridge later, the window above his head turns black, then goes clear. Thinking that Bishop might have been watching him just now makes a cold, slimy feeling roll down his spine. Creepy!
"Inmate 24365," comes Bishop's voice through the unseen speaker. "Stand."
Leo doesn't. He stays right where he is, under the window.
Bishop waits only a few seconds. Then Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."
He gets up at that, turning and leaning his arm against the window. It strangely doesn't feel like glass, even though it must be. "It's already cold enough in here," he says. He wonders how they can hear him, when he doesn't see a microphone on his side.
"You were told your conditions would only be made comfortable after you answer our questions," Bishop informs him. "The same as before: how many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways-"
"How about you answer my questions first," Leo interjects. "You keep calling me "inmate," but I haven't been charged with anything. Pretty sure you can't detain me without cause."
"The EPF is authorized to detain non-human inmates for as long as deemed necessary for the security of the United States," says Bishop smoothly. "Probable cause doctrine does not apply in this case."
"That's gotta be unconstitutional."
"The constitution does not recognize the rights of yokai. You have no right to counsel, no right to a speedy trial, and no right to protections from cruel and unusual punishments." Bishop's stare is colder than the temperature in the room. "But I am not an unfair man. Answer my questions, and I will provide you with food and clothing."
Leo tosses a glance over his shoulder. "How about a private bathroom?"
Bishop's expression stays ever in place, unimpressed and stoic. "Food and clothing," he repeats.
Leo gives his head a shake. "Then nope," he says, popping the "p". "I plead the fifth."
"As I have already explained, the Bill of Rights does not apply to you."
"That's such crap." Leo bangs his fist on the window. "You can't just keep me here forever for no reason!"
"I do have reasons." Bishop leans closer to the window, his eyes narrowing. "Let's try a different question. What is your relation to Baron Draxum?"
The surprise is fast and sharp, but Leo just manages to keep it from showing on his face. "Who?" he asks innocently, even as the panic sets into his chest. If they know about Draxum, what else do they know?
"We know you are acquainted with him," says Bishop. "What is the nature of your relationship?"
Leo knows they aren't bluffing - why would they bring up that very specific name otherwise? There's no lie he can tell that won't reveal something.
So he doesn't say anything. Instead, he turns his back to the window and sits down, staring resolutely at the opposite wall.
Bishop clicks his tongue. "Very well," he says. "I am a patient man. I can wait." Then, more muffled, like he's facing away from the microphone, Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."
The window goes dark, then turns back to white. Leo doesn't move for a long time.
-----
The third water bottle arrives, so he guesses that's the end of day two.
He's shaking as he gets up to retrieve it, adding it to his growing water bottle hoard. He's gone through three and a half by now, but he's trying not to drink them too fast.
As promised, no food is delivered, and his stomach growls and rumbles in protest. The water helps, but only slightly. He needs to eat.
He also needs to sleep.
The panicked adrenaline spikes that have kept him awake this long are starting to die down, with more and more long stretches of exhaustion between them. The shaking is near constant, bringing with it the weird jittery feeling he gets when his insomnia gets particularly bad.
The window is still unnerving him. The idea of sleeping while they're watching him feels staggeringly unsafe.
But he doesn't think he can hold out now until his family gets here. Sure, they're probably getting close (they have to be getting close), but they're sure taking their sweet time. And he's just so tired.
After a long internal debate, he lays down on the cold tile floor. It's not at all comfortable, but somehow he doubts the cot would be any better. Besides, even if he moves the cot under the window, he thinks it would be easier to see him if he uses it. So on the floor it is.
He presses as close to the wall as he can, curling up into a ball for warmth. He wishes he had a blanket.
He wishes he was home.
He squeezes his eyes shut tight and forces back the sudden wave of overwhelming homesickness. There's no reason to feel this way. It's only been two days! What is he, a baby?
It's fine. It's all fine. They're definitely on his trail now. Raph is leading the team. Donnie is using some kind of invention to blah blah blah nerd stuff. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative journalism skills to find clues.
They're on their way. He just has to hold out a little longer. He can do this.
He sleeps, and in his dreams, something grabs him tight and drags him down and down and down where he can't escape.
-----
The same routine plays out over the next two days.
Leo gets two water bottles delivered, spaced, if he had to guess, about five hours apart. Bishop comes to visit him some time after the second bottle. Leo refuses to answer his questions. Bishop turns the temperature down and then leaves. A few hours later his last water bottle comes. Then nothing for the whole night.
They still don't turn off his lights, but exhaustion is starting to win over the brightness.
More than a few times, Leo tries to summon a portal on his own, without his swords. If his family is going to take their sweet time in coming, he might as well try to help them out. He tries to summon his ninpo (without glowing), tries to feel the tug inside of him that he always does when he teleports, tries to envision the place he wants to go and tunnel through space to get there.
Nothing. Always nothing.
(Donnie can make his constructs independent of his bo staff. Raph can send his projections away from his sai. Mikey's learning to use mystic powers without his nunchucks. So why does Leo need his katana? Why is he the only one this useless?)
It probably doesn't help that he's so damn hungry. It's a constant companion now, a low and hollow ache that chooses inconvenient times to turn into white hot stabs of urgency, into seizing cramps that steal his breath. The water only helps so much - it keeps him alive but doesn't satisfy, doesn't soothe. In some ways it just makes the feeling worse.
And he's always shaking, too, but he doesn't know if that's the hunger or the cold.
Maybe the cold wouldn't bother him so much if it were at least still. But the vents blow fresh air inside relentlessly, and no matter where he goes he can't seem to get out of the direct stream. The cold wind batters his tired body, and there's places his skin is starting to turn dry and flaky. His nose won't stop running, and he's allowed himself a small section of his one roll of toilet paper to blow it, already stiff and congealed and disgusting.
It's miserable.
And there's still nothing to do.
He stacks a pyramid out of his empty water bottles, knocks it down, then stacks it up again. He tries to come up with some new and exciting ways to demolish it, but it's only new and exciting for so long.
He spends a few hours of day three singing karaoke as obnoxiously as possible. He hopes everyone outside enjoys the performance.
He recounts every issue of Jupiter Jim he knows to himself, then the plot of every movie. Then he goes through Lou Jitsu films, then anything else he can think of. That eats up a good chunk of day four.
By the time he gets his first water bottle of day five, he's out of ideas to entertain himself. He's never been good at this. He doesn't know how introverts like Donnie can go multiple days without talking to someone.
But when Bishop comes back with his daily offer of conversation, Leo once again impolitely declines.
-----
Something new happens on night five.
It's been a long time since the last water bottle. Leo has been trying to sleep, but it's not coming easy; he's exhausted, but the floor is so cold and he's so sore from staying on it night after night. Not to mention, his nightmares have been getting worse, and he isn't eager to return to them.
Add on the hunger, and sleep is elusive.
Suddenly, there's the telltale shadow of the window above him turning dark - this time, though, it doesn't light up as much as normal. Confused and curious, Leo sits up and takes a peek.
The room beyond is dim, only the glow of a green EXIT sign and a small desk lamp lighting the space. But it's enough for Leo to see a man standing there, looking inside. It's not Bishop - in fact, he doesn't recognize this person at all. They're wearing fatigues, but it's not anyone he's seen in the room during Bishop's normal interrogations.
The man catches sight of Leo, and the grinning leer on his face makes Leo regret looking.
He beckons for Leo to stand up. Warily, Leo does, unable to help but keep his arms folded tight over his chest. Not for the first time, he wishes he had some clothes - his gear, at the very least. Anything to not feel quite so exposed.
The man reaches down and picks something up, holding it aloft for Leo's inspection. "Want a sandwich?" he asks into the microphone.
The sandwich looks like white bread and bologna. No cheese, no other toppings that Leo can spot. Maybe some mustard, if anything. Overall, the most boring possible sandwich he could have been offered.
Leo's mouth is watering.
He has to swallow hard before answering. He doesn't trust this. Even if his stomach is slamming up and down at the promise of food, food, food.
"I'm not hungry," he lies.
The man laughs. It's not a kind sound. "Sure you ain't," he says. "You spend every night curled up on the floor like the dumb animal you are. Can you even eat this?" He waves the sandwich for emphasis.
Leo doesn't answer. He takes a step back from the window, like that will put any kind of distance between them. Like that will save him.
The man watches him with a sleezy grin. He waves the sandwich again.
"You want this," he says.
Leo shakes his head.
"You really sure?"
Leo shudders. Stands tall. Nods.
The man watches him for a long, long moment. Leo fights the urge to hide.
Finally, with a shrug, the man says, "Suit yourself."
Then he starts eating the sandwich. Right where Leo can watch.
Leo's stomach growls, loud and angry in his ears, and he has to physically hold himself back from crumpling.
After several bites, the man suddenly reaches out and taps the window, indicating the cot stood up in front of the toilet.
"That," he says, giving another tap for emphasis, "doesn't do shit."
Leo wants to crawl out of his own skin.
The need to hide is suddenly too great. He rushes to the cot, grabbing it and dragging it back to the blind spot under the window. He sets it down on all four legs, so it's as close to the floor as possible.
Then he lies down on his belly and wriggles underneath. It's a tight squeeze, and the cot ends up pushed up by his shell, suspended in the air, but he doesn't care.
He curls up in his pleasant lie of privacy and bites his hand to keep from screaming himself hoarse.
After an eternity, the window above him turns white again. It doesn't matter. Leo knows he's still there. Still watching.
-----
"You look tired," Bishop greets him. Leo answers with a dead-eyed stare.
"I keep telling you, if you want your conditions to improve, all you have to do is answer my questions."
Leo says nothing. He just stares, arms wrapped tight around himself to try and keep his body heat in.
"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways accessed?"
For a moment, Leo considers just... telling him.
His family doesn't live in the Hidden City. The yokai have never exactly greeted them with open arms. What does he care if these military guys go after them? At least then, maybe he can finally eat something.
That's not what a hero does, Leo! echoes Mind Raph disapprovingly. Innocent people will get hurt!
Right. He's a hero. And heroes don't give into the demands of shitty guys like Bishop.
Leo swallows hard. "No comment."
Bishop's face changes ever so slightly: his brow creases. Leo wonders if that's good or bad for him.
"You understand that Baron Draxum is a known threat, don't you?" he asks. "We are aware of his plans to commit mass murder on the human population. We also know that he has been dormant for some time, and we need information on what he is planning."
Leo thinks of Barry's ambitions to be recognized as the best lunchperson in all of America and can't help but laugh. It comes out cracked and wheezing.
Bishop's furrow gets deeper. "Do you think this is funny?"
"Little bit," says Leo.
Bishop has a chasm to rival Raph's now. Leo knows he shouldn't, but he grins. It's his one moment of triumph - only he can be this aggravating.
And then Bishop says, "Temperature down seven degrees," and that wipes the smile right off Leo's face.
-----
The plastic of the water bottles is soft and pliable and feels weirdly good under Leo's teeth.
He chews the top of the bottle, gnawing at it until it's completely flattened out, pockmarked with little tiny indents from his incisors. It's not eating - it won't fill his belly or ease the persistent hunger pains. But something about the motion is soothing. The place-bo effect.
Pla-ce-bo, corrects Donnie's voice in his mind, sounding testy.
Where are you? Leo thinks back.
There's no answer.
He's gnawed his way through four water bottles. There's eighteen in total now, two and a half still full of water. He thought about using one to wash up a bit, but decided against it in the end. He knows he stinks, but the last thing he wants right now is to be wet. Not when he's starting to see his breath.
Oh well. It's not like he has anywhere to be.
He turns his attentions to the lids next. These are harder and thus tougher to chew. Still, if Leo uses his molars, he can eventually crack the lip, and then bend the plastic in and in, chewing until he ends up with a flat disc.
It's just small enough that Leo could swallow it, if he wanted to.
He thinks he remembers watching some kind of wildlife documentary. Or maybe he didn't watch it himself, but Mikey told him about it. Or maybe April? He doesn't know. His thoughts swim in and out and get lost on the way.
Point is. Sea turtles in the wild die all the time because of plastic in the water. They cut open their stomachs and find trash inside.
Well, Leo is a turtle in captivity. Maybe that means he's immune. Maybe he could swallow this plastic lid, and then he'd finally feel full and the pain pain pain of his empty stomach would go away.
He does not swallow the plastic lid. But it's more tempting than he'd like to admit.
It's going to be okay. When his family gets him out of here, they'll have a big pizza to celebrate. Maybe he can even talk them into letting him have the last slice.
It has to be any moment now, right? It's been a week. They have to be closing in. Any moment now, the door will open, and there they'll be to take him home.
The air conditioning blows relentlessly against his skin. He sneezes, then rubs the snot on his arm. He's given up on the tissue paper.
It'll be over soon. It has to be. Just hang in there, Leon, just a little longer.
He picks up another bottle and starts chewing.
-----
He's playing a mindless little game with his flattened bottle lids the next time Bishop comes.
"I'm surprised you still have any energy at all," says Bishop, and Leo wants to punch him.
(Really, he wants to do more than that. But those kinds of thoughts always make him feel weird and bad, so he pushes them away.)
"You should have learned by now," he says, pushing to his feet and trying not to show how badly he's trembling, "you can't keep me down."
"This is all unnecessary," says Bishop. "I'll feed you as soon as you answer my questions."
Leo barks out a laugh. "Sure you will."
"I will," says Bishop. He turns and says over his shoulder, "Bring it here."
One of the men in fatigues steps forward and hands a tray with a covered plate over to Bishop. Bishop uncovers the tray and holds it where Leo can see.
Baked chicken, broccoli with cheese, mashed potatoes.
Leo's stomach twists and cramps so painfully he has to bend at the hips and clutch his midriff.
"This is yours, as soon as you answer my questions."
Leo pointedly keeps from looking at the food. He shakes his head. He can't. He can't.
"Such persistence." Bishop's voice is scolding now. "You understand that you are a known accomplice to a terrorist, don't you? But if you become a cooperating witness, you will be granted some leniency."
Leo barks a laugh, lifting his eyes to look at Bishop's face, and pointedly not the food. "What's the point?" he asks. "If I'm not... protected by the constitution, or whatever. Are you going to let me go?"
"No," says Bishop. "But as I have told you, your conditions will become more comfortable." He waves the tray of food.
Leo stares at him, before a manic smile splits his face.
"You... stupid bastard. I can't even answer your questions." He slams a shaking hand against his plastron. "I'm not even a yokai! Do you get that? I'm not a yokai!"
Bishop looks skeptical. "Obviously you are."
"I'm not!" Leo rages. "I'm a mutant! I'm from New York! I don't even live in the Hidden City!"
Bishop's eyes flash. "I see," he says, "so you do know of it."
Leo falters, his body going slack.
What an obvious, stupid mistake.
(Some face-man he is.)
It takes Leo a long moment to answer. Bishop stays right where he is, holding the food so tantalizingly close and yet still out of reach.
"...I don't know about the gateways," he says finally. "I don't know about their defensive capabilities. I don't know what Baron Draxum is planning."
"Your lies are obvious," says Bishop. "You really don't want this? It's your last chance today."
Leo stares at the food. His mouth is watering so hard it might start to drip. Would it really be so bad to answer? They don't live in the Hidden City. And Draxum dropped him off a roof.
Draxum is trying to change, says Mind Raph. You see what these guys are like. You can't turn the yokai over to them. They'll hurt them!
What about me? he asks. Is it okay if I get hurt?
You're a hero, Leo, says Mind Raph. You can deal with it for a little longer. It's just a room. Just a little cold. Just some hunger.
