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thecreaturecodex · 3 years

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Nascent Demon Lord, Dalmosh

“Dalmosh” © Wizards of the Coast, by Izzy. Accessed at the Monster Manual V Art Gallery here

[Commissioned by @annotaremonstrorum, who wanted a version of Dalmosh from MMV as a nascent demon lord. Their ideas for developing Dalmosh’s cult were very good, and incorporated fully into this entry. The original was a CR 17 with more than 400 hit points and an AC of 13. It felt like a very purposeful experiment with tweaking the hp/CR ratio, and I wonder how it actually worked in play. My guess is not great. I also gave him the dispelling slam ability so he could have at least a chance to pull his signature swallow whole on a high level character.]

Nascent Demon Lord, Dalmosh CR 21 CE Outsider (extraplanar) This massive fleshy creature appears as a boneless parody of the human form. Its legs are columns of swaying meat, its arms overlong with swollen fists, its head conical and asymmetric. It has a gaping maw with blunt teeth, and covering its bodies are sealed fissures disturbingly similar to both sutures and jaws.

Dalmosh The Eternal Hunger, The Walking Mountain Concerns hunger, destructive gluttony, living demiplanes Domains Chaos, Destruction, Evil, Strength Subdomains Catastrophe, Demon, Entropy, Ferocity Worshipers ogres, trolls, creatures trapped in the Gullet Minions dwiergeths, gibbering mouthers, piasa Unholy Symbol a closed fist with a mouth on its back Obedience eat another creature alive. Gain a +4 profane bonus on CMD to avoid being grappled Boons 1: bear’s endurance 2/day; 2: divine power 2/day; 3: extended hungry pit 2/day

Dalmosh the Eternal Hunger is a walking mountain of meat and teeth. His home is the Flesh Mountains, a range of Abyssal terrain spanning several layers that is itself faintly alive. Dalmosh wanders through these mountains, consuming all in his path and chewing himself a cave to hide in whenever he tires enough to rest. Almost everything is food to Dalmosh—animal, vegetable, mineral—although he seems to find unworked earth distasteful. Dalmosh is dull, brutal, and indiscriminately destructive, and he leaves sweeping arcs of ruin in his wake.

In combat, Dalmosh is simple and uncreative. He attacks whatever he can reach, attempting to swallow it whole. Creatures that elude his reach may be pelted with thrown debris, but after a few rounds he will ignore them in search of easier prey. When struck, Dalmosh’s skin opens up into a set of temporary, but still deadly, jaws. His surface is covered in the scar tissue of previous such openings. Dalmosh has a keen sense of smell, and can be distracted by particularly aromatic morsels.

Any inanimate objects Dalmosh consumes, as well as creatures lucky or clever to fight their way there, are transported to the Gullet, a sprawling demiplane in the shape of a fleshy labyrinth. Gusts of foul wind, pools of acid and occasional meatquakes are terrain hazards here, but there are creatures that make a living in the Gullet. These are swallowed victims who either couldn’t escape through planar travel or simply chose not to, and there are even permanent settlements built in this moist, organic refuge. The largest of these is called Garnamastra, and it is ruled by a rakshasa calling himself the Eyeless Tyrant. It is said that the treasures of ancient realms and slain heroes are scattered throughout the Gullet, and some foolhardy adventurers have allowed Dalmosh to swallow them in order to go treasure hunting.

Despite his dim intellect and utter indifference to worship, Dalmosh has managed to gather enough of a cult following to empower him as a nascent demon lord. The dwiergeths consider him their progenitor, and some pipe a quick prayer to Dalmosh whenever they consume a particularly scrumptious morsel. Ogres, trolls and other evil giants view him as something of a figure to idolize and emulate, although they also view him as a bogeyman to scare their children with. Some particularly evil and crazy spellcasters see Dalmosh as an embodiement of planar paradoxes such as living planes and pocket dimensions, and use gate spells and offerings of rich food and unusual sacrifices to gain Dalmosh’s service as a living siege weapon.

Dalmosh CR 21 XP 409,600 CE Colossal outsider (chaos, demon, evil, extraplanar) Init +3; Senses darkvision 120 ft., low-light vision, Perception +24, scent Aura cloak of chaos (DC 24), frightful presence (300 ft., DC 29) Defense AC 36, touch 5, flat-footed 36 (-8 size, -1 Dex, +31 natural, +4 deflection) hp 455 (26d10+312) Fort +26, Ref +18, Will +25 DR 20/good and slashing; Immune charm and compulsion effects, death effects, disease, electricity, poison; Resist acid 30, cold 30, fire 30; SR 32 Defensive Abilities rejuvenation Offense Speed 50 ft. Melee 2 slams +34 (3d8+16 plus dispel), bite +34 (4d8+16 plus grab), secondary maws +32 (4d8+8 plus grab) Ranged debris +18 (2d8+16/19-20) Space 30 ft.; Reach 30 ft. (15 ft. with secondary maws) Special Attacks fast swallow, gluttonous frenzy, spawn maw, swallow whole (8d8+16 bludgeoning, AC 25, 45 hp) Spell-like Abilities CL 21st, concentration +27 Constant—cloak of chaos (DC 24) 3/day—greater teleport Statistics Str 42, Dex 9, Con 34, Int 4, Wis 23, Cha 22 Base Atk +26; CMB +50 (+52 bull rush, sunder; +54 grapple); CMD 63 (65 vs. bull rush, sunder) Feats Blind-fight, Cleave, Great Cleave, Great Fortitude, Improved Bull Rush, Improved Initiative, Improved Sunder, Improvised Weapon Mastery, Intimidating Prowess, Lightning Reflexes, Multiattack, Power Attack, Throw Anything Skills Acrobatics +15 (+23 when jumping), Climb +32, Intimidate +38, Perception +24, Survival +24, Swim +32 Languages Abyssal, telepathy 300 ft. SQ nascent demon lord traits, no breath Ecology Environment any land (Abyss) Organization unique Treasure none Special Abilities Dispelling Slam (Su) A creature or object struck by Dalmosh’s slam attack is subject to a targeted greater dispel magic effect (CL 21st). Gluttonous Frenzy (Ex) As a full round action once per minute, Dalmosh can move up to his speed and make a bite attack against every creature he can reach along his movement. Nascent Demon Lord Traits (Ex/Su) Dalmosh is a powerful unique fiend with the following traits:

Immune to charm and compulsion effects, death effects, electricity, poison

Resist acid, cold and fire 30

Telepathy 300 ft.

Dalmosh’s natural weapons, as well as any weapons he wields, are treated as chaotic, epic and evil for the purposes of overcoming damage reduction.

Dalmosh can grant spells and boons to worshipers as described in his cult entry above

Rejuvenation (Su) If Dalmosh is killed, he crumbles into rot and is reborn in the Flesh Mountains 2 days later. Dalmosh can only use this ability once per year; if slain again in that time, he is permanently killed. Spawn Maw (Su) Whenever Dalmosh takes 20 or more points of damage in a single attack, he can create a set of jaws as an immediate action from the wound. These jaws attack as secondary natural weapons and have a reach of 15 feet. If the creature that dealt that damage is within 15 feet, Dalmosh may make a secondary bite attack agains that opponent as part of the same action. Secondary maws created in this way remain for 1 hour. Swallow Whole (Ex/Su) A creature swallowed whole by Dalmosh can make its way to the Gullet with a successful DC 26 Escape Artist check or by dealing 20 points of damage while swallowed. A creature that travels to the Gullet in this way is deposited in that demiplane without further injury. If Dalmosh is subject to a dimensional anchor spell or a similar effect, this option is not available. If a swallowed creature cuts its way out of Dalmosh, Dalmosh can still use swallow whole immediately thereafter without penalty.

#dalmosh #demon lord #demon #pathfinder 1e #D&D #commissions

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dameronology · 3 years

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asystole {obi-wan kenobi x reader}

summary: ‘the trouble is the way you stick, to any part of me that remains in tact/but if i pull the plug, it isn’t only me i’m holding back’ - asystole, hayley williams (a.k.a ‘the one where you’re the bane of obi-wan’s life, even as a force ghost’)

warnings: mentions of death, swearing, angst, and me not having a single fucking clue how force ghosts work

this was originally based on a random idea i had and also encouragement from kara/@hellotherekenobi who requested a prompt that i completely forgot to include but...we move. also, i would highly highly recommend listening to the above song just because it’s a real tear jerker and i lOVE it

enjoy

- jazz

Loss, for Obi-Wan, was not a stranger. It was an old acquaintance, constantly lingering beside him -- not quite there, but not gone either. He could always feel its presence, a constant and painful reminder of everyone he’d lost. He could probably count them all one hand but that didn’t make it any better. Loss was loss, whether it were two people or ten. Even if his grief had stopped and started with the passing of his master all those years ago, it was still something he felt in its wholeness and in its entirety. Because that’s all Obi-Wan could do: feel. It was everything or nothing. Zero percent or one hundred.

And with you, he wished it were nothing. He wished that your sudden absence from his life was something he didn’t have to feel in every fibre of his being. It was hard enough to acknowledge and even more painful to comprehend. You were the one person he’d always just assumed would be there forever. How foolish it now seemed, he was very much aware. Everybody died -- Qui-Gon Jinn was a testament to that; as was Satine Kryze and quite literally every other person in the galaxy who’d had the pleasure of being reminded of their mortality. It was just that this was...it was you. You weren’t immortal by any means but maker, you had acted like it. The way you went about life with an air of recklessness and discontent for the rules, making even the hardest of missions into an adventure. His life had been a thousand times better since you’d come running - nay, stumbling - into it. You’d blown his entire world to bits and pieced it back together with tiny, intricate bits of yours. Filled it with chaos and laughter and a light he hadn’t felt since the days of his youth.

Perhaps most importantly, you’d looked after one another. He would stay by your side 24/7 to make sure you kept your head screwed on your shoulders, and you would pester him to drink water and remember to eat. He would remind you when you had important missions and meetings, and in return, you’d proof-read his paper work. He remembered the first time he’d fallen asleep beside you, to wake up with a blanket wrapped around him and his boots pulled off. It was so clear in his head because it was the first time someone had ever done anything for him without asking. It became something you did often, and though he never said it, it was something he kept so close to his heart.

Obi-Wan wasn’t a fool. He knew you weren’t going to be around forever - he just didn’t realise that not forever was going to be a whole lot sooner that he’d anticipated. He used to make jokes about how your recklessness would one day lead to your demise. The idea of it made him feel sick now. He’d been right the entire time. He didn’t want it to be real.

None of it felt real. The whole conversation he’d had with Mace Windu about you not making it felt like a distant nightmare, something he’d tried so hard to wake up from, only to find that he was wide awake the entire fucking time. Night terrors were bad, but reality was arguably worse.

It didn’t feel right at first, to see your chambers still filled with your stuff and your lightsaber still resting on your nightstand. Obi had been the one to put it there when you’d been taken to the infirmary, thinking you would have asked for it when you woke up - but you didn’t. It went hand-in-hand with the robes he’d hung up on your door and the get well soon, moron card he’d brought you.

Then, they emptied your room. Took your clothes and your books and every other worldly possession you had. Your name was removed from the door to your quarters and added to the list of Jedi who had died in combat on the stone in the Temple gardens. Aside from that, any sign that you had ever walked the halls or burst into council meetings at the last minute was gone. You lived on only in his memories, your lopsided smile ingrained into his mind and contagious laugh echoing constantly in his brain.

Throwing himself into work was the only option for Obi-Wan. He already took on a thousand things at once, but without you to help bare the weight, it became a million. If he was busy, he didn’t have time to think -- about you, or how fucking fragile everything was, or about all the ways he could have saved you. You’d slipped through his fingers, even when he’d be holding on so tightly. It wasn’t his fault. It was just...life.

A few weeks passed, and Obi-Wan continued to push himself. Everybody noticed it -- how suddenly busy he was, how quiet he’d become, how tired he looks. Blue eyes had grown exhausted with grief and regret, strawberry blonde hair becoming longer and unrulier than was characteristic for him. When you’d died, you’d taken a tiny piece of him with you. An important part. Maybe that part had been you.

It was on a cold Tuesday evening that he heard the four words. Sat out on the balcony of his quarters, watching Coruscant and life pass by in a blur ahead of him, a tangle of traffic and noise and a million sounds that he couldn’t quite decipher. The sky was a navy blue, cast with the tiny little glints and dots of distant planets. All worlds that you’d once promised to explore

‘You look like shit.’

He thought he’d imagined it at first. In fact, it wouldn’t have been the first time in the last few weeks that the sound of your voice in his head had felt clear enough to be real. Imagining things - hallucinations and echoes of the long gone - was simply part of the grieving process. A process he’d gone through countless times before.

The sudden appearance of you in the corner of his eye jolted him like an electric shock. Perhaps not that far off of the emotional equivalent of being hit by a bus. Or a light freighter. Or...all of those things at once.

You were ethereal. When he’d last seen you, you’d been...tired. Now, you were smiling and radiating some sort of energy that could only be described as quintessentially you. There was not a chance in hell that a grief-induced hallucination could be so life-like, so crystal clear. Plus, why would he have imagined you like this, slightly transparent and with a blue glow surrounding you? A fitting colour for your final form, he figured.

‘Shocked to see me?’ Your drawl continued. ‘Because if you think you’re shocked, let me tell you. One second I was napping and the next I was a fucking Force ghost. Could you imagine?’

Obi-Wan smiled softly. ‘I don’t think I could.’

‘I can float through walls, though.’ You grinned. ‘How cool is that?’

‘It’s...that’s very cool.’ He replied. ‘I don’t suppose you can hug Force ghosts?’

Obi-Wan reached his palm out towards you - slowly but surely, as though he were scared you were going to fade away all over again if he touched you. You mimicked his actions, faded blue fingertips just moments away from his. When they finally touched, they didn’t. You felt nothing. He felt a rush of cold, as though somebody had poured a bucket of cold water over him.

He didn’t fully understand the concept of Force ghosts. Studied them, sure. Understood them? Not quite. There weren’t enough Jedi texts in the galaxy to fully capture the complexity of what made somebody come back. Often, they were linked to acts of heroism, or stemming from action taken when the person was still alive. That didn’t seem like you though. You weren’t the sort of person to try to fiddle with jinxes and hijinkery that would allow you to come back once you were dead - at least not purposefully. There was certainly every chance you did it accidentally.

‘Guess not.’ You murmured. ‘Sorry ‘bout that.’

The icy feeling only grew closer as you took a seat beside him. It was funny, because he thought that if he’d had the chance to reunite with you, that it would have been more emotional than this. Something filled with more feeling and grandeur. Instead, you’d just appeared, and acted as though you’d never been gone in the first place. Obi-Wan preferred it that way.

‘I’ve missed you.’ He continued to stare blankly ahead.

When you died, there were a thousand things he’d come up with that he’d wished he’d said. They ranged from comments about the weather to grand declarations of...how much you meant to him. All things he would never dare say to your face, and that’s probably why he came up with them. Because he would never get the chance to say them. And now, here you were, right beside him, and he had a second opportunity to get that closure -- but the words didn’t quite come. They stayed on the tip of his tongue, there, but not quite there. Even if this wasn’t quite the version of you that he imagined himself telling them to, it was still undeniably you.

‘I should hope so.’ You tried to nudge him with your elbow, but it was just another icy jab. ‘I would say that I missed you too, but I don’t know where I’ve been.’

‘What happened between then and now?’ Obi asked. ‘Between that and this?’

‘Okay, first of all - you can say my death. Coming up with a thousand other words for it won’t undo it.’ You said. ‘And...I don’t know. I just remember blaster fire, then some darkness, and then I was here.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Well it didn’t tickle.’ You replied ‘It was quick, if that’s any comfort.’

‘I suppose it is.’ He murmured.

‘You’re being uncharacteristically quiet.’ You observed. ‘I can go away if you want. I’m not sure how this whole thing works but if you want me to leave, I can go and scare Dex-’

‘- that’s the last thing I want.’ He cut you off. ‘I just..I’ve spent the last few weeks trying not to acknowledge that you’re truly gone and it’s a little hard to do that when you’re quite literally a ghost.’

‘I’m not really gone though, am I?’ You said. ‘I’m still here. Not as I’d like to be, but I’m here.’

‘So as long as you’re around to irritate me and make snide comments, you’re here.’ He smiled. ‘Whether that’s in the flesh or...in the blue.’

‘I’m sorry it happened.’ You gently sighed. ‘Not sorry that I died for the greater good but sorry it was so..sudden.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ He wanted to reach across, to take your hand in his or run it down your arm - but he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with another rush of cold in place of what used to be warm flesh. ‘It was still undeniably your most half-witted decision to date but you saved a lot of people, so I won’t hold it against you.’

‘Oh, how kind.’ You snorted. ‘I bet you’ve secretly enjoyed the peace and quiet, Kenobi.’

‘I miss it already.’

Obi-Wan woke up the next morning, still on the balcony. The air was cold -- as evidenced by his violent shivers -- and the sky had changed from navy, to a turquoise-tainted pink. The city below was moderately quiet, signalling that it was still pretty early. The only sounds were coming from traffic in the distance and the occasional whoosh of a passing jet in the sky above. He stayed like that for a moment, azure eyes clouded with some kind of apprehension as he watched the clouds slowly pass, not a care in the world for the fact it was fucking freezing.

Last night had been real, even if there was no sign of your presence. Actually, that wasn’t quite true -- the robes he’d discarded before your appearance had been thrown over him like a blanket. They did little to protect him from the cold air, but it was a confirmation that you had been there. He wasn’t sure when you’d left - or how - but he was the only one on the balcony.

There were a lot of questions floating about in his head. Why were you only turning up now after weeks? Why had you materialised by him? Why were you here at all? You were finally free, free to do literally whatever you wanted, and you’d wound up by his side. There were millions and millions of places in the galaxy and somehow, his balcony was the one where you’d wanted to be.

