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bisexualdaemon · 4 years

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Cake

a/n: when tipsy meets twitter, all bets are off

hello! I woke up three days ago like I’d been reborn in my love for this kid, so I wrote this filth 😅 i’ve posted a few times recently about this video but if you haven’t seen it, scroll my blog or search cake lol trust me it’s worth your time.

(masterlist is linked in my description)

warnings: 3.9k of absolute filth

Movie night had ended hours ago, giving way to sleepy rideshares and drunken footsteps into the second bedroom. Brian was passed out and snoring in the giant armchair across from you. The Top Gun drinking game had gone wrong at around the eighth high five and completely derailed at the sixth “Iceman,” which became a salud of sorts in the room. Beer cans, mango White Claws, and the occasional tequila bottle littered the kitchen island.

“Psst, are you awake?” a toe poked your side from above. Shawn looked down at you with a cocked eyebrow from under his crooked elbow. You’d taken residence behind his legs, resting your head on his hip to watch the movie, bowing out of getting totally trashed. Your lips were still tingly enough to be dangerous.

“Yeah,” you croaked, clearing your throat and stretching, “I’m awake.”

“Are you suuure?” he slurred, tired and tipsy. The smirk was audible, “I thought I felt you drooling through my sweatpants.” His breath came out in a whoosh when you punched him in the abs with your outstretched arm.

“How’s that for awake, fucker?!” He chuckled and caught at your hand, unfisting your fingers and playing with them as he pulled out his phone. You let him. You even opened your hand fully so he could trace little patterns on your palm.

It had been like this for a few months, the flirting, the touching. A drunken night of 20-somethings playing spin the bottle had ended with multiple people clearing their throats with wide eyes as Shawn kissed you.

My God, he had kissed you. Fingers splayed against your neck, his lips gently interlocked with yours. It started out chaste, just two mouths touching, but as soon as he swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, it was game over. The people, the voices, your friends, all melted away and it was just the two of you. His top lip between yours. Gentle sucking pressure. His body heat radiating onto your skin. It was everything you never knew you wanted. Until Connor clapped Shawn on the shoulder and ripped him away, turning the two of you into human embarrassed laughing emojis.

Since then, it had been like this. His hand on your lower back at the coffee shop, lazy naps together after midday movies, play fighting and fake indignation after one too many shots at the bar. Your friends all shared sideways looks and snide smirks every time you hung out but you hadn’t crossed any lines again and you definitely hadn’t talked about it. Whatever it was didn’t need conversation. It was fun. It was nothing. He was busy. He was a globally-famous popstar. You were normal. The last thing you wanted was one of those embarrassing tabloid articles, “15 Things You Need to Know About Shawn Mendes’s New Fling.” So, in the quiet moments, you let him trace patterns on your palm and send shivers down to your toes.

“Hey, come up here, I’m scrolling Twitter,” he swept his fingers down to your wrist and gave it a tug, a little giddiness in his tone. He made space for you in front of him on the couch, giving you his bicep as a pillow. You settled back against his hard chest and let your legs weave into his. He’s so goddamn warm. It was a mistake wearing jean shorts to his condo. There was a part of you that wondered if he turned the A/C down on purpose but you didn’t want to think about why.

Scrolling Twitter, where Shawn saw the most fan activity, was one of your favorite pastimes. Seeing the reactions to this dude you knew in real life was occasionally shocking, sometimes horrifying, but always amusing. He held the phone out in front of you and thumbed through his feed.

Most of his mentions were about missing him. He’d been on a break since the end of his last tour, taking some time to himself without a schedule for every minute of every day. For a guy who had been taking photos with fans pretty much everyday for the last seven years, you understood why they might be freaking out. He’d broken the pattern. Thank God for that.

You tried to keep your eyes from crossing at the repeated “I miss Shawn @shawnmendes” tweets and the feeling of his alcohol-warmed fingers against your hip. I shouldn’t want this.

“Wait!” you snapped a finger at his phone, “what was that?”

“Oh, that?” he scrolled back, “it’s just an old video.” His voice broke a couple octaves on the last bit. The tweet was accompanied by the wide-eyed blushing emoji. Curious. You raised an eyebrow and watched. He was eating a guitar-shaped cake...with his hands. Mouth wide open, his face buried over and over in thick pieces of chocolate cake with some kind of blue frosting on it. It was fucking filthy. You rubbed your thighs together absent-mindedly.

“What do the comments say?” You poked at his phone before he could move it away.

“Oh, nothing really,” his voice was still high, which meant he knew what the comments likely said. You huffed and grabbed at the phone. “Shawn, you know I have Twitter, I’ll see it whether you like it or not!” You rammed your hips backward, pausing for a second when you felt something you weren’t expecting, but not for too long. He sucked in a breath, coughing, and dropped his phone—right into your waiting hands.

“Hahaha!” You jumped up and ran to the other side of the big white couch, kicking your legs in victory, “I win!” He tripped over his own oversized limbs before he got to you, falling to the floor within reach of your feet. He reached out and pulled your legs toward him, framing his face between your thighs. Your giggles stopped short and your face flamed.

“Can you assholes get a room?!” Brian was awake and fussing at the thin fleece blanket he’d scrounged off the back of the couch. He rolled over mumbling something that sounded like just fucking fuck already but you were too busy thinking about Shawn’s head still between your legs to be bothered by it.

Shawn slowly lifted his finger to his lips in the universal sign to be quiet and untangled himself to stand. He reached out a hand and you didn’t hesitate to grab it, leading you to his bedroom down the hall. You held his phone in a death grip, unwilling to let go in case he caught you off guard.

The room was dark, save for his phone, the rectangle reflecting a solid white off the wall of glass facing the city. The CN Tower lights flickered in the late night sky, seemingly suspended in midair. His unmade bed was the biggest and brightest thing in the room. A white comforter hung half on the floor at an odd angle off the corner of the mattress, his white sheets completely exposed. The pillows were all scrunched up at the headboard, like he’d been kicking and pushing all night long. Like he hadn’t slept soundly in weeks.

“Okay, so what you’re about to read…” he shut the door behind him, scrubbing at the back of his neck, “it’s gonna be weird, but like it’s fine I’m used to it. They’re...a little invasive.” Weird? Invasive? Curiouser and curiouser…

You walked over to his bed, picking up the comforter and tossing it haphazardly back onto the bed, and sat on the edge staring at the video and letting it play a few more times. Then you swiped down.

@canadianmendussy: ALEXA PLAY BIRTHDAY CAKE BY RIHANNAAAAA

@perfectlyru1n: oh my goD does he really go down like thAT?!

“Oh...my God,” you covered your mouth to keep from laughing, “you’ve seen this before?”

He bounced on the mattress facedown, mumbling something into the sheets.

“What was that?” you asked, with Southern sweet tea levels of sugar. You ruffled his hair, brushing through his curls. He turned his head, his face flushed with more than just alcohol.

“I said yes, I’ve seen it before…” he opened one eye and looked up at you, “I usually just ignore them.”

There were over 400 replies on this tweet, some people chiding the horny stans for posting something Shawn can see, others just piling on.

@illuminateruin: is that cake gluten-free?

@kidinlover: @illuminateruin idk but I know pussy is

@particularbenito: CAN HE EAT PUSSY LIKE THAT?!?!?!

“Can he eat pussy like that...” you read out loud under your breath, your mind conjuring up that image of his face between your thighs. Shawn’s head shot up, eyes wide.

“What???” His face was practically magenta at this point, “is that a serious question??”

“What? Uhh, no. Not serious. A reply actually,” you rushed, giving him a sideways look. I mean...maybe it was a serious question? The curiosity was going to kill you. Oh, no. No, no, no. Your lips tingled.

“Well, I mean….can you?” You could hear the glint in your eye.

Fuck it all.

“Can I….w-what?” he stuttered, the air crackling between the two of you. He looked like a cornered animal, like the wrong move would get him killed.

“Can you,” you pushed a loose curl out of his face and nodded toward his phone, “eat pussy like that?”

Oh, God, did I just…?

“I’ve never gotten any complaints,” your head popped up at his self-satisfied tone. Gone was the red-faced shy boy talking about embarrassing fans. The Shawn in front of you was...confident. Hungry. His fingers grazed your ankles resting beside him. It didn’t escape your notice. You shivered.

It wasn’t cold.

“M-maybe they were just too afraid to tell a big, famous rockstar that he sucked,” you were the one stuttering now, face heating by the second.

“Oh, sucking was definitely part of it,” his fingers traced the indent in your calf. You refused to pull away even though you should, even though part of you—a small, shrinking part—knew that if this went where it was definitely going, things were going to change. You snuck a finger under his chin to pull his gaze to yours.

“Is that a promise?”

“I don’t know,” he flashed a toothy smile, gravity and sheer force of will pulling his body toward yours, “is that an invitation?”

I’m probably gonna regret this in the morning.

Your lips crashed into his, giving him your answer. His mouth was hot, his breathing heavy. Tongues and teeth and lips wrestled together, refusing to part while he made his way above you, crawling on hands and knees between your legs as you settled against the pillows. He licked up into your mouth just before nibbling on your bottom lip, forcing a moan from deep inside you. This was primal, the need you felt with him. Like once you came together, nothing could break you apart.

His hands moved up your body, scratching gently at your exposed legs and slipping beneath your hoodie. He broke away from your lips to shuck off your top and expose all your delicate skin. His fingers slipped beneath your lace bralette and he played with the tiny clasp between your breasts.

“Is this okay?” he asked, a little out of breath, his thin t-shirt pressing against your skin.

You nodded so quickly you thought your neck might snap. He popped the clasp and spread his calloused hands across your chest. The friction was glorious. Your body chased his fingers involuntarily, bowing up off the high thread count sheets.

“Be still, baby,” he whispered, dipping his head and placing an open mouthed kiss just above your belly button. Your eyes rolled back at the pet name, another moan escaping your lips. Warmth rushed between your legs.

“Shawn,” you gasped, trying to control your breathing so he didn’t know just how fucked you were, “when I gave you an invitation, I didn’t expect you to be late to the party.” You rocked your hips up into his chest pointedly.

“Well, I can't just jump to the entrée, can I?” He fiddled with the button on your denim shorts, loosening it with a little pop. Teasing, he licked at a freckle just above your hip before sucking at it with enough force to leave a mark.

“Fuck!” Your hands shot down to his mop of curls, fingers buried in the thick locks. He pulled and nibbled at that spot over and over, all while grazing his fingers just beneath the waistband of your simple cotton cheeky panties.

When he pulled away, an angry red violet half-moon colored the skin. He took one last lick, smiling at your gasp in response.

“I love that sound,” he sat back on his heels between your legs, looking down at your heaving chest.

“I’ll make it again if you take that shirt off,” you reached for him with grabby hands, trying to Harry Potter that shit. He laughed and did the boy thing, grabbing his shirt at the back of his neck before tugging it forward off his body.

The gasp came again. Not even on purpose or because you’s promised him, but because he was so stupid gorgeous in the low light of the city you couldn’t help yourself. You’d seen him in hot tubs and at sweaty summer parties and in those fucking Calvin Klein pictures, but none of that compared to having him shirtless between your thighs just a few inches from your outstretched fingers.

His chest was flushed, some combination of adrenaline and alcohol. Little freckles dotted his lightly tanned skin all the way up his torso to the dusting of chest hair that colored his chest. His perfect pink nipples were hard against the cool air of the room, begging for you to touch or kiss or bite. Or all of the above. You reached out to trace his appendix scar where it peaked out of his low-slung sweatpants. His body danced away from you as he caught at your hand.

“Don’t,” he growled, weaving his fingers between yours and pressing his lips onto the back of your palm like a fucking Victorian gentleman. Like he wasn’t staring down at your hardening nipples thinking about how good they would feel pinched warm between his fingers. He tipped forward, bracing himself against the mattress, his mouth just a few centimeters from your skin. Dragging flesh against flesh, he left kisses at random in the valley between your breasts. Moving farther and farther down your body, he paused, sitting up on his heels.

“Are you sure?” He was breathing heavy, looking straight through you, both hands hovering around the edges of your shorts. You were nodding before he even finished his question.

He curled his fingers around all the fabric in his way, denim and cotton both, and dragged the offending pieces of clothing down your legs, lifting them off and tossing them against the wall across the room. You breathed steady, looking at him looking at you. His mouth hung open in speechless wonder.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispered, settling back between your thighs, a mirror of his earlier pose on the couch. Another wave of heat rushed straight to your clit, silently screaming for him.

“I know,” you brushed through his curls, giving him a suggestive grin when he looked up at you, “I taste good too.”

That was all the permission he needed. A second later, he buried his face between your legs, nudging your knees over his shoulders. His tongue swirled in circles around your clit finishing in random flicks. He moaned into you, his lips closing around your swollen folds with gently sucking pressure.

“Shit, Shawn!” you shouted, praying to the gods that everyone still in the condo was too drunk and passed out to hear you. The white sheets bunched in your fists, arms spread wide. Your thighs clamped down against his ears.

He continued his licks and flicks, snaking his hands up your legs and gently prying your legs apart. You clenched hard as he pinned your thighs to the mattress, holding you open with his forearms. Filthy sounds echoed off the walls, wet sucking, moaning from both of you. He dipped his chin and circled your entrance with his tongue, lapping at you.

“Christ!” your hands shot into his damp curls. He was working hard down there, flexing and moaning and fighting your spasms. You looked down and saw his hips impatiently rutting into the mattress. It only made you wetter, gushing onto his waiting tongue. He drank everything you gave him.

“He’s not here,” he said in a low and gravelly voice, a little breathless. He pulled back, the bottom half of his face shining in the dark. His fingers toyed with your sensitive, wet lips, watching as you twitched and trembled, so close to the edge. A firm circle around your clit had your back bowing, contorting backward off the bed. A single tear rolled down your temple.

“I’m so close,” you panted, trapping his outstretched hand against your skin.

“Shawn, I need you.”

“Need me?” His fingers paused, “need me where?”

“Oh, God, don’t stop,” you choked out, a sob threatening. Your back arched up off the sheets again to find friction. “I need...I need you inside me.”

At some point between your words and the needy moan that followed, he’d removed his sweatpants and a black pair of Calvins. You heard him rustling his hand inside the bedside table followed by the metallic sound of foil and the sharp scent of latex. Thank fuck he’s prepared.

When he dropped down onto his forearms, hovering an inch from where you needed him, you were dripping onto the sheets, grinding down into the mattress waiting desperately for him. He ran his nose over your collarbone, peppering kisses along your neck. It was slow and deliberate. A fucking tease.

“Shawn,” you pulled his face up to yours, all squished between your hands, “if you don’t fuck me right now, I swear I will…”

He pressed inside to the hilt in one swift motion, cutting off your threat.

“What are you swearing to do, princess?” he asked, a smirk and a fire in his eyes. The moan that escaped you in response was embarrassingly loud. He stilled and closed his eyes, allowing you to adjust. You took even breaths, relaxing into his hips, holding on to his shoulders for dear life. His cock was perfect. He was perfect.

I am so fucked.

He moved, slowly at first, stroking all the right places. When his hips separated from yours, pulling almost all the way out, he rutted back inside. It was deep, long thrusts touching some place inside you weren’t sure you knew was there. Your head thrashed against the pillows. Your grip on his shoulders turned sharp, clawing long red-raw marks into his pale skin.

“I’m not gonna last long,” he hissed into your ear, “fuck, you’re so tight.” His abs scraped against your body like a washboard, the tension clear in his muscles. He was wound up, ready to shatter. He crashed into you, repeatedly slapping skin against skin. His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight, slow circles in contrast with the punishing rhythm of his hips. He lifted one of your legs over his hip to change the angle, to make you even tighter around him. A bead of salty-sweet sweat dropped from his chest into your mouth.

“Right...there,” you groaned, your eyes rolling back, “I’m gonna come!”

“That’s right, honey,” he grunted, flattening his fingers across your clit with intense pressure, “come for me.”

The room went white. The sound of your hips colliding was replaced with a high-pitched ring. Your world seemed to implode, your muscles moving independently. He wrapped his arms around your middle and held you as he fucked you through the waves, his weight the only thing keeping you from being swept away in the current.

“Stay here with me,” he cooed, sweet but taut in his throat. Your heart slammed against your ribs in rhythm with his hips. He grunted once, twice, three times with his final thrusts and came undone, pumping into the condom. Biting down on your shoulder to stifle his sounds, he sucked hard enough to leave an angry mark. You contracted around him, both inside and out, curling around his thighs and back and neck, letting the full weight of his completely spent body bring you back to full consciousness.

“Hey,” you fingered his frizzed and fucked curls, “Shawn?”

“Hmm?” he nuzzled into your hands and squeezed you a little tighter.

“You’re crushing me,” you exhaled, strained.

“Oh, fuck! I’m sorry!”

He shifted to his side, accidentally pulling out too quickly, making both of you wince.

“Shit, shit, I’m so sorry,” he was so cute when he was scrambling. He got up and threw out the used condom, quickly returning from the adjoining bathroom with a damp cloth.

“Come here,” he held his arms out, making a perfect you-sized place in front of him. You slid into it easily and let him press the cloth between your legs, wincing again.

“Did I hurt you?” There was so much concern in his voice.

“No, no, I just…” you held onto his arm, glad to be facing away, “I haven’t been fucked like that in awhile.”

“Glad to be of service.” You didn’t have to be looking at him to see his smug smile. Reaching back, you slapped his thigh in retaliation. He caught your hand and kissed it like a Victorian gentleman again, like it made up for his cockiness. You tried to convince yourself that it didn’t, flushing even harder than your just-fucked body should have allowed. He wrapped his arm around your front and intertwined your legs, snuggling his face into the nape of your neck.

“So, uhhh, are we gonna do this again?” he asked, barely concealing the hope in his voice.

“Shhh,” you said, yawning for effect, “we’ll talk about it in the morning. Just sleep.”

He exhaled against your back, placing one last kiss on the mark you were sure he’d left in the midst of his orgasm. You stared out into the Toronto skyline as his breathing evened, his quiet snores barely audible against the screaming voices in your head. As the light crept into the room, as morning dawned on your sleepless night, you repeated his question over and over again.

Are we gonna do this again?

