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ddejavvu · 8 months

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Hi!! So I saw your post for Anakin request and I thought of one. Remember that scene where Anakin and Obi wan go in a club? So I was thinking that scene with Reader and Anakin seeing Reader getting hit on and his being a little jelly. Reader gotta remind him that its him that she wants

Debilitating Desire - Anakin Skywalker x Reader (18+)

Summary: Anakin doesn't handle jealousy well. When a sleazy patron of a bar you're investigating decides he's got the right to touch you, and Anakin can't react because your relationship is a secret, he has to save his outburst for later. Unfortunately, he's only able to make it a few steps down the street before he decides he needs you, right here, right now.

Contents/Warnings: jedi!reader, fem!reader, smut (minors dni), p in v, rough sex, biting, overstimulation, semi-public sex (they're in an alleyway), jealousy, reader gets grabbed by the wrist by a creepy guy </3, lots and lots of messy kisses, anakin's a little possessive but is anyone surprised

WC: 5.2K / navigation / inbox / send me anakin requests!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Scouting information from bartenders is next to impossible, but scouting it from their patrons is much easier. Loose-lipped drunks are your targets tonight, and you reconvene with Anakin to corroborate information after gathering intel.

"Okay, I've got a Twi'lek male," You start, and Anakin shakes his head.

"No, no, one of the men I talked to said he was Neimoidian."

"Someone else said Rodian," You groan, "Anakin, maybe we should be asking people who aren't drunk."

"Look around," The man before you scoffs, gesturing to the bar full of nothing but reeling, wobbly drunks, "No one here is sober but him."

"He doesn't have a translator on hand," You drawl, looking at the Ithorian bartender who purposefully 'forgets' his translator whenever someone tries questioning him, "And we don't either."

"We're not getting anywhere," Anakin concludes, a sour scowl on his face as he reaches for your waist to lead you out. "No one's sober, so let's just go, and-"

"I'm sober." A raspy, near-hoarse voice comes from a table nearby, and a hand catches your wrist. Your instinct is to reel back but you don't, even when Anakin's hand tries prying you away with its gloved grip on your waist.

It's a human speaking to you, as far as you can tell, and he's leaning back into the shadowy corner of the bar that he'd been occupying. You're not sure for how long, but if he knows anything about the incident you're trying to gather intel on, you'd like to hear it.

"How long have you been here, sir?" You question, tensing slightly when the man's hand stays firm around your wrist.

"Couple hours," He looks smug, knowing he's holding prized information from two Jedi, "Something you'd like to ask me?"

"You've been here for a couple hours and you're sober?" Anakin questions, pressing you harder into his side in his futile attempt to casually tear you away from the man, "I don't believe that."

"I can hold my liquor," The man boasts, voice far more harsh when addressing Anakin than yourself, "Among other things."

Anakin's had enough. He grabs your hand, stealing it away from the seedy man's grasp and scoffing something unintelligible at him. But you yank him back, a tense smile on your face as you tilt your head towards him urgently.

"I'd like to find out what he knows," You speak forcefully, leaving no room for argument even if Anakin is especially good at creating them.

He scowls at you with an intensity that would normally excite you, though you're not sure you're capable of any feeling other than creeped in the bar you're standing in now.

"You're welcome to go back to the transport if you'd like," You narrow your eyes at Anakin, and the man in the booth leans back smugly at the offer, "But I'm going to do my job."

"Yes, boy," The man disregards Anakin's hands clenching at his sides, "Go back to your ship. You're not needed."

"I'm fine here," Anakin snaps, and the second you sit down across from the man, his hands are on your shoulders as he stands behind you. He grips them tight but the gloved hand clenches just a little more into your skin, and the firm grip grounds you, keeping your voice steady when you speak.

"If you've been here for a couple of hours, you probably witnessed an unfortunate incident a little while ago, didn't you? A fight?"

"There's lots of fights here," The man hums, pretending to think on it, "Can you be more specific?"

"The victim had seven blaster wounds," Anakin seethes, hands only tightening in their grip on your shoulders, "You happen to hear seven blasts?"

"Eight." You mutter, pointing at a singed hole in the wall, "One missed."

"Ah, blaster fight," The man in front of you strokes a hand thoughtfully along his stubbled jaw, "Yeah, 'think I can remember something like that. Some incentive might help jog me a bit, though."

You're not sure whether he means money or sex, but you can't rule either out with the way he's staring. You'd have expected the modest Jedi robes you're wearing to deter any wandering eyes but evidently, some people can't be discouraged.

"We don't have any incentive to offer," You narrow your eyes at him, and Anakin takes over.

"Unless by incentive you mean your life. Tell us what you saw, or you'll envy the target of those blasts."

Your annoyance boils just beneath your skin at Anakin's threats, but you know he won't listen to your urgings to be more careful with his word choice. This man doesn't exactly seem like he'd file a formal complaint with the Jedi Council, but if word ever got around that Anakin was threatening unnecessary violence, you're sure it wouldn't go over well.

Despite Anakin's words having been nothing but a bluff, the man changes his tune when he notices the saber clipped to Anakin's belt, your own hidden beneath the edge of the table. He straightens in his seat, sighing in annoyance, "It was two Neimoidians. Dressed real fancy, stood out like sore thumbs in this place. They cornered some unlucky human over there," He points to the corner of the bar where the singe mark hangs over the cheap decor, "She tried to run, but a Rodian shot her down."

"One Rodian?" You ask, and the man nods.

"Hell of a shot." The man muses with a gnarled grin, and that only makes you more worried. Hell of a shot but he'd fired eight? Clearly they wanted this human - who you have good reason to believe was an undercover informant working against the Separatists - dead.

"The shooter and the Neimoidians were working together?" Anakin confirms, receiving another nod from the man opposite you.

"Thank you," You stand, and to your delight, Anakin's hands snake down your back, the strong, gloved one finding your waist again like a magnet.

"I'm here most nights," The man calls out before you can leave, and you turn to glance at him in disdain as he props his feet up onto the dingy table, "Love to see 'ya off duty, sweetheart."

"Go," Anakin spits against your ear, grip on your waist turning harsh. Your breath hitches and you let Anakin practically push you out of the bar and onto the streets, teeming with civilians until you duck into an alleyway three blocks down from the door.

You're immediately backed up against the wall of the building behind you, but you're too fired up to care as you glare at Anakin, "Don't start with me. Threatening him, Anakin? What if Obi-Wan found out?"

"Obi-Wan is going to be too busy tracking down those Neimoidians to care how we got it out of the guy," Anakin scoffs and the exasperated breath hits your face. His expression only darkens further at the mention of the older man, "That's not the point. Did you see the way he was looking at you?"

"That doesn't matter," You assure Anakin with a soft sigh, but from the distasteful curl of his lips into a hard sneer, it does matter. He's standing tall in front of you with ragged, angry breaths coming from his chest, brows furrowed and jaw clenched as he tries containing his upset. It's not aimed at you, of course, but it's a sight nevertheless. He's all sharp features and tense muscles, rage brewing inside of him that's sure to spill over if you don't turn down the heat in time.

"Men like that are creeps," You dismiss, but Anakin is much less eager to let the situation go, still pressing you against the wall of the dingy alleyway, "Women don't talk to him unless he pays them to, is it any surprise he was forward when I approached him for free?"

"But you gave him no indication-" Anakin gushes, poorly-contained rage grating at his rough voice, "I don't understand. I don't understand how I'm supposed to be yours, how you're supposed to be mine, if people like him think you're theirs for the taking."

"It doesn't matter what he thinks, he can't have me, Anakin." You assure him. You know it's hard for him, being secretive about your relationship. Anakin is highly devoted, to his work, to his training, but most of all to you, and to have to stuff that down whenever you're not alone grates on his nerves.

Your answer doesn't seem to persuade him, so you brace your hand against his rapidly rising and falling chest, "He can't have me because I'm yours, Anakin."

Whatever hateful haze has clouded over his eyes clears like fog as he blinks at your words, probably muscling down hot tears of frustration. He surges forwards to kiss you, and it's hard to be upset that you're pressed against a dirty wall when Anakin's mouth is on your own.

His kisses are fervent and desperate, lips relentlessly catching your own between them. They're sloppy as his hands find your waist like there's magnets in your blood, his palms oppositely charged.

"I want you," He pleads, voice rough and ragged, "I want you all the time. I wanted to take your hand in there. I wanted to take more than your hand," He pants, speaking against your lips that have grown dewy from his saliva. "I wanted to grab your jaw-" He mimics the action, gloved hand clenching at your chin, "And- and kiss you, and bend you right over his table and take you."

"Right in his face," Anakin grunts, and you feel his cock beginning to stiffen through the layers of his robes as he presses himself to you. "Right in his fucking face, angel, I wanted to have you."

"You have me now," You breathe, equally as lustful as you press sticky kiss after sticky kiss to Anakin's tense jawline, "Ani, you have me now, and you have me forever."

"Forever," He groans, and you can see his eyes dilate at the thought. He's perpetually breathless as he chooses to spend his oxygen by kissing you once more. It's all heavy pants and strings of drool, appropriate for the dark, damp alleyway you're hidden in; a dirty fuck for a dirty place.

"Anakin," You moan, your pussy pulsing as his tongue smooths over your top lip, "I need you, here-" Your words muffle as Anakin licks flat over your lips, practically drinking the words out of your mouth, "-here and now. I know it's dirty, but I- I need it. I need you. Please?"

"Say it again," He orders, kissing you so that you can't.

You have to speak while he's still dragging his thick, wet tongue over yours, "I need you."

"More," He presses, his nose now nudging at your cheek as he tilts his head, granting himself only deeper access to your warm mouth.

"I need you," You vow, words garbled as he never backs away from your mouth, "Anakin, I need you."

"You have me," He groans, reveling in the pleasure that your words bring him. His hips roll compulsively against yours, grating through the many layers of robes you're both clad in like he can't stop them if he tries. "And I have you. Angel, I've got you, come here."

He says it like you're trying to leave, like you're not smashed flat between him and a wall. But you try anyways, slinging your hand around his neck to drag him in closer.

Anakin was focused on undoing your belt, but when you pull him close with your arm wrapped behind his neck he pauses, eyes closing as he knocks his forehead against yours.

"Ani-"

"He touched you," Anakin remembers, reaching up to take your wrist in his hand. He holds it delicately, bringing it between your faces to kiss the soft skin against the inside, "He grabbed you. He touched you right here," He peppers more soft kisses against your wrist, "Did he hurt you?"

"No," You hum softly, lips still slick with Anakin's spit, "It was just creepy, that's all. It didn't hurt."

"I'm sorry. I love you," He tells the skin of your wrist, and your hand naturally fits against his cheek, your fingertips ghosting over his ear.

"I love you," You repeat him, and his eyes flit back to your own.

"I love you." He rushes in for another kiss, this one just as desperate as the last. His tongue probes freely through your mouth, he's always been good with it, and your cunt clenches around nothing as Anakin's hands slide back to your waist. This time he lets you sling both of your arms around his neck, shuddering into the kiss when your nails scrape up the baby hairs at the base of his neck.

"Fuck," He groans against your mouth, fingers tugging more desperately now on the belt that he's so accustomed to putting on and taking off. Finally he undoes the buckle, letting it slide down to your ankles. You feel dirty as you hear the clatter of your saber against the ground; you're getting stripped and fucked in a dingy alleyway. But It releases the waistband of your pants, and shame gives way to pleasure as Anakin pries eagerly at the clasp.

"Touch me," You beg, and he's one step ahead of you. His hand presses flat to your belly as he snakes it down your pants, his warm skin pressed flush to your slit as he cups your needy cunt. You feel slick gathered in your pussy, and you're sure if he slips two fingers inside, it'll gush over his digits.

"You're warm," He murmurs, and you're not sure whether he means the spit he's lapping from your mouth, or the way your cunt bleeds heat against his palm. Either way, you know he likes it as his hips buck into your own again, pressing his hand further against your pussy.

"Ani," You feel his bulge through the layers of clothing he's sporting, still dragging him impossibly further with your arms around his neck, practically smashing his face into yours. "Ani, I need you inside, please?"

"I'll take care of you," He promises, kissing sweetly across your jaw, and down to your neck, "Angel, I want you to touch me."

"Hm?" Your brain is dazed, comprehending little as Anakin rolls his palm against your clit.

"Use this hand," He reaches for the one that the man inside had grabbed, "Use this hand, angel, and touch me with it. Get me hard, use the hand he touched."

"Okay," You breathe, scrambling for his belt and letting him help you with the hand that's not down your pants. A part of you is worried someone will see the two of you, but halfway disrobed and shrouded in shadow, you're not recognizable as Jedi, nor are these streets ever free from filth; you blend right in.

When Anakin's belt is undone he lets it fall just like your own had, and you gratefully slip your hands beneath the tunic it had been holding down. You have easy access to his pants now, and slipping your hand inside like he's doing to you means you're met with a half-hard dick.

"You're leaking," You observe, as precum oozes from the head of his cock. You smear it around the tip with your thumb, and his hips jerk into your hand. It's an awkward angle that you're at, stroking his dick while he cups your pussy in the palm of his hand, but it's apparently not uncomfortable to him, because with each pump of your fingers around the length of his cock, it hardens in your grip.

"Oh- fuck, get it- get it messy," He pants, straining as he tries not to cum right then and there at the sight of his pre smeared over your hand.

It's hard not to get it messy. His sticky precum oozes from the head of his dick like a steady stream, beads and beads of the stuff smeared away by your hand to help lubricate the measured strokes you're pumping over his dick.

Your fingers are soon tacky with precum, and his dick makes obscene squelching noises as you run your fist down it. He's panting as his palm grinds hard against your clit, and your hips snap into his hands, moving your entire body forwards. It means your fist slides roughly, sharply straight down to the base of his cock, and he bites back a hiss at the slight pain you've inflicted upon him.

"Now," He breathes rough and ragged, "I need you now. Maker, I'm gonna fucking-" He cuts himself off with a grunt, the hand that's cupping your wet heat flipping and twisting to yank the waistband of your pants down. It catches you by surprise, and the tantalizingly small amount of friction you'd been able to gain while grinding against his palm is gone, leaving the cool air of Coruscant's dingy lower levels to shock you.

"Put it in," He orders, his head downturned, forehead pressed against your own, "Baby, put- get me inside of you, I need-to-be-inside-of-you- there y'go."

You use your fist to line up his cock with your needy entrance, his hips more than willing to close the distance to make it easier for you. You don't get a second to adjust to the heavenly feeling of his tip brushing against your folds before he's jackhammering into you, chest now pressed tightly to your own as he slams you once more against the wall.

You let out a garbled scream as you're instantly full, the pace Anakin sets absolutely merciless on your sloppy cunt. You're well wet enough to provide lubrication for his lengthy cock, but just because you're wet doesn't mean you're ready, and the sensation of him bypassing any cautious thrusts and heading right into jackrabbit territory is one that has you crying out.

"Scream," Anakin hisses, his teeth digging harshly into your plush bottom lip. He licks over the stinging bite mark seconds later, the wet muscle sweeping over your own, "Scream as loud as you can, angel. I want him to hear. Tell him," He pulls away from your mouth only to wrestle your face to the side, his gloved hand gripping tight at your jaw.

"Tell him," Anakin urges, kissing and licking sticky stripes up your neck, "Tell that miserable old creep who makes you scream. Tell him who you love, tell him who fucks you into the wall."

"A- Ani-" You try, but it's not good enough for the man still relentlessly pounding his hips against yours. His free hand is gripping the pliant flesh of your ass with a force that surely means your chub is spilling through his fingers, and he uses the grip to hike your leg up, giving him a better angle to destroy your drooling cunt from.

"Louder. Say it louder." Anakin demands, forcing your jaw open with his hand, "Tell him!"

It's terribly difficult to power through the rather attention-grabbing sensation of Anakin's rock-hard cock bullying your wet cunt. He's rougher than he needs to be, balls slapping hard against the flesh of your ass that he's got in his hold.

But you have to try, and with an embarrassingly loud, desperate pitch to your voice, you scream, "Anakin!"