He's a hero. He can deal with it. He can. He can.
He'll make them proud. Show them they can trust him.
It takes everything he has, but he shakes his head.
Bishop tuts. Then he throws the entire plate in the trash.
"Tomorrow, then," he says. Then the window is gone.
Leo collapses on his cot and tries not to cry.
-----
After his third water bottle on day eight, one of the fluorescent lights over his head flickers and then dies out.
It's not surprising, since they keep them running twenty-four seven. The blessedly dimmed lighting is actually nice, for once. Leo thinks maybe he could get some sleep, if the gnawing hunger and the constant shivers don't keep him awake.
He's just closed his eyes and snuggled up under his cot when it occurs to him: they may come in to fix it. If keeping the lights on day and night is part of their plan to torture him, to keep him exhausted and anxious and on edge, then they have to.
Which means his chance is finally here.
He has to be careful about this. He has to be ready to move, but he can't let them know he's ready to move. He has to let them think he's too weak, too exhausted, to make an escape attempt.
(He can't let himself think that, though. He can't give up before he tries.)
So he stays under his cot, but subtly shifts it so it won't restrict his movement. He has to be ready to burst out as soon as he gets a chance. Get past whoever comes in, then get out the door. It's after the last water bottle, so it's nighttime. There will be fewer people. He can do this. He can do this.
Find his swords. Make a portal. Get out.
Just as he was thinking, after a long time has passed, there is a loud warning beep, different from the water bottle beep. An automated voice says from somewhere unseen, "Inmates clear the door. Security personnel entering. Stay still and you will not be harmed."
Then the door slides open, and someone comes in.
It's a man wearing fatigues. Leo thinks this is the one who "offered" him a sandwich the other day. He's holding some kind of gun with a long barrel. He does a sweep of the room with his eyes, coming to rest on Leo under his cot. He gives Leo the same leering grin, and waves the barrel of the gun in his direction.
"Now you behave, and we'll get along just fine," he says.
He steps to the side, and another man enters, this one wearing the kind of jumpsuit Leo sees janitors in on TV. He's carrying a stepladder in one hand and a long tube in the other. Is that what fluorescent lights look like? Leo didn't know.
The man walks to the middle of the room and sets up his stepladder. Then he walks up and pulls off the light casing. When he unhooks the old bulb, it causes the other bulb to flicker, just for a few moments.
Leo explodes out from under the cot, grabbing the man in fatigues by the legs and yanking as hard as he can. The man yelps in surprise, and Leo hears the sound of the gun going off in a random direction. The janitor shouts and drops the light bulb - the sound of shattering glass joins the cacophony.
Leo jumps to his feet and runs out the door they had been too stupid to close, sprinting toward the EXIT sign. He's exhausted and shaky but he's coursing with adrenaline, and he leans on it hard to keep him moving. Don't stop, don't stop, get out of here. He'll figure out what to do next once he's free.
Past the exit sign there's a large open room with desks and computer monitors. Most of them are off, but one lingering woman in a lab coat, seated at her desk, screams when she sees Leo dash through the middle of the office space.
"Security!" she screams into a device on her chest. "Inmate is escaping! Inmate is escaping!"
Leo doesn't have time to shut her up, he just keeps moving. He pushes through the next door and arrives in a hallway; he only has time to glance one way and then the other before scrambling to the left, hoping it was a good choice.
He rounds a corner and sees another green EXIT sign up ahead. It's not where he meant to go - he meant to find where they're keeping his swords first. But he hears shouting behind him and doesn't stop. Fine, so no portals - he'll figure out something else once he's away from here.
He throws himself forward into the exit door, which leads him into yet another hallway. Another long sprint, with shouting and slamming doors at his heels, and then finally, finally, a third EXIT sign, and he crashes outside.
Where there's snow on the ground, snow on the trees.
It steals his breath away. There shouldn't be snow. It's May.
Where is he?
He takes a breath of air so cold it seizes his lungs, then takes a step forward. He'll worry about that-
BANG!
A piercing pain in his shoulder nearly sends him toppling over. Leo shouts, grasping for the wound and feeling something sticking out of his skin. He grabs it and yanks, pulling it free.
It's a dart.
Damn it, he thinks, before his vision goes woozy, and he collapses into the snow.
-----
"Are you proud of your little escape attempt?" comes Bishop's voice.
Leo looks up from his cot. Bishop has to get so close to the window to see him that his nose is pressed flat against it. It should be hilarious, but Leo doesn't really have the energy to laugh. Or to do much of anything.
He's hungry. He's tired. He's cold. He's still sluggish from the drugs.
And they threw away all his water bottles. Fuckers.
Leo rolls over on the cot and covers his ears.
"What a childish response," says Bishop, and that's funny, too, because Leo literally is a child. Or a teenager, anyway. He doesn't feel like it will help him much to point that out, though.
"All you have to do is answer my questions, and all this will be fixed."
That's the funniest thing of all. The idea that he spills his guts and Bishop treats him to a five course meal to make up for all the pain up till now. Hilarious.
He says nothing.
Bishop sighs.
"You are likely still affected by the tranquilizing agent. I'll return tomorrow."
Before he leaves, he says, "Temperature down five degrees."
-----
The same man is back that night. He opens the window and looks down at Leo with the same leering smile. Leo can't even take satisfaction in the bandage on the side of his head.
"Neat little trick you had yesterday," he says. "Almost got me fired."
Leo wishes it had gotten him fired. But he clearly has no luck in this situation.
"You know, I respect the attempt. And you probably would have gotten farther with a little food in your belly." The man reaches down, then retrieves a sandwich, as mouth-wateringly unappetizing as the last time. "You sure you don't want this?"
And Leo knows he shouldn't trust this guy. Leo knows he should say no.
But he's just...
so...
hungry.
So he gets up. And he turns to the window. On shaking limbs that can barely hold him upright anymore. With a body that is laced with pain and aches and cramps.
And he nods.
The man's smile gets wider. "What do you say?" he asks, in the sing-song tone of a parent scolding a child.
It makes a sick nausea rise in Leo's throat. But he wants the sandwich.
"Please," he gasps out.
"Mmm... not good enough." The man waves the sandwich. "You want this? You beg for it."
Leo stares, eyes wide. But the sandwich... the sandwich...
He gets down on his knees. Feels a searing flush of humiliation. His stomach is rolling and gurgling and cramping with pain, a hollow, empty chasm inside him desperate to be filled.
He lowers his head.
"Please," he says. "I... I want the sandwich. I'm... begging you, please."
The man laughs, loud and long. When Leo finally finds it in him to raise his eyes, the sandwich is already half eaten.
"Hey, good job," says the man, licking a bit of mustard off his thumb. "That was real convincin'."
And then he takes another bite.
Just like that, Leo forgets about the pain, the aches, the cold, the hunger. All that's left is pure, white hot, screaming rage.
Leo lunges at the window and slams his fist into it so hard it cracks. Not enough to break the glass. Not enough to free him. But enough that the man startles and steps back.
And Leo starts to laugh. High and manic and unhinged even to his own ears.
"I'll kill you," he says, and his voice sounds almost joking, and yet- "I'll kill you. You're dead. You're dead, as soon as I get out of here, you're dead, I'll kill you, I'LL KILL YOU!"
The man has dropped the rest of his sandwich. He fumbles for his gun, left somewhere on a table to the side. For one satisfying moment, Leo sees a flash of genuine fear on the man's face.
"Shit," he says, his voice far away the further he gets from the microphone. "Pretty scary, frogboy."
Then he slams a button, and the window goes black, and Leo gets a glimpse of his own reflection.
His face is gaunt and drawn. His eyes are ringed by deep circles, so dark they look like bruises. His body is shaking like a leaf.
And his stripes...
His stripes are lit up like when he uses his ninpo, but they aren't their usual Neon Leon bright.
They're almost black.
Leo gasps and stumbles back just as the window goes white. The full body quakes he feels now aren't from the cold or the hunger or the exhaustion.
He turns and sinks onto the cot. Puts his face in his hands and tries to breathe. Tries to will his ninpo to stop rolling and snapping and to go back to normal.
This isn't what he wants. This isn't him.
This place is breaking him. He's letting it break him.
He pulls his legs up onto the cot and buries his face in his knees. Wraps his arms around them and rocks gently, the way Donnie used to do when things got overwhelming. Maybe he understands that better, now.
This isn't him. He's Leonardo, Neon Leon, the face-man, the jokester! The one who's always ready with a quip and a laugh. The one who can do anything!
Except portal out of his room. Except escape from this building. Except resist begging for a sandwich like he's a dog.
Leo's breath hitches, and for once he doesn't stop himself. He knows the guy outside is probably watching. He knows there are cameras recording this. He hates giving them the satisfaction.
But he's tired, and hungry, and he...
He wants to go home.
He cries, silently, until he's completely rung out.
-----
Maybe they aren't coming.
That's the thought that pops into his head, just a bit after the first water bottle of the day.
He knew they would have gotten a late start, because he stormed out. And he knew it would take them awhile to figure out who took him - he hadn't heard of the EPF before, so why would they? And he knew it would take them time to figure out where he had been taken, which must have been pretty far out if it's snowing outside. But the EPF got him here within a night, he's pretty sure, so unless they have a super fast jet, he must still be on the continent somewhere.
So... so surely they must have figured it out by now, right? Raph is leading the team. Donnie is doing science things. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative skills.
Unless they aren't coming.
Maybe... maybe it's true. Why would they want him back, after all? Leo took Raph's leader position, and since then all he'd managed to do was piss Raph off. Mikey and Donnie hadn't been happy about it, either, and he'd noticed that they'd been avoiding him more and more. April claimed she wasn't taking sides, but she always seemed to be on Raph's anyway. And Dad... well, he was probably disappointed that he made Leo leader only for him to do nothing and then get himself kidnapped.
He doesn't bring anything to the team. He doesn't bring anything to the family. And no one likes his jokes.
So. Maybe they just... aren't looking. Maybe they aren't going to come.
Maybe he's held out this long for no reason. Maybe he's been cold and starving for no reason at all.
Maybe it's time to give up.
---
Don't give up, says a new voice in his head.
You are not alone.
-----
He has no energy left to stand when Bishop comes. The man looks down at him, lips pressed into a thin line.
"You don't look well," he observes.
No shit, Leo wants to say.
"This has gone on long enough. Answer my questions, and we will provide you with food, clothing, and medical care."
The list is getting longer. Leo's fuzzy eyes stare up at Bishop. Medical care. Does he need that?
"You already know what I want to know." Bishop has a furrow between his eyebrows now. "Will you talk to me?"
He could. He could do it. He could finally have some relief from all the pain. All the hunger. All the cold.
But they might hurt the yokai in the Hidden City.
They might hurt Draxum.
They might hurt his family.
And maybe, if nothing else... if Leo could just keep his mouth shut, just this once...
Maybe that would finally make Raph, Dad, and everyone proud of him.
Maybe they'd finally trust him.
Maybe, at least, he can have that much.
Leo shakes his head.
Bishop scowls.
"Temperature down ten degrees."
-----
Leo isn't shivering anymore. That's probably a bad sign.
He can still see his breath, each time he exhales. It rises like smoke, before disappearing into the air.
He doesn't have any energy left, not even to chew on his new water bottles. He hasn't even collected the last two, and they sit crowded together in the slot, untouched.
He kind of wishes they had just dissected him from the beginning. It would have been faster. Freezing to death, he's decided, is a real zero out of ten. Starving to death isn't any better. No stars.
Even though the damn lights are still on, he feels extremely sleepy. It's probably the cold. He wonders what will happen if he brumates. He's never done it before, not like his little cousins, and he has no idea if it's even safe.
Probably not, given he has no calorie reserves left. All it means is he won't be drinking water, either.
But he's so sleepy.
It's going to be time soon for Bishop to come back. Leo doesn't know what the point is anymore. Maybe he'll just sleep through it. Yeah, that would really make him mad. And making Bishop mad is all he has at this point.
And he'll get to sleep. It's a win-win.
So thinking, Leo rolls himself over onto his belly. Then, one by one, he pulls his limbs into his shell.
He doesn't do this much anymore, not since he started growing. His body just doesn't seem to fit his shell like it should - a side effect of the mutation, probably. It's not really comfortable to be inside for long.
But Leo is sleepy. And his shell feels like the best place to be.
So he pulls in his legs, then his arms, and then, finally, his head.
It's not any warmer in here. But at least it's dark.
At least he's not shivering.
Leo sighs, content, and closes his eyes, and drifts to sleep.
-----
(Outside his cell, there's a bang, and shouting, and a gunshot.
The sound is muffled, and Leo sleeps on.)
-----
Part 2 (not yet out)
#rottmnt#rise leo#agent bishop#cw: psychological torture#dandy fanfiction#I want it to be clear that any time Leo is hearing “Mind Raph”#that's just his own inner voice manifesting#please don't be mad at Raph himself lol
332 notes
·
View notes
Text
PREFACE TO MY POST: I’m not arguing with someone who says fanfiction as a medium is better than published books. It’s a better use of both our time not to argue gives you more time to read omegaverse me more time to do Anything Else.
POST: it’s so funny when someone trots out I got tired of reading books by old white men. I Find Better And More Representation In Fanfiction than Published Books! Because representation is so clearly standing in for the phrase “white gay/bi man”.
POINT ONE. it’s straight up not hard to find books by people with different perspectives. I could go to Libby dot com right now and find 3 different reading lists put together by the library to encourage you, the patron, to diversify your reading. Even when I don’t use those lists and I’m just going by clicking on covers I like I end up reading a variety of authors bc. They’re writing good books that are ending up on most popular lists that float their way to the top of recommendations. There are plenty of tools in place that guide you to books Not Written by old white men, Not About old white men. Libraries make it very very very easy to expand your palette. They want you to expand your palette soooo bad they want you to do it purposefully and if not purposefully, they’ll at least make it easy for you to do accidentally.
POINT TWO. if you are talking about fanfiction and you Aren’t using representation as shorthand for “white man but he’s gay” then the amount of fanfiction with “representation” is shit fucking all. On every axis. Nothing about women nothing about people of color. Women of color RIGHT out. I think I honestly would respect the stance of “oh I read fanfic instead of books because they’re easier, similar, and mostly about homosexuality” than I would the faux posturing of Its Praxis for me to read the diverse representation of ao3 top 100 (97 m/m) (3 f/f) (every character is white).
308 notes
·
View notes
Text
Online Writing Resources #2
Vocabulary:
Tip of My Tongue: I find this very helpful when I can't think of a specific word I'm looking for. Which is often.
WordHippo: As well as a thesaurus, this website also provides antonyms, definitions, rhymes, sentences that use a particular word, translations, pronunciations, and word forms.
OneLook: Find definitions, synonyms, antonyms, and related words. Allows you to search in specific categories.
YourDictionary: This website is a dictionary and thesaurus, and helps with grammar, vocabulary, and usage.
Information/Research:
Crime Reads: Covers crime and thriller movies, books, and TV shows. Great inspiration before writing a crime scene or story in this genre.
Havocscope: Black market information, including pricing, market value, and sources.
Climate Comparison: Compares the climates of two countries, or parts of the country, with each other.
Food Timeline: Centuries worth of information about food, and what people ate in different time periods.
Refseek: Information about literally anything. Provides links to other sources relevant to your search.
Perplexity AI: Uses information from the internet to answer any questions you have, summarises the key points, suggests relevant or similar searches, and links the sources used.