After showering and shaving, Obi-Wan found himself heading towards the classroom of the best Jedi he knew: Yoda. If anyone was going to know anything about Force ghosts, it was him. He’d have to make sure not to let slip exactly what he was talking about - your relationship with him was far more attached than the code allowed, after all - in a more general sense, he must have had something to offer. It wasn’t the kind of thing they taught in Jedi training. If anything, it was the opposite. The lesson was don’t become attached enough to someone so that they haunt you! - and it was one at which he’d failed quite miserably.

‘Master Kenobi.’ Yoda sat in the middle of the classroom, meditating. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. ‘Of assistance, may I be?’

‘Good morning.’ Obi-Wan greeted him with a bow. ‘I have some questions, and I was hoping you might be able to help me.’

‘Do go on. Help, I might be able to.’

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat, awkwardly taking a seat beside him. ‘What do you know about Force ghosts?’

‘Lots. Specific, you must be.’

‘Say you had a dear friend, and they died.’ He began. ‘Then they came back a little while as a Force ghost.’

‘Come back, they don’t.’ Yoda opened one eye, glancing over at him. ‘Never gone, they were. The Force takes time to manifest.’

‘So...the ghost version of them is still them?’

‘Very much so.’ He said. ‘Why, there are many reasons. Many Jedi study for a long time to materialise as ghosts after passing.’

‘What if they didn’t?’

‘Then unfinished business, they have.’ He replied. ‘When a Jedi dies, their Force connections do too. If they are left unbroken, exist as a ghost they will.’

Well, that explained it.

‘Right.’ He murmured. ‘Last question, I promise - how long does that connection usually last?’

‘Months to years, it may be.’ He explained. ‘On their unfinished business, the connection depends.’

‘That makes sense.’ Obi-Wan nodded. ‘Thank you, Master Yoda.’

The little green creature simply nodded in response, turning his attention back to his meditation. He didn’t ask questions -- what was the point? He’d been around hundreds of years, and dealt with hundreds of similar things in that time. Truth be told, he didn’t have all the answers. He was just good at acting like it.

Obi-Wan pondered on the conversation for the rest of the day.

There were a lot of things that could have constituted your unfinished business. The list was endless, especially given how suddenly you’d passed. Nobody knew you better than Obi-Wan, but even he struggled to decipher it. You weren’t the sort of person who would hang around for no good reason. It had to be something important -- something so pressing that you quite literally couldn’t pass away in its entirety without dealing with it. Part of him was worried that he didn’t know at all; you were always sneaking about, always doing something that you shouldn’t have been. That left a long list of possibilities.

But Yoda had directly mentioned Force connections, right? Maybe he’d meant it in a general way, but Obi would have been a complete dumb-ass to think that the Jedi didn’t know what was going on. If the situation didn’t tell him, his seeming ability to know everything about everyone certainly would have. You were the only person he could have possibly been talking about.

It was something he knew he had to bring up, and so he made the mental promise to himself. The best time would have been that night, when he saw you again. If he saw you again. He trusted you to return. You knew better now than to disappear forever without saying goodbye.

And he’d been right. That evening, after he’d exchanged goodbyes with Anakin, Obi-Wan found himself wandering out to the balcony. Sure enough, you were leant against the railings, back turned to him as you peered down at the city below. The air was cold again -- maybe because it was Winter, but also maybe because of you -- and the harsh winds blew back your hair. He wanted to reach out and feel it, to feel you, but he couldn’t. A man whose love language was physical touch was sure to suffer when the person he wanted most was a fucking entity.

‘You’re late.’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘Don’t your meetings normally end at six?’

‘Anakin wanted to talk about something.’ He replied. ‘So is this your life now? Waiting for me to come home?’

You snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been at the diner all day moving stuff around to confuse Dex.’

‘That’s mean.’

‘And what would you do if you were a Force ghost?’

Wait for you. Follow you.

‘Explore.’ He lied, leaning against the balcony beside you. ‘I spoke to Yoda today about...this.’

‘Mmm?’

‘He said that people who usually come back either purposefully prepared for it when they were still alive.’

‘Or?’

‘How do you know there’s an or?’

‘Because I sometimes struggled to turn on my lightsaber. You think I’m skilled enough to do this shit on purpose, Kenobi?’

‘You’re…’ brilliantly intelligent, easily the smartest person I know, ‘...clever. Don’t put yourself down.’

‘Just cut to the point.’

‘Right.’ Obi-Wan cleared his throat. ‘He said that, or that they had unfinished business. Force connections still strong enough to keep them here.’

‘So, you and me?’

‘What?’

‘Our Force connection.’ You said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘You do know what we have one, right?’

‘I...I figured we were always just...close.’

‘No, you dipshit.’ You shook your head with a laugh. ‘They can develop between best friends. It’s a little rare, but we’re both so strong with the Force that it just happens naturally.’

‘That makes sense.’ he turned to look out at the city. ‘I didn’t really have a best friend before you.’

You looked over at him, a smile playing on your lips. ‘Yeah, me neither.’

Obi-Wan quickly fell into a routine, post-you. Not post-you completely, because he still saw you every evening, but that had helped push him towards the transition. He adjusted to only seeing you after work - not in the mornings or during the day or every waking second like it used to be. Nothing was how it used to be. Not even close. You were no longer beside him during meets or climbing into bed next to him when you had nightmares. There were no more missions with you or late nights filled with paperwork and laughter.

That was the problem.

You were here, but you weren’t really. The ghost he saw every night had your eyes and your laugh and your personality, but it wasn’t really you. Obi-Wan couldn’t touch you; he couldn’t feel you in the same way he used to. It was like having a conversation with a figment of his imagination -- conversations of false hope and plans that would never come to fruition. Because you could banter and you could laugh and you act like things weren’t completely fucking different, but they were. You were a ghost. A ghost of yourself, a ghost of the past, a ghost of what used to be.

It had helped the pain at first. Eased the dread of knowing that you weren’t ever going to be back, not properly. Obi-Wan had appreciated that. It made grieving a lot easier when you were technically still there to tease and jester him through the process. Knowing that his friendship was the reason you couldn’t fully let go of existing had both made it better and worse. Better, because it meant you cared for him as deeply as he did for you. Worse, because it was so open-ended. At what point would you be satisfied enough to finally let go? Would he get to say goodbye, or would you just be here forever?

That was the problem, Obi-Wan had come to find.

He was hopelessly in love with you - though that much was obvious - and he couldn’t deal with only having some of you. He wanted all of you, or he wanted none of you. Only being able to talk to a blue apparition of you just wasn’t enough. It was just a constant reminder that the person he loved most in the universe was gone, and that he’d never fully have you. He was kicking himself for that one. What if he’d said something to you when you were still alive? Declared his love for when he could still physically reach out to you?

That was the thought plaguing his mind every night. With you beside him, a cold aura radiating towards him as you sat with your legs hugged to your chest. It had been a few weeks since your first appearance, and your nights together ranged from deep conversations to comfortable silence. The latter was always worse, because Obi-Wan constantly found himself teetering on the edge of saying something. It was hard, because despite everything, he found you to be more enchanting and peaceful than ever. More entrancing.

‘Can I tell you something?’ He asked.

‘Sure thing.’ You peered over at him. ‘You look worried. Is it serious?’

He paused for a moment. ‘Depends how you take it, I suppose.’

‘Try me.’

‘There are…’ he faltered again. ‘There are some things I regret not telling you when you were still here.’

‘I am here.’ You reminded him.

‘No, I know that.’ He found himself unable to look at you. ‘I mean when you were here here.’

‘What’s the difference, Obi?’

‘Remember when you used to come to my bedroom at 2AM because you’d had a bad dream?’ He asked. ‘Or when you’d throw yourself into my arms after we’d been separated on long missions?’

‘Yeah.’

He absent-mindedly reached a hand out towards you; it went straight through you, a rush of cold shooting down his arm. ‘I can’t do that anymore.’

‘You can still talk to me.’ You urged. ‘You can still be with me-’

‘- not in the way I want.’ Not in the way I need.

‘What do you mean?’ You gently pushed.

‘You don’t need me to explain it.’ He finally looked at you, blue eyes shrouded with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher.

‘Obi-Wan, what do you think has been keeping me here?’ You asked.

You knew. Of course you fucking knew. Try as he might to be mysterious and suave, but you could read him like a book -- and it was a shock to you that he hadn’t seen your feelings either. They were clear as day to both of you, and yet it had been easier to ignore them for the sake of your friendship, and for the sake of the code. You both always figured that you could deal with them at a later date, because that’s when you’d had a later.

‘Just say it.’ You murmured. ‘Say that you love me too and I’ll go-’

‘- I don’t want you to go.’ He cut you off. ‘Because then you’re gone forever.’

‘And then you can move on.’ You smiled. Neither of you knew that ghosts could cry until now.

This was the closest he would ever get to having you now. He could have just sucked it up and dealt with it, and kept you by his side in your ominous form - but would that have been fair on you? To keep you around, just because he was so full of regret over things unsaid and so full of fear over grieving? None of this was fair, on him or on you.

‘I can’t say it.’ Obi-Wan murmured. ‘Not yet.’

‘It’s okay.’ You gave him a watery smile. ‘I know.’

Neither of you said anything else - maybe you didn’t want to, or maybe you were scared to. The fact you’d finally acknowledged the bantha in the room after years, finally admitting that love had been the driving force behind what made your friendship so good, for so long. The irony was that when you’d died, he’d wanted nothing more than for you to come back in some form. Now, he realised that it was holding him back from moving on -- and he couldn’t do that until he’d let you go. But he couldn’t do that either.

Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, his words had been a confession. Albeit a thinly veiled one, but a confession nonetheless. It had confirmed to you the only thing you’d wanted to know before you’d passed: that he loved you back. That was all you needed. It was all you’d ever needed.

Eventually, the Jedi beside you grew sleepy. That’s how it usually went every night -- you’d talk, he’d fall asleep beside you, and you’d cover him with a blanket and slip out to wherever it was that Force ghosts went at night. He never asked, for fear of it ruining the mystery. Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t the only person you saw, but it was a nice thought, and one he didn’t want to taint. At least you took more mercy on him than you did with Dex, who slowly thought he was going insane at all the random objects suddenly being moved around.

When you heard him gently snoring, you stood up. Obi-Wan looked peaceful, as though he’d finally gotten something of his chest - even though he hadn’t realised he’d done it. He hadn’t realised that it had been enough.

You leant down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. For the first time since you’d appeared, you could finally feel his skin against yours - no cold jolts, no body parts suddenly disappearing through the other. Just your lips against his; warm and...human.

‘Good night, Obi-Wan.’ You ran a hand through his hair, before standing up and stepping back. ‘I love you. I’ll always love you.’

He felt it. He was asleep, but he felt your lips on his and your hand in his hair, and he’d secretly smiled to himself, not entirely realising what was going on. He’d thought it was a dream, or that he was simply imagining that you could finally touch him as though you were a human, and no longer a cold, blue ghost.

Because you weren’t. You were no longer a ghost.

Obi-Wan didn’t realise till he rose the next morning, a blanket tossed over him and the feeling of your lips still lingering on his, even hours later. He even dared to smile for a moment, before the knowledge of what he’d done hit him. He’d given you what you wanted - an unintentional confession of love. The thing you needed to finally cut off your Force connection. The only thing still tethering you to this world.

You were gone, but at least he’d finally gotten what he wanted. You. Even if it was only for a few moments.

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anime-alyssa · 3 years

Text

after the hurt - childe x reader

warnings: smut, emotional hurt, nothing really major.

also on a03 - buy me a kofi?

To think you had grown to feel something for him, just for him to betray you like that. When he came to find you afterward, you were not going to show him the mercy he wanted.

You were absolutely exhausted - the day’s events taking a toll on your body as you laid in the bed that you had gotten in Liyue. Ningguang had given you and Paimon your own rooms in a luxury hotel as thanks so you both could relax and recover after the disaster that was the night. Physically you were exhausted but you were also mentally exhausted as well - the flashes of the betrayal of Childe - if that was even his actual name, you didn’t know at this point - coming through your mind.

You couldn’t believe that you had trusted him - let yourself fall for him over the past couple of months in Liyue. Paimon wasn’t too sure about him from the beginning, but you were determined to see for yourself if he really was all that bad. Sure, he was a Fatui agent - but he didn’t seem like he was trying to hurt you or anything.

No, not hurt - just use. Used you for information for his own personal gain, used you for pleasure. Had it meant nothing to him at all? Probably not, you thought as you changed into some sleep clothes that were provided for you. Whatever, he was probably long on his way from Liyue with Signora in tow after their conversation with Zhongli.

A sigh escaped your lips as you got under the covers and laid down, trying to get your brain to shut off. To think that only two days before you were laying in his bed with him, letting him take the stress away of getting sucked into the Rite of Parting ceremony.

“Don’t worry about it - I’ll take care of you tonight.” His words echoed in your memory as he had followed up on his promise, only for you to face him 24 hours later. You had won, taking him down successfully, but Paimon couldn’t quite understand why you were so emotional about it despite winning. Neither could you, but it was only after seeing him when the whole thing was over, the small lovebites fading away on his neck and the way he looked at yours to see the same, that you realized it: you had fallen in love with Childe.

It was ridiculous - you didn’t have time for that. The only thing you needed to focus on was going to see all of The Seven to find your brother and somehow keeping yourself and Paimon alive to see it through. But Childe came in and swept you off your feet in a way that you hadn’t quite expected him to, his smooth-talking and touches in all the right places making you tremble.

You almost wished you could have said more to him earlier, but you were still hurt. He had looked at you like he had wanted you to say something to him, but Zhongli did all the talking as you had a lot of questions for the archon. You think he almost did it on purpose, having picked up on your mood due to something he had said to you before you departed from him.

“I’ve found that in my many years of living, sometimes forgiving is the best way to move forward. There is no need to dwell on the past when there are things to work for.” the retired Geo Archon had told you. Paimon then lectured you about knowing that Childe was trouble, to which you promptly shut the door in her face, and now here you were.

There was a chill in the room that you don’t remember being there previously. Did you leave the window open? You could have sworn that you had shut it - actually, you know that you hadn’t even opened it to begin with. Cursing yourself for putting out the light, you had no choice but to sit back up to see what the deal was - when you were promptly shoved back down, a hand over your mouth as you were thrust backward.

“Don’t scream.” Childe’s voice sent shivers up your spine as he climbed on top of your body, his nose practically touching yours. His eyes were wide as he removed his hand slowly from your mouth.

“What the hell - why are you here? Why did you break into my room?” you asked him as he got off you, sitting on the edge of the bed. You sat up to meet him, trying to build your resolve now. He wasn’t going to get his way - absolutely not.

“I wanted to see you before I left, and I knew you weren’t going to let me in otherwise.” he said. You let out a scoff as he tried to reach out to you, shock going across his features when you pushed his hand away.

“Well you’ve seen me. Now go.” you told him. He let out a sigh, a hand going to the back of his neck.

“So you’re still mad.” He replied.

“Still mad? You - you used me! Paimon was right - I never should have even trusted you in the first place.” you ranted and raved, letting your anger spill out. He was silent as you talked, unmoving next to you. “Did it mean anything at all to you? Was that all just a lie too?” you asked him.

“I did what I had to do for the Fatui - but listen - none of us was a lie, it’s still not one.” Chile said, turning to face you more and eyes growing wide. He looked like he was emotional - seriously? You almost had to quite literally shake the thoughts out of your head, reminding you that he literally used you for Fatui gain - for Signora’s sake, a person who hurt your friend.

“You say that like there’s anything left.” you muttered. Was there something left? You actually hated to admit it, but you did have something still for him - you were in love with him still, despite it all. By the looks of it, he still felt something for you too. Was everything romantic between the two of you genuine - and how could you even trust him anymore? Your head was spinning so fast with thoughts that you didn’t even notice him come closer to you until his fingertips were on your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“I know there’s something left on my side. But if you say there isn’t anything left on your side, I’ll leave, and you won’t see me again,” he said to you. That had your mind reeling even more - was he seriously saying that he still felt things for you? So he was telling the truth in that regard - or was he - “I’ll respect it, even if I don’t think you’re telling me the truth. I know you’ll tell me what you think I deserve to be told, for your sake.” he said sadly, running his thumb over your cheekbone while you stared at him in awe.

Okay, what the fuck, Childe? As if you weren’t having a hard enough time trying to not immediately give into him because of your love for him, now he comes out with that Romeo and Juliet type speech? But he also just confessed that he had feelings for you still - it came from him first. You hadn’t known Childe to be emotionally vulnerable since you’ve known him, so maybe he was being honest?

Your mind made up its mind before you could fully even process your actions. You grabbed Childe by his shoulders and threw him backward onto the bed, slightly propped up as you straddled his waist. He looked shocked but didn’t say anything - or get the chance to - as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his - harder than you probably should have in the moment. He didn’t argue, letting out a grunt as his hands found their way to your hips, letting your mouths move against each other before you pulled away from him.

“I - I love you, Childe.” you admitted to him quietly. Childe looked up at you wide-eyed with a smile, about to speak before you cut him off. “But what you did… It can’t be forgotten so easily.” you said back to him.

“Let me make you forget it for the night.” he said to you. Ah, there he was - the Childe you knew who almost always wanted to get laid. You knew that would work and that he was likely leaving in the next day - so you’d be stupid to not take him up on the offer. Plus your position was incredibly suggestive right now - wait a minute -

You tested the waters for a minute, bringing your lips back down to his and letting your hips grind down against his. Childe shamelessly let out a groan, his hands on your hips gripping you tighter as you wound him up the way that you knew best. You continued your movements until you felt him rock hard beneath you, body stiff and panting once you pulled away from his lips.

“You… you are - ” he choked out, not able to form any sort of thoughts at the current moment. Childe knew that you were assertive in your own way, but this was something he hadn’t seen out of you before. Was this your revenge? Hell, he’d betray you ten times over if this is what happened after -

“Quiet, Childe. I’m in charge tonight.” you said to him, slipping your hands under his jacket and snapping the button off. It opened to expose his chest, letting your fingertips move over the lines of his abs gently as he took a shaky breath in. “You will do as I say, it’s the least you can do. Right?” you asked, eyes flickering to meet his.