The second his name comes spilling from your lips in a wanton cry he manhandles your face back towards him, jamming his lips over your own.

"Maker," He growls, "You're so fucking perfect. I tell you to scream my name and you do it," He revels in your obedience, tongue licking a hot, wet stripe over your mouth. He holds it open with his fingers pinched into your cheeks but he doesn't venture inside, merely flattening his tongue over your stinging, swollen lips to leave a drooly residue behind. Only once you've been marked does he delve his tongue between your lips, licking at your own like it's his last meal.

"You're so good for me," His words slur together in their intensity, voice thick and raw with obsession, "Nngh, you're so-" You reach down, barely able to coordinate enough brainpower to take his balls into your hand, massaging them as best you can while his hips piston in and out of you at record pace, "-you're so good to me, Angel. More, give me- more, I want more." He begs, the words spilling over your tongue. He grabs tighter at the flesh of your ass, surely bruising the skin and leaving you sore tomorrow.

"Ah! Anakin," You cry, the feeling of his tongue lapping at your own and swapping spit until there's pools of it around your teeth sending a pulse of electricity straight to your core that makes it throb. Anakin feels your cunt convulse, only pushing his tongue further into your mouth. He's a presence; every part of his body is touching every part of your body. He's all-consuming, he's an enigma, he's yours.

Anakin fucks you harder and faster than ever before. All of his strength training must have done wonders because you can't fathom how he's able to generate that much power this fast, but his hips ram into you while his gloved hand releases your ass to pinch at your clit. He abuses the sensitive bud, pinching and rolling it between his fingers to coax more convulsions out of your sticky cunt.

It works.

The pressure that Anakin presses around your clit lights a live wire of hot, heavy arousal that trails up your spine, heat flowing from where Anakin is still latched onto your shoulder right down to your throbbing core. All of a sudden it's too much, everything is too much, and you feel your orgasm hit you like a speeder, knocking the breath out of your lungs as white hot pleasure burns at your cunt. It's a sensation that splatters firework-worthy bliss from your head to your toes, and your thighs tremble as Anakin fucks you through what might be the most intense, violent orgasm of your life.

"Anakin!" You scream.

Everything he does is rough, from the way his teeth nip at your lips, to the way he's trying to suck your tongue down his throat, to the way his fingers bully your puffy clit, to the way the head of his cock pounds into you with enough force to bruise. It's rough, it's messy, it's aggressive, and it's wonderful. You've never felt such pure jealousy radiating off of Anakin before, and you think it's because you've never been able to indulge him so soon after his jealousy blooms. If he's wary of someone in the temple you have to wait until nightfall to fuck, and if the incident occurs any time before dinner he's more mellow when he finally has you. But now it's fresh, now the brand of raging jealousy is still sizzling against his brain, and he's pumping all of the residual heat straight into you.

"Kriff," He grunts, nearly biting the tip of your tongue as he tries latching onto your lower lip, "Cum. Fuck yeah, angel- angel cum for me, cum- aagh! Cum on my dick," He demands, and you couldn't deny his request if you tried. Your pussy clenches wildly around his cock, convulsing with the force of your orgasm and you claw at his back, regretful that you hadn't stripped off his shirt so that you could scratch up his skin.

All too soon the effects of Anakin's pacing and strength flip a switch, and you're twitching in overstimulation added to your bliss. There's a distinct stinging sensation that's now alongside - and possibly contributing to - your residual ecstasy. The ache is a product of Anakin's sharp thrusts, but his movements are getting sloppy, and all the while he spills obscenities in drool over your tongue.

"You're mine. Gonna fucking cum in you, gonna make you mine, gonna- aah!" He rambles, words and spit alike spilling hastily from his mouth and into your own as he struggles to keep himself steady. He's jackhammering into you so fast that you think he could knock you right through the wall if he tried. You're plastered against it, head thrown back and chest heaving as you try not to collapse under the intense amount of sensation you're receiving.

"Ani," You grip at his biceps, dragging one hand up his left arm and digging your nails into his scalp, "Ani- cum, please cum! Please," You whimper, not sure if you're begging because you need the delicious sensation of his release painting your insides, or because you might pass out if your cunt gets fucked by Anakin's stupidly big cock much more than it has been already, "Please cum!"

"You want me to cum?" He asks, a dreadful rasp to his voice as he ravages your mouth. He bites at your tongue, latches on with his teeth like a wild animal and digs them into the squirming muscle until your saliva runs hot, "You want me to cum in you, angel? You want me to fill you up- stuff you 'til you're leaking?"

"Yes," You moan, one hand still clutching his arm while the other tugs at the base of his curls, "Yes, fuck Anakin, please, I need you to give me your cum! I need your cum, please!"

"You need my cum," He revels, a growl lacing the edge of his voice that sends perpetual shivers down your spine, "You fucking need me. Wish that creep could see you now. Fucked stupid, begging for my cum. Beg for it again, baby. Beg for my cum."

"I need it!" You cry, desperate as you yank tighter at his hair, "Anakin, please, I need it!"

All of a sudden he's no longer invading your mouth, his own latching tightly to your shoulder as he sinks his teeth into you.

"Take it," He grunts gruffly against your skin as he latches onto it, dick finally twitching before spurting hot, thick globs of cum into your spent cunt. Nothing is more gratifying than the feeling of Anakin biting at your shoulder while his hips fuck his cum relentlessly into you, and you're sure you'll be sore all over tomorrow morning. He's letting out the filthiest, most obscene string of grunts against your shoulder as his teeth barely avoid breaking your skin, and though your limbs shake with overstimulation your body doesn't move because it's in his strong grip.

The feeling of him cumming inside of you is like a second orgasm of your own. It's not really a release for you, you haven't cum twice, but Anakin's warm cum flooding your core and squelching as he jerks his hips through his climax feels almost as satisfying as if you were the one cumming. His grunts and growls slowly fade as he comes down from his monumental orgasm, and when he unlocks his jaw from around your shoulder, he leaves behind a ring of teeth marks and a sheen of drool on your skin.

"Kriff," He pants, chest heaving and dick softening as he slumps against you. You're not ready for his added weight, but the little strength he has left is used to hold you upright, so you don't flatten beneath his frame.

"Are you okay?" He hums, lips moving lazily against your neck. They're still wet with spit, and you feel the stuff cooling on your skin.

"I'm okay," You decide, "But- but I don't think I can walk, Ani."

You feel him smile, hear him huff out a laugh even though his eyes are drooping, "I'm sorry. I- It's like I couldn't control myself," He admits, breath fanning warm and wet against your neck, "Not after seeing him grab you."

"I know," You stroke a gentle hand through his sweaty curls, happy to be close to him now that your veins aren't pumping lust through your entire system.

"If Obi-Wan asks," Anakin straightens up, his limbs surprisingly strong for how aggressively he'd fucked you, "You got shoved around by a nasty patron, okay? We'll say they caught you by surprise when you were trying to talk to the bartender."

"Okay." You nod, letting him do all of the work in retrieving your belts from the ground and securing yours around your waist. He hooks his own tightly, his saber thankfully unharmed from being dropped.

"Come here," He holds his arms out, but you barely move to help him scoop you up. He does the lifting on his own, letting you sling your spent arms around his neck and laze your head against his shoulder.

Anakin makes it out of the alleyway, but when he should turn left towards your speeder, he veers right.

"Anakin," You frown, lifting your head wearily to see him approaching the bar again, "Anakin, our speeder's the other way."

"I want you to talk to him," His voice is firm, not much of its honey-sweetness left that had been there after you'd fucked in the dingy alleyway, "I want you to stand there, while I hold you up, and I want you to inform him he'll be questioned by the Jedi Council about what he saw. I want you to lie to him while my cum drips down your legs, angel." He murmurs, his words impossibly filthy even for the setting you're in, "Can you do that?"

"He won't be examined by the Council," Your hazy brain struggles to keep up, "What do you mean?"

"Lie to him." Anakin repeats, eyes slightly darker than they usually are, "Make him afraid while your pussy leaks my cum."

"Okay," You nod willingly, letting Anakin brace your feet on the ground with one of your arms slung over his shoulder to lead you into the bar. Your legs are shaky, you look a mess, but you could be perceived as someone coming away from a nasty fight, so you hold your head high and try to control your thoughts.

"There," Anakin murmurs, spotting the old man where he's already watching you from the corner, "Do it, angel."

Anakin leads you over, stopping short in front of the man's table so that he can't touch you again. He looks pleased at your return, albeit confused as to why you're a mess.

"The Jedi Council wants to speak with you," You recite obediently as the man's eyes widen slightly in apprehension. You can already feel the slow trickle of Anakin's thick cum leaking down your thighs now that you're upright, and it almost distracts you from what you're saying. "They want to know your role in the fight, and what you observed if that's truly all you did. They suspect that you might be working against the Republic, and-"

"I'm not talking to the Jedi Council," The man's face curls into a sneer and his voice is gruff, but not pleasantly so, like Anakin's. He stands from his seat rather uncoordinatedly and bolts for the door, surely expecting you to chase after him. But you don't, you couldn't if you tried, and Anakin gathers you back into his arms.

"Good." He hums, resisting the urge to kiss your forehead for fear of outing your relations, 'You did good, angel. I'm proud of you."

"We'll have to sneak into the temple without interception," You plan as your head rests once more on Anakin's shoulder. He navigates the crowded bar perfectly with you in his arms, and this time he turns towards your speeder like he's supposed to. "Obi-Wan will be waiting for us, but you can tell him to gather the Council, that way we'll have time to clean up."

"Oh, no." Anakin's chuckle is dark as he lowers you into the seat of your speeder. He kisses at your forehead, strokes away a bead of sweat at your hairline, "No, angel. You'll speak to the Council the same way you spoke to that lowlife. With my cum dripping down your thighs."

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cambion-companion · 6 months

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hi!! binge read all your raphael stuff and i think it added more worms in my brain!! :D thank you!!!

raphael idea: artist!reader (or tav/durge) that raph commissions to paint a portrait of him. maybe how the sitting would go- would he be monologuing? would he be looking over contracts? would he be sneaking fond (in his own way) glances at the lovely little artist sitting in his foyer putting so much passion and concentration into capturing his devilish visage?

or maybe smth like he can't make it to a sitting one day so he sends haarlep to do it expecting that the artist won't be able to tell the difference. instead, his artist refuses to start working since that's CLEARLY not her patron!! his facial structure is off!! that piece of hair doesn't flow down like that!! and his gaze- clearly not!!! so raph comes back hours (or even days) later to find the little artist still in his house, waiting for his return so that they can resume work <3

I LOVE this!

Thank you for reading my work and for sending this lovely message in! This idea kinda ran away with me but I hope you enjoy this drabble!

“Where is Raphael?” You squinted at the devil lounging on the gold embroidered cushions.

On first glance, it appeared to be the cambion you’d met yestereve. He had commissioned you to paint a self-portrait for him, showed you the many that already hung from his marble walls. You’d begun your work, sketching the lines and filling them out with practiced dexterity.

Due to time constraints, the devil was a busy man it seemed, you had to cut your painting short, determining to begin again the following day.

Now you sat again, upon the small stool, staring in consternation at the creature who would have you believe it was Raphael.

The fiend stretched, feigning a languid uncaring composure. In all but those burning eyes, focused so sharply upon your frowning face.

“Whatever do you mean, little succulent?” It was Raphael’s voice as well, though something was off about the cadence. “You have everything you need right here.”

You shook your head, frustrated, lowering your paintbrush from where it had been poised over the canvas. “No, this isn’t going to work. You aren’t him.”

“My, quite the perceptive thing.” The devil straightened, looking displeased. “How very annoying.”

“What…who are you?” You asked, a slight tingle of fear running down your spine.

“I am Haarlep.” The devil’s long tail swished to curl around his feet.

“That’s an odd name.”

“Isn’t it just.”

Your frown deepened, an annoyed breath hissed through your clenched teeth. “Well, I cannot continue until the real Raphael returns. When will he be back?”

“The master will not return for quite a while.” Haarlep rolled his shoulders, looking equally put off. “I do my job quite well. What exactly is the issue?”

You set down your tools and folded your arms, still wary of whatever this creature was. “The way your hair falls, the cadence of your voice…”

“All aspects I am sure you can rectify without too much issue.” Haarlep interrupted with a petulant gesticulation, but you spoke over him.

“And your eyes.” Your own eyes narrowed in concentration, focusing on the burning embers within those inky black orbs. “Your eyes are wrong.”

“I’m offended.” Haarlep deadpanned, then tilted his head with a curious smile. “Explain.”

“I cannot.” You shrugged.

“Then work on painting everything except the face.” Haarlep repositioned himself upon the sofa, his eyes rolling slightly in bemusement.

“For professional reasons, I cannot.” You didn’t budge. “The master of the house didn’t notify me of this change.”

“The master of the house apologizes.” Now that voice you recognized, Raphael’s. Deeper and with more presence than the voice Haarlep used.

Raphael, still in human form, strode into view and offered you a wry smile. He bowed slightly at the waist, his brown eyes never leaving yours. “I admit to not foreseeing your powers of insight. What a delightful discovery, my dear.”

He turned and observed Haarlep with mild amusement for a moment. “You’re slipping.”

“Nonsense.” Haarlep stood from the chaise and flexed his batlike wings. “You know as well as I, some things cannot be replicated.”

“Such as?” Raphael directed the question to you.

You shifted, your behind slowly numbing from the uncomfortable stool. “Well, the way Haarlep carries himself for one.” You said carefully speaking the other’s name. “The eyes are also completely different, not in shape or color but the nature they hold within them.”

“Fascinating.” Raphael put his hand to his chin, a slight quirk to his lips. “The eyes. Windows to the soul.” He laughed, short and rough.

You didn’t quite understand the joke but smiled politely. “Have you time now? I can come back later.”

“No.” Raphael shook his head and placed a firm hand on your shoulder, taking a moment to inspect your canvas. “This is important work. I am at your disposal.” Raphael’s human form melted away. His hand on your shoulder grew in size and sharp claws bit through your shirt to your skin. Hellfire eyes looked down upon you, familiar, calculating. “For as long as you need me.”

#haarlep #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #bg3 drabble #cambion vs incubus

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dairy-farmer · 5 months

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There's an old AU written here on Tumblr about Luthor being Tim's biological Father. Imagine Luthor encouraging Kon's incest kink. Of course the most perfect husband for his precious baby would be someone he made! It's not like Luthor can't help out in removing any faulty mutations that can arise in an embryo between two siblings. Their family would be unstoppable! Luthor was softer in that AU because of Tim's influence so he's not a major villain in this. He just likes to contradict Superman sometimes.

The JL gets a message from the watchtower that Luthor is there. They are met with Luthor and Kon. Luthor tells Superman to claim Kon as his kid so that Kon can marry his baby without people judging them. Superman is more mad that Luthor made a being from his DNA without his consent. Batman put a stop to that growing fight by asking why does Clark Kent/Superman need to be involved with his kid's marriage. Luthor braggingly replied that it's because Kon also has Luthor's own DNA. People would keep on digging on who got his approval to marry his tightly guarded treasure but no one would if they find out that Kon is the son of one of the people who likes to clash with him and then they could spin it as something like a Romeo/Juliet story with Superman/Clark Kent as the villain of course and he, the best father in the world being supportive. Everyone is horrified except Luthor and Kon, who had zoned out and had been listening to his little brother tease him. Kon can't wait for the wedding they've planned to happen in a few days.