Planning/Worldbuilding:
One Stop for Writers: Literally everything a writer could need, all in one place: description thesaurus, character builder, story maps, scene maps, timelines, worldbuilding surveys, idea generators, templates, tutorials... all of it.
World Anvil: Provides worldbuilding templates and lets you create interactive maps, chronicles, timelines, whiteboards, family trees, charts, and interactive tables. May be a bit complicated to navigate at first, but the features are incredibly useful.
Inkarnate: This is a fantasy map maker where you can make maps for your world, regions, cities, interiors, or battles.
Miscellaneous:
750words: Helps build the habit of writing daily (about three pages). Fully private. It also tracks your progress and mindset while writing.
BetaBooks: Allows you to share your manuscript with your beta readers. You can see who is reading, how far they've read, and feedback.
Readable: Helps you to measure and improve the readability of your writing and make readers more engaged.
ZenPen: A minimalist writing page that blocks any distractions and helps improve your focus. You can make it full screen, invert the colours, and set a word count goal.
QueryTracker: Helps you find a literary agent for your book.
Lulu: Self-publish your book!
See my previous post with more:
Drop any other resources you like to use in the comments! Happy writing ❤
#writeblr#writing#writing tips#writing advice#writing help#writing resources#creative writing#writer resources#author resources#writer stuff#how to write#writing techniques#story writing#author#author things#writer things#writer help#writing research#vocabulary#deception-united
386 notes
·
View notes
Text
warning: controlling behaviour, manipulation, toxic relationship, could be read as yandere tendencies
pairing: sunday x reader, a little dan heng at the end
author’s note: this was written before i played the 2.2 update, I’m sorry if it’s ooc requests are coming soon when i get back in the groove of writing i promise :3
☆ support me on ko-fi if you like what you’ve read ☆
people had various reasons to join the astral express, some had nowhere else to go, others wanted to see the cosmos. you however were running away from something, well more like someone.
once upon a time penacony was your home, your favourite place on earth. the people were always smiling and the party never stopped, but it was only recently that you’ve realised that this self proclaimed dream was a nightmare in disguise.
“why can’t i go outside?” you asked softly, sitting on your grand queen sized bed, surrounded by pillows and hugging your knees to your chest.
the tall man standing in front of your window, that was overlooking a small part of the golden hour, chuckled. it was out of amusement from your question, but you only found it to be demeaning. he turned to face you and sat down at the edge of the bed.
“you know why. you could get hurt,” he said, his voice stern, contrasting greatly with the gentle look on his face. it confused you greatly.
“you go outside,” you said with furrowed eyebrows, slightly lowering your knees.
“that’s different.”
“why?”
his eyes narrowed slightly, it was a telltale sign that he didn’t like that you questioned him.
“because i say so.” he took a deep breath and reached out to touch your cheek, caressing it slowly. it was meant to bring you comfort, but in this situation it felt like anything but. “oh, reader. i know what’s best for you. and it’s not loitering on the streets.”
“you don’t know that,” you replied, you saw his eyes narrow further. “you can’t keep me in here with you for the rest of my life.”
he chuckled once more, this time it was fair more sinister, he tightened the grip on your face and gave you a soft slap on your cheek, before standing up and walking towards the door.
“you’d be surprised about what’s all possible inside a dream,” he said, then taking a small pause and taking in your small fragil form in the bed. “now, i have some business to attend to. stay here until i get back or else.”
you felt a shiver run down your spine, and nodded. “yes, sunday.”
with a satisfied smile he left the room, making sure to lock the door behind himself.
“reader? are you alright?”
you snapped out of your thoughts and suddenly you were back in the warm parlor of the astral express, the smell of coffee tainting the air. pom pom was sweeping the floor near the jukebox and dan heng stood in front of you, surprising you greatly. “huh? yes, sorry.”
“is something wrong?” he asked further, a hint of genuine concern in his voice. he carefully sat down next to you, keeping a respectful distance. “himiko said you were originally from penacony. it wasn’t easy for me when we stopped at the xianzhou, do you have similar feelings?”
“compared to your struggles mine are nothing…” you replied, thinking back to dan heng and his history before he boarded the express. you turned to look at him, his expression was unreadable as usual, but you could feel your words worried him a little. you took a deep breath and put on a brave face.
“what i mean is, thank you for your concern, but i’ll be fine as long as i don’t set a foot in the reverie.”
#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x gender neutral reader#honkai star rail x you#hsr x reader#hsr x gender neutral reader#hsr x you#hsr x y/n#hsr sunday#sunday x reader#sunday x you
153 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hi
It's been brought to my attention that there are people out there who are sadly plagiarising my work again.
1. This is not okay.
To clarify, while I'm very happy for people to take inspiration from my stories (in the same way you might any book you read from a bookshop), I don't want my work used or reposted without credit.
I'm not going to go into lengths on why it is wrong to plagiarise someone else's writing. I don't think my tumblr post is magically going to change anyone's mind, especially as if you've followed me long enough you know we've done this rodeo before.
So.
2. How to tell when writing is plagiarised
It can be very difficult to tell when something is plagiarised, especially if we have never come across the original work before and have no reason to recognise it.
I don't think it's realistic for everyone to vet everything they come across online for plagiarism, but it's also something I don't see talked about a lot for fiction.
These questions to ask yourself are not foolproof and not applicable to everything. But I think they can be a start.
If the writer has posted more than one story, is there a similarity across them? While writing style can change across an author's different pieces, there is still usually going to be a similar feel across stories if they came from the same person. Writers have voices and quirks and little things that are specific to them. If every piece feels wildly different then it might be coming from different places. This is probably going to come down to gut reaction and instinct in the first instance. But that's okay. Because that gut reaction is just there to make you think twice and maybe investigate more thoroughly.
How much are they posting? Can people churn an extraordinary amount of words out? Yes, sometimes. But...as a general ballpark, no. Writing takes time and effort. If someone is coming out with enormous amounts of writing every day or week or month or whatever, then this can be a hint to look a little closer.
Do you ever see hints of their writing process? Can the writer talk about their characters or what they want out of the story or anything like that? Do they ever post a story organically in response to a request or whatever? Not all writers know in-depth everything about their story or characters or plot, but the main point here is that the finished product is the tip of the iceberg. If someone is a writer than there is more going on beneath the surface of the posted stories.
I hope this helps!
#writing#plagiarism#ai is a problem but it's one built on the disregard of people#plagiarizing#writing community
105 notes
·
View notes
Text
This is a headcanon circulating around a sensitive topic and one that you may not agree with so if you don't want to read it please scroll.
This headcanon revolves around the character Osamu Dazai and the concept of sexual assault
I believe that Dazai was sexually assaulted as a child
This has nothing to do with Mori and takes place long before they even meet
While it is true we know little to nothing of BSD Dazai's past, it is also true that it is highly likely the Irl author and his No Longer Human counterpart was SA'd
There are two specific pieces of writing are evidence of this
"My true nature, however, was one diametrically opposed to the role of the mischievous imp. Already by that time I had been taught a lamentable thing by the maids and manservants; I was being corrupted. I now think that to perpetrate such a thing on a small child is the ugliest, vilest, cruelest crime a human being can commit. But I endured it. I even felt as if it enabled me to see one more particular aspect of human beings. I smiled in my weakness. If I had formed the habit of telling the truth I might perhaps have been able to confide unabashedly to my father or mother about the crime, but I could not fully understand even my own parents. To appeal for help to any human being - I could expect nothing from that expedient. Supposing I complained to my father or my mother, or to the police, the government - I wondered if in the end I would not be argued into silence by someone in good graces with the world, by the excuses of which the world approved.It is only too obvious that favoritism inevitably exists: it would have been useless to complain to human beings. So I said nothing of the truth. I felt I had no choice but to endure whatever came my way and go on playing the clown"
- No Longer Human
"I ceased being a child soon after entering grade school. It was then that my younger brother’s nurse taught me something that took my breath away. It was a beautiful summer day, and the grass by the vacant house out back had grown tall and dense. I must have been about seven, and my brother’s nurse could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen. My brother was three years younger than I, and the nurse shooed him off. She said, ‘Go get some leaf grass’ - that’s our word for clover back home. Then she added, ‘And make sure it’s got four leaves too.’ After he left, she put her arms around me and we started rolling around in the tall grass. Thereafter we would play our secret little game in the storehouse or in one of the closets."
- Memories
Both No Longer Human and Memories are semi-autobiographies, meaning they're somewhat based in truth
I can't speak from experience but SA has a big effect on the lives of the survivors
Some of thes effects include;
Sleeping or Eating disorders
Dazai canoniclly has issues sleeping and there are scenes that imply he has issues with and/or doesn't see the point in eating, at one point saying that it is "so much trouble"
Nightmares
There is a specific scene within one kf the light novels where Kunikida asks if Dazai has nightmares.
(Unfortunately I can't find the exact moment so I can't quote it so if anyone can find it please let me know)
Self-hatred
It might not be clearly stated that he hates himself but ay the same time its rather clear that he does
Suicidal thoughts or self-harm
He is a suicidal maniac
Riskier sexual behaviors such as having many partners
He canoniclly has had quite a lot of lovers
Substance abuse
The one scene we see of his apartment we see that there is more alcohol than furniture (it's also a popular hc that Dazai smokes which makes sense considering his past with the pm and that irl author smoked)
Another moment to mention was when he seduced the nurse (which technically counted as SA too but that's not the point of this)
I'm probably gonna end it here because it's late and I'm tired but anyone willing to add or correct anything please go ahead and I hoped you enjoyed my hc
#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bsd dazai#bungou stray dogs#dazai osamu#dazai#soukoku#dazai x chuuya#dazai headcanons#dazai hcs#dazai bsd#bungou stray dogs dazai#dazaibsd#osamu dazai#bsd headcanons#Bsd hcs#bsd thoughts#bsd analysis#bsd theory
57 notes
·
View notes
Text
Over the 7 Seas
Ch. 36
Charles Leclerc x Reader
Warnings: SMUT-- oral(fem. receiving), fingering, nipple sucking, brief praise kink, mostly soft smut, lots of kissing, let me know if I missed anything.
Author’s Note: This is my first time writing smut. Was kinda skeptical while writing it so, yeah. Lmk if I should continue the scene in the next chapter or cut it off here.
Moving in with Charles was definitely an adjustment. You’d never believed all the sayings about living with men, but you understood now. Although, you knew that they came as a package deal, you were quickly learning a lot of new things about your boyfriend. He was relatively neat most of the time. He spent time streaming games with his friends. He liked to play the piano in his free time, or when there was a lot on his mind. He liked trying new recipes, even if he was a potential hazard in the kitchen (you made sure to keep an eye on him while he was in there). He liked to spend his time reading, cozied up in the loveseat, rather than on electronic devices. He loved to keep music playing around the house.
Somehow, all of these little quirks made you fall in love with him a little more, no matter how frustrating he could be sometimes.
Unbeknownst to you, Charles also noticed little things while accommodating you.
…
“Baby?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you ogling me?”, Charles asked, his back to you as he grabbed his clothes from the drawers, only in a towel.
“Yes”
This makes him turn towards you. He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d be such a pervert, Cheri.”
“Yeah, well, I’m only a pervert for you.”
The other eyebrow goes up now, and his arms are crossed across his chest, a look of mild surprise on him. “I wasn’t aware you had such a dirty mouth– Or mind, for that matter– either.”
You shrug, a smirk playing on your lips. Within seconds, he’s in front of you, pulling your lips to his. Instinctually, your arms wrap around his shoulders, tugging him closer by the nape.
You pull away, noses brushing, keeping your lips a hair’s breadth away from his, pulling back each time he tries to capture the soft tissue– teasing him. You bite your lip.
“Charles?”, you whisper. It felt wrong to speak out loud in intimate moments like these.
“What, Y/n?”. A frustrated puff of air against your lips.
You chew your lip some more, hesitating. Charles pulls your lip from under your teeth, soothing the swollen skin with his thumb. He can’t stand it when you do that– it makes something wild in him come alive.
“I think I’m ready. To go… all the way.”
You feel his breath stutter, and his grip on your hips tightens. Your eyes meet, and you can tell he’s searching for assurance.
“Y/n baby, are you sure? You don’t need to rush. If you’re worried about my needs, don’t– I can take care of myself, I just want you to feel safe and certain–”
You cup his cheek and bring your lips together, shutting him up. “I want this Charles.”
When your lips meet again, you can tell that something’s changed in him. Your boyfriend moves the two of you more comfortably on the bed, only breaking momentum to tear off your tank top and shorts. You’re panting, hair spread around you like a halo. Charles crushes himself onto you, trying to deepen the kiss, and then you feel it. A thick, solid form pressing into your hip, and you gasp. “Is that…?”
Charles kisses the corner of your lip. “Yes. Is that alright?”
You whimper in response. Involuntarily pushing your breasts into him, arching to feel more of him against you. He kisses your face– nose, cheeks, forehead. “Can I make love to you, angel?”, he whispers against your temple.
“Please”, you whine, chasing after his lips.
He pulls away with a chuckle. Oh how the tables have turned, you think. “I need to hear you say it Y/n”, he says, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb.
“Yes, Charles, please. Want you”, you breathe against his lips.
Without wasting a second, Charles’ arm reaches behind you and unclasps your bra. With one hand. You feel yourself beginning to soak your panties. Your breasts bounce free, and Charles pulls away, sitting up, his eyes wandering over you. You feel a blush creeping up at his scrutiny and move to cover yourself up, but your boyfriend is faster.
“Never hide yourself from me, Cheri. You’re so beautiful”, he says as he moves your arms away, only to replace them with his hands, cupping your breasts. His touch is so warm, that you push the malleable mounds further into his grip, reveling in the featherlight brushes against your nipples.
Charles kisses his way down to your chest, leaving a trail of lovebites. He brushes his thumb against a nipple, watching how it swells under his touch, and then flicks his tongue against the nub, leaving it glistening with spit. You shiver as the saliva cools against your skin– and then is enveloped in warmth. You let out a moan as you feel his mouth close around your breast, tongue playing with your nipple, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin. He treats the other nipple the same way once he deems that he’s spent enough time on one side.
Pressing butterfly kisses up to your collar and nipping here and there, finally connecting lips with you, chuckling against them when you whine for him to hurry. “Let me worship you, my love.” you clench around nothing at the feel of the rumbling of his chest, the vibrations making your nipples tingle as they rub against his pecs.
He makes his way down once again, down your sternum, down your stomach, all the way to the waistband of your panties. Fingers curling under the fabric, bunching it at your hips, he keeps his eyes on yours as he leaves a smattering of kisses right above your mound, slowly pulling the cloth down. He taps your hip to lift, and you do so nervously. Before removing your panties completely, he stops and checks with you again. “Are you sure you want to go through with this baby?”
With your lip caught between your teeth (a nervous habit), you take a breath and nod, attempting to stabilize your racing heart. Charles pulls the offending scrap off of you, tossing it somewhere to the corners of the bedroom, and you close your legs by instinct. He grabs your thighs and pulls them apart gently, his eyes never leaving yours, not until he’s settled comfortably between your thighs, arms wrapped around your hips, keeping your legs open.
The scent of your arousal fills his senses and his eyes flutter shut as he brings his nose closer to the source, inhaling deeply, resting his cheek on your inner thigh. You bite back a whimper. His thumb rubs the spot a little above your clit, in a soothing motion.
“I want your eyes on me, baby. I want you to watch how I worship you.”
This time you don't even try to hold back the whimper, gushing some more.
