#if they want to survive they should disappear from the public eye and rot in jail for the harm they brought to the country

[lil-gingerbread-queen]

Everytime a french politician call the left "terrorists" for not supporting Israel AND ALSO HAMAS, but the palestinians, I'm putting them on my list of people that will not survive the next terror.

#palestine #israel #france #if I'm not on the watchlist already this is for you french government #seriously they are calling the left terrorist for anything while refusing to address the far right terrorism #btw this is a joke I do not wish the death of all the french politicians #just a few like Darmanin and Le Pen #if they want to survive they should disappear from the public eye and rot in jail for the harm they brought to the country

[yan-twst]

Yan dormleaders getting asked by their crush to kill someone headcanons please.

warnings: general yandere content, violence, blood, mentions of death

riddle rosehearts

at first, he’d be put off- where... where did such a violent idea even come from...?

riddle may be incredibly jealous and controlling, and perhaps even rough at time; however, this doesn’t mean he isn’t willing to prove himself in any way he can to the one he loves... even if it means to kill

it makes him nervous- of course it does, he’s never done anything like that- but at the same time, it makes him giddy to think his crush asked him something like that

the more logical part of his brain can’t comprehend why they asked such a thing- he should be horrified, should be terrified they wanted him to do something like that... but the fact they turned to him and not someone else gives him so much joy he can’t even bring himself to care

riddle is organized and methodical, not to mention quite powerful with magic. if this is truly what his beloved wants, he’ll do so; just like the queen of hearts truly did cut off her subjects’ heads, he’ll be an executioner if his darling truly needs him to do so

of course, he’s going to expect something in return; truly, if they ask something so dangerous of him... they can’t just expect him to do as they say and then as nothing more, can they? he reasons if his crush was fucked up enough to ask for someone’s life, it’s only fair for them to handle his less than healthy obsession with them... right?

leona kingscholar

leona almost wants to applaud the little herbivore. wow, how much courage did they have to gather to ask that of him, hm? don’t they know in how much trouble they could get for that? they’re asking for someone else’s life, and they’ve come to him?

of course he could easily do so; leona is strong, and it’s not like anyone would survive being subjected to his unique magic for a long enough time. similarly, there’d be no body; just and left to drift in the wind. logically, he knows it’d be easy

but well, he’s going to play with his crush a little. he’ll tease them: why, are they not strong enough? oh, the little herbivore is too scared to get their hands dirty so they come to him?

of course he’ll do it, though. he hates how obsessed he is with the damn little herbivore, but he isn’t stupid enough to waste this opportunity. hell, it’s not like he wouldn’t be willing to kill for them- the fact they asked him to do so is just the push for him to do so

he’ll use the fact he actually did so to manipulate and terrify his crush. oh? he can so, so easily shift the blame on them, don’t they know? he’s a prince, they’re a nobody; even if he’s just the second born, he can so easily slide out of trouble, but... Oh, but they can’t- so they better be nice for him, unless they’d prefer to spend the rest of their life rotting in a jail cell

(of course he’d never actually do so; he’d never hand his beloved over to anyone, they’re his, but it never hurts to terrify them so they don’t stray from his side; to be remembered what they caused. hey, he was just the weapon; if anything, it was them who killed the poor sod, weren’t they?)

azul ashengrotto

there’s nothing azul wouldn’t do for his darling. this man is desperate; he’s deluded himself into believing his stalking and his obsession are “genuine love”. in fact, it’s him who eggs his darling to tell him to do so; he can tell someone’s bothering them. oh, why not tell him who? he can help, don’t they know?

of course azul uses a contract for this. he likes to think he’s helping out of the love in his heart, but in reality, he’s trying to secure his crush to his side. it doesn’t take too long until the contract is signed and he’s promised to disappear the one his crush asked for

it should be noted azul isn’t the one getting his hands dirty. the tweels are more than enough of a weapon for him to send out; his crush watches as the octopus merman instructs the two eels on their target, and the odd grins the two sport. it’s fun for them, azul says. they’ll toss the body in the ocean and it’ll never be found

of course, the contract makes them be forced to stick by azul’s side: he didn’t even try to hide the clause when he presented it. breaking the contract’s terms wouldn’t only make them lose even more of their freedom; it would release their “dirty secret”, would make public they had asked for someone to die...

azul has effectively tied his darling’s hands behind their back, so to speak. even if the contract expires, he never promised to keep the secret: the fact he could so easily ruin their life is a standing threat to motivate them into obeying

it’s bonus points if his darling becomes scared of floyd and jade. azul might ask them to retell exactly how everything went down- for formalities, so the client knows the job was carried out efficiently- but it’s merely a way to remind his darling that if they chose to do something azul disliked, well... the eels would surely have fun chasing them down, don’t they see?

kalim al-asim

riches, jewels, clothes, exotic animals, silk clothes and expensive banquets: kalim is more than happy to give all those to his crush in the snap of a finger, if only to see them smile

kalim is... not a violent person. every impulse he gets, he internally justifies it as “love”- is he jealous that others are talking to his crush? oh, it’s love! he feels the need to lock them up for himself...? oh, that’s his instinct to protect the one he loves, right...?!

so when his crush asks him that, he’s incredibly distressed. that’s...!

however, once again, he’s quick to justify it. surely... no, for sure, if his darling wants someone dead, they must be a terrible person, right?! his crush is the sweetest person ever, so if they want this person dead then... then they definitely deserve it, right?!

he keeps justifying it in that way- even when he pays off some mercenaries, even when they bring him the head as proof the deed was done; this is... all because of love, so it’s ok, right?

his crush better be ready to comfort him. he’s going to be a bit shaken- even though this isn’t the first time he’s been around death (whenever he was kidnapped, he often watched his captor be killed right before his eyes by jamil or another servant in order to save him), but... well, it’s a bit different when he’s the one who actually paid to have it done

kalim isn’t one to weigh favours against others, but he might be a bit pushy. surely, after doing this... he has the right to hog his crush’s time and attention, right? he can keep them for himself- he.... he did such a thing for them, so it’s ok! it’s a fair deal, right? he’ll be super nice to them, too... so it’s ok! it’s ok because it’s love, right?

vil schoenheit

vil knows it could be so easy. the head of pomefiore must brew the strongest poison- that’s the rule, and he accomplished it. tasteless, scentless, colorless, untraceable poison? of course he could make it; it’d be a shame if he couldn’t, considering how much work he’s put into the craft...

when first asked, vil would be a bit cautious. wanting to kill someone... what kind of feelings could his beloved have for such a person? did they do something to them...?

even if he knows only negative emotions could be behind that request, he feels jealous. to want to kill someone... means that someone has been occupying his crush’s thoughts; their image has been running through his beloved’s mind, so much so they wish for their death... and he hates that. 

vil always wishes to be number one in his darling’s eyes; his efforts, his pains, he wants them recognized by the one he deems to be his love. the thoughts of someone else occupying his beloved’s mind are enough for him to forgo any sort of moral discussion about the crime he’ll commit

usually, vil would ask rook to do these sort of dirty tasks, not because he was incapable of harsh work, but because he preferred to preserve himself. however, this is something he needs to do himself: beauty is obtained through effort, and this too is just another stepping stone to his beloved, is it not...?

vil’s beloved crush better be ready for him to use this sin against them. he has no problem reminding them of all he’s done for them- he’s given them a custom-made skincare routine, every beauty product under the sun, adjusted their wardrobe, and he’s killed in their name. it’d be horribly ungrateful on their part for them to deny him anything he asked, wouldn’t they?

idia shroud

idia would do anything to get his crush to even look at him. he deeply believes he has no chance, even before speaking to them- anything, anything to get their attention...! it’s not enough to stalk them: he needs them

it’s so bad he doesn’t even think much of the request. he’s so lost on cloud nine of being so close- he could smell their shampoo if he leant closer, oh gods, oh gods; what is killing someone, compared to this? he’d do anything to be close to them

of course, idia isn’t going to brute force anything. he’s well aware he’s not the strongest student, muscles never trained from days spent indoors, locked in his room; but he prides himself in his genius

he’s proud. he shouldn’t be- he knows it, this is fucked up, he shouldn’t have done this, his crush is fucked up for asking this and he’s even more so for doing it- but he’s able to shake off all nausea and anxiety by knowing he’s doing it for them

he’s got no problem in showing up to his darling’s dorm all covered in blood; oh, don’t worry, he wasn’t seen, there’ll be no security tapes of what he did. he doesn’t even care how his crush grows scared of his bloody figure, hair glowing and illuminating the drying blood; they’re so close, so close- they owe him, don’t they...? the mere thought makes him grin wildly

idia is already a tad delusional: sure, he’s convinced himself he’s unlovable, and he doesn’t believe his crush will love him back, but he’s deluded himself into believing this is the only way to do things. doing such a violent action may as well be the tipping point; if he’s capable of killing... what’s stopping him from just taking his crush? to take them and lock them up for himself; isn’t that just another way of taking a life?

malleus draconia

why would such a sweet human desire something so morbid...? malleus can’t help but see his crush as a little animal, a young human with no power compared to him. it’s a bit jarring, to see them ask for something like death upon another...

... but it makes him so unbelievably amused. who would’ve known they were so dark? he’ll go on to say such an innocent exterior was hiding such a dark, horrible desire... 

he’s projecting, absolutely. if he sees his crush: someone he considers so adorable and loveable, the one human he’d do anything for, the person he will spend the rest of his life with, hide a desire to have someone kill... then it’s ok if he- powerful and serious malleus draconia, who acts as gentle and kind as he can with his little human crush, star student of NRC holds a desire to hoard his treasure, keep his crush away from prying eyes, to have them think of him and only him no matter what method he must use, right?

he’s so amused by this child of man’s gall to ask him, one of the world’s most powerful mages, for such a favour- and also curious. did this other person do something to his beloved? did they hurt them? lay a hand on them? the thought alone is enough for him to desire that bastard’s blood spilled, even without knowing if his suspicions are even close to the truth- so of course he does

he makes sure his crush knows he did so. it was a painful death; he’ll assure them of that. burning fire, electric magic, thorns wrapping around an almost lifeless corpse: if his crush doesn’t find a way to shut him up, he’ll describe every detail. 

they caused this; this was the work of a child of man, not of a dark fae, he’ll remind them. he’ll justify any future actions with this- oh, he’s a monster for kidnapping them? he’s horrible for locking them up and forcing them onto the role of his lover? did they forget how much of a monster they are, too? 

#yandere #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al-asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #death tw #blood tw

[kneamet]

Dependence (1/19)

Trigger Warning: smoking, drugs (heroin), angst, dark themes.

Summary: there were many charms in life. However, Tom Hiddleston, having tried the most forbidden ones, could no longer imagine his life without them. The rest for him was nonsense, not worth his attention. After all, in order to survive, he needs to find a dose, thanks to which he feels better, not paying attention to the other rabble that reigns around. He doesn't care about his mother, who brings men into the house; he doesn't care about his sisters, whom he envies; he doesn't care about the whole world. But soon his search for a new dose will turn into a search for a girl who has won a victory over his drug-addicted mind, absorbing him completely and occupying all his thoughts.

And he won't stop until he gets what he wants.

Chapter one: dependence

POV Tom

Thomas looks at the world around him with contempt. He does not care at all about what is happening around him and he does not understand how people survive in this shitty society. He never feels what ordinary people should feel, who have been raised into a cult by the public. He always just turns a blind eye to it. The world is completely rotten and it cannot be changed.

As well as not changing it.

He's trying to find a way out. It becomes difficult for him. Finding what he was looking for becomes a task that will haunt him later. He needs to do this. Otherwise, death.

Thomas doesn't feel anything.

He doesn't care.

Thomas grins and turns his gaze from the dirty, long-unwashed floor to the clear blue sky, carrying messages comparable to what can be found in the works of his favorite playwright. He often looks up lovingly, enjoying the rain. He likes to compare and look for meaning in the clouds, free of everything.

He never thinks about something unusual that would contradict the will of others. He never does what other people deny, such as scientific discoveries that, after long disputes, have become popular. He does not do anything meaningful, useful for society.

He just exists.

There is no other way to call his life. Eternal wandering from one dose supply to another, searching for the money necessary for life, envy of the "normal" people who surround him when he goes outside to refresh himself from all this depressing state. However, after that, he immediately returns home, since he does not want to see all this fucking dirt. He's just trying to survive, being completely mired in shit.

A cheap cigarette, whose pack is bought in a small shop near the house for a few pounds, is brought to the mouth and Thomas, whose experience has taught him, immediately recognizes their flavoring additives used as a lure. They will still have almost no effect on the taste, only at the beginning.

He takes a sharp drag, lowering his hand down, allowing it to touch the floor. The man looks at the ceiling. An ugly, disgusting and insanely dirty white ceiling, the shade of which was previously blinding.

Thomas doesn't like flavored cigarettes. He considers them unpleasant to taste, so they also cost more than ordinary ones. What is the point of buying them at all, if you can fully enjoy the usual bitter taste of cheap cigarettes, soaked in various impurities, which makes the taste at first seem sweet, but after that there is a sickening taste that you want to get rid of.

He quickly smokes them out. Sometimes it is not enough even for two days. He likes to calm his thoughts after a long time demanding more from them and trying to please his mother. Tobacco gives something more than just calm.

"Fuck."

He likes to smoke lying down and watch the world rot. To smoke and enjoy, at the same time wondering how stupid people are, since they can't even get a simple high. Hiddleston's thoughts were always closed from the public and there were only a few people he trusted.

Realizing that the cigarette is running out and the taste begins to slowly but surely disappear, Thomas takes one last drag, wanting to absorb more. Exhaling smoke, he notices that it was enough for a longer time than usual. During nerves or quarrels, he smokes quickly, even for a minute is not enough, but reflection and reflection are always accompanied by a long smoking.

My throat starts to hurt. It becomes unpleasant. However, he got used to it. His whole life consists of getting used to it. He is aware and understands the fact that his life does not change, but is only a closed cycle of subsequent events that repeat from time to time.

The man extinguishes the cigarette on the floor, throwing the base into the trash, hoping not to miss. It flies brilliantly along the course and eventually reaches. He closes his eyes for a couple of seconds, and puts his hands behind his head, using them as a support.

He has read somewhere that this gesture means dreaminess and absorption of good memories, but immediately banishes these thoughts from his head. Stupidly. How can you believe that gestures really indicate what a person is thinking about?

Thomas hates to dream.

He doesn't understand the meaning of this. Why succumb to someone else's influence, so also strain your brain in search of a fictional world?

He doesn't like it.

He is disgusted that he sometimes dreams.

There is a crackling sound on the right side. Hiddleston does not need a huge amount of time to understand that this is his mother, who for some reason apparently decided to take up cooking. Since judging by the sound coming from their kitchen, these are cutlery. He frowns, swallowing.

Head starts to ache, slightly tingling. Thomas understands that the withdrawal begins. The only thing that he did not like after consuming a dose that he needed, as the environment needs air. In the beginning, it passes painlessly, he knows. But then it turns into hell: the body began to ache as if it was being torn apart; as if it was being pierced with a thousand needles; as if it was being burned with boiling water.

He quickly gets out of the bed that served him as a good night's rest and feels slightly disoriented. Head is spinning even more. Damn. Need an urgent injection.

Thomas leans over to his small brown nightstand, where all the basic things prepared for life were lying, and with a trembling hand instantly opens the upper part. Realizing that in the end, heroin tends to run out, he regrets that he bought one gram from Mark last time.

He holds a small bag filled with white powder between his fingers, knowing that this is only enough for one reception. Tom makes a mental note that he will need to go to Mark on Sunday or Monday. Usually these days there is a large supply and he will be able to buy a large dose. One gram is not enough for him for a long time, which is why he often has to go to a friend.

Blinking, he feels a burning sensation in his eyes. They're probably red.

Tom thinks that he could change himself and his little world. He thinks that he could change his condition and start really enjoying life, having already tasted all the delights of life.

But he quickly banishes these thoughts.

Need a spoon. He have to go through a conversation with mother.

He's not thinking about moving out. He is visited by these thoughts, but he does not want to dwell on this. It is ok. During withdrawal, thoughts always become obsessive. Such that you want to burn yourself, just to get a new dose.

Palms are shaking.

"And how many mugs have you broken this week?" Thomas mumbles, leaning against the wall, carefully watching his mother, who is sitting at a table covered with a tablecloth with pink flowers. He does not want to clean up all this insignificant mess that will be formed again after all.

The cigarette that the mother squeezes with her thumb and forefinger is brought to her mouth and she, exhaling the smoke, reflects the man's gaze.

"None of your business, Thomas," her voice, smoky and hoarse, without the remaining loud tone, clearly hints that she does not want to see him. Hiddleston looks at his mother — he is disgusted to see her insignificance.

He doesn't feel sorry for her.

He hates that she always pretends to be a victim.

Tom grits his teeth, heading towards the cutlery cabinet. He goes around the mug that was lost during his mother's nerves.

She often beats them. It hits so hard, as if it's her fault for everything that happens to her. As if she herself can't understand that all her problems come from her and a simple mug is not to blame. Perhaps someday his favorite mug will also come across.

His favorite cup, which depicts a black raven carrying death and flapping its wing.

He doesn't care what kind of spoon it is. The main thing is the outcome. And the outcome is tantamount to satisfaction.

Thomas grabs the first one that got caught and realizes that it is a sugar spoon. It should be enough. Must.

He doesn't like his house. His apartment, in which he lived all his childhood and in which he lives now. He has no money — he can't rent a rented apartment, he can't buy himself something new, in addition to a dose, he can't get simple happiness in the form of collectible cars that he has collected since childhood and which are proudly gathering dust on the shelf.

He will do everything for the sake of a dose, but he will never give his cars to anyone. They were too valuable for him. Even if it sounded childishly naive, but even at the moment when there will be no money at all, he will not sell them. Rather die.

He takes a few sharp breaths. Thomas puts on a leather jacket that was given to him many years ago when he was still young and tries to open the door with trembling hands.

"I'm gone," he doesn't know why he's saying this. The mother doesn't care about it, there are no others in the apartment. Does he want someone else to be here? Quite likely. Thomas can't think straight right now.

"Buy some food!" a drawling unpleasant voice spreads, reaching the man's weakened hearing. He is disgusted when he hears this voice, so also in a louder way. "Idiot... ”

He wants to answer so that she will never show her face again. So that she just accepts the fact that he doesn't care about her and her boyfriend. He doesn't give a shit. It has always been so and it will always be so.

"Fuck you," Hiddleston mutters again, closing the door. A blow is heard that spreads across three floors. "Stupid bitch. Fucking die, you filthy thing."

His voice is lower than a whisper. He knows that his mother will not hear him. He's just used to talking like that.

His face is burning with heat. The lower part of the body feels cold. He knows that now, if he can't take it, the biggest phase that all drug addicts have gone through will begin-withdrawal, with the presence of convulsions, when you are lying on the floor in pain, regretting your existence. It lasts for a long time and continuously you feel hellish pain.

Pain that can be compared to torture.

It's not the first time Thomas has been through this. He doesn't want it — no one wants it — but it can't be changed. You are either writhing in pain, dying from the inside, absorbing madness; or you just put up with it, making a note that next time you will buy more. But there is always not enough money.

He goes down the decrepit stairs, which are painted with small graffiti. However, the only thing that occupies his thoughts is heroin. He needs it. Thomas knows that if he doesn't accept it now, he will not be well. Both physically and morally.

Hiddleston feels pain. She is strong, but he knows that now is not the time. I need to get out of the house. He doesn't want to run into trouble, which he will then listen to with a pessimistic face and which the whole fucking house will talk about afterwards. Everyone is interested to know that they have drug addicts living in their house. Of course it's interesting. Sure.

The obvious sarcasm in his head added even more brightness to the speech.

"As if they don't know about how bad this neighborhood is," his voice is quiet. He does not try to speak loudly, knowing that this is more a voicing of thoughts.

As if they are not interested in learning anything about the life around them at all. As if they can't just open their eyes to what is happening under their noses. It's as if they look at the world through rose-colored glasses, not understanding about the realities.

Stupid people who think that they are better than "the rabble under their feet".

Thomas knows places where you can go for a quiet stroll. He knows where people don't go and where to go for a very long time, because he was sure that he wouldn't be able to stand it for some more time. The buzz that he will get will be instant. And he is sure that it will be a pleasure after not taking it for a long time.

Three days have been difficult for him and he is trying to control himself, but he understands that he will not be able not to think about the desire to inject.

A man enters a small alley located between a store where most of the residents of this area buy and residential multi-storey buildings. The windows overlook this alley, but he knows that no one cares. And the fact that there is a fence nearby, behind which there are abandoned houses where parents do not allow children to go, is also encouraging. As if that would stop them.

It always smells like a fucking shitty smell of urine and shitting people, as well as waste and expired products that homeless people eat when charity does not benefit them. Thomas swallows. He knows that he will not reachan abandoned house. Far away.

Everyone will always give a shit about each other. And why is society rotten, having become so shitty?

Tom shakes his head. Idiotic, delusional thoughts visit his mind, not allowing him to fully concentrate. Fuck. He tucks a curl behind his ear, brushing the small earring on his left ear with the lower part of his palm. His body shudders.

He knows that he will not be able to get an exact high if he does not smoke. At least once. His hand reaches for the pocket on the leather jacket, located near his chest. The last two cigarettes are in the pack. Tom puts a little pressure on it with his fingers and it shrinks, clenching with tension.

"Fucking bitch," he mutters, through the cigarette clenched between his teeth, trying to light it with a trembling hand. He can't wait to smoke. Dirty hair gets into my face, making it difficult to concentrate. His jaw is trembling, and his breathing is erratic.

Thomas needs money — for alcohol, which is not enough lately, and everything that he bought is drunk very quickly; for a dose for which he is simply tired of stealing from his mother's purses and selling some expensive things that he bought, being a man who has achieved the highest art; for cigarettes, which are smoked quite quickly. He doesn't know where to get them, except to engage in simple theft.

Taking a puff, the man understands that now he is getting better. Cigarettes may not be the best substitute for heroin, but it more or less saves him from breaking down. It will stop for a couple of minutes, and then it will start again if there is no access to the drug.

Thomas was trying to switch from heroin to regular smoking. He smoked a pack a day, but it didn't help him. It only got worse when he didn't get the necessary dose, and there was no money. He was lying on the floor, begging for mercy and shouting insults at his mother and the whole world. His body ached, and there was nothing he could do about it. Not because he didn't want to, but because his body didn't want to obey him. It was as if it was disconnecting from the brain, subjecting itself to torture.

He starts when he suddenly hears barking. His eyes widen. He turns his head at the sound, and his gaze meets a medium-sized dog. A male. He was a thoroughbred, but Tom wasn't sure if he belonged to someone or was homeless.

An unknown dog is approaching him. Thomas looks at him with an indifferent look when he grins. What does he want from him? Did he really smell the smell of prohibited substances? Exhaling tobacco smoke, Tom looks away at the wall.

Barking and yapping in his direction begins to quietly annoy him. Hiddleston is sure that if he continues, the man will break down. His palms tremble even when he finishes his cigarette. After putting it out, Thomas throws the butt in the direction of the dog, to which he receives an unfavorable response.

His nose gets stuck and he realizes that he can't delay any longer. Fuck it, the dog is standing next to him or not, he urgently needs to inject what is necessary for his body.

He takes out a small bag, for which he spent a rather large amount of money, but for which he constantly gets discounts. Mark always helps him out and Tom is grateful to him.

The spoon, thanks to the trembling in his hands, shakes, but Tom does not have time to fall out, as he again hears this annoying and piercing barking to the whole brain. His breathing slows down and he looks at the dog, which prevents him from taking the dose that he needs, as if he stops breathing and begins to suffocate.

Thomas is disgusted with animals.

But even more, he does not tolerate annoying animals.

His eyes are full of an animal grin. He does not know what he wants to do with this dog, but she will definitely not go unpunished when she prevented him from enjoying the taste and soothing the aching pain in his whole body.

Hiddleston doesn't know why he's doing this. He is aware of the essence of his movements, but he cannot restrain himself. The dog gets kicked in the balls with the full force of his leg.

He does not spare him.

He enjoys it.