-🦆

i think i've read that series!! where tim is raised by luthor and kon comes into the picture later on!!! the part of the trope that grabs my attention though is something more like this other fic where lex may have been tim's bio father. it's basically a mama mia situation but i'm imagining a scenario where accidental incest happens with tim and kon 👀👀👀👀👀.

neither of them know that they're biological half brothers and are together and fully in love and luthor, of course, being luthor figures it out! of course he could be an ass about it, throw a wrench in and ruin it for them but...he's also finding out he has a son and maybe he's feeling a little sentimental. he's old now, not as young as he used to be and maybe it gets to him a little. for the longest time his feelings on kon el have been changing because at first he was just an experiment, a product, an investment. but like he said, age has made him strangely nostalgic. realizing that both his children have chosen one another doesn't horrify him or gross him out the way it would for most other people. then again most other people are idiots.

finding out they're planning on getting married, that the two of them have made plans to tie the knot if what gets him up. his children are getting married, he's allowed to be a little emotional. lex is a planner and he's not about to let wayne be heralded as the generous patron to fund the largest wedding gotham's ever seen. so...lex might pull out some old tricks. old "supes" isn't as sharp as he used to be and he despises luthor on principle enough to do the opposite of what he wants. so if luthor slips some...subliminal messaging to push him into fully claiming kon as his son well than that was alright.

it sure is a heck of a shock when every newspaper in metropolis aside runs the story of luthor finding out he had a son and was planning on reconnecting with the child. the look on wayne's face when luthor showed up on his front steps was almost enough to make luthor want to snap a picture of it.

of course there are tears shed, mainly because his children seem to think they can't be together anymore and luthor's support of their relationship doesn't seem to help. the real objector is tim.

kon seems to have little issue with it and is just comforting his brother. while it may be invasive for a parent, luthor does keep tabs on kon's activity and is very well aware about his mild obsession with incest porn. if anything this was a dream come true for him.

however that doesn't halt the fact that there is the tiniest bit of chaos surrounding the wedding and how half of wayne's runts think the wedding won't happen. which is perfect because it allows luthor to swoop in (having booked all possible venues out for months so wayne can't even get a decent place in time) as the the father of the bride here to perform a miracle when his children realize they love one another enough to overcome this hiccup.

luthor has never been prouder

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #kontim

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necronatural · 9 months

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I totally agree with you that the barbie movie has some issues but I think the worst case of "misogyny is fine if it's not to women" is amongst the fans from what I've seen. Like the amounts of times ive seen people act like the Ken's embracing patriarchy is an enherently evil act and not an understandable reaction to them experiencing respect and control for once, is astounding. Like they've been oppressed their whole life of course they're rebelling when they learn they don't have to be.

Within the metatext of the film they are patronizing men for liking Andrew Tate, baby-talking them for their reaction to general frustrations of not living up to meaningless ideals.

The thing is that in real life the frustration with the absence of ideal is inflicted by other men. Men create a supreme image to disenfranchise women, and other men feel anxious that they can't attain this false dichotomy. The Kens are genuinely second class citizens. My point is that they experience ACTUAL oppression, but rather than using it as an empathy tool, it moves into what appears to be a story beat from entirely different script. There's a total mismatch. It is not coherent.

The message here, from men experiencing misogyny learning hurtful and oppressive language, is that if you stopped being misogynistic, those fucking horse-loving harpies will indoctrinate women, so we need to keep them in line. That's insane. If you think about it from the perspective of the film and not the sociopolitical situation the film was produced in - where it makes perfect sense; both men experiencing misogyny and patriarchy humpers being morons are two completely different expressions of female perspective not meant to interact, this is why the film is still enjoyable - it is a bizarre misogynistic "what if straight people were the ones who were oppressed" type message to send.

This in combination with beats like how you can just brainwash vulnerable women to your whims vs you must give men therapy with respect to their vulnerabilities (this is another female perspective thing that is incomprehensible at face value but resonates emotionally with how women deal with the men in their lives) & all the major female characters besides Barbie herself being less important than the male characters to the point the emotional core of the movie (the mom) is discarded to be an object stripped of her personal individual interiority regurgitating themes that don't even cohere in the first place, with her humanity and her relationship with others (her child, her husband, her career) forgotten in favour of teaching Barbies a very special lesson about female empowerment. This is not the Great Feminist Film I'll tell you that much

⬆️ I really liked the Barbie movie I think it's fun

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lunarsilkscreen · 6 months

Text

The Dark Knight

"I'm good with calculations" - Lau, the Calculator

"Some men want to watch the world burn." - Alfred the Imperialist

"You wanna know how I got these scars?" - Joker, being 100% completely honest

The two stories he tells, everybody talks about them like they couldn't be a part of the same story. A little bit of therapy, secrets, he tells to people he's thinking about killing. And just tailored enough that the people he's telling never know the whole story.

"I see my father in you" he tells one patron. Whenever he's telling these stories, he's honest, and he's telling them because he sees the people he sees.

A drunk father, to the mob boss. A mother/wife who can't love.

And the little bits interspersed here and there. Lau was the calculator (in gritty realism, it's better not to have a costume). But there's one calculation he didn't make; what if the good guy doesn't play by the rules? What if, and I'm just spit balling here, he'd been feeding mob information to his biggest customer "Wayne enterprises" the same company, that'd been making purchases from him on a secret para-military project codenamed "Flying Fox".

Bat butler's key words of advice in this movie, are that *some people cannot be understood* if of courses he were to take a wider perspective of his story about a thief who stole from a British museum to return the treasures to Africa, he would know that he is infact tainted by his British understanding of people who are not British. His understanding, his stereotype, is of the "British Custodian" a picture brit-land paints itself of course.

They can do no wrong as long as they are the stewards. Except for everything they do wrong in creating things they think need stewardship.

"These "civilized" people? They'll eat each other." - Joker

The Joker is much more agile at making decisions and calculation s, and his combat skills are on the level of Batman. He did something Batman, Harvey Dent, and the entire police force could not do. He got 500 mob members arrested, simply by robbing one of their banks.

And he let them take credit for it.

Why did he kill the people on his initial team? Because if he didn't, the mob would. And, as he says in the meeting with the mob "I know the squealers when I see them."

Who is really cleaning up the streets here?

The lawyer, Coleman Reese, who works for Wayne Enterprises doing an audit for the company's dealing with Lau is wearing a purple tie, he has the same swagger as the Joker, even does the lip licking thing.

The message was to Lucious Fox

How do you think he was tipped off for this? Maybe in another canon, he would be the employee who turns into the riddler. Fox didn't tell Bruce, because he lost faith in the project and was too afraid to do it himself.

Harvey Dent has a two headed coin, he threatens one of Jokers cohorts with "tails, you lose". Batman doesn't know this he says "You'd leave a man's life to chance?" -- "Well not exactly" he says with a smile.

The seeds of distrust in each other are already sown.

Poor Rachel Dawes, stuck in this lie where she lets both Harvey and Bruce think she's in love with them. She knew Joker's plan, to let Batman decide which to save, and knew if Batman didn't show up, she was dead. And here she is telling Harvey how much she loves him because she thinks he's going to die, and it'll make it easier on him.

I know what you might be asking: "When Lambo?" And the answer is 145:22. 1:25:22. You know what a recurring number in this movie is? 22, from the number on the school bus, Harvey Dent's coin has 1922 on it, the bomb in hong Kong is featured having 2:22 on it before the scene change.

Everybody suggests that it's just because it's the second of the Christopher Nolan trilogy. I think it's because it references every Batman Comic #22 up until that point.

"If Coleman Reese isn't dead in the next sixty minutes, then I blow up a hospital " - Joker sowing distrust in the populace AND giving credence to Reese's words. He knew the hospital would be empty, and he was going to blow it up regardless.

After a whole conversation about things going according to plan, which puts people's mind at ease; All according to plan.

When Batman tells Fox about the bat sonar, it's his suit turning purple.

"You oughta know, you bought it" - Joker to the Mafia about his suit

The reason the prisoner boat didn't blow up the other boat, is because a man would've rather died there than to live. (After convincing the warden to give it to him.)

The civilian guy says "They made their choice to murder and steal" as he contemplates murdering an entire ferry of people. Including the guards and bus driver. Before promptly returning the detonator.

The Batman doesn't kill him. Twice now, he doesn't kill him. No matter what he does or who he kills. The Batman won't Kill. He will make people suffer, break their legs, force them into debt over hospital bills. He'll make them want to kill themselves. But no, he won't do it directly.

And the Joker, well, he won't kill himself. And nobody seems to want to do it for him either.

The Batman tho... He nearly lost his life due to a technical malfunction because he couldn't trust his own eyes. If the Joker were just a little more willing to kill the Bat instead of sending a message, he could've owned the City.

The Joker, see--he thinks Bruce is lucky to have lost his parents at such a young age. If he hadn't, he might've had a few scars of his own to show off.

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mable-stitchpunk · 1 year

Note

So, what do you think about the Tales of the Pizzaplex books? I was pretty confused, because some of the stories seem to take place before the Glamrock animatronics were made.

I kind of feel like I do with the Fazbear Frights stories. Some of them are alright, but a majority of them just don't really do it for me.

Tales of the Pizzaplex is especially notable because while it uses the Pizzaplex as the name of whatever location it wants- filling it up with an endless amount of attractions and locales- it's largely unwilling to actually talk about places from the games, the actual Glamrock animatronics (instead of brief cameos), and at its worst seems to recycle concepts from Fazbear Frights.

You would think a series of books like this would take advantage of the source material, but it seems almost too afraid to actually talk about anything in the games at any leagues without dancing around it. Making many of the stories unsatisfying because they do not feel complete. Tales of the Pizzaplex is too busy hinting about possible plot points that they only tell a story half of the time.

...Plus, things like having fast-spreading cancer as plot points are just so baffling. I'm not even saying it in a wag my finger way. I'm saying it like: what does VR hallucinations and cancer have to do with one another? Another story that ends on an unsatisfying cliffhanger. (Especially bizarre since Fazbear Frights' The Real Jake dealt with cancer in such a tragic and mature way.)

Let's not even talk about the bizarre implications of B-7, and the fact that there's apparently going to be a sequel to it. O.o

That's not to say I dislike all of the stories, obviously, but many of them feel so lifeless.

It's a shame, because I feel like you COULD make a whole book of Pizzaplex stories easy. Ones that involve some of the elements from the games and new ones, but without being so weirdly detached.

But you can't do that when you need to get books out extremely fast and you apparently can't risk stepping on the toes of any possible lore implications. In that case, you play it as safe as possible.

...

Here's some Pizzaplex story ideas:

There's a Karaoke Contest at the Pizzaplex! Just to play it safe in case of rowdy patrons, the technicians decide this is an excellent time to try out the new Bouncer Mode...

2. Working late at the Pizzaplex is never fun, especially when you're stuck unpacking a bunch of old stuff. Especially when the odd plush toys you're unpacking seems to be moving on their own.

3. Animatronic repair goes wrong.

4. Steve and his team of workers find themselves in a precarious situation when the old elevator they found in the basement breaks down and leaves them stranded... Especially when he starts hearing something moving within the walls.

5. Luis gets a message from a friend to meet in the parking garage.

#Tales of the Pizzaplex #Books #Fnaf #Ideas #Thoughts

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conditionaljewel · 2 years

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Imagine if the next dream Imogen has is that of Laudna going into the storm.

Only, she's not walking into it, but being dragged into it... by someone Imogen doesn't recognize (but we do). And she hesitates to pursue due to their earlier falling out... something that she's reminded of by hearing the words spoken from that night.

And just to twist the knife further, she sees the gnarlrock not in her hand, but in the hand of the person dragging Laudna away...

I'll be honest; I can't see Matt starting Imogen's next dream, and NOT present the visage of Laudna in it somehow. If it happens the way that I suspected in this post then it’s going to be the catalyst for what finally makes Imogen go and talk to Laudna.

But this, this, ..... you’re a monster @tiamat-zx lol. I had considered this as a possibility, much like other things we’ve come to learn about this campaign, but you really know how to twist the knife yourself don’t you lol.

More under the cut for length and potential spoilers.

I could see it happening given the dreams’ abilities to seemingly act as premonitions for Imogen, but I don’t know if or that Delilah would appear in her dreams unless she wanted to be there. Unless she wanted to send a message to one or both of them.

And fuck it, I’ll fucking go there since I didn’t before. Ruidas. I was waiting until after the Calamity because I figured it would help inform my theories or conspiracies but shit I’ll go there now. Ruidas is one fucked up moon, and there’s definitely more at play with it than we can possibly guess, sure. But it does seem kinda fitting that Delilah would possibly penetrate through to Imogen’s dreams to just further terrorize Laudna, using Imogen as a vessel for that terror, because if there’s one thing we don’t know it’s if there’s a connection between Ruidus and Delilah, namely: Is she Ruidusborn? (At least, I don’t and I can’t find anything that says she is, so if I’m wrong someone PLEASE tell me)

Now that the Gnarlrock is seemingly in the hands of Delilah, and the common thread that it shares is with Imogen and her dreams, there’s no way Delilah doesn’t know what the rock was doing to Imogen and this might be the knot that ties the threads together (at least for a while if not completely). So if Delilah is Ruidusborn, or has some sort of MO involving the moon(s), suddenly this campaign takes on a whole different tone.

I will say, I did see someone elsewhere (I think on Reddit, possibly on here, it was late last night and I was in a rabbit hole) mention that we don’t know the exact specifics of Laudna’s “pact” with Delilah as it doesn’t seem to be your typical pact with a patron. We just know that Delilah popped up in her head one day, and she’s been honing her Sorceress capabilities to spite her. I mentioned it briefly as well that we don’t know what the whole backstory there is, but since we know that Delilah can now seemingly just assume full control of Laudna whenever she wants now, who’s to say that she can’t permeate Imogen’s dreams thanks to this rocks power, and bring Laudna along herself? Sorry FCG, someone is going to beat you to it...

There’s still so much we don’t know about Laudna, about Imogen, about Delilah (in this form), and about this rock that honestly any of these wild theories that I’ve seen floating around on here and elsewhere could be plausible and in the realm of possibility. I really would prefer if Laudna was kept out of her dreams, honestly, but I just can’t see how Matt doesn’t use this carrot dangling right in front of him in some way to serve as the icebreaker Imogen and Laudna need to finally talk -- even if it’s as dark and twisted as what you’ve suggested lol.

#thanks for the ask!#text post #word vomit #laudna #imogen #delilah briarwood #critical role #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #bell's hells

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whentranslatorscry · 8 months

Text

Miss Kyouko’s Cipher Table (3/5)

They say she's fast, but this was—too fast.

“Um… Kyouko-san.”

“Let me confirm a few things, if I may,”

She held up a finger to stop Yuinouzaka in his tracks, where he leaned forward without thinking.

“Those twenty-five digits—it is a safe combination, a passcode of some kind, correct?”

Sharp.

Had he been too forward in his hint, after all—but did asking such a question mean that the code represented what Yuinouzaka hoped?

He’d sooner not get into the messy details if he could avoid it—murder motives and all that—but it seemed he had little choice. Asking for the solution with his cards hidden was wishing for too much.

“You guessed it. It’s the combination to the safe in the vice president’s office—which I thought Fuchibuchi-san had left for me before he passed. That’s why I asked you here, Kyouko-san.”

Yuinouzaka then glanced at the parlour door. “If you necessary, I'll show you later…it’s a big one, in the vice president’s office. Only Fuchibuchi knew the combination… Oh, and if it turns out to be a clue pointing to his despicable murderer…well, that's fine in itself, I suppose it would have been worth calling for you still…”

He added, but perhaps unnaturally, Kyouko-san was unresponsive—well, it's somewhat better to be thought of as a ruthless businessperson who cares only about the company's profits than a murderer.

“There is more than just my patron inside that safe, I take it?”

“Your patron?”

Unaware of what was meant, Yuinouzaka looked blank—presumably, money—maybe she considered it in poor taste to say "money" directly, but this choice of words was in fact poorer.

“If you have valuables in there and can't get them out, all you have to do is get a safe opener to retrieve them. There must be some reason you can't do this—some company secret, perhaps, that would be embarrassing if revealed? Is this what you want me to discretely remove from the safe?”

“U-um, yeah… Yes.”

He could only nod.

It was not so much fast or sharp as it was unpleasant having his purpose seen through—this couldn't be mere logic.

Yuinouzaka was also an intuitive sensibility person, so he could tell—this detective had seen through him sensually. One could say there is a kind of sloppiness in saying everything that comes to mind in a wild guess, and then if it misses, it misses and that’s all right too—a crude guess, but effective if it yielded the reaction she wanted.