It starts with a broad stripe up your folds, the sudden heat making you flinch and try to close your thighs, making him grip you tighter and move your feet to rest on his shoulders. Then, Charles uses his thumbs to separate the saturated folds, opening you up like a flower, holding the lips open as he licks once again, this time taking his time and tasting your nectar from the source, and ending his ascent up with a suck on your throbbing pearl. Your breath catches and your fingers curl into the bedsheets next to your hips. And then, your boyfriend commences the feast, eating you, drinking you up as if he’d been dehydrated for days. Your hips thrash against him, unable to decide if you wanted more or to get away from the assault on your pussy, back arching off the bed and deeper into his mouth, hands coming up to grip your pillow, teeth biting down uselessly on a finger, trying to keep sounds from escaping. Charles’ eyes never leave yours, watching what he does to you– that is until he runs his tongue over your clit and makes your eyes roll back.
He pulls your hand away from your mouth. “I want to hear your sounds”, he says, and you’re not even sure if you can get wetter. Now uninhibited, you whimper and moan with every caress of his mouth. You gasp when you feel the tip of his tongue wriggle into your entrance. “Hands– Want to… want to hold your hand”, you whine as you reach down and make a grabby hand, and Charles intertwines his fingers with yours, smiling at your adorableness and pressing a kiss to the junction where your thigh met your labia. And then he goes back to business, smirking against you when he feels you squeeze his hand at his ministrations.
Once he feels like he’s stretched you enough with his tongue, he pulls off. “Baby, I need to loosen you up to take me. I’m gonna add some fingers now ok? I need you to tell me if I hurt you.”
“Okay”, you pant.
You feel one finger ease into you, and you flutter around the digit, trying to adjust to the foreign feeling.
“Fuck. Are you alright?”
“Just a little uncomfortable. But… you can move.”
He pushes the finger deeper and then slowly works you open, feeling around your walls, trying to find your G-spot. Once you become accustomed to the feeling and feel the effects of the pleasure, you tell him to add another. With two fingers pumping into you now, Charles takes the chance to latch onto your clit again, and you let out a surprised shriek, which turns into a moan, the sensations building something deep in your gut. “Hnnng, baby– something’s– I can’t.” You’re no longer able to form coherent sentences. Charles increases his pace, feeling you get close, and your toes form points, the tips digging into his shoulder blades as your thighs, no longer held down, close around his head.
He pushes you over the edge and you cum, silently trembling, unable to make a sound, shocks traveling through your body as your boyfriend helps you through it. Your knuckles are white with how hard you’re gripping Charles’s hand, back bowing off the bed and head pressed as far back as possible, another hand gripping the pillowcase, eyes rolled back and fluttering as you shake.
Charles cleans up your juices, pressing a gentle kiss to your now sensitive clit, then making his way up to kiss your sweaty forehead. “Good girl”, he whispers as he licks his fingers clean. “You taste like a dream.”
Once you catch your breath, you smile shyly. “Thank you. I think I like your fingers now.”
Realization flashes through Charles’ face as he remembers your words to him in LA. He grins and tickles you, sending giggles throughout the room.
When he stops, you pull him down closer to you. “Can we fuck now?”
“No”
Your expression falls.
“We can’t fuck now, but I can make love to you.”
A sigh of relief. “Aren’t they the same thing?”
A huff of air against your collarbone. “Oh love, you’ll know the difference when I fuck you.”
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
All of these El*ciens bringing up interviews and pinterest to prove El*cien is endgame is so dumb to me.
There’s an article that just came out discussing the possible rejection of a mate bond for the first time in a SJM book, saying that it would be something fresh, and you have people in the comments telling the writer “if you don’t like fated mates don’t read the books”, “SJM has talked about El*cien as a couple”
First of all, the writer has a degree in English Literature since you like to bring up University so often. Second of all, she’s not in fandom spaces like you and I are, so she’s a casual reader and picks up on the canon that SJM decided to write. Where in the 5 books that we have has Sarah hinted at anything El*cien? Because it’s clear that all she wrote was Elain not wanting to be around him, and not in the way Nesta was with Cassian.
So why would SJM write all that + Elain and Azriel having romantic coded scenes if all you needed was interviews from 2016-17? Why wouldn’t she just reveal El*cien endgame now if that’s how things are gonna play out? Why would she mention that some mated pairs are not right for each other just for Elain to be like “yep, turns out the cauldron was right! i just needed to come around!”
Do you realise how stupid that sounds? Some people have a hard time thinking logically and believe a fantasy romance series is not gonna be obvious. If the author decides to change the course or what was laid out, non-chronically online people are going to be so confused :)
+ she also talked about Feyre and Tamlin and how much she loved Tamlin.
45 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi, I was wondering what your favorite Clexa fic is? To be honest I’m just looking for new ones to read and I know you are bound to have read some amazing ones! I’ve read every single one of yours and I love all of them so much, you have such a beautiful writing style (and your smut is so tastefully written too).
I gotta tell ya out of all the words in English language I never would've guessed Tasteful as one to describe my smut, but ya know what baby I'm gonna take it and keep 😌💕
But yeah I don't really have a "favorite" per se, just comfort ones I read over and over in between trying new stories out.
More Than Warriors by Steklir. Obviously. Head Over Boots. Pie In The Sky. In Love And War And Politics. If you're going for pure smutty fun then pm anything Nachos writes, but special hat-tip to MAGayA au just because. Sassy's EIB series and her Southern au fics hold a very dear place in my heart. I like The Little Pauna series, watching Clarke and Heda growing into an old married couple with their kids 🥺. What Heart's Ease Must Queens Neglect (queen Lexa makes me bite my fist). Anything by Dreamsaremywords and Aphroditeslaw. Literally anything they've put out is gonna be good I promise. Six by Lingeringlillies as well. If you're looking for more g!p/genderbent type stuff that isn't fetishy or hetero coded, SyngularitySyn is a great author both for their works and could probably rec you some great stories too! There's another one that's canon divergent where Clarke is an alpha and Lexa's an omega and it takes years for them to get together? I can't remember the name but it's very angsty and then sweet. Lexa dies as commander but is revived, but has still lost her title when Clarke finally sees her again? She has an injured leg in it? I know I know the name of this damn thing cuz I've read it like 4 times but I cannot for the life of me remember it now.
EDIT: oh fuck me sideways. Also ur-the-puppy's stuff. Their vamp!Lexa story Dirty Dogs is magnifique
Oh also, speaking of dreamsaremywords, she has an extensive (altho I don't think it's updated) rec list that has her top 100 picks! That'd be a great place to peruse 😌
51 notes
·
View notes
Note
Oky but I really wish people would actually go for artists and authors who already write the "diversity" or rather the dynamics and ethnicities they specifically want, instead of going after random artists and authors expecting them to cater to them. If someone wants to only do one thing, then that's their choice, and if you don't like that just go somewhere else.
Too many people want want want all the diversity, but when it comes to actually supporting artists and authors who create exactly that, they're just crickets and instead keep flocking towards the monoculture artists and authors. Artists and authors don't owe you anything, but you also don't owe them your attention, and that's fine. So why do you keep your attention on artists who create things you obviously don't seem to like?
It's even stranger when people decide to stick around, even when the artist or author is very clear about sticking to their own niche and the person doesn't like that. At some point you gotta just accept the line in the sand and move on.
If you wanna see more of something actually go find the artist who does that and support that artist instead. Hell, why not actually go for an artist who draws from their own experience? I see a lot of people expect people to write and create outside their niche, and having high expectations, instead of just reading people who already write that niche and have actual real life experience with what they're writing or drawing.
Like if you're the one picking up an almost completely mono-ethnic book, knowing what's in there, then that is the choice you made, instead of just going for an author who's work is ethnically diverse.
Sure you can voice your opinion that you'd think it'd be great if more people create more diverse media, but that's also where it stops. You can't demand or pester random people to create what you want.
It's also completely fine to just wanna read a monot-ethnic book as well. You don't have to feel guilty, and then direct that misguided guilt at the authors who write these stories. Some times that's what you read, and you enjoyed it. If you feel like you want to read more books with obvious diversity, you can do that, and you can also read the "not diverse" books as well. There's no right or wrong to consume things in private, as long as you don't make that anyone else's problem, or try and prevent or force people to do something.
--
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
F1 ASKS!
i saw this tag floating around and wanted to let yall get to know me better since i’ve been doing this a while and have only really spoken in the form of authors notes! also im not going to tag anyone so just do it if you wanna!
who is your favourite driver?
i think for anyone who has read anything i’ve ever written it’s probably a bit obvious but max verstappen! what can i say little me was told we’re supporting red bull and here was this little charmer (emphasis on little who let that child get into an F1 car)
do you have other favourite drivers?
also based on my writing you can probably tell that my top three are max, charles and oscar! however, i will also say that alex is a close fourth for me (he’s also very nice irl). also as for retired drivers i think the mamma mia series is a bit of a spoiler but i love jenson, seb and kimi
who is your least favourite driver?
i used to say i didn’t dislike anyone on the grid - that was a lie. i’ll still write for anyone within reason but you can also probably tell with how in detail the back and forth is on certain pieces that i am really not a fan of sainz, actually people who get yelled at while i write them would argue it’s more than “not really being a fan of” but i am fake and i have maintained that if i meet him at silverstone (which i very nearly did last year) ill tell him im his biggest fan! also not the biggest fan of like pierre he’s just kinda there for me and a wee bit too cringey ALSO what you may not be able to guess from how i write him… im not really a fan of lando! ive really, really tried especially after his win but he just kinda rubs me the wrong way (i was immediately proven right with the trump comments lol). people say i should pull for him cause he’s from bristol which is where i live but he’s from glastonbury babe - also ive done a few swimming competitions at the school he went to a WOAH baby has so much money.
do you pull for drivers or do you like teams as well?
i mostly pull for drivers but like i guess i like red bull? well i did. i love max so i would follow him everywhere but i did like red bull as well as a team (i like alex, danny and checo so that also helps) but this whole protection of christian horner shtick is really disappointing so id say im a driver person.
if you like teams, who do you pull for?
like i said red bull were the team id pick if i HAD to follow a team - i support chelsea so i cant handle even more disappointment if i followed ferrari and also i only like charles there and they’re the source of all of his misfortune so …
how long have you been into F1?
so my family has always been into F1, my cousin karts and my uncle is a mechanic and makes karts on the side but i had always been more into football cause i could actually go to that with my dad - and also for young me who didn’t know what the fuck a strategy was it seemed kinda boring. but i’d say from maybe 2016ish i started watching it more regularly (hence the max stanship). my mum loves it and her first love in the sport was mark webber which is why we like red bull. but yeah i remember watching max’s first win and was like MUM I WANT THAT ONE (and i have technically met him? idk we made eye contact when his taxi nearly ran over my foot)
what got you into F1?
my mum! i love her and she’s just as much a passionate fan (and hater when appropriate) so it’s a nice thing to do together - especially because me and my dad are season ticket holders at chelsea so spend a lot of time together doing that so this is like my sport time with my mum (along with the olympics that’s our shit we’re very excited for the swimming). so i guess it was being around her watching it and listening to her and my dad argue about it! my mum is an ardent seb supporter and my dad is like a twitter account away from being in teamLH so canada 2018 (2019?) was VERY entertaining. also my uncle loves it so he likes that im proper into it (like have a sports journalism degree) and so we always chat about it - he’s trying to recruit me into motogp next
do you enjoy fanfic/RPF?
i mean i’ve written so much i must love it. lol jokes i do enjoy it and i feel like it helps me like people more (case in point: when i was trying to make myself enjoy the lando win i just read my own fics of him LOL)
but also its something fun to do that’s also creative and has helped me make new friends from all over
how do you view new fans?
ugh i hate the hate new fans get like not everyone can be born into loving a sport? if anything the more people that watch and love the sport the more money it’ll make? idk this whole superiority complex some fans have is just so unneeded for the sport and we all know why is majorly directed at girls. i do fear that some of the new fan behaviours could border on worrying - waiting outside hotels and ambushing drivers is stalking actually!
but overall im always happy to have new people in a sport - a bigger community is always good and new fans bring new perspectives which is good as older fans may just be desensitised to “normal” things in the sport but new eyes can remind them - hey halos are the best thing to happen to F1 and red flags in heavy rain are necessary.
if you could take over as any team principal for any team who would it be and why?
i know i previously dunked on ferrari but there needs to be an intervention because my girly max already has three championships and i need charles to get at least one so i can die happy - then ill move to mclaren, kick zak brown up the ass get a piastri championship and bounce (honourary race with willams or whatever team alex is with cause i need all three 2019 rookies to be race winners)
are your friends and family into F1 as well?
i feel like my other answers answered this but yeah! i also recently reconnected with an old primary school friend who is also really into it. i went to a sports uni so basically everyone there liked it as well (which means me and a friend did trek to the F1 arcade at 4am to watch aus 23 where she had a public meltdown over sainz (i enjoyed it)). also ive made a couple friends through working at races!
are you open to talking to other fans/making friends?
i always am! i am a year out of uni and working from home with all my home friends still at uni after taking gap years so i am big time lonely so always feel free to slide into my messages!
#f1 imagine#max verstappen#charles leclerc#oscar piastri#alex albon#ferrari#f1#formula one#formula1#tag
28 notes
·
View notes
Note
ngl still being a kaiser fan after 261 is lame
Omg this ask got me so tight when I got to it I had to hop on mylaptop to type my essay
Ok this is a little Personal and some of yall aren gonna fuck with me after this but it's ok . Kaiser is a character I identify with because he's a good portrayal of someone with NPD so WE WILL GET INTO IT!
So like that being said. What do you mean 'Still liking Kaiser after the leaks is lame' like genuinely what do you mean. I just woke up but are you guys like SURPRISED by this. I liked him when he was introduced and this is what he was acting like. There have been A HUNDRED more chapters of him acting the same way past introduction. And now he's still acting like it. I understand if you just hate him right off the bat that makes sense but this doesn't really. Even if you're one of those people who just liked him for the backstory reveal because you have a I Can Treat You Better hero complex re:abuse victims that behavior WAS shown EVEN IN 260. "I hit the ball but it doesn't hit back" - the author has a very specific way of writing and this was VERY much intentional
Also like I understand there might be an initial shock when reading such words. Like it's Unpleasant it's Ugly. But also it boils down to a State of mind which personally I've observed as common among victims of severe trauma. "These people are born 'humans'. Different from me, they were born 'wanted humans'." = I hate people who weren't hurt the same way I was because I am jealous and bitter, I'm so jealous and bitter it feels good to me to make others feel like shit. And I'm not trying to get on some Hurt People Hurt People bullshit because that shit is annoying and apologia but what I'm trying to say is that sometimes Trauma makes you unpleasant and ugly and erratic and I appreciate that Kaneshiro actually wrote it out. Also like that feeling by itself isn't inherently evil. I think it's a very natural response! In this case Kaiser goes too far not by experiencing this emotion but by acting on it.
So now with THAT out of the way too, I think we need to sit down and think more into the Ness situation. So first he says, "I can't accept kindness because all I know is malice. If anything I think malice makes life easier." Then he goes to say he is specifically looking for someone to make a "dog to his malice" and reads a psychology book to achieve that. Like first of all I'm sorry but that is so comically evil it's hilarious to me. He read a textbook to be a more efficient male manipulator. But anyway the way I understand that isn't a deep underlying evil within him but a need for control. I think he believes everyone will hurt and disorient him unless he feels like he's Controlling them. From an abusive household the only relationship dynamic he knows is person of authority - inferior party. His only friend is Ness and the only person he feels safe around being Ness is because of he tells himself Ness is his "dog" and therefore won't ever raise a hand to him. And that's because he thinks anyone who isn't his dog/under his control will do exactly that.