There was an easy answer: yes. Yes, yes, yes, my God, yes you were going to do this again. But there was another, harder question to answer beneath it. If we do this again, will we ever be able to stop?

***

taglist: @justanotherfangurl272 @siennarossi @trustfundshawn @alone-in-madness @harryandmolly @thatindiannerdygirl @fromthicctosticcc @softmendesss @sinplisticshawn @nedthegay @september-lace @itrocksmysocks @disaster-rose @mendesoft @luvluvxx @i-play-video-games @ihearthemcallingforyou @gentleshawn @kitykatnumber @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @ijustreallylikeshawnokay @shhhawnmendes @shawnsblue @imaginashawnns @mendesficsxbombay @shawn-youth @kerwritesthings @starlightsivann @lavenderhoneymndes @begginyouformendes @fallinallincurls @shawn-youth @linanilssonfurberg @lostinshawnsmemory @bucky-ish

(as always let me know if you want on/off the tag list...I realize I don’t post regularly and like half of these people could be out of the fandom lol)

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes smut #shawn peter raul mendes #my writing #yeah it took me a little more than an hour but it's HERE and that's all that MATTERS

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ranger-report · 3 years

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Review: THE WITCHER III: WILD HUNT (2015)

The Witcher III is too big.

There. I said it.

Imagine a huge meal. You’ve been thinking about it all day. Steak, baked potatoes, insert vegan options if you don’t eat meat, you know the drill. But you sit down and it’s glorious. Huge. Covers the whole table. A feast fit for a king. And now the insane task you find before yourself: eat the whole thing. No one’s gonna help you with it, it’s just you. A whole table’s worth of food. Eat all of it. That’s your task, eat all of it, or at least most of it, but don’t forget that if you get up from the table there’s still all of this delicious food just waiting for you to devour and going nowhere.

That’s playing The Witcher III.

You probably think I’m saying that in a negative way and that I don’t like the game, but I really do. I actually honestly do. I clocked in 95 hours on the main quest, side quests, and the first DLC Hearts of Stone. Before I played this one, I put in 48 hours on the first game and 35 hours on the second game. Bam, bam, bam, three games in a row, but somehow Wild Hunt is the one that felt the most of a slog. Even the first game, as tedious as it was, didn’t feel like it stretched on so long as Wild Hunt.

It has to be said that this game is a massive accomplishment for CD Projekt RED, or hell for ANY developer making a game of this type. Sheer density of worldbuilding and execution like this simply doesn’t exist in other games. Earlier this year I played Skyrim for the first time as well, and where that game felt like it was living, Wild Hunt felt like it was absolutely real. Ride in any direction and come across a village or a trader or a monster nest that somehow inevitably leads to the video game equivalent of a short story, multiply that by a hundred, populate the world with not one, not two, but three maps in-game, and pepper those alongside the main course which in itself is something like 50-70 hours, and you not only have a world that is easy to get lost in, but one that is difficult not to.

But where the first two games have a clarity of focus in their storytelling -- especially the second game Assassins of Kings -- Wild Hunt seems to wander back and forth between aggressive tension and meandering purpose; a game in which the primary staging is for Geralt of Rivia to go forth and find his surrogate daughter, Ciri, before the otherworldly Wild Hunt get to her and use her Elder Blood Powers to destroy the world, but stops to hunt monsters and help villagers and find treasure along the way. Open world games such as this have always been at odds with themselves when they attempt to tell a story in which the protagonist has a singular goal. Side quests and world traveling derail the intention of the plot. So, too, does Wild Hunt damage itself by providing such a brilliant, open world, one packed to the gills with things to do, and nearly require the player to go out and seek adventure just to level up enough to reach the level requirement for the next quest in the main storyline.

But that’s not to say that it isn’t enjoyable. Far from it: Wild Hunt has some of the most engaging, brilliantly written gaming I have ever experienced. It’s just that there is so much of it that I almost feel like I’ve gotten a little gaming PTSD as a result. Immediately after finishing the main quest, I uninstalled the game (ignoring the other DLC, Blood and Wine), installed Quake, and played through that in a couple days. I needed to run and gun. I needed a Boomer Shooter with focus. I needed to run from point A to point B. When I first started the game, I was in awe of the spectacle, of the scope, of the realization that this was the game that the devs had been wanting to make for years, but unable to because technology. And as I continued to gorge myself on the ever-expanding meal, realizing after a time just how much I was being told to consume, I began looking back at the lean, focused first two games, longing and yearning for their steady hand and dedication.

The Witcher III: Wild Hunt is a masterpiece. An achievement that few will ever come close to accomplishing, one that outshines Skyrim in nearly every aspect. But Skyrim does what Wild Hunt does not: it drops you into a world, free of charge, and says, “Go. Do whatever you want. You’re new here, and you owe no one anything.” Meanwhile, Wild Hunt says, “Look, your daughter is being chased by evil elves, your ex-girlfriend needs reconciliation, every single side character you’ve ever encountered in the other games (if they’re still alive) needs your help, and the emperor himself is watching over your shoulder. You also have monsters to hunt and treasure to find and people to help and witches to have sex with. There’s also exploration. Horse races. Fist fights. Gwent. There’s a lot. Make sure you stay on track. Your daughter needs you, like NOW. But do whatever you want.”

Eventually, scoring this game became difficult. What began as an easy ten out of ten began to sour over time, unto the point where I wanted to give it an even lower score for simply being TOO much. At what point to we reward developers for oversaturating their games to the degree of them being all-consuming? That being said, I still have to recognize the effort, the achievement, the technical accomplishment, in spite of the game itself being far, far too much for one game to ever be asked to be presented as.

Ironically, I committed myself at the beginning of the year to dive deep into the fantasy genre to test the waters and see if it was a genre I enjoyed or not. Skyrim was the game that convinced me that I did. Wild Hunt is the game that’s convinced me to take a break. Final score: 8/10

#the witcher 3 #wild hunt #the witcher #assassins of kings #cd projekt red #geralt of rivia #ranger report #ruby ranger #ck burch #review

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gottagobuycheese · 4 years

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Tag Thingy

Thanks @silent--sonata for indulging my terrible sleeping habits XD

(fyi this will probably be unnecessarily long and rambly, so it’s going under a cut (EDIT: whelp the song list got a little out of hand, I’d apologize if I were even remotely sorry))

Rules: Answer 17 questions & tag 17 people you want to get to know better

Nickname: Cheese (or Lactose Wedge, or Dairy Product of Unspecified Origin and Purpose)

Zodiac Sign: Gemini!

Height: 160.5 cm/5′3″ (Bubbles I refuse to believe you’re actually that much taller than me)

Hogwarts house: Somewhere between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff allegedly, both of which I’d be honored to get sorted into, but honestly I’d just be stoked to get sorted at all

Last thing I googled: I think it was something along the lines of “how to speed up audio playback in GarageBand,” but but my train of thought was derailed before I actually looked at any of the results so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (and on a related note, thanks again for the magical audio editing @imperiousheiress!)

Song stuck in my head: The end credits to Legacy of the Wizard (which is SUCH a jam, thank you for enlightening me @jessicafish) Following and followers: 227 (goodness just looking at that number is stress-inducing) and...104?! When the HECK did you all get here??? I think just last summer I was happily floating about in the 50′s. Anyways, to anyone I have not said hello, hello! Hope you enjoy your stay, and I am sincerely sorry if you expected Quality Original Content, or even just regularly scheduled other people’s content. Sadly, neither of these things tend to happen here.

Amount I sleep: During the school year it’s usually anywhere between 30 minutes and 6 hours (DON’T EVEN START BUBBLES YOU HAVE NO RIGHT), usually landing in the 3/4 hour ranges if I’m smart about it, but now that I am on Unofficial Break, it’s usually at least around 6 hours (except today was 3 because Avatar is an excellent show and the weirdos in this house have regularly scheduled breakfast at 9-something every morning). Sadly my sleep schedule can only be forced to tolerate normalcy for so long before careening back in the other direction, so we’ll see if this is just a blip or if we’re back to normal mid-Atlantic Ocean hours!

Lucky number(s): I wouldn’t say these are necessarily favorite numbers, but I do like 2 and 9. But come to think of it, second attempts at Official Things do tend to go better for me than first attempts, so maybe there’s some merit there after all! Dream Job: Don’t think I’m really cut out for dreaming anymore, haha (unless you are a theoretical future employer in which case I am Extremely Full of Ambition and Passion). The bed-adjacent metaphor has been made, and not to brag, but I can sleep on pretty much any surface. Currently studying my Not Favorite aspect of STEM (was there ever a favorite or did I just like being good at things sometimes) and learning how to People™ properly (and also learning a gazillion convoluted drug names like what the heck dude, did you just fall asleep on your typewriter coming up with these), so I’ll take whatever place hires me and pays me enough not to depend on my parents for everything, I suppose. In an ideal world, that would entail a job where I could make friends, and even more importantly, a job where my shortcomings would not cause Massive and Irreparable Harm, but I don’t think this line of work really meshes with that last one, so I guess I’ll either have to get my shit together™ extremely soon or fake my death, adopt an alias, and flee to a completely new place with no ties whatsoever before trying to get another, less high stakes job.

(Though I guess, less cynically, I like helping people well enough? And stories are fun! Maybe there could’ve been something with that. Not that there still can’t be, mind, but there’s still a long way to go between Here and There)

Wearing: Black shorts. Navy t-shirt. Brown some-specific-kind-of-jacket-I-forgot-the-name-of jacket. Is it summer? Is it fall? Am I in middle school? Who can say, but they are COMFY so sadly I have no cares to give

Favourite song(s): way way WAY too many to list here, and I do not have them all organized in a handy playlist separately, but to name a few (and these are not necessarily the MOST favorite okay, it doesn’t mean I don’t love stuff not on this list, it means you can’t force me to pick between my children and I am going to find at least one quick thing from a few things I like before I need to hit post and go back to looking like I’m being studious, and also things I think you should listen to right now, but for everything I’ve linked assuming I mean the whole OST), here’s a spam of links in no particular order:

LoZ Wind Waker - The Great Sea (aka the epitome of optimism)

Undertale - NGAHHH!! (I was about to link more but then I realized it’d be the whole soundtrack lol)

LoZ Breath of the Wild - Hateno Village (Night)

A:tLA - Peace (bad call BAD CALL NOW I HAVE EMOTIONS)

Legend of Korra - Final Scene/Ending Theme (MISTAKES WERE MADE MISTAKES WERE MADE)

Kung Fu Panda - Oogway Ascends (I feel like I’m taking you on a whole little album journey now XD)

PMD: Explorers of Sky - Dialga’s Fight to the Finish (aka the Gotta Shower Fast song)

Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Pursuit ~ Cornered (aka the HURRY UP AND PACK UR SHIT YOUR FLIGHT LEAVES IN THREE HOURS song)

Apollo Justice: A New Trial Is In Session (very underrated soundtrack imo) and also Apollo Justice: Telling the Truth (because these two are very closely associated in my head and it’s getting harder and harder to narrow things down so maybe I should stop lol)

Your Name: Katawaredoki (in which I am forcibly thrown heart first into the bedroom of my second apartment at approximately 12-something A.M.)

Digimon Adventure 01: Butterfly (MASSIVE 90′s childhood anime feels, and also Last Summer Before Everything Went to Shit feels (on a general scale I mean, not personal))

Pokémon: Lugia’s Song multitrack cover by Jordan Moore (would that I could have a talent of that musical talent)

Pokémon the First Movie: Tears of Life (great now I’m on a Pokémon music spiral GUESS IT’S CHILDHOOD NOSTALGIA HOURS NOW)

PMD: Blue Rescue Team - Farewell and Run Away/Fugitives (you CANNOT make me choose between these guys okay, my brain WILL explode, and whoops now I want to link the whole ost)

Palette by A Dear Friend (wink wonk)

Pokémon: Alpha Sapphire - Fortree City (wow talk about mood whiplash)

Detective Conan: Main Theme (I can’t find the specific version since there are so many, but it’s a Good Theme)

Super Smash Bros.: Brawl - Opening Theme

Pokémon Colosseum - Relic Forest

Song for Lindsay by Andrew Boysen Jr. (oh great now it’s time for marching band feelings I guess)

Mt. Everest by Rossano Galante

Deltarune - Field of Hopes and Dreams and A Town Called Hometown (orchestrated) (aka the Lots of Work To Do song) and You Can Always Come Home and Don’t Forget (hey guess what I wrote a bunch of fake extra verses for) (also it looks my pathetic attempts at narrowing things down are getting even more pathetic so I’ll wrap up soon XD)

Guild Wars 2 - Fear Not This Night (never actually played this myself but my friend got me addicted to the music)

Lord of the Rings - May It Be (Enya) (aaaand now I miss choir, THANKS BUBBLES)

Lion King - Can You Feel the Love Tonight (Multilingual) by Travys Kim (aka how I remembered how fun these things are)

Original Song by Anonymous

(The urge to add all the other songs I’m not adding is so strong but I’ve got so much work to do so just assume I mean all Nintendo music from any game I’ve played, all Ghibli movie music, every musical I’ve ever heard, and even more)

Random fact:

Apparently as early as the 17th century, you could guess that a child would have a shortened life span if their foreheads tasted salty. Yes, there is a specific reason, and yes, you may already know what it is, and thankfully no, that life span projection no longer holds true, assuming access to Modern Medicine!

Favourite Authors: Okay I have not read enough various books of enough various authors to be able to answer this, so I’m just gonna go with a few books instead. They are not necessarily all-time favorites, but I enjoyed reading them very much at the time and more often than not go back to them for comfort reads: The Martian, any of first three Harry Potter books, and The Rise of Kiyoshi. (That last one’s not really a comfort read but I am drowning in Loving Kiyoshi juice so here we are)

Favourite Animal Noises: Certain kinds of birds (UNLESS it’s some ungodly hour of the morning and you’re trying to sleep)? Ooh, and crickets!

Aesthetic: A slob, but like...a comfy slob. An incredibly disorganized hermit who is happy to mill about in the uncontrolled entropy. (Are we talking about what aesthetic I give off, or what I like to look at, visually? Because I like space, and water, and mountains, and forests, and forests ON mountains, OOH and forests on mountains at night where you can see space, perhaps reflected in a body of water. Or just water, idk. Different things are pretty to look at at different times)

WELL THAT ONLY TOOK FOREVER SORRY FOR THE OBSCENE LENGTH

@pachelbelsheadcanon @averybritishbumblebee @shingeki-no-korra @sailorlock @yeswevegotavideo @soultheta @queenerdloser @ifeelbetterer @rogueofdragons @peppervl @amadness2method @mutalune and anybody else who wants to do this! This isn’t seventeen, and I don’t know if any of you have already done it/been tagged, but I hear people moving around upstairs so that means this break is over XD. And ABSOLUTELY no pressure to actually do this, this is pretty much just me wishing you well! (and YOU of course, my dear reader! I hope everything’s going all right, or if it’s not, that it does soon)

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ship-ambrosia · 5 years

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Silverlight (RWBY) - Chapter 1

The first chapter of my GNG fic. My take on a possible way Mercury’s redemption arc could go. Hope you enjoy!!

He had never once cared about anyone but himself before. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her damn arm?