Thomas understands what this vile animal is feeling at the moment — pain, fear, hatred, misunderstanding. He feels nothing towards him. He doesn't care about the dog. He just wants to take out all the anger on him. Anger that has been accumulating for a long time.

"Fucked up!"

The blow this time falls on the stomach.

All he hears in response is a whimper.

The head is pierced by an inadequate and intolerable pain. Tom touches it with his hand, moving a couple of feet away from the wounded animal, sitting down on the cold asphalt covered with mud. There is no way out.

The man hears the whine again, but the sound becomes quieter and quieter. He doesn't think about the fact that he was able to kill him. No, he's probably in pain, but he won't help him.

Pouring the rest of the powder on a teaspoon, Thomas takes out an old lighter that Mark gave him for his birthday. It wasn't that long ago, but it was good and obviously not cheap.

He starts waiting. Wait for the fact that the heroin will be able to quickly turn into an aqueous mixture that he can inject. This is what he is dreaming about now. He is not interested in the rest.

He exhales with a full chest when there is a feeling of a taste of vomit in his throat. It can happen when you are aching.

Jaw is shaking.

Finally, he gets what he wanted. Thomas wraps the sleeve of his leather jacket around the crook of his elbow and puts a syringe that he found on an abandoned lot, not far from the house. He closes his eyes when he realizes that now the moment of high will come.

Heroin is injected into the body.

Thomas feels a surge of strength.

He feels warm. His pupils narrow and his heartbeat slows down.

He feels good. It's as good as it's ever been before.

Problems disappear. Everything slows down and he feels happy.

However, Thomas forgets to turn over on his side.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston gif #yandere tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x oc #yandere #yandere loki #obsessive tom hiddleston

[a-singleboat]

I Need A Hero

Word Count: 4.5k

Request: i am formally requesting an emily fic 😌 i dont want to be needy but em being lowkey but then super protective of you 🥵 angst with a happy ending would be amazing - anon

A/N: Let me know what you think! This is my first emily x reader so :D

Content Warnings: Blood, Reader getting hurt, Reader getting assaulted, kidnapping, swearing, alcohol, drugs

You should have listened to Emily. You really should have listened to her. 

Emily was always just a tad bit overprotective of you, sometimes going as far as to asking you to wear a GPS device to clubs especially if she wasn’t going with you. You understood, of course. With her past and her current job, she had to make sure all her bases were covered. You were just one of them. 

Though you rarely agreed to the GPS deceive, it was still flattering that she thought of you as important enough to keep track of. Usually, you’d just stick to texting her to let her know where you were. That was good enough for her.

But when she told you to stay home today, you thought that was her just being overly cautious, overly protective, as usual. You should have known better. 

Turns out a serial killer with an affinity for women visibly similar to yourself was on the loose, details kept from the public due to the fact that the man was a flight risk. That being, it was painfully obvious why the “unsub,” to use Emily’s terminology, was a flight risk. 

He flinched at every sound. At first, you tried to call out for someone--anyone. Well, that gained you a bloody gash on the side of your head. You didn’t make that mistake twice. Instead, you tried to remain calm and complacent--two things that Emily once said would ensure that you’d survive in a situation like this.

“Annie,” the man, Stephen, crooned. He picked up a doll from the table of toys and brought it over to you. From what you could tell, the doll was dirty and half-rotted away, as if it had been buried for a good while. He pressed it up to your face, the side coated in blood, and cooed at you. “Annie, I have Mrs. Buttercup here. Don’t cry, she’ll make it all better.”

You tried not to wince away as he rubbed the doll against your face. If Stephen wasn’t going to kill you, infection just might. 

“Th-thank you, Mrs. Buttercup,” you whimpered, hands grasping the end of the armrests. The chair rocked backward as he put pressure on the doll, forcing you backward. You panicked as your feet left the ground, struggling to at least get a toe back on the solid concrete. 

God, you should have listened to Emily. If you were going to die, you’d spend the rest of your immortal life regretting the choice you made to leave the house today. 

Stephen looked into your eyes, searching for something. You knew all he’d find was fear so you tried your best to wrestle down your emotions. You held back the tears threatening to spill, holding your breath as he leaned in closer. 

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he pressed a kiss to your cheek, the one not wet with your blood. You grimaced at the feeling of his chapped lips against your skin. “I-I didn’t mean to earlier, Annie. You were just being so loud and… you understand, right?”

You nodded, lip quivering as he brought the doll to your chin, tilting your head upward. He forced you to look at him, smearing blood along your jawline as he did. 

After a few moments of deliberation, he let you go, the rocking chair swaying back and forth until it settled back into a resting position. “You must be hungry,” he decided, dropping Mrs. Buttercup back into the piles of toys. “I’ll go make you your favorite.”

He flinched as a loud sound came from outside--a car alarm going off. The sound made you relax, however. The sound of a car alarm meant you weren’t in an abandoned factory somewhere. You were most likely in this guy’s basement, or something similar. 

Stephen gripped the sides of his head as the alarm continued, only letting go when the alarm finally shut off. He collected himself, fists clenching before relaxing at his sides. His smile returned though you can only really see his teeth in the low light. 

“I’ll be back, Annie,” he said, waving at you. “Don’t move.”

The last two words were more threatening than anything he’d actually done, true menace seeping into his voice like a poison. You waited for him to disappear around the corner before allowing yourself to cry, a few tears rolling down your cheeks and mixing with the blood. 

You gasped for air, struggling to keep your breathing steady. It wouldn’t do you any good to hyperventilate now. You looked around for something--anything--that could possibly be used to alert someone that you were down here. 

God, how long had it been? You lost count after the first thirty minutes. There were no windows so you couldn’t even tell if it was still day. Emily was probably freaking out by now. No doubt she had somehow gotten the entire United States Military involved by now, your safety being the only thing on her mind. 

Another ten or so minutes passed without Stephen. You wondered how the other victims had died. Blood loss seemed to be the only thing on your mind, unsure if your head wound had clotted yet. All you could feel was the wet of your own bodily fluid on the side of your face, which didn’t help much. Everything else just seemed numb. 

Your head lolled to the side as you heard footsteps approach, unable to lift your head as flashlights combed the ground. You barely reacted as the door got kicked in, eyelids closing as two blurry figures approached you. One of the figures shouted something behind them while the other came to you, patting your face lightly in an attempt to get you to stay awake. 

Unable to remain conscious, you allowed sleep to claim you as the person above you shouted more words, all unintelligible as your consciousness faded from reality. 

_____

Emily never did like hospitals. 

Ever since her “death,” she tried to avoid them as much as possible but now, for you, she would make an exception. She waited in the waiting room alongside her teammates. None of them knew you personally, but they all knew about you. From the stories Emily would tell to the snippets of various phone conversations they accidentally overheard, they could tell that you were something good for their Unit Chief. 

She propped her elbows up on her legs, holding her head up as she struggled to stay away. You hadn’t needed surgery but had lost a lot of blood as well as suffered major trauma. The doctors weren’t allowing anyone in as they observed you for any possible signs of infection as well as any withdrawal symptoms from the drugs the unsub had used to knock you out. It was all very dramatic, the extent of your actual injuries being minimal compared to what could have happened. 

“Stop worrying.” Morgan reached over, putting a hand on her knee. She hadn’t even realized she’d been bouncing it up and down, too worried about how you were doing. It had been a few hours at that point, nurses going in and out of your room but none of them saying anything about your state of being. 

“She’s fine. You know this. Everything they’re doing is just precautionary,” Morgan continued. He patted her knee twice, lifting his hand to point at a white-coated doctor exiting your room. “Look, the doctor’s here now. He’ll tell you that everything’s okay.”

“Y/n Y/l/n?”

Emily stood, smoothing out her blazer. “That’s me. I’m Emily Prentiss, her fiancée.”

A little white lie wouldn’t hurt, especially not when it would get her the answers she needed. 

“Well, Ms. Prentiss, Y/n is expected to make a full recovery. The trauma to her head won’t have any lasting effects. She has some bruising on her side, we think from being dropped. We want to keep her overnight to watch for infection and, of course, the withdrawal effects from the xylazine. You may see her now but you won’t be able to stay overnight with her.” 

“Thank you, doctor,” Emily said, shaking the man’s hand before he departed. She turned around to face her friends. “You guys can go home, I’ll call a cab back home later. Thank you for being here for me.” 

Morgan gave her an incredulous look, standing from his seat. “Emily, if you think we’re just going to leave you then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Yeah,” Garcia piped up. “We’ll be right here for you. None of us are leaving.” 

“You would do the same for any of us,” Reid backed her up.

Now Emily wasn’t one for tears but upon hearing the support she got from her friends, she could feel herself starting to tear up. She took a stabilizing breath, thanking them before turning to head into your hospital room. 

It was quiet. That was the first thing she noticed. Instead of your infectious laugh filling the void space, it was the steady beeping of the machine connected to your finger, ensuring that you still had a heartbeat. It broke Emily’s heart to see you like this, bloodied and bruised. 

She dragged one of the hospital chairs over to your bedside, hesitating before taking your hand up in hers. It was all her fault that you were here. If her job was less dangerous, you’d have still been in your hometown rather than following her all the way to Quantico, Virginia. You probably would have already been married with five adoptive children like you always wanted.

Instead, you're here. In a hospital in Washington DC recovering from being kidnapped by a psycho that Emily most likely unknowingly brought back to your home. If you didn’t hate her after this, she’d consider it a miracle. 

_____

The first thing you saw when you came to was Emily’s face full of worry, her eyebrows knitted together in concentration as she thought long and hard. Your hand was in hers, still limp as you slowly regained feeling in your extremities. 

Very gently, you squeezed her hand, letting her know you were awake. 

“Hi baby,” you whispered, your throat a bit scratchy from the lack of lubrication. As if reading your mind, she handed you a cup of water off the hospital bedside table. You took a few sips, keeping your eyes on your girlfriend as she looked deep in thought. 

You set the water aside, groaning as you realized your entire side was sore. You couldn’t remember if you hit it against something. From what you knew, the only injury you suffered was your head wound, which was newly wrapped. 

You looked her up and down, squeezing her hand slightly to gain her attention. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

Emily bit her lip, carefully picking her next words. “Y/n… I think we should take a break.”

This came out of nowhere. Her words slammed into you harder than a football quarterback would have, stealing all the breath from your lungs as you processed her words. 

“What?”

“We should take a break. It’s just--I put you in more danger than you asked for and you don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve not knowing when or if I’ll come home. You don’t deserve me dropping plans for a case or forgetting your birthday because I’m working. You deserve someone who can be there and I’m sorry, but I’m not that. I-I don’t deserve you.”

“What? Emily, no. First off, you don’t get to decide what I do and don’t deserve. Second, none of this was any of your fault. I knew what your job was from the very beginning and I chose to stay because I wanted to. So what if you forget my birthday, there’s always next year and so what if you cancel plans, we’ll just make new ones. Emily, please don’t--” Tears pearled in the corners of your eyes as your voice caught in your throat. “Baby, where did this come from?”

She shrugged, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. She let go of your hand, pulling away even as you tried to keep her there. “I’ll see you around, Y/n.”

You couldn’t do anything as she walked out. You called for her, hands shaking as you tried to think of something--anything to say to her as she left your life. The worst part wasn’t even her leaving, you later decided. The worst part was that Emily Prentiss didn’t even bother turning around for one last look. She just left you with your broken heart scattered about the room, leaving you to pick up your own pieces. 

_____

You wanted to hate Emily Prentiss. You really did. 

The way she just left you leaving you numb until you were forced to feel everything as you underwent twenty-four hours of withdrawal. Xylazine wasn’t something to mess with, you knew that even before you have been drugged with it. But now, two months after you and Emily split paths, you stayed in Virginia. 

Why would you move? You’d already built up a life in the state. All your friends were there and so was your job, which you had grown to love despite the overbearing mother that neighbored workspaces with you. 

You knew Nancy meant well, that she just wanted to make sure you were adjusting to work well after you’d been kidnapped, but sometimes you just wanted the woman to take a long walk away from you and never return. Right now was one of those times. 

“It’s been two months,” Nancy said, looking up from her computer screen. She had been finalizing her schedule for that week, boxing off the times she needed so she could go visit her son in college. “You need to move on with your life. Find yourself another girlfriend or at least go out with your friends. I hate seeing you all mopey like this.” 

Nancy had a point. You did need to make an effort to go out, to go back to “normalcy” or whatever. Even your therapist was pushing you to socialize, saying that it could help you get over the recurring nightmares. 

“I don’t want to go out tonight, Nancy,” you replied, trying to focus on the work in front of you. The numbers were starting to blur together but you persevered. You didn’t have much longer until the end of work. As soon as you finished the spreadsheet on the screen in front of you, you were home free. 

“At least try, Y/n,” Nancy insisted. “Call up some of your friends, hit the club. Even if you don’t drink, at least try to have fun again.”

“But I have fun talking to you. Why do I need to go have more fun.”

Nancy wasn’t taking any of your shit. She packed away her things, powering down her computer. She lowered her standing desk and pulled her purse over her shoulder. “Hopefully you’ll be telling me all about your night out when I see you tomorrow morning. Good night, Y/n.”

Grumpily, you replied, “Good night, Nancy.” 

You stayed at the office thirty minutes more and after a solid five-minute debate with yourself, you gave in and called up your friends. Lyndsey and Brenna both said they’d be down while Brent replied with utter regret, saying he had been roped into working the night shift. 

And so you drove to Lyndsey’s to get ready, agreeing to be the DD seeing as you didn’t exactly want to get pissed drunk--especially not with Emily still on your mind. 

You drove the three of you to the nearest club, showing your IDs to the bouncer and entering without a problem. 

“I’m gonna get us shots,” Brenna shouted over the music, disappearing a moment later. You and Lyndsey stumbled over to a table, claiming it for the three of you as the music seemed to grow louder. 

Brenna pushed through the crowd to get back to the two of you, two shots balanced in one hand with another in her other. “Y/n, I know you said you weren’t drinking but one drink can’t hurt.”

“Yeah, Y/n,” Lyndsey ganged up on you. She took the two shots from Brenna, holding the second one out to you. “Besides, Brenna already paid for it so you have to.” 

You rolled your eyes goodnaturedly, giving in to their peer pressure. You figured you were already out, what was one shot gonna do? You took up the little glass, counting down with your friends before knocking back the alcohol. You made a face at the taste, coughing a little as it burned a trail down past your lungs. 

“Let’s dance!” Brenna cheered, pulling both of you out onto the dance floor. Laughing, you allowed her to drag you along. She pulled you both on either side of her, jumping up and down as the music pounded into your eardrums, the rhythmic beat coursing through your body. 

I made a promise to you, to never let you go.

You swayed to the music, holding onto Lyndsey’s hands as she sang along. She twirled you around, causing you to giggle. Brenna serenaded you from behind, grabbing your hips and making you sway. 

But now I see you're moving on and I'm still all alone, oh oh.

From across the club, your eyes connected with a familiar pair. Emily Prentiss stared you down. Around her were her work friends, all drinking their cares away. None of them realized that you were there. 

Every time I say I'm happy for you I just lie, oh oh. I made a promise to you and I'm still holding on, oh oh.

You forced yourself to look away, suddenly not in the mood to be dancing. Still, you forced a smile, sticking it out for the rest of the song. As All Mine faded into the next song, you excused yourself for water. Not thinking much of it, they let you go, continuing to dance with each other. 

You stumbled off the floor, accidentally bumping into a guy who looked like a frat boy from one of the colleges in the area. 

“Sorry,” you apologized, stepping away. Instead of going back to clubbing on his own, he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to him. 

“No need to be sorry, baby,” he drunkenly slurred, hands already moving down your body. “I’m Chad. What’s your name, princess?’ 

“None of your business,” you spat, trying to break free of his grip. Your attempts were futile, however, his grip tightening instead of loosening like you wanted it to. Memories of your abduction flashed through your mind as he placed a sloppy kiss on your cheek, the feeling of Stephen’s chapped lips pressed against the same cheek causing you to freeze up. 

“Please let go,” you whimpered, though your pleas were drowned out by the music. Tears started to fall as he kissed down your neck, your body frozen as he took advantage of you. 

It seemed you had an angel on your side that night because Chad was ripped off you not even a moment later, your savior having torn him off your body and thrown him back a good few inches. 

“Get the fuck away from her,” Emily said, placing herself between you and your assailant. 

Chad squared up to Emily, cocking his head sideways as if to intimidate her. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

Emily whipped out her badge, shoving it into the poor fool’s face. “FBI,” she said with authority. “Now scram.”

Chad paled at the badge, most likely never having had a run-in with law enforcement before. He scrambled backward, almost knocking over a dancing couple before disappearing back into the crowd. 

Emily turned back around to face you, tucking her ID back in her pocket. 

“Are you okay?” she asked you with a gentleness you could almost mistake with care. You scoffed. You weren’t going to fall for that again. 

“What the fuck, Emily?” you raged. “You think you can just swoop in and save the day. Newsflash, I don’t need you. I don’t need your help and I most certainly don’t need your pity. You can take your false care and shove it.”

You stormed off, not even letting her respond. You went to find your friends, who had both migrated to the bar. 

“We need to leave,” you said, your voice thick with tears. You probably looked like a mess, tears streaking down your face and your body still shaking. You didn’t know if it was anger or fear. 

Lyndsey must have sensed something happened because she jumped to your side the second the words came out of your mouth, urging Brenna to finish her drink so that the three of you could leave. You made your way out of the club, collapsing into the side of the building as the tears started to pour. 

“What happened?” Lyndsey demanded, yanking a pack of travel tissues from her clutch and handing you one. You dabbed under your eyes, trying to salvage whatever makeup you had put on that night. 

“I saw Emily,” you blubbered, accepting another tissue from your friend. “And I said something terrible. Oh, my God. She probably hates me now!”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Brenna comforted you, rubbing circles into your back. “But didn’t she break up with you? Baby girl, you don’t need her.” 

You were quiet. You didn’t need Emily, but God did you want her. Not a moment went by that you didn’t miss her. She was everywhere. In the dress that you kept in the back of the closet to the little clay tray that the two of you bought together that held your keys. She was everywhere. 

“I just miss her,” you muttered, sniffling a bit as you calmed down. You felt ridiculous crying over a woman who made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with you. 

“Well, you could always talk to her,” Brenna suggested, her hand leaving your back. She pointed to the side where Emily was exiting the club, looking around for something… or rather, someone. 

At that moment, she noticed the three of you crouched by the wall. She hurried over, Lyndsey and Brenna getting up to form a protective barrier in front of you. 

“Lyndsey, Brenna,” she greeted your friends. “Can I please talk to Y/n?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea right now,” Lyndsey said, her voice stern. You almost laughed at the thought of Lyndsey using her teacher's voice on Emily. You crumbled the used napkins in your hand, shoving it into your pocket as you collected yourself off the ground.

 You put your hand on Lyndsey’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “We can talk.”

“Are you sure?” Lyndsey’s brows knit together, concern showing quite obviously on her face. You nodded, handing her the car keys. “You guys can go wait in the car. I won’t be long, I promise.”

Lyndsey looked between you and Emily cautiously. 

“Don’t worry,” Emily said, “I’ll make sure she gets back to you safely.” 

With one last look, Lyndsey took the keys and disappeared off to the car with Brenna not too far behind. Brenna turned around last minute, doing the ‘I’m watching you’ movement in Emily’s direction. 

The two of you stood together in silence, unsure of what the first move should be. You bit your lower lip, rocking back onto your heels nervously as Emily didn’t meet your eye. 

“I’m sorry,” both of you said at the same time, awkwardly laughing as you realized what had just happened. You pulled at your fingers, a nervous tic you had developed after your abduction. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. You looked up at her. “I’m sorry I went off on you back there. You didn’t deserve any of that, you were just trying to help.”

Emily shook her head. “No, you don’t have to apologize for anything. If anyone owes an apology, it’s me. I shouldn’t have done anything. You don’t deserve that and you don’t deserve any of what I put you through.”

You swallowed harshly. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Emily said, chuckling as a way to diffuse some of the tension. “I’m a terrible person for what I did to you. I knew exactly what you had just gone through and I still went through with it. I made the choice for you without you even having a say and I regret that.”

“No,” you shook your head. “You’re not a terrible person. Emily, for the past two months I have done nothing but miss you. My goddamn therapist even suggested I reach out to you despite what you did. Breaking up with me while I was in the hospital was a shitty move, I’ll agree, but it doesn’t make you a terrible person. I promise.” 

“You miss me?” Emily asked, her voice small. It was a change from her normal confidence. Her vulnerability and insecurity showed through her normally strong front. You couldn’t help but smile at her, taking a step closer to her. 

You hesitated before taking her hand in your own. You brought a hand to her face, caressing her smooth features. 

“I did--do miss you,” you admitted. “And before you ask anything else, I forgave you a long time ago.”

Emily’s head dropped against your hand, her eyes closing in an attempt to block out the tears that threatened to fall. 

“I don’t deserve you,” she muttered.

You ran a thumb over her cheekbone, memorizing her features. “Bullshit,” you said, your voice low. You pulled her closer, standing on your toes so that your lips could meet. It was slow and passionate as you tried to convey all the emotions you felt for her through that simple action. Your arms looped around her neck as she reacted, pulling you in closer by the waist. 

The kiss turned desperate as Emily tried to make up for the last time, tears rolling down your face as you realized everything into the abyss. You felt yourself relax into Emily, pulling away as you sobbed. 

She put her hand under your chin gently, lifting your face so that your eyes met hers. 

“Why are you crying, baby?” she asked, her voice a whisper. She kissed underneath your eyes, most likely tasting the salt of your tears. You couldn’t help it, the tears weren’t stopping. 

“I just really missed you,” you admitted, wiping the tears away with the heel of your hand. Emily took your hand in hers, bringing them up to her mouth so she could place a kiss on your knuckles. It was the same gesture she had made two months ago before she broke up with you but this time, the message that came with them was different. 

“If you give me another chance, I promise I won’t screw it up,” she said, running her thumb over your knuckles.” I-I promise I’ll work harder on being the woman you deserve.”

You hummed, resting your head on her chest as she drew her arms around you, protecting you from the world and all the evils within it. 

“You already are.”

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@beautiful-holland​ @toms-order​ @starlightfound​ @lemirabitur​ @grandmascottlang​ @positiveparker​ @bippity-boppity-boopa​ @caswinchester2000​

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #fem!reader #female reader #spencer reid #penelope garcia #derek morgan #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss imagines #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily #prentiss #reader #reader insert #emily prentiss x you #paget brewster #fbi #bau #bau imagine #bau imagines #unsub

[thebluenoteblog]

Secrets

Summary: You managed to get away with sneaking around for a month. Then your brother found out and to say the least, he was not happy to find out that his teammate was messing around with his little sister.

Player: Joel Edmundson

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Foul language

Requested: Can you do a Joel edmundson one where her brother is another Hurricane and one day while Joel is over at her apartment her brother says he on his way up and she has to hid him and her brother ends up finding him and her brother gets mad and leaves and the next couple of days he ignores both you and Joel until Joel confronts him and says he would never do anything to hurt it you or see you as heartbroken as you have been the last couple of days and then her brother accepts them and they make up

“You’re hopeless,” you said, and Joel’s hands drifted over your hips, sliding under the hem of your shirt. He grinned up at you and you tugged on his hair, “What’s so funny?”

“You always call me hopeless, but I think that’s you,” his hands were sliding up your back now, “I’m full of hope.”

You laughed, “You’re full of ridiculous is what you are.”

“Who is the one straddling who right now?” He asked, sitting up from where he was leaned back against the couch and pressing his chest against yours. His palms flattened on your back, holding you to him. “So, I would say you’re the one who is hopeless when it comes to me.”

You shook your head, lips turning up as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “You put me here!”

“If you want to be technical about it, then yes I did do that,” he said. “But I don’t hear you complaining.”

He nips at your throat and you let out a laugh, “Of course I’m not complaining. I’m still right though.”

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by your phone ringing. Both of you shifted your eyes to the end table where it sat. “Shit, it’s Jake.”