And so... If we go from there, from the parallel we understand Kaiser didn't see his meeting with Ness the same way Ness sees it. However, that doesn't mean Kaiser's view is the objective truth. I think they're both UNRELIABLE and EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE. So what that means is that Ness sees his time together with Kaiser through a more glorified lens, while Kaiser denies himself thinking of Ness as a companion because that puts him in a vulnerable spot, so to maintain his feeling of being in control he exerts distance and tells himself Heh we aren't actually friends because he doesn't even know that one time I giggled at him in the showers I was actually just manipulating him all along because I am sooo evil and untouchable 😏. Like do we actually take this perception at face value here because to me it just seems like a Scared and Cowardly person trying to act out his idea of a strong person because the ONLY other time he's been in any meaningful proximity to someone he got beat up and degraded.
With that I also think Kaiser is very much narcissist posturing. He'slying to himself to make himself seem invulnerable and self-aggrandizing himself through his malice (I think pretending we are 100% evil and irredeemable makes a lot of us feel safe because it seems inhuman and people are easily hurt so you don't Ever want to be a multidimensional person with layered personality traits). Because like if you think about it without the emotional reaction of "I hope Ness kills you you stupid whore" that we all have... He actually isn't doing anything that big. Like in his head he's like Heh I'm soooo Patrick Bateman I have all the control 😏 but all he did was like find a guy to play football with.
Like he's trying to say to himself that he's all that. Sure he does insult Ness and that's not good! But he didn't pull off some Complicated deeply horrific scheme. I do not believe Kaiser has an objective view of himself. It really takes away the power from all of that when you realize what he's doing is just Very Pathetic and Paranoid and Intimacy Averse. "I can't have normal friends let me get this guy in on my master servant roleplay and I'll act like he's not enjoying it too because it'll make me feel more powerful" Men will do anything but go to counseling
Addendum: This is also not Kaiser. Now I don't know what kind of person Kaiser is but considering I read it as him suffering from NPD/a disordered personality that means he doesn't have a "real" identity most of the time, this is a shell we're seeing. He just has a mask maybe there's something underneath maybe there isn't and he's empty inside, but the point is he is the kind of character who has a specific way they want to portray themselves and will lie to both themselves and the audience to achieve it. Yes I believe that includes the I'm a male manipulator evilest person alive 😏 shtick too (I think the actual truth is probably somewhere in the middle of his and Ness's view. Most likely they're both incorrect).
Notice how Barou and Rin overcame things? That is because they have a real ego. Kaiser doesn't have a "real ego"/sense of self right now, all he has is his selfish act. I believe that is intentional because I think the Blue Lock mangaka shows a good grasp and understanding of psychology. The development is pointing towards him actually getting one during this match we'll see. Hey he might even change and grow as a person if that happens but I wouldn't get too overly optimistic!
Also we need to understand that we only see these people playing football we don't know what the fuck he's like outside of that. I currently don't have any reason to believe he's anything beyond rude and insufferable when like talking to people who aren't his football rivals and in Blue Lock on principle I believe everyone is at least 30% a better more bearable person off the field.
And to finish off my demented rant some of yall are fucking HYPOCRITICAL. So when Isagi takes joy in ruining people's dreams it's fine but when Kaiser does it he needs to kill himself? Let's be very serious.
TL;DR Kaiser's behavior makes total sense, his 261 characterization falls in line with everything we've seen of him before so there's no need for shock, and he looked good being dysfunctional and messed up too
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
13 May 2024 | LCDrarry Fic
we were born to be national treasures
Prompt: "Legally Blonde", 2001, Robert Luketic
Prompted by: MoonyEmilie3017 (ao3)
Author: Anonymous
Word Count: 4,979 words
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: There is nothing triggering in the work, although it does heavily rely on the subject of needing academic validation as a woman in a patriarchal society.
Notes: I feel like I have written this fanfic in a fever dream. I am still a little feverish to be honest. But that's all on academic burnout.
I have always loved reading LCDrarry fest submissions and it was a huge coincidence that I came across the forms at the right time. The prompt inspiration 'Legally Blonde' is such an iconic movie and I could totally imagine Draco saying "What, like it's hard?". The story had been a sapphic piece in my head since the beginning, and then I came across a post on tumblr requesting all interactors to make a character in their next work trans. I identify as a demigirl, and I personally don't think I am the right person to write about trans experience. So that aspect of the story has been kept, for the lack of a better word, lowkey. I have been told that it's quite short, by my beta (a personal friend) and I apologise. It's because of unending academic obligations.
I hope it is a good read for everyone.
Summary: Danica Malfoy is determined to study law and move forward in life. But is anything really ever that simple?
Read it now on AO3.
Please help promote the fest by sharing your favourite submissions, so more people can enjoy all the amazing new Drarry works of LCDrarry. Thank you!
Creator reveals are on 15 June.
#so sorry for the late post#still recovering from brochitis and sleeping stupid hours#lcdrarry 2024#lights camera drarry 2024#lights camera drarry#lcdrarry#drarry#drarry squad#drarry fic#drarry fic rec#drarry fest#hp fest#draco malfoy#harry potter#draco x harry#harry x draco#harry potter fanfic#drarry fanfic#enjoy!! :))
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sweet Love
Summary: You're an up-and-coming writer, congratulations. To protect your beloved job, you're willing to do anything. Even strike a deal with the devil, better known as your sister's neighbor. You and Dean Winchester don't really see eye to eye, but in a moment of desperation, you agree to collaborate with him for a greater good.
Author's Notes: Many characters do not belong to me but to the Supernatural Universe (2005-2020). I hope you enjoy the fanfic's story. The fanfic will contain strong language and adult content.
chapter four
CHAPTER FIVE
The following days were calm. You and Dean exchanged glances when you met in the hallway of the building where you both live. You exchanged small kisses in the elevator, and when Sam was asleep, Dean made a late-night visit to you. One interesting thing is that since you started sleeping regularly with Dean, he has spent more time without bringing strangers home. And most importantly, your new book is going smoothly. This should cheer you up, but it doesn't. Because it means that when you finish writing the steamy parts of the book, this agreement with Dean will come to an end.
"Do you think your brother doesn't suspect anything?" You ask as you and Dean are coincidentally coming back from the grocery store together. Dean has his groceries in one hand and the other on your waist. He's leaning against the elevator while you're basically leaning against him.
"Do you really want me to think about my brother now?" Dean asks, his breath brushing close to your ear, and you smile awkwardly.
"We're in the elevator. Do you have a specific topic for now? Like what we've been doing together at night?" You turn to look at Dean, who looks at you with a mischievous gaze. You lean in to kiss him. A quick kiss, but full of passion. The truth is, there's chemistry between you and Dean, and spending time with him has been a good thing for you.
"I think we should drop off the groceries at your sister's apartment and head to the car. I think there are one or two things we can do there that will be good for your writing. A confined, tight space with two people. Sounds promising." He says between your kisses, which makes you giggle. Until the elevator door opens on your floor, revealing Castiel. He and Dean lock eyes, and you don't know what to do. Obviously, you step out of the elevator, and Dean follows suit, even though he hasn't shown any reaction since he saw Castiel. Castiel looks very handsome, with an elegant overcoat and a glow aura. But his expression shows concern.
"You didn't respond to my invitation, so I thought I'd come here to see if you…" Castiel speaks softly, as if gathering the strength to face Dean. Dean then stares at him, looking angry, and you wonder if it's a good time to leave the hallway and let them talk in peace. But Dean seems to read your mind and gently holds your hand. You wonder if he did this to feel support or to hurt Castiel.
"I've been busy. Damn, actually, I haven't been that busy, but you can imagine why I didn't respond to your invitation. Who invites their ex to their wedding?" Dean responds to Castiel, basically interrupting whatever Castiel might have been trying to say. You look at Dean with a disapproving glance.
"Do you really want to discuss this in front of Y/N?" Castiel asks, and you understand him. Their relationship is their business. As much as you're sleeping with Dean, it doesn't give you the right to interfere in his personal affairs.
"Actually, Castiel, I don't want to discuss this. I thought it would be obvious that I'm not going to your wedding but since I have to say it in so many words, I won't be able to watch you get married with someone else. I'm trying to overcome the hole you left in my life. It would be better if you respected that." Castiel looks a little saddened by Dean's words but shakes his head positively.
"I just wish we could be friends. But I don't think you're ready for that. I wish you the best in the world, Dean. And it was a pleasure seeing you again, Y/N." Castiel lightly touches Dean's shoulder and after the two exchange a long look. It's as if the tension between them is building up in front of you. A crestfallen Castiel leaves, taking the stairs instead of the awkward wait for the elevator.
"You could have been more delicate with him. Maybe he just wants you two to have a healthy end to your relationship." You say and Dean looks at you a little annoyed.
"Look, even though we fuck and get along well, we're not a couple. I don't need your advice. I am able to know how I should act in any situation." Dean is rude to you, which shouldn't surprise you but it does. You try to hide that you're upset by heading towards the door of your sister's apartment. But Dean holds the door before you can enter.
"What do you want? Insult me? Treat me like you just treated the guy who stood by your side for two years, even when you looked beyond repair?" You turn around nervously and speak with some anger but the truth is that you're not lying.
"I don't want to make the same mistakes, Y/N. I'm sorry if I was too frank or even a big idiot. I just..." Dean looks at you wistfully and you feel like he must simply be hurt. Which isn't an excuse.
"At the end of the day you're right. We're not together. You should do what you do best and go fuck everyone. Maybe then you'll get over what happened to you and Castiel. And if it wasn't clear, our agreement is over." You say looking into Dean's eyes and then you push the door hard and enter the apartment. You hear Dean call your name a few times, but you ignore him. Right now, all you want is a tub of ice cream and to watch a movie.
#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader#dean winchester#female reader#former dean x castiel#castiel#sam winchester#Spotify
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
new update - 'Thank You for the Venom', chapter 6 🎸 🗡️
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter 6 Summary
Lute bites off more than she can chew; Adam remembers he's not just Lute's punching bag... he's her boss.
Author's note:
Thanks to everybody who has read/engaged so far! I hope you like this one - it was great fun to write. Feel free to comment and inbox away, doesn't have to be about this fic. Happy to chat anything and everything guitarspear!
Cheers to @branded-rose for beta-ing once again; there's a snippit in here that I didn't send you, by the way. You'll know it when you see it ;)
***
Adam and Lute’s Office, Exorcist Training Centre, Heaven
It had been a month since the Great Bathroom Incident, and the Exorcists were beginning to feel the effects of burnout.
Layla collapsed from exhaustion during a gruelling combat tournament that Lute had sprung on the girls one training session. It turned out she had been hitting the gym twice daily to ensure her physical fitness could keep up with the increasingly difficult drills that Lute had been implementing.
Adam also knew for a fact that the gym wasn’t the only thingLayla had been hitting lately, but he was trying this new tactic with women where he didn’t kiss and tell.
Layla was one of many Exorcists who were suffering the effects of extreme fatigue due to their intense training regime. Over the course of a fortnight, there was at least two new injuries or incidents daily that arose, which meant one thing: More. Fucking. Paperwork.
As if he didn’t have enough shit on his plate already, he now had to spend more time in the office with the she-devil herself, who was still a raging bitch to him on the daily.
She was even worse than usual – not that Adam thought it was possible - now that their increased workload meant they had to stay back late each night to ensure the incident reports were completed in a timely manner. If there was one thing Sera got her panties in a twist about, it was overdue incident reports. Which, unfortunately for Adam, meant that Lute was also on the warpath about them.
The moment he stepped into their office on Monday morning, he knew he was in for it.
“Think you could fucking manage to be on time for once?” Lute snapped, eyes not leaving the paperwork she was frantically filling out.
“Think you could manage not to be a raging cunt for once?” Adam retorted, slamming a take-away cup down on her desk. Not that she fucking deserved it. He hoped the coffee was so hot that it would burn her mouth.
Without acknowledging the insult, Lute grabbed the cup and started drinking desperately from it, disgust clearly written all over her face as she chugged the beverage.
“Don’t get me that milky shit again,” she snarled, tossing the cup into the bin. “In fact, stop buying me coffee every morning, would you?”
“You seemed to enjoy it enough,” Adam retorted. “A ‘thank-you’ would be nice though, you rude bitch.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Lute looked up at him for the first time that morning, despite insulting him at least twice since his arrival. Adam couldn’t hold back his wince – she looked awful. Dark bags lined the underneath of her eyes, which were red rimmed with exhaustion, her hair looked like a brush hadn’t been taken to it in weeks and even from where he stood, he could see how physically tense she was.
“You look like hell.”
For once, Lute resisted the urge to retort back, though her eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at him.
“I’m serious. You look like you need a good dicking.” Adam dropped into his seat and started sorting through his own pile of paperwork. “Not that I’m offering. My cock would probably shrivel up and fall off once I stick it in because –”
“Will you shut the fuck up?!” Lute shouted, standing and gripping the edge of her desk so tightly Adam could see the whites of her already pale knuckles. She looked positively rattled, and he wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, but her eyes seemed to be glistening. “C-c…” She took a shuddering breath to steady herself and looked around the room, avoiding eye contact, running her hand through her cropped hair. “Can you just…go?”
Adam studied her, frowning. In all the years they’d worked together, he’d never seen Lute lose her cool like this. Sure, she was in a perpetual foul mood, and often directed said foul moods at him, so he was used to her sharp tongue and venomous insults.
But…emotional Lute?
He didn’t know how to deal with an emotional Lute. He didn’t deal well with normal women who were emotional. He’d hate to think of how he’d handle his unhinged second-in-command who hated his guts on any regular day.
And yet… there was a nagging voice, somewhere deep in the back of his brain, that was urging him to cut her some slack. Give her a break.
Adam couldn’t quite place his finger on what caused him to listen to that voice, and there was every chance he’d live to regret it, but instead of kicking Lute while she was down – tempting as it was, given she’d been such a bitch lately - he decided to do the opposite.
He was going to grant her a reprieve.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said simply, staring at her. “You on the other hand, are dismissed for the day, Lieutenant.”
Lute’s head whipped towards Adam, her mouth agape.
“What?” she hissed.
“You heard me. Go home.”
“I’m not going home!” she shrieked. The glisten Adam thought he caught in her eyes earlier were now full-blown tears, threatening to spill down her cheeks. “Who’s going to do all the paperwork? Who will take training today?”
“Nice to know you hold so much faith in me.” Adam said dryly. “You’re a fucking mess, Lute. I need you to get your shit together. I can’t have you taking it out on the rest of the girls, not when they’re already dropping like flies every day.”
Lute gaped at him wordlessly.
“Close your mouth. You’re going to pack your stuff and go home. Now. If I catch you putting a single piece of paper in your bag so you can continue working from home, I’m adding another day to your dismissal.”
“What will Sera say?” she whispered, fear evident in her voice.
“Don’t worry about Sare-bear, she probably won’t notice. If she does, I’ll say you’re unwell. Women’s problems, or some shit.”
Lute let out a shaky laugh. “Great. Just what I wanted her to know.”
“One more thing,” Adam added, leaning back in his chair. “We’re having dinner tonight. You and me.” He pointed back and forth between the two of them. “After you’ve taken the day to wash the sand out of your vagina, and you’re a nicer person because of it, we’re going to go out to dinner and talk through some shit. Finish our conversation from where we left off a month ago.”