Yuinouzaka was not at all relaxed, but he knew if he was careless, at this rate, with no regard for the dying message, she might deduce he was the killer. He reasserted himself and, grudgingly,

“There’s…address books, in the safe,”

He said.

It was genuine reluctance, or so he’d meant to imply, overplaying it if anything, to suggest he had nothing more to hide.

It may have been artifice, but necessary artifice—reckless as it was to invite a detective into the firm, they’d come too far now to back down.

“There’s little need, I’m sure, to explain the nature of our business further. Facilitating connections between people, a broker of personal contacts—naturally we retain a great many address books, and obtaining those is our primary duty.”

“I see, these books are a sort of master register, containing those valuable contacts and thus confidential company secrets you wouldn’t want an outsider accessing?”

As expected, not having the whole picture, she was slightly off base. Maybe purposefully off base, to test him.

Such a game of horse trading would get them nowhere. Better just to lay his cards on the table.

What's the use of worrying about it now? She'll forget it bu tomorrow.

“What Fuchibuchi had hidden away in that safe were illegally obtained address books. I should make clear I was unaware of this.”

He’d meant to avoid sounding defensive, but this much was true, he had not known.

That his trusted vice president had long been compiling these ‘address books’ through unlawful, or at least legally dubious, means, using them to build the firm’s connections—he couldn't believe it.

As the one in charge, not knowing itself was a problem, and Yuinouzaka did not pretend this could be waved away as ignorance. Right versus wrong, it was plainly wrong.

So he was shocked when he learned of it and immediately confronted his partner—but Fuchibuchi showed no remorse whatsoever.

It seemed that his friend was quite oblivious of the fact that he was doing anything ‘wrong’—on the contrary, he was doing the company a great service with these ‘address books.’ The reason for his silence was that he was doing the company a favor by keeping his mouth shut about his illegal activities.

For the company.

I did it for your sake.

Whenever he was told that, his friend's words were like gibberish to him. If the affair became public, the company was ruined first of all, and so was he—this was what he was trying to get across, but the discussions never went anywhere.

There were many things they could not agree on. The only copy of the dangerous address books that he had, Yuinouzaka on getting rid of it immediately, but the stubborn Fuchibuchi refused to tell him the combination to the safe, intent instead on acquiring new ledgers—now that Yuinouzaka was wise to him, he schemed more brazenly. Indeed he was so cool and confident that he might have been thinking he could weather the collapse of the company once or twice and simply start over.

In that case, then—our values are worlds apart.

The company was the result of the cooperation of them both, and Yuinouzaka was determined to protect it by any means necessary—even breaking the law to conceal its illegality. Even kill his friend.

…Still, he thought he had given him a chance—before bludgeoning him on the head. Yuinouzaka had prefaced it with, ‘This is your last chance,’ and asked him once more for the safe’s combination.

Laughing, Fuchibuchi had not taken it up, though.

Did he really expect he could get away with it or—were the registers worth dying for?

In any case, Yuinouzaka's intentions did not reach his friend—only the desire to kill.

Eliminating the vice president may have prevented further illegal activities, but Yuinouzaka went so far as to believe that the address books in the safe—incriminating evidence—could only be destroyed on his own.

Then came the cipher.

The dying message.

Fuchibuchi’s last minute change of heart, revealing the combination at his death?

It was terribly convenient, self-serving thinking on his part. But the fact it was in code gave Yuinouzaka hope.

Fuchibuchi was well aware that the address books were socially illegal, and that the safe's number was not to be written down as such—It’s natural to assume that when you’re memorizing a twenty-five digit number, you would be encrypting it in some way.

At least less improbable than coming up with a code on the spot as you die is the idea that he wrote the numbers down deliberately, to send a coded message that would not be noticed by anybody who didn't know the code, or so we could speculate.

“I believe I grasp the situation. I will refrain from judging the morality of Fuchibuchi-san’s misconduct. Let’s just say that I will remain unconcerned, as I will forget about it by tomorrow,”

Kyouko-san said.

Difficult for Yuinouzaka to tell what she was really thinking—putting on a professional face, or was she really unconcerned?

His first impression of her as ‘incalculable’ was now giving way to 'unfathomable.’

“With the facts established, let us commence the deduction of the forgetful detective, starting with the question of what this cipher might be. As hastily and concisely as possible, shall we?”

“First of all, we must never forget that a coded message, whatever its form, exists to be solved. This is the bedrock truth that shall not waver, come what may. In this case we have a dying message, but fundamentally any cipher is a message cast towards someone, so pray keep that firmly in mind.”

Met with a plea to “pray keep” this information in his mind, Yuinouzaka didn’t know what expression to assume and settled on an ambiguous smile.

(A message…meant for me, from Fuchibuchi. Something like “I’m leaving the company to you” or “Now it’s your turn to play the villain”…?)

“Let’s take this step-by-step. Method number one to decryption—in cases when the ciphertext has inherent meaning…”

“It…can lack meaning?”

Yuinouzaka dared to ask, offering a polite murmur of interest—though really, with not a shred of detective mind, he didn’t care for lectures and wished simply for the answer, if she had deciphered the twenty five digits. But, mindful of his role as client, he curbed his impatience.

To which Kyouko-san replied, “Of course it can,” of course.

“So to speak, does the surface text have coherent meaning, or not? Think of Nostradamus’ prophecies, for example. All those attempts to decipher what the great king of terror symbolizes, or who Angolmois represents, and such.”

He was dumbfounded at her pulling out something so old-fashioned as Nostradamus, but soon he realized such was expected of the forgetful detective whose knowledge and experiences were reset every day instead of accumulating.

Completely unaffected by the vertical axis of time, she could only refer to antiquated analogies.

Her views were cut into pieces.

(Each day waking up to a world with different views, what does it feel like…? How on earth do you make it work?)

Such was the way that Yuinouzaka's thoughts were slightly derailed, and then,

“Applying this method to Fuchibuchi-san’s message… doesn’t the first line, ‘the round and square are at odds’ make you naturally think of ‘squaring the circle’?”

The forgetful detective continued.

Squaring the what now?

It rings vague bells, but he couldn't think of it right away. Something from his school examinations?

“A problem that requires using only a compass and ruler to construct a circle and square with equal areas. You know it? It’s one of the three great Greek puzzles in mathematics,”

She explained.

“Ahhh, yeah, that one.”

Despite not quite remembering, he nodded along.

“To be called one of the great unsolved problems, I imagine it's a tough one.”

“It’s been proven impossible to solve.”

The one-and-done chime was met with a lame reply—an unsolvable problem. What's the sense of that? What was the thought of the mathematician who kept trying unsolvable problems when he came across the proof—suddenly Yuinouzaka began to feel uneasy about the really proper answer to Fuchibuchi’s cipher.

“Uh, would the second and third lines represent the other two problems? Um…trisecting an angle and…doubling a cube, was it?”

At the words uttered while searching his memory as if to rip out every nook and cranny of his brain, Kyouko-san shook her head with, “That's what I thought at first.”

“While it doesn’t follow the 5-7-5-7-7 structure of a jisei death poem, it does rhyme and keeps to the theme of geometry, like a meaningful cipher—the writing on the back of a treasure map, or the left eye socket of a skull indicating something. I could just about accept reading the ‘inverse triangle’ in the second line as referring to the angle trisection problem, but it's pushing it to force ‘straight line’ in the third to refer to a cube, I'd think.”

Even if meaningless, a good cipher can still present a semblance of coherence on the surface, she added blandly.

Brute force decryption, huh.

It seemed that some time and effort would be required before the answer was revealed; this was the resolve that Yuinouzaka came to—even the fastest detective seemed to prefer a more roundabout approach, almost as if she disliked rational shortcuts. Slow and steady.

“So, method number two: when the coded message is meaningless.”

“Well…if it’s meaningless, isn’t there no solution?”

“That's not necessarily true. Imagine a nonsensical text with the ‘ta’ character inserted randomly throughout, but with a racoon illustration off to the side—what would you think?” (Note: The word ‘tanuki’ in Japanese sounds like “remove (nuki),” hence the symbol of a raccoon implies ‘remove’ the ‘ta’ character.)

Needless to say, even a child would know the answer that, the difference between this code and the earlier circle area problem is stark. But the point was made clear.

Rather than taking the surface meaning, some key must be applied to transform the text and reveal its true significance—that’s what the detective was talking about.

In simple terms, it could be ‘read every fourth character’ or ‘only read the kanji’ or even ‘connect the first character of each line’ like a kakizome. With this in mind, Yuinouzaka looked again at the photograph of the dying message.

There were of course no raccoon illustrations. Such a simple code would not be worth the attention of a detective.

“They say on the internet, prime numbers are used as keys to encrypt passwords.”

He had said it merely to pass the time, and Kyouko-san had merely tilted her head in response—unlikely not to know prime numbers while knowing the circle area problem. It was more likely she couldn’t bridge ‘internet’ and ‘password’ together.

Just when had her memories stopped accumulating? Suddenly he found himself pondering her.

To speak of it, how can she know she's a detective if she doesn't remember anything? Without accumulating memories, would it not be extraordinarily difficult to comprehend that your own memories do not accumulate?

The answer to that question,

“Method number three is when there is meaning in handwriting or penmanship, not in the intent of text.”

Revealed itself when Kyouko-san rolled up her sweatshirt sleeve.

On the bare, slender, pale arm was written:

‘I’m Okitegami Kyouko. 25 years old. Detective. Chief of Okitegami Detective Agency. Memory resets when I sleep.’

Now he understood; she wrote a note on her skin to keep her from losing herself. If the loss of memory could be likened to death, then this, too, was akin to a dying man’s message.

While her ingenuity could be admired, this message seemed to him to be anything but a cipher. It is at best the most primitive and means nothing more than that.

“That’s not quite it. The writing shows something of my state of mind when I wrote this message. The neatness of my handwriting suggests I wasn’t in a panic writing hastily in dire straits. And the fact that it’s written in water-based ink implies I didn’t have access to oil-based pens when I wrote this… The smaller size of the 'agency' characters shows I hesitated on where to break the line. Beyond the literal meaning, handwritten text contains a treasure trove of information.”

Graphology—is it?

In this digital age we tend to forget, but ugly handwriting aside, there are still things that can only be read in handwriting. That, too, could be a cipher.

Huh.

That is, Fuchibuchi’s message contains additional meaning precisely because it’s handwritten…or bloodwritten, so to speak?

If so, Yuinouzaka was a right fool for not photographing the scene and just memorising the text. Though even looking at this photo, he was none the wiser. The only thing that stood out was the messy handwriting, which is understandable given the circumstances… but to fault that seemed cruel.

Or, perhaps, there was a red sheet underneath that would reveal the true message if held up to the light? Hard to imagine a near-death murder victim would go to such lengths, though…

“Yes, this is the fourth method: requiring of additional physical tools to decipher. When you get to this point staring at the cipher itself will get you nowhere—you have to examine the physical situation and artifacts, not only the text.”

“Oh, I see!”

Blast. She’s not about to suggest they visit Fuchibuchi’s flat and examine the living room where he died, is she? No matter how close they were as business partners, he couldn’t imagine the police granting access to an active crime scene…And he had no desire to revisit the site of his friend’s murder.

“I was prepared to do just that if necessary to cover all possibilities, but thanks to your hint I believe we can narrow down the options considerably.”

He didn’t recall giving any hints. If he had the wit to crack it he would have done so.

“But you did give one. Twenty-five digits.”

“Ahhh…”

Oh, was she referring to that explicit leading question he had spat out all too willingly in his anxiety? If she had narrowed down the range of answers by that, he might have led the expert astray.

In theory, just as his name could be contrived from the text given, so too could a twenty-five digit number be forged by twisting words around. But if that doesn't open the safe, it was all meaningless anyway.

It's not a number he wanted, but the ledgers.

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#translation #okitegami kyouko #boukyaku tantei

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yandere-wishes · 3 years

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⭐Yandere Joestars⭐

(Parts 1-7 + Bonus Charcter: Joseph and Johnny’s characterizations are based off @dear-yandere ‘s interperations) I tried to write this mostly in the Joestars' POV. Their respective darlings resemble lifelike dolls rather than human beings to further illustrate how out of touch with reality the Jojos have become.

Warnings: Gore, kidnapping, dehumanization.

Edited: By the amazing Peri!! (@tealyjade-libran )

⭐Jonathan Joestar is possessive. ⭐

It's only when you lose something, that you start to cherish it...

It's an old saying, one that Jonathan remembers from an antique storybook his mother use to read him. It didn't mean anything back then, when he was still an infant too young and new, to fully comprehend what "owning" and "losing" was. But as the years ticked by faster than any clock could keep track of, things started to change. What had once been a passing quote in a chivalrous story about knights and dragons, soon turned into the epitome of Jonathan Joestar's life.

Soon love wasn't about saving a princess or impressing the neighborhood girls with his boxing skills. No, all too soon love became about own and guarding.

There may have been a time -long before "Jojo" and Dio met- when Jonathan was just like any other gentleman. Tender and sweet, flirtish at gatherings and charming in ladies' companies...but that was a Jonathan from a could-be-past that had been demolished the minute Dio Brando stepped foot onto the Joestar estate. From then on things depleted all so quickly. Everything Jonathan had come to unconsciously cherished had been so easily stripped from him by his beloved new "brother".

Everything he loved had been killed, destroyed, or broken in some inhuman way. His friends had abandoned him, his lover had distorted him, his father didn't even notice him...

"It's only when you lose something, that you start to cherish it". The second time he hears that phrase, it freezes him to the pavement, his body star-struck like he just received a message from the heavens. Although it's rather peculiar, why "heaven" would convey a message to him in such an unholy place.

With Dio having practically kicked Jonathan out of the mansion and countryside. Jojo had no other place to go but the back allies of London. Sure he still tried to be home for supper and bedtime and any other time his father may get an inkling of his absence. But when there was no need to 'appear' Jonathan took to the London streets away from Dio and his lackeys.

In fate's bizarre game, it's in a backstreet that reeks of days old licker and rotting flesh of paupers that no one has bothered to bury. That Jojo hears that life-defining idiom once more. His dulling sapphire blue eyes follow the mist of those melodious words. Staring until they're practically itching to cut through his sockets and run after those little words. But they stop right before they can leave their eyelets, they stop and stare at the figure that strolls out of the shadows, in such a way, that would make Jojo's father slap him across the face for being "barbarous".

It's luck or fate or maybe even destiny that leads the heir of the Joestar legacy to meet his darling in the slums of England.

"How my heart resonates when I lay my weary eyes on your enchanting face..."

There's an odd sweetness about the naivety that surrounds his little friend. A sort of innocence that comes with not knowing about the hell that he's gone through. It's charming in a moderate way, his darling can't come to despise him if they haven't got a clue who he is. Keeping both his worlds as far apart as possible is really the only option left. Dio and his friends can't hurt his new friend? Lover? Companion? In actuality, Jonathan really doesn't know what you are to him. At first, you're merely a distraction from his crumbling, lonely shell of an existence. A sort of invisible pillar holding up London's bridge before it collapses into the River Thames. Sure he views you as another person, unlike the other noblemen Jonathan has no desire to treat you as anything less than a respectable young lady despite your social statutes.

Dio can have the noblemen and ladies, he can have all of George's affection and favor, Heck Dio can have the whole goddamn world for all Jonathan cares. So long as he has his darling, his sunflower, his only means for living, then he will be content.

Jojo lost everything he once loved, but he swears it to every star in the night sky that'll preserve his darling from the wickedness that runs this cruel world. He'll cherish her while she's still in his arms...

He'll protect her, just like the knights did in the old bedtime stories his mother would tell him.

"...I swear on my honor as a Joestar that I shall never lose you to the likes of anyone, I'll be a true gentleman, a true knight and I'll protect you from any who wishes cause you harm."

⭐Joseph Joestar is Protective and all so patronizing.⭐

Why must Love hurt so much?

It's solitude, pure utter solitude that attracts Joseph to his darling. Oh sure, he must have known them from an earlier time in his life, back when the words Hammon and Ripple just sounded like fancy dessert names. Back when he was still a naive kid wishing on every goddamn star that he could just meet one of his parents for a fraction of a second. Back when life was easy when everything made sense. That's when he first met his darling. Although all so many years ago he probably just thought of them as the little sister he never got a chance of having.