Joel quickly pressed his lips together and laid back against the cushions, he mimed zipping them shut. You picked your phone up off the table, answering it and pressing it against your ear a bit hesitantly. “Hey, Jake,” you said.

“What’s up, (Y/N)? Are you home?” He asked. You could hear people talking on the other end of the phone, so he was definitely out in public. Your heart jumped. What if he was planning to stop by?

“No, I’m out with a friend,” you lied. “Just went to get lunch.”

Joel placed his hands back on your hips and raised an eyebrow at you. Friend? He was clearly asking and judging by the look on his face you knew you would be paying for that later in the best way.

“Liar,” Jake laughed, “I’m at your apartment building right now. Your car is here.”

“I rode with them?” You said, though it was more of a question and he caught it. He didn’t miss much when it came to you.

He paused, “There isn’t any background noise, (Y/N). You’re home. Why don’t you want me to come up?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see your brother. It was that you didn’t want your brother to walk in and see Joel chillin’ on your couch. It wasn’t something that you saw him taking well. It wasn’t something that you saw ending well for anyone involved. “It’s not that I don’t want you to come up, it’s just that…”

“You have a guy up there, don’t you!” He said, piecing it together. “I want to meet him.”

Joel’s eyes widened. Apparently, he was sitting close enough to hear both ends of the conversation. You thought his reaction was fairly appropriate. You attempted damage control, “No, Jake, I really don’t have anyone up here. I’m just not in the mood for company right now.”

“You love it when I come by, I call bullshit. I’m on my way up. Tell your boyfriend I’ll see him in a minute.” On that note, he ended the call.

You dropped the phone on the end table and jumped up off of Joel’s lap, “Hide.”

He stood, “He’s going to look for me.”

“Hide well.” You stated back, waving a hand at him.

He groaned and disappeared down the hallway into the bedroom, “I’m not getting under the damn bed, if that’s what you’re expecting. I’m to fucking big for that shit.”

“Stop complaining and make yourself sparse,” you called back to him.

He did and just in time because there was a knock on the door. You pulled it open and there was your brother who sauntered in like he owned the place. “Okay, where is he?” He asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You stated, pushing the door closed and turning to face him.

“(Y/N),” he said, “I heard you talking to someone while I was in the hallway.”

“I was on the phone?”

“Are you telling me or asking me?” He asked you, “Just tell him to come out and save us the trouble of me having to go find him. If I have to go drag him out of some hiding spot, I’m going to think he’s a little bitch forever.”

“Jake!” You chastised.

“It’s true!” He said.

He laughed when when you sighed and started down the hallway mumbling something under your breath about him being, “annoying” and “intrusive” and “never letting you have a life”. You stuck your head into the bedroom and called out in the general direction of where you assumed Joel was hiding, “Just come out. We’re busted.”

He came out of the closet and sighed, “To be honest, I’m not upset about it. The whole sneaking around thing was getting exhausting.”

You gave him a tense smile, “Let’s wait to see how he takes the news before we get all excited.”

Jake was looking down at his phone, facing away from you when the two of you walked back into the living room. Because of this you didn’t get a reaction right away. You cleared your throat and said, “Okay, you wanted to know.”

He said, “Yeah,” and slid his phone into his pocket as he turned to face you. You watched the smile fall off his face when his eyes landed on Joel. A tense silence filled the room for at least a full minute and you almost wished that you had a wall clock, so you could have counted the seconds that ticked by. But you didn’t. So, it felt like an eternity.

His gaze shifted from Joel, to you, then back to Joel. His eyes scanned over him with a look of the upmost disgust on his face. Like he was looking at a human shaped pile of rotting garbage. You flinched back from it, but Joel held his ground, stared back at Jake with his chin held high.

Jake looked back at you, “How long has this been going on?” He asked.

“About a month,” you responded.

Jake snorted, “A month. A whole fucking month.”

Joel sighed, “Man, I’m sorry, we should have told you.”

“You shouldn’t be fucking my sister at all.” He snapped, getting up in Joel’s face and again he refused to back down. Jake went back to you. “Do you know what he’s really like? Do you have any idea what his body count is?”

“Jake stop,” you said, your eyes filling with tears.

He took a step back and raised his hands, “Fine, if you don’t want to see reason then I’m leaving.” He stormed past you and headed for the door, throwing it open and slamming it shut. He disappeared into the hallway.

As soon as he was gone, Joel turned to you and pulled you into his arms. You buried your face in his chest and cried while he ran his fingers through your hair and told you that everything was going to be okay. You weren’t so sure though. Your brother had never been so cruel to you.

****

“Has he said anything to you?” Joel squeezed your ankle and pulled your legs across his lap. You frowned when he began to massage your feet. “Stop trying to get out of answering the question.”

“No,” he said, “He hasn’t even looked at me off the ice.” You laid back against the couch, squeezing your eyes closed and pulling your legs up to your chest. He sighed and scooted closer to you. “Babe, he’ll come around. He just needs time to cool off.”

You shook your head and swiped at your eyes, annoyed that you were letting yourself cry over this. “He never gets this mad at me. He’s never stopped talking to me for this long. It’s been five days, Joel.”

“I think he’s more upset with me than you, if that helps any.” Joel tried, you stared blankly at him and he nodded, pushing his lips together then adding, “Right. I guess not.”

“Who he’s more upset with doesn’t change the fact that my brother hates me now,” you rolled onto your side and buried your face into a throw pillow.

“(Y/N) he doesn’t hate you. He loves you so much that he wants to protect you from me.” Joel leaned over your body and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “I wish he didn’t think he he had to, but I guess I can see why. I would do what he was doing if I thought it was what was best for you too.”

You didn’t say anything, just laid there and listened as he lifted you up and laid back down with you curled up on his chest. “I’m not going to do that though. Partially because I’m a selfish bastard and I don’t want to be without you. Mostly because I know him, and I know that he’ll come around. Just give him some time.”

You looked up at him, tears still in your eyes. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I do. I’ll let him punch me if that’s what it takes.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You said, placing a hand on his cheek, “I like your face.”

He smiled, “Babe. It’s survived much worse.”

****

He didn’t come around. A week later he still hadn’t spoken a word to either of you.

It was day twelve post disaster when Joel came over to your apartment after returning from a roadie and having not heard a word from you all day. He found you curled up in bed, buried under the covers crying. The door was left unlocked which was so uncharacteristic for you that when he walked right in without meeting any resistance he’d worried for a moment that someone had broken in. No. You were fine. Well, alive at least.

As he laid down next to you and pulled you into his arms, telling you that everything would be okay, he decided that he was going to fix this. “Baby don’t cry,” he said, stroking your hair and rubbing circles on your back. “I’ve got you. I’ve got this.”

You were to upset to comprehend what he’d said. You just absorbed the words of comfort and the soft touches and tried to forget about the disaster that you had caused.

****

“Jake!” He didn’t even acknowledge that someone had spoked his name, just continued to shuffle things around in his stall. They were the only two people left in the locker room and though Joel didn’t know how he’d gotten lucky enough for that to happen, he’d been waiting for this moment for days. “You know what, fuck you Gardiner!” Joel yelled, walking up behind him and grabbing him by the shoulder to spin him around.

Jake spun, getting in his face. “What the fuck do you want Edmundson?”

“I want to know why you’re making an ass of yourself!” He snapped back, easily matching Jakes anger.

“Me?” He asked, “I’m making an ass of myself? Why don’t we start a poll? I’ll post it up on that white board over there. ‘Who has the right to be angry? The guy whose sister is getting fucked by his teammate or the teammate who’s doing the fucking?’. I think it’s pretty clear who’s side people would be on, don’t you?”

Joel’s cheeks tinged pink with anger, “Damn it, Gardiner. You don’t get it!”

“I don’t get what?” He asked, “That you’re the exact opposite of the guy that I want my little sister messing around with. I’ve known you for less than a year and I’ve lost count of the number of girls I know you’ve fucked. You’re going to break her heart and then I’m going to break you and I’m going to get fucked by Coach.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Joel retorted, “But you won’t have to. (Y/N) isn’t just some girl for me to mess around with. I love her. I would never hurt her.”

“I don’t believe that for one fucking second,” Jake spat.

Joel took a step forward, they were so close now that he had to tilt his head down to make eye contact with Jake though he was only two inches taller. “You know what? I don’t care what you believe. I know the truth. I know what she means to me. I know that I’ve been the one holding her while she cries every single day that we’ve been home because of you. I’ve been listening to her cry over the phone every night that we’ve been away because of you. I would never hurt her the way that you just did with your little temper tantrum.”

Jake took a step back, visibly deflating. “She’s been crying?” He asked.

“Of course she’s been crying, dumbass. Her brother cut her out of his life for two weeks. She’s fucking devastated. You hurt her more than I ever could if I tried, which I wouldn’t. She thinks you hate her.”

“Why would she think that?” He asked, shaking his head, “I didn’t… shit man, I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Well you did. You need to fix it too, because if I go over to her apartment and find her crying one more time, I’m not the one who’s going to be getting punched in the face.”

Jake stared at Joel, a calculating stare. Sizing him up. Or better, trying to figure him out. Whatever he saw, he seemed to accept. He nodded his head and turned, grabbing his phone and wallet from his stall. “I’m going to go see her.” He walked past Joel and paused at the door, turning back to face him. “I’m not going to stand in your way, but I do stand by what I said. If you hurt her… I will end you.”

****

You made your way to the door, assuming that Joel was on the other side of it. You were pleasantly surprised to see an older, male version of yourself standing in front of you. “Jake?” You asked hesitantly, “Are you here to yell at me again, because I really can’t handle that right now.”

He frowned, looking a bit put out by your assumption and shook his head, “No that isn’t… I’m here because I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You stepped aside and let him come in. The door closed behind him and you turned to face him, “I’m listening.”

He frowned, “You know, I’m not to good at this. Cut me a little slack.” You raised an eyebrow and he sighed, “I’m sorry that I was an ass, okay? I shouldn’t have ignored you for two weeks. You’re my sister and I love you.”

You nodded, “There’s something else too.”

He crossed his arms, “I was just trying to protect you.”

“I’m an adult. I don’t need you to protect me.”

He sighed, a deep I know I’ve lost this fight sigh and he said, “I’m sorry about what I said to you the other day. It was mean.”

“It was cruel.” You said, “and you owe Joel an apology for what you said too.”

Jake’s jaw worked. “You’re asking a lot.”

“Am I?” You asked.

His head fell back, and he stared up at the ceiling. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll apologize to Edmundson.”

You smiled up at him, “So does this mean you’re talking to me again?”

“Yes, dork.” He said, “Come here.” You wrapped your arms around him and he laughed, “Just for future reference, if you ever decide to pull a stunt like this again… either don’t try to hide it or do a better job.”

#Joel Edmundson #joel edmundson imagine #Joel Edmundson Imagines #hockey imagines #nhl imagines

[fuzziemutt]

What’s a Family to the One Free Man ?

Summary: With some time to rest, Gordon's mind starts to wander. And he realizes that the scene before him is lacking some people... Tw: Dissociation, Panic attacks (please actually make sure the person having a panic attack is okay with being touched prior to doing so btw), This is hurt without true comfort (Gordon has bad coping mechanisms) Notes: This is based on my own post talking about how if Gordon does have a canon niece/nephew then he has a sibling as well and they've been MIA since the Black Mesa incident... (I can’t place this on a timeline exactly, it’s probs breaking canon hl lore timeline but I don’t care, it’s after stasis tho), no ships everything is platonic

Also: Yes I am using John, his wife and his kid Henry in a serious sense here because I didn’t want to create a whole new character for this angst,,, (and again typing this in one go, no edits, lets goooooo) (also also: Gordon is selectively mute based on my experiences) 

----

They had just gotten back from a quick scavenging mission that brought back a couple pieces of old clothes, tech scraps, and health kits along with a couple more bruises and scratches. It wasn’t anything Gordon couldn’t handle at this point; He was just glad to be able to sit down finally especially as his knees were starting to act up again. 

As he slumped himself into a nearby chair, he watched the rag tag team consisting of Eli, Alyx, Issac, Judith and Barney theatrically retell about the “adventure” they just had mere moments ago. Eli, Izzy and Judith had stayed behind while him and the others practically ran around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off if the teasing smile on Eli’s face had anything to say about what they saw from the home base. It almost felt quite homey here honestly with the way they joked as if they were a true family and not a group of people constantly fighting for their lives. 

Gordon wasn’t sure what it was exactly that caused it, it honestly could have just been from being tired, but as he watched Alyx and Barney bicker about who dropped the important gizmo she wanted, he slowly felt his consciousness take a step back from the action in front of him. He wanted to take part in the jokes a bit but he couldn’t help how clouded his head seemed to feel watching the two play fight. Something about the scene in front of him was trying to catch on something in the deep recess of his brain. 

He watched through sudden fog, body practically one with the chair underneath him as something finally caught. He was suddenly bombarded with memories and reminders of three specific people that he should have thought about already that he even felt a stab of guilt for forgetting about them for so long.

John, Iliza and Henry Freeman.

Oh god’s resounded in his head as it filled with memories of bickering and play fighting with his older brother not too long ago. And that was the kicker wasn’t it ? It honestly wasn’t too long ago for him. Just a couple weeks ago he was saying bye to his brother on the phone with the sounds of a small toddler babbling his own goodbyes too. 

John had been picking on him for not having visited since his son’s 2nd birthday and for spending too much time working on “boring” “nerd” stuff. Gordon had even actually mentally agreed, a rare moment for him truly, as he decided to talk to his boss about getting some vacation time after the big test the next day to surprise his brother with a visit. He had been practically dancing at the idea of seeing John and his family again after being away for god knows how long.

That was just a couple weeks ago.. he promised to talk to him tomorrow just before he hung up.. That was just 20 years ago now...

20 years.. since he last spoke to his brother.. John and Ili would be in their 50s.. Little Henry in his 20s...

That was if they even survived. 

His breath cut short and his throat squeezed. 

If they survived.

IF. 

Distantly he felt his increasingly strangled pants, the feeling of liquid slide down his cheeks, but he was too far from his head to realize what was happening. He just watched from the ceiling, detached and afraid as his body trembled and reacted to this recovered information. 

How could he have forgotten John, Ili and their kid ? The very kid he made sure to get a day off to visit as soon as possible after the kid was born and at his new home. The very kid John would jokingly tell not to end up as nerdy as his uncle “Gordie”. The very kid who loved playing with his ponytail not a rat tail and was even growing his hair out for due to it. The very kid he swore to protect and always be there for even if the world ended. 

His brother who he’d spend long nights talking nonsense to no matter how young or old or even far away they were. The brother who accepted him when their parents didn’t. The one who used his actual name for the first time without hesitation. The brother that despite his tough guy act and motorcycles, helped him feel safe even in public.

His sister-in-law who would always smile and clap excitedly whenever he got to visit. The sister who would go with him to stores, if John was busy, so he wouldn’t feel so scared and all alone. The sister who was patient with him and how he still sometimes struggled to speak to her even after so much time being part of his family. The sister who created such lovely paintings in her spare time.

And they were gone. 

He didn’t have a clue where they could even possibly be now. If they were alive, could they have come to City 17 ? Were there other cities nearby they could be in ? Could they have managed to escape all those years ago ? So much have changed in the span of 20 years, would they even be the same ? Would John resent him for having disappeared so long ago even if he didn’t choose to ? Would Ili look upon him in disappointment for abandoning them ? Would Henry not even care to recognize his forgotten uncle that cared about him too long ago ?

He didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye...

His head raced with so many unanswered questions, guilt and hopelessness. His family, even if it wasn’t arguably much, was gone and there was nothing he could have done about it. The choices were made for him. 

He had no control.

At some point, he began to notice the feelings of hands on him, someone was mumbling words he couldn’t decipher at all. Suddenly his hands were pressed against another’s chest he was guessing as his senses began to slowly sludge their way back into focus. He tried copying the gentle rising and falling he could acknowledge; his struggling breath slowly following suit as best it could. 

It took what felt like minutes to possibly hours until the feeling of detachment began to subside, the nonsensical words now beginning to register as what they were meant to be. It was mostly someone counting and saying some encouraging phrases. Something must have changed on his face, however, as the voice was now asking him to list what he could see, hear, feel and smell. 

He knew he wouldn’t be able to force himself to speak in such a state, he also hasn’t been able to feel safe enough to do so since that call with John anyways, and with his shaking hands still firmly to the other’s chest, he couldn’t even attempt to sign what was asked of him. So he just began mentally listing as things came to an off-tilted focus. 

He can see his hands, Barney’s hands, Barney’s face, his hetero-chromatic eyes, the scar on his left cheek.

He can hear his words encouraging him, the gentle humming of electronics, the fans of the ac system kicking on, the soft worried murmurs amongst the people behind Barney.

He can feel Barney’s hands around his, the gentle rising and falling of Barney’s chest, the sticky feeling of tears on his own face. 

He could smell the distant stench of rot, the smell of something that was burnt long ago. 

His name was Gordon Freeman, he was 27 years old and he was safe and what was happening was real. Everything was here. Everything was now.

When it seemed Barney was satisfied enough with Gordon’s awareness, he slowly let go of Gordon’s hands and placed them back on his lap. 

“Hey... you with us, bud ?” Barney whispered just barely enough to be heard which Gordon was thankful for as he didn’t think he could take any sudden noises especially with the now present dull thudding behind his eyes. 

All he could do was to slightly nod, forcing his tense muscles to relax before he snapped something. It was then, now that he was forced to be present, that he realized that everyone was in a loose circle around his chair, all with concerned faces. The others weren’t as close as Barney, seemingly to give some semblance of space, but he couldn’t help but feel they were actively holding themselves back from pouncing on him any second. Possibly to even question him as to why he suddenly decided a cry session and panic attack were the best courses of action at the time. 

It was too much, seeing them stare into him almost so hungrily, so filled with pity. He knew they meant well, but he couldn’t do this right now. Not when they were still fighting the revolution. Not when they still needed him to be strong. Not when he was the legendary, resistance “badass” Gordon Freeman who single-handedly killed the Nihilanth arguably a couple weeks 20 years ago.

He stood up, not making any eye contact and shakily signed what he hoped was an apology and him saying how he was going to check on the antlions, but he wasn’t so sure what he was saying or getting across and honestly he didn’t quite much care. Before anyone could object, he quickly weaseled his way between a gap in the circle and sped walked like there was no tomorrow with no further comment. 

When he was alone finally he could go about repressing it all again, his brother, the time gap, his panic and guilt, it all needed to go and needed to go now. He wasn’t going to let those possible deaths hold him back especially with all the blood already staining his hands. It didn’t matter. They needed strong, capable leader Gordon Freeman whether he liked it or not.

What’s a family to the One Free Man anyways ?

#i write #hl #half life #half-life #hl2 #half life 2 #full life consequences #gordon freeman #eli vance #alyx vance #isaac kleiner #dr kleiner #barney calhoun #judith mossman #dr mossman #john freeman #henry freeman #Iliza freeman #angst #panic attack tw #dissociation tw #ask to tag #long post

[outerjjbx]

Jiara July Jubilee

Day 3, 28th of July- AU day

words: 4k

Kiara Carrera watched in disbelief as yet another Bilia set off the alarms at her parents’ grocery store. They turned visible with a sigh, revealing to her that it was a blonde, disheveled looking boy. He sulked to the front desk, stolen items in hand.

Bilias we’re constantly trying to steal. When powers, or Dicios, first arrived, they were at the top of the food chain. They could get or do anything without getting caught, and everyone else began to resent them for it. Technology that could detect them was made to prevent them from stealing or committing any crimes, which was fine, but it was the stereotypes that did the damage. The Bilias that didn’t do anything wrong we’re shunned by society, and therefore had to turn to crime to survive. It was a dangerous cycle.

“What’s the point of being able to go invisible when you can’t do shit with it?” the boy mumbled as he placed a collection of canned goods and non-perishable food in front of Kiara.

“Go rob some other place. Your type’s getting on my nerves,” she replied as she grabbed the items and stacked them neatly beside her.

The boy studied her with a furrowed eyebrow. “What are you?”

“Mare,” Kiara told him.

The way his face lit up at that was no surprise. Mares were the most desired Dicio, on account of both their powerful abilities and intelligence. Most figures of power were Mares due to their brains and hearts, and they created the perfect blend of kind yet respected leaders. Being able to move water was just an added bonus.

The boy’s eyes widened. “Ugh, that’s so cool! Getting to control water? I wish! Instead I’m just stuck as a stupid Bilia.”

“Turning invisible’s pretty cool,” Kiara shrugged.

“I dunno,” the boy scoffed. “There’s all this bullshit technology now, we can’t do anything. We’re basically human at this point.”

“We’re all human,” Kiara reminded him. “Literally the only thing that differentiates us is our Dicios. You’re acting like we’re completely different species.”

The boy shook his head. “We basically are. And Bilias? We’re fucking dying off. I swear, the world’s against us. How are we supposed to survive when we can’t steal?”

Kiara raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you could get jobs and buy things like everyone else? Just a suggestion.”

The boy laughed as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard. “Ha! Easy for you to say when you’re a Mare.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kiara asked, feeling herself get defensive.

“You know what it means,” the boy said. “Everyone wants to hire Mares ‘cause you’re the smart ones. All the other Dicios have things that make them useful, especially y’all, but Bilias? No, we were literally born to steal, and we can’t even do that. No one wants to hire an invisible kleptomaniac, so we’re just forced to rot.”

Kiara watched him rant, taking in his words. “What do you need this food for?”

The boy deflated and looked down, his passion drained. “My mom is sick, and my dad is... complicated.”

Kiara frowned, studying his solemn expression, his blue eyes filled with shame. “How old are you?”

The boy shrugged. “Sixteen.” he smiled bleakly and read her name tag. “Why, are you trying to pick me up, Kie- fuck, how do you even say your name?”

“Kiara,” she hummed. “What’s your name?”

“John James,” the boy replied, looking proud. “But I go by JJ. JJ Maybank.”

“Maybank?” Kiara repeated. “As in Luke Maybank?”

JJ flinched at the name. “I guess. How do you know my dad?”

“He used to be friends with mine,” Kiara frowned. “He’s kind of public enemy number one around here. He stole shit from my dad, the owner, or something. I don’t know.”

Truthfully, she did know. Her father had gone over the story countless times. He was constantly ranting about how she shouldn’t trust Bilias, and about how Luke Maybank had ruined his life. They were best friends in high school; an unlikely pair. They opened a business together, a grocery store where Kiara’s mom and Luke’s wife could sell their fruits and vegetables. It started off great, a sweet grocery store full of fresh food and joy. Then Luke Maybank got busted for fraud and for stealing from the company, and Fresh Carrera’s became the depressing place Kiara knew and hated.

“That sounds like him,” JJ sighed. “I guess I should leave, then. Sorry for wasting your time.”

He turned to leave, but some sort of awful moral code made Kiara call out to him. She held out a can of chicken soup, and he looked shocked as he took it into his own hands.

“For your mom,” Kiara said. “I can’t give you anymore, or my parents will literally kill me, but you can come back some time.”

JJ was staring at the can in his hands like it was a million bucks, and he was holding it like it was a cracked egg. “Thank you so much, Kie..?”

“Kiara,” she nodded. “But you can call me Kie.”

JJ smiled. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back, okay? I’ll get money, I’ll-”

“It’s okay,” Kiara interrupted. “Just promise to come back, and we’ll be okay.”

JJ looked giddy as he nodded and practically skipped out of the store. Kiara watched him go, bewildered by the boy. She had never met someone like him; someone so confident yet reserved at the same time. He had ranted about life’s cruelty without even knowing her name, but struggled to accept a can of soup he was previously going to steal. He was an enigma.

—

Kiara was coming back from her break the next day when a familiar voice caught her attention. She looked over to her coworker, Sarah, who was smiling amusedly at a talking JJ, her head titled as she studied him. She was a Vorso, which was similar to a mind reader in the sense that she could see into peoples’ heads. Vorsos never got clear thoughts from people, though; it was just mixtures of emotions and colours, with the occasional memory. They were powerful, but often condescending and sometimes narcissistic. Sarah was alright.

“Y’all okay?” Kiara asked as she approached the pair.