“I –” Lute started, but Adam held his hand up for her to stop.
“Shut up. It’s not negotiable, Lute. I’ll meet you at seven. For once, wear something that isn’t workout gear or your uniform. Got it?”
For what seemed like minutes, but really would have only been the matter of seconds, Lute stared at Adam, frowning like she wanted to argue but something was holding her back.
“Fine,” she answered. “See you then.”
Lute’s Apartment, Apartment Block, Exorcist Training Centre, Heaven
Lute sat on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a towel, staring into her wardrobe.
She had no fucking idea what to wear.
This wasn’t a predicament she usually found herself in; the beauty of being as unsociable as she was meant that she didn’t need an array of outfits stashed in her closet for impromptu events such as dinners with her boss.
In fact, her wardrobe mostly consisted of workout gear, her exorcist uniform and a few other select items of clothing. All of it was black. None of it was fancy. Or particularly feminine.
Sighing, she tousled her damp hair. This was stupid. Going to dinner with Adam was stupid. Adam was stupid. She could be using this time to catch up on the paperwork she missed out on doing while she’d been stood down for the day.
Lute would never admit it to Adam, but she had managed to relax for most of the day. And by relax, she completed a two-hour home workout, scrubbed her apartment from top to bottom, rearranged her pantry and finished all her laundry. This was all after she spent a good hour sulking about being sent home and wishing nothing less than a slow and painful death on her boss. Her version of sulking happened to consist of throwing things around her apartment until they broke.
She reached for her phone and tapped out a quick text message, hating herself for initiating conversation with Adam outside of work hours, but what other choice did she have?
Lute: Where are we going?
She tossed her phone aside and flopped backwards onto the bed. Knowing her luck, she’d make somewhat of an effort with her appearance, and he’d take her to a damn fast-food restaurant. Or she’d dress casually, and he’d humiliate her by taking her to a fancy restaurant, which she wouldn’t put past him.
It wasn’t the instantaneous reply that took her by surprise, but more the response itself.
Adam: Do you like BBQ?
Unsure how to answer, her fingers hovered over the screen of her phone before she replied.
Lute: Don’t know. Never had it.
Adam: Didn’t think so.
Lute hissed at her phone and threw it across her bed. Fuck it, she wasn’t going. It’d be a waste of time anyway – no doubt they’d start arguing and she’d probably get so irritated that she’d throw her drink on him and storm out of the restaurant.
Only for the next morning to come and it’d all repeat again. The childish jibes, the insults, the threats of murder…
Her phone buzzed again, unexpectedly interrupting her thoughts. Probably Vaggie asking where she was today. She reached across her bed and tapped the screen.
Adam: It’s not fancy. Hellfire Bar & Grill. See you at 7.
Well. That at least gave her something to work with. Sighing, she got up and started sifting through the clothing in her wardrobe for what seemed like the four hundredth time, wishing she was doing anything but going out for dinner with Adam that night.
Hellfire Bar & Grill, Heaven
For once, Adam had arrived somewhere earlier than Lute. She wasn’t surprised; considering he was highly food motivated she was willing to bet that had something to do with it.
What she was surprised at, however, was the fact that he was dressed entirely in casual clothing. She’d only ever seen him in three outfits before, and they were all different variations of the same robe. It was jarring, seeing him dressed in civilian clothing but still donning his usual helmet and mask.
“Hey,” he greeted her, looking up from his phone as he saw her approach.
“Hi.”
“Have you calmed the fuck down?”
Lute narrowed her eyes. “If you’ve asked me to come here so you can insult me, I’m turning around and going back home.”
“I would have thought,” he sighed, pocketing his phone and opening the door to the restaurant. “That some time off would have put you in a better mood.”
Ignoring him, Lute entered the restaurant and waited while he requested a table. Luckily for them - or unluckily, Lute thought – it wasn’t very busy, so they were seated swiftly.
“What can I get you two lovebirds to drink?” Their waitress chirped, beaming at them both.
“He’s not my fuckin-”
“We’re not dating, babe.” Adam grinned up at the waitress, who at his words, seemed to suddenly be very taken by him. “You and me, though? That could work. Two glasses of your best red wine, thanks.”
Lute shot him a disgusted look, wrinkling her nose at his blatant flirting. Sleazebag.
The waitress was clearly infatuated with Adam, because she giggled incessantly as she flounced away with their drink order.
“How do you know what I drink?” Lute demanded.
“The night I came to your apartment –”
“Broke into my apartment.” Lute corrected him, folding her arms.
Adam waved a hand carelessly in the air. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You had an open bottle of red wine on the bench, so I figured you drank it.”
“The things you learn when you break and enter.”
Before he could retort, the waitress returned with their drinks. She also held a piece of paper which she slipped not-so discreetly across the table to Adam. Winking at her, he pocketed the paper and Lute had to force herself to look away, lest she start gagging as the woman practically melted on the spot in excitement.
What all those women saw in him, she’d never fucking know.
“So,” Adam cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as the waitress practically skipped away. “Did you, uh, relax today?”
“I did.”
Silence. Lute, not really wanting to divulge any further information to Adam, fiddled with the sleeve of her jacket, staring around the restaurant. To their right was a couple who showed all the signs of being on their first date. Hands entwined atop the table, the angels were staring into each other’s eyes, not talking. Just… staring. With stupid smiles on their faces.
Lute rolled her eyes and shifted her focus to the table on their left, the couple occupying that space arguing in hushed voices, though one of the two women looked like they were dangerously close to tears.
Wonderful.
She lifted her wine glass to her lips and sipped, trying to fill the silence with something.
‘What did you do?” Adam pressed, drumming his fingers on the table.
“I worked out. I cleaned. I did laundry.”
“Didn’t I tell you to relax?”
“I don’t really do relaxing.” Another sip of wine. The way this meeting was going, she’d polish off the entire bottle before she got the chance to even eat.
“You were relaxing the night I came around to talk.”
Lute stiffened at the mention of that night. She set her glass down on the table, frowning as she ran her thumb and index finger up and down the stem. She was unsure how to answer – it would be easiest to tell Adam where to go, but the reality was that she was tired, and wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the back and forth between them.
“I haven’t done it since.”
“Because of me?”
Lute felt her stomach knot, her hands growing warm and clammy. She removed them from her glass and wiped them down on her jeans. The last thing she wanted to do was get into a back-and-forth about that incident. Again.
“Why are we here?” Lute asked, her eyes snapping up and glaring at Adam. “What’s even the point of meeting here tonight? For you to -”
“Hey! Are you guys ready to order?” Another overly chirpy waitress was back, her smile almost blinding Lute. Her teeth were so white, it was alarming.
Lute stared at her menu, not registering anything that was on it.
“Usual for me, thanks babe,” Adam said, handing his menu back to the waitress. They both looked expectantly at Lute. Shit. She scanned the menu again, but nothing jumped out at her as particularly enticing. Truthfully, she didn’t particularly care for food – to her, it was just fuel to keep herself going.
“Uh, I’ll just have what he’s having. Thanks.”
Adam stared at her incredulously as the waitress took her menu and sauntered off, her small wings flapping happily.
“I’m not sure that was the best choice,” he said, eyeing her wearily. “I ordered –”
“I didn’t know what to pick, okay? I don’t really eat this stuff.”
“What do you eat, then?”
“What is this, twenty-fucking-questions?” Lute snapped. “I don’t have the time, or the patience to play bullshit games with you. What do you want?”
They both glared at each other from across the table, Lute’s golden eyes boring into the screen of Adam’s mask. For what felt like minutes, neither of them spoke.
The loved-up couple next to them were now tangled together atop a single dining chair, making out sloppily, the noisy smack of their lips filling the awkward silence. Lute’s eye twitched in annoyance, and she had to turn her head so she couldn’t see their tongues being shoved down each other’s throats.
“Shit, that’s annoying,” Adam scowled, taking a sip of his wine.
“If they keep going, they’re going to end up fucking on the table in front of us. Gross.” Lute muttered, also drinking. Their eyes met again, though this time there was the slightest hint of a smirk behind Adam’s mask.
He sighed and looked away, frowning.
“Lute. I’m going to level with you,” he said, leaning his forearms onto the table. “We need to make this work. The stakes for Extermination Day are fucking high this year.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sera – ” Adam cut himself off, frowning. Lute studied him with mild curiosity as he paused, collecting his thoughts, his hand rubbing his chin. “Sera… she’s put a lot of faith in your proposal. And I won’t bullshit you – I thought it was a load of crap when I first read it. Too much math involved. If I can’t do the sum using my fingers, it’s too fucking hard.”
“Good thing calculators have been invented.”
“Wouldn’t know, I’ve never used one. Smartass. Anyway, after you left today, I took the time to read it again. I’ll admit, there’s…potential for it to work. But speaking from experience babe, a few adjustments need to be made.” Adam reached for his glass and swirled his wine, taking a sip once he was satisfied the burgundy liquid had been aerated enough. “Wanna hear them?”
Lute crossed her arms. “What are you getting out of this? I’ve worked with you for many years. I know you don’t offer anything up unless you’re getting something out of it.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“Spit it out, then.”
“Fine. Stop being such a fucking bitch all the time.”
“Excuse me?” Lute spat, her eyes automatically wandering to the steak knife set in front of her.
“You heard me, Lute. Statistically, you might be my top girl, but you rank dead last on my list when it comes to personality. Maybe if you loosened up and had a little fun –”
“Dinner’s here!” Two very large, very meaty plates were set down on the table in front of each of them. Lute wrinkled her nose, immediately regretting her decision to blindly order her dinner.
She should have known Adam would have ordered ribs, considering he waxed lyrical about them on an almost-daily basis. There had to be at least two dozen on each plate, all covered in a sticky glaze. Just lookingat the plate was giving her the sweats. She glanced over at Adam, who was watching her reaction intently.
“You know,” he began uncertainly, eyeing the sheer volume of food between the two of them. “You don’t have to eat that. You can always order someth-”
“I’ll eat them.”
“Sure? There’s a lo-”
“I’ll be fine. I bet,” Lute added, folding her arms across her chest, an unknown bravado washing over her, “I can keep up for you, rib-for-rib.”
Adam choked on the sip of wine he’d been taking.
“You’re not fucking serious!” he spluttered, wiping his screen with the back of his hand.
“Did I stutter?” She picked up one of the ribs, instantly regretting her declaration that she’d eat what looked to be her entire bodyweight in meat. Why couldn’t she have picked a normal meal, like a steak? Steak would have been safe. Steak would have been easy. Steak wouldn’t have ignited her competitive streak and didn’t come with potential digestion issues.
But no. She just had to open her mouth. And if there was one thing that Lute did not do, it was back out of a challenge. Especially one that she initiated.
“Ready?”
“Lute, this isn’t a good idea, I mean it, the ribs are –”
Staring Adam down, she held the ends of the rib in each hand and tore a chunk off meat off with her teeth. She grimaced – the glaze was sickly sweet, and they were…
“– spicy.” Adam said, wincing.
She maintained eye contact as she chewed, hating herself for not thinking before speaking. The meat burned her throat as she swallowed, the spice hitting her nose and tears prickling at her eyes.
Lute closed her eyes and bit into the rib again, stripping the meat from the bone completely.
“You,” Adam started, picking up a rib of his own and shaking his head, “are the craziest bitch I’ve ever met, you know that, right?”
Lute wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed the bone onto the spare plate on the table. “Try and keep up, Sir.” She reached for another piece of meat and noticed Adam staring at her, an unusual expression depicted on his mask. “What?”
“You called me ‘Sir’.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t sarcastic.”
Lute grabbed her napkin, wiping her nose which has started to run. “Must have slipped out. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”
She watched with vague interest as Adam started eating. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him consume food – in fact, he regularly ate at his desk in their shared office. It was the first time though, that she focused on the food disappearing into the void of his mask.
Because it did exactly that. It just… disappeared. Almost like there was nothing underneath.
Maybe…maybe that was actually his face, and she’d been wrong about it being a mask all along.
“How does that thing work, anyway?” She managed to swallow rib number three considerably easier than the first two.
“Holy magic, babe.”
“Care to elaborate?” Four down, twenty to go. Her stomach churned at the thought.
“Who’s playing twenty questions now?” he snapped suddenly, glaring at her. “Drop it.”
“So you’re allowed to interrogate me, but I can’t ask you anything?” Another rib done. She was getting hotter, and Lute could feel the sweats starting to kick in. Wiping her glaze-covered hands on her napkin, she shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair. The cool air was welcomed on her skin, and she silently thanked herself for choosing a top with thin straps.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t ask me anything. For example, if you were to ask me if I’m surprised that you own feminine clothing,” Adam waved a hand at her, “I’d say yes.”
Lute scowled. “I’m feminine.” She ripped the meat off rib number six with her front teeth, holding the bone expertly now with one hand. Wiping her mouth with her hand again, she reached for her wine and sipped steadily, using the liquid to help wash the food down.
“You’re the least feminine Exorcist in the fucking army.”
“That’s because I’m the only one you haven’t slept with.”
“Not true. I haven’t slept with the ones that are into chicks.” Adam counted the rib bones on his plate. “I’m at nine, by the way, what about you?”
“How are you at nine? I started before you, and I’m only on seven. And that’s just great. Wonderful. I’m the only straight one you haven’t touched. That makes me feel amazing.” Lute gnawed at her rib, her face flushing in embarrassment.
It wasn’t like she considered herself attractive or anything like that. Truthfully, she’d never thought about it because her appearance had never been of high importance to her. Sure, she liked her hair cropped a certain way, and she’d very rarely wear a small amount of makeup on special occasions, but that was the extent of it.
Moodily, she threw the bone down, not caring where it landed, and reached for another piece of meat.
“Shit – I, uh, didn’t realise you were into dick.” Adam at least had the gall to look somewhat embarrassed. “I just assumed you and Vaggie –”
“You assumed Vaggie and I what?” she growled.
“I’m not judging, babe!” Adam held his glaze-covered hands up in defence. “Love is love, right? And, between you and me, there’s nothing hotter than watching a woman eat pu -”
Lute chucked her eighth bone at him in disgust, cutting him off and hitting him square in the chest. The couple to their left, who had been arguing all night, stopped their bickering and glared at her.
“The fuck are you looking at?” Lute snarled at them, fingers wrapping around the steak knife that still lay atop the table. “You bitches have been going back and forth all night, but me throwing food somehow offends you?” She pointed the blade of the knife at them. “Turn around and shut the fuck up before I –”
The women stood hastily from their table and scurried towards the exit, one of them tossing Lute a scared look over her shoulder. She sighed, satisfied, and grabbed another rib, hand still on the knife’s handle.
“You,” Adam began wearily, shaking his head, “are a fucking nutcase. You know that, right?”
Lute shrugged and kept eating. “I don’t suffer fools.”
“I can see that.”
“Which is why you irritate me so much.”
“I’m no fool,” Adam declared, counting his rib bones out with his finger, starting over once as he accidentally confused himself. “I’m more than halfway done, by the way.”
“Me too. And yes, you are a fool.”
Adam crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. “Before our dinner came, I was trying to explain how, if we tweak your proposal slightly, you’ll have more success with your training plan.”
Exhaling, Lute closed her eyes. She was starting to feel nauseous and if she kept going, she was going to be sick. Maybe she was the fool. “I’m pretty sure you were in the middle of calling me an uptight bitch with a shitty personality, actually.”
He clicked his fingers. “That’s it! Thanks for reminding me.”