There's a numbness growing inside him now that his life has slipped off its axes, hurling into unknown darkness that plagues him in the form of Pillarmen and red gems.

Everywhere he looks there's a reminder that nothing's going back to the way it used to be. No waking up to Granny Erina's voice calling him down for breakfast, no running around chasing Old Man Speedwagon. Everything is gone, replaced by Lisa Lisa's brutal training and Ceaser's endless taunting.

Day by day nothing changes, but once he looks back every little thing is different. Ruptured and mangled into something unrecognizable.

But then there's his darling. Someone -or rather something- that's still the same. Just like before. Her smile is still the same as ever, bright and cheery as she runs up to him wrapping her arms around his abdomen muttering about how much she missed her "Dear Big Brother".

(Y/N) is a comfort, a familiarity in a strange new world. She's something so frail and vulnerable, not to mention naive. Thrusted into a world where horror writers don't dare venture into. It's so likely that she'd be captured by one of Kar's zombie vampire things or -even worse- charmed by Caesar’s silver tongue.

It's thoughts like these that haunt Joseph at night, keep him up and wandering into her room just to gaze at her sleeping form. He's lucid enough to know how it might look. Like he's the bad guy trying to take advantage of a defenseless little girl. But he can justify his actions, he's her big brother, he has to watch over especially when she's at her most vulnerable. If Ceaser ever tried anything or some vampire freak snatched her away in the dead of night, Joseph would never forgive himself!

But what does he get for all his efforts? What does he get for all his sleepless nights and hours upon hours of worrying? Just a small smile and a fleeting kiss on the cheek. No sincere, "Thank you big brother," or, "You're my hero Joseph!" Nothing, nothing worthwhile anyway.

Now it's a competition, a battle to the death if it has to be -funny how he takes this more seriously than his match against Wamuu.- He's competitive by nature and he's willing to do anything to earn his darling's affection once more. He doesn't care who he has to beat within an inch of their life so long as he can have his darling back in his arms.

There is an aftermath to all of these, once all the fighting has ended and the battle's won. Once Joseph has finally claimed his prize. There's a certain way his darling has to act. She’s got to smile and play the role of the dotting little sister once more. Just so Joseph can justify his actions...

"And your next line is, 'I love you more than anything else big brother Joseph!'...at least I wish it was."

⭐Jotaro Kujo is cold and sadistic.⭐

Never learned how to love...

A lover by Jotaro's book is nothing more than a walking, talking doll. Someone who cooks meals, irons clothes, and kisses him on the cheek before he leaves for the day. Sure they have other uses, in flares of passionate moments, they're something to hold onto, another pair of limbs to get tangled in. Something hot and solid, someone to push down, to weigh his force on.

That's it, that's all there is to it...

A lover and a convenient toy are one of the same.

He knows it's wrong to think about someone that way. To deprive a living thing of all their thoughts and feelings just so it's suitable for him. But at the end of the day who wants to hear idle chatter and gossip or go outside for walks in crowded areas. All too social, it's all so troublesome. All Jotaro wants is a closed-off life, away from the scums of the earth...away from people in general.

It's such an inconvenience to seek out a lover, to hassle through dates and meetups in hopes of finding someone that clicks. Jojo would even go so far as to call it wishful thinking. So it has to be a pure accident that he even meets his darling. They're just someone who gets tangled in with the crusaders. A perfect living perception of 'wrong place, wrong time'. Someone who's life gets blown to bits and shambles just because fate decided to play a cruel joke on them.

And that's what piqued Jotaro's interest. The desperate, depleted look of pain cemented over their face. The sparse dying gleam of determination that blazes within their eyes. Oh, what Jotaro wouldn't do to snuff that little ray of hope. To watch as what little purpose they have is ripped from their arms. What he wouldn't do to see them in pain...

Pain is submission, that's really all Jojo wants. A darling submits, not out of their own free will, but because every little thing they've ever loved has been slaughtered, all that they cherished has been stolen from them.

But it's not enough

It's never enough

Although Jotaro adores the looks of anguish that decorates his lover's face. There's something more satisfying about maltreating them. About leaving marks all over, about leaving bruises that never lose their violet glow. He's claiming his darling, physically and mentally. Not a single day goes that Jotaro doesn't remind his lover who they belong to. From verbal taunts that plague his darling's mind day and night, to punches that break bones leaving them paralyzed on the floor begging for help, to cuts that are just a little too deep to ever heal properly.

Even when his darling is behaving, even when the poor little thing does everything her lover tells her to do, there's still going to be some sort of violence directed at her. Some backhanded remark about how useless they are just because they couldn't follow his mother's recipe. Some sort of blow just for greeting him 'too late'. Trivial things morph into punishments, just for Jotaro's sick amusement.

At his core, Jotaro is an unresponsive man, one with no regard for how others feel. He's distant, it's a trait he can't change. He likes how he does things, how there's no room for slip-ups when it's only him. Even his darling isn't someone he'd consider opening up to. Their opinion of him doesn't matter and their feelings are irrelevant. Most days he's gone until the last possible moment, leaving his darling an endless amount of time to mull over every word and scar.

But here's the catch.

As the clock ticks by, as the nights and days begin to merge into an endless existence, as all hope burns in the pits of hell, darling's mind is also going to stray. Ever so slowly losing its perception of reality.

'Maybe' spiders begin to spin webs of doubt through darling's empty cranium. The isolation begins to bite at her skin like the razor-sharp fangs of frostbite. They start to crave Jotaro's harsh touches, they start to miss the venom-like words. Every insult and slap to the face is welcomed, all the misplaced anger and death threats start to feel like sweet kisses and flowery touches.

Poor darling no longer sees big scary Jotaro as a monster. They've lost the ability to see him for what he truly is.

And what happens when Jotaro does finally come home? Oh, how little (y/n) will ravish in the gut kicks and loathsome words. How she'll take every beating with a sweet sugar-coated smile.

Cause this is her life now. A meaningless existence that revolves around Jotaro and his bleak personality. A life that's only worth living when Jotaro is around.

Is it even a life?

"Yare yare daze you're such a hassle, be glad I keep you around...”

⭐Josuke is obsessive with delusional tendencies.⭐

Maybe I'm the one you'll fall in love with next...

Just like his "father" Joseph, Josuke is stuck in a perpetual state between diaphanous and phantasm.

There's something all too wrong with Morioh nowadays. The narrow streets and verbose buildings have started to feel like a transparent cage. The town has always been small, barely reaching a population of 3,000 despite all the new families that keep moving in.

Nevertheless, everything has dulled, faded, and withered into a monochrome collage. The layers of repetitiveness had finally begun to pick at Joskue's nerves...

And yet somehow, by some diabolical twist of fate. In the mists of the oceans of familiarity, Josuke’s eyes grab onto some shimmering pearl lounged into between the crowd of familiar faces.

Sure he's seen this girl before, but he's never actually seen her. Never stopped to look at the odd way their eyes twinkle like newborn stars or how their skin shimmers with the glow of a thousand suns.

One second is all it took, a fleeting compliment as you passed by Jojo in the peppermint flavored afternoon. Your hair flowing like a tapestry of the galaxy as you disappeared in the crowd of dead pulsars. Not a care in the world, not for him, not for anyone.

Destiny was definitely up to its old cruel tricks again.

He's not stalking. Josuke will swear on his grandfather's grave that he'd never "stalk" a harmless little girl, like some distorted maniac. He just happens to bump into you at the beauty parlor when he's picking up a new brand of hairspray. And it's totally an accident when he meets you out in the abandoned fields! Honest! It's not his fault fate wants the two of you to keep meeting, it's not his fault that you guys are meant to be!

It's not technically a friendship that you two start to build up, it's far from one. Friends don't dream about sugar-filled kisses behind school walls. Or about ice cream that tastes like scandalous touches and candy induced moans. No, Joskue isn't your friend, he NEVER wanted to be your friend. He knows that! He knows what he wants...but with each passing day, he's beginning to doubt that you know that.

He'd never realized he's been so sensitive on you. So entranced by your out of tune voice that muttered rather than spoke. He's seldom been so eager to throw a punch and crack his knuckles on someone's skull, just for saying you looked "lovely today".

Whenever his eyes don't land on you, a rage-filled volcano bubbles in the pit of his gut, uncontrollable anger that festers inside of him, like lava waiting to spill out and burn anyone that wanders too close. His palms itch with the need to hold you, to feel your soft skin rubbing against his.

The jealousy is always there, pricking at his skin like rose thrones. Until they inevitably cut through his flesh and make him lose his composure. He's ready to kick and punch and hurt and kill anyone that comes too close to you, anyone that saunters off their orbit and makes a beeline for you, disturbing the balance of solitude that Josuke so eagerly sets you into.

Sometimes in the dead of night, when the world has finally dozed off, Joskue's mind begins to wonder. He thinks the way he feels about you is the same way an addict feels about his drugs. Maybe to him, you're even more addicting than heroin and ecstasy...and yet he can't quit you, he just doesn't want to quit you. Nothing in this world could compare to your sweet voice that tickles his ear when you lean in, to whisper a secret, or the may your full lips move when you throw another honey-filled insult at him.

He prefers when you're alone when he's the only one you talk to.

Sure there are exceptions like everything in life, although in the end

there's a sort of backhanded irony.

It's those exceptions that are going to hurt him in the.

Josuke trusts his friends, he knows that Okuyasu and Koichi would never do anything to hurt him...

But you're not on that list and to be fair you're surely the only one who can truly hurt him.

You fall for a friend of his. Not him, not the boy that's been driving himself insane just to earn a smile from you, not the boy that let you get away with insulting his hair and poking insults at his look, not him never him, it just can't be him.

"You're like an older brother to me"...Did you wash your mouth with acid before you spat those words at him? Did you intend to lace your words with knives and blades and rubbing alcohol before you stabbed him? It's figurative, sure. But it might as well be literal. No pain, no cut, no punch from any stand would ever hurt so much! You really don't know what you do to him, do you?

"I'm happy for you," it's a lie, blank and simple. Automatic words that he's practiced in the mirror a thousand and one times. He'd rather watch you suffocate on your own blood than in the arms of another man. He'd rather break every bone in your body than watch you kiss one of his friends.

How on earth had he ever come to love you? Someone as cruel and cold. Were you even human? You resembled some ice stand more than a flesh and blood person. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM.

He really hadn't meant for it to become an addiction, he hadn't meant to get all so used to the crunch of bones beneath his foot, and the bloodied lips quivering, shuttering out apologizes for having the gall to utter your name in his presence. But there's only so much a teenage boy can take, only so much torture that he can bury inside with a moonlight smile.

Addictions really do funny things to semi-sane people, huh?

It's a split-second decision, done in the heat of an all so regular moment. It's just a simple half-hearted punch when you beat him at another videogame. Then another

And another

Then a crack, another and another, and before either of you knew it you're on the floor screaming out in pure agony.

Josuke vows he's not being cruel when he breaks your bones so delicately. He can justify every crack, every fracture. Although it's rather repetitive and in certain cases borderline petty.

Five broken bones on your left leg just for "kissing" your new boyfriend. Your right leg is bent at an angle you're sure it's not meant to be. All because you hugged said new lover before going to class.

Josuke's once liquidy blue eyes that held the softness of clouds have been dulled over by a sort of thick mania. His once soft touch is nothing but nails digging into already bruised tissue. His lips wobbling as stray tears flow past his eyes. Muttering apologies and stuttering curses at both you and himself.

It's not really like his darling can leave after that incident. Josuke is known around town as the boy with a diamond heart. There's no way in hell anyone will believe what he did to you. It's just better, safer, to stick close to him, to swallow the indignities and paint a loving smile over your face when you gaze into his depraved eyes.

It's better to pretend to love him, rather than have another limb broken...

"Come on (Y/N), it's just a little crack. If you promise to give me a tiny kiss I'll let Crazy Diamond fix you right up."

⭐Giorno Giovanna is sneaky and manipulative. ⭐

Sono pazzo di te. Sei la cosa più bella che mi sia mai capitata...

There's a sleekness to Giorno, a cunning that's hidden behind layers of charisma and charm mimicking that of his birth father's. It's so easy for him to fool his darling into believing that he's a charming prince from a storybook. He's the good guy trying all so damn hard to make his dream a reality. He's admirable, he's noble, he's Giorno Giovana, the golden boy.

It's not like he ever intends to hurt his darling. He'd never dream of laying a hand on them, he's all too familiar with the wounds that come from endless beatings. The bruises and phantom pains, that get worse as the days slip by. He knows real pain, and unlike all so many others on both sides of his family, Giorno doesn't want his lover to experience an uncia of it.

He'd never repeat what his stepfather and mother did to him. He's going to try and do everything he can to make sure that his darling is safe...

Because isn't that what's important? To make sure the one you love is safe. To make sure they don't get swept off their feet by some masquerading drunkard or taken advantage of by some fanciful sadist.

Giorno will do anything to keep his darling safe, even if it means tampering with their mind a little. Nothing too serious, he'd never even considered changing anything about them. Although isolating them isn't completely off the table and a few verbal threats are fine from time to time. Just for precaution...

Giorno is a rather determined boy, he'll go to any lengths to isolate his lover. Scaring away friends by letting Gold Experience give them a small out of body experience. If they're persistent then he can't guarantee that that out-of-body experience will simply remain an experience much longer. It's not out of malice, but it's what must be done for the sake of his darling, the only other thing he cares about.

There's a shift, a difference between the young naive Giorno Giovanna, the golden boy with starry eyes, and the new boss of Passione, the Mafioso who holds the whole country in the palm of his hand.

Oh sure, as a simple Soldato Giorno was dangerous in his own right. But Don Giorno? He's the sort of monster written about in the grimmest fairy tales. Wearing the appearance of a true king but underneath the luxury suits and priceless watches, he's just another greedy, fire-breathing dragon.

As the Don of Italy's most influential gang, Giorno's manipulation tactics have gotten rather ....hazardous. He doesn't have time to waste getting rid of every single person that poses a threat to his darling. If someone looks their way, he'll send some goons to take care of them.

Although it's so much easier to keep his lover locked away, he even has the perfect excuse now. He's the head of the mafia, he has all so many enemies who jump at the opportunity to hurt him in some way. So he has to keep his defenseless little lover locked away in some mansion that's all so far away.

He's also a bit more violent now. Giorno's more physical, ready to break a bone just for a wrong word or a cracked jaw from a punch for even asking to go outside. He blames it on the stress of running an organization...although it's more likely that all the power from passion has begun to rinse away Giorno's caring side.

"Cuore mio, Resta con me per sempre"

⭐Jolyne Kujo is clingy and obsessive and delusional.⭐

I can't stay away from you...

Jolyne is a rather condescending yandere. Her rough ragged exterior does little to hide the clingy neediness that writhes inside her shattered heart.

She's soft, dependent, desperate at best. Wanting her darling to approve of every tiny trifling thing she does. Needing their words of praise and approving smiles to have the courage to live another day.

At times it seems like the only thing keeping Jojo alive is the "good girl!" and "I'm proud of you!" her darling throws her way. Chanting the words of praise with closed eyes and fluttering smiles of anxiety.

It's difficult to make her sweetheart realize how virulent this relationship is, far too hard to call Jolyne a Yandere. The derogatory term applies to someone who ceases all control from their lover, who locks them in a basement, and throws away the key. It applies to murders and

stalkers and lunatics that roam the streets in the dead of full moon nights. It applies to those who were thrown into Green Dolphin for a reason.

Not to some girl whose life has been demolished over and over and over again.

Not to the girl with a star birthmark that follows her darling around like a lost puppy in the freezing rain.

But even Jolyn has her limits. She's been let down time and time again, abandoned and framed by those she thought she loved unconditionally. From friends to boyfriends to even her own father, everyone leaves, they take what they want, and then they leave.