He had killed his father. It wasn’t something he ever hid. In fact, Mercury was more than happy to boast to the world that he had killed the man. Marcus Black was known across Remnant as an assassin. The worst way for an assassin to go was to be killed by another one. But he hated acknowledging that Marcus had any impact on him. Marcus had been the one who trained him, beating every lesson into his body and then beating him more after he’d had too many drinks. In the moment, that rush as he took his father’s life, Mercury had never felt better. He wore his prosthetics like trophies. They were his pride and joy, and if they didn’t give him such an advantage in a fight by being hidden, he’d proudly show the world what a threat his weaponized legs made him. He worked on them himself, had learned every piece, every screw, every wire better than his own body. Yeah, his dad was the one who took away his legs, just like he took everything else from Mercury, but he had replaced them with something was purely his own. Mercury was more than just Marcus Black’s legacy. He was a fighter, a survivor... he was always only in it for his own gain, he reminded himself constantly. He didn’t feel guilt toward the lives he was ruining, or the lives he had taken. He was his own assassin now. He didn’t get that luxury. So why... damn why, was he always seeing that yellow arm in front of his eyes? Their attack on Haven had been derailed right from the start, but Mercury was never upset by that kind of stuff. He liked things to be exciting. He was an assassin but he also liked to brawl, and he’d been itching to pay Blondie back for the Vytal Festival. Sure, it had been their plan to trick her, but Mercury never expected she would use a round on him. Sure he had no legs to break, but she’d damaged his prosthetic enough to piss him off. Naturally he’d been all too enthusiastic to fight her when opponents started pairing off. Her name was Yang Xiao Long, and it bugged Mercury that he remembered it. But he knew why he did. At Haven, she gave him a match. Sure he got the upper hand on her, but it wasn’t an easy punch-out like he had been confident it would be. She was calm, more controlled. It was like fighting a totally different person who used her style, and it threw him off his game. She didn’t react to his taunts, didn’t throw her punches as predictably as before, moved quicker on her feet. When their fight shifted in tandem with Emerald and Little Red’s, Mercury had been sure they’d win. He and Emerald might not necessarily get along the best, but they fought pretty damn well together. He’d been wrong. Against the sisters, he and Emerald had been no match. Mercury let out a frustrated grunt as he came back to reality. He threw a punch into the bag he was standing in front of, full of power and fury. Damn it, he was even thinking about her now! What was wrong with him? But he knew the answer to that too. He knew exactly what was drawing him back to her over and over again. It was that moment, when the world seemed to slow down as he registered Ruby’s words, then realized Yang was going after Cinder and Raven. If only to protect his own hide, not because he thought Yang wouldn’t get her ass handed to her by the two older, much more powerful women, he lunged for her. His grip tightened around her arm, and he was prepared to toss her, kick her, anything to prevent her from going after his boss. But Mercury had stumbled. Yang got free, and jumped down the elevator shaft which the little Schnee princess then sealed up with ice so no one could go after her. He had certainly been in no condition to do so anyway, still absolutely dumbfounded as to how he hadn’t been able to stop her. His grip hadn’t loosened on her arm one bit. And then he realized what that had to mean. That didn’t lessen his shock when he looked down at the yellow automail in his hand. They were more alike than had even been previously pointed out by literally everyone, even Cinder and Emerald - not only did they fight similar, but they also both had lost parts of themselves. But the questions that had planted in his mind - how had Yang lost her arm? He was pretty sure she had both when they fought in the Vytal Festival, which meant it was recent, but when? - sunk into him, deep, and made it nearly impossible to stop thinking. His brain flickered a million thoughts at once, and it must have been plain on his face because no one attacked him when he had so obviously been open. But the thing was, he could’ve taken the arm. He knew how crippling it was to first not have the real deal, but then to have the replacement taken away. To be forced to experience the world without automail after having gained it back was also extremely difficult. Yang has it so much easier than you, he tried to tell himself. She can live without hers. You can’t. It’s different. Just take her arm and set back your enemy. What he did instead was drop it when Yang returned with the Relic. It might have been on purpose, or it might’ve been from shock. He didn’t remember. The only thing he remembered was thinking that the only way the blonde could be standing there in front of them was for Cinder to be gone. But he did remember. That image of her, with one arm clutching the Lantern and the other ending at the sleeve of her jacket, made him sick. He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t do something to her that if done to him, would ruin his life. Mercury roared as Yang flashed in front of his eyes again, furious at his own traitorous mind. He tried to focus on his workout, but it was futile. He could see her, and her stupid smile, damn friends, and that fucking arm. That arm, that thing made him feel like he and Yang were the same. But they weren’t, because she hadn’t turned bitter against it all. She hadn’t been abandoned, forced to claw her way out of a shithole, forced to fight to prove her place in the world. They were the same, but at the same time they couldn’t be more different. “Damn it!” All his fury unleashed at once in that moment, fists slamming into the bag in front of him, harder and harder until he wasn’t even counting his punches anymore. It was a dangerous feeling, similar to how he felt while fighting his father. Furious to the point where he couldn’t even think, with underlying fear. He knew where the fear was coming from this time. Working for Salem was working for the personification of nightmares. Mercury slowed down finally, when his emotions just felt numb. Anger still coursed through his veins, but at this point he was becoming more and more tolerant to its effects. He had buried these feelings for some time, even told Emerald that he was right where he belonged when she started to waver. But it was the words of that freak who worked for Salem that brought all his own conflicting feelings back. Oh yes, the world is mean, and I'm a big, bad man now just like the others. He threw more punches blindly. All you ever learned was pain and violence, and now you're too afraid to leave it! Such a tragedy. Mercury only saw red. Your question is all wrong. “What do you want from this?” Children, please, if you’re not absolutely loving what you’re doing, than you’re in the wrong field. So what, are you saying we should just leave? Oh no no no no, you can’t do that! He could see that smug expression, the crazy eyes. Oh, how did he want to rip that mechanical tail off one more time for mocking them... Do what makes you happy children... please? Mmhmhmhm... I’m begging you. Mercury slammed his fist once more against the bag, relishing in the pain from his strike. But the bag swung wildly; if it had been a real person it would’ve been much more hurt than he was. It felt damn good. Yes, he was raised in darkness. That was something he would never deny. Not only raised and nurtured by it, but also raised to never understand anything else. He was raised to kill people; why would he leave that when it was all he knew how to do? Nothing else in the world would ever accept him. But Yang hadn’t let what happened to her turn her to spite. She hadn’t even turned her back on Ozpin, she’d jumped right back into the game. Mercury gritted his teeth. “I am nothing like Yang!” He roared again, slamming his fist into the punching bag once again, somehow with even more power. “I don’t remember anyone ever saying you were.” Mercury turned, panting less from the workout and more just from how angry he was, to find Emerald standing in the doorway watching him. He glared at her. The expression she wore was of amusement. “What do you want?” He snapped. “Well, I stayed to check on you when I realized you were wailing on that poor thing,” she nodded to the punching bag. Mercury turned and noticed for the first time there was sand flowing out of it from several tears in the bag. He’d been so angry that he hadn’t even noticed. “Tsk, whatever,” Mercury went and sat down. He was still seeing red - or rather, seeing yellow - and he could feel the blood pounding in his veins. “You want to talk about it?” She asked with a cruel tone to her voice. She wanted to make fun of him and he could tell. “With you? Not really,” he said. “Just go back to your identity crisis, or plan your escape of this place, whatever. Doesn’t matter to me.” “What are you talking about?” He sneered at her. “All that stuff you said about, now that Cinder’s not here you’re questioning if what we’re doing is right. Duh, of course it isn’t? I might be an assassin Emerald, but you’ve caused people to die too. It’s like that scorpion freak said; you don’t like it, pick another life. Only, I’m not gonna stop you. The others might.” “Oh right, that,” Emerald laughed a bit. “I’m over that.” “What?” He couldn’t hide his surprise. “What the hell do you mean you’re over it?” It hadn’t been that long since Emerald had voiced her doubts, how could she have just moved on? Mercury remembered it because he’d told her about his father taking his semblance. Which was something he didn’t even like to think about. “I told you. Cinder is everything to me,” she said. “If Salem is going to take her back after she shows she is worthy of her service once again, then there’s no point in thinking over it anymore. And to be honest, we’re only safe when we’re with Salem.” “I told you that Cinder doesn’t care about you!” He exclaimed. “And I told you that I didn’t care if she did or not,” Emerald crossed her arms. “But that I would never leave her because I owe her everything. The situation really was much simpler than I was making it. When you told me not to have an identity crisis, you were right. So thanks, Merc.” “You just changed your mind? Just like that?” “Yeah, I guess I did,” she looked over at him over her shoulder. “What’s wrong with that? I came to the right answer, didn’t I?” Mercury realized for a moment that it was the right answer, and that he was looking really suspicious in questioning it. Why was he even questioning it? What did it matter to him whether Emerald stayed or not? Why was he surprised that she had chosen to stay? “Yeah,” he grumbled, and got back to his feet. “I’m going to sleep.” “Mercury,” she called after him as he walked past her, and he stopped but didn’t turn around. Emerald paused for a long moment before she continued with a threatening tone in her voice. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but don’t make the wrong choice here.” His eyes widened, her uncharacteristic words and manner make a chill run up his spine. Mercury had relatively steeled nerves, so he surprised himself with this reaction. In fact, the only person who ever gave him a feeling like that... Well, he didn’t want to think of what that meant for his partner. He waved at her nonchalantly as he left the room. Like a true assassin, he buried his unease. “Don’t worry about me, Em. Like I told you before, I’m right where I‘m supposed to be.” ~

Why hadn’t she turned to spite? He was laying in the meager bed Salem’s palace offered him, still better than the nights spent traveling before Cinder brought him there, and even better than the years he spent in Marcus’s house. It was one in the morning. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep, because a certain blonde was finding her way into his dreams as of late and it pissed him off. If he was going to think of Yang, it was better in a way that he could apprehend himself for doing so. That never really stopped him either, though. He remembered every fight he’d had with her, running through it in his head over and over again. Mercury told himself it was so he could beat her into the ground the next time they met. But even he knew he was lying to himself. Even he had to admit that Emerald voicing her doubts about Salem had pulled his own to the forefront, and that was when he had started thinking about Yang. Surely, her happy-go-lucky attitude from before meant that she’d had a pretty good life before Beacon Academy. He hated the world for giving him Marcus as a father, but that was how he had become who he was now. Even her eyes, soft and sparkling in the moments before their first fight, seemed to have darkened the last time he saw her. He wondered what it would be like if Yang turned to Salem, if she had given up on the world that had betrayed her. Would she end up like Tyrian, Hazel, or Cinder, driven mad by her desires? Or would she end up like he and Emerald - arrogant and eager to prove herself? Mercury found his thoughts slowly shifting to wonder what it would be like to be on the same side as her, whichever side that may be. To fight alongside her. The idea was not as repulsive to him as it should have been, and that scared him too. Had the darkness encroached on Yang, or was her light burning him? Either way, the longer he thought on her the more Mercury felt himself compelled to her place in the world. Away from the suffocating eye of Salem, free to choose where she went - though he held no desire to find her. Mercury’s eyes widened as he realized the thoughts that had just passed through his head. He wanted to leave. A part of him had wanted Emerald to keep doubting, keep wondering, to tell him that she was going to leave too. And that was why he had been so bothered by their conversation earlier. He still wanted to leave, but she didn’t. The young assassin worked quickly after he came to this revelation. He wasn’t entirely sure if Salem slept or not, and he knew that if he ran into her while leaving that she would see straight through any lie he could cook up. Mercury wasn’t even sure he would make it out of the palace in one piece. For all he knew, by joining Cinder he had subjected himself to Salem’s magic, where she could always know where he was or what he was thinking. She could very well have been alerted the instant he changed his mind. He found no resistance at his chosen airship, the only answer to his defiant actions were the roars and shrieks of new Grimm as they crawled from the pools of death around him. None paid him any mind; Mercury smirked to himself, wondering how long it would be before his immunity from the creatures disappeared, and he’d have to get used to defending himself from them again. As the airship lifted softly into the air, Mercury felt multiple conflicting emotions stirring from within him. Relief floated up with his lift, like he had shed weights that were holding him down. Fear sunk in his gut, pulling him back down as he thought of Salem coming after him. And regret, that he had left Emerald behind. But there was one more that he tried to ignore. It overwhelmed him, deafening, silencing the other feelings by comparison. There was hope inside him, glowing gold. He didn’t need to see any images behind his eyelids to know it was her doing. Long into the night he traveled, the soft pinging of the airship the only thing interrupting his traitorous thoughts. There was no way that he was under Salem’s protection anymore, not with his intentions, so Mercury was surprised that he didn’t run into any trouble. Perhaps it was because he was so calm, despite the fear gathering within him, and the determination with which he guided the airship toward Anima which kept the Grimm at bay. He had a plan. He’d disappear into the underground crowd of Mistral, the parts of the world where mercenaries and assassins like himself made a living. He’d jump to Vacuo if Salem ever caught wind of him; both places were ideal to disappear. Vale and Atlas on the other hand, he’d steer clear of completely. Mercury was on the run from both sides, but if he got caught by the kingdoms’ players he’d just be prolonging his death until the day Salem destroyed them and took over. His best bet at survival was distancing himself from it all. As long as no one from his past caught up to him, and he took care of anyone who recognized him, he’d be in the clear. Especially anyone from Blondie’s team, let alone the bimbo herself. Several hours and one partly crash-landed airship later, Mercury dropped from the ruined machine, grateful to return to solid ground. He spent no extra time near it, walking straight toward the civilization he knew there would be; he’d purposely landed close enough, but still a ways away, from the continent’s largest city. Some time had passed when Mercury felt it, his whole body going cold. Somehow he just knew that Salem had discerned his intentions, and that his all-or-nothing game of cat and mouse had begun. “I’m right where I‘m supposed to be,” he repeated under his breath as he lost himself within the crowd of the dirty Mistral market street.

#original post by bree #bree writes #silverlight #rwby fanfiction #yang x mercury #gauntlets and greaves #disabler #liquid gold #yang xiao long #mercury black #multi chapter #bree watches rwby #mercury redemption #canon timeline #emerald sustrai

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kondo-hijikata · 5 years

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Pairings: Established Kondo/Hijikata Rating: M Summary: It’s simple. Peddle medicine and find purpose. But after Hijikata is caught in a downpour that leads him right into Kondo’s arms, he realizes things are a little more complicated than he’d like to believe. [AO3]

This chapter features Kat-chan being a great adoptive dad to Souji, as well as a pretty damn good boyfriend to Toshi.

<< Chapter 2

.*After the Rain*. Chapter 3

Over the breakfast Kondo brought into his room for them both that morning, Hijikata had gone quiet in a most concerning way. It’d been the same pensive silence as the prior afternoon, which incited the heart-to-heart conversation that Kondo, without doubt, believed had massaged all offending ripples and creases back into smoothness once more.

They’d been together long enough and Kondo knew Hijikata well enough to know that cornering him into spilling what was on his mind would be more detrimental than helpful; therefore, he settled upon a simple inquiry regarding his companion’s well-being, while dark eyes stared into untouched miso soup.

“Toshi…” Kondo licked his lips when Hijikata’s chin lifted and his eyes tentatively found his. There was something in them—something he couldn’t rightly place, but it was clear that Hijikata had just been lost in the throes of contemplation. What it was that occupied his musing remained a mystery though, and the first step into solving it had to be a careful one. The venture forward reflected such caution as Kondo nonchalantly asked, “You all right? Still tired?”

A shrug of the shoulders preceded the reply. “Yeah.” Hijikata sat up a little taller immediately after. His lips closed and then parted again as if he’d say more, but all he eventually came out with was, “I mean...yeah. Still tired.” The hint of a rigid smile pulled at the corners of his lips and he turned back to poking at his meal.

…And that was the end of that. Discretion and prudence would yield neither insight nor reward now, apparently.

From there, an almost suffocating tension overwhelmed the atmosphere of the room, as heavy as the early humidity that settled in with the breaking of dawn. It was uncomfortable, to say the least and the obvious; the situation reeked of the strange and seemingly unfounded afflictions of yesterday. If that were true—if the same anxieties remained to plague Hijikata even now—Kondo needed to get to the bottom of them once and for all. Even if it meant repeating himself or saying aloud things so embarrassingly sincere they nearly made him blush just thinking of them, he would do it...albeit with the good graces of gentle insistence to start him on his way.

Buying himself time as he considered his next move, Kondo lifted his teacup and took a sip. He swallowed, cleared his throat. Game plan set? Nope. Ready? Not at all. Still, when he lowered it back to rest beside the rectangular plate of steamed white fish, he braced his hands against his thighs. Kondo opened his mouth and he drew a breath. “Toshi—”

...just to be derailed by the sudden rapid succession of footsteps pounding the porch boards as they closed in proximity. Like clockwork, Souji flung himself at the open doorway and held tight, rasping, “Kondo-san!”

“S—Souji! What’s wrong?!”

Looking over his shoulder and pursing his lips as if he’d been chased, Souji then stepped across the threshold and stumbled over as Kondo pushed his tray to begin rising. Before he could, however, Souji crashed to his knees at his side and groaned while leaning unto him.

“They’re telling me stupid dad jokes again.”

With his brows pulling inward, Kondo placed his hand on Souji’s head and gently pushed him off. “What?!”

“Sensei and Gen-san! They’re telling me stupid dad jokes and they’re so dumb and annoying!”

“Oh wow, it’s the end of the world,” Hijikata interjected quietly, but since Souji either chose to pay no attention to the jab or simply didn’t hear it, Kondo considered himself fortunate and let it go. The absolute last thing he needed now was these two going to war on top of everything else.

Relaxing his posture, Kondo huffed. “You really know how to worry a guy, Souji!” He gave a pat to the top of his head and allowed himself a soft smile. “I thought there was something seriously wrong with how you came running in here like that.”

“There was, though! There really, really was!” Souji insisted, balling his hands into fists and bringing them level with his jaw. “Sensei literally said ‘you can tune a piano but you can’t tuna fish’ and expected me to laugh.”

Picking up his chopsticks again, Kondo cocked his head and chuckled. “Well…”

Souji’s eyelids fell halfway closed and he murmured, “Of course, you’d find that funny, Kondo-san...”

Glancing to Hijikata, Kondo felt a sliver of relief to see him eating without hesitation and assuming an infinitely more laid-back disposition. The volatile moment between them had been lost for better or worse and with nothing to do about it in the present, he supposed the sight of returning normalcy was better than nothing. Following the trend, Kondo plucked a bite of shredded daikon. “Please just humor him, would you? My father’s an old man and he wants to feel relevant.”

Souji shrugged and looked off to the side, quietly saying, “I already humor your humor, Kondo-san.”

Kondo’s chopsticks stopped midway to his mouth and lowered. “...What?” His lips closed and opened again, then repeated the same action, while blinking rapidly. Finally, he asked in a woeful tone, “You…you don’t actually think my jokes are funny? You’re just—?”

From his left, Kondo heard a soft laugh and his focus pulled to Hijikata. “Hey! Hey, Toshi, you stay out of this! This is really distressing!” With a half-pout, Kondo turned back to Souji. “...Really?”

Souji chortled and then took hold of Kondo’s hakamashita sleeve. “Ne, ne! Are we gonna go to the starlight festival this year?”

“So let me get this straight.” Letting his lashes fall for a moment, Kondo righted himself. “You insult me and then ask if I’m taking you to a festival?” Naturally, he was playing along, although there was a small part of him that felt the slightest inkling of disappointment at failing to be an adept comic.

“Aw, you know I was just kidding!” Souji pulled on his hakamashita again. “You’re plenty funny, Kondo-san!” His eyes fell closed as a huge grin overtook his face. “Sometimes even when you’re not trying to be.”

Kondo lifted his chin quickly and quirked a brow. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Besides!” Souji’s expression dampened a little as he nodded toward Hijikata, his voice suddenly less enthused when he added, “…isn’t he gonna come with us too anyway?”

“Ah…well, first of all, let’s not talk about Toshi like he isn’t here with us, yeah?” Whoops, guilty as charged. “And second of all—”

“I’ll go.”

Kondo blinked at Souji’s green eyes narrowing and then turned again to find the comfort of Hijikata’s gaze upon him. Interestingly, there was no longer any stiffness or apprehension present, almost as though Souji’s suggestion lifted all the weight that had seemed to be exerting itself upon his person.

“I’ll go,” Hijikata repeated. “And actually, I can make time for the whole day, so if you want to go fishing that morning, too…”

“Fishing?!” Souji exclaimed and clapped his hands once. “All right! I mean…if, if that’s okay with you, Kondo-san?”

“Um…” Kondo searched Hijikata for as long as he could without things becoming awkward or indicative, before looking back to Souji. The corners of his mouth eased into a smile. “Of course it’s okay. We’ll make a day of it, then.”

Over the subsequent sound of Souji cheering, Kondo looked Hijikata over once more—saw fondness in those eyes as they regarded him and the jubilant boy at his side. “You’re really all right with that?”

“Yep!” Hijikata declared in a light and nearly dismissive tone, the kind of soft voice so specific to him, and went back to finishing the little that remained of his breakfast.