JJ grinned ear to ear when he saw her. “Kie! I was just talking to Sarah here. She’s a Vorso, isn’t that cool?”

Kiara nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

“Wait, can you read me when I’m invisible?” JJ asked, practically buzzing with excitement.

Sarah shrugged. “Only one way to find out, right?”

JJ disappeared, and Kiara had to admit that it was weird. She has seen Bilias reappear many times after they’d been caught shoplifting, but there was something about seeing them disappear that was even more unnerving. It was hard to believe JJ was still there.

Sarah shook her head. “I’m not getting anything, man.”

JJ was beaming when he reappeared. “Really? Oh, that’s awesome!”

Kiara watched the pair smile at each other, growing unreasonably uncomfortable. “So, what have you guys been talking about?”

“Anything,” Sarah shrugged, giving Kiara a knowing look.

Kiara turned to JJ, ignoring her coworker’s stare. “Hey, I still have to hold up my end of the deal. Wanna go get something?”

JJ grinned and bounced away, headed straight for the canned goods aisle. The girls watched him go, both equally perplexed by everything about him.

Sarah lowered her voice as soon as he was out of sight. “You’ve known him for, like, a day and you’re in love with him? Calm down, Kiara, your emotions are spiky!”

“I’m not in love with him!” Kiara whispered back. “I am amused and interested, okay?

One thing about Vorsos were that they really didn’t have any boundaries. They knew exactly what everyone was thinking, so they figured they didn’t need them. That never stopped Kiara from wanting to shrivel up and die every time one of them read her.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting that I can see inside your head? And let me tell you, it is messy in there. You care so much for him, and- what is that, jealousy? I-”

“He’s coming back!” Kiara hissed, cutting the other girl off. Sarah smirked at the flushed look on her friend’s face and watched JJ round a corner.

He returned with what had to be the largest can of tinned peaches in the store. He smiled sheepishly at Kiara’s expression as she studied it, Sarah looking over her shoulder.

“You can have it,” Kiara sighed.

JJ jumped and clasped his hands together. “Thank you so much you absolute queen! Do you want me to stay, or should I haul ass?”

Kiara waved her hand. “You should probably get out before my dad catches you.”

JJ nodded and turned to leave, the giant can in hand, but paused and suddenly returned. “Almost forgot,” he said as he pulled out a piece of paper and grabbed a nearby pen. He scribbled something down and saluted the girls, leaving before they could read it.

Kiara couldnt help but smile as she pieced up the piece of scrap paper. She bit her lip as her cheeks flushed, praying Sarah somehow couldn’t sense what she was feeling.

Of course, Sarah just chuckled lightly and shook her head. “Not in love with him, huh?” she teased as she turned to go back to her counter.

Kiara didn’t bother denying it. She just clutched the paper tightly, feeling stupid by how flushed she felt but not doing anything to change it. She looked at the exit, where JJ had just left, and let herself enjoy the odd rush of happiness his actions has cause. She looked down at the number scribbled out onto the piece of paper and slowly typed it into her phone.

-

JJ and Kiara had spent almost the whole night talking. She was a wreck in the morning, struggling to get up despite the excitement coursing through her veins at the thought of seeing JJ. She had discovered the previous night that they had a lot in common; the only real differences were their Dicios and social stance.

Her parents looked concerned as they all sat down for breakfast. Kiara was picking at her food, too exhausted to even take a bite. She kept staring off into space, and she probably looked like a mess.

“Are you alright, honey?” Anna, her overbearing mother, asked gently.

Kiara blinked, barely processing the words. “Uh, yeah.”

“You look tired,” her father, Mike, cut in. “You don’t have to work. Do you want today off?”

Kiara processed that. She quickly shook her head. “No, no. I’m fine. I wanna work today.” She couldn’t risk missing JJ.

Mike nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “Alright, but I don’t want you to overwork yourself. It’s Summer vacation, you can stop working now.”

“No, I don’t want to,” Kiara said. She has wanted to quit her job since the second her parents gave it to her, really, and was only working so she could afford to go on a wildlife retreat with Sarah. She had a new motivation to stay, though, and that was in the form of a tall, lanky, blue eyed boy. She couldn’t tell her parents that, though; not while knowing how much her parents would hate him. He was Luke Maybank’s kid, after all, and a Bilia. It was a classic Romeo and Juliet situation.

Kiara jumped when her phone buzzed, revealing a text from JJ that mentioned seeing her at the grocery store. She stood up, abandoning her breakfast, and waved her parents goodbye as she rushed out the door, ignoring their concerned shouts. She already had her employee bag with her, and clocking in early wouldn’t do her any harm. She knew that it was ridiculous to be so eager, and because there was still bound to be at least an hour before JJ arrived, but she couldn’t help her excitement.

She paused in the middle of the street as it dawned on her that Sarah was right. Maybe she wasn’t in love with him, but she definitely liked him. She had known him for two days and was running to the place she dreaded just for the chance to see him. She’d never felt that way about anyone before.

Someone bumped into her, alerting her that he has just frozen in a very public area. She turned red as she continued walking, acting more reasonably now that she had remembered there were people around. Every now and then, someone would look at her oddly, their eyes lingering for just a moment too long, and Kiara knew they were Vorsos sensing that she was overwhelmed. She brushed the stares off and and walked into Fresh Carrera’s, relieved to see Sarah.

“Woah, hey, are you alright?” Sarah asked the second she saw her. It was probably already clear that Kiara was a mess, but her emotions were sure to be a much more accurate teller.

Kiara sighed. “You were right. I like JJ.”

Sarah, grinned and gently pushed her arm. “Yeah, I know. I’m always right. But seriously, are you okay? No offence, but you look terrible.”

“None taken,” Kiara yawned. “I was talking to JJ all night. I got, like, two hours of sleep.”

“Why’d you bother coming in?” Sarah asked. “Do I need to remind you that you’re the owner’s kid? Your last name is literally on this building.”

Kiara blushed. “Yeah, but, JJ might be coming in today.”

Sarah smiled slyly and nodded. “Oh, I see. You’re waiting around for a chance to see your boyfriend, huh? Okay, okay. I see you.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Kiara said, adding a roll of the eyes for affect. “But, yeah, I wanna see him.”

“Me too,” Sarah grinned. “He’s cute. Absolute eye candy.”

Kiara gasped and pushed her friend’s shoulder. Sarah giggled and ducked away, preparing to push Kiara back when she stopped and a grin stretched across her face.

“Cutie’s here,” she said, her voice low so JJ, who was waving at the pair, wouldn’t hear.

Kiara spun around, her eyebrows furrowing as she got a good look at JJ’s face. There was a bruise blossoming against his cheek, accompanied by a small cut on the same spot. He was smiling so widely that she wasn’t even sure he knew it was there.

“What happened to your face?” she asked.

JJ shrugged. “Got in a fight with a Cursor. Cocky bastards.”

For a second, Kiara believed him. Cursors had the ability to move quickly, but they were as dumb as a rock and their egos stretched to Mars. It wasn’t too far fetched for him to have gotten in a fight with one, especially since he was a Bilia. It was when she saw Sarah that she realised something was up. She was staring at him, her head titled and her mouth slightly ajar, her eyes darting back and forth. She was seeing something, and it wasn’t good.

Sarah wasn’t saying anything, but JJ almost looked nervous that she would. The two were staring at each other, Sarah trying to decipher his secret as JJ tried desperately to hide it. Kiara just watched them, wishing she could see whatever was going on in their heads.

Eventually, Sarah looked away, shooting a concerned look in her coworker’s direction. Kiara returned the expression before she was pulled away by JJ, who was back to grinning like he usually would. She searched his eyes for a moment, trying to see whatever Sarah had. She wasn’t a Vorso, though, and there was no telling what Sarah had seen.

“Are you okay?” Kiara asked gently.

“Of course,” JJ quipped. “Are you? You look tired.”

Kiara’s chuckled. “Yeah, thanks to you. I was up all night because of your relentless texting, man.”

JJ smiled, knowing she was joking. “Oh, you loved it.”

The bickering continued for a while, eventually ending with JJ grabbing more peaches and going. She walked over to Sarah as soon as he was gone, the question on her mind obvious.

To her surprise, Sarah just shrugged. “It’s not really my place to tell.”

Kiara took those words in, trying to decipher what they meant. It was obvious Sarah knew what had happened with JJ, but she’s usually tell her everything. Sarah never stopped talking, and she over-shared everything she’d learnt. JJ’s secret must have been terrible if it meant even Sarah wasn’t letting it go.

-

Kiara was buzzing with excitement as she waited for JJ to arrive the next day, but that grew into worry as hours passed and there was still no sign of him. She texted him, a quick ‘where are you?’, and waited again.

And waited.

And waited.

And he never arrived.

The next day, the same thing happened, and it happened again the day after that. Kiara hadn’t spoken to JJ in three days when she began to get anxious. There were so many possibilities, each of them equally terrible, and just thinking about them made her stomach twist.

She rushed to Sarah, who was serving a shopper, and waited until she was done. Sarah noticed her distress and approached her slowly, looking concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t heard from JJ in three days and I’m really worried,” Kiara rambled. “I know he couldn’t have just ghosted me or something, but he’s not like that, you know? We’d only been talking for a little while, but I feel like I really know him, and this isn’t like him at all. I’m really worried, cause I don’t know what happened, and it could be anything. Like, what if he tried to shoplift and got arrested, and now he’s just sitting in jail with no one to bail him out? Or what if whatever happened the other day that you won’t tell me about happened again, but worse? Or-”

Sarah placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll find him, alright? My shift ends in fifteen minutes, and we can leave then. I know some Bilias we could text in the meantime, they might know him.”

Kiara nodded, calming down as Sarah pulled out her phone and dialed a number. “Hey, John B? Yeah, it’s me. Yeah, yeah, I’m good, I’m fine, I’ve just gotta ask you a question. Okay, do you know a JJ? He’s a Bilia, like you. Oh, really? Great! Do you know where he might be? Wait, you haven’t seen him? Shit, we haven’t either. Yeah, he’s been stopping by at the grocery store. My coworker’s in love with him. Yeah, Kiara. He told you? Cute. But, seriously, she’s really worried. Do you know where he might me? Uh huh. Yep. Okay, thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

Sarah hung up. “Okay, John B says he’s gonna meet us with another friend, and then we’re going to drop by his house. They’re best friends, isn’t that such a coincidence?”

“Okay, that’s great,” Kiara said, “but did he say anything about what’s been up? Does he know what’s wrong?”

Sarah shook her head. “No, he’s just as clueless as us. He says JJ does this a lot, though, so you shouldn’t worry.”

“Where is he usually?” Kiara asked.

Sarah shrugged. “John B said they usually just find him at his house, or that he eventually wanders over to his place. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Kiara exhaled shakily. “Should I be this worried? Is it weird?”

“No, you care about him,” Sarah replied. “And he cares about you too. I can tell.”

The pair waited for a while in an uncomfortable and stressful silence. Sarah perler up when a van pulled up outside, and a tall boy with dirty blonde hair and a bandana around his neck walked out, accompanied by another boy that was talking about something the other wasn’t listening to.

“Hey, Sarah,” the first one greeted. “This is Pope, and you must be Kiara. I’m John B.”

Kiara nodded, and then waved at Pope, who smiled shyly and looked down.

“Can we go now?” Kiara asked, motioning to outside.

John B led them into the van. “You seriously don’t have to worry. He disappears a lot. It’s usually just family stuff, but he’s always fine. He’ll be fine.”

Kiara has never been in the Bilia part of town. They were secluded from everything else, living in small, run down houses. Her parents always warned her to stay away, and she’d listened until she met JJ. She had never believed that a Bilia could be someone she would care so much about.

“This is it,” John B said as pulled up in front of a small, one-story house Kiara would barely call a home. It was messy, covered in wild plants and cracked paint.

The teens all clambered out of the van, John B and Pope in the lead as the girls trailed behind them uncertainly. The boys looked around for a moment, circling the house quietly, searching for something.

“His dad’s not home,” Pope told them as they came back. “We can go in.”

Kara was relieved by that. She didn’t think she could face Luke Maybank, even if he didn’t know who she was. If he was as bad as her dad said he was, she didn’t ever want to meet him. She couldn’t imagine how hard it was to have him as a dad.

She froze, suddenly piecing something together. The bruise on his face, the terrified look on Sarah’s face. She didn’t want to think it was true, but was it his own dad that had done that? Her heart felt like it was going to burst from her skin, and she was about to spiral when her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet “oh, shit” from John B.

She hadn’t even noticed that they were in the house. Pope and John B were staring at something, but Kiara couldn’t see anything where they were looking. She looked to Sarah, who seemed just as confused as she was. John B knelt down, his arms outstretched, and the girls both gasped as JJ suddenly appeared.

He looked absolutely wrecked. His knees were pulled to his chest and his eyes were bloodshot and filled with tears. He was crying silently, but it turned into sobs as soon as John B pulled him into a hug. Kiara felt her breathing restrict as she watched, frozen.

“She’s dead,” JJ sobbed. “She’s dead.”

His mother. Of course. Kiara had almost forgotten, but it was one of the first things he mentioned to her. It was the reason she let him take the can of chicken soup, and why she told him to come back. It was the reason it had all happened, but she hadn’t even remembered.

She sat down beside him and began running her fingers through his hair. He leaned into the touch, and Kiara felt an odd swell of pride as he began to calm down. She gently ran her hand up and down his arm, bringing him closer to her as his breathing began to even out.

“Hey, watch this,” she whispered, taking out a small drink bottle she always kept with her.

JJ lifted his head, watching as she rose the water from the bottle and made it swirl around. She made it circle in front of JJ, making little shapes and patterns. He just stared at it, eyes wide and fascinated, as it turned into a little floating love heart. He looked mesmerised, tears forgotten, and the other three teens were in a similar state of awe.

She played with the water for a while, letting JJ tell her what to turn it into or where to make it go. Eventually, he was smiling, and Pope, John B and Sarah walked out of the room. Kiara head ached from how long she’d been using her Dicio, but she didn’t mind if it meant JJ was happy. She’d do anything to comfirm that.

“Thank you,” JJ said, his voice hoarse. “You’re pretty cool.”

Kiara let a single droplet of water fall on his nose, making them both laugh. “You are too.”

#jiarajuly #jiara #jj x kie #jj x kiara #writing #jiara july #madison bailey #obx netflix

[the-darklings]

—we’re good at bad ideas, my love;

pairing: loki x reader

4k drabble celebration: [o6/22]: “I can’t wait any longer.”

word count: 2.1k+ (what can I even say?)

warnings: nada

notes: All prompts for this challenge come from “Super Sappy Lines Prompt List” created by @tiptoe39. Sadly, I can’t link the list without Tumblr sniping this post but you can find a link to it on my tumblr.

. . .

You were surprised you managed to sneak up on him.

Either he was losing his touch (doubtful), or he was too preoccupied with whatever he was scheming (more likely).

The blade slid against the elegant curve of his neck and he stilled.

“You shouldn't be here, silver-tongue,” you hummed behind him, and pressed another dragger against his ribs when he made a move to grab his own weapon. “It’s a dangerous place for a princeling like you to venture to.”

Loki had always been fast—annoyingly, brilliantly, fast. He pivoted on his feet, his own dagger pointed at your throat in a blink of an eye before he flattered upon taking in your face. The piercing hostility melted from his features and into soft disbelief and confusion.

“(Name)?”

You heard the ring of relieved disbelief in his voice, and suppressed a smile at the immediate and calculating way his green eyes started tracing over your features.

“I thought you dead,” he spoke after another moment, and his words felt heavy despite their softness.

“Likewise,” you countered coolly, taking in how different he looked from the prince you once knew. “Last I heard you were dead. Clearly, that’s old news. Though I suppose I should have known better than to trust the word of mouth.”

“Indeed you should have,” he noted, and there was a bite to his words that made your jaw clench.

You wanted to ask him a thousand things: how he had ended up in Sakaar, what happened in Asgard, where was Thor, and most importantly, if what the whispers said about him was true.  

If he had truly aligned himself with the one individual whose name no one dared to speak out loud. If he had truly tried to take over Midgard, and served under the Mad Titan himself. The Titan was practically a myth on Sakaar, yet no one dared to speak ill of him—at least not in public. His influence hung over the universe like a dark shroud, and the thought that Loki had…

“Well, it’s truly difficult to keep up-to-date with Asgard news when one is banished,” you pointed out drily, and the subdued iciness of your tone made Loki’s eyes narrow. He looked different; somehow hollowed out and torn down all at once, unmade. There was a new sharpness to his gaze—still cutting, still far too clever for his own good—that pierced you though. “It wasn’t exactly easy or pleasant news to hear—”

“Did you mourn?”

A million things were packed into the quiet question. His face had smoothed out, giving away nothing as always. He was far too good at this game of words. You had an appreciation for his methods but little patience for them. You had slowly learned how to adapt his method for your own survival. That tends to happen when you spend all your spare time around someone like him though. Or you did.

Once you had been inseparable.

But now—even though you hadn’t been this close physically in years—it felt like a bottomless chasm had opened up between you.

“Yes.”

It felt uncomfortable to admit it. Neither of you had ever been much for heartfelt exchanges of sentimentality. The closest he had come to sentiment was the day you were banished. You could still recall the fervent burn in his eyes when he swore that he was going get you back no matter what.

But that was then.

Years and years of waiting and bitter longing stood between you now.

And here you both were. At the edge of the universe, reunited once again.

“What’s the deal with your new outfit?” you finally forced out, realising that he wasn’t going to say anything else. You couldn’t quite read his expression, and it felt safer to fill the silence with something. Loki always loved to talk.

“What’s the deal with your hair? It looks abysmal.”

A strangled—and dare you say it, relieved—laugh slipped past your lips, and his expression softened too, a smug grin tugging his own lips upwards. And just like that, the suffocating tension disappeared, making it easier to breathe.

This. This you had missed terribly. The easy, near antagonistic relationship between you. And the trust and the respect, and…

Perhaps just him too.

“What are you doing here, Loki? Where are the others?” you spoke, sheathing your blades, and noting that he had already put his away. Still quick with his hands too. “How did you end up in this garbage dump?”

Eyes crinkling, he approached you with that familiar swagger in his step, “They’re not here. And maybe I can’t wait any longer for them to show up, and came to take over and rule this planet myself.”

You made a thoughtful noise at the back of your throat, folding your hands over your chest, and gazing at him for a long moment. Loki always liked being clever. Always liked explaining his grand schemes and seeing how quickly you managed to catch on to all the little nuances in his plan. It had been one of his favourite games to play—aside from making Thor’s life a living misery. Once it had been harmless fun, but now…

“Well for one, you should not underestimate the Grandmaster,” you told him mildly, watching his expression sharpen with interest. A new source of information, that's what you effectively just made yourself, and this felt familiar too. How many times had you both done this routine before? Too many times to count. “He’s far smarter and ruthless than you think. Don’t let the frivolous act fool you. And taking over this world? Have you forgotten what happened in Niflheim?”

Loki’s eyes twinkled with mirth, and in that spark of life, you saw the mischievous prince you once knew so well.

“Oh, Niflheim was a delight,” he practically purred, his smile all teeth like the memory woke up something buried deep down; something dear to him.

And you could understand it. It was a simpler time then. Just you and him, with Thor and Warrior Three, sometimes joining in. The Nine Realms had seemed like your playground then. But that was a long, long time ago.

“No. Niflheim was most certainly not a delight,” you pointed out incredulously, your expression twisting in disbelief. “Did you hit your head or something? I was thrown to prison because you were a little shit and decided it was a good idea to—”

“Help me take this place,” he cut you off, grabbing you by the shoulder, and you felt the air in your lungs burn. Loki’s eyes were aflame with that familiar fire, the drive you once believed would get him the throne. You had never expected this though. “You and me, just like the old days. We take this place for ourselves and the rest of the universe can rot for all I care. Just like Niflheim,” he added, softer, and you exhaled sharply.

Niflheim held many memories for you both. But there were some that needed to stay buried.    

You stared at him for a long moment, and you saw the flicker of realisation in his eyes—perhaps even disappointment—as his hand dropped from your shoulder suddenly. “You’re not going to help me,” he pointed out flatly, but much to your surprise it lacked malice.

“Loki…” you began unsurely, before you swallowed heavily, shaking your head and turning away. “Things are not what they once were. We’ve changed. Perhaps not for the better. I can’t just close my eyes and forget everything that has happened to me. I can’t just go back to the way things were between us.”

“And why not?”

Sharper, colder. This was a tone that matched the man all those rumours talked about. A maniac who tried to destroy Jotunheim. Who obeyed the order of the most hated and feared individual in the galaxy.

“Because you abandoned me,” you snapped angrily, turning to face him. A violent throb of rage and bitterness pulsed with every escalated beat of your heart, and you swallowed shakily. “Left me behind when you swore that you were going to get me back. I sacrificed my freedom, my home, so you could walk away unscathed because I cared for you. Because it was you and me against the universe, remember? I—I trusted you and you threw that trust back in my damn face.”

His face went slack at your outburst. You wished you had a moment to gloat at the fact that for once in your life, you managed to render Loki speechless, and not the other way around. But instead, the rage you had harboured for years crumbled to nothing in your chest, leaving a hollow hole in you that made you feel—

Lost, lonely, helplessly adrift.

If nothing else, you had always had your unlikely, improbable—never should have worked in a million years but somehow did—friendship with Loki.

Even when you had nothing else—a real home, fancy titles, or riches of any kind—you had your trickster. And for so very long, it had been enough.

You were each other’s number one choice.  

Loki envied and loved Thor in equal measure, but you had always known in the way you often exchanged secretive looks and unfailingly had each other’s backs, that you were irreplaceable to him.

And you were wrong.

You had been so stupidly, naively wrong, it made you feel ashamed.

“I searched for you,” Loki’s voice was low but serious, “I did not abandon you. I searched for you.”

Something that didn’t even resemble a smile twisted your mouth, “Not hard enough. Not nearly hard enough, and you know it.”

You saw his jaw clench, eyes blazing but before he could spin you another pretty lie, you reached out first. Your fingers brushed against his cheek and you felt him still under your touch. So helplessly caught in the moment, you almost forgot to speak.

“My trickster,” you addressed him quietly, and hated the note of affection that bled into your words. “I am not cruel, and I will not punish you for this. For old times’ sake, I will help you survive this place, gain a foothold too, if I can. But nothing more and nothing less. I want to be free of you after this.”

His cheek was cool when your lips brushed against it, and you felt his strangled exhale at the contact. You savoured the moment too. The last one you would ever allow yourself.

“I’m glad you live, trickster,” you told him honestly and pulled back, giving him a sad smile. “It would be an awfully boring universe without you in it.”

Loki’s lips were parted slightly, his eyes flickering quickly over your features.

“Thief…”

Your heart stuttered in your chest at the old, teasing nickname he had bestowed upon you so long ago. He rarely called you by it, but he always managed to weave some muted, teasing fondness into the word that once upon a time made you grin and shove him playfully.

Truthfully, there was nothing you would not give to go back to that time.

But you had no such power, and never would.

“We should go,” you stressed weakly, looking away from his keen gaze. “This is not the most secure location, and we have work to do.”

He grabbed your wrist before you could step around him, and when you turned to him, his gaze was gutting in its intensity. Loki had always been full of chaos and mischief; it often felt like it was in his very blood, like he was born for it, ready to unleash it upon others and revel in the chaotic mess after.

But you saw how different he now was too. It was true that some things were unchanged. But some things, you imagined, would never be truly recovered. For you or him.

“This conversation is not over,” he said easily, all matter-of-fact and so sure of himself. It almost made your heart ache. Once, you had taken so much comfort from his quiet confidence: in his plans, in himself, in you. “We will speak of this again.”

“Still a demanding princeling bastard, I see,” you replied dully, forcing the teasing tone into your words.

There was a glimmer of something like relief in his eyes, but it was a gone in a blink. “It’s king now, actually.”

“Hmm...no.”

“You would disrespect your king?”

“Sure I would.”

“Witch.”

You swallowed a sob, your grin almost pained, but it was tinged with relief too, “Bastard.”

Maybe some things could never be recovered.

But maybe better things could be built in their place.