Flesh like strings, stitched into a web of antithesis and distraught moods, act as a solid, interchangeable reminder of who really holds the power in this relationship. Of how Jolyne can go from needing her darling to controlling her darling in just a fraction of a heartbeat. She loves them, she swears she does...but they need to stay close to her, they need to only think about her.

Her addiction gets worse as the days tick by. It's less romantic, less loving. Morphing into a dependency, a compulsion. Rotting thoughts of her darling suddenly leaving, plague her every waking moment. The once semi pleasant conversations between her lover and her friends, get cut off like a severed limb.

Even Hermes and Foo Fighters aren't "good enough" to be around Jolyne’s lover. She's all so, scared they'll try to take them from her. Stealing the ONLY good thing in her life.

There's a certain degree of control that Jolyne's willing to give to her darling. A sort of freedom to make, revolting appalling choices, so long as they include her. A freedom to boss her around and make her submit. Her darling is free, so long as that freedom revolves around Jolyne.

"(Y/N)~ don't look at them! You should only focus on me! I'm supposed to be your world!"

⭐Johnny Joestar is sadistic and manipulative.⭐

Arrogance disguised as affection...

It's all degradation, all harsh words that sting worse than bullet wounds. Glares from dull wicked blue eyes that might as well kill, cause it's better than the alternative. Smirks that make being alive so damn distasteful. Kisses that engrave the lingering taste of rotting lead into your tongue.

Johnny isn't sweet, he doesn't smile at his little sweetheart. He doesn't pat their head and kiss their temples while uttering sweet nothings into their blushing ear. No, his lover doesn't deserve a honey-coated life. They don't deserve to have what was stolen from him by his so-called "loved ones". Instead, he uses them as a living dart board, for both his acid-laced words and bullet-like fingernails.

There's no love when it comes to Jojo. He doesn't want to waste time on something so frivolous as a "significant other". But he does like having someone -or rather something- to play with, a form of entertainment that bends at his will. Not a pushover, not someone who's too proud either. But a living doll that can take a few verbal spats and survive an armada of fingernail bullets through the stomach.

Oh, sure he wants to break them, having a toy that's so conflicted, that questions their own sanity is so much more fun. But it's the intervals that count. Johnny wants to be the one to break his darling. To engrave the helpless look of distress into his memory. He wants to preserve every scream, every tear. That's the whole purpose of even keeping a darling.

Johnny rarely lets his darling out of his sight. It's so much easier to play with their mind if he's the only one they ever talk to. They'll become so easily dependent on him if he's their only companion. Although sometimes Gyro can get a little too touchy and friendly. And there will be occasions when Hot Pants start to pry into the darling and Jojo's personal life. But the incidents are few and far between. Not like Johnny minds, if anything these minor secondary "meetups" are useful to the paraplegic jockey. They refill his darling with the most precious thing..." Hope". Just so Johnny can beat it out of them all over again.

There's a darkness that resides deep within Johnny. A toxicity that laces his actions. His life is miserable and he's damn well sure it'll always be that way.....

So why not take his lover down with him?

"Don't you love me darlin' ? Cause I certainly don't love ya."

⭐Jorge Joestar is delusional and obsessive.⭐

What if we lost our minds, together?

A love story better than his parents, that's all Jorge wants. Flower field dates, and quick lingering kisses before midnight. Something sweet, that doesn't have a macabre end. A romance without body-snatching vampires and zombies that shed their flesh. Something normal, gentle, lovable.

Although with the family he's been born into and the kind of things that keep finding him. Jorge doubts he's ever going to get such a hopeful love life. He's all so desperate to carve a life for himself outside of his family's shadow, but in the end, it's simply eager wishing.

He's not exactly sure what he's even looking for in a lover. Someone sweet but strong-willed, an average answer. Someone who bears a sort of resemblance to Lisa Lisa. Not physically but rather mentally, he's not a coward, he swears he's not, but he just wants someone who can protect him. A fair exchange in his eyes. His lover will guard him against the bullies and freaks of the island and in turn, he'll protect them from the grim ghouls that run amok through the world. Although when push comes to shove he isn't sure if he'll really be 'protecting' his lover or running away and hiding somewhere with them.

He just wants to fall in love and not go insane, a reasonable request, if he hadn't seen the worst that the world has to offer. It's just wishful thinking, sweet dreams for a boy designed to attract trouble.

He doesn't want to have conversations with his dead lover's head. He doesn't want to wear their skin and waltz around town. He doesn't want any of that creepy, supernatural stuff that destroyed his parent's love.

He just wants normal. But as the years slip by Jorge's grip on "normal" slowly begins to decay.

Normal is something, but what that something is has become a blur. Normal isn't vampires and zombies and ghost clowns that throw nooses around people's necks...Yet on the other hand maybe it is?

He's so far gone that he can't even differentiate between methodical and irregular. His brain's capacity to understand the difference has gotten so altered and broken.

Once he finds his darling he does try to act like the ordinary people of the Canary Islands or England, depending on where he's residing at the time. He tries to follow the mode, just to impress his lover. It's a façade, a bloody masquerade that's bound to deteriorate once he and his lover have settled down.

Although a poetic, domestic life had always been Jorge's dream, he soon comes to learn that it just doesn't suit him. Jorge's paranoia starts to increase. It's comical at first, the way his eyes dart to closed doors, half expecting a killer to emerge. Although the same paranoid tendencies can become rather smothering at times. He's all so certain something is going to jump out of the shadows, some creature with sharp fangs and knife-like claws is going to rip his lover's body to rags.

He's gotten rather umbrageous now that he's the one who's married and living in the Joestar estate. His tendency to run away from any form of conflict has morphed into a rogue-like sense, much similar to a rabid dog barking at anyone who gets too close to its territory. He keeps his darling locked away inside, triple-checking the locks to make sure no one or thing can get in. He avoids the probing disquieting neighbors who still speak ill of his widowed mother and murmurs about the "curses" bestowed on the Joestar bloodline. Sometimes even getting physical when the insults shift towards him and his new lover.

Punches are thrown.

Insults exchanged.

And then the door and windows are locked once more.

Leaving both Jorge and his darling in the chilling company of the semi alive shadows.

It's safer in the basement. It has to be safer down there. After all his mother kept his father's severed head down there for decades before anyone found it. So it's only sensible that his lover will also be safe, tucked away in the darkness of a brick room some few meters under the earth. He's not acting like his mother -and deep down he prays that this isn't something his late father would ever even consider doing- It's a thin line of justification, but he can reason with himself so long as he knows it's not something his other family members have ever done. He does try to keep his darling comfortable down there. Buying them the most luxurious furniture and comfortable bedding. Constantly bringing them new forms of entertainment.

Keeping them in this preserved state is what any reasonable person would do. Not just another insanity driven Joestar.

"It's for your own safety" he's repeated that phrase an umpteenth amount of times, although every time the sculpted words leave his tongue, Jorge becomes less sure of who he's really trying to convince.

Jorge is all so sure that he's doing all of this for both his lover's safety and to erase whatever misfortune follows around the Joestars, like an airy plague. Even his enrolling for the great war is done with this mindset...

Even though in the end it's also this mindset that gets him killed. Leaving his darling a wide window to freedom.

"Darling, what do you think when you look at me?"

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

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lareinenoir · 3 years

Text

THE PURGE; Sanctuary C.E x black reader

PT III

60 Days Until The Purge

THEN...

"I'll order take out. I know you like Thai-"

"Don't order anything. I'm actually not even hungry." You said as he took your bag and put it on his shoulder. "What?" He was looking at you weird and it made you frown.

"Where's the rest of your stuff?"

"You asked me to stay the night. That is my overnight bag." You replied folding your arms and walking over to the couch. Your hand touched your forehead and you sighed. You could still feel him looking at you as you tried to relax with your head leaned back. "After I tell Shonda about our situation, you're signing the papers."

"What do you mean-"

"You know what I mean." You shot back

"Ok, well theirs a lot to consider now." He motioned to your stomach and you sat up straight. "We're having a baby, now."

"No no no." You shook your head feeling your petty insides bubble a bit in sarcasm. "I'm having a baby. Me. Just me.”

"Obviously I want to be apart of our baby's life." Chris argued back and you frowned and scoffed. He put your bag down and crossed his arms as you brushed it off. "You can't seriously think I won't. V that's insane."

"You wanna know what's insane? You think you're gonna get anywhere near it. Why in the hell would I allow you and your broken promises anywhere near my child? Do you think I'm stupid? To make the same mistake twice!"

"Again? V what do you want me to do?" He asks throwing his hands up. "Acting is what I do, that's my job-"

"I don't care about that. I'm not asking you to chose your job or me-"

"It damn well near sounds like it. I would never make you choose." He countered back and you gripped your fists together.

"You may not have said it directly, but there have been many times where you have indirectly patronized me. I just found out I'm pregnant and I have been trying so hard to deal with it." you replied watching him pace back and forth and shake his head. "I have been getting the worst headaches, I can't keep any food down and I literally get lightheaded on set every single day because hiding my pregnancy has been a real joy ride." You replied sarcastically with a small chuckle

"What do you want me to do? I tell you to tell the producers, you get mad. I tell you to take a break, you get mad. I tell you to come over and you’re mad.” Chris said in disbelief. “I don't know what you want from me." He shrugs brushing the hair from his eyes.

"Not once since you found out have you asked me how I'm doing? My whole career is at risk I could lose my job. And you don't even seem to care.” You said

"V, I do care." He reached for your shoulder and you took in another breath. "I want you to stop worrying all the time. And you're right, I should be concerned more about you. I should be there for you-I should've been there for you in the beginning.” He admitted and you folded your lips again.

Are For real this time? Should I let it go and move past it? Again? No because it'll start all over again.

"This baby is mine. This is a life changing thing that's happening, I can't let you ruin it too." You spoke

" I'm taking responsibility because this is something I want. Ok? Can't we find some common ground? You of all people should know what it's like to grow up without a father!"

"You know too!" You shouted back. Chris' dad had died when he was younger. He talked about him sometimes but not as much. "I'd rather have had my father six feet under then to have him choosing when it's convenient for him to show up!" You said with your foot down shaking your head.

"Forget the divorce. Me and you living here happily married for the years to come. Whats so bad about that? Why can't I have that? What's so wrong with the picture of two parents raising a child?" His voice was loud and he was getting frustrated. He didn't shout, but you could tell how passionate he was about it. He always wanted to be a daddy, a parent. "Huh?"

"It's not just about you!" You said stepping closer. "Because..." You shrugged feeling your eyes water as you suck in your cheeks. "I knew the kind of man I was marrying. So involved with his job it took him almost fifteen years to actually start dating. It's not about you or your career. This baby is all I have right now.”

He looked confused as he relaxed his brow and pinched the bridge of his nose. From two feet away you could feel his heartbeat and you felt a little bad for how foolish you probably looked. You still loved him, not like you ever stopped, but you remembered that you still loved him.

Because, it's not about me either anymore. You thought

"Forget the papers okay..." You said swallowing your own pride. "just forget it. You’re right. I want our child to have two parents who will love him unconditionally. But it has to stop, because it takes two. I can't have you with one foot in the door." You admitted

“Yeah yeah.” He nodded “yeah I get that. I’m not going anywhere.” Chris said and you walked forward and took his hand kissing his palm as you placed it on the side of your face. “I promise V.” He cups your face and stares into your eyes. His stubble poking at you a bit as you held his wrists.

“I love you.” You said with a small smile

“Still?” He laughed making you roll your eyes as you giggled a little. “I love you too. Are you sure you aren’t hungry?” He asks again

“Yes.” You nodded “now shut up and come take a nap with me.”

NOW....

CHRIS POV**

“Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!” I said throwing the phone on the couch. I had called five times and her phone went straight to voicemail.

“This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System. Announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. ALL Weapons have been authorized for use during the purge. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime (including murder) will be legal for 121 days. Police, fire, and Emergency Medical services will be unavailable until December 15, 12:00 o’clock midnight, when the purge concludes. Blessed be our new founding fathers and America... A nation reborn. May God be with you all.”

My tv was replayed the message nine more times before shutting off. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Today is august 15, Vanessa’s birthday is tomorrow which was when she’d be 17 weeks. We had marked it on the calendar together. More than half my wife’s pregnancy would be spent during the purge. I needed to find her!

I didn’t support the purge. Something about killing people to be “cleansed” just didn’t sit right in my gut. It made my heart ache thinking about the clean up at the end. I could bring Dodger, but he can only do so much. Maybe he could help track her scent. Grabbing my coat I folded my lips together.

“Fuck!” I shout

With what weapon? How was I going to run the streets looking for my wife without a gun? I loved the idea of owning one, but Vanessa made me swear not to bring one in the house if she was there. So I just dropped the idea. Looking in the kitchen I grabbed one of the Chef knives off the rack. Maybe this would be enough for now...

“Damnit!” I curse looking at Dodger. “She said she was at Topanga Park. Start there?” I asked, as if he’d answer back. I grabbed her bonnet from off the bathroom door handle and stuffed it in my backpack.

I didn’t hesitate l. I locked up everything and jumped inside my truck. Dodger sat on the passenger side and I felt my hands start to shake as I put my foot on the gas. I started to promise god I would go to church if he would keep her safe.

“I don’t even know if you’re even listening or you even care. I love her, I’ve been such and idiot and I don’t wanna lose her.” I looked at Dodger and he was sitting up straight. “I remember you didn’t like her. You wouldn’t let her anywhere near me, you bark and squeeze yourself in between us when we sat down in the room to watch movies.” I chuckle wiping the little tear that slipped from my eye “You stole one of her wigs too.”

“WHAT THE FUCK!” she shouted chasing you around the house. “DODGER GIVE IT BACK! COME BACK!”

We chased him around the house and Dodger thought it was some sort of game. We had been officially dating for a month. I had started laughing when I caught him and held her headband wig in my hand. She stood their with her arms folded while I petted his head and she rolled her eyes.

"I told you he doesn't like me." She said as I stood up and she took the wig from my hand.

"Come on, he's just getting used to you."

"I've been over here every day. Your dog hates me."

"What?" I tilted my head to the side and touch her nose with my index finger. "Deal breaker? If my dog doesn't like my girlfriend, I'm gonna dump her? Tell me where that makes sense."

She walked closer to me and wrapped her arms around my waist looking up at the ceiling as I kissed her neck. "I guess you have a point." Vanessa sighed.

"He's just warming up to you that's all."

"What's stopping me from breaking up with you?"

"Over a dog?"

"This is his third assault against me. First it was tearing up my purse, then chewing up my crocs, not to mention the little shit I found inside of them. And now stealing my wig and playing cat and mouse." Said Vanessa as I rested my head on top of hers. "Luckily this is a backup wig."

“Aren’t you wearing one right now?” I asked

“Headband wig. And that wig your dog has destroyed,” she gave him the side eye “it was my favorite and expensive.” She gritted her teeth

“I’ll buy you another one.” I offered

She purses her lips and shook her head. “I don’t want you buying me anything. I’ll just break up with you. For real this time.”

"Fine then..." I baited her shrugging my shoulders. "Break up with me."

“Over a dog?” She frowns mocking me as I smile down at her and her eyebrows bend downward a little as she caressed my face. Her finger was gentle and she stood on her top toes and kissed my lips. “Never.”

...

I look over at Dodger and pat his head. "We'll find her. I know we will." I say trying to lift my spirits.

When we arrived to Topanga Park, it was a sight. I didn't even want to leave the truck. I felt my heart race a little more. "What the hell..."

In the middle of traffic-in between the cars were bodies. Dodger started barking at the train of blood that stained the streets. It was empty, but I could feel a heavy weight on my back. Walking behind me, next to me...it was all around me. I hadn't realized I had my hand over my mouth an nose, it was hard for me to breath as the stench of dead bodies. Dodger kept barking and that led to me chasing after him. I had her bonnet in one hand and I called after him.

I came to a halt when I came face to face with another person. He had Dodger in his hands and I felt my muscle tense up. He was tall and very familiar looking. I swallowed the lump in my throat and held the kitchen knife in my hand with a firm grip.

"Captain America?"

I tilted my head sideways and licked my lower lip narrowing my brow a little. "Yeah, give me the dog and we can go our separate ways. Ok?"