And it was that moment when Kondo realized that it was he, himself, who had eaten the least at this point: a stroke of clarity which made him evaluate the situation once more.

Perhaps he’d read too deeply, or had reached a bit too far earlier. Perhaps...he was being a little too overprotective, and a bit too paranoid. They were attributes he couldn’t fault himself for however, because when it came to Hijikata’s happiness, attentions, and affections, they were things he would protect for as long as he was bestowed the honor.

Whatever the case, whether he’d made mountains out of molehills or not, there was a plan set for three days from now and plenty to look forward to. Therefore, Kondo released the worries prodding at him, and swallowed them all as he did his soup.

Oftentimes, when Souji showed up at random, it was more of an annoyance to Hijikata than anything. He was an obstinate child, rife with so much mischief and audacity that it might have been impressive if not so infuriating.

That particular morning, however, it was Souji’s appearance at the most perfect moment which triggered a wave of gratitude to sweep clear across Hijikata. His face in that open doorway had been nothing short of a saving grace and badly needed distraction—because Hijikata had been but one solitary, dangerous breath away from pushing himself over an edge he hadn’t even been certain of how to rightly approach. Hell, he hadn’t known if he’d been ready to, and yet there he’d been.

It occurred to him while studying his miso soup that guilt was a terrible first course for a meal, and that all the turmoil involved with coming to his decision had been the easy part. The most arduous and painful trials lay ahead, and the most pressing question now was…

Hijikata had ventured a glance to Kondo at that point.

How do you go about hurting the one person you want to protect most of all? How do you injure him when you love him with all of yourself, and still stomach the sight of your own reflection?

Samurai lived boldly. Even Kondo appeared to be ready to voice some of his own peace, something which offered the shove Hijikata had needed. Upon hearing his name, he opened his mouth at the same time.

But like the universe had seen the need for intervention, that had been the very moment Souji’s presence saved Hijikata from himself and offered an escape he hadn’t even known he needed until the aftermath. Putting this heavy conversation off for a few days would allow him the time necessary to think about what needed to be said, and most importantly, how. It might have been delaying the inevitable and prolonging his own inner turmoil, but if that meant something better for Kondo in the long run and a gentler let down, then it was worth it.

It was for that reason that Hijikata agreed to accompany them to the festival and why he’d suggested spending that whole day together. He’d give not just Kondo but himself one last memorable day with nothing but happiness, and soon after, there would only be good feelings when they’d sit down to talk the ugly matters.

A plan was a plan, half-baked as it might have been.

Therefore, when Kondo walked him to the halfway point at the lake, Hijikata could smile when they turned to each other—a soft and almost shy twitch of the lips.

“Go home safely, okay?” Kondo asked, reaching across the space separating them and brushing warm fingertips across Hijikata’s cheek as he pushed hair away from his face.

“No worries.” Hijikata offered a nod. “See you in three days.”

“I’ll...” Kondo averted his gaze and peered over his shoulder. His lower eyelids raised a touch and then he quietly finished his thought. “...I’ll miss you.”

Hijikata softly scoffed, but any rebuke he might have made was obliterated by Kondo’s mouth quickly pressing to his own: a brief kiss stolen amid the cover of nature.

“Bye,” Kondo whispered then, stepping off and waving over his shoulder.

“Bye...” Hijikata said after him so softly that he was positive that he hadn’t been heard. Only after Kondo had disappeared over the hill was when he added, “...I’ll miss you, too.”

3 Days Later

A patterned handball bounced to the cadence of words sang by Souji, decorating the Shieikan front entrance with circular prints in dry dirt. The lyrics faded to an eventual hum and he closed his eyes while beginning to contentedly rock his head and shoulders, finding enjoyment in the warmth of late morning sunlight. The ball got away as consequence of his shift in attention; it slipped from his fingers and rolled toward the porch—right past where Kondo busied himself drawing circles with a long stick.

Little sandals skipped against the ground, but instead of going after the wayward trinket, Souji hopped up to sit at Kondo’s side. His legs dangled over the edge as he scooted over to lean a cheek against his arm, watching with intent while so-called art unfolded before his eyes.

“Ne, Kondo-san…”

“Mm?”

Souji pursed his lips and kicked his feet a few times. “Fude-san’s gonna yell at you for drawin’ skulls in her front yard again…”

A laugh broke out at that. “No worries. I’ll erase them before she sees.”

“Whatever you say,” Souji intoned and lifted his hand to cling gently to the sleeve of Kondo’s hakamashita, continuing his observation of the wandering stick leaving curves in its wake. “I’m glad she’s not my mom. That lady’s mean.”

“Shh, no more of that. You wanna learn how to draw one?” Kondo asked without turning away from his handiwork, his lips pulled into a complacent smile. A tiny inarticulate noise left Souji’s throat, prompting another chuckle. “Suit yourself, kid.”

“Kondo-san, no offense but…” Souji paused and then lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s kinda weird.”

With his grin widening even further and his own words going just as soft to playfully imitate Souji’s, Kondo asked, “What is?”

“I mean, of all things, why draw skulls? Why not draw…well, I dunno…swords? Flowers? …Kanko?”

At last, Kondo righted himself and faced his young counterpart, the gentle expression he wore remaining even in the presence of criticism from a ten year-old. “Oh, it’s simple, really.” He closed his eyes, cleared his throat, and pounded a fist twice against his ribcage. In strong baritone, Kondo proudly announced with a nod, “It’s a declaration of what’s deep in here.”

Souji’s brows pulled inward and his eyes drifted off to the side. “You have a skull in your chest?” His gaze wandered back. “…Are you okay?”

Kondo snorted. “Resolve, Souji. I’m talking about resolve.” He pulled his arm free and mussed his hair. “This shape symbolizes death, yeah? So drawing it shows that I know my role in the world. A true samurai is ready to honorably give his life at any time.”

The confounded look persisted across Souji’s features and further furrowing of his brow had Kondo laughing heartily once more. “You’ll understand when you’re older, I promise.” He placed the stick into a smaller hand. “Here. You draw something now.”

“Like what?”

“Like…whatever you want. Something that makes you happy?”

There was but a moment of consideration before Souji’s lips twitched and with an immediate change of demeanor, he vaulted to his feet. His knees bent with a crouch and he pressed the point into the dirt, beginning with the formation of an oval. Inside of it, he placed two elongated dots for eyes, scowling eyebrows, and a large open mouth.

“Souji…” Kondo started, his tone faltering somewhere between amusement and warning, but failing to effectively become one or the other.

Long bangs and a ponytail were added next, and afterward, two horns at the top. With a precursory snicker, Souji finished his masterpiece by titling it: Hijikata-san.

“Souji!”

The stick fell to the dirt as Souji tossed his head back, laughter rising up from deep within his belly. His palms slapped to his abdomen and through the heaves, he managed to choke out, “It looks—it looks just like him, Kondo-san!”

Kondo was off the porch in an instant, his fingers jabbing at Souji’s sides in a relentless tickle attack which caused him to thrash and howl. “When’d you get to be so rude, huh?!”

Upon managing to flail himself to freedom, Souji stumbled about while wiping tears from his eyes. “Well, it’s true! That’s how he looks!”

“It is not!” Kondo stressed, despite obviously trying to suppress his own mirth, and then returned to the place where he’d been previously sitting. He patted the space next to him. “C’mere, you troublemaker. It’s hot in the sun.”

Souji accepted the invitation without protest, quickly climbing back up to Kondo’s side. However, by the time he posed his next question, the hilarity had all but disappeared and been replaced with a hint of annoyance. “Where is he anyway? He was supposed to be here early this morning!”

“Probably got caught up with something. It happens.”

Pressing his cheek unto Kondo’s bicep once more, Souji glowered. “But he promised. It was his idea to go fishing in the first place! And it’s not fair to make us wait around all day.”

“Gosh, you’re so hard on him. Cut a little slack, will you?” Kondo gave a gentle shove. “Toshi’s got a lot on his plate right now. Business is going really well and that’s a good thing.”

“Well, he still promised,” Souji grumbled beneath his breath. “And besides! You’re more important than selling some stupid medicine, Kondo-san. I would never keep you waiting like that.”

With a lopsided smile pulling into his cheek, Kondo exhaled through his nose. “It’s nice of you to say so, but that stupid medicine is his main source of income right now.” He looked toward the large fluffy clouds passing just over the edge of the porch roof. “It’s all right. He’ll get here when he gets here. I don’t mind waiting.”

“I do!” A dramatic sigh preceded Souji pushing off and flopping on his opposite side. There were a few seconds of quiet before he droned, “Kondo-san will forgive anything.”

“Aw, come on. That’s not true.”

“When it comes to Hijikata-san, it is.”

“That’s not it at all!” Kondo contended, but his voice lost its fire once he attempted to elaborate. “It’s just, well. You know…Toshi is…” He kept his chin raised and drummed his fingers upon his thighs, thinking hard about the correct way to phrase it. “Toshi is—” Whatever he’d intended to say next had been lost however, as a man in courier attire appeared at the front gate to knock the whole world off balance yet again.

He stood in the middle of the entrance with his hands pressed tightly to his sides, announcing himself with a bow. “Pardon my intrusion!”

Kondo jumped to his feet with Souji following suit, and together they approached their visitor, who’d begun procuring an article of correspondence.

“I apologize for the interruption. Is Kondo Isami-sama present?”

“That’s me.” Kondo offered a sturdy nod as Souji took hold of his hakama, studying the man with curious eyes. As they waited, Kondo’s large palm came to rest on the top of his head, and he leaned further into it.

“Ah. I come bearing a message for you. It’s been marked urgent.” When Kondo’s hand left him to receive the folded letter, Souji caught glimpse of its address and his eyes narrowed in perplexity at the sender’s name. With another courteous bow, the courier excused himself and disappeared as quickly as he’d come.

Kondo’s brow creased with concern and while he immediately began to unfold the message, Souji craned his neck and rocked on his tiptoes to not miss any detail. “Sato Nobu-san¹? Isn’t that…isn’t that Hijikata-san’s sister?”

“Aa.” The letter was pulled open and as worried golden eyes fell on the words written in beautiful calligraphy, Kondo affirmed, “It is.”

“They’re telling me stupid dad jokes again.”

With his brows pulling inward, Kondo placed his hand on Souji’s head and gently pushed him off. “What?!”

“Kondo-sensei and Gen-san! They’re telling me stupid dad jokes and they’re so dumb and annoying!”

“There was, though! There really, really was!” Souji insisted, balling his hands into fists and bringing them level with his jaw. “Kondo-sensei literally said ‘you can tune a piano but you can’t tuna fish’ and expected me to laugh.”

Picking up his chopsticks again, Kondo cocked his head and chuckled. “Well…”

Souji’s eyelids fell halfway closed and he murmured, “Of course, you’d find that funny, Kondo-san...”

Souji shrugged and looked off to the side, quietly saying, “I already humor your humor, Kondo-san.”

Souji chortled and then took hold of Kondo’s hakamashita sleeve. “Ne, ne! Are we gonna go to the starlight festival this year?”

Kondo lifted his chin quickly and quirked a brow. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Besides!” Souji’s expression dampened a little as he nodded toward Hijikata, his voice suddenly less enthused when he added, “…isn’t he gonna come with us too anyway?”

“Ah…well, first of all, let’s not talk about Toshi like he isn’t here with us, yeah?” Whoops, guilty as charged. “And second of all—”

“I’ll go.”

“I’ll go,” Hijikata repeated. “And actually, I can make time for the whole day, so if you want to go fishing that morning, too…”

“Fishing?!” Souji exclaimed and clapped his hands once. “All right! I mean…if, if that’s okay with you, Kondo-san?”

“Yep!” Hijikata declared in a light and nearly dismissive tone, the kind of soft voice so specific to him, and went back to finishing the little that remained of his breakfast.

And it was that moment when Kondo realized that it was he, himself, who had eaten the least at this point: a stroke of clarity which made him evaluate the situation once more.

Hijikata had ventured a glance to Kondo at that point.

How do you go about hurting the one person you want to protect most of all? How do you injure the person you love and still stomach the sight of your own reflection?

But like clockwork, that had been the very moment Souji’s interjection saved Hijikata from himself and offered an escape he hadn’t even known he needed until the aftermath. Putting this heavy conversation off for a few days would allow him the time necessary to think about what needed to be said, and most importantly, how. It might have been delaying the inevitable and prolonging his own inner turmoil, but if that meant something better for Kondo in the long run and a gentler let down, then it was worth it.

A plan was a plan, half-baked as it might have been.

Therefore, when Kondo walked him to the halfway point at the lake, Hijikata could smile when they turned to each other—a soft and almost shy twitch of the lips.

“Go home safely, okay?” Kondo asked, reaching across the space separating them and brushing warm fingertips across Hijikata’s cheek as he pushed hair away from his face.

“No worries.” Hijikata offered a nod. “See you in three days.”

“I’ll...” Kondo averted his gaze and peered over his shoulder. His lower eyelids raised a touch and then he quietly finished his thought. “...I’ll miss you.”

Hijikata softly scoffed, but any rebuke he might have made was obliterated by Kondo’s mouth quickly pressing to his own: a brief kiss stolen amid the cover of nature.

“Bye,” Kondo whispered then, stepping off and waving over his shoulder.

“Bye...” Hijikata said after him so softly that he was positive that he hadn’t been heard. Only after Kondo had disappeared over the hill was when he added, “...I’ll miss you, too.”

3 Days Later

“Ne, Kondo-san…”

“Mm?”

Souji pursed his lips and kicked his feet a few times. “Fude-san’s gonna yell at you for drawin’ skulls in her front yard again…”

A laugh broke out at that. “No worries. I’ll erase them before she sees.”

“Kondo-san, no offense but…” Souji paused and then lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s kinda weird.”

With his grin widening even further and his own words going just as soft to playfully imitate Souji’s, Kondo asked, “What is?”

“I mean, of all things, why draw skulls? Why not draw…well, I dunno…swords? Flowers? …Kanko?”

Souji’s brows pulled inward and his eyes drifted off to the side. “You have a skull in your chest?” His gaze wandered back. “…Are you okay?”

“Like what?”

“Like…whatever you want. Something that makes you happy?”

“Souji…” Kondo started, his tone faltering somewhere between amusement and warning, but failing to effectively become one or the other.

Long bangs and a ponytail were added next, and afterward, two horns at the top. With a precursory snicker, Souji finished his masterpiece by titling it: Hijikata-san.

“Souji!”

Kondo was off the porch in an instant, his fingers jabbing at Souji’s sides in a relentless tickle attack which caused him to thrash and howl. “When’d you get to be so rude, huh?!”

Upon managing to flail himself to freedom, Souji stumbled about while wiping tears from his eyes. “Well, it’s true! That’s how he looks!”

“Probably got caught up with something. It happens.”

Pressing his cheek unto Kondo’s bicep once more, Souji glowered. “But he promised. It was his idea to go fishing in the first place! And it’s not fair to make us wait around all day.”

“Well, he still promised,” Souji grumbled beneath his breath. “And besides! You’re more important than selling some stupid medicine, Kondo-san. I would never keep you waiting like that.”

“I do!” A dramatic sigh preceded Souji pushing off and flopping on his opposite side. There were a few seconds of quiet before he droned, “Kondo-san will forgive anything.”

“Aw, come on. That’s not true.”

“When it comes to Hijikata-san, it is.”

He stood in the middle of the entrance with his hands pressed tightly to his sides, announcing himself with a bow. “Pardon my intrusion!”

Kondo jumped to his feet with Souji following suit, and together they approached their visitor, who’d begun procuring an article of correspondence.

“I apologize for the interruption. Is Kondo Isami-sama present?”

“Aa.” The letter was pulled open and as worried golden eyes fell on the words written in beautiful calligraphy, Kondo affirmed, “It is.”

¹ Nobu: I ultimately chose to use the name Nobu for the sister who raised Toshi after the death of their parents. I did a lot of research in both English and Japanese to find more information on his family and came up with two names for her: Toku and Nobu. It seems that Toku was used to refer to her in Hakuouki, but I’m going with Nobu because that’s the name used on her Japanese Wikipedia page. Irritatingly, Toku is the name used on the page for her husband, Hikogoro. In any case, I love the name Nobu, so that's what I went with.

Chapter 4 >>

#uss enterplaid #toshisami #t1 #hakuouki #writing on plaid paper #long post #btw i had to shove 2 pics of the reimei ending together so i could have this pic without credits #you can tell #lmao #there's a seami tried to cover it up but alas #i know nothing about graphics lol

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steve0discusses · 6 years

Text

Yugioh S1 Ep 47: Man I wish this was episode 69 so I could just write “Dice.”

Lets see how our favorite Pharaoh is faring, starting up with a duel against this guy who was making a game, and then got hella distracted and ended up shoving five games into one game like he has game designer ADD.

Duke Devlin is the most sane person we’ve dueled but also the most obsessive human we’ve met, if that makes sense. Because I’m that type of person, here’s a little chart I made to explain what I mean.

(read more under the cut)

So, this is just how my brain has been cataloguing the people we’ve spent actual time with. I separate them first into “are they a guy or are they a god?” (Yugi and Ryou kind of being in a vague area in the middle, but I didn’t feel like making a third row for 2 people)

Then, my brain separates them into three categories

the psychopaths, AKA people who cannot let go of a grudge and so live in a near constant state of rage and/or a superiority/inferiority complex. Not necessarily a BAD person just...youknow...

the normies, AKA people who are kind of just there and for the most part hold it together really well.

and the "OOPS! I screwed it!?!” category AKA people who are generally harmless but, for reasons largely out of their control, have a trigger that will send them right off and into the obsessive-cray zone. They don’t want to derail the whole show/get abducted for the millionth time/have yet another complete melt down, it’s just that there was a huuuuge misunderstanding. They’re not really WANTING to murder anyone, it’s just...sometimes people are there at the wrong time and its just gonna happen and what do you do? They probably deserved it? They probably deserved it.

Now this isn’t a good to evil type of scaling, especially since in this show a lot of our characters are morally gray, but it is a bit of a scaling of “what type of far gone are they?” And off the top of my head here’s where I classify them.