. . .

an: I somehow wrote this whole thing in one sitting in a span of few hours, and you all know I love backstories and angst so this was my favourite type of story to write. Ahh, I might write more for it, I found this dynamic highly enjoyable. Thank you for reading! <33

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #marvel #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson imagine #loki imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #loki #loki fic #thor ragnarok #tom hiddleston #4kdrabbles #nightly drabbles

[bakerui-blog]

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[someone-ds]

Rant

Looking in the mirror what do you see? Fuck it. what do you want to see? I just want you to be fucking happy Why can't you be happy I do everything for you. I go therapy, I take medicine, I go out, I eat, I see friends and still it's not enough for you, is it?

You've stolen my mind taken my brain and left it to rot in the corner you poisoned my heart and left it to suffocate in my empty chest. You took everything that makes me me and more. you took people from me, actual real humans you took them away you stole them from me you took them you did this

are you proud? mh? are you? Tell me you fucking are because I would be if my plans where working the way yours are. I started again, built my way up gave you everything left in me and you, you still give up on me? Did you give up on yourself? pathetic. Look at you crying in public like a broken human. A pathetic broken piece of flesh with feelings.

I am so angry at you why do you do that? You hurt people and you hurt yourself. I hate you I do. I've said it a million times and I'll say it again I hate you and I would rather be anyone else than you. You are a poor excuse of a human  I doubt even your therapist who you are paying to listen will want to hear you go on and on about your pathetic life. At the end of the day who will want you anyway huh?

I want to quit I want to throw my life away haha I want to go. just not exist sounds fucking amazing right now fuck.

I miss her. Sometimes in times like this, I miss her. I miss her comforting look. I miss her hand in my hair. I miss her weight on my left side. I miss her calming voice in my ears telling me that it will be alright. I miss falling asleep and knowing that the first thing I'll see is her. I miss the peace she brought me. I miss the way she makes me feel. And I hate how weak I am. How fucking mental do you have to be wanting someone back who could never love you freely? someone who could never love all of you.someone that could never love you enough to scream it out to the rest of the world. Someone who would never show you off, someone who is embarrassed by you. Oh fuck. How weak do you have to be to want her back ey?

And now you miss him mh? The way he always listened to you the way his body was perfectly shaped to fit against yours. The way he sees life and his ability to let you think you're special. You miss his lies and stupid words. You miss his company and his hands around your waist. You miss the thrill of being with him, you miss being alive, don't you? You miss his encouraging words and tales about his world. You miss being his number one. Number one for once and at what cost? You don't care you'll do anything just to be someone's number one.

And NOW you miss this other person. Someone that calms you down. Keeps you grounded and makes you believe in yourself. Someone that trusted your judgment like no one else. Someone who made sure you were okay. Someone who thought the same thoughts and dreamed the same dreams. Yeah, that one person you met and never imagined falling for. Yeah, this person the one that makes you see stars and believe in fairy tales. The one that makes you laugh like no one else. The one who gets you and loves you for who you are. The one person who was there when all others failed to pick you off the ground. This person. you miss him, don't you?

God, when will this madness end? When will my heart settle for someone within my reach?  

I am angry so damn angry you wouldn't recognize me. It's a pity. I lost myself between anger and grief. Between sadness and anxiety. Between the 30 personalities, I acquired to please everyone. Oh, what I would do to go back in time slap myself and tell myself to grow some fucking balls. I would do everything to be able to escape into a foreign country and just figure out what I want to do with my life. I love my ability to think about parallel universes and just imagining everything around me disappearing for me to breathe freely again. My lungs collapsed a long time ago. It feels like I can't breathe anymore. My blood is cold even though I am burning with anger inside of me. I hate all of this man. People told me that now my life would kick-off. Everyone said that my life just started but it feels like I've lived a hundred years and my life is falling down a fucking hole. They said I'll get better. They said that I'll do better, they said I'll manage. But how? No one told me how no one said how to survive in a world where everyone wants you to fail. How should I survive all of this on my own without my head exploding? Tell me! Tell me how the fuck I survive how? How does one live anyway? I hate this god I hate all of this.

#depressed #rant tag #rant #life #tw suicice #therapy #heartbreak

[alwaysmychoices]

Midnight Waltz

Pairing: Liam x MC

Synopsis: While preparing for the wedding, Collins’ anxiety turns into a midnight waltz with her prince charming…

Rating: General Audience

Words: 3955

Based on an ask from anonymous from this “Sweet Affectionate Moment Memes” from @lustanddai (which is still open, btw! Even if I take months to get to it, like this...)

Click. Clack. Click – THUMP.

Collins cursed under her breath as she bumped into a nearby table, struggling to catch the flower arrangement before it toppled to the floor. The sudden commotion filled the queen’s office, a room rightfully belonging to Regina, but with the upcoming wedding, it had been gifted to Collins in a show of support. Though everyone assured her that the office was her new sanctuary, she still felt like a palace guest that accidentally wandered into a forbidden room. Every touch was featherlight, and every item was restored to the position she found it in. Collins grew flustered as she struggled to get the arrangement back to its former glory, giving up with an exasperated sigh.

She couldn’t even get flowers right. How the hell was she supposed to handle a royal wedding?

Her morning meeting lingered in her mind as she considered about the scale of the wedding. The press dubbed her an “American Queen” and flooded her with international attention. Not only was the ceremony being televised, but it was also labeled a “must-see-event.” Already, tourists were flooding into Cordonia as the wedding date fast approached, and Collins was overwhelmed.

When she agreed to marry Liam, she recognized that she was marrying his title as well. She knew that her wedding would be a state event, not a private declaration of love. She knew that privacy was a luxury she could rarely afford, and she recognized that their private life could be used to do some good in Cordonia. After all, she jumped at Liam’s idea to use their wedding to unite Cordonia and promote healing. Still, she never imagined this.

An event like this demanded rigorous training and preparation, all of which Collins had to fit into mere weeks. She had to be perfect. Which meant perfect manners, perfect hair, perfect smiles, perfect everything. Spa days felt more like a boot camp as they poked and prodded her skin to excellence. Even salon visits were plagued with flashcards on important diplomats in attendance and the correct etiquette in accordance with Cordonian culture. Suddenly, Bertrand’s lessons during the social season seemed like a walk in the park compared to the expectations thrust upon her.

Collins felt like the little southern girl still learning to overcome her accent, staring at a globe and imagining her future. Meeting Liam was a fairytale, and deciding to become his wife was the best decision she’d ever met. Still… nights like this, she wondered why Liam had ever picked her. What was he thinking? When he had superhumans like Hana and impeccable ladies like Madeleine, what did he see in the commoner who knew nothing of his home or his customs? A girl bound to mess up this monumental wedding?

Collins shut her eyes as she imagined all the ways she could make a mistake. She could stumble walking down the aisle or trip onto a dignitary. She could drop the Unity Apple, dooming their marriage and outraging the Apple-obsessed Cordonians. She could get too excited and kiss Liam too passionately, or what if she got so nervous she didn’t kiss him at all? The reception was a landmine of potential disasters, leaving room for diplomatic crises all over the place.

And then there was the first dance.

It was the only public part of the reception. It was the Cordonian Waltz, a dance she and Liam knew by heart. It should be easy…

Nonetheless, thinking about it left an anxious knot in Collins’ stomach.

Eyeing her shoes, Collins thought back to the day she picked them. It was one of the few days of wedding planning that actually felt like wedding planning. With dozens of Cordonian designers vying for the opportunity to create her wedding dress, Collins brought Hanna and Olivia to the appointment to weed through the exquisite gowns to find the perfect one. With bubbling champagne in hand, the girls picked through white dresses until deciding that Hanna was the only one truly capable of making such an iconic gown. Sketching on the back of a wedding invite, Collins and Hanna designed the ideal dress. The accessories were left to the designers struggling to express disappointment for being passed over, and it was Olivia who found the pair of flawless nude high heels. They were breathtaking, and Collins bought them without an ounce of hesitation.

But now…

Collins worried that their perfect stiletto heel couldn’t do the job. They needed to be just as strong as her, carrying her through the ceremony and performing at the reception. They weren’t on her feet only to look pretty. They had to execute an impeccable Cordonian Waltz without a scratch.

Which is what brought her to her office at midnight.

She couldn’t just trust her shoes – not for something this big. She had to test them, and this was the only time available for her embarrassing trial run.

Taking a deep breath, Collins assumed the beginning stance and pretended to be facing a partner. By herself, Collins began to dance the Cordonian Waltz, stumbling over moves and butchering others. It was hard enough to dance without a partner, but each mistake increased her anxiety and took a toll on her dancing skills.

The clacking of her high heels grew aggressive as Collins tripped over another move, barely catching herself.

“Ugghhh,” Collins groaned and began to kick her feet, hoping to rid herself of these damn high heels and call it a night. With the strap holding them back, the shoes clung to her feet out of spite and refused to offer her refuge. Each wild kick ended in vain, and Collins fell into a nearby armchair with an irritated sigh.

She couldn’t even test her damn shoes correctly…

A wave of defeat crushed the duchess as she pinched the bridge of her nose, urging herself to keep calm.

If any woman could defy expectations, it was Collins Alexander. Only a year ago, she was an ordinary New York City waitress busing tables to put herself through law school, and now, she was a Cordonian noble and star of the social scene. She’d conquered every obstacle during the social season to gain public and noble favor, all for a chance at love. When she’d been publicly scorned and humiliated, she pushed on and cleared her name. Betrayal and assassination attempts couldn’t stand in her way, but finally, she found her limit.

A wedding. The wedding she and Liam dreamed of for so long. After all their trials and tribulations, Collins and Liam would step into the future as husband and wife. They just needed to survive one more media frenzy. It was all so close that she could practically touch it if it just weren’t… so out of reach.

The pressure shook Collins to her core, anticipation turning her limbs to lead. Just a few more days – a few more days of bridal luncheons, planning meetings, and rehearsals before the wedding that would change everything. Then, it would all be over.

If they survived the night…

Collins ran cold, the dark thought invading every corner of her mind like a plague. It poisoned the hope she still held onto, overshadowing the bridal bliss fluttering her heart.

The Coronation Ball. The Homecoming Ball. The Costume Ball.

All such beautiful nights. At first, they were flawless and lovely, and they swept Collins into a false sense of security. Then, it all went to hell.

Slowly but surely, the damage grew greater with each event.

At the Coronation Ball, it was a broken heart and the separation of young lovers. At the Homecoming Ball, it was an attack on the monarchy that nearly killed their best friends, shot Drake, severed their trust, marred their engagement, and created chaos in Cordonia. At the Costume Ball, it was the death of a former king to protect his youngest son.

What would happen next? What horror would strike them on what should be the best day of their lives?

Anton may have left their circle of friends, but he lurked in the corner of Collins’ life. He sat in every conversation, entering every thought. His mark scarred her skin, and when she was alone, she could still breathe in the dust of that night… of the night he disappeared. Until he was found and safely rotting away in some jail, Collins didn’t know how to carry on. She didn’t know which corners to look in, so she looked in all of them. They were always empty, but one day, she knew they wouldn’t be.

Letting out a shaky breath, Collins Alexander stood and squared her shoulders as if she was preparing to walk into battle. Determination etched into her soft features, Collins assumed the beginning stance of the waltz and moved to the imaginary rhythm as if it were life and death.

“Need a partner?”

The unexpected voice made Collins jump, throwing her off balance mid-dance and knocking her into a marble table housing an antique lamp still on loan from Regina’s collection. It threatened to shatter on the hardwood floors, but Collins caught it just in time. In her hands, the ornate gold felt heavy and secure, encouraging her to tighten her grip. Panic still seized her heart, and her instincts told her to hold the lamp closer and use it as a weapon against the unknown attacker.

Antique lamp in hand, Collins spun around to see who was at the door and felt a flush of relief.

Liam.

Collins’ cheeks colored bright red as she realized her mistake and lessened her grip on the make-shift weapon, and Liam resisted the urge to crack a laugh at his fiancé. Every day, Liam just wanted to watch Collins. Even after their engagement, he recognized his need for propriety in public, but oh how he wanted to look at her. It wasn’t just her beauty or her aura. He wanted to see her react and see the world through her eyes. But tonight, he wished she could have seen through his instead if only for the comical sight of his fierce fiancé blushing and holding that lamp.

In the dim lighting of the queen’s office, Collins stood like a warrior ready to pounce on the new intruder. Her weapon of choice was a golden lamp that was already too elegant and old to serve as a light, let alone a defense. Her armor was a pair of silk pajamas wrinkled by her sleepless night, and her footwear was a pair of heels far too stunning to be reserved for sleeping. Her chosen form of fighting? Solo-Waltz.

There was a moment of sadness that passed over Liam as he waited for her lower her defense, cautiously returning the lamp to its original position. She’s scared, he thought to himself, But – of course- she has every reason to be.

“What are you doing here?” Collins smoothed her pajamas as she assessed the compromising position her fiancé witnessed, “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Liam smirked, stepping further inside and closing the study door behind him.

He didn’t know how to tell her about the phone call from Mara detailing Collins’ location and admitting that she was worried about the duchess – that everyone was worried about her. Liam expected the wedding to take a toll on her. As joyous as the occasion was, the pressure was unbearable, even for the unbreakable woman. Cracks began to show in her smiling façade as the wedding approached, and even though she’d never say it, Liam knew she needed him.

“I’m… working on…” Collins struggled with her excuse, quickly scanning the documents on her desk, “The, um, importance and impact of EU integration on the region… and….” Collins blurted out the next item she saw, “The lunch special at China Wok!”

The words had hardly left Collins’ mouth before she realized what she’d just said, and she grimaced. So much for seeming normal…

“Ahh, yes, the China Wok lunch special. I’ve spent many afternoons working on the very issue,” Liam assured her, stepping closer with that devilish grin that turned her insides to mush, “They underfill the egg rolls.”

Collins blushed until she was practically a strawberry, shaking her head in a silent reprimand.

Liam’s hands settled on either arm, massaging her tense shoulders as he willed her to look at him. Staring into those green eyes, Liam’s heart stopped. He knew that look… He’d seen it far too much for their brief time spent together. If he’d learned anything about her in the last year, it was that look. The first time he saw it was the night of his coronation when he proposed to Madeleine, and it still haunted his nightmares.

Tears welled in Collins’ eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks, and they both knew it had nothing to do with her faux pas.  

“Hey,” Liam whispered. He raised his hand to her cheek, running his thumb along her skin, and she leaned further into his touch. With her eyes closed, she allowed herself to sink into the comfort of his presence.

Collins considered telling him everything, divulging all her fears – the wedding, messing up on the world stage, the threats against them, all of it. But then something primal gripped her heart and stopped the words desperate to be released. Instead, she opened her eyes and gave him that brave face of hers.

“It’s my shoes,” Collins’ laugh rang hollow as she wiped the tears from her cheeks, “I impulsively bought them for the wedding, and now, I’m afraid they can’t stand up to the job.”

A sinking disappointment sat on Liam’s chest. He knew she wasn’t really here for a pair of shoes. The stiletto pumps on her feet were a scapegoat for something much deeper, something too raw to share. There was so much brewing in her green eyes, and he wished to share it with her.

But he didn’t push. He told himself it was because he loved her too much to make her unhappy, but just like her, he harbored unvoiced fears. She’d been through hell for him, and he watched her triumph every trial and tribulation. Yet… the dark corners in his mind told him that it was only a matter of time. Just like Leo’s mother, she’d realize marrying into the Cordonian monarchy was a terrible mistake, and she’d free herself from the burdens. Liam loved Collins so much, more than he knew he could ever love anyone, and if she left… No, he didn’t let himself think about that.

“Well,” Liam’s breath was close enough to warm Collins’ skin, and there was a glimmer of pure happiness in the smile gave him, “You won’t be dancing by yourself at our wedding, so if you want to test them, you shouldn’t dance by yourself tonight.”

As he playfully bowed and offered his hand to his fiancé, he prayed that she saw his true meaning. She wasn’t alone, even if she felt like it.

Stifling a laugh, Collins bowed to her king and accepted his proposal, “I’d be honored.”

Together, they assumed the beginning position of the waltz, and they allowed the faint music to carry them through the dance. Their graceful movements effortlessly fell into sync, and they fit like two puzzle pieces that had spent their entire lives searching for each other. They were lazy with their posture, abandoning the traditionally straight spines to melt into the other. They were reassured by the familiarity and the warmth, and a comfortable silence ensued.

And in that comfort, the words buried in Collins’ mind were unshackled and pressed on her mind for release.

A timid whisper broke their silence, “I’m afraid.”

Liam stopped his gentle sway to look down at her, moving her wild brown curls out of the way to see her, “Of what?” His heart stopped as he waited for an answer.

“The wedding,” Collins’ voice cracked, “I’m not like Madeleine, Liam. I haven’t been trained for this… When it was just a Cordonian affair, I could look at it like another ball, but with the international press? Liam, if I mess up… it’s not just me being embarrassed. It’s you, it’s Cordonia. If their queen can’t handle her own wedding, how can she be a monarch? Not to mention, I’ll be a joke before I even put on the crown.”

“Oh, Collins,” Liam placed his forehead against hers, “I don’t want you to be Madeleine -- or anyone else for that matter. You’re stronger than all of them put together. You earned your place here, and you know more than anyone that it wasn’t an easy climb,” a lump formed in Liam’s throat as he thought about all she’d been through, “Collins Alexander, you rose to every obstacle and exceeded every expectation. They could throw anything at you – lies, humiliation, and even the risk of death – and you kept going.”

Collins shook her head, biting her lower lip as her fiancé showered her in praise, “You’re making me sound like some hero, Liam. I’m just…” she trailed off, unsure how to classify herself anymore.

“You are a hero, Collins. You’re magnificent, miraculous…” Liam pushed her hair behind her ears, forcing her to look at him and urging her to listen, “If you can make Bertrand proud, you can do anything.”

Collins’ laugh was pure and warm as it filled the room, and it made Liam’s heart flutter.

“And what if your queen butchers some ancient Cordonian custom or has a few too many glasses of champagne and breaks out some bad dance moves at the wedding?” Collins insisted, looping her arms around his neck.

“Nice try.  In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve handled every bizarre Cordonian custom like a pro,” he smirked, “If the aristocracy can survive a Beaumont Bash, our reception will pale in comparison. You don’t need to be perfect, you just need to be you. The woman I love…” Liam’s eyes lit up, “The woman who makes me proud every single day. The woman I get to marry.”

The world seemed to light up as Collins’ smile radiated, and for a moment, everything seemed bright. They loved each other, so much that it burned within them.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Liam words were practically sunshine, bathing her in warmth and comfort.

And then, there was a cloudy sky.

The smile on Collins’ lips faded as her dreams seemed to crack in front of Liam’s eyes.

“What?” Liam’s hands were on either shoulder, holding her as he waited for the bomb to drop.

“I…” her voice cracked, “I just…”

And then the rain released.

Salty tears stained her cheeks. Emotion flooded every ounce of her body until it escaped through her eyes. The world was blurry and dim through her tainted vision, and her shoulders shook with the effort to pull herself together. It was too late. The floodgates were released, and she couldn’t bottle it up anymore.

“What if you’re not there?” the words burned and bruised her tongue, and the very thought felt like treason.

“Collins, I’ll always be there,” Liam’s desperation pelted her skin but made no dent in the pain she felt.

“But what if you’re not?” Collins’s ragged, breathy voice hurt his ears to hear, “What if they take you? What if I lose you, Liam? We survived this far, but that doesn’t mean it’s all over. Our wedding is a target, and I don’t know if I can do it… I can’t risk you. I… I…”

Collins fell into his welcoming arms, savoring the feel of his muscles rippling under his shirt. His heartbeat reminded her of his mortality, but it brought her comfort to hear it. Having him close was a double-edged sword. He was here now, but would he always be?

“Collins… I’ll never leave you- dead or alive. They can’t take you away from me. I won’t let them. Mara and Bastien won’t let them,” Liam’s voice had never been firmer, never more insistent. He’d never meant anything more in his life, “I will be at the end of that aisle, for you and with you. And I will be there for you every night for the rest of our lives. We’re in this together, no matter how messy it gets.”

Collins laced her fingers through Liam’s, squeezing with all her might. The way she looked at him that night was enough to brave it all. Truthfully, they should have run. They should have given up on their tragic romance and found stability in something else, but they had something so pure and rare that it defied logic. Only a fool would leave this.

“I love you, Liam, and I can’t wait to be your queen,” Collins poured her heart into her voice, and he felt the pain and fear being overwhelmed by the affection in her soul.

“You’re already my queen,” Liam admitted, his laugh breathy and honest, “You have been since the moment we met.”

“If you love me so much, you should probably marry me,” Collins teased.

Liam shook his head, hiding his laugh in the smirk that made her knees go weak, “Our wedding will be the best day of my life.”

“Me, too,” Collins squeezed his hand three times, one for every word she wanted to say, and the sincerity filled the room.

That night, they danced the rest of the world didn’t exist. They were lost in each other, freed from the dangers of reality and united by love. The world could do anything it wanted to them, but they’d always get back up and grow stronger.

And when their midnight waltz came to an end, they floated through the palace halls like they were walking through the clouds. Laughter and errant dance moves characterized their late night walk, and as they stopped at Collins’ suite, she gazed up at him like a perfect nights sky.

“After all that dancing, I could probably use a shower… It’d only be right to share one, for the environment of course,” Collins’ batted her long lashes at him, stepping so close that they’d touch with the rise and fall of their own breathing.

Liam’s hands tangled in her hair, his kiss a whisper on her lips. Passion oozed out of the gentle nature of the embrace, and a fire grew in Collins’ belly. Goosebumps prickled her skin as his touch spread to her bare arms and threatened to slip beneath her silk pajamas.

And just when she thought she had him, he pulled away.

Breathless and confused, Collins looked up at him like a deer in headlights, and the sight brought a snicker to his mouth.

“Goodnight, Collins Alexander.”

“Goodnight? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Collins was outraged, waiting for him to admit the joke and climb in her bed. It was one thing for propriety to separate them, but for Liam to do it, too? Unbelievable.

“A few more nights, and we’ll spend every night together,” Liam would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy this, even if it killed him to stay away. There was nothing quite like working her up like this, and it gave his ego a boost to see how much she wanted him.

“You can spend this night here,” Collins insisted, practically pouting.

Liam smirked, kissing her forehead, “You’re the one who wants to follow the rules for this wedding. Rule number one has me in my own bed.”

“I meant rules about dancing, not this!” Collins fumed as she watched her fiancé begin to walk down the hall, failing to suppress the smile on her lips.

“Goodnight, Collins Alexander.”

Tag List: @hopefulmoonobject , @writtenbycandy , @youwontlikewherewewillgo , @decisso , @topsyturvy-dream

#Liam x mc #king Liam x mc #mc x liam #trr #the royal romance #royal romance #pixelberry #liam x mc fanfiction #fanfiction #choices #choices fanfiction #choices story

[englishvisualnovels]

Anime Expo 2018: MangaGamer to Bring Lilycle Rainbow Stage!!!, Luckydog1, and More to the West

Note: This post contains links that may lead to NSFW content.

MangaGamer announced four titles for fans of the boys’ love, bishoujo, and yuri visual novel genres!

For those hoping for more otome game announcements from MangaGamer this year, do not fret! A fan present at the panel asked John “Kouryuu” Pickett, MangaGamer’s head translator and PR director, the following question (Source):

Attendee: "Any plans for future 18+ otome games?" Kouryuu: "Absolutely. The year isn't over. Wait and see what we've got in store."

According to MangaGamer’s 2018 convention schedule, the publisher will have a panel at Otakon this August and another panel at Anime NYC in November so stay tuned!

Lilycle Rainbow Stage!!! (Yuri)

Developer: Particle Release Date: TBA Platform: Windows Age Rating: All-Ages

Lilycycle Rainbow Stage!!! is based on a series of yuri drama CDs by Particle. The game features character designs and art by Sakura Miwabe, one of the illustrators for Fire Emblem Heroes.

The game will be available on MangaGamer and Steam.