He nodded his head. He ran his fingers through his hair and put the dog down. I wasn't really concerned about who he was I was trying to prepare for a fight. He dropped his gun on the ground and held up his his hand.

"I'm not going to kill you. I'm looking for my wife." He said "She left her watch in that building." He pointed to the school and slowly pulled the watch from his pocket.

"In there?" I asked

"Yeah." He nodded, but I still couldn't shake the feeling I knew him from somewhere. "My name is Jared. My wife's name is Gianne, I'm pretty sure she was with someone else-are you looking for someone too? Maybe we could help each other. There was something written on the chalkboard in there, I wasn't something Gia would write, but she was here. All I wanna do is find her-"

"Supernatural?" I asked turning my head to the side. Vanessa loved that show. Whenever she had spare time she would watch it or on those many night she'd spend the night at my house we would watch it-well not really watch it. The Netflix and 'chill' was emphasized. "You said something about some sort of message on the wall?" I asked motioning with my hand. "what did it say?"

"um, CE equals BE or something like that." He shrugged

I laughed a little. Vanessa Evans plus Chris Evans equals Baby Evans. It was a stupid joke-an Easter egg if you will. Shonda put in the show on the whiteboard in one of our love scenes as a way to announce our pregnancy to the audience. She often left clues to the next episode in every episode except this one was not only in the show but in real life.

"Chris Evans." I say extending my hand out to him. I'm pretty sure he knew by the little smile playing on his face. He shook my hand and nodded his head.

"I know. I'm a big marvel fan, I know all your lines." Jared chuckled and then cleared his throat as he nervously laughed. "Nice to meet you. I'm Jared Padalecki - I know I said that already..."

I introduced him to Dodger and I felt a little more relaxed. I gathered that she was alive and we both came to the assumption that they were traveling together.

"Where do you think their headed?" I asked as we walked to his car which was tricked out and full of ammunition and guns. Not to mention government level protective gear.

"While I was in there, I picked up someone else. Heavy footed and big, traveling with dogs. Hair everywhere." He went on tossing me a bullet proof vest. "You heard of Sanctuary?"

"The safety place? Yeah, but it's hard to find. It's for people who get caught in the Purge right?"

He narrowed his brow and shook his head. "No." Said Jared sharply. "Sanctuary is a secret government funded task force. It started off as a conspiracy some myth to explain all the random disappearances throughout the year. It's a government project designed for population control." He went on

"Ok...what does that have anything to do with the Purge?"

"Everything. An organization designed to control the US population. We're talking Pro killers who were once on a leash, but when that horn sounded and the Purge began, they are just as free to kill anyone they want." Said Jared handing me an ipad. It was a list of celebrities. From pro athletes like Steph Curry and their immediate families to movie stars and singers like Rhianna and Tom Cruise. "There are rumors that they are hunting celebrities. The kardashians and Jenner's are fair game. If not the stars themselves then they choose their parents, brothers and sisters."

"And do what?" I asked quietly as I saw mine and Vanesssa picture

"Most get auctioned off to the highest bidder, I've also heard they kill them on the spot for money or bring them in to fight for the death. Bottom line, there is a bounty on our heads. During the Purge everyone is fair game, their is no protection."

"You're telling me she's out there being hunted by them right now?" I asked

“Possibly. The dog hair isn’t a breed we know. They are a combination of hunting canines, bloodhound, foxhound, Labrador retriever with the built and aggression of a something like a pit bull a Rottweiler.” Said Jared as I looked up from the iPad and gave it back. “You’re gonna need more than a kitchen knife. We find the dogs and the hunter and we’ll find them.”

He held a gun out to me and wiped my mouth with the palm of my hand trying to mentally prepare for what is to come."

“Do you believe in the Purge?” I asked still questioning why his car was full of weapons. “You kill people?”

He nodded his head. “Yes. I don’t believe in hiding or waiting for someone to kill me. We all have the right to Purge."

"What's stopping you from killing me?"

Jared sighed and shook his head. "I'm hunting them. I'm surviving and if you decide to threaten my survival, then I'll kill you." He went over to the driver side of his Ford charger. "Get in. Knowing Gia she is headed for Roberts hole."

"What's that?" I asked climbing in the passenger seat of the car.

“It’s a Cassino for celebrities. Jack Black owns it. It’s locked up right but open to his favorites during the Purge.”

“They’ll be there?”

“Relax.” He out his hand in my shoulder and looked at me as dodger sat in the back seat. “We will find them. You know how to shoot don’t you?” Jared raised his gun in the air and nodded my head.

I guess it wasn’t confidently and he chuckled. “Vanessa isn’t a fan of guns.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll practice. Ok?”

A/N: Sorry it took so long😬 don’t hate me, please. Lol, I hope everyone is doing well and safe out here. If you wanna be tagged leave it in the ask box, Anyways…Untill next time!

Tags!

@Tantricevans

@rosey1981

@toni9

@onceuponahuntersrealm

@pm-my-hubbies

@Cynthetic

@liqourlaughslove

@melaninfalconbucky

@omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

#chris evans x black women #fangirls #fanfiction #fans #chris evans #fanfics #chris evans fluff #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x reader #the purge: sanctuary #the purge fanfic #the purge au #chris evans x pregnant!reader #chris evans imagine #imagines #the purge #pregnant reader

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gryphis-eyes · 3 years

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⊙ Paid Readings ⊙ [OPEN]

Rules

◇ I don’t read for people who are under 16 yo

◇ No refund except if there is a problem on my side and i'm not able to give you your reading

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◇ Im ok for talking about your situation but remember, those readings are for advices and to give a little push, don’t overthink your reading and remember i am not a psychologist or therapist. I won’t answer question about health or important life decision, I can’t put myself in someone’s head so I won’t do stuff like ”what are they feeling/think about...”

How to book a reading ?

⊙ simply send me a mail on [email protected] with your choice(s) and you can add specific questions, all i need is a contexte and your name 【 it doesn’t have to be your real name it can be a surname 】 i’ll send you my PayPal link and then you’ll recieve your reading in PDF format.

⊙ You can also DM me here so we can talk then you send me your mail OR receive it in dm but it won’t be in pdf.

◇ How long should I wait ? For big reading 【 like the Grand tableau and the 7 planets spread】 it can take 2 weeks, only 1 for the other but i’ll try to give your reading as soon as possible !

If you want your feedback to be posted here you can send an ask or just tell me if i can publish your message or not 【Don’t worry if you forget about it i always ask at the end.】

Don’t forget to check my PAC before asking for a reading, your answer might be found over here or you might not resonate with my energy. ⊙

⊙ Quick reading 【3 cards】 5€

I will answer any question but know that it's only one question.

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Same as before but this time you can ask 2 or 3 questions, it’s 5€ for 3 cards and 3 cards per question.

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A very big tarot spread that i love doing, it is based on the 22 Major Arcana it overview 6 month or a year, Amazing reading for your birthday or at the end/begining of the year.

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Everything is in the tilte, i'll do a description of your futur spouse/love of your life and overview their personnality, your meeting and any additional message that the cards will allow me to have. For physical feature i'll say it if i got it but i won't force the message. I can't predict zodiac placement i don't have enough knowledge on the subject.

⊙ 7 Planets Spread 30 €

A tarot spread from the egyptian tarot deck, i can only do it at night (tradition), this reading is an overview of 7 aspects of your life based on the 7 planets ; You, Mind Body Spirit, Work/Study, Love/Passion, Advice/Help, Luck/Benediction and Obstacles. This spread is very long to do and need to be done at night with the egyptian tarot deck and call upon deities .Unlike the Grand Tableau it can be done at anytime of the year.

○ Spirit Guide 10€

I'll get as much info as i can about the spirit guide who is the closest to you. If you already know some things about your spirit guide feel free to communicate me as much info as you can.

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I'll try to know which deity you'll work better with + a message from them. If you already have idea or think someone is contacting your i can give confirmation this reading is about anything that touch Deity work. Remember this is a serious reading if you want to work with deities you need to already know how to protect yourself and basics.

○ Demon Reading 20€

This reading is similar to the deity one but since i’m on their path since 7 years I’ll ask for the demon who can work with you. I can confirm who your patron is, every reading will have a message from them. Remember this is a serious reading if you want to work with demons you need to already know how to protect yourself and basics. Think twice before getting on this path it’s not for the faint of heart.

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#divination #paid readings #tarot #pick a card #gryphis #witchcraft #spirituality #witchblr

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iconuk01 · 2 years

Text

Letter to Mama

Armistead Maupin's "More Tales of the City" from 1980 (Based on his newspaper column in the "San Francisco Chronicle" during the 70's) included, at one point, the letter which principle character Michael "Mouse" Tolliver sent to his parents to come out of the closet.

It is based on an actual letter Maupin sent to his own parents for the same reason.

Over 40 years later it still packs an emotional bodyslam that I imagine many are familiar with, but even moreso contextualised to the time when Anita Bryant's anti-gay "Save Our Children" campaign was running in 1977.

+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +

Dear Mama,

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write. Every time I try to write you and Papa I realize I'm not saying the things that are in my heart. That would be OK, if I loved you any less than I do, but you are still my parents and I am still your child.

I have friends who think I'm foolish to write this letter. I hope they're wrong. I hope their doubts are based on parents who love and trust them less than mine do. I hope especially that you'll see this as an act of love on my part, a sign of my continuing need to share my life with you. I wouldn't have written, I guess, if you hadn't told me about your involvement in the Save Our Children campaign. That, more than anything, made it clear that my responsibility was to tell you the truth, that your own child is homosexual, and that I never needed saving from anything except the cruel and ignorant piety of people like Anita Bryant.

I'm sorry, Mama. Not for what I am, but for how you must feel at this moment. I know what that feeling is, for I felt it for most of my life. Revulsion, shame, disbelief -- rejection through fear of something I knew, even as a child, was as basic to my nature as the color of my eyes.

No, Mama, I wasn't "recruited." No seasoned homosexual ever served as my mentor. But you know what? I wish someone had. I wish someone older than me and wiser than the people in Orlando had taken me aside and said, "You're all right, kid. You can grow up to be a doctor or a teacher just like anyone else. You're not crazy or sick or evil. You can succeed and be happy and find peace with friends -- all kinds of friends -- who don't give a damn who you go to bed with. Most of all, though, you can love and be loved, without hating yourself for it."

But no one ever said that to me, Mama. I had to find it out on my own, with the help of the city that has become my home. I know this may be hard for you to believe, but San Francisco is full of men and women, both straight and gay, who don't consider sexuality in measuring the worth of another human being.

These aren't radicals or weirdos, Mama. They are shop clerks and bankers and little old ladies and people who nod and smile to you when you meet them on the bus. Their attitude is neither patronizing nor pitying. And their message is so simple: Yes, you are a person. Yes, I like you. Yes, it's all right for you to like me, too.

I know what you must be thinking now. You're asking yourself: What did we do wrong? How did we let this happen? Which one of us made him that way?

I can't answer that, Mama. In the long run, I guess I really don't care. All I know is this: If you and Papa are responsible for the way I am, then I thank you with all my heart, for it's the light and the joy of my life.

I know I can't tell you what it is to be gay. But I can tell you what it's not.

It's not hiding behind words, Mama. Like family and decency and Christianity. It's not fearing your body, or the pleasures that God made for it. It's not judging your neighbor, except when he's crass or unkind.

Being gay has taught me tolerance, compassion and humility. It has shown me the limitless possibilities of living. It has given me people whose passion and kindness and sensitivity have provided a constant source of strength.

It has brought me into the family of man, Mama, and I like it here. I like it.

There's not much else I can say, except that I'm the same Michael you've always known. You just know me better now. I have never consciously done anything to hurt you. I never will.

Please don't feel you have to answer this right away. It's enough for me to know that I no longer have to lie to the people who taught me to value truth.

Mary Ann sends her love.

Everything is fine at 28 Barbary Lane.

Your loving son,

Michael

+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +

This is how it appeared in the 1998 television adaptation

youtube

Though Sir Ian McKellan, a good friend of Maupin's has also performed it on stage too, and it's as good as you'd hope

#armistead maupin #tales of the city #more tales of the city #Youtube

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jjmaybanksbaby · 3 years

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Where It Leads (Rafe Cameron)

Summer IV

Part 07: Crashing Down

series masterlist | previous part

summary: A jarring family emergency forces you to consider the future of your relationship with Rafe Cameron.

a/n: I'm a little bit emotional about this series ending because I've had so much fun writing it! Enjoy the last part and, as always, please come share your reactions with me in my inbox. Okay, that's all from me!

word count: 2.1k words

Rafe Cameron knew how to text. He was somehow witty, charming, and hilarious all in less characters than a single tweet. Texting with most boys was like talking to a brick wall: single-syllable answers, unironic uses of punctuation, asking “What are you wearing?” before even listening to how your day went. Though, to be fair, Rafe had asked that same question a few times, which always earned him a sarcastic answer in return. Well, except for that one time.

You’d been forced to spill the beans about your dreamy summer romance to Alice and Kensie after one of Rafe’s funnier texts almost made you pee yourself laughing at the lunch table.

“Oh, so he’s a stud muffin,” Alice announced, peering over Kenzie’s shoulder at the photo on your phone.

“Please god don’t call anyone a stud muffin ever again Al,” Kenzie replied.

“What? The 80s are like making a comeback.”

“Yeah, not that,” you countered and Alice huffed.

“He’s totally hot though,” Kenzie said, handing the phone back to you. “And I kinda hate you for not telling us about him.”

You looked down at the picture. Rafe was kissing your check while you grinned up at the camera, the golden hour lighting made the whole thing look rather enchanting. It was your favorite picture of you and him.

“Oh shit,” Kenzie said causing you to look up from the phone. “You’re like in love in love with him.”

“What? No,” you protested. Yes, your brain corrected.

Kenzie glanced over at Alice for backup.

“Besides, I wasn’t hiding him. I just didn’t know if there was anything there to...tell,” you finished.

“I wish I had a handsome summer fling with spectacular cheekbones,” Alice sighed.

“Don’t let your boyfriend hear you saying that.” Kenzie chucked a fry off her tray at Alice who dodged it expertly.

“Oh, please. Matty knows I would dump his ass for someone who looks like a young Chuck Bass any day of the week. Gimme your phone. I wanna see the photos again y/n.”

“I seriously don’t know how you and Matthew have been together for two years,” Kenzie replied.

“Are you kidding? They’re practically made for each other,” you added.

“The phone, please,” Alice interjected. “I wanna thirst over your mans while my boyfriend is sucking up to his English teacher so she doesn’t fail him. Of course, I told him he needed to actually read Wuthering Heights and not just sparknotes it. But did he listen? No. I picked a real winner y’all,” she finished, taking the phone from your outstretched hands. “You sure Rafe doesn’t have any brothers? Not even like a half-step brother?”

So yeah, going great. Against the odds of three thousand miles, the whole thing was somehow working. Long-distance friends with benefits? Check. Well, except for those moments when that nagging feeling in your stomach came back and you’d start overthinking everything. His texts would sit, unread in your phone for days or even a whole week, slowly sinking to the bottom of your messages.

Then came the call from the Kildare Country Hospital in the early hours of a foggy April morning. You should have gone to sleep hours ago but were still up, desperately trying to cram Maria’s lines into your brain while also texting Rafe. The Sound of Music opened in three weeks and your director had already chewed you out twice for not being off-book, something about being an upperclassman and the lead, and what kind of an example were you setting for the rest of the program. Big speeches were kind of your director's thing, you learned to just ride them out.

Around 1 a.m. your phone ran with an incoming FaceTime call from Rafe. You pressed the green acccept button, a smile spread across your face as Rafe’s own filled the screen.

“Hey Broadway Star.”

“Hi Rafe.” The dim lighting of his bedroom made his feature especially striking. “What are you still doing up?”

“Can’t sleep. Plus you’re up too so. How’s the memorizing going?”

“Shitty,” you replied, closing your binder with a sigh. “I’m too tired to do anymore of it tonight anyway.”

“You know, I was thinking I could come to Oregon for your opening night?”