“Ye - yes.” he choked out as you ground into his hips again. He was holding you so tightly you swore there would be bruises where his fingers were digging into you. You nudged yourself off him and next to him on the bed.

“Take off your clothes.” you told him. Childe quickly got up, nearly stumbling over himself, and undressed. He started with the jacket and shirt that you had already undone and then moved to his pants, bringing those down quickly, minding his Vision that he kept on the belt. His boxers were saved for last as he couldn’t have ripped them off fast enough, his cock springing free.

Beads of precum decorated his head as you inched yourself closer to him, one of your hands wrapping around the base of his shaft. Childe let out a quiet gasp that turned into a throaty moan as you ever so slightly pumped him. HIs eyes rolled into the back of his head and his hands balled into fists at his sides, at his limit for teasing already.

“Do you want me to suck your cock? Do you deserve it?” you asked him, mouth grazing over his head and hand still gently pumping and squeezing his shaft. Childe let out a moan above you that you swore all of Tevyat could hear.

“Archons, yes baby. Please.” he begged above you. How quickly Childe, one of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, succumbed to you was music to your ears and all the more teasing you were going to do was gone as your lips encased his head, tongue gliding over his tip slowly. “Oh fuck yes.” Childe moaned as your head bobbed on his length, tongue licking up the underside of his cock as you continued to suck and pump him.

His moans were music to your ears, sending vibrations throughout your own body that had slick starting to form between your own legs. You started to suck faster, focusing on his tip, letting your tongue swirl over the beads of precum that seeped out as Childe let out a guttural moan, panting for breath. His cock hardened in your mouth slowly, signaling his near release. You released him with a pop, backing up and licking your own lips.

“What - baby - please - ” he began to fight, body aching at his orgam being taken away from him. You stood up and began to undress, starting with your top. Childe’s eyes went wide as you visibly saw his cock twitch.

“Lay back down on the bed.” you told him, throwing the top to the side and sliding down your shorts. Childe did as you said, laying back on the bed where you had been previously. You went to go straddle his hips again, but had another idea first. He didn’t seem like he was in the mood to say no, so you slowly crawled your way up his chest until your core was lined up with his mouth. “Let me ride your face, Childe.” you said as his hands found their home back on your hips.

“Oh baby, it would be my honor.” he snarkily said back, not able to speak for much longer as you lowered your core to him. He dragged your center closer to him as his mouth devoured your heat, a moan now leaving your lips as shocks of pleasure started to shoot through your body.

“O - oh - fuck Childe, right there…” you moaned out as his lips sucked on your clit, hips grinding down into his face. His tongue swirled over your bud as he sucked, jolts of pleasure consuming you as you cried out his name. His hands on your hips helped you fuck yourself against his mouth, quickening your pace as you felt your core beginning to tighten and heat up. One of his hands left your hip as it snaked closer to your clit, Childe moving his mouth away from your bud.

“Chi - oh fuck!” you all but screamed as his tongue was promptly shoved up inside of your cunt, fingers dancing over your bud nearly making you come on him right then and there. Your hips ground deeper into his mouth, thanks to his guidance as you were now way too hazy to even try yourself, making his tongue enter you deeper as he sucked on your cunt for all it was worth. “Ah - ah - gonna - Childe - ah - coming!” you moaned, feeling everything inside you finally snap as your cunt spasmed around his tongue, orgasm hitting you like a mountain as you fucked yourself on his tongue.

You panted for breath on his face, riding out your high as Childe continued to run his tongue through your folds, cleaning up your orgasm from between them. You whimpered above him as he kept going and slowly you felt the heat start to build in you again. Without a second thought, you lowered yourself from his mouth and brought your aching center over his cock.

“Do you need me yet?” he asked. The answer was yes, but you weren’t letting him know that flat out.

“Shut the fuck up and let me ride you.” you said to him. With that, you sunk yourself down on his cock, bottoming out in one motion. The both of you let out filthy moans that you were sure the rest of the hotel could hear. You gave yourself time to adjust as his cock twitched inside of you, remnants of Childe’s earlier deprived orgasm coming back to life. “Fuck…” you whined.

“Baby, please - move - I’m trying here - ” he begged. He really was trying to let you take the ropes, you could see that. The amount of restraint he had tonight was impeccable and something you had never seen him have (he literally fucked you against a Statue of the Seven one night because he was impatient). With a small groan, you started to rock your hips against his, his cock completely filling you at every thrust. “Shit, you feel so god damn good…” Childe breathed.

“Childe, touch me - I need you to touch me - ” you said to him as your thrusts quickened, overcome by the need to reach another high again so soon. Childe’s cock was always so thick and snug inside of you that every movement was hitting deep inside your needy cunt, curving to hit places that you didn’t even know were inside of you. You could feel his cock grow harder and thicker inside of you at the request, his fingers going over your still sensitive bud and beginning to roll it between them. “Fuck!” you moaned, placing your hands on his chest and fucking yourself on his cock.

The moans of the both of you echoed off the walls, Childe panting below you as the sounds of you slamming your hips down against him were prominent. You were a shaking, sweaty mess above him as his other hand left your hip and went to one of your breasts, taking your nipple in his fingers and pulling. You felt yourself clench around his thickness, a cry leaving your lips as he thrust up into you.

“I can’t - fuck I can’t do it!” Childe growled. You were too busy whining to notice, Childe sitting up with you in his lap in one fluid motion and beginning to piston himself up into you. His hands both moved to grip your cheeks, lips going to your neck to start sucking marks into your skin. You let out a scream as he fucked up into you, cock hitting all the way to your cervix and filling you completely with every powerful thrust. “Fuck you’re so tight - so fucking tight - beautiful - love you so much baby - so fucking much.” he moaned into your skin.

“Ch - Childe - ” you cried out his name as you felt yourself about to have your second orgasm, body beginning to tremble first around him as your thrusts matched his to get you there. “Touch - touch me - so close - need to come - ” you begged him now, a hand in a fist in his hair as you yanked, making him moan. He quickly listened as his thumb harshly circled your clit once more - sending you over. “Fuck - Childe!” you screamed his name, feeling yourself come undone around him once more, white-hot ecstasy taking over your body. He let out a moan as he struggled to fuck you through your high, the feeling of your cunt spasming around his rock hard cock enough to make him come.

“Oh fuck - oh fuck baby, I’m cumming - cumming inside - oh fuck!” he cursed, hips stuttering against your pulsing core as he emptied his cock inside of you with a moan of your name. You were panting for breath on top of him as you felt him twitching inside of you, spilling himself deep into your body. His lips trailed up your neck gently, peppering soft kisses while you both came down from your highs. You were both silent for a few moments, Childe laying you both back on the bed, bringing the blankets up over your bodies, until he spoke up again. “I meant it, you know. I love you.” he finally broke the silence, a sigh escaping your lips.

“I know you did. It just… it hurts still. I trusted you, loved you, and you hurt me.” you said to him, sitting up slightly straighter to look him in the eyes. He didn’t say anything, bringing his lips to yours and rolling you under him as he gently kissed you once more.

“I swear, I’ll never do it again, and I’ll do anything to prove it to you.” he said, running his thumb along your cheekbone gently. You relaxed into his touch as Childe placed a kiss on your forehead, coming down back next to you on the bed and taking you into his arms. He was gone when you woke up the next morning, as you expected, but left a note saying he’d be back before he left - your heart flipping inside of you and a groan coming from your travelling companion.

She’d just have to deal.

#tartagila x reader #childe x reader

156 notes · View notes

plounce · 3 years

Photo

what if gay CATS........... were gay PERSONS

(info on this au under the cut)

theyre all shitty young adults just kind of. getting through their early 20s as best they can. or as much as they can. maybe things will get better someday, but right now they’re kind of spinning their wheels

magic exists but like eh it’s not a big thing don’t worry about it. it’s around but like whatever. not many people have it and it’s mostly just like. a curiosity or a party trick

demeter and bombularina are together, tugger and mistoffelees are together, bombularina and tugger occasionally fwb, it’s cool and aboveboard and it’s all fine

demeter:

bisexual with a preference for women. 24 years old

semi-psychic (not as powerful as tantomile or coricopat). tends to have vague and confusing prophetic dreams

dropped out of grad school for sociology due to trauma and ensuing intensified mental illness. kind of bitter about it, but tries to get through every day. general anxiety disorder even before all that

very nervous around most men she doesn’t know & trust

currently working at a barnes & noble starbucks, which sucks. she recently became the assistant manager, which turbo sucks because now she has more work for only like a buck raise, but at least she’s getting reliable shifts

her go-to therapy is cutting her hair with scissors. her hair is fried to all hell from regular bleaching

she’s learning how to crochet because she’s decided she needs to do something physically productively creative with her hands to distract herself from Stuff

bombalurina:

bisexual. 24 years old

got her bachelor’s in english two years ago and hasn’t found a job in her field and has kind of given up on it for now

she’s been bartending for like four years, does freelance editing work on the side. will occasionally write listicles for clickbait sites if she needs extra cash

literally any extra money she can save goes to tattoos. her right sleeve’s almost done

has natural red hair but dyes it cherry red

a hedonist to cope but is also just a natural hedonist. likes a good bath

i know that like the typical thing fandoms say about female characters is “doesn’t take shit” for the girlboss points but she truly does not take shit anymore. she used to take people’s shit sometimes but at this point in her life she’s tired and she has a girlfriend to be protective of. she has a couple people whose shit she will take (mostly just tugger) but besides them (and having to practice basic customer service to keep her job) she’s tired of other people’s shit! enough!

my personal take on bombalurina is a mix between the riot grrrls of the 90s and 80s punk girls, and then a dash of the greaser chicks from grease. i saw that spiked collar and my brain went OH okay i can run with this somewhere fun. same for demeter, but less so - she just has the piercings.

demelurina:

bombalurina met demeter in college at a women’s activism club, noticed her because of her dimple piercings and was like “oh someone else with a lot of metal in her face, i’ll sit next to her”

they were each other’s first off-campus roommates and were close friends. made out a couple times, but it was mostly a lot of sexual tension. there was a lot of bombalurina staring at demeter while she or demeter made out with someone else

demeter was on and off with her high school boyfriend munkustrap and bombalurina was like “oh he’s so much more stable/calm than me and she needs that, i party a bit too much for her, i shouldn’t try anything” so she just sort of. lets their almost-there peter off

(this is all bombalurina’s internal thoughts - demeter always was interested in her, but thought she was too boring for bombalurina. so neither of them thought they could pursue it)

bombalurina graduated and moved somewhere cheaper further away from campus. they kind of drift apart

munkustrap and demeter peter off and he moves away for a job (they’re still good friends, it was a very amicable breakup) and then demeter gets with macavity, which is a deeply toxic situation for her and sucks hugely and throws her whole life really off track. won’t go into further details

she finally manages to break up with him and calls bombalurina at like 2 am asking if she can pick her up, and also if she can sleep on her couch, it’s okay if that’s not okay, she just. really needs a place she feels safe, and her gut is telling her to. and of course bombalurina says yes

bombalurina also knew macavity and had also made out a couple times with him at like parties and stuff (see: staring at demeter as she makes out with people). something about transference of feelings - bombalurina was into him for a couple moments because he and demeter had a thing.

this is due to me interpreting the song “macavity” as actually about bombalurina wanting to fuck demeter and her singing as a half-repressed expression of that. i use my really good wlw brain to reach that conclusion. it’s kind of a non-competitive version of eve sedgwick’s take on the love triangle. (<-- normal thing to say)

but anyway demeter stays on bombalurina’s couch and she tries so hard to stay on track but eventually she just has to drop out. bombalurina helps her with that too. she’s just really supportive even as demeter’s life is at its lowest point. when she gets home from bartending she gets demeter to go to sleep

she just Stays with her and makes her smile and reminds her that her life isn’t over, there’s still things in her day to enjoy, to keep her trudging forward

bombalurina is roommates with tugger at this point - he also recently dropped out and demeter knows him because he’s munkustrap’s brother, so he’s Trusted and also is like “hey it’s okay that you dropped out, im here and im chilling and you like me and respect me at least a little, and you have a bachelor’s degree at least!” (more on him later)

demeter is like “oh god ive been crashing at their place for so long not paying rent, theyre gonna ask me to leave, im such a freeloader, they wont take my attempts at paying rent” but then bombalurina and tugger are like “hey! the lease is almost up! we found a pretty good 3 bedroom, do you wanna have your own room for real?” and she nearly cries because 1. the RELIEF 2. oh my god you want me around???

cut to bombalurina helping demeter put together an ikea dresser (tugger got banished to the kitchen to make crystal light lemonade for them because he’s useless with a screwdriver) and demeter has two epiphanies:

1. i thought i was ready to d*e four months ago and here i am making a dresser to put clothes into in my new apartment where i live and feel safe and loved. im still not happy but im still alive and im making a dresser

2. holy fuck im back in love with my best friend, and ten times more than i was back then.

so she like kind of freaks out because she’s already imposed so much on bombalurina, how could she impose her FEELINGS on her like this, oh no oh no oh no

meanwhile bombalurina’s back in love with her even MORE and she’s also like no... she’s already dealing with so much... i don’t want to make her uncomfortable or feel unsafe in her own home especially after her recent relationship trauma... i just want her to feel safe around me...

you might think tugger as their roommate would be like “JUST KISS” but he is in fact pretty oblivious because he is self-absorbed. mistoffelees on the other hand..

eventually they do have a big confession of feelings after demeter has a bad day and it’s very dramatic and they make out in the rain. and it’s like. well this is a movie scene. but also im cold and damp. let’s head inside our home and get warm and dry :)

and then they go inside and and talk through everything, all their feelings (not just their romantic feelings but like ALL their feelings) and their shared histories and bombalurina is like “do you think you’re... ready for a relationship right now? like that would be a good thing for you?”

and demeter considers it. she does stop and think. and then she says, “with anyone else... probably not. but it’s you. and i feel so safe around you, and we’re already so close. you make the future feel more worth it. you make more days alive feel not just tolerable, but something to look forward to. and knowing you’ve loved me all this time... it’s nice. it’s good. i’m - i’m understating it so much, it’s more than nice, it’s just - it’s a lot. i wish i had noticed back then.” “hey, hey, don’t blame yourself. i’m the one who never said anything.”

anyway. everything works out, and they start dating for real :)

tugger:

bisexual. 22 years old

dishwasher at the same bar bombalurina works at. she got him the job. he keeps bugging her to teach him bartending tricks and on slow nights she will agree to

he dropped out of their four year, but he managed to secure an associate’s in communications before he dipped

trying to be an ig influencer hotboy and hopefully get modeling jobs from that but his phone’s camera sucks shit so his account isn’t really going anywhere. but he continues to post his low resolution shirtless selfies

trying to cope with being the failure son who does not have a fancy nonprofit job with a salary and healthcare by being self-absorbed and self-aggrandizing

it works about 60% of the time and 60% of the times that it doesn’t he’s able to hide it

he dropped out right around when bombalurina graduated and he was like HEY! ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A ROOMMATE WHO DOESN’T CARE IF WE LIVE TEN MILES AWAY FROM CAMPUS? WELL HAVE I GOT A SOLUTION FOR YOU: ME!

to which bombalurina (who has fooled around with him here and there and thinks he is funny little man and genuinely goodhearted, and also he has rockin abs as a plus) says munkustrap already asked me if i need a roommate and if i do to consider you, because you don’t want to move back home. in other words: yes, you little idiot

they do fool around with each other but they are both very understanding that it is strictly platonic and for fun, especially once they become roommates. they both do not desire each other for anything serious

he did have a bit of a crush on each other when they met (hot punk older girl who’s friends with his brother) but 1. it dissipated pretty quick after they fooled around for the first time because it was not a very serious crush 2. she was in the middle of being in love with demeter so she was focused on that, emotionally

he got his ears pierced a couple times in high school but bombalurina inspired him to get a couple more. she went with him when he got his nose pierced

demeter has always understood that him and bombalurina are strictly fwb, has never been an issue.

she and him like to bleach their hair together when their hair schedules line up (he bleaches his way less often then she does), but she refuses to use his fancy conditioner that keeps his hair unfried because it’s expensive, even though he tells her to go ahead and use it, please, the health of her hair is giving HIM anxiety, demeter please. please demeter

mistoffelees:

gay. 20 years old

has magic. it’s pretty good magic but again: magic is not a big deal in this concept

a bit spooky. skulks around. a bit of a bitch but also very very nice. chooses when to speak

he has postings on craigslist and fiverr about finding lost objects and people with magic. like a gig economy private detective

side job is a waiter at a fancy restaurant

sometimes he gets paid VERY well from the private detecting, depending on the client. he does ask his psychic friends (tantomile & coricopat) to give a quick glance over on some of the more suspicious clients just to make sure he isn’t finding someone who should not be found by that person.

doesn’t go to college. is roommates with his sister victoria, who’s a freshman and studying dance. moved into town with her so she wouldn’t have to live in the dorms by having a guaranteed roommate.

tuggoffelees:

the general vibe i want for these two is mistoffelees walking around town or driving around in his shitty toyota camry while tugger tags along because he’s bored and thinks this is cool as shit

the general tone of the au is “magic isn’t a big deal” except for tugger, who thinks mistoffelees’ magic and his magic freelancing is the coolest shit ever. this is mostly because he just likes mistoffelees. “there are people who can do cooler shit than me, tug” “yeah but i don’t KNOW them also theyre not as COOL as you” “you had to explain to me how instagram reels work”

idk how they met i just think tugger shows up at his and bombalurina’s apartment one day (this is when demeter has moved in but they havent moved to the 3br yet) with this dude to dash in and pick something up and bombalurina is like “uh. who’s this” “oh this is mistoffelees he’s SO GOOD AT MAGIC” [mistoffelees nods hello] “okay bye bombalurina see you at work!!!” “uh. later”

after that he just shows up a lot. sort of ambiguous if theyre dating or what for a while before bombalurina straight up asks like “hey does the dude you’re dating know we fool around” “the dude im - what?” “... the little magic guy who keeps using our hot cocoa mix. misty.” “oh. uh. we aren’t dating.” “... do you want to? because you’re kind of all over him constantly” “um. well! haha, if i wanted to, i could! haha!” “yeah get back to me on that”

tugger trying to use his ig clout to get mistoffelees more work even though 1. he has no clout 2. mistoffelees has a very stable client base. but mistoffelees appreciates the effort. the self-promo guy promoing someone other than himself... the highest expression of love...

mistoffelees is A Nonthreatening Man plus he’s pretty obviously gay so demeter is chill around him pretty quickly. when mistoffelees is over they’ll sit on the couch where demeter sleeps and watch documentaries quietly while she crochets

they both occasionally say spooky shit at the same time because magic stuff. bombalurina and tugger are both torn between “that was cool as fuck” and “god that’s unnerving”

just a lot of tugger following mistoffelees around on his jobs and mistoffelees letting him because he’s fond of him and them occasionally getting into minor peril and interesting shenanigans, but it is 90% fetch quests

i think the first time they met tugger was taking selfies in front of a hydrangea in a public park and he saw mistoffelees walk up with a shovel and start digging in one of the flower beds and he thought he was hot so he went over and offered to take over on the shoveling to look strong and masculine and he ended up digging up a skull, which mistoffelees picked up and said “thanks” and then walked away

mildly terrifying but also very interesting and tugger’s days are kind of boring and dishwashing kind of sucks as a job to do like every night and he is a person who thrives on novelty so. moth to a porchlight

i think they do start making out for fun here and there and then a while later theyre out on one of mistoffelees’ jobs and someone asks “who’s the guy with you” and mistoffelees replies “oh that’s my boyfriend, don’t worry about him” and then it’s like. “HUH? I’M YOUR BOYFRIEND?” “uh. yeah? i assumed. is that okay?” “i mean yeah of course i think you’re great! how long have we–” “oh like a while.” “oh. uh. cool!!”

they just hang out a lot. mistoffelees enjoys teasing him and enjoys his warmth and bombasticity and tugger likes watching and helping him solve little mysteries around the county because it’s always something new. they’re kind of a comedy duo. they just enjoy spending their time together and following mistoffelee’s internal magic gps to find lost dogs and lost necklaces

yeah right now this au is just vibes and just sort of. continuing forward with your days and your weeks and your months. just young adults hanging out

#cats the musical #mr mistoffelees #rum tum tugger #demeter cats #bombalurina #tuggoffelees #demelurina #chirps #bird in the hand

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storysofmyown · 4 years

Text

Obey me! Scarred, Chapt. 7

Plot: It’s time for the next step in Diavolo’s plan to unify the realms. But, in order to work, the demons would be subjected to confront their worst fears, and in some cases, who they are.