Relevant Link:

Official Site

Synopsis:

Yuno loves Tamaki’s smile, and wants to her witness her dreams coming true.... though having not seen much of Tamaki lately, Yuno’s been feeling somewhat down. She depends on Saeka a lot, and since the latter always comforts her in times of need, Yuno can feels as though she can talk about her problems without a care in the world.

Tamaki wishes with all her might that she could keep watching over Yuno, who’s always been number one in her heart... but the circumstances around her are changing, little by little. It's not only one girl she has to keep watch over now, after all. Saeka has always been dependable and supportive, and Tamaki's has begun to feel confused...

“Sigh... Looks like she always needs someone by her side too...”

Saeka still has a crush on Yuno, but has been enraptured by Tamaki's aura, and finds that she can’t leave her alone. Recently, she's been mulling over whether or not she wants to try and change the way she is...

As they chat, grow closer, become jealous, get embarrassed, and laugh...

The crisscrossing emotions of these three girls allow this warm yet slightly bitter story to unfold...

Luckydog1 (Boys’ Love)

Developer: Tennenouji Release Date: TBA Platforms: Windows, Mac, & Linux Age Rating: 18+

Luckydog1 features writing by Jinnai, the director of Fashioning Little Miss Lonesome, as well as art and planning by Yura. Yura was the lead artist and director for Absolute Obedience and Enzai - Falsely Accused.

The game will be available on MangaGamer.

Relevant Link:

Official Site

Synopsis:

It all starts with the slam of a prison door. Four captains from the same Mafia family, the CR:5, are taken out in one fell swoop and left to rot behind bars.

Lucky for them, our hero’s already there.

Gian’s just a run-of-the-mill wiseguy, passing his time doing petty jobs for the family when he’s on the outside and living the lazy life when he’s in the slammer. But those easy days come to an end when he gets word from the boss: if he can break the captains out, Gian will earn a spot at the top of the hierarchy.

Can he pull off a job this big, or is it more than even Gian’s fabled good luck can manage?

Rance IX: The Helmanian Revolution (Bishoujo)

Developer: Alicesoft Release Date: TBA Platform: Windows Age Rating: 18+ 

As of July 7th, Rance IX: The Helmanian Revolution is “close to done” with the translation. However, MangaGamer will not release the game before they release Sengoku Rance or Rance Quest MAGNUM. (Source)

The game will be available on MangaGamer.

Relevant Link:

Official Site

Synopsis:

The oldest nation to still exist on the Continent is the militant Helmanian Empire. A country with a long history, and once the most powerful nation in the world, Helman has experienced years of decay under a corrupt regime. A civil war, an invasion by a neighboring power, or perhaps both could happen at any moment. Amidst fears of such turmoil by no small portion of the population, a man who was once exiled from Helman rises to action.

Years prior, Prince Patton Misnarge fought to prove his worth by invading another country, but failed and disappeared from the public eye. Swearing to take his country back, Patton trained and returned a strong and admirable man. He sought to make use of the peerless champion he met on his journeys to fight to revolutionize Helman. Yes, the key to his plan was to get the assistance of the strongest and most brutal warrior, Rance.

Rance X: Showdown (Bishoujo)

Developer: Alicesoft Release Date: TBA Platform: Windows Age Rating: 18+

Rance X: Showdown is the final title in the Rance visual novel/RPG series.

As of July 7th, no localization work has been done for Rance X. Like Rance IX, MangaGamer will not release Rance X before they release Sengoku Rance or Rance Quest MAGNUM. (Source)

The game will be available on MangaGamer.

Relevant Link:

Official Site

Synopsis:

Humans and monsters shared the Continent in a delicate balance for over a thousand years, but it all came crashing down.

The most powerful fiend, Kayblis, seized power over the Monster Realm and led a colossal army on an invasion of the Human Realm. Unable to stop quarreling amongst themselves, the human nations were trampled.

Two weeks after the war began, the death toll for humanity reached approximately 12,000,000.

Yet mankind still couldn't unite, and the turmoil between the world's leaders continued. Just as the demise of humanity, the worst case scenario, weighed heavy on everyone's minds...

"Everyone should just work for me. I'll crush that Monster Army no problem."

It was Rance, back from an adventure with his companion, Sill.

There was an uproar among the world leaders:

The Kingdom of Leazas's Queen, Lia Parapara Leazas. The Kingdom of Zeth's Viceroy, Magic the Gandhi. The Republic of Helman's President, Sheila Helman. The Free City Alliance's Representative, Copandon Dot. The eastern island of Nippon's Lord, Kou Oda. The world's largest religion, Alicism's Pope, Crook Mofus.

...And they were also Rance's women, so they all agreed. Rance became humanity's supreme leader, and their final hope.

Over 6000 years a minuscule creature called Kayblis fought and slaughtered his way to the very top of the Monster Realm. A conceited man named Rance who declares all woman to be his lived a carefree life and found his way to the top of the Human Realm. Both men put the survival of their entire race on the line in an inescapable struggle to the death.

#lilycle rainbow stage!!! #luckydog1 #rance #alicesoft #tennenouji #particle #mangagamer #bishoujo #boys love #yuri #rating: all ages #rating: 18 #indie #anime expo #event

[exilevilifyrp]

                                          file: introduction

full name: cairo age: 46 identifies with: terraform by novo amor & ed tullett genesis: synthetic gender: cisfemale (she/her) portrayal: lucy liu

                                                                        file: biography

Her memories come in two types, now.

First are from Before, and these are hiccupy, loud things full of gunpowder and the whistle of mortar shells overhead. These are the ones that tear into her like iron hooks. These are the ones that  threaten to swallow her whole.

Secondly come the new ones, and these ones come in droves, are energetic and plentiful and full of stars. She holds them close, half because she wants to; half because she doesn’t know where to put them all down.

I. IN A FLOWERLESS WORLD, SHE STILL WANTED TO BE A BOTANIST.

Hers was a family of scholars, studying in a planet full of cosmic businessmen, made of glory and gold and the intergalactic bourgeoisie. How was anyone supposed to take it all in? Cairo tried — her youth was a flurry of colors and smells and unplaceable languages that dissolved into fluency on her tongue. The Harbor of Wrotham was a faultless place to raise a child, and Cairo took every opportunity she was given. Like ivy, she grew wherever she could, even if there was no sunshine, water, or room. During the day, she’d attend school alongside rows and rows of children just like her, with smooth skin and eager eyes and a predisposition for prodigy. In the evenings, she’d immerse herself in articles from all branches of research, but eventually she favored biology above all others. She lived in a clockwork world smothered in machines and electricity, which was all good fun, but there was an unseen mystery to the way a seed made a tree. Scientists worked so diligently to preserve life; she was fascinated by its origin.

For the next several years, Cairo devoted herself to cataloguing and studying flora. Sometimes that meant traversing City Park for the hundredth time. Sometimes that meant locking herself away to reread phytology records from neighboring planets. As she grew, Cairo enchanted her teachers, who relayed their esteem to her parents. Cairo was in turn showered with praise. She was doing all of the right things. A perfect cog in a flawless system; what could go wrong?

Well. Everything.

The military’s public notice calling for able-bodied youth didn’t come necessarily as a surprise, but it certainly shook Cairo’s closest communities. It certainly caused a disturbance. Reactions varied vastly, from skepticism to denial. Cairo followed her parents’ assessment of the situation and never paused her studies to sit with the gravity of the situation. They were rich. Why fight when there were civilians whose lives mattered not half as much as their own? War wasn’t so intimidating on her IBA screen. Everything was distant, as it should be. She had more important things to attend. And then the draft came down like slitting a throat. Just as fast. Just as finite. And Cairo was stripped away from everything she knew without so much as a warning. There was hardly time for goodbyes; just a heavy duffel bag and stunned silence.

II. TIME FOR LIVING. TIME FOR COLD STUFF.  

Guns were heavy in her hands. She was informed that they would be. All of the others were thick-chested and burly, but she had no history with this sort of thing. The pats on her back felt like slaps, and words of exchanged camaraderie, choked with slang, meant nonsense in her ears. At first, the training was agony. She wasn’t used to athleticism, definitely not the kind that moulded her shoulders at the expense of tears. Her legs were screaming by day one, and sweat seemed to perpetually shine from her like a second layer of disgusting skin. When Cairo wasn’t aching for one reason, she was aching for the next. The others glanced wordlessly at the notes from home that she kept stuffed in her knapsack, but that was okay. She didn’t need them to speak to understand what they were thinking. She was thinking it too.

She wouldn’t survive a week in this place.

First, Cairo hated the world. Then she hated the Confederation. And then she hated herself. Her regiment was only a scout group, which meant they were never supposed to face real danger, which meant she wasn’t going to die, which meant she might even live. But she would soon learn that despite what she’d been taught her whole life, she was dispensable. Such was the case for other soldiers who couldn’t continue — whose legs caved, whose ankles broke, whose feet rotted in their boots. People left and were replaced. She wasn’t special. Before her eyes, her regiment metamorphosed. The weak were exchanged for better, stronger soldiers — soldiers who were familiar with whips on their backs and looking down the scope of an enemy’s rifle. Everyone brought something, be it brutish strength, inhuman speed, or an affinity for mechanics. Cairo, well. She knew how to work the portable stovetop.

As time dragged on, Cairo fell into a pattern. During the days, she would steel herself. She would bite her lip and carry her life on her shoulders and move. During the nights, she would cry hot tears, someone would say shut up, and she’d begin again in the morning. Later, many years later, her parents’ letters stopped coming, and so did her tears. Against her instincts, or maybe because of them, Cairo changed.

Some people would command respect by raising their voice, by throwing their fist against a wall, or another person. Cairo achieved the same effect by freezing, by doing absolutely nothing. Severity radiated off of her. When she walked, her face was unchangeable. When she spoke, however briefly, people listened. The only part of her that remained the same was her affinity for learning. The new soldiers taught her many things: the taste of dirt, the feeling of pain, and how to kill. All standard. When exactly her regiment evolved into an armed battalion, Cairo wasn’t sure, nor did she particularly care. The first time she shot a target, it surprised her how easy it was. It wasn’t more difficult the second time, or the third, or the fourth. It surprised her how easy it was to lose count. Cairo, against herself, grew accustomed to the gore of it all. Seeing corpses on the street wasn’t uncommon. Using her knowledge of botany — which seemed unimportant now — to identify edible plants, wasn’t unheard of either. Hungry stomachs and hurting hearts turned to her for tea leaves or stew. Cairo became known as the woman who could make something from nothing.

III. MY INSIDES SHIFT, AND ADJUST, AND I TRY AGAIN.

One ordinary day, right before sunset, Cairo stepped on a landmine and was ripped apart in a fountain of earth. There was no flash of light; just an ear-splitting sound followed by excruciating pain and nothingness.

Her story should have ended there. In many nights to follow, Cairo would have greatly preferred that it had ended there. Alas.

The pain of resurrection was unlike anything Cairo could fathom. She came back to life in a series of fizzes and hums and the face of a surgeon looking over her. This was supposed to be a reward. Appreciation for her service. Given everything that Cairo knew about synthetics then, it made sense that she would be grateful. But a small thought nudged her brain, and it had the same voice as her girlhood. “Wait,” it said. “I didn’t ask for this.”

The next step, the Confederation informed her, was rehabilitation, but her new form made all of the difference to her family. Her father just stared in awe; her mother wept with guilt. They’d abandoned her, and when she returned, they were unworthy. Cairo never said that. They did.

                                                                      file: known associates

VETRA RAGNOS - there are few broken people that you shy away from, few you can tear your emotions away from long enough to do anything but nurture them. but, vetra stirs feelings in you of annoyance and unpleasantness you can’t make disappear. you try to blame it on pity you feel for a poor broken thing, but even you aren’t too foolish to actually believe that. you just don’t like them for reasons you can’t explain, and the feeling, unfamiliar and unwelcome, doesn’t sit well on your stomach. 

                                                                  THIS CHARACTER IS UNAVAILABLE.

#closed #all #synthetic #cairo

[thatishogwash]

I’d Follow You Anywhere

A/N: Slowly getting around to posting all the stories that seem to keep piling up in my folder. The number of “Untitled Document”s I have is ridiculous.

AO3 Kuroo is naked and tied to a street lamp.  Well, he’s  mostly naked, apparently his oh-so-kind, psychotic kidnappers decided that taking his grimy, dirty underwear was just one step too far in their plan to use him as bait.  Honestly if that had happened a decade ago, Kuroo wouldn’t even say this was the worst thing that had happened to him.  He was in the middle of Tokyo so someone would eventually cut him down and the worst-case-scenario would be to have his mostly-naked body posted all over the internet and maybe he’d be taken in for public indecency.

Except it’s not a decade prior, it’s now and now means the fucking apocalypse is happening.  Has happened.  The world has already gone to shit and Kuroo had been taken in by some post-apocalyptic bullshit gang who decided to string him up to a light post in the middle of a zombie-infested Tokyo to try and capture the rest of his people.

It was that last thought that had him struggling at his restraints until he was out of breath and hurting from where the rope had dug into his exposed skin.  He needs to get out, and only partly because it’s only a matter of time before a hoard of the undead come ambling down towards him and he can’t even defend himself.  Mostly he needs to get out because if his people do see him, despite the fact that he sacrificed himself- let himself be run down and captured so they’d have time to escape, they would walk right into the trap to try and rescue him and then they’d all be fucked.

Kuroo pulled and pushed against the ropes before his whole body froze and his head cocked to the side.  Subconsciously he wass attuned to every spare noise because the street had been dead silent since he was strung up to the light post.  He knew that the psychotic assholes are somewhere in the surrounding buildings, waiting and watching but he wondered what would happen if zombies got to him before someone living did.

Kuroo turned his head, his heart pounding wildly in his ears, a whimper caught in his throat.

Something down the street, around the corner and out of sight was making noise.  A soft thud, followed by a long draaaag and Kuroo was pulling at the restraints, trying not to make any noise even though he wanted to sob.

Thud. Draaag.

The reason Kuroo refers to them as zombies, besides the fact that they are zombies, is because it dehumanizes them and lets him detach from the situation.  Zombies brought up memories of video games and bad B-rated horror movies with even worse subtitles.  Zombies were dumb and slow and easily shot down with one clean shot through the head.

Thud. Draaag.

Kuroo had never shot a gun in his life.  His aim was terrible and his hands trembled so badly that he always handed over a gun to someone more capable.  Guns were practically useless though, they were so loud and the one thing that was sure to draw the undead was a loud noise.  Not to mention it wasn’t exactly easy to come across guns either, let alone find or keep ammunition.  Also guns backfire and discharge incorrectly if they aren’t cared for properly, which is never anything they show in tv shows.  Guns are useless.

Thud. Draaag.

Where there was one zombie, there were more.  They congregate together, just like most alive humans do.  Before everything went radio silent there were a lot of studies conducted about that phenomenon.  Some said it was just natural, others arguing it was a basic human trait and somewhere inside the undead, there was the same building blocks of humanity that existed in alive people.

Thud.  Draaag.

Kuroo stopped caring about who the zombies were before they became zombies a long time ago.  Letting yourself believe that zombies could one day be rehabilitated was a one way trip to crazy down, and Kuroo had enough to be crazy about.  Like the fact that it wasn’t just zombies hunting people, but other people too.  Those who had shed all sense of morals and humanity and hunted people down.

Thud. Draaag.

Like the assholes who had cornered Kuroo’s group.  They had stripped Kuroo of all his supplies, his clothes, even his socks.  They had jeered and roughed him up, spat on him, treated him lesser and Kuroo hated those people more than the zombies.  Zombies, to Kuroo, completely lacked all humanity.  Their only thought was to feed.  The jackwads who tied Kuroo to the light post, they had no such excuse, they knew what they were doing was wrong but they just didn’t care.

Thud. Draaag.

Kuroo eyes were wide, he knows he hasn’t blinked in a while because they are burning and hurt but he stares as the creature- the zombie, the undead- whatever the fuck you want to call it, stumbled around the corner of the street.  His- her- it’s leg ends in a stump where it’s foot should be, the dull thud is bone hitting concrete, the drag because the leg is broken somewhere near the knee.

Kuroo was hyperventilating, his lungs hurt and he was trying not to make any noise but he couldn’t stop the complete and utter panic crawling up his throat because it was one thing to see a zombie down the street and know you have time to run, to run as fast and as far as you can because where there’s one-

There’s two.  The second is crawling, fucking crawling because its legs are gone.

Zombies are terrifying, a mixture of human and horror that makes something twist in the gut at the complete wrongness of it all.  Kuroo had always hightailed it out of there whenever he spotted one, but he was tied to a fucking lamp post and he couldn’t move or breathe properly and-

Three.  Three zombies.  They hadn’t noticed him yet, eyes probably rotted out but it was only a matter of time.  Kuroo wanted to scream and fight and tear his restraints away but he couldn’t make any noise.  Some stupid part of him still believed he could escape this, still find his way out if he just stopped and thought and used his brain because he wass so fucking clever but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t think, and his brain felt as useless as a zombie brain.

Something crashed  around the corner and the zombies were suddenly gone, crawling and dragging dead broken limbs back where they came from to chase after the noise and Kuroo’s hung his head and felt, for the first time, the wetness on his own face.

Tears and snot and spit mix.  Kuroo felt his chest stutter as he tried to regulate his breathing, tried to gain some semblance of control but then something was sliding past his legs, the little gray-blue canister made a soft whistle sound before smoke was pouring out of it.

Kuroo fought harder against the restraints, eyes glancing fearfully at the corner where they zombies had disappeared. Someone had dropped a smoke bomb near him and it had made enough noise to echo down the silent street and the zombies couldn’t have gotten that far.  Smoke was filling up his vision, clogging up his throat and nose, tightening his lungs, but he refused to cough.  Refused to make any more noise as he struggled-

Something touched his hands and Kuroo had to fight back a sob, but before he could work himself up into a good panic, before he could think too much of zombies eating his fingers first and working their way to the rest of him, his hands are free.  Then his torso and Kuroo twisted around, looked down where a huddled black figure is quickly sawing away at the ropes tying his legs to the lamp post.

Kuroo heard shouts, from his captures, he’d know those voices anywhere.  There was a loud ear piercing screech that made Kuroo’s blood run cold as he stumbled out of the ropes as the knife cuts him free.  A hand around his wrist is pulling, tugging him and Kuroo was stumbling around as the screeching-yell is nearly upon them.

Every inch of Kuroo hurts, from the beating he had been given him to the constant struggle against the ropes to running on concrete with bare feet, but his fear keeps his legs pumping.  The dark figure, a man dressed all in black, is tugging him this way and that way, peering around corners quickly before leading him through a maze of streets and back alleys.

Sometimes when Kuroo’s adrenaline runs high and for too long, when there’s not enough food in his stomach and too many endorphins running through his system and lack of sleep plays a key factor in that too, when all those things happen something switches in his brain.  He goes on autopilot, survival mode- whatever the term is.  Things seem to happen in a cutscene sort of way.

Running down alleys.

Broken glass cutting his foot.

A strong, firm grip on his wrist.

Heart pounding, lungs throbbing.

A sharp turn to the left.

Crouching low and slipping into a dark, dark space through a basement window quickly boarded up behind him.

A finger against his lips, hand back on his wrist and pulling him down, low.

Sitting in pitch blackness for hours, muscles screaming, stomach pitching painfully, sweat drying on his skin, cold shivers running up his back.

Then everything snaps back into focus as a soft light comes on.  A small candle that barely illuminates the space around it.  A heavy backpack being placed next to the light, a wide figure searching through the contents, small noises that feel like gunshots in the enclosed space.

“Thank you,” Kuroo says, his voice low and raspy and he’s not even ashamed that there are tears on his face again.  He doesn’t know this person, doesn’t know why he risked his life to save him.  He obviously knew that Kuroo had been bait in a trap, that there were zombies close by, but he still saved him.  For what purpose?  Do nice, decent people still exist in this shit stain of a world?  Kuroo didn’t know any of those answers, but his mother's voice is telling him to be polite, always thank someone for doing something for you.  She probably never imagined her son being saved in some nightmare postapocalyptic world by a figure dressed in black from zombies and psychotic human-hunters, but that’s all semantics.

“Your welcome.”  Kuroo is shocked by the voice, a deep trembling bass and the ring of amusement in the tone.  The ski mask is pulled off, and Kuroo squints into the low lighting, thankful that the man is leaning into it, trying to see the contents of his backpack.  He’s amazingly plain, was Kuroo’s first thought.  Shorter than Kuroo with wide shoulders, black short hair that was sticking up every which way because of the ski mask,  brown eyes, and dark skin.  His features are arranged nicely but plainly, Kuroo imagines he’d be a businessman if the world hadn’t gone to shit.  Just another Japanese man in a suit in the streets of Tokyo.  Instead of this post apocalyptic hero, and Kuroo thinks he’s a hero now, dressed in a black threadbare sweater with a black coat over, dirty, stained dark jeans tucked into black boots.

“I’m sorry?”  Kuroo asked, keeping his voice low when the man turned brown eyes onto him, obviously having just asked him a question.

“Sawamura Daichi.”  Sawamura said, a smile breaking out onto his face like he wasn’t at all offended that Kuroo, the stupid half-naked man he’d just rescued, had zoned out on him.

“Kuroo Tetsurou.”  Kuroo found himself saying after an awkwardly long pause, realizing the man- Sawamura Daichi, had just said his name.  “Thank you.”  Kuroo said again and wanted to hit himself.

“It’s okay, you’re in shock, give yourself a minute.”  Sawamura is holding out something and Kuroo takes it hesitantly.  “It’s gatorade, haven’t been able to find actual water in a while.”  Kuroo wants to cry again as he twists off the top, not even caring a bit if it’s poisoned, and forces himself to take small sips.  His throat and stomach cry out in pain after being denied for so long.

“Fuck me,” Kuroo says softly, so softly because it was dark and he was still terrified and stuck with a strange man who rescued him, but was still- well, a stranger.  But the stranger is chuckling then pressing a hand to his mouth, shoulders shaking as he bends over.  Kuroo doesn’t think it was weird for him to be laughing so hard, just thinks about how long Sawamura must have been alone, the only sound keeping him company is the screeching of the undead and the talks of human-hunters.

“Hungry?”  Kuroo gives Sawamura a look.

“You know, I’m actually quite stuffed from my caviar and- yes, fuck yes I am hungry.”  Kuroo can’t even finish his joke because his stomach is angry at him for denying food even the the 10 second joke.  Plus what if Sawamura takes offense?  He doesn’t have to share his food, he doesn’t have to do anything.  He saved Kuroo’s life, he can take off at any point, good deed of the day done and over with.

“It’s not much.”  Sawamura doesn’t get offended or put-off, he just chuckles and hands over a small pouch filled with dried fruit and different nuts.  “Uh- hopefully you aren’t allergic?”

“I don’t even care, bury me in them, this is the best thing I’ve tasted.”  Kuroo once again forces himself to go slow, even though his stomach clenches, wanting substinance now.

“Better than caviar?”  Sawamura asked, pulling a red box out of the bag and opening it.  Kuroo peers inside and isn’t exactly surprised at the makeshift first aid kit.

“Honestly, I bet anything would be better than caviar, sounds disgusting.”  Kuroo groans as his body protests loudly at moving in anyway, but Sawamura’s hands are firm and no-nonsense as he checks over all the cuts and bruises on Kuroo’s mostly exposed skin.  Kuroo is stunned into silence as he eats his little bag of treats and lets Sawamura patch and prod him.

“I think you have a cut- here?”  Sawamura is near his face and Kuroo had been trying to studiously ignore it.  Kuroo tries to think back on the punches and kicks and slaps he had received.

“Right temple?”  Kuroo remembers a kick there, blacking out for a moment, waking with something sticky and wet on the side of his face.  Kuroo’s hair is nearly shoulder length, too long and mostly knotted.  “Do you have some scissors in your magic bag?”

“No, but I have this.”  Sawamura pulls out a knife, long and sharp and Kuroo is flinching back at the close proximity.  Kuroo tries to reason that no one gives up their rations to another person just to kill them.

“Have at it.”  Kuroo deadpans, trying to control his rapidly beating heart that spikes in fear every time the knife comes close to him.  Sawamura tries his best to be gentle, Kuroo can tell that much but cutting hair with a knife, no matter how sharp, is not ideal.  There’s pulling and tugging and Kuroo’s got half a headache by the time Sawamura calls it quits.