Also, I’m in S1 so all of this will probably change. Joey isn’t like super Psychopathic or anything, it’s just that he acts a lot like Kaiba sometimes in how he gets pissed off and holds a grudge against people he barely knows so I feel like he crosses the line enough in my brain to lump them together. I’m on the fence about Bakura. He’s just sort of too random at the moment.

I realize now that I have Panic on here for some reason. I dunno why, I guess I really liked that guy.

And so, of our humans, Duke really freakin screwed it this episode. Like he was really far off the mark, but I don’t think he’s a psychopath or anything. He’s just some guy who screwed it. And Duke, because he’s kinda obsessive-cray is just diving all in on those dice. I mean, when you have a single dice dangle earring, you gotta commit all the way.

But in the meantime, Duke is still dragging Joey, and Pharaoh is still freakin pissed because youknow...that’s sort of his natural state.

My brother tells me this game is actually a very fun GBA game but it really doesn’t seem like my thing. Seems kind of like Megaman Battle Network, if that makes any sense? But with a Carcasonne aspect to it?

Anyway, last episode Joey just really wanted to get close to these girls, and this episode he gets his wish granted, only to realize that this school is about 85% bullies.

How is it playing a game your competitor has never heard of before and then purposely not telling him the rules NOT counted as cheating? Not like it mattered.

And so then we find out the reason that Duke Devlin is out to get Yugi--and it’s a humdinger.

That’s right, he’s a Pegasus apologist--and it’s like are you SURE there, Duke? Are you certain that this is the cliff you want to die on before you oops! duel an actual god?

I feel like you could just swim through all of the paperwork that is all of the evidence we’ve dug up on Pegasus, as if it were Scrooge McDuck moneypit amounts of evidence. That’s how much evidence we have. And yet, here we have a Pegasus apologist.

Duke was inventing this game on a computer--which makes you wonder why he made it into an actual board game since with all those moving dice parts, it would just be waaaaay better on a computer but...youknow. He emails Pegasus, as you do when you have a game idea, and for some reason, Pegasus actually responds.

You’d think that this dice game which operates entirely on RNG would actually be real effective against the psychic but...I guess the eyeball still made him win? Anyways, Duke is so enamored, he’s decided Pegasus is his new best friend, and just jumps into that helicopter thinking this will be the first day of the rest of his life and he couldn’t be more excited and that nothing could ever ruin it. Alas, look at this timing:

Apparently, after the tourney ended, Pegasus became unreachable...because I mean, he’s got a lot to digest after years of being possessed by a millennium item and killing a whole ton of people. (not to mention the staggering realization that, in this state, he painted his spooky dead wife like 400 times always in the same exact dress) After about...only 2 days or so of not being able to reach Pegasus, Duke decides “I know what I’ll do, I’ll clear Pegasus’ name by dragging his victims on national television! That always works!”

Pharaoh hears this story, unblinking, and is like “WTF”

Normally in kid’s programming, you have to tell some sort of moral, and there must always be some overwhelming positive reward for good behavior. But Yugioh doesn’t do that, they show that you can do good things, be a hero and save the day and that despite all that you will get dragged through the coals for it. That’s just life. you can’t ever be the hero without also being someone else’s curse.

So, it’s a play on a normal quest formula, where beating the villain usually means that you did it, the quest is over. The season is done. Everyone’s happy. But, there’s a pretty strong underlying theme in all of Yugioh, that beating a villain isn’t an “end”, it doesn’t actually solve the core problem if everyone else still acts and operates the same way as they did before. You have to unlearn being an asshole and damn, that’s a hard habit to break.

Like how Kaiba didn’t know how to solve his problems after Pharaoh wiped his mind, Duke doesn’t know how to solve this problem without Pegasus. Now that Pegasus is removed, Duke is reacting similar to Kaiba loosing half his brain (which was a hell ton of anger and lashing out).

So, even though Pharaoh decided he’s not gonna do that mind-wipe thing anymore, he’s still that power-reset force that no one asked for. Like Kaiba, Duke has to start his business model over from square one, and much like Kaiba was, he’s in complete denial and desperate to see what he wants to see.

And then, it’s been a while, how’s that splash screen action looking?

Ah. For once it’s not spooky. Did we even get a splash screen for Rebecca? Or like any of the digital arc? Hm. I don't’ remember. Feels like years ago.

Next week, on Yugioh:

Yugi’s normal jacket is just at the dry cleaners, right? Like Grandpa was like “listen, son, it’s growing moss, please let me sanitize this”

So did Bakura just take that eyeball and bounce or is he just busy doing makeup homework? Maybe he’s secretly intending to graduate.

Did anyone clear this with Grandpa or did he just turn on his TV just now and go “Oh Hell, Yugi.”

#yugioh #yugioh recap #photo recap #s1 ep 48 #wow only one more episode #and then this season is over #yugi muto #duke devlin #joey wheeler in a dog suit #tristan taylor #tea gardner #way too many dice

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lloydskywalkers · 6 years

Text

some other person’s destiny

So this is 90% speculation and 10% drawing from what we've been given, but here's my hot take on these two green children making poor life choices in the jungle.

(also Harumi I love you but you're walking a real thin line playing with my boy like this)

Lloyd doesn't really know what he's doing.

That probably should have been obvious when he jumped straight off the side of the Bounty with nothing but his sword. It jumped to crystal clear when he took the map-turned baby blanket and tried to use it as a parachute. But hiking through a dense jungle no one's ever made it through with an arm out of commission and the girl he (kind-of-sort-of-hasn't-figured-out-yet) likes looking to him for protection, Lloyd's ready to admit that he's a hundred percent, guaranteed in over his head.

(Just maybe not to the other ninja. Kai's going to be ribbing him about this for months.)

The other things - that his family is somewhere in this same jungle in who knows what state (alright, they have to be alright), that the Sons of Garmadon (who gave them the right to that name anyways, not him) are still out there trying to bring back his father-

Lloyd swallows the wave on nausea back, focusing on the river beneath them. His arm doesn't hurt as badly now - he's pretty sure he just dislocated it, and must have managed to half-fix it when he was getting dragged around. He shouldn't be ungrateful - it's a miracle he got out with only his arm hurt. He owes his life to this stupid map.

That, and Harumi's excellent sword-throwing skills. Maybe she was just really good at…frisbee, or something. To be honest, Lloyd's mind keeps short-stopping when he gets to Harumi's lips on his cheek-

Right. Does not know what he's doing, at all.

He starts as the staff is almost yanked from his hands by the river, and Lloyd shakes his head, trying to focus. Survive the jungle, find the mask, find the others. Don't get caught by the Sons of Garmadon. And don't make any more of a fool of yourself in front of Harumi-

"What else do you think is out there?" Harumi says, breaking the silence. Lloyd turns to her where she's at the wheel of the small boat, her light hair starting to curl at the ends from the humidity. She's staring at the thick trees with trepidation, clearly out of her element.

"Probably nothing too friendly," Lloyd says, rubbing at his chest where the vines had grabbed him. "We should be fairly safe for now, though. All the creatures we've seen tend to stay pretty far from the water."

"I hope there's not a reason for that," Harumi says, warily. "This boat isn't exactly quiet. Or inconspicuous."

"Well, on the bright side, we blend in pretty well," Lloyd says, eyeing the green of his suit ruefully. "First time that's ever come in handy."

"I didn't want to say anything," Harumi says, with a slight smile. "But all green head to toe does seem to defeat the purpose, if you're trying to be stealthy."

Lloyd shrugs. "It's how we've always dressed," he says. "Besides, stealth has never really been our…biggest strength," he says, rubbing the back of his head. "Once we start doing spinjitzu, it's all out the window anyways."

Lloyd bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks of the others. Not for the first time, he wishes Kai were here - he'd be able to ground Lloyd, at least.

"Well, I like the green," Harumi says. "It's a good color for you."

Lloyd flushes, looking anywhere but at Harumi. He settles on the water. "Uh, thanks, uh - it's a good, uh, color for you too?"

Nevermind. Lloyd's never been more glad Kai isn't here.

Harumi giggles softly. "Thanks," she says. "It's the color of the royal family, so pretty much everything I own is this color," she says, gesturing to her jacket. "The color of peace, they would always say. The color of the jungle, too, I guess, which is a lot more helpful."

"The color of snakes," Lloyd says, distantly.

Harumi frowns. "Huh?"

"Oh, sorry," Lloyd says, ducking his head. "I was just - uh, remembering. I used to have this dumb book on colors when I was younger, and they always used green for snakes."

"Oh."

"Which is totally wrong, by the way," Lloyd says. "I hung out with at least a hundred snakes and the majority of them were, like, blue and purple."

"You mean the serpentine?" Harumi says, in surprise. "What were you doing with them?"

Lloyd winces. Congratulations, you walked right into that one, idiot, he thinks. "I wasn't the, uh, best of kids, when I was younger," Lloyd says, awkwardly. "I did a lot of stupid things."

"Like getting mixed up with the serpentine?"

"Try letting them out," Lloyd says, ruefully. "I singlehandedly caused ninety percent of Ninjago's serpentine problems when I was ten."

Harumi bursts into giggles. "You didn't," she says, delighted. "The famous green ninja, collaborating with the serpentine to take out Ninjago in his youth?"

"I didn't say I was a smart kid," Lloyd mutters. Harumi keeps laughing, apparently finding the idea hilariously amusing.

"Oh, that's wonderful," she says, as her giggles subside. "How did your father take to that?"

"He, uh, wasn't around for most of it," Lloyd says. "My uncle was the one who had to deal with me."

Harumi sobers. "He…wasn't there?" She says. "What about your mother? Surely she couldn't have been on board with a ten year-old child running around like that."

"She wasn't there, either," Lloyd says. This conversation is abruptly entering territory he'd really rather it not. "I was…on my own, a lot, when I was a kid."

"Oh," Harumi says, quietly. "I'm sorry, Lloyd."

"It's okay," he says, eager to get off the topic. "So, uh, did you ever play frisbee when you were younger?"

"No," Harumi says, bemused. "But…I did play a lot of Sitar Hero," she says, blushing slightly.

"No way!" Lloyd says, grinning. "That's one of my favorite games. Hah, did your royal instructors recommend that one?"

"Hush," Harumi says, flushing. "Even a princess needs to entertain herself. And I wasn't allowed outside that much, for my own safety."

"And look where you are now," Lloyd says, soberly. Great job he's done at protecting her.

"Hey, I'm not dead yet," Harumi says. "And it's been…worth it."

She smiles at him, soft and full of things Lloyd can't put a name to - isn't sure he wants to put a name to. But-

"I'm gonna make sure you stay that way, Rumi," he says. He turns back to the river with renewed determination. "I'll make sure we both stay that way."

They can do this. They're a good team, even if Lloyd is a terrible mess and Harumi is inexperienced. They'll find the mask and get out of here.

And then he'll find the others and put a stop to this, once and for all.

It's the very least his father deserves.

Harumi knows exactly what she's doing.

She just needs to keep reminding herself of that.

Sure, her plans have been a little derailed - she never meant for the other ninja to get quite this far, or for Lloyd to be quite this stubborn, but it's all worked out perfectly. The Sons of Garmadon should be able to take care of the other ninja, and she's in a better position than she could've dreamed. She's got everything she needs in one place - the map and Garmadon's son, who is more than capable of finding her the third mask. Cut off from his friends as he is, he's vulnerable even without the injured arm. And so, so easily manipulated.

She does, perhaps, feel guilty about that. For all that she prides herself on what she's built with the Quiet One, Lloyd doesn't deserve what she's doing to him. That doesn't mean she'll stop, of course - it's all too perfect. As long as she has Lloyd twisted around her finger, she's safe.

But only so long as that. She's not stupid enough to think that Lloyd will hesitate once he figures out who she is, simply because of his feelings for her. She's seen the way he fights for his family. No, she needs to keep him compliant at all costs.

The truth is, Lloyd scares her. Not because he's the green ninja, or even because he could demolish her plans in a single blow, if he knew. No, Lloyd scares her because the more time she spends with him, the more time she looks at him, the more she sees herself.

Or, rather, who she could be.

They're alike, the two of them - not just in the fair coloring of their hair and the way they're drawn to the color green. Lloyd is the first person she's talked to who gets it. Who understands loss, what it's like to be abandoned - just to end up responsible for protecting the very things that left you that way.

She can see the same grief in his eyes - only his is quiet, like the gentle fall of rain. Nothing like hers, loud and raging against her heart like a hurricane. Lloyd's grief has made him quieter, but it's also made him wiser, made him kind. Harumi's grief has made her something far different.

Harumi is scared of Lloyd because she could be him, if she tried.

But the coin works both ways. He could just as easily be her - he's the son of one of the greatest evils Ninjago has ever seen, it wouldn't be a stretch.

The Sons of Garmadon are made up of people who are angry, people who have been hurt. Every single person she's seen recruited has something in their past she can pull at, manipulate. Everyone has something.

Even the green ninja, the great hero of Ninjago. Because the green ninja is Lloyd, who grew up without his father and mother as well. Who was abandoned and rejected by Ninjago, only to be forced to protect it as he took on the mantle of the green ninja. She couldn't have orchestrated a better background herself.

Surely, he would want his father back. He's noble, too noble for his own good, but Harumi knows people. She knows how badly people can want their parents back. And she knows how much Lloyd relies on hope, as childish as it can be.

If she can get him to hope for his father, that's half the battle won already. If she can just get him to understand - to see the world the way she does - they could be something powerful. Something unbeatable. Together, they could be something far greater than the Sons of Garmadon, or even Garmadon himself. If she could just get him to see that-

Harumi drums her fingers on the boat's wheel, staring at Lloyd's golden hair. His back is turned to her, his attention preoccupied by the changing river.

She can't be the first person to manipulate him. And she probably isn't the first person who will claim to be doing it for his own good. And he certainly won't see it that way, at first.

But he will. He'll see her side.

Everyone will, in the end.

#ninjago #ns8 spoilers #lloyd garmadon #harumi #if u break my son's heart i'm gonna fight you in a parking lot btw #my fic

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panticwritten · 6 years

Text

Breaking Furnace - Solitary Chapter 5

Chapter 5: New Territory

Table of contents!

All of my writing!

The summer is almost over, life is getting better. There’ll be at least two more chapters in this section of Breaking Furnace, at most four. Then we’ll be in another In-Between Collection.

Hopefully by next week you won’t have to see or hear me moaning about money or housing or anything like that. I’ll open requests back up as soon as I have all of that figured out and taken care of.

(I’ve had to change quite a bit of formatting to post this on tumblr. If you want to read this chapter with its original formatting, you can do so HERE.)

Remember that this is a daydream taking place in the Escape From Furnace universe, so keep that in mind if you haven’t read EFF.

Word count: 3503

Content warnings for this chapter:

A single dead body

Feel free to message me if I’m missing any.

The next chapter will be up on August 31st at 7pm PST.

If you like what I do here, maybe consider buying me a Ko-fi or checking out my Patreon! I love being able to put so much out for free, but this would be a great way to show support and also see cool new content!

“You don’t even know that.”

“Only because you don’t.”

I squint at Jay. They’re just a hallucination, but I don’t have much else to do. If the only distraction I have is a passive-aggressive advice trade with a mental representation of one of my friends, who am I to argue?

“At least you’re self aware about that.” I lean back against the wall. “Better than you trying to convince me you’re really here.”

“If I was really mean, I’d be trying to tell you we never left the memories.” They rock closer on their heels, the corners of their lips lifted in a rare smile. “But I think you have enough problems as it is.”

“Can we not do the ‘this is Connor’s fault now and forever’ thing?”

“We both know it isn’t your fault.”

Isn’t it?

They shake their head and shrink into a miniscule version of themself. They sit in some invisible chair and fix me with a glare I’ve only really seen once. When they kicked me out of their lab a couple months ago, they seared it into my retinas.

“We can run around and assign blame to you, or to Kevin, Monty, Cross, this Virtuoso character, but that doesn’t change the truth.”

Don’t say it.

“This is Sawyer’s fault.”

I knock my head back into the wall in an attempt to make them shatter out of existence, but they just shift so I can still see them. They shake their head and the pity in their eyes makes it worse. I don’t want the sympathy of a hallucination of a mad scientist.

“The real Jay would make you regret thinking that,” they note. “But you know I’m right. I don’t know if the real me thinks so, but everything we’re doing now is to mitigate Sawyer’s boredom.”

“That’s not true!” I swipe at the specter, but my hand passes right through. “They don’t always have control of these things.”

“Says who?”

I grit my teeth. They wouldn’t lie to me about that. They wouldn’t purposely put themself through scenarios that make their real life even harder to cope with. They wouldn’t do these things to us on purpose.

“They know what makes a good story,” Jay says tartly. “And whether they know it or not, they have to decide for something to happen. If they really wanted this to end, the real version of them, the one on the outside, could make that happen.”

“Shut up.”

“I can’t believe we all thought they were the one with an unhealthy dependence on you! You won’t even tell your friends that Sawyer was trying to trick Cross. Did you finally realize it’s more likely they tricked you so you would cover for them?”

I cover my ears, but it does nothing to drown them out. If anything, they grow louder.

“You were so willing to just fade out of existence in the memories. For what? A little kid that can’t see when they’re hurting their best friends?”

“I’m not playing around, shut your goddamn mouth.”

They do. That, more than anything, derails the panic they were starting up. These things don’t normally listen, so I pull my hands from my ears.

“I’m just telling you what you already believe.”

“You’re telling me what I know the real you thinks,” I say firmly. “But I also know you would let yourself die before you actually did anything to hurt them.”

They sigh.

“You might be right.” They morph back into a normal size to touch the side of my face. I can’t feel it, and I wonder if that’s how Sawyer feels when the rest of us try to comfort them. Nothing. “That might be an instinct programmed into most of us.”

“Are you really gonna keep going with the conspiracy theories? It’s getting kind of tired by now.”

“What do you expect?” They straighten up and my heart drops when they begin to fade. “It’s common knowledge that I don’t really trust anyone.”

“Do you have to go?”

They shrug.

“If you were actually paying attention to your passive awareness, you would have told me to leave.”

They disappear with an inaudible pop when I tilt my head to listen outside of the isolated cell. It takes a second to actually make sense of what the two blacksuits above the solitary cells are talking about.

“You’re sure they won’t be back?”