Trigger warning: None that i can think of

Word count: 2377

“Ya got to be kiddin’ me, I ain’t gonna wear this weird…uh…um…shirt I guess? To the damn ball.” Mammon threw the garment at Asmodeous bed, who made a cartoonish shriek.

“Mammon! You idiot! Do you have any idea how long it takes to steam the wrinkles off? And you are not going to do it, so its me the one who has to put their skin at risk in that heat just because you can’t be careful.” Asmodeous took the piece of clothe and hanged it on his closet, making sure no wrinkle was visible.

“Whatever, I don’t care. I have more important things to be doing than playing dress up with you two.”

“Who said I was playing dress up?” Mc looked up from the bed, barely maintaining eye contact with Mammon.

“Then why are ya here?”

“You literally dragged me out of my room so I would accompany you here.” Mc sat down; their eyes now open but not focusing on anything. “Plus, Asmo said there would be wine, so.” Asmodeous laughed and stuck his tongue out at Mammon, who huffed and growled in response. “C’mon, just sit down. Everything in here has been so chaotic since…well, God arrived that Lucifer has a headache 24/7. We are the only ones acting normal.” Mc sighed, they were worried for the others, but the demos refused to talk about what had happen, what that caused them to act this way.

“That’s not true, Levi hasn’t left his room in three whole days. That’s very Levi of him.” Asmo gave Mammon a glass of wine before sitting on the bed. Mammon made a point of sniffing it in case Asmo put anything weird in it, before just chugging everything down in one go.

“That ain’t entirely true. The other day, I went to see Levi, and the dweeb wasn’t doing anything. And I don’t mean as in, wasting time playing games and shit, no, he was literally buried under at least seven blankets and was just starring at Henrys tank all the time. Barely even acknowledge me.”

“Is that so?” Prompted Asmo.

“I payed him a visit. There was no sound on or anything, I called him, and he just yelled for me to leave him alone. I want to help but how can I help when he won’t tell me what’s wrong?” Mc groaned; they loved the seven idiots. At this point they were family to Mc, and that meant what affected the boys affected them.

“That is a little weird of him. I mean, he would never reject anyone that offered to watch anime or play videogames with him.” Asmo refilled all the cups.

The three of them stayed silent for a moment. Asmodeous chewed on his lower lip before sighing.

“Has Satan talked to any of you?” Mammon and Mc shook their heads. “Me neither, I tried giving him a book the other day, and he literally threw it at my face. He is out of control.” Once again, silence, this time broken by Mammon.

“What about Belphie and Beel? I haven’t seen Beel eat more than half a plate of food for over a week now. He IS the Avatar of Gluttony. His whole thing is food.”

“We baked him some cupcakes to try and cheer him up. He didn’t even touch them.” Asmo replied, pointing at Mc and then at himself. “Like, I know they were probably not that good, but they were better than Solomon’s cooking, which mean Beel would normally have eaten them with no problem.”

“Belphegor hasn’t slept in days.” Mc starred at their now empty cup.

“How do ya know that?”

“He won’t leave my room. He has stayed with me for a couple days, every time I wake up, I see him awake. All he does is stare at a bracelet on his hand.” Mc looked up at Asmo and Mammon, they all had the same expression on their faces.

“Anyway,” Asmo tried to sound as chipper as possible, forcing a smile on his lips. “Mammon, you said you had some more important things to care about. What is that all about?”

“Oh, so you know that one-time Mc…Belphie and I working at Hell’s Kitchen?” Mammon’s voice went quiet when mentioning Belphegor before picking up the tone he had started the sentence with. “Well, the dudes still had my phone, and it seems that a customer wants me personally to do his delivery. And get this, they will pay whatever amount I demand, all so I, the Great Mammon deliver some food and stuff. Can you believe this?” Mammon rested his back on the backrest of the chair while taking a long sip.

“That sounds a little suspiciou-” Asmodeous was cut short by Mc’s tired voice.

“I’m worried about them.” Silence fell momentarily in the room. None of them daring to speak up. The situation was getting worse by the day, their family was hurting, and they didn’t even knew why. It was scary, knowing that people you loved were going trough something and not being able to do anything about it.

“So am I” Lucifer’s voice cut in, pulling a chair and taking a whole bottle of wine that had yet to be open.

“Oi! How long have you been listening in?” Mammon jumped at Lucifer’s voice before sitting straight in the chair.

“There was no need for me to “listen in”, you three were talking loud enough that I could hear it in the kitchen.” The bags under the man’s eyes were noticeable, he had a demeanor that screamed how little care the man was putting on himself. His form seemed weaker and his tone did not have the usual authoritative undertone. Lucifer popped off the cork of the bottle and took a long sip. He wasn’t wearing his usual coat, vest open and with no tie.

“Are you okay?” Mc asked, leaving their cup on the side. Lucifer only gave a dry sarcastic laugh before just looking at the ceiling.

“Am I okay? Of course, why wouldn’t I be? It’s not like ever since I saw my father’s face, I have been plagued with nightmares of him hurting another member of my family. Or the fact that when we are supposed to as closer as we can possible be, my brothers and my own son are more shut off than ever. Satan went back to hating me with every fiber of his being, Beelzebulb won’t talk to anyone, Belphegor and Leviathan have just shut off completely from the entire world.” Lucifer sighed, passing a hand through his hair.

Asmodeous felt tempted to take the bottle off from Lucifer, the man was not feeling well, and having him drunk would not do any good. He tried to do so, but Lucifer only shook his head, looking at Asmo, giving his younger brother a small smile before he caught Mammon starring. His expression was that of a child who had found out Santa Clause was not real, of a child whose hero turned out to be just a man who could get hurt, bleed, and die.

In all their years alive, Mammon had never seen Lucifer in such a helpless manner. It was like whatever drive had been keeping him functioning had met its limit, needed replacement or something. The man who was more of a father to any of them that their actual father could ever be, the man who, even though was the literal personification of pride, threw his reputation and believes away and damned himself to a life of servitude all so his little sister could have a shot at a normal life. Mammon would never say this out laud, but he appreciated how much Lucifer had sacrificed for their family.

“Lucifer, I-” Mammon was shushed when Lucifer put up his hand.

“I never told you two, or anyone else for that matter, about this but…after we fell, and Diavolo gave us this house, I promised myself I would do anything to keep my family together, because as long as I had you guys, I thought it would be okay. After all, we had gone through a hell of a war… and yet, somehow, we were still together, even if Lilith wasn’t there with us, I knew she was happy. And I wanted that for us as well, I wanted us to be happy. All of us.” Lucifer chuckled.

For a few seconds, after Lucifer finished, he laughed slightly, with a somber tone to his voice. Before getting up and walking towards the door, once at the edge of it, he turned around, barely even looking at the three stunned members of his family. He wondered where he had gone wrong, where everything had gone to shit, the reasons why he couldn’t protect his family and why were they going through stuff they don’t deserve. He felt his heart ache at the memories of a lifetime ago, at the times up with his Father when they thought he loved them.

He thought of Lilith and how much love she had to give; she was his little sister. And he would have given everything to protect her and every single member of his family, he would crawl through all the realms and sink to the bottom before trading his own life if it was necessary. But he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He was stuck with the weight of his mistakes and the regrets that weighed him down and ate him up every day, every moment of every second of every minute of his existence. This was his life. No matter how much he tried to make the family okay, the universe seemed to punish them all.

Lost in his thoughts, Lucifer arrived at his room. Ignoring the stack of papers in his desk and turning off his phone. Not even Diavolo was going to convince him of waking up early tomorrow. Lucifer kicked his shoes off, and without getting anything else off, he laid in bed, starring at the ceiling and wondering how could he be such a bad father and older brother.

Across the hallway, stood two demons and a human. Whom felt as hopeless as Lucifer. Mc wanted so badly to go after Lucifer and hug him but the first they needed to cry their feelings for a second. Mc got up from the bed, leaving and empty cup on Asmodeous bed and excused themselves. Mammon sighed, passing a hand through his hair. This was all wrong, none of this should be happening, and Mammon wanted to do something about it so badly.

“Mammon.” Asmodeous voice was hoarse and weak. Mammon ignored the feeling of tears accumulating in his eyes in order to pay attention to Asmodeous, who’s hair was covering his facial features while the younger demon starred at the floor.

“I know.” Mammon’s tone mirrored Asmodeous. “Me too Asmo, you and all the other bunch of idiots that live in this house.” Asmodeous laughed for less than a second, looking up, and in that moment, Mammon saw that he had been crying. Mammon moved to give his little brother a hug. They stayed like that for a while, Mammon trying to regain composure while Asmodeous fully sobbed on his older brother’s shoulder.

It was moments like this that showed them how much they did care for one another. Even if they were always fighting, and screaming at one another, they were a family. Lucifer had made sure they stood together for so long and hell would be damned if the mere presence of their father was going to change that fact. They were a family, and nothing was going to change that.

After a few minutes, Mammon left Asmodeous alone, both agreeing to never speak of that again. For their sakes and Lucifer’s. After entering his room, Mammon put his hands over his pool table, taking in everything that had just happened. He wasn’t aware of how long he stood there, starring at nowhere while simultaneously lost in his head. The only reason he snapped out of it was because his phone started ringing.

“What do ya want?” Mammon asked, not bothering to even check who was calling.

“Mammon! Right?” Mammon hummed as an answer. “We finally got a hold of you. Listen kid, the customer is still requesting your presence. They want it to be delivered tonight. You in?” Mammon sighed; he was not having any of it tonight.

“Yeah, listen here bud. Tell the costumer The Great Mammon isn’t interest in delivering no food.” He didn’t even wait for an answer before hanging up and throwing his phone over the bed, flopping in it and trying to fall asleep. Of course, that was interrupted by the phone once again. Mammon groaned. “Oi! I already told you I am not interested. Stop calling.”

“We understand, but the customer stated that in case you refused to deliver we reassured you that he would pay very handsomely.” Mammon sighed.

“How about this, why don’t ya take the order to the man, and you receive the pay, that way you can use that money to check yo damn ears cuz you ain’t listening to what I’m saying. I Ain’t Interested.” With that Mammon hanged up again, he got up from the bed and tried to sigh, but before he even did that the phone started ringing again. “Y’know what? I’m starting to get real mad-”

“Mammon.” That voice… “come now, no need to be so rude.” This time, the voice that came through the phone wasn’t the same. For a moment he couldn’t quite recognize the voice, then in clicked. “I only wish to see my son. Why are you denying me from that?” It was his father.

“You…you were the customer.” Mammon spoke in mild disbelief. He had been so tired and annoyed he didn’t even think of the possibility of his father messing with him. Yet, here he was. Even from the phone Mammon could tell his father had the most devilish grin the man could give. For a moment Mammon felt his head spin while the anticipation of hearing his father’s voice grew. Then, in a deep playful tone, almost gritted yet obviously unwelcome, his father spoke.

“Bingo.”

Aight! Chapter seven people! This one is bit different than the normal format of “God finds a brother alone and manipulates him.” In all honestly, this chapter was not meant to exist at all, i started it trying to write the chapter for the next brother but it turned into this. I still hope y’all like this one. Next chapter will be again fallow my usual format, and I’ll probably post it Wednesday. That is all for today, hope y’all had enjoyed it sweeties :3

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

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thepursuitofunderstanding · 3 years

Text

January 31/2021

Well, hello new journal! I look forward to our explorations together. Now, what shall we begin discussing this morning? Nothing feels important enough to mark your first pages [this is from before I switched from paper to digital journaling]. I guess that I could say that I’m starting to catch a glimpse of what I might like my life to be like once I graduate Uni. That’s long been a giant question mark for/with me. Due in large part, I’m sure, to the fact that the conventional path seems to be a sort of settling down. That is, graduates go out and find a job; make a home in some place or other; date/get married; essentially people seem to settle onto one path--at the expense of all other paths. Which is fine--for them. I think that there shall be no settling for me. I must keep moving. This seems to be a condition of my existence. Whether this movement is within or without seems to be irrelevant. Or, rather, I do seem to to particularly prize/regard the internal movement, but I have found external movement to be a great stimulator of internal movement. And, alas, as long as I have books and you [that is, my journal] I seem to never stop moving within. So that helps that.

Most of all though, I don’t want to chain myself to some job that stymies my movement. Especially my internal movement. If I’ve learned anything about myself in these 24 years, it’s that such is a death sentence for/to me. I must keep moving. Inertia is death. Because a self-imposed death is still very much a death. Perhaps an ever deader death (if that’s possible). Now, of course, this whole ‘not letting a job chain me down’ does get rather complicated by the fact that I do need money to maintain my survival. It’s not like everyone in the world enters into the contract (or bondage, depending on how you look at it) of a job because they’re just total masochists. No, I recognize that for the most part people consent to have a job for the simple fact that it is required for their continual survival. As it is for my continual survival. Plus I’ll have some student loans to pay off (I try not to stress too much about that one. Uni is absolutely imperative for/to my development. I’ll figure out how to pay for it later.), so it seems that I will definitely need to figure out some way of generating moneys. But, alas, I aim to keep my expenses such that I won’t have to chain myself to a full-time job. I aim to do this by living in my van when weather permits and then...figuring something out for winter. I’ll live frugally--my only indulgence being books. For it turns out that one really doesn’t need as much money to get by as one might think. You cut out all that useless shit that people buy, get back to just the basics and suddenly things become much more manageable.

This, I hope, will be what the outward appearance of my life will look like after graduation. And inwardly, well, I can’t even imagine that--I’ll be moving, that’s all I know. Working towards Greatness, looking at perhaps getting myself published; learning, always learning. This is how I’ll fill my life. It makes me so full and content to consider that I could cry. Oh what a feeling it is to actually want; to crave to live one’s life. It’s not exactly a feeling that I’m familiar with. Usually I tend to attempt--by any means necessary--to avoid gazing too long into the/my future. For the wretched weight of it felt only like a jail cell beckoning me towards it confines. Time, at my back, preventing my retreat, the chains of life always an inevitability; I could see no way around it. Or, rather, I could imagine ways around it (my power of imagination being what it is paired with my insatiable need to read anything that I can get my hands on (that makes it sound like I’m not a discriminating reader, which is false: I might just be the most snobbish reader that I’ve ever encountered. I’m so intimately aware that I’ll never be able to read all the books that I want to, therefore I must be very careful to give my time and energy to only those books that I deem to be imperative to my development. God I sound like such a cocky asshole. But hopefully a cocky asshole that is tempered with the realization that I’m not shit yet and I never will be unless I really... strain myself. I’m not sure how this spiraled into a poop(ing) metaphor, but here we are nevertheless.)) but I never felt myself to be capable of the strength and individuality required to evade that jail cell that I’ve witnessed so many people around me imprisoned by.

Alas though, I realize now that the only thing more terrifying than attempting such an evasion is to not. For, to not attempt such an evasion is to surrender myself; to fail to become myself: of which I agree with Kierkegaard is a fate worse than death. I have discovered that I can withstand a lot of pain and discomfort in life--but not that. To lose myself, especially like that, to (how did he put it?) “pawn” myself to the world is not something that I will ever be able to withstand. I know this. Any leanings in the past towards such have led--always--to a crushing compulsion to end it all. I seem to be so constituted that such a pawning is simply not an option to/for me. Which is something that I’ve only just now grasped in its entirety. I seem to have had some hunch of it for a few years here now (thus the talk of the conditions of my existence) but only now have I managed to grasp (or begun to grasp) the full weight of all this. I can truly do no other. I have never, nor will I ever, have any choice in the matter. Or, rather, since I don’t believe in determinism, I should say that my choice is to either live “myself” or to not live at all. This is the ultimate condition of my existence. All other conditions stem from this ultimate one.