“I cut my own hair but I never had to look at the end results.”  Sawamura’s lips are pressed together.  Kuroo gives him a dead eyed stare as he shoves more dried fruit into his mouth.  Sawamura lasts a whole 15 seconds before he’s bent over, chuckling again, hand pressed tightly against his mouth to muffle the sound.

“Rude.”  Kuroo said, but it’s hard to work up any sense of indignity towards the other man.  “How are you even real?”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”  Sawamura asked as he cleaned off the now revealed cut on Kuroo’s temple before moving back to his backpack.

“You risked your life for a stranger, you knew it was a trap- you probably made the noise that drove the zombies away.”  Now that his stomach actually had something in it, and he’d finally quenched his thirst, his mind seemed to be working properly.  Mostly he just wanted to curl up and sleep for the next decade or so until someone figured out how to knock some order back into the world or someone finally decides to just bomb the place.

“Yeah?”  Sawamura looks a little awkward for the first time, unsure as he squints over at Kuroo.

“People don’t do that, not now, not in this world.”  Kuroo stretched his legs, cringing as they protested the movement.

“I don’t know about that.”  Sawamura looked away, probably not seeing the basement they were in but something farther away, maybe something in his past.  “I saw you needed help, what other option was there?”  He shrugged, like it was that easy.  You see a half naked man tied to a lamp post, surrounding by zombies and human-hunters and obviously the only choice is to go save him.

“You could have left me, you risked a lot.”  Sawamura met Kuroo’s eyes, intense and focused and Kuroo swallowed suddenly because he saw a lot, he always had, and he saw how for Sawamura Daichi, there wasn’t any other option.  Sawamura would never walk away from someone who needed help, Kuroo wondered how the hell the man could be alone, or even alive in this world that chewed good people up and spat them out.

“Do you have anywhere to go?”  Sawamura asked before handing Kuroo a bundle of fabric.  Kuroo unrolled it to reveal a pair of black joggers and a blue henley, and he almost cried.  “I don’t have any spare shoes.”  Which was a big problem, both of them knew it.

“Thank you.”  Kuroo said as he slid on the clothes, his body clenching in protest once again at movement, but it was worth it as the warm fabric covered his battered body.  Sawamura was shorter than him, but wider, so the clothes fit well.  “No, I- there was a group I was part of, we were scavenging, I was on lookout.  They snuck- no, I was just exhausted and hungry and I let them get close.”

“I’m sorry.”  Sawamura said, and Kuroo felt like he meant it but he was getting the wrong impression.

“They got away, I created a distraction, the trap was probably meant for them.”  Kuroo explained, long fingers picking at the fabric covering his thighs.  “We never really had a destination, we’ve been- safe havens haven’t really been all that safe for us.  We were looking for supplies so we could get away from the city.”  The city had its numerous problems, but so did the country.  They had decided the take their shot at the country in the south.

“So you have a direction?”  Sawamura asked, settling back into a seated position.

“South.”  Kuroo shrugs, a self-deprecating smirk on his face.  Sawamura nods, looking up.

“That’s where I was heading, I was getting out of the city when I saw you.”  Sawamura sighed, rolling his neck until it cracked.  “I had to find a good place for us to hide, that’s why it took me so long to get to you.  We should hide out here for at least a day.”  Too many zombies attracted by the noise and gas, the hunters roaming the streets looking for them.  The basement is crowded and damp and smelly, but Kuroo relaxed against a stack of sagging boxes.

“You want me to come with you?”  Kuroo asked because he had to be sure, because he couldn’t get his hopes up.

“If you want, I know a place that’s safe if we can get to it.”  Sawamura rolled his shoulders.  Kuroo knew it was stupid to trust someone so quickly, to put all his hope and faith into someone he’d just met, but this was a new world.  Sawamura could have just left the city, travelled and gone south without risking life and limb to rescue a stranger.  He didn’t have to share his rations with him, didn’t have to use precious first aid equipment on him, but he did.  Sawamura did it all unthinkingly, as if there was no other choice, and Kuroo might be a fool for believing him, but he did.

“Where is it?”  Kuroo asked, even though his eyes were drooping and his body was demanding rest.

“Shizouka.”  Kuroo let out a disgruntled noise.  “I know, it’s going to be a long walk so rest up.  I’ll figure out how to get you some shoes.”  Kuroo curled onto his side.  He had grown use to sleeping on hard surfaces so a basement floor was really nothing, except it was cold and damp, but it still wasn’t the worst place he had slept.  Mostly Kuroo was thankful having someone else take the leadership reigns, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders, and he made a small promise to himself not to make Sawamura shoulder all the responsibility.

A day and a half later Kuroo had learned a lot about one Sawamura Daichi.  It’s hard not to learn a lot about another person when you’re stuck in a small enclosed space with them, fearing that any moment a zombie or a hunter will find you and you’ll die in a horrible, gruesome way.  Maybe it was that reason, that need for someone else to know you, to remember you when you ultimately die in the messed up nightmare land the world had become that made them open up in ways they normally wouldn’t have.

Sawamura was around 27 years old, it’s hard to keep the days or months or years straight, but he’s about the same age as Kuroo.  He went to high school and college near home because he lived with his grandparents and wanted to remain close to them.  The way he talked about them makes Kuroo believe they are no longer around, he partially hoped they had died of old age before the world went to shit.  He was exactly the Superman Kuroo believed he was at first, except maybe even better because Sawamura is a little introverted, a little cautious and shy and kind of a huge dork who enjoys Kuroo’s sarcastic, sometimes inappropriate sense of humor.

Sawamura was an only child, something him and Kuroo have in common.  He played volleyball in high school, another thing they share, and he thought his athletic reflexes have saved his life more than once.  He was kind and warm and deeply scarred, but somehow the horrible things that must have happened to him, that have happened to everyone, have just made him kinder instead of twisting him in horrible ways.

Kuroo also learned that the reason he was all the way in Tokyo was to gather much needed medical supplies.  Sawamura was with a small group, and they wanted to try to hit one of the hospitals in Tokyo.  It seemed like pure lunacy to Kuroo, the hospital they were aiming for were practically ground zero, but Sawamura had reasoned it meant most people wouldn’t try to gather the supplies there.  Their group had gotten attacked, split up, and Sawamura had been injured.  He didn’t want his group to risk themselves, so he had told them he had been bitten and they needed to go.

“My- the injury, it was bad.  Even if they somehow did manage to get to me-” Sawamura shrugged, head tilted back as he stared up at the dark ceiling.  “There’s no way I could have made it back home.  I turned off the walkie talkie and I guess- I waited to die?  Except I didn’t.”  Sawamura’s brow furrowed, his gaze meeting Kuroo’s for a moment before sliding away and Kuroo was sure there is more to the story, but he let it drop.  

“Lucky for me.”  Kuroo said to break the tension.  Sawamura smiles appreciatively.

“Lucky for you.”  Sawamura agreed.

Sawamura said he had seen a small outdoors store that should have boots, that it was better if he went alone because it was dangerous for Kuroo to be walking around without shoes on.  Everything he said made perfect sense to Kuroo, he agreed but also, his heart clenched tightly in his chest.  He wasn’t not a child anymore, he was well into his 20s and he shouldn’t feel this unearthly need to grab onto Sawamura and beg him not to go, or beg him to take him too.

“Here.”  Sawamura was pushing his backpack, full of his supplies and food and everything, into Kuroo’s side.  Kuroo’s fingers twist in the canvas fabric, his brows furrowing.  “Can’t go far without it, right?”  And Kuroo realizes the amount of trust he’s putting into Kuroo, and it was his way of saying he’ll be back.

Kuroo waited until Sawamura’s gone before he let himself cry.  He does it a lot, and he doesn’t even give a shit anymore.  He use to hide it, hold it in until he was in the safety of his room or the shower because it wasn’t okay for people to be overly emotional.  Kuroo’s always been an emotional bastard, and he had hidden it for years behind sarcastic smirks and pestering and jokes.  Then he became the leader of his little group of misfits, mostly by default, and he had to put on some stupid ass tough guy role.

Kuroo knew he was tough, he didn’t think crying lessened a person in anyway.  Anyone who had survived in this apocalyptic hellhole deserved to be able to cry whenever they damn well choose to.  So Kuroo buried his head against Sawamura’s backpack, resisting the urge to go through it and find out more things about his new companion.

What if he had a collection of ears strung together?

“There’s no collection of ears.”  Kuroo mumbled to himself, more so to hear something, anything than to really convince himself of anything.

Now that Kuroo was alone he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering.  He thought about his group, thinned out over the years with a few surprises and newcomers.  There were the two left over from the early days, Kenma and Yaku.  Shy, quiet, observant Kenma and strong, determined, and surly Yaku.  They had lost a lot together, and Kuroo is fiercely glad that Kenma still had Yaku, and the other way around.  Yaku could remind Kenma to eat properly, and Kenma was the only one left that Yaku would actually listen to when he says he needs to take a break.

Kuroo hoped Lev, the giant half-Russian mess of a man, isn’t giving those two too many problems.  He caused more issues than he solved, but he also took a knife for Yaku and that sort of action breeds loyalty.  Speaking of loyalty they still have Yamamoto, strong and fierce, willing to do the unspeakable to save others from guilt and shame.

Kuroo had just managed to stumble upon Bokuto too.  Their group had been even smaller.  Loud and obnoxious Bokuto, hardened slightly by the horrors he had to face.  Kuroo hadn’t seen him since their college days, before the world went to hell.  There was the dark haired Akaashi, quiet and observant who seemed to know just the right words to pull Bokuto out of one of his moods.  The last was quiet and mature Yukie, who had obviously played a big part in keeping the two men alive.

Kuroo did not let himself think about all those he had lost.  Except the more he didn’t think about it, the more his brain forced him too.  His mother, their apartment bloodied and torn apart with no sign of her trying to pack up.  Big, dependable Kai who had faced the worst death, surrounded by zombies and had died alone.  Almost completely silent Fukunaga, who had died of an infection, a smile on his face as he gripped Yamamoto’s hand, before asking him to make sure he didn’t come back as one of those things.  Energetic Inuoka, who had gone off with Shibayama to use the bathroom, whose screams Kuroo still heard in the dead of night.

“Kuroo?”  Sawamura’s voice was quiet in the darkness.  Kuroo pushed himself up off the backpack, not realizing when he had fallen asleep but his body ached so it must have been a while.

“Shoes?”  Kuroo asked instead of thanking Sawamura for coming back, for not leaving him behind and alone.  Sawamura produced not only a pair of boots that fit well, but also a cameo jacket that was a bit big but was comfortable and more importantly warm.  Kuroo doesn’t know which god to thank for creating Sawamura, let alone putting him in Kuroo’s path, but he silently thanks the ones he knows.

“We should rest up tonight, we’ll move out at first light.”  Kuroo makes fun of Sawamura for sounding so military, then asks him if he’s in the military.

“No, the place we’re going to is kind of run like the military.”  Sawamura settles next to Kuroo, legs stretched out.  “I know that sounds scary but it’s- it’s good, it’s safe.”  Kuroo wonders if it’s full of people like Sawamura, warm and kind and a little rough around the edges.

Kuroo puts on the boots, slowly ties them up as he considers where they are going before ultimately shrugging off any concerns.  He knew his own people were safe, he did all he could for them and he hoped they would come across each other.  Safe Havens have never been too safe for Kuroo but he thought he’d probably follow Sawamura anywhere.

#kurodai #my writing #fanfiction #kuroo tetsurou #sawamura daichi #haikyuu #and then they go and find the safe haven and everyone is there and everyone is happy and NO ONE DIES

[katamaran10]

THE CRONOGRAPH

On AO3 here

Summary: A slightly alternative telling in my AU of how things go after Will and Hannibal heal post-fall. Will takes charge and Hannibal has to deal with his newly realized murder husband’s determination to have his way in Spain. Character compliant but apparently not radiant enough. Probably the last piece I add to this fandom.

The Cronograph

 by Melusine10

PART ONE

“A Denial”

The only sign of Hannibal’s displeasure was a slight tick in his left eye.

Will sat in the shop’s foyer in an overstuffed armchair. It was seating undoubtedly placed there for impatient, antsy husbands like him. Iberian sunlight filtered through the large boutique window and it made his curls shine.

“The credit card,” Hannibal repeated.

Will pressed his lips together. He made no move to reach for his wallet. “I said,” he lowered his voice, “no.”

Hannibal plastered an affable half-smile on his face. “Forgive us, señor. Might we have just a moment to discuss the item?” The elderly shop owner nodded and disappeared into the store room, taking the tray displaying the vintage timepiece with him.

As soon as he was out of sight, Hannibal turned on his heel and his complacent mask evaporated. He wanted an explanation and he had no intention of waiting for it.

“I said we could look.” Will said. “You looked.”

“And now I wish to make a purchase. Give me the credit card. I won’t repeat myself again.”

“I should hope not,” Will shot back.

Hannibal searched his face, stunned to be defied. He quickly settled on a course of action. “Señor?” he called over his shoulder.

There was shuffling in the back and the man returned through a beaded partition. “Shall I fetch a box and bag?” he asked. He already had the sales book eagerly tucked under his arm.

“I believe we’ve decided to think on it. Such purchases should not be made in haste. I’m sure you will agree. Would you be so good as to hold the watch for us?”

The man obliged hesitantly, telling him he could only keep it off display for a week – and not a day more. Hannibal gave a curt bow and thanked him with flatteries that probably ensured he could get whatever he wanted in that store whenever he so chose, and probably at a slight discount. He then opened the shop door to usher Will out, his gentlemanly façade covering the seething rage roiling underneath.

Earlier that day, Hannibal had pointed out a café down a cobbled lane not far from the antique store. It had a view of the sea and was graced by a cool breeze that eased the summer heat. Had they not brought their quarrel along, it would have been a pleasant place to get a quick bite before the whole city shut down for the siesta hour.

Hannibal sipped his coffee in silence. Will perused the menu. The waitress returned and before he could say a word, Hannibal rattled off an order. Will set his menu card down slowly, realizing his input was neither wanted nor appreciated. He kept his mouth shut. The fact that his Spanish was far superior to Hannibal’s probably should not be flaunted at this stage in the argument. Hannibal botched several words and conjugations yet again, and the waitress was slightly confused before she parsed his meaning and scratched the order down on her notepad. How someone whose Italian was immaculate could not quickly pick up Spanish was beyond him.

Of all the things that had come to pass since they had met five years ago, the least of their problems was Hannibal’s crap español. His mother tongue was Baltic, after all, unrelated to any of the Latin romance languages. Will hadn’t learned much Lithuanian yet (his phrases were mostly confined to their bedroom) and it would be a cold day in Hell that he’d learn archaic Italian so he could read Dante to Hannibal after dinner. No, what fueled his anger was Hannibal’s unwavering pride and his imperious attitude.

The waitress looked expectantly at Will. Her eyes wandered over the tan skin of his chest peeking through the collar of his shirt. Will didn’t notice. He didn’t even know whose name was on the label when Hannibal had given it to him. He just wanted some god damned fried calamari and an ice cold beer, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen.

Will shook his head and declined to add anything. The waitress’ eyes drifted appreciatively over the obscene contours of his bare ankles, sockless in loafers. Hannibal cut her roving gaze short with a flick of the menu. “Gracias, señorita. That will be all.”

The food was predictably slow to arrive. Will avoided Hannibal’s stare and took a sudden interest in reading up on every football match reported in the daily newspaper “As”. He couldn’t give two flying fucks about how anyone was doing in La Liga, or the latest rankings in the English Premiere League, or any other sport for that matter. The only accompaniment to their deadly silence was the rustle of Will’s paper and a tinny radio from a window across the narrow street.

The meal arrived in a train of small plates. Will started scooping things out before Hannibal could begin to describe each dish. As he tucked into food, Hannibal told him about the particularities of the barbequed sardines he was shoveling into his mouth. He droned on about the cold pippirana salad and the origins of the porra antequerana set before them.

Will’s temper ratcheted up a notch with every bite and flourish of Hannibal’s hand. As if he hadn’t heard perfectly what had been ordered. As if he couldn’t determine his own preferences. As if he needed a history lesson every time he just wanted to fucking eat.

The two men were in a very dangerous state and it wasn’t even noon.

“How’s the 'tomato soupy' stuff here?” Will asked, letting a bit of the Louisiana drawl he hid so well slip out. “Looks good.” He was purposefully acting like the hick ignoramus Hannibal seemed to think he was. He pulled the bowl of porra across the table. The thick sauce was as red as blood. Hannibal narrowed his eyes at Will, but said nothing.

“Oh, so now it’s the silent treatment? Really? I would say I’m gutted to see you acting so childish, but in our case that metaphor strikes a little too close to home.” He chewed the dipped bread thoughtfully. “The porra antequerana is passable here,” he said in a perfect lilting accent, “but it needs more garlic, don’t you think?”

“You are an astonishing creature.”

Will sat back in his plastic wicker chair, gauging whether Hannibal might actually kill him for denying him something as stupid as a watch. He reached across the table and took his hand. “You need to exercise a little restraint. I don’t think that is too much to ask. You’ve ripped through nearly half a million dollars since we arrived in Europe.”

“Your point being?”

Will was speechless for a long moment. “I am trying to protect us,” he whispered. Even after surviving their injuries and escaping the country, he still felt like Jack Crawford or the whole of Interpol might pop out from around the corner. “Freddy Lounds made sure everyone found out that I filed divorce papers the same day I inherited your fortune. Murder Husbands indeed. If anybody at Quantico gets bored and decides to poke around in my bank records or if Freddy god damn Lounds somehow gets her sticky hands on them, they will immediately know something isn’t right. I have never spent money like this. I can’t even comprehend money like this!”

“We pay for almost everything in cash.”

“Yes! Massive sums of cash! Just like you did before. You think they’ll just shrug it off and say, ‘Welp, Graham sure is going wild in Europe!’ Your expensive tastes got you and me caught by Mason Verger. Your pattern was documented in your case files. Meditate on that for a minute.”

Will knew all this talk about finances infuriated Hannibal in part because it was simply not done among polite society. But that’s what married couples did and he was going to have to get used to it.

Hannibal touched the edges of his mouth with a cotton napkin. “There are hundreds of millions left and that is only the liquid assets. You haven’t even seen the jewelry collection Lady Murasaki’s bequeathed me. Her 19th century sets of Mikimoto pearls and any one of her Harry Winston rings alone would triple that amount overnight.” He haughtily pushed a stray bit of hair behind his ear. “I do understand, however, why you are so upset. Your youth was shadowed by grinding poverty, abandonment, and the rot of fetid bayous.”

“Takes one to know one,” he said through clenched teeth. Lost starving orphan, he wanted to say. Will would have kicked him over in his chair if they weren’t in public and then he probably would have done something terribly regrettable with his blunt dinner knife. Thank god they were in public.

This had gotten entirely out of hand. Why did everything have to elevate to crazed melodrama with Hannibal? They were both entirely cognizant that this was not a healthy or sane relationship, but they weren’t exactly great models for healthy practices and sanity themselves.

Yet neither could, or would, ever let go of the other. Never. Not during their worst days. Not when separated for years. Not even during a brutal eighty-nine foot drop into the Atlantic Ocean. Most thirsts rise and burn in demanding need, then fall away forgotten once sated. Between Hannibal and Will, that pressing desire and ever-rushing ache for more of each other could never be relieved. Obsession, addiction, passion, love…The words didn't matter. They had merged into a single organism that simply happened to live in two bodies. It made for a volatile combination but certainly kept things interesting, as today proved.

Hannibal leaned toward Will with a stern look. “Those scraping, hungry days of your childhood are in the past, dear boy. Look to the future. You are the Lecter family’s sole heir.” He crooked his head and paused to let his point sink in. “Act accordingly.'

PART TWO

“The Heir”

Eight months earlier…

After tirelessly searching the sea, the FBI and Coast Guard could not waste more resources to find a corpse. Jack Crawford, the longtime head of the Behavioral Science Unit, was forcibly retired for having set loose the most prolific serial killer of the modern age. Had Graham not pulled through, that would have been the third agent he had lost to Hannibal Lecter. His closest colleagues in the forensics lab, Price and Zeller, canceled the arrangements they had secretly been planning to celebrate Jack’s retirement later in the summer. Instead of a party, he was sent back to an empty home on a Friday, with no wife there to greet him. He had served his country with duty and honor for three decades. A part-time janitor pulled down his photographs from the FBI’s halls and dumped them into a file box. The executives upstairs wanted to erase any memory of their errors and insufficiencies.

Jack hadn’t been out of the bureau but a month when Hannibal Lecter was officially declared dead by the U.S government. He kicked in the screen of his own television when the report aired at six o’clock.

Miles away, in downtown Baltimore, Will was recuperating at the best research hospital in the city. He had awoken on a sand bar to the glare of flashlights and the shouts of EMTs. All he could remember was the loving look Hannibal had given him before Will threw them to their deaths. But he didn’t die. He was severely injured and almost all of it was his fault.

No one would talk to him about Hannibal. Had he be found? How badly was he hurt? Was he being treated in this hospital too? Was he arrested and in custody? Whose custody?

“Could someone please turn on the news!” he shouted in frustration. From his bed, there was not much he could do. He was tethered down with vines of IVs, a vile catheter, and plastered with heart monitor electrodes.

His primary nurse cracked the door one day. “You okay for a few visitors?” Hope blossomed in his chest for the first time in a month. She let in a man and woman clad in expensive wool suits. Will had never seen them before in his life. They sat down at the tiny table in the room without his invitation. Without even greeting him. He pulled himself upright, as far as his broken ribs would allow. “Well hello. Make yourselves comfortable,” he said. “Who the hell are you, by the way?”

Nurse Lisa had been so loyal and protective, running off psychiatrists hungry for fame and tabloid hounds hoping for an exclusive interview with him. She had even socked a paparazzo in the eye when he tried to break into his room to get a shot of him in his hospital gown mottled in purple and black bruises. Will could not fathom why she had let these two stooges into his private space.

The two visitors gave their names as if he should already know who they were. They shuffled through their sleek leather briefcases and pulled out a pile of papers. It took a moment for the woman to find the correct page.

“We apologize for bothering you during your convalescence, however it took quite a bit of convincing to get the FBI release the name of your hospital and locate you. We’ve tried numerous times to contact you by phone.”

Will clenched his eyes and hit the button for his pain medication. “My cell phone is at the bottom of the ocean after I was attacked by a serial killer and chucked off a cliff, in case you aren’t aware of why I am here.” The two looked each other. Clearly they weren’t familiar with Will’s particular brand of acerbic snappishness.

“Mr. Graham,” the man said. They both had overly sculpted helmets of hair that didn’t move. Will disliked them immediately. There was not a hint of sincerity radiating off of either of them. Lawyers, he realized. These were lawyers. “We have been apprised of the situation and everyone at the firm offers their deepest sympathies, truly.”

“My Dad died?” he cried.

“Ah, no, Mr. Graham. As far as we know he is fine.” Will flopped back in relief.

Nothing – absolutely nothing - could have prepared him for what she said next.

“We are here today because Count Hannibal Lecter made revisions to his will before his passing. We know you had a-” she searched for a diplomatic phrase “- a close relationship. We are so sorry for your loss.”

Time slowed to a creep. The title of nobility did not even register with him. All he heard was that Hannibal was dead and the syllables of his name lingered in the air like dust. A scream was caught in his throat. Will pitched over the side of the bed and vomited repeatedly.  

“Oh dear. Are you okay? Should I call the nurse?” Will motioned for her to continue. He was in shock.

The rest of the meeting felt like a terrible nightmare, far worse than any of his blood-soaked fever dreams. Surely he would wake up. Surely.

The lawyers kept saying Hannibal's beautiful name as they read through the legal documents. Will stretched and flailed to get his oxygen mask. He thought he was going to pass out.

“It’s quite simple,” the woman said. “Just sign here and we will take care of the rest - no fee, of course. We would recommend moving most of Count Lecter’s American holdings into the Cayman Island bank account he kept for tax purposes.” She held out a paper and Will shakily took the pen she offered.