“Really?” The possibility of Rafe sitting in the audience made your heart race.

“Yeah, why not? I’ll ask Ward if I can borrow the plane that weekend and I bet Sarah’ll want to come too. I wanna see my girl kill it. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Rafe. You know my friends think you’re hot.”

“Oh, do they?” Rafe replied, rolling over onto his back in his bed.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Cameron.”

The home phone ran but you ignored it, much more invested in your conversation with Rafe. The second time the hospital left a message. Your Nonna’s heart had given out. The prognosis wasn’t good. She had barely any time left.

Your heart dropped as the words echoed over the speaker of the answering machine.

“Rafe,” you said, cutting him off momentarily. “I gotta go. I’ll call you back later. I gotta-” you ended the call before Rafe even had the chance to respond. You dropped your phone on the kitchen table, dashing up the stairs to your parents’ bedroom. Your father was booking a flight for your mother back to the Outer Banks minutes later.

The end had come so quickly, so unexpectedly. It was almost like that made it harder. There'd been just enough time for your mom and uncle to get to the Outer Banks, sitting on each side of your Nonna as her final breaths passed through her lungs. Now, everyone was there to say goodbye one last time. Uncle Austin and his fiancé. Your mom and dad. Both your siblings. The entire population of Figure Eight.

☼☼☼

Rain drizzled down from the dark, gray clouds looming overhead. It was as if Mother Nature was mourning your Nonna too, hiding the sunshine away.

Three baby ducks followed their mama into the man-made pond at the edge of the cemetery. You watched their tiny feet kick up small waves disturbing the peaceful water and the tears silently slipped down your face.

The cars were waiting to take you back to your Nonna's house for the wake. The same house with the for-sale sign now stuck in the front yard. The for-sale sign with Rose's patronizing grin that you were starting to really hate. Your dad had handled that. Listing the house. He'd handled most of the funeral arrangement's actually because your mother had been too sunken into her grief to make any decision. Sending out the invitations, picking out your Nonna's casket, choosing the flowers. Your mother clung to him during the entire funeral, weeping into his shoulder.

“Y/n?” Rafe's voice called out from behind you and you turned to see him walked toward you. He’d stood at the back of the church with his family during the funeral. You had longed for him to be sitting in the first pew next to you, to have had his hand to hold onto to ground you, but it hardly would have been appropriate. Your Nonna would have sooner risen from the dead than have had a Cameron front row at her funeral.

As soon as he was close enough, Rafe reached for you, pulling your body tight into him. Your head landed on his chest and the sobs came moments later. God, he always smelled the same. He just let you cry, holding you close, smoothing his hand over your hair.

“I know you’re selling your grandma’s house but I was thinking you could stay with me for the summer," he said as your tears began to slow. It was hard to imagine that you wouldn't return to the Outer Banks once school let out. It was the first week of May already and you could feel the tourist-attracting town waking up. But selling the house just made more sense. Your older sister was already living her life in New York, a real adult life. Next summer, you'd be moving out too, headed to college. The house would sit empty for eight months out of the year, your family couldn't keep it and your uncle certainly didn’t want it. Selling it just had to happen.

You stepped back, slipping out of his embrace. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rafe.”

“Why not?”

“Cause we’re like Romeo and Juliet.”

“I copied Cleo’s notes for that unit," he joked, trying to lighten to damp mood. “Plus I was never a fan of Leo DiCaprio so I didn’t finish the movie either.”

“It means we’re not supposed to be together, you and me. And whenever we try, the universe rips us apart. We hurt each other.”

Rafe shifted awkwardly on his feet, clearly wanting to reach for you again but stopping himself from doing it. “But I can't lose you.”

You reached your hand out, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Oh Rafe, don’t you get it? You never really had me.” You stood up onto your tiptoes to kiss him just like you had the first time three years ago. Rafe barely parted his lips, kissing you back gently. Your hand cupped his face, your thump stroking over his cheek. It was a goodbye. Both of you knew it. It was an ending and this was your closure. You pulled away, your hand falling away from his face.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the actual words. Your eyes fell to the ground. You needed to walk away now. You side-stepped Rafe but he grabbed your waist, turning you back around to face him.

“So that’s it? You’re not even gonna try to fight for us?”

“What even is there to fight for, Rafe? I’ve been fighting for us for the past four years. If we were supposed to be together that car wouldn’t have crashed into ours, I wouldn’t have fallen for Evan when I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at my Nonna’s funeral. What? Are we supposed to do long distance for all of college? I hardly know who I am right now. I have no idea who I’ll be in the next four years. Our future selves might not even like each other. I’m not gonna wait around for you Rafe and I would never ask you to do that for me.” You twirled the small, star charm between your fingers, a nervous habit you'd developed over the past year. His eyes dropped down to your neck momentarily and his adam's apple visibly bobbing as he swallowed his next weeks.

“You were it for me, you know. I tried to give a fuck about anyone else but I couldn’t get your gorgeous, stupid face out of my mind. I only wanted you.” Rafe paused gauging your reaction “I was falling in love with you.”

Your eyes wandered over his stoic expression. “The feeling was mutual, Rafe Cameron.”

He dropped your wrist but you both stood, not moving or saying anything. “Do you wanna walk me back to the car?”

“Yeah.” He reached for your hand, interlocking your fingers. Your other hand held onto his bicep so you walked together through the graveyard back to the parking lot.

The moment felt precious and delicate, like the fragile china your Nonna used to collect. You wondered what would happen to all that china.

Rafe placed a chaste kiss on your lips before opening the door of the car.

“I’ll miss you,” you said, the words hanging in the air meaning so much.

“Me too,” Rafe agreed.

You wanted one more kiss, one more passionate declaration of how much this all had meant but that would make leaving Rafe so much more impossible.

You climbed into the car, dropping Rafe’s hand in the process.

“See you around Cameron.” You knew it wouldn’t happen but it felt better than a goodbye.

He smiled back. “Maybe so.”

Perhaps Rafe was right and you’d both end up at a small liberal arts college in California taking the same second-year Econ class with a professor who always smelled like weed. Perhaps the stars would align and two of you would realize the universe wasn’t trying to keep you apart. It was just waiting for the right moment to show you that the love you had for each other was the soulmates, forever and ever kind of love. Perhaps you would get married and Sarah would be your maid of honor, of course. You’d buy back your Nonna’s house to raise your troubling-making kids in. Perhaps, you would find your way back and wake up each day and choose each other again and again.

Or perhaps, he'd always be your right-person-wrong-time. And, in the end, the passing days will steal away your memories of the blue-eyed boy from the Outer Banks.

taglist! @oreoenthusiast13

#outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron series #obx netflix #obx #obx fanfic #where it leads series #where it leads

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y0d00p · 2 years

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Demon AU post... Uh 3 I think

There's a less development on the heaven side of things because we like nasty little demon guys and corruption and shit too much lol. The main heavenly characters are Galacta (Gabriel) and Morpho (Abaddon).

Galacta is huge and dangerous and a hotshot celebrity angel and has a horrible temper. When he got in trouble with God for spending too much time with his demon bf he threw a tantrum that set off a volcanic explosion or something.

He does act as a messenger of sorts, frequently conveying messages to the other characters from God (they're tight), and while I thought it was funny if he wasnt actually a Battle Angel and was the patron saint of stamp collectors despite being super fuckin buff and aggro my partner (who plays him) retconned that and Galacta says that portrayal is a mistake/misunderstanding of some sort. Not sure what he does besides sending messages, probably does lazy patrols and beats up demons that venture onto the surface.

DMK (the incubus) decided he wanted to seduce a real ass angel one day and bet his buddies he could get Gabriel. He did this under the assumption that Gabriel was a mild mannered stamp angel and all his friends knew the truth but no one told him because they're demons and thought it'd be funny if he got beat up or whatever. Joke's on them because it totally worked and they ended up dating for a couple hundred years (they're immortal okay).

Galacta grew horns thanks to DMK's demonic influence so demon au Galacta is just a normal ass Galacta gijinka. His own inherent extreme holiness kept his transformation from ever going past that point. DMK in turn got a fucked up eye from Galacta's heavenly influence. It's fine he doesn't mind.

Side note: I adore dametagala, especially this version of them, for whatever reason they're just really fun and funny and good.

Morpho used to be a more standard high ranking angel by the name of Muriel but came into the job and title of Abaddon. My research on Abaddon was vague and sparse so in the au they're just a grim reaper esque figure that leads dead souls up or down wherever they need to go and makes sure that the people who go down stay down. They live alone in The Pit and they're pretty lonely and have seen a lot of sadness and death and almost everyone is scared of them but they're actually very nice.

Dedede is Daniel and acts as a sort of guardian angel to MK. He actually spends a lot of his time disguised as a human and is a friend of MK's. MK (for now) is completely ignorant to the fact that Dedede is an angel and truly believes that Dedede is just his Normal Friend he can go to to get away from his whacky life dating a demon and another angel. MK believes he needs to hide the weird supernatural shit in his life from Dedede and Dedede can't say anything because he's weirdly adamant about not revealing his true identity (antiquated rules or something?).

Dedede and Galacta are of course acquainted, basically coworkers, technically Morpho as well but Dedede and Galacta know each other better because Dedede is "assigned" to MK and Galacta is one of his bfs. Dedede does not like how careless and open Galacta is about being an angel and the fact that he's just fucking dating a human dude. He doesn't exactly scold him (especially since God was literally like it's fine whatever lol) but he frequently expresses his frustration with it.

Galacta and DMK keep encouraging him to just fess up like its fine dude it doesn't matter just tell him but Dedede refuses. Partially because rules or whatever mostly because he'd hate to shatter MK's illusion of having a normal human friend. Maybe he thinks he does a better job as a guardian from a more "hidden" role.

Other characters that are probably angels but we haven't given much thought to: Taranza, Shadow Marx, Ribbon, Fairy Queen, Bandana Dee

Also Marx may have been the son of God but he just decided like "im evil now" and that's why he's in hell with Magolor.

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fairycosmos · 3 years

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you seem like you loved your sister so much & neither of you deserve to live lives of pain. i have a sister too & i'm going to kill myself soon & everything's ready. she doesn't love me & definitely not the way you loved yours so unconditionally but i feel sorry about it anyway. but one can't always live in pain just to spare others, right? i lived enough. all i know is that you never deserved this and neither did she. i hope she's at peace. it was never your fault.

hey. i’m not going to pretend i know the details of the dynamic between you and your sister, nor am i going to act like i can change your mind about any of this as a stranger on the internet when you’re obviously going through very deeply rooted issues that need real medical attention n treatment. or at the very least the attention of someone in your actual life. at the same time, you know i’m not just going to let this sort of thing fly in my inbox either. so i’ll talk for a bit and if you want to listen and take some of it on board, then that’s great. if not, that’s ok too. i really hope you do though, even if your brain is screaming at you not to. that it’s all pointless and all the usual shit. again, i don’t know the ins and outs of your relationship with your sister, and i don’t mean to minimize whatever struggle you’ve had with her. i’m sure its been unimaginably difficult, and i do feel lucky to have been such great friends with my own. i know it’s not the case for everyone, so maybe my perspective is skewed. but i can tell you that the state of your relationship with her is not going to minimize the grief or the heartache losing you will cause. because death throws all of that shit right into perspective in a very real, unchangeable way. and it is like nothing you can currently think of. you are still siblings. you still had a whole life together, and you are the only people in the world who were raised the exact same way. there’s always going to be a bond and there’s always going to be some part of her that cares. before my sister died, we were not as close as we had been previously. we weren’t properly fighting or anything, but drugs estrange you from people and we had had more rough moments than usual. and some moments i didn’t recognize her. we weren’t spending as much time with each other either. and it didn’t change a thing. i think about the fights now, or all those hours i spent not talking to her when she was just in the other room. and i just know innately it was beyond stupid. but i don’t blame her, i don’t hate her. i don’t sit there and think i’m glad she’s gone just because there were moments she infuriated me. i know that’s my situation, and maybe ours are incomparable. and if she has been abusive to you in some way, i don’t blame you at all for feeling this way. but i just know that when you are suicidal you are biased against yourself, automatically. your brain will twist every relationship and situation in your life to justify killing yourself. it will force you to think in black and whites - according to your mind, it’s not that you’re struggling right now, it’s that your whole life is doomed. it’s not that you and your sister have a difficult relationship, it’s that she can’t stand you and you guys will never ever reconcile. more often than not reality lies in the grey areas between. i think it’s important to rationalize and hold onto that whenever you’re able to. even if you have to force it. but don’t think for a second she’s not going to spend the rest of her life thinking about you. if you are unfamiliar with grief you might not understand the gravity of it. i’ve had people message me saying that seeing the way i am about my sister has made them entirely rethink taking their own lives because they did not realize how permanent and intense loss truly is. i’m not saying it’s the same for you, i don’t know what you’ve been through, but the fact that you already feel sorry towards her tells me you can see this for what it is more than you want to admit. there are people around you who love you. your absence is not going to be a blip for them, it is going to shape their lives because you shape their lives by being here. none of this is what you believe it to be right now.

but i’m not trying to guilt you into staying alive, either. i know that’s not fair. it’s not - and you’re right. you shouldn’t live purely for others, not always. especially when you’re in pain. but when you’re in a very bad place, sometimes it’s just about what’s going to get you to tomorrow, or the next moment. if that’s the thought of your family, and feeling bad about doing this to them, then welcome it. any reason is good enough. and maybe in time you’ll be able to get to a place where you live for yourself, in fact i’m sure of it, but right now you obviously believe that’s impossible. it’s absolutely not, but that’s likely how you feel. i’ve heard that being actively suicidal is such an intense feeling that it doesn’t last super long - you can spend weeks or months being passively suicidal, but the actual moment of being at risk of attempting always burns out rather fast. and people who have attempted generally report that that regret starts seeping in when it’s a bit too late. i really do not want you to have to experience that. instead of harming yourself, it is going to serve you so much more to work on trying to minimize the pain a little more each day, however you can. i don’t mean that in a patronizing way, i know you’re tired and i know it’s not that easy. all of this is easier said than done. but you do not have to kill yourself just because you have things ‘ready’. you don’t have to do anything. you don’t know what’s going to happen from one day to the next, and you don’t have to have a plan. just think about the present moment and what you can do to help yourself in a positive way right now. nothing is set in stone. clearly you have a lot going on and you need to think about seeking the help you need from those around you before you think seriously about anything else. whether it’s your parents, a family member, a suicide hotline, your doctor, a support group, any therapist or counsellor in your area. literally anything is worth the try, even just picking up the phone tomorrow and seeing what your options are. just let them know how you’re feeling and what you’re thinking, like you were able to do with me. you’re seeing things from a very specific point of view right now. i’m not bullshitting you when i say that talking to someone, analysing your thoughts and emotions out loud n learning how to cope with them in healthy ways that you can incorporate into your daily routine CAN change the image you have of yourself and your future in your head. and even the relationships w those around you. depression is an illness, it permeates every part of your life until you can’t see beyond it. and it needs intense treatment the same way any physical ailment does, but it is not a death sentence just because you’re exhausted in this moment. you might not be able to believe it right now, but you have to stick around to see that i’m right. you might as well. besides my family, the only other thing keeping me here is the knowledge that i am going to spend eternity dead any way. this is all just a flash in the pan and you might as well save everyone and yourself the heartbreak by experiencing it for what it is rather than trying to end it prematurely. anyway, i know i could go on and on about this so i’ll shut up but please. just consider the other choices in front of you, man. you deserve better. i sincerely believe it’s waiting for you. you haven’t lived enough because you’re still here, and there’s still a whole future waiting for you. that’s not a bad thing. there are ways to learn that it is not a bad thing. please consider reaching out to those around you or to a professional, please. my inbox will always be open if you need a friend, and you’re not alone. if you have the compassion to believe i don’t deserve pain, and that that shit wasn’t my fault, surely you can extend a little towards yourself too. please take care, get through minute by minute. i believe in u.

https://www.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines

#dont send me any asshole asks abt this im replying to some 1 who approached me in my own inbox alright .#tw suicide #anon

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