Wow, okay, so this is why I love writing--why I absolutely need to write. Just as my physical body needs food and water to sustain itself, my soul needs to write. For through/by writing I come to be/tough ‘myself.’ Perhaps f I did not write I would become a pawn to the world. And I would never realize that although I might be physically alive; conventionally regarded as a living being; I never became anything more than a living death. For that’s what it feels like to pawn oneself to the world. I feels like one’s ‘self’ and one’s life is not one’s own; that one is merely a spectator to the unfolding of a dreary and rather impersonal drama.--Gross. That is, if I had it in me to even put up with any of that. I imagine that, being who/as I am, I wouldn’t live to see too many seasons of a life like this: the cape of despair eventually suffocating me.

I wonder, what is it about me, my ‘self’ that makes it wholly impossible for me to ignore my ‘self.’I look around me and see the majority of people managing it just fine (or, rather, as fine as one can manage the pawning of oneself to the world.). Why is such a path/manner of Being one that is closed to me? I couldn’t attempt it even if I wanted to. Why/how is this??? What is it about me that makes this so? Because I realize now that my inability to do such a thing/live such a way, has defined my entire life thus far. It doesn’t seem to be something that I learned or picked up from anyone else. That is, I can think of no one who modelled anything like this in my early life. It was only later on, when the definition was making itself felt more and more that I managed to find others who also felt such a condition defining their existence. But those others didn’t birth it in me, they only (not only, for their friendship has been everything to me.) helped me recognize what was already there.

My need to be/become my’self’ seems to be an inborn requirement of my Being. The condition of my existence. But how can this be?? For this condition doesn’t seem to be present, or at least, not nearly as stressed, in the people that I observe around me. It is this condition that has made me feel different--pathological--my whole life. Even when I couldn’t grasp it, it was always there, whispering to me from the darkness. It was never not there. Thus, I though that there was something wrong with me.

It would seem that the entire trajectory of my life has been defined by the attempt to understand this whispering from the darkness. For I discovered early on that I couldn’t silence it without simultaneously doing away with myself. Because it is more me than I am... Whatever that means. And it is this whispering, this me, my ‘self’ that I am now engaged in consolidating; I am collecting from the darkness and attempting to explore and understand. This is what my life is about. Or, at least, it is the meaning of my life. My defining commitment as Hubert Dreyfus would say? And God is that which makes it all possible is what Kierkegaard what would say? God is the ground where all of this takes place; God is the sun which allows for the illumination of these dark places. It is only with/through God that the whispering can be understood? Is God that which whispers to me? That would indicate/imply that my ‘self’ is God; a fragment of God? My ‘self’ is atman? So many things to consider here...

Atman, my ‘self’, might this bear any relation to the concept of Nothingness that Sartre is acquainting me with? He does talk about how this Nothingness “haunts” Being. And I would certainly say that this whispering from the darkness of my Being has haunted me. Haunting is actually a perfect word for it. I seem to be more (profoundly?) haunted than others. Is this possible? I wonder, will Sartre ever discuss the possibility of some being more “haunted” or possessing more Nothingness than others?

It has become apparent to me recently that this is my work. It is my play too actually, all woven into one. That is, when I sit here with you, when I lose myself in books, when I wander around and think/imagine, I am working. It may seem like such a minor distinction to focus on--such a trivial thing to notice and distinguish. But to/for me it is everything. I have always craved to be one of those people who is consumed by their work. I has always thought that there was something to important and noble about it. I bestows one’s life with an importance that isn’t there otherwise. That is, a life without this emphasis on one’s work is a life without a defining commitment. This seems to be an awareness that I apprehended before I was ever able to understand or articulate it. All I knew was that I was missing an importance/meaning to my life. I could see that others (though few) had it. But I never really believed that I would come to experience it myself. I had resigned myself to merely watching those others from the sidelines. Always to be aware of the game that I so desperately yearned to be a part of, yet never being chosen to participate. For, alas, it does seem to be a game that one must be chosen for. You can want to participate with your whole Being, but that means nothing unless one is animated from within. Otherwise one will simply be going through the movements; it will be purely mechanical. A true experience of/participation in the game requires that one lose oneself in/to it. And to lose oneself to something is never a choice made by oneself. That is, one can offer oneself up to this losing, but one can never control whether/if one will get swallowed up. I so wanted to be swallowed up by the game--by my work--and now it seems to be happening. I wonder, if one consistently offers oneself up to such a swallowing, is it inevitable that one will eventually get swallowed up? So many questions. And I’ve gotten so abstract and... mystical(?) in my thoughts now that I can hardly ask anyone else these questions. For, even the formulation of these questions requires such a lengthy and convoluted explanation that I’m unsure if I could even construct them, let alone hope that anyone might be able to follow my train of thought well enough for anything close to a satisfactory answer. It seems that I must wander the path of my questioning alone. And my writing is my mapping of the territory that I come across. This is my contribution to the literary community: to add my mappings to the mass of mappings that have been done before me. Because, after all, aren’t we all just trying to make sense of this crazy thing we call life? And isn’t life continuously evading our attempts to do so?

The closer I get to Greatness the deeper I’ll be able to penetrate into (the mystery of) life. And, thus, the more precise/profound/meaningful my mapping will become.

It seems to me that the only way for me to draw closer to this Greatness (my Greatness?) is by following the whispers of my ‘self.’ That is, I may learn from those around me, but I can never rely on them too fully lest I imitate them and lose the thread/path of my ’self.’ For Greatness seems to be... wholly individual, in a certain regard. By that I mean that... what do I mean? Every artist has their own particular flavor of Greatness. And it is only through/by this particular flavoring that Greatness appears. Because Greatness is... well, it’s not black and white; it’s vibrant and lively, it dances and lives. It is transcendent. It cannot be created/pursued mechanically. Sure it requires discipline and control, but it also requires personality and deviation. It requires that one break rules and forge new paths. These things can only be done by the individual. For it requires that one step outside the boundaries/limitations that had previously been set. This is a task that can only be done by the individual. It is not a collective activity, not something that any machine (mechanized something) might be able to do/engage in. The mechanized something is unable to do such because, as I understand it, these things necessarily require boundaries in order to operate in the first place. Or else these get swallowed up by possibility and are unable to function at all. Thus limitations must be set and can only be sidestepped by direction from some external tinkering/director. And, in the case of the collective... there seems to be a sort of inertia in the collective. As is a certain level of inertia is one of its defining features. For it is only by standing still that things (people) can collect after all. Yes, that seems right. Thus, only the individual, through their individuality, may pursue/tough Greatness. Although, of course, in saying that I also recognize that the individual is an amalgamation of everyone and everything that said individual has ever encountered (or will ever encounter?). So, in a sense, the individual is, in the individual self, a collection of Being. But, alas, a different sort of collective than what one conventionally thinks of when they consider a collective.

Damn, I gotta say, I really covered some ground today. So odd too, I really had no idea that all of this was welling up within me. When I first sat down with you this morning I had absolutely no idea what we would be exploring together. Alas though, is it time to move onto some Being and Nothingness now? I’ve got to tell you, if I keep going at this pace, finishing it and The Second Sex by the end of the semester will be a piece of cake. I maybe should have set my aim even higher and also included Being and Time. But then, is it too late to make a change? Let’s just think about this for a minute... I’m at such a point in Being and Nothingness that I could reasonably leave it aside for a moment and return to it without too much confusion (I think). Being and Time only has 415 pages. And Dreyfus’ commentary on it is only 281 pages. Do I dare raise my aim? Doing so would mean adding another 700 pages to my goal, making it 2300 pages of dense philosophical treatise to complete in 3 months while simultaneously juggling 5 classes. Do I dare attempt it? I ask but I already know the answer. Now, the only question is, do I start Being and Time first or ought I take a bit of a wander through Dreyfus’ commentary first?

#january #journal entry

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mylifeasatransferstudent · 5 years

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Where to Begin?

CW: Suicidal thoughts/ contemplations/ plans, sexual abuse/ some strong language/ honestly if you’re my family you probably don’t want to read this

In order to explain where I am today—physically and mentally—I need to set up an understanding of what exactly lead me to where I am today.

When I was a freshman in high school, I was hospitalized for my mental health. I didn’t know why, but I was suicidal and spent 14? days in the hospital where I was prescribed Prozac. I was diagnosed with Major Depression Disorder and General Anxiety Disorder, on top of my preexisting ADHD.

At the time I just said all of my mental health issues were due to the fact that I was adjusting to the new circumstances of my home life: My parents were divorced; my mom had just moved to Georgia to be with her boyfriend; my grandmother moved as well but to Central California to be with my cousins; and the cherry on top had been the fact that 9 people (only 4 of which were my kin, at least 2 were drug addicts) were now living in my childhood home, a four-bedroom and two-bathroom house. It was old (I think it was built in the 70s). We also seemed to be running an animal shelter (5 dogs and 3 cats. Two of the cats were not spayed and had litters at the same time so I think at one point we had 9 total cats). No one, myself included, seemed to care about the cleanliness of the house; however, when I was stressed and life seemed like too much to bare, I would clean which was the only time any cleaning would get done.

So yeah that seemed like a good enough reason to want to die.

I got out of the hospital sometime after Valentine’s Day and I went back to school. I seriously can’t clearly remember anything that happened while I was on Prozac. It’s all fuzzy like a movie I watched only one time and I was drunk when I watched it. I have only one fairly clear memory from this time:

I was in my first hour class, Physical Science (which I think was my favorite class freshman year) and my teacher was talking and I could see his mouth move but I could not comprehend anything he said. It was like he was an adult in Charlie Brown. The bell rang and I couldn’t move. One of my classmates nudged me and I awoke from my daze to a puddle of drool on my notebook.

You see 14 days isn’t enough time to see how your body reacts to a new drug plus a hospital does not have the same stimuli as a classroom. I was given a drug and I could not see a doctor to alter my meds. Everyone on my insurance was not accepting new patients, but I could not take the Prozac anymore. Fuck America’s mental health care system. My dad saw how much worse off I was on the Prozac that he weened me off of it and I had to learn to cope on my own.

I failed 3 classes that year.

Sophomore year, my home life hadn’t improved much and my eldest brother went to rehab. That took an emotional toll. Especially the “family week” which was toward the end and we set boundaries with each other and learned what the signs of relapse are. Each family member had to write a letter “When you do drugs it makes me feel like…if you continue to do drugs I will…if you steal from me…if you lie to me..” things like that to set boundaries on both sides. Now really all I knew was that my brother had sold my Zune and a few other things that were mine, so I just had to say don’t steal from me. When he read the letter he had wrote to me he looked me in the eyes and said, “You will not bring up anything I have done to you. If you do I will end the conversation then and there and walk away.”

I felt a lump form in my throat and eyes began to water. I just nodded and held back the tears. I knew I wasn’t wrong this whole time; I knew I wasn’t sick; I knew I hadn’t imagined it. He knew. He remembers. But for now that was all I got.

He was released, went into a ¾ home, relapsed, repeat. Now he’s been sober for a couple of years I think. Good for him.

Junior year I think was the most uneventful year as far as my mental health goes. I grew closer to friends and really it was a good year.

Senior year I took on more responsibility and was 2nd VP of JCL. My depression reared its ugly head. I was suicidal again. I had panic attacks almost daily and my dad would check me out of class, so I almost always missed my 7th hour which was Pre Cal. I was horrible at 2nd VPing and the other JCL officers decided to take action.

They wrote a letter and gave it to our Latin teacher and she read it to me. I cried and after my Latin class was over I ran into the restroom and sobbed. I thought I was going to throw up from crying so much. The bell rang for my English class to begin and I hugged the toilet. I began to calm down but even so I hated myself for being so weak I couldn’t handle any form of criticism. I thought about the scissors I had in my backpack. It would be so easy I thought. So easy and then I would have to worry about anything anymore. Weakness isn’t a problem when you’re dead. When you’re suicidal, this is the logic that your brain wants to follow, but you can’t let it. Find something to act as an anchor. People always say live for yourself, but when your self-worth is less than a penny, that seems like a dumb argument. What I wanted to live for I really didn’t know. But I knew I didn’t want to die where my best friend could be the one to find the body and her class was right across the hall. So I sent my dad a text to come get me and he did.

All of this is to say: I didn’t apply to any colleges because I didn’t know if I was going to be alive at the end of senior year.

By the way I failed 2 classes senior year. Still graduated class of 2014.

Fall of 2014 my dad and I move to Houston for his job and because I wasn’t staying at that house. Spring of 2015 I start as a Theater Major at a community college. I really didn’t know what I wanted to do but I knew I liked acting. Summer I work at a Girl Scout camp. Fall 2015 I had a problem getting registered for class, so took semester off and did a community play “Guards! Guards!” Spring 2016 I do just some basics at school and change my major to math. That summer I returned to camp then that fall go back to school and get a job at Space Center Houston. Dec 2018 I got my Associates in Mathematics.

At some point during all of this and I’m leaning more toward late ‘15 early ’16 I went to visit my grandparents. My brother was living with them. He says he needs to talk to me so we go outside.

He said he had done somethings to me a brother never should. He apologized. He said drugs aren’t an excuse for what he’s done. He said that someone had done it to him so he thought it was okay to do the same.

I was stunned into silence—just like when he was in rehab setting boundaries. Everything came flooding back. It had happened when I was still very young, I know I was somewhere between 10 because I hadn’t started my period yet and that was at 11 and he was still in school (he was a dropout). He performed oral sex on me and made me reciprocate. I had no idea what was happening but I knew it was wrong. I think it may have happened more than once, but I know that this set a foundation for my anxiety and my inability to say no or speak up to defend myself. I was petrified when I told one of his friends what he had done to me and he asked me to do the same for him. Then he went bragging to my brother about it and my brother started to fight him and yell racial slurs saying he never wanted to see him around our house again and that was my fault. They had a falling out because of me.

My parents said that any girl who does exactly what she’s asked in a sexual context, who doesn’t put up a fight, has no respect for herself. If you don’t respect yourself no one else would either. My parents didn’t respect me then, and if I told them, I knew they would blame me for having no self-respect. So I ignored it. Pretended like it never happened. I convinced myself that I had made it up. I was sick and disgusting for imagining these things. For years, even after rehab, I thought it was all in my head. He was always my favorite brother. I always wanted to do what he did. He played baseball, I signed up for T-ball; he joined swim team, so did I; he was a goalie, I became one too. And I kept up that illusion.

To this day I have only had a less than five minute conversation with him about what he did and that was his “apology” which was just another one of his 12-steps. I feel like it wasn’t even real.

So here we are now 2019. September 6th is my three year anniversary at Space Center Houston. And I have transferred to a 4-year school to get my bachelor’s in Geology. I have moved to Shreveport.

From here on out this blog is going to be about what I think of as I’m getting use to living on my own in a city that I’m only vaguely familiar with as a new transfer student who is nearly 24 years old.

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emberemeto · 5 years

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Nov, 24th 2039. DBH - Thanksgiving Fic

So this is entirely unedited as I’m trying not to read it too much because then I’ll lose confidence and I don’t want that. Also, this is my first normal DBH fic lol. Thanks for reading. I hope you like it!

I actually looked up when Thanksgiving would be a year after the game’s events, so the 24th is accurate.

Words: 1479

November 24, 2039. Otherwise known as Connor's first actual Thanksgiving. Sure, he had technically been around for the last one, but with the revolution and all the political talk, the holiday had been a little bit overshadowed.

For some reason, Hank was determined to celebrate with Connor this year. He even scheduled a few days off work so he could work on the cooking. Connor kept insisting he couldn't eat, which Hank knew (“I'm not a fuckin’ idiot, Con.”), but he still wanted to.

“It's the thought that counts,” Hank kept saying when Connor insisted he didn't have to go through all the trouble. “Plus, I like Thanksgiving. I'm not goin’ to fucking skip it.”

So they cook, and they prepare, and set the table around 4pm with the sounds of football on in the background. Connor's not entirely sure what to do, considering he's never participated in a holiday, and cannot physically consume the food he had been helping create for the last day-and-a-half, but he tries his best.

He sits at the table, he waits for Hank to join him, and he pats Sumo on the head when the dog nudges him from under the table. He feels sort of awkward, surrounded by all the food. He doesn't know why they had made so much.

Turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, beef and noodles, sweet potatoes, pies, etc etc. Too much for one person to eat.

Maybe Hank wanted the leftovers for some unknown reason? Connor knew it was a tradition in many families to overeat and then relax, but still, he didn't see the use in it. That was, until there was a knock on the door.

Before Connor could even get up, Hank is rushing from wherever he had been, and is answering the door. He greets an unseen person (people?), and moves aside to let them in. Connor expects one person, maybe a relative of some sort, but is greeted instead by Chris, his wife Emma, and a small boy who Connor knows is named Damian.

Then, because it doesn't stop there, Fowler's stepping in, followed by Ben, and finally, what appears to be, a disgruntled and shy Gavin. Gavin has he head down, like he's embarrassed. Connor tries not to enjoy the sight. This is the man who has tormented him constantly in during the course of the past year. Connor almost feels he should have the right to enjoy Gavin's suffering for a moment. Even if that moment is fleeting.

What Connor doesn't understand however, is why Gavin is here. It’s not unknown that Gavin and Connor hate each other. It's also not unknown that the two have shared several unfriendly alterations. Had Hank invited him? Or had he been dragged here by Ben and Chris when those two had been extended an invitation? Maybe it was Fowler?

I'm overthinking this, Connor tells himself. Maybe Hank was trying to make amends with Gavin? He was always telling Connor to befriend people more his age. Maybe this was Hank's way of encouraging that?

“Hey Connor,” Chris calls, pulling Connor from his thoughts. He’s got a huge smile on his face and waves a hand toward his wife and the child in her arms. Damian, Connor understands, had just celebrated his first birthday. Connor remembers the celebration at work vividly. The night had begun with everyone cheering Chris and his son, and had ended with dragging a drunken Hank home after a little too much champagne. “This is my wife, Emma, and my son Damian. Emma, Damian, this is Connor.”