“Cross has them training across the compound. Besides, the next attack on the North Door is supposed to come today.”

“I guess someone has to have the whole schedule memorized. How long will that give us?”

“If they take the bait and go to the attack, five hours, easy. If not, we’ll be lucky for two.”

“Let’s not waste more time, then.”

Gears grind and I shade my eyes when the cell flips open. Two half-moon grins block out most of the light, but it still burns my retinas. I let my head fall back against the wall.

“You here to help me or kill me?”

“What do you think?” One reaches into the cell and the other disappears from sight. It only takes a few minutes for the suits to get all three of us out of our cells and get us up to speed.

Sawyer is unquestioningly on Cross’s side right now. They’ve gone through a curiously dramatic transformation and as far as they know we’re the enemy. We’re on the right time schedule, but with recent developments our loyal blacksuits see no reason to drag on a process that we could get out of the way now.

They don’t take any of our questions. Before they leave us to our own devices, they impress on us that we don’t have much time. We could go get Simon and get the hell out of here while everyone’s distracted.

We could get out.

That knowledge overrides everything I know about how this game works. We could get out of this damn prison and see the sun today. We could just.

Go.

I watch the blacksuits march down the hall, then turn the opposite direction and start walking. We might as well check the Steeple if we’re going all the way out there.

“It still feels wrong to trust blacksuits,” Alex says, close to my right.

Zee crowds in on my other side. “You do trust them, right?”

I keep my eyes ahead and only falter for a second when I catch sight of the red light of the infirmary not far away. It’s such a stupid thing to give me pause. It’s just a color.

I push my awareness out to check for wheezers, and am pleasantly surprised to find one already dead in one of the cubicles. God bless the Scouts and their habit of closing loose ends before they even become a problem.

“Connor?” Zee tries again.

“Yeah.” I shake the thought off and push through the flaps into the infirmary. The light seeps through my pores, bathing everything in a bloody tinge. I try not to look to closely at anything. “Go ahead and gather whatever crap we need to climb. I’ll get the others.”

They disappear further down with a nod. Before I actually start looking, I lift two scalpels from a medical tray nearby. Kevin and Donovan should still be bound by leather straps with how early in the game we are.

Besides, I have to make sure the blacksuits actually made it look like one of us killed the wheezer. Even if Cross knows exactly which of his suits are on our side, I doubt they need more blame pointed at them.

With shaking hands and resolve, I pull back the first of the curtains surrounding the beds. A handful of them are empty, but most hold sleeping inmates. Soon-to-be blacksuits.

Specimens.

I find the wheezer before either of my friends. It stares up from its resting place on the floor, though it can’t see anymore. Its gas mask, previously stapled to its face, sits several feet away next to the air tank attached to it.

That would definitely do it. The wheezers can’t process oxygen.

For good measure, I kneel beside it and drive one of the scalpels through its raisin of an eye. Rotten nectar oozes around the silver of the blade. That might convince Cross that this was all us.

After that, it only takes another couple beds to find Donovan. He’s unconscious, but as far as I can tell he hasn’t been operated on. If he had, I would have to leave him here.

I stare at the traces of blue in the IV at his bedside, and wonder again what Cross could have made. I don’t see how it could get worse than the red stuff. An unknown variable in his arsenal is definitely bad news.

Whatever it is, Donovan jerks awake with a low groan when I slip the catheter out of his arm.

On second thought, I’m not sure if I would really call it ‘awake.’

His eyes roll back, the veins dark and pulsing. The bed rattles with every tug against his leather bindings. I’m not sure if he recognizes me or even know I’m here. I have to pull him out of this before he draws a wheezer out here.

“Hey, D.” I turn his head around to face me, though the nectar gives him enough strength he could probably pull out of my grip if he wanted to. “It’s Connor. Donovan, can you hear me? You gotta wake up before we get caught.”

His eyes finally lock on me, wide and fearful.

I try to break the nectar’s fog manually, but I can’t even get my awareness to gather. There’s nothing I can do but mutter my name and his name and a plea for him to come back.

A wheezer shrieks in the distance, and I think that’s what brings him back.

He falls back against his pillow when I let go. His eyes are clear.

“Connor. Jesus.” He lifts his head to watch me while I saw at his straps. “That was different than last time. I almost can’t believe you got me back.”

I glance back at the IV stand, then down at the still-dripping catheter.

“I think I can protect us against that,” I mutter. He swings out of bed the second his hands are free. “See if you can’t find a bag of nectar with just the blue flecks in it while I get Kevin.”

“Right.”

He whisks through the curtain and I follow after a few seconds.

With something more distant for me to worry over, I can literally feel my concern over the light ebbing away. The nectar has always been a distraction from more immediate concerns. Why worry about literally being hunted by a hoard of monsters when you can wonder what the stuff making the monsters go actually does?

Kevin’s in the bed across the way.

He doesn’t wake up when I pull the catheter out. On top of that, with the modicum of calm I’ve found, I manage to force my way into his head.

Just the echo bouncing back at me almost makes me forget what I’m doing. A soft lullaby tugs me towards sleep. The smooth surface of the water asks why I would bother disturbing it.

I drift through the fog. Nothing matters.

I ram directly into Kevin’s consciousness. It’s barely enough to bring me back. I hook into Kevin and pull him to the surface with me.

Cold sweat sticks my uniform to my skin, my hair to my forehead, when we return. Kevin gasps like a fish out of water and strains against his bindings. His thrashing knocks me back a few steps, but I can’t get myself to move on my own.

Donovan thought he wouldn’t make it back.

It’s a damn intravenous siren song.

“Sawyer!” Kevin hisses. “Get me out of here.”

I force myself back to the side of his bed. It doesn’t take long to cut his bindings and by the time we meet back up with the others, we both have several bags of nectar and some tubing that should be useful for climbing. Donovan has a pan full of nectar bags, some gold and silver, others with blue galaxies.

Alex and Zee are both laden with medical/climbing gear.

I only breathe easy when we leave the red light of the infirmary behind.

~-○-~

We’ve been sparring for nearly half an hour, and I still haven’t landed a direct hit. I haven’t had a chance to fight in who knows how long, so I’m not exactly surprised that I’m subpar in comparison.

I back up, a broken arm held to my chest. Thanks to the nectar, it’ll only take a few minutes to heal, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. Cross isn’t the type to stop a match due to an injury, so I back myself into my little corner and listen.

“Perry?” The light voice carries through the tunnel. I can’t tell how far away he is or which way he’s coming from. “I’m not a fan of hide and seek. If I have to find you, this may get unpleasant.”

I just need another minute. A broken arm is a dangerous handicap with Cross fighting. He doesn’t pull any punches.

I divert as much nectar as I can to my hands anyway. It encases them to replace working fingers with two wicked blades. As an added precaution, I coat my right arm with a heavy layer of nectar. I’d like it to heal straight, at the very least.

I creep back the way I came, alert for footsteps.

“It’s already fairly unpleasant,” I call when I reach a junction in the tunnel. “I thought we’d fight in a room, not a cave.”

“You must live with what you have, I’m afraid.”

I jerk around to face the right-hand tunnel. Even with the nectar providing superior night vision, I can hardly see down that way. It’s definitely where his voice is coming from.

I edge down that way with my blades at the ready. The pain in my arm has faded to a steady throb. It should be healed soon.

“Ready?”

I stop. That voice has been quiet the whole fight, it’s just now piping up?

“How many of these caves have been explored?” I ask this over my shoulder in hopes that it might throw him off. “It’d be a shame if the warden of the prison got lost out here.”

“That sounds dangerously like a threat, Perry.”

He is far too close, and I still can’t see him.

“It’s an observation.”

A rock skitters out from a shadow in the wall.

“Now.”

Even with the split second warning, I barely raise my knives in time to keep Cross from driving a fist through my face. His savage grin is enough to get the nectar pounding in my ears.

I knock him back and for once I have the upper hand.

Round two. Start.

♥️♥️♥️C♥️♥️♥️

“How did you get out?”

Simon was getting ready to come spring us out when we burst into his cave. His two friends, Ozzie and Pete, both wear the same blank stare as the other empty inmates. They ask no questions and don’t speak unless they’re spoken to.

I wonder how long Simon had to sit here with only them as company.

It takes a brief explanation on how I’m far too familiar with the Scouts for my own good. How I know the blacksuits’ actual boss enough to get him to convince them to be on our side this run. On the dwindling number of blacksuits in the prison whose loyalty lies with us.

On Sawyer switching sides.

I’ll wait until we’re out of the prison to tell them the truth about Sawyer’s betrayal. Whatever my hallucinations of Jay might say, I don’t think they meant to actually join Cross.

If this blue nectar is anything to go off of, he could probably turn anyone into a model soldier of Furnace.

I let everyone else talk about the Steeple, about Furnace and Cross, about the blacksuits and about Sawyer. I focus on the bag of blue nectar in my hands and wonder how long Cross has been working on it.

Now that I have so much of it to look at, to feel with the edges of my mind, I don’t want to risk any of us stuck with it without protection. Donovan and Kevin are still recovering from just a few hours with it in their systems. They only just started participating in the conversation.

That’s just from sitting in the infirmary.

It should be simple enough to section off a portion of our minds, though. If we can keep a little bit of us from being affected by it, we should be able to return to being us even if we’re exposed to it. I’ve done this before, back when we were doing this without Sawyer to drag us all out of the nectar’s thrall.

“Did you see Sawyer?”

At Zee’s words, I jerk upright and let the bag of nectar fall to the ground. I shouldn’t delve too deep into the actual effects of the stuff, not if I want to remain myself for the time we have.

“Yeah.” Kevin crosses his arms. “Almost didn’t recognize her.”

“Them,” Zee mutters.

“I’ve seen nectar change people, but never like that,” Alex muses. “They almost looked like an anime character.”

“It’s not the nectar.” Everyone looks at me now. I shrug. “Everything here listens to them. If their subconscious wants them to have a bright pink ponytail, we can’t really argue with it.”

“So they’re the enemy now?” Simon asks me, of all people.

“Right now, they’re just under Cross’s thumb.” I push to my feet and dust myself off. “I think they’ll find their way to enemy status, though, yeah.”

“I thought they were past that.”

Simon’s disappointment is a surprise. Like an AA sponsor hearing about a relapse. After an uncomfortable silence, he asks about the new nectar.

“It’s bad fucking news.” Donovan tosses another bag of it between his hands. “I’m not going back there to tangle with it again.”

“That bad?”

“Worse,” Kevin cuts in. “Never felt nothin’ like that, death in a goddamn bottle.”

The two of them tag team explaining what the blue nectar felt like. The dreaminess, the feeling that absolutely nothing matters. They both use the same imagery of a perfectly still lake urging you to follow suit.

Nothing else matters so long as you keep still and let go.

I can’t shake off the feeling I’m forgetting something. The idea of the nectar creating a blank slate of my friends’ minds is something I can’t ignore, but there’s something else. Something just out of reach.

“What’ll we do if the Steeple doesn’t work out?” Alex asks. “We can’t just—if it’s that strong, we aren’t seriously going back?”

“I’ll fix it so we can find our way back,” I explain. “We’ll be fine.”

“With your—” Zee wiggles his fingers. “—weird brain magic?”

That finally draws a laugh out of the group. Even I manage a smile. Someone has to make us keep being people, I guess.

“Hell yeah. I wanna do it as soon as possible, in case our usual plan goes sideways.”

Donovan enthusiastically volunteers to go first. I direct him to sit on the floor with his eyes closed, and I kneel in front of him. His jaw tenses when I settle a hand on either side of his head, thumbs in his temples.

“Focus on your name, D,” I prompt with a tendril of thought already winding its way into his consciousness. This is so much easier than messing with his physical brain. “Think of home and going back there. Home.”

“Gonna get a real burger,” Alex adds.

There.

The contented touch of the focused thoughts eases my own nerves. I wrap a piece of my own consciousness around it, a rubber capsule against the cold electricity of the nectar. If everything goes right, this small piece of Donovan can be bounced around indefinitely without being erased.

It worked the last time I had to do this without Sawyer, after all.

I push harder to bury the thing as deep in his subconscious as I can. I don’t know what Sawyer’s deal is, but it’s probably best if they don’t find anything like this in our heads.

I withdraw and let go.

Donovan’s eyes fly open with a choked cough. He shakes his head like he’s got water lodged in his ear. I move back toward him, but he just sticks out a hand for Alex to help him to his feet.

“You okay?”

“You could’a warned me before pulling the plug like that.” Donovan shakes himself out while I clamber upright. “Felt like you pushed me into the river, damn.”

I grin.

“I never said it would be fun.” I shift to face the rest of the group. “Who’s next?”

#writing #madd #maddart #my writing #bf #bf writing and info #connor youre doing amazing sweetie

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kldslnthedark · 7 years

Note

return the favor

Wasn’t Return the Favor about… you know what, never mind.

(For clarity’s sake and because I kept losing track in my writing use they/them for everyone, I’m going to be using he/him for our narrator.)

“Oh no, look what you’ve done: that’s me, the victim of a hit and run. Picked up and let down, you were never as you led on.” So our friend the narrator here is speaking to this person that he got ~involved~ with. He’s not in a very good state right now, having been left feeling lied to and used and all to himself to deal with that this person made of him. They don’t want to fess up to the problems that they caused him and just want to ignore what they did, but he’s not letting them.

“You said just friends and no strings, but that leaves loose ends for old flings. Get back to old days and old flames you never let burn out.” He’s using their words against them to show how what they started turned from something casual and fun to something neither of them signed up for. They kept contact with flings before him and would go back and forth and while he most likely didn’t even want that kind of commitment from them, it still made him feel uncomfortable.

“Won’t you let me know? How do I get away, when you’re begging me to stay? What do you need me to say? You’re anything but ordinary.” Hm. Okay. So maybe he did want a little commitment. Maybe he developed a desire for something more than what the previous arrangement called for. Knowing that it was way above what they both agreed to and the fact that the other wasn’t showing any want for being tied to a single person, he tried leaving before things got to be too real. They guilted him into staying though. They still liked having him at their call and in the moment he realized he liked it too.

“What do you want me to do? I’ve given it all to you, I wish you would return the favor.” He’s been honest with them from the get. There weren’t any deep dark secrets being shared, but he never purposely tried to hide anything from them, he probably told them what was up with his feelings when he tried leaving. He’s given a lot of trust into something that didn’t even necessarily require him to, that’s just the kind of person he is and they’re aren’t giving him anything in return for that.

“Did you forget what I said? Trainwreck, here we, here we go again. Derailed, did I fail to mention I put it on the line?” He’s trying to leave again and they’re still trying to hold onto him, but he’s starting to break a little bit. He’s feeling like they’re not listening to him and to the reason why he needs to leave. They’re not thinking of him, they’re thinking of themselves and it’s not registering that he’s making a decision for him; not them.

“Whether you and me could ever be we’ll never see, no, ‘cause you keep the lights off. We only do it in the dark.” He’s not really understanding why exactly that they’re holding on so tightly when all the relationship has been is in the dark with each other being kept hidden away for their own reasons. (Um, not to like, start shit, I’ve seen people take it that Alex had cheated due to this lyric… you know… with the whole ‘in the dark’ thing…….. and when the song was released…. i’m going to shut up now because I’m not using it for my interpretation, but just something that I would actually love to hear what your guys’ take on it would be.) And they wouldn’t have made anything of what they were doing because of this element to their relationship.

“Are you gonna throw it all away? Are we gonna do this all again? I mean, it’s all pretend and the game should end, I guess nobody wins.” This is him challenging them to just speak one ounce of truth to him, to let him in on whatever the hell they’re doing for the first time since they started this shit. (“Are you going to throw away this act that you have and give me something, or are we going to fall into the same pattern over and over again?”) I don’t think they gave him what he was asking for and he didn’t let them win him over and lie to him again. In the end, no one won that fight, since neither of them got what they wanted; his closure and their silence.

#Anonymous #ask #fun fun fun even though i couldn't fUCKING write the beginning for some reason

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thekillingquill · 7 years

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Dog Days Are Over

Pairing: Reader x Reggie Word Count: 6,910 Warnings: An animal was definitely hurt in the writing of this fic. There’s probably some swearing. Summary: Reader and Reggie live on the same street and walk the same route with their dogs. A/N: This is in tribute to Ross Butler’s portrayal of Reggie Mantle. Wishing him nothing but the best on all endeavours, but we’ll certainly miss him! Also if at least one person cries I will have considered this a success. Apologies on the lack of proofreading on my part.

“Oh Captain, my Captain!” I call out laughingly to the dark haired boy ahead of me. My dog, Ducky, lunges forward once in an impressive show of strength, dragging me a few steps closer to the boy I grew up down the street from and his faithful companion, Vader. Reggie shoots me a bored look over his shoulder, not replying, but slowing his walk to allow us to catch up.

Reggie rolls his eyes at me as Vader pulls on his leash in an attempt to get to Ducky. The end result is ruined by his half-smirk which looks more amused than annoyed. His dachshund runs between the legs of my Bernese Mountain Dog and she lunges playfully at him once, and then twice, barking and sniffing at him. After a moment the dogs are settled and we begin to walk side by side.

“So, congratulations on getting captain, dude!” I try to strike up a conversation. Reggie grunts in reply and mumbles something in return. “Hey, what’s up? I thought you’d be happy. You were giving Archie hell for that spot.” Reggie rolls his eyes again and grunts louder, but we both know I’m not easily derailed. I open my mouth and he cuts me off before I can really get started.

“Alright already! I guess I’m not that excited ‘cause Coach offered it to Andrews first. He turned it down.” I can tell this is hard for Reggie to talk about. It was a blow to his ego to even have to compete with Archie, but to lose out on it and only get it by default?

“That’s because Archie knows you’re the better man for the job,” I assure him. Reggie gives me that half smirk again and I can tell that he knows what I’m doing but he finds it at least a little endearing.

“Well we all know that. Just sucks that Coach didn’t see it.”

“He’ll see it soon enough, Reginald. Archie saw it, I’ve seen it and I know that a lot of your other teammates have seen it, too. You’re going to be a boss ass Captain.” Reggie rolls his eyes at me and shoulder checks me.