Lute opened her eyes and narrowed them at him.
“What? You’ve just jogged my memory. Anyway, you’ve been riding the girls too hard,” he stopped to snigger at his choice of words, and Lute rolled her eyes at his immaturity as she grabbed more ribs. “You need to give them some time off.”
“They already get weekends and evenings off, what more do they need?”
“A night out on the town.”
“You’re telling me,” Lute said, pointing her bone at him accusingly, “that the reason you dragged me out to this stupid restaurant is so that you can propose some kind of night of fucked-up debauchery with your harem of women? And I’m meant to be okay with that?”
“Settle down, Dangertits. As hot as a harem would be, I’m thinking more a night at a bar with a few drinks. Let the girls have a good time.”
“And by a ‘good time’ you mean get them drunk enough so they’ll sleep with you?” Lute snorted, starting on a fresh rib. She noted that there were only a few remaining on her plate. She couldn’t wait to get home and take her pants off, because she felt like she was going to burst from the sheet volume of food she had consumed that night. She was so uncomfortable.
“Hey,” Adam said, sounding slightly wounded. “I’ll have you know I don’t fuck drunk chicks. I might be an animal, but I’m not a predator.”
“Congratulations, you have one redeeming personality trait.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
“Oh that’s right, I forgot. I’m the unfuckable, unfeminine, uptight bitch, right?” Lute gulped down the rest of her wine before reaching for her second-last rib.
Adam cocked his head. “I never said you were unfuckable. I said I’d slept with all the Exorcists that I thought were straight. Which, up until about half an hour ago, I was not aware included you.”
Desperately wanting to end this conversation – and the night, Lute held up her final large, juicy rib. “Last one.”
She was sweating, bloated and her throat felt like it had been ripped apart and set on fire, but she’d done it. She’d kept up. Rib-for-rib, like she’d challenged.
Adam raised his eyebrows and downed the rest of his wine. “Fuck me dead, Lute. I thought you’d struggle to get through six with the way you started out.”
Lute shrugged. “Yeah well, I proved you wrong, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and you also managed to scare the fuck out of the couple next to us. I’ve seen you slaughter thousands of sinners over the years, but honestly, I think it’s your tongue that’s the most terrifying thing about you.”
Lute smirked. “I guess it is.”
And with that, she took the rib whole in her mouth, closing her eyes as she sucked the meat clean off the bone. Once she’d finished, she opened her eyes and set it down on her plate atop the others. Adam was eyeing her with a pained expression.
“I don’t know if I should be turned on or disgusted by that,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. “But I was definitely wrong about thinking you weren’t into dick after watching you deep throat that massive piece of meat.”
Lute rolled her eyes. “It’s always one step forward and two steps back with you, isn’t it, Sir?”
“You know it, Dangertits. So what do you say? Can the girls have a night of fun?” He extended his hand over the table.
Lute considered it for a moment before reaching forward and shaking it. His handshake was incredibly firm, and she was surprised to discover that the span of her entire hand was almost the same size as the width of his palm. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed how massive his hands were before now.
“Fine. One night out, and then back to regular training.” She quickly let go and exhaled, wishing the remainder of the meeting would come to an end soon so she could go home and unbutton her pants.
After all, how bad could one night at a bar be?
***
Next time: Lute reflects on the positive effects of a night off. Adam finds it hard not to chant 'I told you so'.
#hazbin hotel#adam x lute#guardrock#guitarspear#guitarspear fic#hazbin adam#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin hotel lute#hazbin hotel fanfic#hazbin lute
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Know You Feel Lost, But I'm Here To Wander With You
Summary: The week that Rooney’s family died is always the worst week of the year.
Rooney is having a bad week, the anniversary of their family death's looming over them. Luckily, they've got Yorinobu in their corner.
Title comes from Being As An Oceans' Find Our Way.
Rating: M
Warnings: PLEASE MIND THE WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE! This deals very explicitly with Rooney's grief and violent loss of their family. (Rooney is originally from Mass Effect with a Colonist background. This fic is adapting that background.) They are in a dark place, and thus, some of Rooney's thoughts, such as not wanting to exist, may be triggering. It also relieves Rooney's memories of that day and the traumatic things they saw, including watching someone die in their arms. Other warnings are depiction of violence, survivor's guilt, childhood trauma, discussions of dysfunctional childhoods (kind of), and drinking to cope. I think that covers everything, but if I need to tag for anything else, let me know.
Words: 5,188 words
Author's Note: Takes place before the events of CP2077, roughly six years before. I strongly encourage you to read Is This the End Or Is This the Beginning if you have not, as this fic directly references events in that fic.
Tagging (Opt In/Out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @sergeiravenov, @voidika,
@carlosoliveiraa, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @derelictheretic, @imogenkol, @theelderhazelnut,
@strangefable, @cassietrn, @direwombat, @cloudofbutterflies92
AO3
The week that Rooney’s family died is always the worst week of the year.
Rooney’s normally unflinching, steady demeanor turns brittle. Their mood is an ever-vicious cycle of grief looping into numbness with static in their brain, which eventually loops back into a grief that threatens to swallow them whole, pulling Rooney beneath its dark depths. Their sleep schedule goes to hell, ghosts haunting their dreams. Even in their waking hours, the ghosts haunt them, always in the corner of their mind. Nothing holds any interest for them, and they’re nauseous all the time, only able to pick at their food. The weight of a broken promise weighs heavily on their shoulders, and Rooney feels like they’re drowning underneath it all, exhausted from fighting the tide. All they want to do is hide in their room underneath blankets until the storm passes, when they finally grasp onto some sense of normality. Most years, Rooney powers through, only taking the day of their family’s death off. Their usual ritual is to spend the day alone, writing unsent letters to the ghosts they carry with them.
Their grief takes on a different form this year, a more malevolent form. It hits harder, a dark, black cloud hanging over them. It’s so hard to breathe, to simply exist. Their limbs are tied down, each movement more difficult than the last. They feel so numb to it all, to the whole point of their existence. All Rooney wants to do is to stop existing, simply dissipate into nothing. They want to let the waves pull them under, to simply stop fighting and give in for once. Rooney wonders if this year is harder because they died and now know death intimately. Maybe, it’s the fact they’re stuck in this Arasaka facility, amongst enemies and isolated from their comrades. Maybe, it’s that small glimpse of what they saw between life and death. Maybe, it’s the fact that they know they will be denied death, doomed to walk this earth as long as someone else demands it. If they died now, Rooney knows Arasaka would pull them back, deny them the dignity of simply being able to die.
And then, there is Yorinobu, Rooney’s only friend in this lonely place. They avoid him, leaving sessions early and ducking into hiding places when he searches for them. He doesn’t need to see Rooney like this, doesn’t have to know about any of this. Rooney doesn’t want him to think less of them, if he doesn’t already know. They need to focus on getting information for him. They need to focus on their mission. And, perhaps selfishly, Rooney does not want Yorinobu to worry about them. No one should have to worry about them. The grief will pass like it always does, and Rooney will be fine...right?
“We’re done, Shepard,” Leah, one of the scientists, says, openly disappointed with their poor performance, a common theme this week, “Go to your next session.” Right, another combat test. Leah had just run through a short test of their quickhacking capabilities. Miles, another scientist, wanted to put Rooney through a combat test with their optical camouflage.
“I will escort them to their next session.” They slowly look over in Yorinobu’s direction, unaware he was there. Arms crossed over his chest, he smiles at them warmly, eyes only on Rooney.
Rooney stares at him blankly, unable to muster even the smallest smile. They should be excited to see Yorinobu, ready to dish out what they know to him. Instead, Rooney feels nothing, hollow, like every other day of this forsaken week. Leah, who must have only realized he was here as well, bows. Shooting a glare at Rooney for their perceived rudeness, she replies, “Yes, Yorinobu-Sama. Shepard would be honored to accompany you.”
Yorinobu’s smile drops, brow furrows in concern as Rooney lethargically walks toward him. Shit, they need to act normally. They fall into step with him as they leave the room, still mute. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
Not nearly a convincing enough answer. “Shepard,” He starts, voice soft, “I know you would prefer to talk with one of your fellow soldiers, but I would like to listen if you need someone.”
Rooney feels a lump in their throat, swallowing it down. “I’m okay,” They assure him, gently brushing their hand against his, “I’m just tired.”
He eyes them suspiciously, eventually relenting. “I have some news that you may be interested in. Some of it I can tell you now, the rest later.” As he talks, Rooney tunes him out, his voice becoming background noise like everything else. Their brain is unable to concentrate, thinking sluggishly. Every once in a while, Rooney offers a nod or a small noise of acknowledgment to keep up the appearance they are listening. “Now, I know you must not be listening.”
Shaking their head as they stop in their tracks, Rooney apologizes, “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” Yorinobu stops beside them, placing his hand on their shoulder in concern. Guilt burns within Rooney. He shouldn’t worry about them; no one should. They’ll power through this, just like everyone expects them to.
“I-.”
“Shepard!” Fucking hell, all of the goddamn people it had to be her, Rooney’s least favorite person in the facility. Dr. Naomi Kimura, their psychologist, dredged up every single awful thing mentioned in their psych profile as if it would magically convince Rooney to talk. Instead, Rooney shut down, staring at their hands quietly until their time was up. And this week, she was at her worst, mentioning their family constantly, how hard it must have been, and how Rooney could talk to her. It took every inch of their being to resist punching her, especially when she mentioned Jack. How dare she even mention his name. Rooney prefers dying again to having to talk to Dr. Kimura about one of the worst days of their life. “How are you feeling today, Shepard?” she asks, catching up to the pair.
They look down, staring at their shoes, fists clenched tightly. “I think Shepard is tired,” Yorinobu intervenes, “You should give them space.”
Dr. Kimura sighs. “Yes. Of course, they would be tired,” her pitying voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard, and Rooney bites the inside of their cheek, fighting the urge to scream. “I wanted to make sure that my patient was feeling well, especially on the anniversary of something so tragic.”
“Something tragic?” Yorinobu echoes.
“Their family,” They start walking, unable to listen. Rooney won’t give her the satisfaction of them telling her to shove it. And they don’t know if they can stomach Yorinobu looking at them like…like…
“Excuse us, Dr. Kimura.” Yorinobu excuses himself, catching up to Rooney. “Where are you going? What is goi-?”
“I should go,” Rooney cuts him off, their voice robotic and detached, leaving a confused Yorinobu behind.
—
Later that evening, when Rooney reaches their room after an afternoon of tests, Yorinobu stands outside their room. In his hands, he has a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “Would you like to talk? Or drink?” Yorinobu holds the bottle of whiskey up for Rooney. They soften, recognizing the name on the bottle. It’s the same brand, the one that led to their first real conversation. To Rooney becoming an informant, and eventually, they suppose, a friend. Their eyes water, a sob stuck in their throat. “Did-Did I do something wrong?”
“It’s complicated,” Rooney wipes at their eyes, clearing their throat, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He relaxes, his shoulders dropping. Yet, Yorinobu’s brow is furrowed, watching them carefully. “We should talk,” Rooney says, knowing that they owe Yorinobu the truth, “Can we go to your office?”
He nods, wrapping an arm around their shoulder. Rooney leans into him, resting their head on his shoulder. He feels so sturdy when they are so weak, like a small boat being tossed upon the waves in a storm.
—
Making themselves comfortable on the black leather couch in Yorinobu’s office, each with a glass of whiskey, Rooney takes a sip, needing to work up their courage. “I…um…” they start hesitantly, the words reluctant to leave their mouth.
Yorinobu slides an arm behind them, hand on their shoulder. “Take your time.”
“Right,” Rooney takes another sip, “Do you remember what I told you about my family?”
“You mentioned they died when you were sixteen,” a horrified look comes over him, quickly connecting the dots, “Is this the day they-?”
Rooney nods, confirming his suspicion as Yorinobu takes a sharp breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now how they’ve died.” Everyone knows. In the Militia, it was an open secret that being around Rooney was likely to get you killed. Unlucky Shepard. Go with them on a mission, and you won’t come back.
“I have not.” Wait, what? They look over at him in confusion. “I knew you would tell me on your own terms,” Yorinobu admits, “You are honest with me. I can be patient if you need me to be.”
Their guarded heart softens at his admission. “Thank you.”
“There is no need to thank me.”
Silence washes over the both of them as Rooney thinks through their next words. They’re so used to people knowing them by their reputation. The Soldier who got shit done. The Sole Survivor. With Yorinobu, none of those expectations are placed upon them. Rooney is free to be themself. It is an oddly wonderful feeling; it is an oddly terrifying one. “I guess I could start at the beginning…”
He nods, allowing Rooney to continue. “I grew up in a small Biotechnica Company Town. My mom, Hannah Shepard, worked as the head of security.” They remember their mother, a former Militech officer, brave and fearless. Never backing down. “She was really brave, taught me how to shoot my first gun too. Taught me that it would be my responsibility to look after Jack.” From a young age, their mom had taught them how to shoot, simply stating: ONE DAY, YOU’LL NEED TO PROTECT YOUR BROTHER. A duty that Rooney solemnly took. A duty they failed. “My dad, Aiden Shepard, was an agricultural engineer. He was so kind, always encouraging my brother and me.” Rooney always remembers their dad as a soft, kind man. He had a green thumb, teaching Rooney all he knew about plants and farming. Their favorite memories of him are sitting with their dad on the porch bench on summer evenings, both reading together in silence, yet enjoying each other’s company.
“I had a younger brother, Jack, and a cousin, Danny, my age. Jack was so bright and so sweet. Didn’t have a mean bone in his body. I’m sure if he were still alive, he would have done something great.” In their mind, Jack smiles brightly at them, fiddling with some machine he was working on. His enthusiasm was infectious. Jack deserved to be alive; he should be alive. Not Rooney. “Danny was always getting into trouble, but it was trouble I always wanted to be a part of.” They remember the way he would grin mischievously, ready to drag Rooney and Jack into some of his schemes. Despite the trouble the trio would get into, Rooney wouldn’t trade any of those memories for the world.
“Home was gorgeous.” Rooney still feels the sun on their face, the warm breeze flowing through their hair. They hear the rustle of the wheat as the breeze flows through it. “The skies were always a soft blue with a gentle breeze blowing through the wheat. It was like paradise.” How naive Rooney was. They should have appreciated it more, enjoyed what little time they had there. Now, home was a memory, a place they could never return to.
"I…understand.” His soft utterance surprises them. Yorinobu sips his whiskey. “When I think of my childhood, I think about how wonderful it was sometimes, how happy I used to be…”
“How you wish you could go back,” They finish, “But you can’t, you can never go back.”
“Yes,” the understanding look in his eyes makes Rooney feel a little less lonely, “After what my father had shown me, the veil over my eyes had been lifted. It was a lie, a lie to make me complacent, dependent. He used that lie to mold me into the son he thought I should be. Obedient, Deferential. He had destroyed the home I had known. Your situation is different.”
Rooney sips their whiskey. “Yeah,” their voice cracks, “Home doesn’t exist anymore, wiped off the map, all the people gone.” They pause, their throat tight. “Except for me.” Cursed to live; cursed to survive.
“Shepard,” His thumb rubs comfortingly against the bare skin of their freckled shoulder, “You do not have to tell me this. I will respect-.”
“No, I want to,” They cut him off, inhaling a deep breath, “It’s a little raw considering…”
“I do not want to push if it makes you feel unwell.”
“You’re not pushing; you’re the first one who hasn’t pushed me to talk about this,” Their mind flashes back to Dr. Kimura, always pushing and prodding, “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
“I am glad I can be here for you.”