He was desperate to get them to stop talking about Hannibal. He couldn’t abide the sound of those words coming out of these horrid people’s mouths. If they didn’t get out of his room immediately he was giving very serious thought of beating the hell out of them. When they finally took the hint Will smashed the call button for his nurse about twenty times too many.

She came in and saw the vomit on the floor and how badly he was shaking. “Oh my! What happened?"

His teeth were chattering so hard he could barely get out the words. “Sedate me.”

“Sugar, I’ll go get a doctor.”

“Sedate me, Lisa. Sedate me right now.” She glanced up at his heart rate monitor and his numbers were dangerously high.

She came back with a syringe and injected it into his IV port. He was out like a light in 10 seconds. Fussing with his wires and taking his temperature, she tucked him in and turned out the light.

<>

What transpired that day did not hit him until much, much later - and it would hit him hard.

Will had finally been released from the hospital and was searching online for an apartment that wasn’t completely shitty. The life he had tried to make with Molly in Maine was sadly done. Will buried the regret with bourbon. His Wolf Trap home had long been sold away and there was only so much he could take of his run-down motel room with paper-thin walls.

When the sedatives had worn off later on that ill-fated day, he called Molly immediately. “Hannibal died in the fall,” he choked out. “He left his entire estate to me.” The line was silent on the other end. He softly asked if they should divorce. She quickly agreed, now knowing there was a lotmore about Will’s association with Hannibal Lecter that he hadn’t told her.

“We used to work together,” he had told her. “Then I realized he was a serial killer and after a lot of hassle trying to catch him, I finally got him locked up where he deserves to be.” He shrugged, as if there was no more to say.

Will's excuse made zero sense when Hannibal sent a serial killer to take out Will’s new family – just her and her son. Then after Will’s accident, she got smart and started researching whatever she could find about the two online. There was a lot of trash to wade through, but a clearer picture started to form in her head. Will had remained friends with Hannibal long after he publically accused him of being a serial killer – and turned out to be absolutely right. They had been close. Very close. So close there was a lot of speculation that they had been lovers. In all the crime scene photos she found in old newspapers, they were always standing nearly shoulder to shoulder while everyone else did their jobs in the background.

Will vaguely mentioned going to Europe once in passing. He failed to mention it was to chase after Hannibal even though he had recently gutted him and killed a girl in a blowout fight where two other people were severely injured. Even more outrageous to learn was that they both had assumed custody rights over her. Like fathers. Who runs after a man who could do that? The fact that Will never let her touch the scar across his stomach in bed now seemed a lot less like not wanting her to focus on his body’s jagged imperfections and a whole lot more like he was protective of it. Like it wasn’t hers to touch.

Now hearing Will sob the news to her on the phone, Molly didn’t need to know any more. Nobody left their entire fortune to a man if he did not love him in some way or another.

After he hung up, Will asked Nurse Lisa if she could explain how to file the necessary paperwork to initiate divorce proceedings. She had been through it before and knew the drill.

“I’ll do you one better since you’ve been such a sweet patient. I’ll print the forms out, you can sign them, and I'll fax them over to the court clerk right now.”

The court hearing was blessedly quick and amicable. That a divorce should be easier than finding decent housing came as a surprise. But Will knew there shouldn't be anything surprising about how he'd let his life go horribly awry.

From the moment Hannibal had kneeled in surrender on Will’s driveway, snow glittering in his sleek hair, the two men already understood how they had just played their chess pieces. They were at a stalemate and the only one who could make the next move was Will. It was precisely why he refused to visit him during his incarceration. It was why Will hid Hannibal’s letters from his wife and cried in front of the hearth fire late at night and then burned them, never to send a reply. Will avoided the inevitable for three years, desperate to create a normalcy he could never achieve with so many monsters hidden within him. He truly didn’t know quite what would happen if he walked back into that Baltimore sanatorium. But Hannibal knew. He had bet everything on it. He believed Will had greatness within him - the sort of greatness only Hannibal and he could understand.

The guard pulled open the heavy mahogany door into Hannibal’s jail cell and Will’s throat went dry. Simply seeing him confined as a caged beast allowed the repressed murder inside him to the surface – the desire to look at death, to inhabit it through others' eyes, to commit it inside his incredible imagination. Hannibal turned and looked through the glass partition and saw straight through Will’s farcical life. Within minutes he pulled him apart, dissecting the lies Will had been telling himself. Then, with the slightest ribbon of a smile, Hannibal silently reminded Will that he was the only one who could put him back together.

If Will had been undecided before about whose side he was on, that Devil’s smile settled it the matter. He helped Hannibal escape. But disaster upon disaster followed subsequently. After their kill, their fall, losing Hannibal to the sea, his hospitalization, the divorce, after all of it, Will just wanted some peace and quiet. He composed an email inquiring about a studio apartment in a semi-dodgy part of town with tragic brown carpeting, but it was near a nice park for the dogs. The only thing he had asked of Molly was to have Buster and Winston back. He stopped typing mid-sentence. A new email popped up in his inbox.

Dear Mr. Graham:

While the paperwork has all been filed on your behalf and all the titles and land grants have been changed into your name, there is still the matter of transferring the numerous keys and bank access codes to you. Please inform us when you could stop by the firm at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

Sheridan and Cooper LLP

Will stumbled back from his computer and covered his mouth.

The sudden reminder was almost too much to bear. How he had managed to lock this in the basement of his memory palace for so long was a stunning psychological feat.

Hannibal had changed his will and left absolutely everything – even his castle and ancestral lands in Lithuania – to him. Will didn’t need a crummy apartment in a rough neighborhood. He needed to come to terms with a reality that was surreal. He now owned extravagant properties across the globe. The idea of moving into Hannibal’s Baltimore home was out of the question. He couldn't bear being that close to their shared memories. But there were other secret safe houses hidden behind layers of shell corporations and offshore banks. There was a grand pied-a-terre apartment in Paris. A villa in Tuscany. A stunning Meiji-era country home tucked in the Japanese mountains of Hokkaido.

Then there was the money. There was so, so much money. Will did not want to begin contemplating what absurd contents sat inside the many safety deposit boxes sprinkled at various banks. He had no idea what to do or where to go. He deleted the email for the apartment and paid another month for the motel, suspended in state of inertia. He had vainly hoped the heavy medications he needed for his injuries would dampen the heart-rending pain of this tragic gain from the loss of his greatest love and friend. They could not. Nothing could.

So, it was a hell of a surprise when Hannibal showed up one night, very much alive.

“You really should not mix those pills with alcohol, Will.”

Will’s eyes were wide as saucers and his tumbler of bourbon slipped from his hand and crashed on the floor. Hannibal had survived and was standing at the doorstep of his crappy motel.

PART THREE

In the café in Spain, Hannibal laid down his fork and knife, his appetite suddenly gone. His middle finger lingered over the tang of the knife blade, toggling it slowly on the placemat.

Though Will had just been mulling on a similar line of thought, he spoke up. “Please stop considering stabbing me with cheap cutlery and listen to what I am saying. Just wait until we get to Switzerland. I will route anything and everything you want to whatever account suits you and you can buy every Patek Phillipe watch ever made.”

“Tell me. How did it make you feel to deny me?”

Will ran a hand down his face. “I am only asking you for a little prudent patience.”

“Which thrilled you more? Wielding this middling power over me in front of that ancient clerk or knowing that in refusing, you were withholding my own birthright?”

“Your birthright is not a €30,000 chronograph!” Will hissed and slammed a fist on the table. Other patrons began to cut their eyes and whisper. Will looked up at the fluttering café canopy and breathed deeply, praying for strength. “Nothing we own is more precious than our freedom. Nothing is more precious to me than us. You’d risk it all for a little bling?”

“I wonder whether you experienced thoughts of doubt and hesitation when you bought your custom sailboat? It was quite the extravagance for a man who wears threadbare t-shirts.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Will huffed an incredulous laugh. “I suppose not. What ocean was I crossing? Where was I headed? Who was I trying to find?”

Hannibal looked past him to the waitress bending over, her skirt slightly too short. She was serving a table with a pitcher of the abominable cocktail called calimocho. Cheap wine and cola. Mixed. He shivered and had to look away.

“For your information,” Will spat, “I rigged and outfitted the Nola myself. I scraped and sanded and painted it every day for more than six months after you ran off to Italy to play curator and…whatever you were doing with Bedelia. If your refined senses approve of the Nola’s aesthetics, it isn’t because I bought it with my spotty consulting checks and measly teaching salary. It is beautiful because I crafted it with sweat and tools and time and skill.”

People were watching them now. This was exactly the sort of thing that would get Hannibal identified and caught.

Hannibal narrowed his incarnadine eyes and set his napkin on the tabletop. “I believe I shall head back to the hotel. The heat seems to be getting to me.” He rose and pulled out his money clip and considered the thick bundle of cash for a moment. Then he tossed it on the table at Will. Will’s jaw fell wide that he would do something so astonishingly rude. “I’d be obliged if you would settle the bill with when you are done.” He ducked under the scalloped lip of the restaurant’s awning and sauntered off down the street.

Will swore and hung his head in his hands.

Behind closed eyes, his imagination took over. He couldn’t stop it. He envisioned the nightmare that might await him at the hotel. The pale crème walls would be blood splattered, and not by the fine mist of cast-off which comes from a knife. No. These would be thick, gushing, arterial sprays erupting from his body. His bowels would be hanging from the ceiling fan, twisting like gory party streamers. There would be a hole where his heart was once seated and something greasy and gauche would be replaced inside to insure the insult was complete. He knew too well what a betrayal to Hannibal cost. Yet even thinking on this scene, he was fairly sure that Hannibal knew now to expect the exact same sort of reckoning from him.

The sound of water refilling his glass drew him out of his morbid thoughts.

“Honey?” said the waitress. “I don’t know what the problem is, but there’s not much a nice, heavy dinner and a good blowjob can’t fix.” She winked at him.

“My husband’s idea of a big dinner is more complicated than most.”

“He’s a fussy eater?”

Will grasped the arms of his chair and laughed ironically. “You have no idea.” He paid his bill and headed back up the hill to the antique shop, praying the man hadn’t closed it yet.

<>

Will unlocked the door to find their rented flat plunged in darkness. The heavy gold damask curtains had been drawn shut, blotting out the living room’s spectacular harbor view. Will slipped his shoes off and set the keys in the dish by the door. He put Hannibal’s money clip there as well.

From the bathroom he heard a slosh followed by the slow gurgling hiccups of the tub draining. Will took a seat in a chair with a direct line of sight to the bathroom door. Minutes dragged by as he waited. Hannibal emerged in a robe and glanced at the large bouquet of flowers laying across Will’s lap. He turned haughtily and dawdled, fussing with his clothes in the armoire and disappearing again to the far side of the bedroom. He must have been satisfied with the time he kept Will waiting, because he finally came into the parlor.

“I am sorry I upset you,” Will said. He held out the bouquet and Hannibal took it.

A small frown tugged at one corner of his mouth. “These are not from Astrid’s flower cart.”

Again Will needed to close his eyes and breathe deeply. “No. She was sold out and had already gone home. We’ll buy twice from her next time.” If his words placated Hannibal, he did not show it. He abandoned the bouquet on a walnut side table, still in its wrappings.

“Would you mind arranging them for us?”

Hannibal didn’t respond. He searched through the papers and notebooks on his desk, as if looking for something. As if Hannibal ever misplaced anything. The charade was ridiculous.

Apparently not locating whatever he was trying to ‘find’, Hannibal took the flowers to the sink in the kitchen. He slipped off the packaging and paused momentarily. Shaking his head, he set the small wrapped box tucked inside the bouquet on the counter and kept working, trimming the stems of the star lilies and violets at perfect angles.

“You aren’t going to open it?” Will asked.

“I have an idea of what is inside.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Drop the act and talk to me.”

Hannibal gritted his teeth. “I abhor it when you swear at me.”

“I know. But it does tend to get your attention. Do I have it now?”

“Apparently so.”

“When do I get my apology? You’ve shut me out over something trivial and it is intolerable.”

“If the point of your display earlier was to avoid an expense that might alert the authorities as you so claimed, your actions now would suggest otherwise.”

Will got up and wended his arms around Hannibal’s torso and pressed his face between his sculpted shoulder blades and sighed. Hannibal continued snipping at the flowers in the sink. “My signatures on your accounts are simply a formality that you yourself created as a contingency plan.”

“A plan in the event that you uneventfully killed me in my prime, say, by tossing us off a ledge and drowning me in the ocean. I’d hoped at least the guilt of receiving my wealth would haunt you long after I was gone.”

Will rolled his eyes. “You thought no such thing. You did it because you’ve loved me since the day you met me. Once we are able to shift the funds around under your aliases, this is not going to be an issue. I’m only trying to keep the FBI, Interpol, and every bounty hunter watching the Most Wanted list off your trail and not get myself incarcerated as well for aiding and abetting the most stubborn husband that ever lived. Please, Hannibal. I would never deny you anything just to be petty.”

Hannibal remained stiff, but he set the scissors down, which boded well for how this tiff would play out. Will would be seriously pissed if he got stabbed in a kitchen again.

Hannibal was not so easily mollified. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. How did it make you feel when you rejected my request to purchase something?”

“How did it make you feel?” Will retorted, hating when he resorted to psychology tricks.

He did not hesitate. “It was disorienting. Unfamiliar. I am rarely told ‘no’. You may have denied me yourself in the past, but you have been nothing but an indulgent partner since overcoming that particular hurdle. It helps that we are perhaps the wealthiest renegades in the world, so let us not squabble over vulgar financial matters. It is simply a strange and unexpected turn of events to now rely so greatly upon you.” Hannibal gave a ghost of a smile.

Will tried to decipher the human hieroglyph standing before him. “How would you prefer I handle this kind of thing in the future? he asked. “Assuming, of course, that you’re not going to paint this place red with my guts tonight.” Will left the counter for the large living room window and pushed the thick curtains aside.

“You were correct to intervene as you did.”

“Yes, but as usual, you still got exactly what you wanted.”

Hannibal placed the flowers in a vase and redid most of the greenery that came with it. He had chucked the baby’s breath into the trashcan the instant he saw it. “I hope you will continue to serve our best interests so diligently, Will.” He paused, thinking. “Most casual observers would assume that I was the ‘sugar daddy’ in this relationship.”

Will balked at his words. “Why…would…oh...”

“I take it you had not considered how our age difference might be perceived.”

Will laughed in embarrassment. “No, I hadn’t. I never think about it. And Hannibal?” He turned from the window and was wreathed in the violet, oranges, and pinks of the setting sun. “I never will.”

The radiant man had fully come into his own. The sight of his dear Will framed more beautifully than a Botticelli painting left him breathless. Will’s words left him stunned. He still could not predict him. “I am sorry for my behavior,” he said at last. Apologies were not common or easy for Hannibal.

Will nodded. “Now open your gift.” Hannibal went to the counter and pulled the black ribbon off the white box. He smiled when he saw what lay inside.

“There’s an inscription.”

He flipped the watch over.

For the man I will love until the end of time.

Hannibal’s eyes misted up. “I will cherish it always.” He hugged Will and kissed him hotly, tears now streaming down his face. “I love you, my darling.”

Will ran a hand over his cheek. “But if you don’t like it I can always get it changed to read “For my Sugar Daddy, forever.”

Hannibal burst out laughing and hid his face behind his hands, shaking his head. “My astonishing, rude boy. I think I’ll keep it as it is. Thank you.”

Finally they were smiling in their knowing, secretive way. They turned to watch the sun sink slowly into the sea, hand in hand. Only now, one of those wrists bore a very, very nice chronograph.     

#hannigram #hannibal fanfiction #will graham #hannibal lecter

[evolutionsvoid]

The Underworld is a fascinating place for a natural historian like me. Honestly, it should be fascinating to just about everyone! An entire world far below our roots, filled with all types of exotic flora and fauna. While many would be quick to see the Underworld as a place of rocks and barren stone, it is truly filled with a variety of ecosystems and habitats. While it remains miles below the surface, it shares some similarities with our world, but with an odd twist! They have forests, but they are made of fungi, not trees. They have rivers, but they run through flooded tunnels and stone tubes. They have a starry sky, but it is just glowing creatures that cling to the rocky ceilings. There are sometimes when you travel through the Underworld when you forget where you truly are! On the flipside, though, the Underworld faces some unique challenges. The lack of light is one of them, where many creatures have adapted to an eternal darkness. The demons and shades, though, have taken to using lightstones to illuminate their cities and aid in growing crops. Another is a multi-layered environment. Imagine what life would be like if us surface dwellers had to worry about the sky crashing down on us! Another, and this one is forgotten a lot, is that the Underworld is a closed system. While we have the sun and the open expanse of sky, the Underworld is restricted by its thick layers, many tunnels and intricate networks. While we can travel as the crow flies, demons and shades must navigate the hundreds of tubes and tunnels that connect everything together. That doesn't just apply to them either! Nutrients must follow these systems, as does water, air and, most importantly, waste. I do not mean to make this section seem gross or immature, but the subject of waste matter is incredibly important for the Underworld. The flow of nutrients is crucial for making its many ecosystems work. While we can rely on the plants to bring in new food and energy from the sun, those down below do not get these free lunches. All the food and nutrients they have down there is all they are ever going to get. So one cannot allow nutrients to go to waste or be forgotten. This applies directly to waste and any other excretions the fauna may create. Scavengers and coprophages are needed to consume these byproducts, so that the nutrients can be thrown back into the cycle. They also need to exist to keep the Underworld from being flooded by their own waste! Those who stick up their noses at those who feed on fecal matter should take a lesson from this entry, and see how important these creatures are to the ecosystem and world.

The reason I bring up this subject of waste and other nasty byproducts is because I wish to talk about Mound Roaches. These insects are the Underworlds 1# champ in waste cleanup and nutrient recycling. To even guess at how many of these insects exist in the Underworld is mind-boggling, as a single cavern may contain thousands of them at a time! While certainly plentiful, these heavy numbers are only seen in certain areas of the Underworld. Mainly where heavy numbers of bats, clingers and other ceiling dwellers live. From heavy populations comes heavy amounts of waste, and that is what Mound Roaches thrive on. In certain caves, the entire floor of the room may be covered in a lake of fecal matter, and the Mound Roaches are the fish who inhabit these foul ponds! Hundreds of them can be seen swarming across the surface, feeding on anything that is near their mandibles. The ones you see in such hordes are the males of the species. Male Mound Roaches only grow to the size of your thumb, staying at that size for the rest of their lives. The males make up most of their populations, as dozens of them can hatch from a single laying. The females are not as plentiful, but that is because of their impressive size! The ones I have seen have grown to the sizes of dogs! The large females dwarf the males, though the males have them beat by sheer numbers. The females primarily exist to lay eggs and spawn more brood. Since males live incredibly short lives, the female must churn out eggs constantly. They lay eggs pretty much every single day, releasing dozens of hungry larva each time! Though the Mound Roaches feed primarily on waste, they are opportunistic eaters who will devour anything that gets near them. Voracious in appetite, they will happily feed on fungus, plant matter, rotting matter and flesh. Though they can devour meat just as eagerly as fecal matter, they do not hunt. Instead, they merely wait for a meal to stumble into their feeding grounds and get bogged down by the filth. Ceiling dwellers who fall from their perches may survive the initial impact, but they must scramble out of the foul sea before they are devoured. When prey falls into their homes, the Mound Roaches swarm in an instant. The thrashing and flailing of the victim draws their attention, and they will come in droves. Sharp mandibles will slice through flesh, and a hungry horde can strip a full grown demon to the bone in just a few hours. Thankfully the victim won't live nearly that long! The one thing that is not consumed by the roaches is fresh bone. Bones are too tough for them to chew up, so they wait for other organisms to weaken it first. As the bone breaks down and decays, than they shall feast. Until then, Mound Roaches find these leftovers perfect for personal defense. Since the females are so few in numbers, they seek to protect themselves from predators. Building a mound of waste, the female shall perch herself on top, so that she can easily see everything around her. The pillar of waste is also great as an escape hatch, as she can dive into it to avoid the claws of a swooping predator. Adorning her mound will be bones of previous prey, which is waiting to be broken down. Until they rot, she shall use them as armor and deterrents, warding off predators with bony spikes and thick plates. These decorated mounds were once mistaken for a species of slime by surface dwellers a long time ago. Seeing a semi-liquid body with prey chunks sticking out of it, many assumed that they were related to the slimes. What further confused us was the fact that these mounds move! With the constant scrabbling of males, and the semi-solid state of fecal matter, the mounds of a female will slowly move its way around the area. The movements are quite subtle and slow, but with a sharp eye, you can see the columns slide about, as they are constantly forming and reforming. People didn't see the hiding female and assumed it was an actual slime! That is why you may see entries for the Ravenous Slime in certain ancient textbooks. It was a mistake by us silly surface dwellers! With their massive populations, Mound Roaches are a favorite food of many Underworld creatures. Predators who swoop from above or cling to the walls will pluck males from the muck and enjoy an endless buffet. Those who feed on them, though, should be careful! They could become food for the Mound Roaches instead if they fall in! Many have adapted ways to prey upon the roaches, who are practically infinite in their numbers. With that, the Mound Roaches sit as the foundation of the food web, bringing nutrients back into the cycle after it has been discarded.  

While many inhabitants feed upon the roaches, the demons and shades who live below do not. In fact, they are often the ones who feed the roaches! By that I do not mean that the roaches eat them, oh no no. They can, if given the chance. A clumsy demon or shade who falls in their hordes will be readily devoured without hesitation. It is not a pleasant way to go, and some clans have taken advantage of that. To disgrace their fallen enemies or captured warriors, kingdoms would throw their prisoners into pools of Mound Roaches. Not exactly a dignified way to go. This method of execution has mostly vanished (though some unwanted folk may seemingly "disappear" from time to time), and the demons feed the roaches in a completely different way. After all, when you live in a city made of rock and stone, where does all the waste go? Yes indeed, demons and shades use the Mound Roaches as waste disposal. 

Since dwellings are often stacked upon each other, personal latrines are not really a manageable thing. Instead, inhabitants dispose of their waste in specified pots. When these pots fill up, or when the scheduled emptying comes up, the inhabitant will take it to a "chute." "Chutes" are specially dug tunnels that are used to dispose of garbage and fecal matter. These small openings often lead downward, into a specially made cavern that is filled with Mound Roaches. Each chamber can have dozens of chutes leading into it, giving the Mound Roaches an endless rain of food! When cities are built, these chambers are the first to be made. No one wants to live in filth or catch diseases, so they make the "chutes" easily accessible and close by any major living areas. While most chutes are made solely for dumping chambers pots and throwing garbage out, some are turned into public latrines. These are usually found near marketplaces and public areas. They come in long rows, with many stalls being carved from the rock. Doors are fastened to these stalls, and inside is an elevated seat with a small hole that leads directly into a chute. If you were a demon or a shade, you would just park your tush on top and take care of business. The waste would fall away and that would be that! These stalls are quite convenient to have, though they aren't quite built for outsiders. The main thing is that demon and shade anatomy is greatly different from a dryads. I sure don't have legs that long! Also they don't do too much in sakes of decorating or personalizing. They do not have floor mats near the seats, which wouldn't be a problem if the ground wasn't solid rock. Really wears on the knees over time. Then again, how many times do you have a dryad visiting the Underworld? I guess I should bring my own mats if I find it so uncomfortable. The chutes are such a major staple of their homes and cities, that their name has cropped up in many different sayings. Doing a "chute run," is when you take your chamber pot out for dumping. Imps and young shades usually have "chute runs" on their chore list, something that they should perform every morning and night. The term "chute throat" is an insult for those who have bad breath, while "food for the chute" signifies worthlessness or that one is garbage. The word "chute" itself is synonymous for latrine or toilet. I have heard it dropped in casual conversation many times. "I gotta see a chute" is one I have heard a lot. "Time to run the chutes" is another. "I gotta take a chute," is not a common one, unless you are Valac. Heard that one a lot from him. You would think he would stop eating such big meals before excursions, but nope. I swear that by the time I get back to the surface, I am going to be saying that same phrase without thinking twice. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian

#cockroach #roach #insect #dung #monster #creature