“Oh shit!” He exclaims as I stumble off the edge of the sidewalk, but he’s laughing and that’s what’s important to me in the moment. Shortly after, we arrive at the park and let our dogs off their leashes. Vader takes off like a shot, and Ducky noses around at the grass nearby. Reggie pulls a bright orange ball out of his pocket and tosses it a few times for Vader to chase after. Occasionally Reggie throws the ball towards Ducky and she attempts to get it before Vader races over. I cross my arms over my chest and bite my lip, watching our dogs play. It isn’t long before I notice that Ducky is showing less interest in the game. Reggie teases the dogs by pretending to throw the ball, and she doesn’t react at all.

“Everything okay?” Reggie asks, nudging me with his elbow. I’m not sure if he’s referring to my quiet disposition or Ducky’s lackluster response.

“There’s that Captain spirit,” I try to tease, but my tone falls flat. Reggie wouldn’t be my first choice to unload my feelings on, but he’s here and he asked. I sigh and start to let my worries ease out.

“I’m just worried about Ducky. She’s been tired lately. Not that into her favourite treats or toys. Just been acting off for a few weeks. We went to the v-word a couple of days ago and they ran some tests. We’ve got to go later today to get the results.” I reach around Reggie and steal the ball, taking two steps and throwing the ball as hard as possible for Vader. I imagine that ball is carrying all of my fear, all of my worry, all the bad things away from me.

“Shit, that sucks.” Is all he says. I shrug and Vader drops the ball at my feet.

“As you may recall, we detected some abnormal swelling during our initial examination. We took a sample and had it tested and I’m sorry to have to tell you but it’s not good. The results show that the swelling in Ducky is cancerous…” Doctor Jameson, the veterinarian we have been taking Ducky to since we got her when I was five, is still talking, but I can’t hear her over the buzzing in my ears. I keep my eyes on Ducky who is panting innocently on the examination table while Doctor Jameson parts her fur to show my parents what she’s talking about. When the buzzing stops, she is talking about treatment options.

“And how much would that cost?” My father asks gruffly. He only has the two settings: gruff and drunk.

“The total cost for this particular treatment can range anywhere between $6,000-$10,000. I have to be honest with you, given Ducky’s age and this particular type of cancer, you may want to consider investing your efforts in making her as comfortable as possible.” Doctor Jameson has a soft, confident voice and sympathetic eyes. Ducky loves her and I have always found her to be comforting and steady, even now.

“And how much is that gonna cost us?” My father asks, still gruff.

“Should we be considering, you know…” My mother pipes in, practical as always but sounding sorry to ask. She jabs vaguely at Ducky, a poor gesture that equates to one thing: an injection.

“At this point, it’s something to consider,” Doctor James concedes. For my benefit, she looks me straight in the eye and adds: “This form of cancer can be aggressive.”

“I need some air,” I choke out. I hear Ducky’s nails clicking against the exam table as she rushes to follow after me. We sit in the waiting room for twenty minutes, her sitting against my legs and me with my arms looped around her neck in an embrace that will have to end one way or another. I can’t remember a time where I didn’t have Ducky. Whenever my dad has more than four beers, he likes to tell me about the day he brought Ducky home.

“I must have been out of my fucking mind to bring that thing home. A bunch of us were at the bar after a hard day and my boss announces that his wife’s dog had a little-litter of pups and he offers me one. I lost my damn mind, I said yeah and he brought me to his place and gives me this little runt and I take her home and once she’s in the door I know there’s no getting rid of her. It was love at first sight. Never did understand why you named the damn thing Ducky, though.”

Despite his style of storytelling, I know my dad likes Ducky. He feeds her from the table, and he lets her up on the couch when he thinks no one is home. He even lets her lay her head on his thigh and he plays with her ears. My mom never had pets growing up and she has trouble with the mess that accompanies living with an animal. She is constantly at her wits end about the smudged windows, muddy pawprints on the floor, fur coating the furniture, and during Ducky’s puppyhood, the “accidents” on the rug drove her up the wall.

Her biggest problem with us having a dog was that I wanted Ducky to sleep in my bed with me. Despite my tantrums, my mother insisted on putting Ducky in a crate at night. After two nights of constant whining (me and Ducky), crying (me), and accidents (Ducky), my mother gave up on crating. She tried putting Ducky outside, but I cried even harder and the neighbours complained about her barking. My mom’s last attempt was to get Ducky a dog bed for my room. It didn’t work and mom still complains incessantly about it.

I know they aren’t bad people and that they aren’t intentionally trying to break my heart, but I already know how this ends. Dad is to the point: why wait? Mom is ready to have her clean house back after twelve years. Dad will try to comfort me by saying I’ll get over it. My mom will be kinder and tell me that Ducky won’t suffer anymore. Ultimately, the decision will be made for me. Still, this isn’t easy, but since when is loving something ever easy?

My parents, in a moment of thoughtfulness and compassion, offer to let me skip school on Friday to spend the day with Ducky before….

And mom, in a surprising move, tells me firmly that if I don’t want to do this, then she and dad will figure out a way to make Ducky comfortable until they can’t anymore: “If we have to take a second mortgage out on the house, then we will, baby.”

Then in a very predictable move she reminds me about how uncomfortable this could be for Ducky, how they can’t promise how long it will sustain her… but softens the blow with a hug and a whisper: “These kinds of decisions are never easy and I’m so sorry you have to go through this.”

I cry into Ducky’s neck the whole drive home. On Saturday at 10:00 am, she has her last appointment with Doctor Jameson. The appointment feels like the wrong decision, but letting Ducky exist without finding joy in the things she loves seems wrong, too. Maybe there’s no right decision.

I sniffle and lift my head to look out the window, trying hard to stop crying. It feels like I’ve been crying for close to an hour and my head is pounding. As we pull into our neighbourhood, I can see the blurry form of Reggie in his front yard tossing a ball to one of his friends (I can’t tell who it is through the never ending onslaught of tears).

I try hastily to hide my crying before getting out of the car where Reggie and his friend could possibly see me. Unfortunately, it’s kind of impossible to hide the kind of crying that comes with having a broken heart. My eyes are so swollen it hurts to blink and the ache of my throat makes swallowing nearly impossible. I take a deep breath and get out of the car, holding the door for Ducky. I try to ignore how slow she moves as she gets out, just one of the many signs I’d been purposely blind to for weeks.

The sound of the door shutting must bring their attention to me.

“Hey, Y/N-” I turn away hastily from who I now know is Moose and take determined strides to my house. I’m too embarrassed by the state of myself to care about being rude. I wait for Ducky in the doorway and look at the porch, suddenly wracked by sobs that quickly turned into desperate gasps for breath. Watching her move so carefully over the steps hurts, so I close my eyes until I feel her wet nose press against my fingers like she was saying it’s okay, Y/N, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m here.

I don’t have much of an appetite that night, but we all sit around the table and pick at dinner. I tell my parents about the day I have planned and we all pretend to not notice one another feeding Ducky under the table. Her wet nose presses against my bare knees, snuffling for more scraps and I scratch behind her ears to comfort myself as I speak.

That night I sleep pressed as close as possible to Ducky, not caring about any noxious gas she might emit or that her fur tickles my nose. I just want to hold her while I still can.

We get up bright and early on Friday so that we can get the most out of the perfect day I planned for her: we’re going to go to Pop’s and I’m going to let her have more burgers than she’s ever had in her life and then we’ll go to the park and end our day at a dog beach two hours outside of town. Dad, in a show of kindness, has offered us the use of his car.

Except when I open the front door, it’s Reggie Mantle and his car sitting in the driveway instead of my dad’s trusty old Toyota. His arm is hanging casually out of the open window, a pair of sunglasses resting atop his head and Vader standing with his front paws on the steering wheel. Ducky, seeing her friend, pushes out from behind me and jogs down the front steps to greet them with more energy than I was expecting.

“Are you coming or what?” Reggie calls to me sarcastically. He’s rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling, too. It’s a rare sight, a Reggie Mantle smile.

“Is this a prank?” I ask him suspiciously, letting my tote fall to the porch and my dad’s keys dangling uselessly from my fingers.

“What kind of prank would this be? The kind where I’m gonna get you and your little dog, too? Get in the car, loser! We’re burning daylight here.” He bangs his hand against the door causing Vader to slip and honk the horn. I move slowly to the driver side of the vehicle, still not quite trusting the situation, and stick my head in. Ducky, knowing better than to jump up on someone’s car, is jogging in circles looking for a way in.

“Reginald, what exactly do you think you are doing in my driveway at 8:30 am on a Friday?” Reggie looks uncomfortable, which usually means he’s moments away from being sincere.

“Your parents called me last night.” Reggie lets that statement linger a moment before he recovers. “Look, Ducky’s practically my dog-in-law. You can’t really think you can plan the perfect day for her and not include Vader.”

For the first time since the appointment, I smile. It’s small, but it gives me a renewed energy.

“Will you just get in the car already?” He snaps and I pull my head back abruptly.

“Right, come on, Ducky! Let’s go.” I open the backseat and coax Ducky to jump up. Reggie’s SUV is a bit higher up than dad’s Toyota, but between me and the captain of the football team we should be able to get her in and out without any issues today. I hop into the passenger seat and narrowly avoid getting headbutted by Vader as he dives into the back seat to be with Ducky.

“So where are we headed?” Reggie asks as he reaches behind my seat to look over his shoulder. He slowly eases out of my driveway and I try to ignore how appealing I find his cologne.

“Pop’s to get burgers.” I answer confidently. Reggie faces forward and removes his arm from behind my seat.

“Okay… but normal people tend to go to Pop’s at 8:00 am for breakfast foods like waffles or french toast.” He says as he switches gears. Despite his statement, he takes the turn towards Pop’s.

“Pop’s to get burgers.” I repeat forcefully.

Much to Reggie’s delight, the waitress at Pop’s had the same reaction to my order.

“You want ten burgers? Is this a joke I’m not getting or sumthin’? You realize it’s breakfast time, right?”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, thank you very much.”

I couldn’t imagine Ducky’s perfect last day without Reggie and Vader. With them by our side, the day feels epic. We spend the morning walking around the park and throwing a few balls for Vader to fetch. My mind is preoccupied with all the other times Ducky and I spent at the park and Reggie listens to story after story and even adds a few of his own.

“Do you remember when you were like eight years old and your dad had you hold her leash while he got his tools out of the back of his car? She saw that squirrel and dragged you through your lawn and mine before your dad got her to stop. You must have weighed like 40 pounds! And you had all of these grass stains. It was hilarious!”

We laugh together at the memory and the more I smile, the better I start to feel. Reggie and I bump shoulders and eventually he puts his arm around me and runs his palm over my shoulder in a surprisingly comforting gesture.

Before we leave the park I let Ducky have two of her burgers. It’s still early in the day, so I ask Reggie if he minds driving around for a bit with the windows down. He lets me navigate and pick the music. With all four windows rolled down, my hair whips around wildly. The sight of it causes Reggie to laugh which in turn causes me to laugh. In the back seat, Ducky and Vader both have their heads out the window, basking in the scents of their town. I use the side mirror to watch them and Reggie pretends not to notice when I start crying.

I wipe my tears and reach for one of the water bottles Reggie procured at a gas station. Our hands meet and he doesn’t let go.

The dog beach is mostly vacant in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday. Reggie points out a pug wearing a lifejacket standing in the shallows. Vader disturbs the pug by racing into the water, trying to start a game of chase. Ducky, however, bypasses them both and begins to swim out to the middle of the lake. I laugh at her excitement and shimmy out of my shorts.

“I hope you brought your swimsuit, Reginald.” I tease as I pull my shirt over my head.. I take advantage of his shock to throw my clothes in his face. “There’s a beach blanket in my bag!” I yell back at him as I run after my dog.

Reggie starts in on some of Pop’s burgers while he sits on the beach, watching Ducky and I play together. I continue to tread water for a while even after Ducky has returned to the beach. I watch her, Reggie and Vader resting on the blanket and commit the moment to memory. Reggie offers Ducky another burger and my own hunger drives me out of the water.

There’s a sudden rush of guests at the dog beach and Vader runs off to make friends. Reggie follows after him, leaving Ducky and I alone for the first time today. She’s laying on her side, breathing deeply and I scooch down so that I can rest my head on her stomach. I shut my eyes for a moment and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

I must fall asleep because when I open my eyes again, the light has changed and Reggie is running his fingertips along the arch of my foot. I giggle and kick, rolling onto my side and pushing myself up.

“Jesus, how long was I out for?” Reggie smirks and pulls at a loose thread on our blanket. Vader is curled up in front of us, his fur still damp and my clothes are in a bunched up pile next to him. The sky is alight with oranges, purples and pinks reflecting hauntingly off the water.

“Hours, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe, Reginald.” I sit up fully and pull my shirt over my head with a sigh.

“Whatever you say, babe.” I scoff and roll my eyes, but ultimately let it go. Sitting on the dog beach with Ducky asleep beside me, watching the sunset with Reggie and Vader, felt peaceful. My heart is still broken, but it was a good day full of more laughter than tears. I feel the warm weight of Reggie’s arm across my back followed by his fingers curling around my shoulder, pulling me close to his side.

“I’m glad you let me come.” He mutters, pressing his mouth against my temple in a not-quite-a-kiss.

“I had a choice?” I joke weakly, pressing myself closer to hide my face in his shoulder. I press my mouth against his t-shirt in a not-quite-a-kiss and let the moment wash over me again and again and again.

“It’s okay if you decide you don’t want to be there for this.” I’m sitting on the stairs, trying to find the will to put on my shoes. Ducky is sitting next to me, sticking her nose in my ear. I look up at my mom and give an unconvincing smile, but remain silent. We got home from the beach late last night and my mom let us sleep in which means I haven’t had the opportunity to shower. My hair feels disgusting from the lake water, so I’ve pulled it into a side ponytail. Ducky is loving the unrestricted access to my ear.

“You sure you wanna do this, kid? Your mom and I will be with her. She won’t be alone when she goes.” Dad is gruff as always, but this time I vocalize my response, forcing my foot into my last sneaker and standing.

“I need to do this.” My parents exchange a look that only they can understand. With my shoes on and Ducky’s leash clipped to her collar, we have no other excuses to stay home. When we step out the front door, I see Reggie Mantle in my driveway for the second day in a row. He’s wearing his letterman jacket and a pair of dark wash jeans, his hands buried deep in the pockets. He pulls one of his hands out and raises it in a wave. Ducky heads straight to him, slower than yesterday, and I follow quickly behind.

“Reginald, what are you doing here?” I ask in greeting. I have never seen Reggie look more uncomfortable. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and rubs the back of his neck.

“I thought maybe I could come with you…?” I think it surprises us both when I accept. My parents don’t question Reggie when he gets into the back seat with Ducky and I, but my dad looks extra gruff. It’s a tight fit with all three of us back there, but it doesn’t matter because I want to be as close as possible to Ducky. I bury my face in her fur and feel Reggie’s fingers move through it in a calming manner. Occasionally the pad of his index finger drags down my cheek. His touch is soft and warm and I cling to each moment of contact for comfort. As panic threatens to overwhelm me, I begin to count each occurrence of an accidental caress. I’ve counted to twenty-one by the time we pull into the parking lot.

I’m visibly shaking when we get to the door of the veterinarian’s office. Reggie puts his hand on my lower back and it steadies me momentarily.

“You don’t have to come in,” my mom offers again, smiling at me sympathetically. She’s wrong and she’s been wrong every time she’s offered it before. Ducky is my dog and I have to be there for her. I won’t take the easy way out. I need to be there for her just like how she was always there for me. I shake my head and imagine that my bones are made of steel and remind myself to be strong for myself and for Ducky. In spite of this, I continue to walk on legs that tremble with each step forward.

Doctor Jameson is waiting in the lobby for us with a sad smile. A ringing is starting in my ears and I worry that I might be going deaf on top of all the other shit I have to deal with. She leads the way to an exam room where a veterinarian’s assistant has just finished her preparations. She gives me a sympathetic smile and squeezes my arm as she passes. Ducky can’t get up on the table on her own, most likely due to our adventure yesterday, so my dad and Reggie work together to lift her.

“She won’t feel anything,” Doctor Jameson says. She looks me square in the eye and I feel her passing some of her strength on to me. “Some people find it comforting to pet them.”

My hand quivers as I reach out and bury it in the thick fur on Ducky’s side. At my touch Ducky’s head lifts and her eyes strain to see me. She is my best friend and I know she can sense the wreckage inside of me. As I look into Ducky’s eyes, I have to choke back tears. The effort of it worsens my shaking and Doctor Jameson has to put her hand on Ducky to prevent her from getting up.

I break and let out an inhuman sob. I suck in air desperately and before I fully descend into grief I say his name: Reggie. Not Reginald, or Captain, but Reggie. I sound utterly wrecked to my own ears and I can’t imagine what my parents think about my behaviour, let alone him. It is a nanosecond before I feel one of his arms come across my torso from behind and the other secures a tight grip on my waist. He’s holding me up, I realize. I am no longer capable of standing on my own.

“She’s gone,” Doctor Jameson whispers and I turn and grip fistsful of Reggie’s shirt, crying so hard that the sound can only be heard by the sensitive hearing of a dog.

I spend my weekend crying and sleeping. Before we left, Doctor Jameson gave my dad Ducky’s collar. It’s a black collar with skulls wearing flower crowns adorning it. I saw it at a flea market and knew it would be beautiful around her neck. I cling so tightly to it that I lose sensation in my fingers for hours. At some point, Reggie brings Vader over to visit. I was too tired from crying to be of much fun. He holds me until I fall asleep for what must be the third time that day. When I wake up, my back is pressed to his chest and our fingers are linked and the back of his hand is resting against the bare skin of my collarbone. Vader is asleep between our legs, his head resting on my calf.

My parents let them stay the night and on Sunday Reggie gets a call from his mom and has to leave. Before he goes, he presses his forehead against my temple and gives my arm a squeeze.

On Monday, Reggie stuns me by approaching me at my locker to ask me how I’m doing. He looks tired and his voice is soft, eyes serious. Not once does he roll them at me. It’s enough to convince me to tell him the truth.