Rooney gives him a watery smile, dropping it a second later. “The first thing I remember about this day is the night before, especially the fight that I had with my mom.” Yorinobu raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “We were fighting a lot. I wanted to join a Corp, Militech specifically, to see the world, and she thought I was naive, that I was going to make a huge mistake.”
“Militech?” Yorinobu blurts out, surprised.
They nod. “Imagine how differently things would have turned out if I still joined Militech afterwards.”
“We would not have met.”
“Yeah, I know how Militech and Arasaka feel about each other.” Rooney looks down at their whiskey glass. “I can’t forget what I told my mom that night. I told her that hated her.” I HATE YOU SO MUCH, the awful words reverberate around in their head. “I told her that I hated her for trying to keep me in that stupid town, that I wasn’t going to be stuck there forever, miserable like she was.” YOU CAN’T KEEP ME HERE. I WON’T BE STUCK HERE IN THIS TOWN AND END UP A MISERABLE BITCH LIKE YOU. Their hands shake, tears welling in their eyes. Rooney would give anything to take those words back, to reverse the hands of time, and tell their mom one last time that they love her. They love her so much. Rooney would tell her that they were naive and stupid, understanding what Hannah was trying to protect them from. “What a pair we make, huh? You with Saburo, and me with my mom.”
Yorinobu smiles. “It is natural for children to rebel, to want differently than the path their parents planned for them. You are not wrong for wanting that.”
“I suppose so.” Rooney isn’t sure if they were wrong for wanting, but they should have spoken to their mom differently. “The next day, a group of bandits attacked our town. I’m not sure how they managed it. We fended off attacks before with little damage, but this was different.” It was slaughter, an act of cruel and senseless violence. “Jack, Danny, and I were hanging out in the fields. We were up in an oak tree, watching the clouds as we talked. Then, we saw the smoke. We went to check it out.” Rooney still remembers the tree bark scraping against their palms, barely registering the sting as they fling themself from the tree. “We met Mom at the edge of the field. She handed me a pistol and told me to protect Jack and Danny. The last thing she ever told me was for us to hide and for me to be brave.” ROONEY, TAKE THEM AND HIDE. BE BRAVE FOR ME. The last time Rooney sees their mom is with her back turned to the three as she charges into town, red ponytail with strands of gray swinging in the wind. The pistol is heavy in Rooney’s hands, the full burden of responsibility weighing down on them. “Do you ever feel like you have to protect Hanako?”
“Yes. As children, Hanako and I were close. We only had each other, and I knew I needed to be there for her. I would protect her from any trouble. Even now, as adults, despite our distance, I still want to protect her, free her from my father’s influence. Hanako should be allowed to determine her own path, not a puppet of my father.” Yorinobu takes a sip of his whiskey, conflicting emotions on his face. “Now, Hanako feels she must protect me by playing mediator. In her eyes, all would be right if I became the son my father wanted me to be. If I were to be someone else.”
“You shouldn’t be,” He raises an eyebrow as they awkwardly clarify, “You shouldn’t have to be someone else. I like you as you are.” Yorinobu looks taken aback as they backpedal, “I mean-.”
“Shepard, I understand,” Yorinobu replies cutting them off, “I like you as you are too.”
“Thank you.” Another question comes to them. “What about Kei?” In all their time at the facility, Rooney heard about Kei the least. Possibly because he had been dead since 2023. But they wondered about Yorinobu and his relationship.
“Kei and I were not close. As children, Hanako and I rarely saw him, a distant figure in both our lives. Kei always thought of himself as the dutiful older son, the protector of Arasaka’s legacy. When I left,” Yorinobu’s voice turns bitter, “He saw it as his responsibility to strike me down for daring to defy the family, for not falling into line. Kei paid the ultimate price for his foolishness. I stand, still alive, while he is dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
Yorinobu shakes his head. “It is not your fault. One day, my father will pay for Kei’s death. Continue.”
“I suggested that we should hide. There was a storm shelter beneath the farmhouse where no one would be able to find us. But-.” I CAN’T LEAVE MY MOM AND DAD. WE HAVE TO FIND THEM. They remember how terrified Danny looked, a sixteen-year-old who just wanted his parents. “Danny wanted us to find his parents. He wouldn’t listen to me or Jack.” Danny’s glare is fierce, and he is defiant at Rooney’s suggestion. He storms away with Jack quickly following behind as he tries to calm Danny. “He couldn’t be stopped.” Rooney finishes their glass, reaching out for the bottle of whiskey, and pouring another.
“So, we head to town.” The moment the three teenagers reach town, they all look at each other, knowing they’ve fucked up. Rooney remembers the thick smell of smoke and dead bodies, nearly choking on it. They hold the pistol with the safety off, ready to fire like their mom taught them to. Yet, at the thought of shooting a real person, Rooney’s hands shake, the pistol wobbling. “Danny thought we needed to head to the center of town.” COME ON, MY PARENTS SHOULD BE AT THE CITY HALL. “I try to argue with him, but he takes off running and rounds the corner. And then, I hear it.”
Yorinobu’s mouth drops in horror as a sick feeling rises in their stomach. The gunshots echo in their ears, deafening, as Rooney sprints towards the alley. Danny is on the ground, red pooling beneath him as a bandit stands over him. Rooney raises the pistol, pulling the trigger. The first shot hits the bandit’s shoulder. The second one hits him in the chest. Later, when Rooney learns to shoot a sniper rifle in the militia, they promise to never miss, to always make sure that their bullet hits the target. They will not let another innocent pay with their life. Rooney sips their glass, before continuing, “Jack and I grab Danny,” Danny’s green t-shirt is soaked in blood, only groaning as the two pull him off the ground, “The local town doctor is only two blocks away. If anyone can help Danny, it’s her.” It is only later that Rooney will find out that this was a fool’s errand, that the local doctor is already dead.
“Jack and I manage to get Danny to the clinic. We think we’ve made it, that the three of us are going to be safe.” It feels like a journey of a thousand miles, but relief washes over Rooney as the clinic door slides open. They’re safe; Jack, Danny, and Rooney are going to make it. HEY! Rooney turns as a Bandit turns to face them, raising his rifle at the trio. “As we enter the clinic, another bandit finds us.” Rooney raises the gun, preparing to fire. Jack, blue eyes wide, shoves Rooney and Danny through the doorway. JACK! Shots ring out, deafening as Rooney screams, a desperate plea for someone, anyone, to help. Jack slumps to the ground as Rooney lets Danny go. They raise their pistol, flicking the safety off as they unload the pistol. Rooney empties the pistol into the bandit, each shot ringing loudly in their ears. When the pistol finally clicks empty, long after the bandit has fallen to the ground, Rooney drops it, the pistol clattering loudly to the ground. “He shoots Jack. I’m able to stop the bandit, but it’s already too late.”
“I grab Jack and Danny, dragging them into the clinic. I find an empty room, somewhere we can hide.” Grabbing Jack and Danny, Rooney pulls them into the clinic, a herculean effort fueled by pure adrenaline. They find an empty room, hiding with Jack and Danny in a dark corner. Danny’s eyes are unfocused, his mouth slightly open. Rooney doesn’t need to feel his pulse to know that he is dead. They turn to Jack, who reaches out for his older sibling. “Jack grabs onto me. I beg for him to let me go, but all he wants is his older sibling. His grip loosens…” He wraps his arms around Rooney’s neck tightly, clinging to them as he bleeds out in their arms. Rooney holds him, alternating between telling Jack that they love him (JACK, I LOVE YOU! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!) and begging him to let go so they can help him (YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO! I’LL BE RIGHT BACK WITH HELP!). Eventually, his grip loosens, Rooney silently sobbing as their brother dies. In the Unification War, when they hold dying young men, trying to comfort them in their last moments, they will always remind Rooney of Jack. They will always be Jack, terrified in their final moments, begging for some sort of comfort, that everything will be okay. “And my brother is dead.”
Tears stream down their face as Rooney grips their whiskey tightly. “I hide in the clinic for what seems like an eternity.” They wait until the screaming dies down, and even then, Rooney doesn’t leave, afraid the bandits will be waiting for them. After the screaming has been dead for a long time, Rooney makes their way out of the clinic, looking upon the destruction of their town. Every corpse is a familiar face, someone they’ve known their whole life. “Eventually, Nomads, who regularly traded with us and did odd jobs for Biotechnica, pass by, and…” Well, the rest is history.
“Rooney, I’m-I’m so sorry…” Yorinobu seems to be at a loss for words, unsurprising. No one ever seems to know what to say, and Rooney can’t blame them.
“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.” They finish off the glass, pouring themself another. Yorinobu tilts his head in confusion, perhaps concerned by their harsh, detached tone. “It’s the bandits fault for destroying my town. It’s my fault that Jack and Danny are dead, that I couldn’t protect them.”
Yorinobu sits straight up, removing his hand from their shoulder. Rooney misses his touch, a sole comfort, perhaps more than they deserve. He places his glass down on the table. Yorinobu grabs their glass, placing it down beside his. Rooney doesn’t fight him, unable to look at him, only looking down at their hands. Yorinobu takes their hands in his, his touch desperate. “You cannot blame yourself. You were sixteen.”
“I can blame myself,” They look at him, meeting his eyes, “It was my job to protect Jack. He’s my younger brother. He needed me, and I failed him. Danny, too.” After their town, Rooney swore that they would protect others from suffering the same fate.
He looks slightly horrified, and Rooney wonders if he is thinking of himself and Hanako, perhaps seeing a mirror image of Jack in Hanako. Yorinobu releases their hands, only to cup their face, wiping away the tears. “It was not your fault.” He stresses every word, like a general giving a command to a stubborn soldier. On some level, Rooney knows this is irrational. Their psych in the militia, a no-nonsense woman whom Rooney felt safe talking to, used to tell them the same thing. So did their fellow soldiers in their support group. But Rooney couldn’t let it go, not when it had driven them their whole life. Not when their family had rejected them for it. Their tears fall faster, a sob escaping from them as Yorinobu’s eyes widen in surprise. “Something else troubles you.”
“Yeah.”
“Please tell me.”
“Remember our first conversation, when I told you to leave something alone?”
Confusion briefly crosses his face before the realization dawns. “You looked upset when I asked,” They hear a touch of concern in his voice, “Did it involve your family?”
“Yes,” the vision of their family around the dining room table is startlingly clear in their mind, “I saw my family.”
“You…saw them?”
“Don’t know what it was. Might have been a hallucination; might have been my mind playing a trick on me, but I saw them.” Rooney’s voice trembles, “I got to go home, see them all again, and they...they…” Their throat tightens, the words too difficult to speak. “They wouldn’t let me stay.”
“Rooney,” Yorinobu exhales their name, distraught as he wipes away more tears.
“I failed to protect Jack and Danny, and I wasn’t allowed to come home,” Rooney swallows back a sob, “I wasn’t good enough so I couldn’t stay.”
Yorinobu lets go of their face, pulling Rooney into his lap. They straddle his waist, trying to openly sob as they lay their hands on his chest. “Rooney,” His right hand lays on the back of their neck, “You did not fail. You were sixteen. No one could have asked more of you.” Rooney doesn’t believe him; they don’t know if they ever will. This guilt will gnaw at Rooney for the rest of their life until they take their final breath. If Rooney is ever allowed to take one. “Believe me,” Yorinobu pleads sincerely, “Please.”
Yorinobu’s earnestness cracks the stone walls around their heart. They collapse into his chest, burying their face in the crook of his neck. Rooney tightly grips the fabric of his black and magenta silk shirt, holding onto him like an overboard passenger holds onto a raft, adrift in the ocean. A sob escapes them, and Yorinobu’s hand comes to their back, rubbing circles in the black fabric of their tank top. His other hand rests on their thigh, thumb stroking along the seam of the black fabric. “If you need to, cry.”
They can’t fully break down, not for a lack of trying. Instead, Rooney holds him tightly, crying softly as Yorinobu comforts them. His voice is soothing, a tether to reality for them.
—
Eventually, Rooney finds they have no more tears left to cry. They’re exhausted, worn down to the bone. “Thank you.” Their voice feels raw and scratchy, their throat tight.
“Do you feel better?” He asks, watching them with concern. “Please be honest with me.”
Honesty is the least of what he deserves; Yorinobu deserves so much from them. “No,” They’re not sure if they will ever be okay, “I don’t know if I will be, but you being here….”
Yorinobu releases the breath he was holding. “Do you need-?”
They shake their head. “I just want to sleep.”
“Allow me to take you to your room.” Rooney gets up off his lap, untangling themself from Yorinobu. He follows them off the couch, slinging an arm around their shoulder.
They slide their arm around his waist, resting their head on his shoulder. Together, the pair walk silently down the Arasaka halls alone. Rooney feels a swell of affection towards him. There was no reason for him to be this kind to them, and yet…he was. Perhaps Rooney and Yorinobu were kindred souls, both alone in a hostile place looking for someone who would see them as they are.
When the pair reaches Rooney’s room, Yorinobu asks, “Will you be fine if you are left alone tonight?” Maybe. Rooney isn’t going to hurt themself, but the nightmares worry them. Sometimes, they relive the scenes over and over, a gruesome horror movie on repeat. Their silence is enough to answer his question. “I am staying.”
Rooney frowns. “You don’t need to stay.” They won’t be more of a burden on him.
“I want to stay with you,” Yorinobu opens the door, “Please let me.”
A small spark of humor arises in them. “I didn’t know you were eager to get into my bed.”
Yorinobu laughs, slightly surprised. “You must be feeling better.”
“Somewhat,” They smile at him shyly, “Thanks to you.”
He looks smug, clearly proud of himself. “To bed.”
A few minutes later, the duo crawl into bed with Rooney on the right and Yorinobu on the left. The tiny bed is meant for one person, but Rooney and Yorinobu make it work, spooning close together. Rooney’s metal arm wraps around his chest, Yorinobu’s hand resting on top of their hand. They are pressed tight against his back, cuddling him. “Are you comfortable?” He asks, his tone a little unsure. “Would you prefer I hold you?”
“No. I feel better holding you, unless you want to change positions.”
“I like this,” Yorinobu replies softly, his voice sending a warm and tingly feeling through them.
“Good.” The darkness and silence of the room descend upon them. A short while later, as they doze off, Rooney hears a soft snore from Yorinobu. They bite back a soft laugh, striking them as slightly cute. Rooney whispers, careful not to wake him, “Thank you for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you today. It’s the first time I haven’t felt alone on this day. I don’t know if I can ever return the favor.” They pause briefly. “But I promise I will try to be there for you in any way you need me to be.”
Closing their eyes, Rooney allows themself to fall asleep, comfortable and safe with Yorinobu in their arms.
#cp2077 fanfic#cyberpunk 2077 fanfic#yorinobu arasaka x OC#kate writes#the rooney fic tag#I won't let fear compromise who I am#commander rooney shepard#OTP: It always comes right back to you#death tw#surivor's guilt tw#violence tw#sorry to all the Jack fans this one is gonna be rough for y'all#I would tell everyone to have fun reading this#but this fic was a bummer to write#and I'm sure not the lightest reading#I hope this came out okay#but I've been wanting to explore something like this for a while with Rooney#and I hope I did the concept justice#anyway if you want emotional compensation#I think I have a fluffier fic for Rooney and Yori that I can post later this week
19 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
feel-white-available
Untitled
paresims
PARÉ.
fastestcoin00
fdhdsjj
aish-rai
and the rest is rust and stardust