Chris gestures between his wife and Connor, so Connor stands to shake Emma’s hand. She smiles kindly at him and gives him her own small greeting. Damian, who’s still too young to have understood what his father said, leans toward Connor in curiosity. He’s staring at Connor’s LED, which had been circling yellow in confusion, but had since turned back to it’s normal cool blue. Emma laughs when she sees this, and jokingly goes to hand Damian to Connor. Connor, who panics, accepts and then stands frozen as Damian tries to climb up to Connor’s LED. Chris, who had also noticed this, joins in with his wife’s laughs, clapping a hand on Connor’s shoulder and saying, “you’re a natural, Connor!”

Hank notices this too, and can’t help but have the fleeting thought of him and Cole together like that years ago. The thought is only fleeting however. He’s here to celebrate with Connor and a few friends. Not be sad. He can be sad on any other day of the week.

Once the laughter had died down a bit, and everyone had found there seats, they dug in. Well, all accept Connor, who had a bit of thrirum for the occasion.

They talk about all manners of things. Favorite sports, office gossip, politics, the whole nine yards. Platters upon platters are passed around the table as they speak, but the movement slows down once everyone is finished. Surprisingly, the conversation is pleasant, despite difference between specific people. Hank and Fowler get set off on a short sports argument about who’s going to win what, but the evening is largely filled with laughter and happiness. Connor begins to see why Hank had wanted to celebrate with more people and suddenly understands—at least to some extent— the saying “the more the merrier.”

“—yeah, and so I’m standin’ there, with no clothes, in front of the goddamn principle. Fuck was she mad. Wasn’t my fault though. Some of my buddies had nicked my clothes from the locker room stall. Took my towel too. I had no choice but to run for it!” Hank finishes off his story with a flourish of his hand, the combination of good food and alcohol making him act a bit more dramatic. Ben, Fowler, and Chris are in stitches around the table. They had been sharing embarrassing high school stories. Hank’s was the funniest by far. Connor suspected Hank had exaggerated some of the detail, but didn’t say anything for fear of ruining their fun. He enjoyed seeing Hank this happy. The android couldn’t recall a time he’d seen Hank smile so much.

“Um, Hank?” Connor’s not sure what makes him pipe up, but doesn’t hesitate when Hank turns to him. He had remembered a question he wanted to ask in relation to the research he’d done when preparing for Thanksgiving and intended to ask it. “Can I ask what you're grateful for? I noticed that was a traditional question asked, and well, thought I’d ask it.”

Hank seems taken aback by the question, but quickly recovers. A smile grows across his face and he laughs a little as he says, “oh, I don’t know, Connor. I’m grateful for Chicken Feed, booze, sleep.”

There’s a tone of obvious joking in Hank’s voice so Connor stammers out, “be serious!” He was genuinely interested in Hank’s response.

Hank seems to contemplate for a moment, then leans forward on the table. He shoots Connor a small smile, and then proceeds to address the entire table. A pink tinge rises to his cheeks, and Connor suspects that not all of his color comes from the alcohol.

“I’m grateful for my house, my food, my job. The typical things. I’m grateful for Sumo, and these assholes,” he gestures to Gavin, Fowler, Ben, and Chris. “I’m grateful for how open the world can be, and the ability to learn,” he’s looking solely at Connor at this point and Connor is looking straight back. “And I’m grateful for you, Connor. For your growth, for what you’ve taught me. For how far we’ve both come.”

Connor notices tears in Hank’s eyes. The lieutenant scrubs them away and tries to act like they had never been there in the first place. “Thanks for bein’ here for me, Con.” He says. “Don’t know what I’d do without’cha.”

They go around the table after that. Chris talks about how grateful he is for his family, his safety, his friends. Fowler says he’s grateful for Connor keeping Hank off of his ass. Ben says he’s grateful for each of their service to Detroit, and the opportunity to work alongside them. And finally Gavin, grudgingly, says he’s grateful for his friends, and the fact that they hadn’t fucking abandoned him (his words exactly) for the way he acts at the office. Connor’s honestly surprised by that. Gavin had been blushing when he said it, and probably knew he wouldn’t live it down, but seemed happy nonetheless.

Finally they table turned (quite literally as everyone had turned to him) back to Connor, who was expected to answer his own question. It takes Connor a moment to realize what it is he wants to say, but settles on it with the purist, most human smile any of them had ever seen from him.

“I’m grateful for being alive.”

Yaay! I actually really like this!! Idk if its the nature of this holiday, or just the good food I ate today, but I’m really happy with this. I hope you guys had a great Thanksgiving (or just a great Thursday)! Feel free to send me some Christmas prompts and maybe I’ll have something finished by Dec. 25! ;)

#detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh hank #dbh gavin #dbh fowler #dbh ben #dbh chris #hank anderson #jeffrey fowler #gavin reed #ben collins #chris miller #dbh fanfic #dbh #my writing #also sorry for minimal envolvement of the other characters #i am still learning to incorporate several character into one large scene #it was also just a short story #so I guess I can't beat myself up too much about it

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writinandcrying · 5 years

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kiss prompt 22 for shinsou if you are still doing them please?

hi!! im sorry i took so long! but i shall make this super special

22- A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party.

y/n - your name

warnings: abusive relationship (parent figure)

Hitoshi Shinsou - Tragoidia (Angst Scenario)

This was going to hurt, you both knew how badly it would hurt. but it was the right thing to do. God- you know wishing someones dealth is something horrible but how can someone existence bring so much pain? after all this years, he still brings so much pain. even after abandonating you on a bar to be kicked out by the owner late at night, leaving you without a second glance, after all you have been through, you knew he was still alive, and still the murder he has always been.

Despite your effords, your father truly caried his villan name with him, being one of the most dangerous ones in japan for decades, he would drag everyone who crossed his path into the mud. You in the other hand, was left in streets for months after your mother died, if it wasnt for a certain underground hero, you probably wouldn’t have survived at such young age.

Aizawa Shota, Pro-Hero Eraserhead became a father figure to you, loving in his own way; tranined you under his wing and protected you with sharp claws to whoever decided to run their mouth about a your family’s past, a past you had no control of. Aizawa was known by his close friends to have a soft spot for underdogs, for the misunderstood, and it was no suprise when he also took Hintoshi Shinsou under his wings in your adolescence, you both had talent, skill, and desrved to have a chance even if the world didn’t believe you did.

it was also no suprise when you two feel in love with each other.

cliché? maybe, but finally being heard, being noticed, loved and cared for it was something that both of you were secretly craving, his sarcastic demantor matched with yours (courtesy of being raised by Aizawa Shota), you two were the final piece for each others happiness.

and maybe thats why it hurted so much to say goodbye to him.

Your father has found out about you, he was surprised to see you actually managed to stay alive, a brat like you was so troublesome when little, always asking for things, always clinging up to him, he didnt had time for that shit, thats why he had that bitch to take care of you, when she dared to die he was so pissed that he drowned himself in licour, anything to forget that stupid beautiful mother of yours. but oh- now you have the audacity to grow up and be just like a goddamn copy of her. rubbing in everyone’s face, specially his. He would make sure to end your life just like your mother ended his on the day she died. plus! Also make sure to do some atrocities here and there, just for the old good fun.

There has been a meeting between many heros, you and Hitoshi included, to discuss what could be done to stop his attacks all over the town, your father’s attacks were only frighting the civillians by each minute who had passed by. After hours on end about which plan and which heros should be pratoling the city for the next 24 hours, one of your colleagues- Uravity; stumbled in the room runing, getting everyones attention while she turned on the Tv, while fliping the channels, you recognized an old version of your father up top from a building, holding an almost lifeless body with what was left of some tearing clothes, President Mic was unconscious in one of your fathers hand, and in the other, he held a microphone, which Mic’s devises would transmit his message to a larger scale:

“-sten Up!” your blood ran cold, you hated when he raised his voice, when he knew he had all the power in the world over your fragile body just by raising a tiny bit of an octavle, even after years, just by hearing his shout, he still could control your emotions “this last few weeks has been so fun! Hah!- for me at least. But fortunately for you heros and your pathetic little civilians~, this bloodshed rage shall end” you heard hopeful and relief sighs shared softly at the live broadcast,

“Under. One. Condition.” the time seemed to stop for everyone, this wasnt a good sign and you know it

“Erase y/n’s from Hitoshi Shinsou’s memory.”

the dept of the silence which followed was as sharp as a knife, as agonizing as a child scream.

he knew Hitoshi’s name, he knew you have been together, hell- he probably knew your whole life, he knew how both of you were an unstopable time, he knew how deeply involved he was in your life and vise-versa, how good of a hero you had become, and specially Hitoshi, if you were out of his mind, many years of traning would be lost as well. To many who watched it, they wouldn’t have known who was the two people who shared such a dreadful fate, but to the hero community, they knew, this was bad.

“You have until dawn, otherwise… you wish the symbol of peace was still alive” a triumphal smile graced his face, the last view you and the heros saw before the Tv was turned of, was your father throwing President mic’s body out from the building, and a graceful pair of red wings embrancing the body.

silence paralised the meeting room once again, it seemed to pierce you stronger this time, fighting hard not to share emotional tears in front of so many work colleagues. You couldn’t face anyone, you couldn’t face one of the person who matter to you most in this room, the person who was right next you could, the one you felt him shiver the intire time, the one who was shaking as badly as you now.

“Five minute break” you heard Aizawa said in a monotone, no one opossed. hearing many chairs being pulled, some hands squizing your shoulders slightly. after a minute, the door closed softly, unfortunately the walls were thin enough to hear the heros debate what wasn’t really debatable in your opinion, Momo and Nemuri were being held hostage with god knows how many people,he would probably kill them and many more people if you didn’t do what you were told, this was been one of the most well thought and serious villanous attacks in ages, you know your love was unfortunatel, not debatable to this cause, and Hitoshi knew it too.

No longer taking it, Hitoshi embraced you rapidly, like he was about to lose you at that very second, between hiccups and salty tears, you cupped his cheek, admired him, enjoyed what was supoosed to be your last kiss, an unwanted goodbye, being with him, feeling him was heavenly, you have never felt anything more perfect, and yet right now- it felt so wrong, he held you tightly, runing his hands all over you in hope that feeling of having you all to him were somehow not to slip away from his memories, savouring each other with such hunger and intensity. with a click from the door, the unspoken announce that your time has come

“i will miss you so much” his voice caressed you tenderly, he held a brave smile, yet his eyes cared grief on it, you held his hands and nodded, smile back at him.

you activated your quirk, his eyes no longer caried any sort of emotion, his cheeks slowly lost its pink-ish color. “except you won’t’ you thought, it was too painful to say it out loud. Using our quirk to the greater good, to your love to be forgotten, it was too painful to watch, yet you did what you had to do.

Tragoidiafrom the greek - tragedy: an event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe,

Tragoidia was your father Villan’s name, and he made sure to wear it with proud, devastating anything good he could encouter, tragedy ran in his veins, in his blood. and tonight, he made you remember so did in yours, taring your life apart from its core.

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Authors note: ( i never really wrote angst so??? feedback is appreciated! hope you liked it)

#giulia writes #kissing prompts #shinshou hitoshi #shinshou hitoshi x reader #i love my boy im sorryyyy #aizawa shota #bnha x reader #angst #bnha angst #bnha scenarios #i wanted his name to be tragos but tragos means goat so ???????????????????? lmao #shinsou hintoshi #shinsou hitoshi x reader #rosewhore

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rousingloki · 5 years

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Thoughts: Nintendo VR

Oh Nintendo, you really have outdone yourselves.

So on my last “Thoughts” topic, I explored what Nintendo has done to keep its identity of Nintendo, and how Nintendo has managed to keep it’s core philosophy alive, and to pass on the dream of Mr. Iwata in keeping games affordable, accessible, and most importantly, fun. I mentioned that I noticed all this with Nintendo Labo, and the upcoming VR kit, and it’s that VR kit that I’d like to talk to you all about.

(Note, if you want to start a discussion about this, I more than welcome it, because discussions about this sort of topic are always great to listen to. I think it’s very important to hear other perspectives, and what other people have to say. With that in mind, however; please try not to start a flame war, or attacking other people’s opinions, I did say discuss, not argue. Thanks)

So before I get into the Labo, let’s look back on a little history. Nintendo has been involved with VR, or the realm of 3D gameplay multiple times. It started back with the Famicom, with a device called: Famicom 3D System. (If you don’t care for the history portion just skip ahead 5 paragraphs)

This pair of goggles basically allowed you to have the game right in front of your face, not really making it Virtual Reality, but it was a start I suppose. To compare it to anything, would be Sega’s Segascope 3D glasses. The system was a colossal failure, and only compatible with about 7 games. It would be about 8 years before Nintendo threw their hat into the ring with another Virtual Reality project.

Skip ahead to 1995. Nintendo was dominating the 16-bit market, with their Super Nintendo Entertainment System (Or Super Famicom if you’re from Japan), and they had complete control of the handheld market with the Gameboy. Nintendo wanted an edge though, to fill a gap before the release of the Nintendo 64. Thus was born, the Virtual Boy. (Then known as VR32)

The Virtual Boy was sold as a Virtual Reality console, and it also was deemed part of Nintendo’s “Portable” line of gaming. Most use that term very loosely though because even I, someone who had a Virtual Boy as a kid, could not see this thing as anything being even close to portable. The Virtual Boy also did not boast real Virtual Reality, what it did have, was 3D screening. Using Stereoscope technology, it tricked your eyes into thinking you were seeing true 3D, which worked, but it didn’t have anything like head tracking, and the constant red and black colors, mixed with having your eyes so close to the poor screen meant eye strain, and headaches.

In the end, the Virtual Boy was a catastrophic failure from the start. It was discontinued less than a year after it was released, with only 22 games ever made for it. The Virtual Boy does have a legacy however; and that legacy was picked up in 2011, by the Nintendo 3DS.

The Nintendo 3DS was everything the Virtual Boy wasn’t: Fun. Not only did games happen for console, but it met the many goals that the Virtual Boy didn’t meet: It was portable, had better 3D, was a social console, and had an excellent line of video games made for it. The 3DS still continues today, and even though it’s hard to say if it’s gonna stick around much longer due to the domination of the Switch, the 3DS is an excellent handheld, and loved by many. Although the one thing it didn’t fulfill, was a VR type experience, which brings us to today...

The Nintendo Labo VR Kit.

Being the first “VR” style platform Nintendo has attempted in 24 years, Nintendo is bringing VR to it’s beloved platform: The Nintendo Switch.

Where to begin with this... I guess I’ll just give my first impressions based on all the pics and videos I’ve seen so far. (Here’s a link to the video Nintendo posted on it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uOjcbdAU5Gw&t=2s)

So from just the announcement, before a video was even in place, I was immediately excited. I’ve bought every single Labo kit before this, and each one has not disappointed. As someone who’s involved very deeply with STEM, this type of kit is perfect for those looking to get interested in that sort of field, while also having fun, and learning at the same time. I don’t look at the VR as a plaything in the traditional sense, while I do want to have some fun with it, and see what direction Nintendo is taking with it, I’m mostly interested in how everything works, and why everything works about it.

(This is why I will die alone)

When it comes to the games, they’re honestly the least interesting part of the whole experience. While some games (e.g. Piano Studio in the Variety Kit, Adventure in the Vehicle Kit) do have some pull and keep me a bit more interested, the most fun part I’ve had is building them. Anyone who’s played with Lego’s, Bionicle, Gundams, or anything that requires any sort of building, and enjoys that aspect the most, would be absolutely delighted by how satisfying it is to see these creations come to life with each sheet of cardboard.

And once you’ve built them, even if the game doesn’t stay interesting for very long, there’s something very exciting about seeing the Labo work once you start playing the game. The actual reeling in of a fish on the fishing rod, listening to it actually make sounds was something that made me act like a 6 year old kid going fishing with my dad for the first time.

Once you’ve built, and played with the Toy-Cons, you can learn everything there is to know about them.

Ranging from just learning about the Nintendo Switch Hardware on its own, from the Screen to the Joy-Cons, to the actual Labo creations themselves. You can see how the games work, how the Nintendo Switch system is involved, and some general knowledge like fixing the labos is included here as well. As well as how to make your Labo your own, giving customization tips, and what NOT to do if you want to preserve the life of your Labo.

Of course once you’ve learned everything, you can open up the Toy-Con Garage and make your own creations, make your own Labo’s to play with, now that you have the knowledge and tools to make them. It’s what makes the Labo near infinitely re-playable. Ranging from simple games, to instruments, if you have the imagination, I’m sure you can find a way to build it.

After having said all that, let’s get back into the VR kit itself. The VR Kit comes in two different flavors: One with just the Goggles and Blaster, and the other has everything else. Because I’m getting the latter (And will be reviewing it so stay tuned) let’s talk about that one. The Labo comes with 6 different Toy-Con creations: The Goggles, Wind Pedal, Blaster, Bird, Elephant, and Camera.

If we were to go through each one of these, we’d be here forever (Plus I said I’m gonna review it next week, so we’ll do that there) so I’m just gonna say what I feel about the kit as a whole. I absolutely love it. The whole idea of the thing is just fantastic. Not only does it introduce VR at a more affordable yet still fun level, it introduces it to a younger audience, those who are too young to be able to use actual VR systems that were designed with an older audience in mind.

Sure the games look simple, but like I said it’s the experience as a whole, from building the labo, to trying it out, to learning how everything works that makes everything count in the end. Like I said, as someone who’s worked extensively in the STEM field, I’m absolutely delighted to see something like this. It takes the limitations of the switch and expands them to incorporate an entirely new way to play video games. It stretches the field of imagination to new heights, and showcases not only what the Switch as a system can do, but how you can do things with your imagination.

Like the other Labo kits, this one is getting a “garage” where you can create your own games. While you probably won’t be making much out of cardboard, you’re able to make games that would fit with the VR’s idea in mind. From exploration games, to rhythm games, it’s whatever you can think of and get working that makes it so much fun. Plus Nintendo is adding support to Super Mario Odyssey and Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild for free, so that’s a bonus.