“I keep seeing her everywhere. Like, out of the corner of my eye I think I see her waiting at the top of the stairs, or laying on my bed… but the hardest part is trying to get used to sleeping alone. I haven’t slept alone in ten years, Reginald. To make matters worse, my mom and dad have their yearly couples retreat this weekend. They offered to cancel, but they only did that so that they don’t seem like dickheads. See, if I accept their offer, then I’m the dickhead. Because they expect me to say I’m fine it’s no problem, sure leave me home alone. They just offered so they can at least they say they did. And when they feel bad on their trip they can comfort each other by saying that they offered and I said it was okay. It was never really an offer. It was a societal expectation that has been checked of their list.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes or smirk or smile, he just stares. And I know right then and there that I’ve officially become too much drama for Reggie Mantle. So it’s completely out of left field when I open my door and find Reggie Mantle in my driveway for the third time in a week.

“Hey, Y/N.” My eyes are roaming over him hungrily, taking in as many details as I can. It’s not until this moment that I realize I was scared that I’d only ever seen him again at a distance--at football games, in his yard, in the halls at school.

He lets me look like he understands what I was feeling. I finally focus on the tote he has hanging over one shoulder and Vader’s empty leash in the other hand. “So, I need a favour.”

I raise an eyebrow and sag against the porch railing, gesturing with my hand for him to continue. I’m hoping that the gesture looks cool and indifferent as opposed to what it really is: relief. Relief that Reggie will still talk to me, that he is here in my driveway and that he thought of me when he realized he needed something. Relieved that all our progress from neighbours to friends appears to be in tact.

“So my aunt was admitted to the hospital last weekend and we’re going to be heading to Texas for the weekend to see her and help take care of my cousins. Would you be able to dogsit Vader?” My mouth falls open in shock.

“Dogsit?” I repeat, aghast. Reggie has the gall to smirk at me and roll his eyes.

“Yeah, dogsit. I figure I’d ask you because it’s not like you have plans, right? If you’re too busy, though, Moose can watch him, but he lives pretty far from the park...”

“Don’t be a smart ass, Reginald.” He smirks again, it’s a smug twist of his lips like he’s just won. He whistles and Vader comes racing from down the street, his momentum taking him past Reggie and closer to me. I pat my knees and Vader lopes up the steps and circles my legs with excitement.

“Oh my god, he’s not even going to miss me, is he?” He’s trying to joke with me, but it’s not working. There’s a disconnect between us, an awkwardness because Ducky is gone, but Vader is here. My heart is shattered, his is whole. But Reggie’s had a taste of what it will be like and it has shaken him, at least a little.

“He’ll miss you every second.” I promise him. Before Reggie leaves, I ask him what happened to his aunt.

“Cancer,” he says. And I know we are both thinking of Ducky.

Vader and I spend a lovely weekend together. He likes to sleep under my blankets, curled up against my stomach. We go for walks at the park and the ache of missing Ducky is still there, but I don’t cry once. When we walk home from the park, Vader tugs the leash in the direction of his home and I know that he misses Reggie, just like I said he would. When Reggie gets back from Texas, he finds Vader and I playing fetch in the park. He looks sullen until he spots us.

“Oh Captain, my Captain!” I call in greeting. Reggie surprises me by wrapping his arms around me from behind and lifting me clear off my feet. “Reginald!”

He puts me back on the ground, but continues to grip me tightly. We sway from side to side and then Vader is jumping all over his master.

Every day Reggie knocks on my front door and invites me to walk Vader with him. We talk about simple things, sometimes we share memories of Ducky and I start to heal with their help. One day, I broach the topic of getting a new dog with my parents. They surprise me by saying that they will consider it, but that they think I still need some time.

“You can’t just replace a dog,” my dad announces gruffly. After Ducky has been gone for six months, I ask again and they give their blessing to start looking at shelters.

Reggie is the first person I tell and after several walks I find the courage to ask him if he and Vader will go with me to the shelter. He thinks it’s weird, but he humours me.

“Listen Reginald, Vader is like my dog-in-law. Any new dog of mine has to accept that if they want to be part of the family.”

We’re on our fifth visit to the shelter when I meet Jaspar, a mutt with a sweet disposition who is twice the size of Reggie’s daschund (or as I call him in private, Reggie’s better half). Jaspar’s amber eyes have a regal air about them and seem older than his estimated four years. He’s got short, tawny fur and a white marking on his rump that almost looks like a raindrop. I go into his kennel to meet with him and offer him my hand. He sits and leans forward to sniff at my fingers. Slowly he descends to the floor and rolls to his side.

On our sixth visit, we arrange for Jaspar and Vader to have an introduction. They bond almost instantly.

“I think he’s the one,” I tell Reggie with a hopeful smile. Reggie rolls his eyes and smirks.

“Then what are you standing around here for? Go get your dog!” With his encouragement driving me, I put in the adoption paperwork that day, without consulting my parents. When Reggie and I bring Jaspar home, my father is gruff and my mother is annoyed. In Reggie’s presence, they restrain themselves and it all feels so normal.

It’s possible that I am more excited for our first walk together than Jaspar is. I laugh when he picks up the end of his leash and drops low to the ground with his tail wagging high in the air. My excitement is clearly contagious. I grab for the leash and he playfully jumps to the side, just out of reach. The game ends when Reggie knocks on the door. I make sure I have a good grip on Jaspar’s leash and open the door. Immediately our dogs lunge toward each other with tails wagging. I grin at Reggie over their heads and he smirks back at me. It takes a few minutes for them to calm down enough to start our walk. There’s something charging the air between us, more obvious today than any other day.

As we begin our walk, Reggie’s fingers interlock with mine and suddenly we are holding hands. Not long after that, Jaspar makes an attempt at a squirrel and I need both hands to get him under control again. Reggie doesn’t take my hand again and I try not to feel disappointed.

It’s not long until we reach the park. At this time of day there are only one or two people here. We let our dogs off their leashes and I’m a little nervous for Jaspar. What if he takes off? What if he and another dog get into an altercation?

Reggie pulls a purple ball out of his pocket and throws it to the other end of the field. Both dogs sprint after it and Jaspar catches it on its second bounce. Reggie’s arm reaches around my waist, startling me. He pulls me close and rests his chin on my head.

“Stop worrying,” he tells me firmly. He lets me go to throw the ball again and this time he pulls me into a tight hug, resting his cheek on my shoulder and burrowing his nose in my hair.

“Y/N?” He mumbles. I swallow thickly and focus on keeping my voice steady.

“Yes, Reginald?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for months.” He confesses before pulling away. Vader has been waiting for his attention and drops the ball at Reggie’s feet, barking and twirling, look at me, Reg, look at me! Throw the ball, pal, come on, throw it! I’ve been patient. Reggie throws the ball into the bushes this time, but doesn’t reach for me again.

“You could, you know. Kiss me, that is. I’d be okay with it.” I say out loud. Reggie raises his eyebrows and rolls his eyes at me.

“Oh, you’d be okay with it, would you?” He puts one hand on my hip and the other pushes my hair away from my face.

“Don’t be a smart ass, Reginald.” He smirks at me smugly and leans down. Just when I think he’s about to kiss me, he pauses. I gasp at the nearness of him and I know he’s smirking.

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” I whisper and put a hand against his cheek to pull his mouth to mine. His lips are warm and I’m nearly overwhelmed by the sensation of it. It heats me from the inside out. His kiss is firm, decisive, and I part my lips slightly, allowing my tongue to sample the taste of his bottom lip. He squeezes my hip and presses his mouth harder to mine. I reciprocate in kind and suck gently. He pulls back, inhaling deeply through his nose.

“I wish I hadn’t waited so long.” He mutters, framing my face with his warm hands. I reach up to hold his wrists and give him a smirk of my own. He bites his lip and avoids my eye, stepping away from me. He gently pulls his wrists from my grasp and leans down to scoop up the ball that has been deposited at our feet. He whistles to get Jaspar and Vader’s attention, showing them the ball and moving it from left to right. Their eyes remained trained on their hearts desire: the ball. I keep my eyes firmly on Reggie. Eventually he throws the ball into the bushes and our dogs speed away.

“Hey,” I say, demanding with my voice that he look at me again. I reach down for his hand and press it firmly to my cheek, nuzzling it. His thumb strokes my temple and I melt into him. “What’s up?” I ask, forcing my half-lidded eyes to open. Reggie sighs, letting his eyes fall shut as he touches his forehead to mine.

And then Jaspar hits me in the back of the knees with his front paws, nearly sending me falling. Reggie’s quick reflexes allow him to let go of my face and grip my waist instead. Once I’m steady on my feet, Reggie releases his grip on me and growls. He scoops up the ball, throwing it aggressively back to the bushes. His hands come up to grip his hair.

“We’re moving to Texas at the end of the year.” He’s yelling it to the park, pacing like a caged tiger. He sighs and lets his hands fall to his sides. “I’m moving after school is out. My aunt isn’t doing well and she needs full-time care. It’s such a fucking mess.” He kicks a rock and Jaspar turns to investigate while Vader drops the ball at Reggie’s feet. He kicks the ball, too and the dogs run off again.

“I’m sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what Reggie needs to hear right now. “I know you worked really hard for your captaincy, but Texas has amazing football programs. Even if you don’t make captain at least you’ll be playing with people who share your passion for it!” Reggie’s expression is aghast and I force myself to stop babbling.

“It’s just…” Reggie squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes and focuses them on me with the intensity I’ve only ever seen him exhibit on the football field.

“I… Vader doesn’t want to go, not now that he has Jaspar to hang out with. It feels like he and Jaspar really have something special together. Vader’s not ready for it to be over. He doesn’t want their time together to be nothing because to Vader, it’s been everything.”

“Reginald,” I start, swallowing thickly. “Your inability to confront your own emotions can be a real dick punch, you know that?” Reggie shouts a laugh and presses his fist to his mouth in surprise. To avoid looking at him, I throw the ball and imagine my fear going with it.

“I can’t believe you just used the words dick punch in a sentence.”

“Well you’re a terrible influence. Jesus Reginald, this was never nothing. It’s been everything to me, too. And if I learned anything from this year, it’s that caring about stuff can be painful, but it’s so worth it. So maybe you disagree, but I want you for as much time as we have left, nothing held back. You, me, and our best friends.” Jaspar has decided that he does not want to drop the ball, but Reggie is working to coax it out. It is covered in dog slime, and Reggie has to wipe his hands on his jeans after he’s thrown it.

“Okay. Let’s do it then. Me, you, and our best friends. For as long as we’ve got.” And he kisses me again, once, twice, three times and then one lingering kiss with enough force to shatter a fragile heart. When the heartbreak hits, I know it will be worth it.

Taglist: @tasteofswallowedwords @forsythe-pendleton-jones-iv

#Quill Writes #I'm up 51 minutes late to post this #no proof reading #Reggie Mantle #Reggie x Reader #Reggie imagine #Reggie Mantle imagine #Reader x Reggie #RIP Ross Butler portrayal of Reggie

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raisingsupergirl · 3 years

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Lent 2021 and Some Spiritual Warfare

We did it! We survived 2020! It's all smooth sailing from here on out! There's no more conflict, no more oppression, no poverty, no death, and no fear. We're all free to live in the utopia that is 2021. And it all feels like… more of the same. For example, on Saturday, in the span of an hour, my dog pooped in no less than 20 different parts of my in-laws basement (not exaggerating), my wife broke their cabinet, and the electricity went out. We had a hunch it was coming though, right? As I said in my post last week, we all knew that we would have to do some climbing to make it out of our hole. Well, I also said last week that I had some steps in place to begin my own climb, so I guess it's time to get it all out there.

New Years' Resolutions have never been my thing. Their very essence is that of temporary commitments. They're set up for eventual failure. And so, I've never really made them. However, this year is different. Why? Because 2020 left me (like most people, I'm guessing) with an inordinate amount of baggage (fear, anger, instant gratification, lethargy, apathy, distraction, escapism, etc.), which will require some extra effort to break free. And because I'm tying my resolutions to something bigger. I'm strengthening them with the thing I do every year that DOES work to get my life back on track, and I'm hopeful that this year they'll change my life forever. You see, this year, my birthday falls on Easter, which is special because, for a non-Catholic, I take Lent VERY seriously. I give up a ton of vices and distractions so I can focus in on the important things in life. Namely, I focus in on my purpose for living: Love God with all your heart, soul, and strength, and love your neighbors as yourself.

As in previous years, I'm going to list everything here that I'm going to "give up" and everything I'm going to "pick up," but in an effort to really separate 2021 from 2020, I'm not waiting. I'm going to kick things off right now. Rather, I've ALREADY kicked them off. January 1 marked the beginning of my six-week boot camp where my dos and don'ts are black and white. Either I'm doing them or I'm not. And THEN, for six weeks after that, I'm going to ease back into things in moderation, which I'm hopeful will help me maintain my purposefulness. If I have a glass of whiskey, for instance, I'm going to just have one, and I'm going to be mindful of the hand that provided it for me. I’m going to see it for what it is: a gift meant to supplement life, not define it. And if you've done the math, you'll know that in twelve weeks, we'll be celebrating Easter (and my birthday). In this way, I've set apart the first quarter of 2021 to be holy, to be contemplative, to be purposeful. I plan to root out my true desires, goals, strengths, and weaknesses. I plan to strip away the distractions and dependencies so, hopefully, when that holiest of holidays is upon us, I'll have a much clearer picture of what's ahead. And so, in an effort to keep my mission clear, here's what I'm committing to for the next six weeks (and in purposeful moderation for six more weeks after that).

I will: go to bed and wake up at the same time every day, exercise every morning, read my Bible every morning, read a "just or fun" book every night, read my devotional and spend time in reflection every night, do yoga or stretch every night, and read to my kids at least once a week.

I won't: drink alcohol or caffeine, use tobacco, use YouTube or social media, snack on weeknights, eat fast food during the week, watch TV or play video games during the week, dwell on lustful thoughts or images, or

I know, quite a list, huh? I know you're all impressed. I'm a pretty great person… Okay, okay. If you know me, you know I'm joking. And you also know I'm an all or nothing kind of person (I think most people are). Life's just easier on autopilot. Which is why I'm making these big changes for six weeks and then easing back into "regular" habits for another six weeks. Sure, I could continue the ascetic life ad infinitum (aka deny myself earthly pleasures forever), but as a Christian, I belief God created the diversities of life for us to enjoy. So hopefully the next three months are transformative for me. Hopefully they lend perspective and focus, peace and appreciation, so that I can, in turn be more effective at seeing and acting out God's will for my life, even if that transformation doesn’t come easy.

Oh, I almost forgot. There's one more thing. This is my last blog post for the next six weeks, too. Believe me, this is not an easy decision, as I've blogged literally every week since my six-year-old daughter was born. But the circumstances surrounding this decision can't be ignored. However, before I explain them, I'll ask you to remember that my nature is that of an extreme skeptic and pragmatist (sometimes to a fault), so I don't accept or share this event lightly. Okay, with that out of the way, here goes. I've suffered from sleep paralysis off and on my whole life. Sometimes, it's the classic phenomenon where my mind wakes up before my body, and the disconnect results in a sensation of being physically held down, usually by a dark, featureless evil (it's where the word "nightmare" comes from: a mare/evil spirit sitting on one's chest and holding him down. The paintings are a little terrifying…). It's pretty awful, but it's physiological. Sometimes, however, it's something… different. And this last Sunday morning, it was definitely different.

You know those times when you're half-awake and things just make sense? Or when you're in the shower, or driving, or knitting and you have an "aha" moment? Well, I awoke around 5:30 a.m. on Sunday with that kind of clarity. But it wasn't a good thing. I was aware of something… attacking me. There's no other way to say it. It wasn't standing in the doorway or holding me down like sleep paralysis. It was inside. And it was angry, jealous. And it was lashing out. I won't get into the specifics, but two days into giving up my life of gluttony and I'd already made the Deceiver mad. I vividly experienced threats, taunts, bargains, temptations, and even brief physical pain. There were times when I (or he) tried to reason that it was sleep paralysis, but it was nowhere the same. And the funny thing is, when I called out to God, the "other" voice faded almost immediately. Not gone, just pushed back. It took close to a half an hour of prayer to silence it completely, but after that, something beautiful happened. Peace. Lucidity. Things made sense in a beautiful way. My desires and motivations, God's desires FOR me, the path I should take. It's times like those when it's easy to believe in a higher power—a being who understands things in ways that we can't imagine. Not how physics works or where the best coffee comes from, but something deeper, set apart. And in that moment, I tapped into some part of that being's thoughts and emotions that worked together and just made sense.

Again, I'm aware that this sounds ridiculous. But I learned a while ago to not judge other people when I've not walked in their shoes, so I'd challenge you to keep an open mind. I've been blessed with experiences like these a few times in my life, and (without going into the specifics), this one made it clear that I'm draining my creativity and motivation without filling it back up. I'm not purposely taking in beauty for beauty's sake. I'm not appreciating art and human achievement without pouring my own energy into it for other people. No, when I have a thought, I have to share it with the world. I have to distill it, polish it, and try to do it BETTER for other people. Every experience is burdened with the need to turn it into a lesson for YOU. And because of that, I'm going dry. I'm burning out. And that's why I have to give up blogging for a while. I have to refill. I have to stop worrying about what I'm producing and go back to enjoying life without strings attached.

Okay, sorry for the lost post, but hey, I had a lot to say since you won't hear from me for a while. If you want to get ahold of me for the next six weeks, text or private message me. I'll still check those. But in the meantime, I'm going to slow down. I'm going to smell the roses (thank God I have my smell back!). I'm going to listen to whispers and enjoy each breath. Oh, and I'm going to fight the urge to tell you about the profoundness of those breaths. It's gonna be wild.

Like every year, I'm sure I'll fail. I'm sure I'll slip up with a cheeseburger or a few cookies before bed. But that's not the point. I'll move on without letting it derail the bigger goal. I'll forgive myself (as God forgives me) and keep focused on what these actions are designed facilitate—identifying and reshaping my true desires. If I can do that, anything's possible. So here's to a transformative 2021, friends. The sky's not the limit. It's just the beginning.

#lent #lent 2021 #2021 #New Year's Resolution #new year's resolutions #spiritual warfare #sleep paralysis #asceticism #commitment #spirituality #Christianity #momblr #mumblr #dadblr

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