Now this isn’t a full fledged review, and I’m gonna take advantage of that to ask a question, why do people give this thing so much hate? Why are people so against Nintendo Labo?

I’ve seen the hatred for Nintendo Labo since the beginning, it shows with the like and dislike bar of the original video that Nintendo posted before the first two kits were even released.

I truly do not understand the flak that the Labo gets. Most people seem to think that the cardboard is made out of 8x11 printer paper that would fall apart the second you tried to play with it, but after getting 15+ hours out of EACH of my Labo kits, I can safely say that they’re surprisingly durable, and none of them have received any real wear or tear to them.

Yet I still don’t understand the hatred towards them, people say you’re paying a huge amount of money for cardboard, even though people are content paying $60 for a piece of plastic and silicon (not even that if they buy a download code) People also don’t look at the fact that the PSVR, which is usually around $250 to buy new (about $350 if you include move controllers) and most of the games are still nothing more than tech demos, ones of huge games like Skyrim, or Borderlands, which you’re expected to pay for, for full price, and even then the games still feel like nothing but glorified tech demos. Maybe I’m just being cynical, maybe I’m just being a Nintendo Fan boy, but it’s something I really just don’t understand.

So yeah, these are all my thoughts on the VR right now, something I’m looking VERY forward to, and has me being all giddy and excited like a 7 year old kid who’s only a week away from Christmas. It’s something that I know will make people happy, and maybe even get more people interested in VR, and the STEM community as well.

Thank you all for reading (And again, please ask away if you have anything you want to tell me, I’d love to hear what other people have to say on this)

#Nintendo #Nintendo Labo #Nintendo Labo VR #Nintendo Switch #Thoughts #Virtual Reality

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longsightmyth · 6 years

Text

Chapter-by-chapter, The Naming, Chapter 12

PELLINOR

My love for the innkeeping couple continues.

“She’s a quiet one, your wife, eh?” said Halifax, shrugging his shoulder in Maerad’s direction.

“She don’t like strangers that well,” said Cadvan. “She’s sociable enough on her own.”

“Well, there’s some as never shut up, so I guess it’s swings and roundabouts.” Halifax rolled his eyes comically, and Marta [his wife] kicked him under the table.

“I know who doesn’t shut up around here,” she said comfortably.

I appreciate that Halifax is clearly joking and that Marta is clearly unfazed and willing to point out to strangers that she knows who’s the real chatterbox around here, and both are presented as having a longstanding cheery argument.

All of this is about to change though, because Maerad and Cadvan are nearing the boundaries of Innail Fesse. They bid farewell to the innkeeping couple (Marta packs them lunch) and start riding. After a while a raven comes down to join them carrying a message from Silvia. In these books, ravens are some of the few animals that can make themselves understood without the Speech, so Maerad can understand Lord Kargan when he tells them that Silvia wanted them to know that two hulls entered Innail and Dernhil is dead. Cadvan asks if Silvia is sure they were hulls, and Kargan says definitely.

“Lord Kargan,” [Cadvan] said. “You have already done much, but I seek your help still. We need to pass through Innail Let, and I know not if the Dark has gathered its spies there. It may be that it is yet unwatched, because they think we are still at Innail. I would be grateful if you could fly there and tell me what you see.”

Kargan agrees. After he flies off, Maerad starts to freak out because Dernhil is dead and because people are now actively chasing her. She doesn’t say anything for a bit though as they ride, and it’s Cadvan who finally says, “Alas, he was my friend, and I loved him, and this is a grievous loss.”

Maerad agrees, and says that she didn’t know Dernhil long but he was her friend too, and remembers her dream. She tells Cadvan about it, and how she didn’t know for sure it was Dernhil that she heard but it seems pretty clear now.

“I spoke of you with Dernhil, Maerad,” [Cadvan] said. “I know he loved you. He was one of those who can see clearly into another’s soul, and his feelings were true. Such things have little to do with brevity of meeting. And in that lies our hope: for the Dark understands nothing of love. And if, as it seems almost certain, the hulls sought news of you, maybe his love protected you as nothing else could.”

The soul in question was sixteen, but I approve of the sentiment. As a bonus, we know where I was at least encouraged in my love of commas (Throne of Glass could take some pointers from Pellinor for the elevated language schtick).

Maerad is sad some more, and so is Cadvan. He talks about Bards being able to kill themselves without weapons if necessary.

“It is unutterably terrible,” said Cadvan at last, “to hope that Dernhil killed himself rather than be murdered by those evil beings; yet that is what I hope.”

Yikes.

Kargan returns and reports that the way is clear for now. Cadvan thanks him, and Kargan leaves to report to Silvia that Maerad and Cadvan are alive and kicking. They continue to ride until they eventually find a Bardhome. They take care of their horses, and Maerad complains of stiffness and soreness from riding all day every day. Cadvan tells her she’ll get used to it soon but has her stand in front of him and “passed his hands around her body without touching her.” Maerad feels better, if still slightly sore and tired.

They set up camp and eat dinner, and Cadvan tells Maerad more about the Speech at her prompting, specifically how you never know when you come into it and Maerad isn’t weird for not being able to understand it yet. We get a cute little anecdote about when Cadvan started to understand the Speech (he was about five years old) and a fish spoke to him. We also learn that neither of Cadvan’s parents were Bards. He talks about the different divisions of Barding (there are three broad categories), which are called The Arts: the Reading, the Making, and the Tending. Reading is what most people think of as magic, though it does include actual reading. Making is exactly what it sounds like plus playing music and dancing and writing and stuff. Tending is “knowledge of growing, husbandry, forestry, childcraft, wilding, herbs, healing, bird lore” etc. There are debates about where particular acts sometimes fall on the scale, but Cadvan gives no fucks about that sort of thing. Cadvan and Dernhil practice Reading the most, and Malgorn and Silvia Tending. “…a Bard who counts power and learning as the highest skill, refusing to understand how all of the Arts inform and nourish each other, is a poor Bard.”

Cadvan makes a lament for Dernhil.

“Sweet fall the rains on the mountains of Innail

Leaping like children down through the pinewoods

With voices of ice like melodious laughter

Seeking the harping of Dernhil of Gent.

But he cannot hear them, his music is ended.

Where has he gone? His chamber is empty

And bright are the tears in the high halls of Oron

Where once he stepped lightly, singing deep secrets

Out of the heart-vault and into the open.

Dark are the Gates that opened and beckoned

And closed on his steps, in the gray twilight fading,

Folding in silence the weft of his barding.

No more will he sing in the glory of autumn

Gilding the birches of lowen and Braneua:

The groves of Ileadh will wait him in vain.

He enters the meadows of music no longer

To gather us with mirth-sheaves and harvests of pleasure.

His harp is unstrung, his sweet voice is silenced:

Sad now are the streams in the Valley of Innail.”

He fell silent, and then he covered his face with his hands and wept.

Maerad cries too, and they grieve quietly for a while.

Then they have a discussion involving fault: earlier Maerad said it was her fault because Dernhil was teaching her, and Cadvan told her obviously not. Now Cadvan feels guilty for asking Dernhil to teach Maerad. Maerad says that that’s stupid, because Dernhil did know, and also that, as Cadvan told her earlier, it isn’t either of their faults that there is evil in the world. Cadvan says that all Dernhil knew about her was that she was Cadvan’s pupil, and Maerad remembers that she hasn’t shown Cadvan the bit of prophecy Dernhil found for her. Cadvan says to hide it: “I am not certain that we shouldn’t burn it, but I wish Nelac to see it.”

Cadvan is basically like ‘welp this proves it, you’re the foretold” and Maerad sort of scrambles around trying to justify why she’s not, including her name not being Elednor (the truename of the foretold, which means fire lily). Cadvan points out that she won’t know her truename until after she’s instated as a full Bard, argument invalid.

“What if I’m not? What if you’ve got it all wrong? What then?”

Cadvan shrugged. “As I said before, then I am simply wrong.”

He muses that the Dark might now know for sure, and that that makes this whole thing even more dangerous, but he wonders if they knew before or after trying to break into Dernhil’s mind.

“Dernhil would not have betrayed us,” said Maerad uncertainly.

…”it is not a question of betrayal,” said Cadvan. “You don’t know…” A spasm of pain passed over his face, and for a while he was silent.

More Mysterious Past hints. Come on Cadvan, fess up! He continues that the hulls would have wanted to use Dernhil as a spy if they could get into his mind, not kill him, and a murder in the school has brought so much attention that the hulls probably can’t stay, since even hulls would have trouble with Bards like Malgorn or Oron actively hunting them. I personally would rather face Oron or Malgorn than Silvia if she thinks somebody is trying to hurt Maerad, but sure, book.

“I think it is likely,” said Cadvan at last, “that Dernhil killed himself so they could not enter his mind, and I think it is not only my hope speaking.” he shuddered. “Believe me, Maerad, there are many worse things than death.”

We learn more about hulls when Maerad asks. They were Bards, but turned to the Dark to try to live forever and/or get more power. They can be killed, but they don’t die of old age. They can pass as mortals if they work at it because they still have Bardic gifts.

[Cadvan] fell silent, looking into his own memories, and then spoke with a vehement anger that took Maerad aback. “I hate them. They betray everything that makes us what we are, and destroy everything that is worthy of love. I hate them more than the Nameless One himself.”

Note to self: Cadvan’s backstory likely involves hull trauma.

Maerad starts thinking about all the Bards she’s never known and whether or not they might be hulls, and starts to worry that nobody can be trusted, “but she remembered Silvia and Dernhil and Malgorn, and Cadvan himself, and quietened her fears.”

You’re missing Saliman, Maerad. He seems like a key component given future events. Just saying.

She falls asleep afraid anyway.

THRONE OF GLASS

Chapter 24 so I didn’t land three pages into the next chapter. Celaena can’t sleep and talks about the moonlight and how night doesn’t mean anything to her, and then goes on about how “it was just the time when she slept, the time when she stalked and killed, the time when the stars emerged with glittering beauty and made her feel wonderfully small and insignificant.”

That seems pretty meaningful to me but I am but a simple fanfic writer, untutored in the ways of high fantasy or YA lit.

That was sarcasm, for those unsure.

Celaena was too lazy to change out of her old fashioned dress (actual words from the text, not me being judgy for once, and also I am hardly the one to judge based on clothing changing). She looks up to see a tapestry blowing and after a moment of investigation realizes it’s because there is a secret door behind it.

Y’all, they put an assassin in a room with secret passages that are found after like three minutes of investigation. Either somebody in charge of room assignments wants people dead, or everyone here is incompetent.

I genuinely wish we had murderous steward on our hands.

Celaena exercises some caution when going exploring, which on the one hand I applaud - nobody wants to get lost in the deep dark of an ancient castle - but on the other hand, didn’t she know exactly where she was going from counting steps and noticing corridors in the first chapter when she had never been in the building before while blindfolded? Why doesn’t she utilize that ability now? Also she has a prince and a captain of the guard popping in and out of her room like there’s a revolving door with an ‘Open - free cookies’ sign on it, so shouldn’t she be worried about discovery?

Celaena held the candle aloft, her cape trailing behind her, leaving a clean wake on the dust-covered stairs.

Y’all. This behavior is excusable in an inexperienced sneaker, but in someone who is supposedly the best assassin in the land this is just sad.

She reaches the end of one passage and realizes it’s probably an escape route for the king and leads to a waterway with a rusted iron gate and rotting boats, which begs so many questions I don’t know where to start. She can see trees and stuff outside and considers escaping through the gate, but she slips while climbing around and freaks out. She goes back and takes a different turn, whose passage she follows to spy holes overlooking the great hall and the Samhuinn feast. Celaena is indignant that the other champions are allowed to attend and she isn’t, and honestly so am I. If they’re worried about Celaena the Braggy Assassin in company, they should be doubly worried about the people who have actually murdered people. They do appear to have left Cain in his room, though.

She spots Dorian and decides she’s just happy to see his “unusual grace, and the kindness in his eyes”.

Stop trying to make me like Dorian, book, I am never going to like Dorian. You can tell me about the kindness in his eyes all you want but until I see that shit backed up with action and him considering women aside from our protagonist to be human beings it ain’t gonna fly.

EXHIBIT NUMBER UNCOUNTED: he enters Celaena’s room without permission to watch her sleep after she’s returned and gone to sleep. I thought we all agreed this was bullshit after Twilight, y’all, why is it still showing up? Why are we still considering Dorian a good guy when he routinely uses the literal power of life and death he has over this woman to show up in her private space without permission and watch her sleep? Y’all. Come on.

Chaol kicks him out, which would get him points except he then chills in Celaena’s room considering whether or not she’s a virgin and watches her sleep for a minute. At least he wakes her up when he approaches the bed? But it’s not on purpose? Y’all, he came by to drop off a ring from the party favors for her, he couldn’t have just waited until morning when he could fucking knock? I hate everyone. Chaol throws another blanket over her and leaves.

COMPARISON

Well Cadvan was basically tailor-made for us, wasn’t he? Mysterious Past, hot, respectful, badass, in touch with his emotions… too bad he’s in his seventies. ANYWAY. I appreciate that Pellinor has people in touch with their emotions being a good thing, and I appreciate that affection and cordial teasing are shown to be hallmarks of a good relationship, thank you innkeeping couple. Other things I appreciate about Pellinor: we’re actually sad about Dernhil. He had an effect on the narrative and an effect on our characters, and he’s on the Ride or Die squad with Silvia, only thankfully Silvia is still in the riding part of it.

In Pellinor this was a lot of exposition relayed in dialogue, but it was interwoven with a discussion of Dernhil and gives us more hits of Cadvan’s Mysterious Past, which obviously involves hulls. Cadvan really doesn’t like them, y’all. Also I appreciated that it was a Tending Bard that was mentioned as being too much for hulls to handle, while a Reading Bard was not. It helpfully underlines the fact that the Arts are in fact equal even if Cadvan is a Reading Bard and we have no idea wtf Maerad is. I’m guessing Indik is a Making Bard (because I don’t actually remember if that’s ever explicitly stated) and he is also later proven to be hardcore. So many books and/or movies pay lip service to everything being equally important while only showing one school/art to be actually effective, and Pellinor actually shows that it’s true even in small ways. I like that. (I also like that later Silvia is acknowledged as Super Hard Core, but I think we have to wait until The Singing to see exactly how hard core our ride or die team mom is. Bad with a sword or a spell she is not.)

I appreciate nothing about Throne of Glass this chapter, not even a single solitary second. There are six purple tabs marking general displays of incompetence in this chapter and a short pondering of virginity that made me angry. Fuck off, Chaol. Dorian can fuck off even harder, jesus christ on a pogo stick.

STATS

Throne of Glass:

Pages: 11

Fragments: 16

Em-Dashes: 32

Ellipses: 10

Pellinor:

Pages: 18

Fragments: 3

Em-Dashes: 3

Ellipses: 15

#myth reads The Books of Pellinor #myth reads The Naming #myth rags on throne of glass #myth reads

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thisisnotacomp · 3 years

Text

Best Albums of 2020

I am a little bit late posting my list this year. I put it together in mid December but been slow to get it up. Without further ado, here are the best releases of 2020 according to me:

1. Run The Jewels - RTJ4 Honestly this was a pretty clear choice for me. EL-P and Killer Mike dropped RTJ4 a few weeks early after the news of George Floyd. This was the perfect soundtrack for what was unfolding across America. EL-P has been making amazing beats since since dropping Funcrusher Plus as a member of Company Flow in 1997. The fact that this album is a both a logical extension of his sound and so fresh 20 plus years into his career is no small feat. While this is the 4th true Run The Jewels album, the pair first teamed up in 2012 for Mike’s R.A.P. Music LP making this their 5th joint album. Killer Mike has been one of the most underrated MC’s and continue to show his chops on RTJ4. In a year that truly needed a soundtrack, Run The Jewels came through in a big way.

2. Ludovico Einaudi - 12 Songs From Home I am guessing most people haven’t heard “12 Songs From Home” which is a bit of a shame. If RTJ4 was the soundtrack of the year in protests the 12 Songs From Home was my soundtrack for the Pandemic lock down. Ludovico Einaudi recorded the album early in the lock down at home on his iPhone. Beautiful songs and simple arrangements helped to calm fraying nerves when the pandemic first started taking over the globe.

3. Tootard - Migrant Birds Here is another album that most of the world will never hear. If 2020 would have been a normal year, who knows if the great tracks here would have caught on to a wider audience. I guess it doesn’t matter. Migrant Birds was exactly what I needed to hear during the summer lockdown months. Upbeat 80′s disco sounds from the middle east transformed my backyard in Seattle. I am pretty confident that my most listened to track of the year was Moonlight. But the real gem of the release is “Stone Heap of the Wild Cat”. I mean its close to 4 mins of pure gold.

4. Bill Callahan - Gold Record As the Dj Khaled drop goes Another One. Gold Record is Bill Callahan’s best release in 10 years. I loved 2019′s Shepherd in a Sheepskin Vest but there is just something about his 2020 release. It feels more like a true album start to finish than that album did. If you like Bill Callahan you have heard this album. If you like music and haven’t track it down. It doesn’t disappoint.

5. Kelly Lee Ownes - Inner Song If there is one thing that I am starting to notice as a move into middle age is that I prioritize releases from my favorite artists and don’t search out new music quite as much. I find it hard to accept new artists into this group. In 2020 Kelly Lee Ownes made the cut. Her 2017 self titled album was great but 2020′s Inner Song was above and beyond. Her sound is one of my personal favorites. I have always had a soft spot for fantastic low key electronic music. To do it right is really hard to pull off but Kelly has done it not once but twice. Start to finish Inner Song doesn’t miss a beat. Great Record

6. Caribou - Suddenly Home was one of my favorite tracks of the year. It was the first single released from Suddenly in late 2019. At the time my wife was traveling back and forth to NYC. The track hit the spot. Then the lockdown helped it to take on an even deeper meaning. Another great release from Dan Snaith.

7. Westside Gunn - Pray for Paris Pray for Paris was the best rap LP of 2020. Start to finish Westside Gunn killed it. Also, anyone who pairs with DOOM gets extra points in my book. R.I.P. MF DOOM.

8. Fontaines D.C. - A Hero's Death Great follow up to their 2019 debut. If they keep this up they will be one of the best rock acts of their time. Side note, I was really hoping that the new Idles LP would be special. While it had its moments, it missed the mark. At least Fontaines filled the void.

9. Four Tet - Sixteen Oceans Four Tet took a step back from the more dance floor ready tracks on New Energy his 2017 release. Sixteen Oceans is a much more subdued affair which suited 2020 prefectly.

10. Sam Hunt - Southside I am not a big fan on country music. While Southside needs to be categorized as country it is really a pop record. There are 4 incredible pop tracks on this release. Hard to forget, Kinfolks, Young Ones and Body Like A Back Road. While the album as a whole has some shortcomings, these tracks make up for them and more.

11. Fleet Foxes - Shore This release came out of nowhere mid summer. Beautiful stuff.

12. Fuzz - III III is the 2nd best Fuzz LP. Best Original Fuzz, Fuzz III followed by Fuzz ll. Ty and team always bring it.

13: The Budos Band - Long in the Tooth Back to basic’s from the best brass band on earth. Long Live Budos

14. Against All Logic - 2017 - 2019 Nicolas Jaar continues to release amazing dance music under his AAL name.

15. Pop Smoke - Meet the Woo Vol. 2 R.I.P. Pop Smoke. Who knows what you where you would have gone if you were still here.

16. Matt Karmil - STS371 Solid Electronic/Techno/House start to finish.

17. Freddie Gibbs & The Alchemist - Alfredo Gibbs recent output has been fantastic and Alfredo is no different. And a grammy nomination for best rap album. 2019′s Bandana LP with Madlib was a better release but it didn't get the grammy love.

18. Jessie Ware - What's Your Pleasure? Jessie Ware gets back to what she did best on her debut LP Devotion. Much better than her previous albums. Great pop tracks start to finish.

19. Yves Tumor - Heaven to a Tortured Mind “Gospel For A New Century” is hands down the best lead off track of any album released in 2020. That beat is just incredible. Only problem with starting off your album with the best track is it's hard to match for the rest of the album. While it is the best track off the album the rest is great with stand outs like Kerosene! & Super Stars.

20. Shabaka and the Ancestors - We Are Sent Here By History Jazz is alive and well.

21. 21 Savage & Metro Boomin - Savage Mode II Savage Mode II is banging. One of my favorite rap tracks of all time is Ocean Drive from the first Savage Mode. That track is damn near perfect. II is dope as well with the highlight being Runnin’

22. Woods - Strange To Explain Weekend Wind is one of my favorite songs of 2020. Its over 7 mins long and I wish it would keep going. So great.

23. Benny the Butcher - Burden of Proof Griselda is killing it. They are the best Rap collective at the moment.

24. Yaeji - What We Drew Waking up Down. So good.

25. Drakeo the Ruler - Thanks For Using GTL Rap LP recorded entirely over the phone for jail. And it's damn good.

#best albums of 2020

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mutantsrisingrpg · 4 years

Photo

Congratulations JULIE! You’ve been accepted as HYPERION.

Julie, your app captivated me from the very beginning. You gave Gerrard a rich history and truly made the skeleton come alive. You showed the line between those who are feared and those who give others a reason to fear them, and captured the true ambition and power I’d had in mind when writing Gerrard’s skeleton. I love how you made this gray area between where Gerrard ends and Hyperion begins and I truly, truly can’t wait to see that explored on the dash!

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER INFO

NAME/ALIAS: Julie

PRONOUNS: She/her

AGE: 20

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: MST timezone. I’m juggling a lot right now, from work to other accounts to taking care of my mom, so chances are, my activity’s going to be touch-and-go until I get my shit together as much as I can. I usually try to do my drafts and post them in a batch once a week at the very least. On a scale of 1-10, I’d say, like, a 4.5. Plus, you guys know how it is. When you’re going, you’re going, and when you’re not, it’s rough.

IN CHARACTER INFO

DESIRED ROLE: Hyperion / Gerrard Bermudez

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cismale, he/him pronouns

DETAILS & ANALYSIS:

Imagine this, for me, for a moment. You have power that fits into every empty space of your body. Real, genuine, awe-inspiring power that has never left you feeling empty even when you know you are alone. The sort of abilities that would have had you revered you as a God among men in the days of old, the kind that makes you alluring to those who understand you and those who don’t. It’s like a blackout in the dead of night that doesn’t just leave the streets dark -- it also leaves them deaf, dull, dumb. In the new age, though, your abilities don’t leave you revered. They leave people terrified of you.

The story goes like this. When you are fifteen years old and living on the outskirts of Vegas the power doesn’t go out because of a switchboard mishap or a surge, it goes out because of you, and when your mother finds you tucked in the corner of the bedroom you share with your brother, she can’t touch you for fear of electrocuting herself and dying. It had only been small before, this little secret of yours, zapping currents out of batteries and into toys to make them alive because it brought joy to your sisters’ faces. But now --- your skin crackles with energy that is alive and potent, instead of dormant and you look at her, staring you in the eye with a lack of recognition for her own child, utter abyss, and you realize that it’s all over. In the end you learn to control it because your mother stops speaking to you and your sisters cower when you enter the room. The world around you is saturated with power that sings siren songs in your ears. You pass a power line and know you could set it alight. You stroll down neon streets and know that you could make it darker than dark, a chasm lacking in light. But you don’t. You can trace the pattern of power grids beneath the asphalt because it reverberates up into you, into your body, a whole new language spoken just to you. If you so desired you could draw it up from the well like a bucket of water, but you don’t. Why? Because it’s not having the ability. It’s what you do with it that makes people terrified of you, and you never want to feel like you had that morning in your bedroom ever again. To me, that’s what Gerrard is all about: controlled chaos, organized havoc, becoming Hyperion is at its core.

BIO:

There was never a time where Gerrard didn’t practically thrum with energy. It follows his every step. As a kid he is always off the walls, bouncing his leg under his desk at school, tapping a tune onto the hardwood surface. For years his mother worries, hovering over him as he becomes more difficult to constrain, harder to pin down. His attention flits from subject to subject, his grades rise and dip. Her worry is justified, he thinks, looking back now -- he was the oldest son of four siblings, and she was a single immigrant mother from Guatemala just doing her best to survive. He used to look outside the windows at school and stare at the power lines, and imagined them talking to him. They hum, in a strange way, he tells his mother, like they’re trying to say something to him and he just needs to listen harder. She tells him he’s being silly, to go back to bed.

But it’s so loud in his room he can’t fall asleep.

The first time it happens he is maybe ten and it scares him so badly the beat in his head goes dead silent. It’s a compulsion to touch the screen, something he’s unable to deny or overpower, sick and at home alone, wrapped up in blankets. He can remember with sharp clarity the way the electricity had wrapped around his arm, under his skin, into his chest. It makes his heart beat so fast he thinks he’s dying, and then when he presses his hand to the television it sparks alive again. He’s confronted with a smiling anchorwoman, eyes glassy and wide, who reassures him in a strange voice that -it’s all going to be okay. Back to you, Mark!

He doesn’t remember if he’d imagined that part of the memory or not but it felt like a message sent down from God. He hides in his room for two days and stays quiet. When he comes out, it’s like he’s a new person. Small little bolts are hidden away like secrets. Something to make toys jump to life or fuck with his brother when Alejandro isn’t listening. Lights on. Lights off. He’s fifteen.

Lights off, and, well. This time they stay off and he feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin.

He’s not sure why his mother doesn’t rat him out, in the end, but after three years of being a stranger in his own home he packs his bags, kisses Sophie and Maya on the top of their heads, smiles at Alejandro, and disappears on a cold day in Vegas, never to be seen again. His mother tells people he’s gone off to join the military like a good American boy. It couldn’t be farther from the truth. For the first time Gerrard is by himself and it is here that he learns to use wit and charm to run from problems, beguile his way out of trouble. He spends the first three years on the strip alone. And then he meets the Aces (they’d thought they were being clever with the name, but Gerrard had only ever thought them dumb). He’s taught how to lilt his voice in the right way, make a flash in the pan with a zap of electricity. The Aces consider themselves solvers of problems. (It goes like this, every single time: some indescribable no-name gives them a bundle of cash and they beat sense into whoever needs beating in exchange.) Some have powers, some don’t.

It doesn’t matter: blood money’s still good money. It still fills their bellies, pays the raising rent, makes cops turn a blind eye when they get caught out.

At first there’s no resentment among them. Or if there is, maybe he’s just too stupid to notice, blindly ignorant, but he’s twenty-two and feels more powerful. The Aces, after all, are a small group, a clutch of misfits doing their best to make a place for themselves in a world that hates them for whatever fucking reason. But then they grow from five to ten, ten to fifteen, fifteen to twenty. The jobs get more serious. Soon it’s not just no-names, it’s the cops they’ve been paying off. Politicians. Talking heads on TVs. People who come to Vegas with the sole purpose of winning. They become a mob led by Trinity.

Trinity changes faces only because they have to, because they’d been born the color of crimson with eyes just as fiery. They’re authoritative, strong-willed, leave no loose ends. When they work with Gerrard on jobs they’re never not brutal and it is in the same dark spaces with blood on the floor that Gerrard thinks he falls in love for the very first time. He loves them no matter what face they take on, their posture, whether or not they change their toothy grin. He loves them in the middle of their ranting and ravings, their late-night motivational speeches that always end on a high note. He loves them so much it’s like a revelation, a neon sign humming to him in the desert, pointing to nowhere: this way!

They share secrets. Gerrard is thirty by now and anti-mutant sentiment has skyrocketed but it doesn’t matter because he beats bodies bloody or hides them under concrete and Trinity hand feeds him small stories. The first time they changed their face. How they learned how to modulate the pitch of their voice. The first time they realized what they were and cried. The first time they got so angry they thought it was going to leave them dead. Gerrard, in turn, tells them that the ringing of electricity is so strong sometimes he worries he’s going to burn up from the inside out. It’s a song, yes, but a siren song. They pet back the hair sticking to his forehead and tell him to hum what it sounds like, and he does.

(It’s never that simple, but he likes to believe it had been, looking back.)

Here’s the thing. He thinks, for a very long time, that Trinity loves him enough to drown out their rage. That when they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder with him in bed or sprawled out across the rest of him that it’s easy for them to forget. It is not. They pick up more jobs. Trinity gets angrier. Marlowe is arrested and Angela’s strung up around the neck by anti-mutant protestors. The same cops who’d hired the Aces don’t even glance their way. Business is booming. The world hates Gerrard as much as it holds him up on a pedestal. He learns how to take life from a body, absorb a person’s bioelectricity until they’re ice cold.

The long and short of it is that Gerrard thinks one thing and Trinity thinks another and they make themselves a martyr. A job goes wrong. Gerrard watches from home as their death is televised for all the world to see. It starts as a car chase and ends in a shootout and Gerrard does the worst possible thing. He doesn’t rally. He doesn’t summon up the courage to light Vegas up so bright you can see it from space. He packs a bag and all the fucking money he can and runs, headlights on the street so bright no one can make out it’s him. He drives and drives and drives until the gas tank is empty and everything is quiet.

There is no long and short of it. Gerrard doesn’t even know what the long is. Trinity hadn’t shared details. They’d kissed him on the cheek, he’d been half awake, asked where they were going, they didn’t need to be anywhere until, like, the afternoon, come back to bed-

Chicago is not his first choice but it’s a choice and that’s what matters. He has contacts here, he knows, and they don’t ask questions, but they do hook him up with the Jem Family. It’s familiar work and there’s something comforting in putting muted anger to use. He hides his cards the way Trinity had hidden their everything. Smiles become flashy. So do clothes and shoes and cars. He sees a vision in the fight club under the Cornerstore Convenience and makes it happen because he can. Damien Matthews needs a bodyguard and he steps up because he couldn’t keep Trinity safe but he most certainly can try again. He hides rage with cheshire grins and flashy loafers and it’s here that Gerrard Bermudez ends, or maybe that was in Vegas. It’s here that Hyperion begins.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

PAN: There’s no doubt in my mind that Gerrard is taking advantage of Eoin’s presence in the fight club, and I think it’s fascinating that he’d even be bothered enough to stoke Eoin’s flames a little bit. Most people these days are passing interests to Gerrard. They garner his attention for a minute and then he passes them onwards once they’ve wasted their potential, but Eoin is brimming with possibility. I’d love to explore what makes them different in comparison to someone like Kiara, who also has potential, but for entirely different reasons.

EXTRA: Pinterest board! Nothing else because it’s 11:22PM and if I stare at this thing any longer my brain’s going to melt out through my ears, eugh.

ANYTHING ELSE: Take a shot every time “anger” or “rage” pop up in this application. I’m sorry. I’m a hockey-loving monkey and only know two words, apparently.

#accepted #accepted: hyperion

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daddyconfessions · 5 years

Text

daddy’s journal: 3/3/16

journal entry 2/26 journal entry 2/17

Monday Feb 22 Bubbles text me first thing that morning. She wanted to see if I was available Wednesday afternoon. I was :) She told me we could have a late lunch wherever I wanted and of course we could have some fun afterwards. I picked one of the most happening spots in town and the date was set.

I like that about Bubbles. She has no problem being seeing out with me. No place is off limits. The restaurant I picked is one I’d tried to take Firecracker, but she had respectfully declined. She’s scared who’d see her. “I know a lot of people and it could hurt my reputation,” or some bullshit like that she had said. We’ve been together almost 7 months now and it’s still a problem.

Not Bubbles though. She was down for whatever. If things worked out, I would reward her for it. But not yet. It was still too early. We’ve only been at this barely a month. I’d give it another month and then see where we were. I plan on keeping FC. She depends on my allowance to pay her rent and other miscellaneous bills so I can’t just cut her off. I do still care for her. But there will be no more Louis bags and shoes and definitely no more Celine bags. I had tried to get her out of town but I wasn’t really interested any more in taking her. I’m putting all that on Bubbles if she stays consistent. We’ll see.

Tuesday Feb 23 It was almost close to noon when Firecracker sent me a text wanting to reschedule our meet. She wanted to move it to Thursday. Also, she hadn’t gotten dressed yet. Something about oversleeping and wouldn’t have enough time to get ready. It was cool. She’s my princess. She can do no wrong. That’s one of the handicaps with dating a 22 year old. They always sleep to noon. 1pm. I’m used to it.

Late afternoon I hit up my contact at the museum. Wanted to see if I had landed the contract. She came back after an hour and told me I had lost out on the bid. Damn. I could have really used their business. Then I started ticking off in my mind all the reasons why I might have lost out on the deal. Everything from logo design, stationary to bidding too low. I probably was overreacting so I shrugged it off. Deals come and go. One thing I know is I need to find me a new assistant. Even with my job situation being shaky, I still need a soldier to carry out my bidding. I think I’ll start looking for one next week.

I was feeling a little down since I hadn’t seen Firecracker and had lost out on the contract. Rough start for the week. I picked up the phone and texted Kim. Her pic she’d sent was still in my mind. She answered right away. We did the usual back and forth before setting up a time and place. Then I decided to turn up the heat a bit. I told her I wanted to be her SD. She took several minutes to respond. “Yes baby sounds good.” I told her she was just saying that. But she replied, “No, I would like to.” I was just doing it for sport.

Its hard enough turning a stripper into a girlfriend or SB, but add in a pimp and its almost impossible. Beyond the money you have to break the hold her pimp has on her. Unless you’re another pimp good luck. You have to restore her self-worth. Restore her self esteem. Show her that she deserves to keep the money she makes and not give it to a man. I could go on and on. But I painted a pic of how she wouldn’t have to work as hard, etc., Kim didn’t really respond. Just said “Ok.” She told me she definitely wanted to see me and that I should text her when I get the room.

The problem with seeing escorts is the only want to come after you’ve gotten the room. A bloke could be sitting in the room for an hour or more waiting. I told her to just start heading my way and by the time she got close I’d have the room and stuff. Kim said she would but I knew she wouldn’t.

I left work and headed to the hotel. I was kind of excited to see Kim. It had been almost two weeks. I got the room, went inside and flopped down behind my laptop to kept working. Well actually I was sending out resumes. My job situation had me shaky. I figured she’d be at least 30 minutes later. But I was wrong. About 40 minutes later she texted and said traffic was bad. She even sent a pic of the bumper to bumper traffic.

That was the last I ever heard from her. About 20 minutes after her last text which put me at an hour of waiting, I sent her a text asking where she was. No answer. I waited another 10 minutes and texted again. Nothing. Fuck it. Tuesday’s just not my day. Surely the sugar gods have come to collect on the successful weeks were there was a different girl every day. I packed up my laptop and bounced.

That’s the end for Kim.

I wasn’t looking forward to my date with Bubbles the next day. I was still tired and feeling some type of way with these chicks cancelling on me. Plus I was tired from working all weekend closing one of our business locations. Still I managed to pop by the barber to get my hair right. Get the scraggy hair off my face and trim the goatee. Popped by the cleaners before it closed to pick up my clothes. My assistant used to pick it up for me but sans assistant I had to do it myself. I went home and exfoliated the face with some peach scrub. By 11pm that night, I was ready for my date with Bubbles despite the probability she might cancel. I didn’t feel like blogging on tumblr either. Too tired. I wanted to do my journal entry (February 2/24) but I was beat.

Wednesday Feb 24 I jumped up and got dressed in some Polo jeans and sweater, Polo shirt, nice shirt underneath. My wife was combing my daughter’s hair in our room. “You look nice dad,” my daughter told me. Means a lot coming from her. She’s 12 and has no filter. She’s had me changing clothes more than once. By the time I finished getting dressed, my daughter had left the room.

“When am I going to get some dick,” my wife asked. I was like uhhhh. “You been slacking lately.” Damn I probably ain’t hit in almost 2 months. And she won’t be getting any this week either. “Soon baby,” I said. “Soon.”

I’d been at work a couple of hours when Bubbles texted me. She confirmed our date. An hour before I was about to leave the CEO and CFO invited me into a conference call with some Russians. I was thinking they were just some Russians as in living in the United States. But no, we were doing a video conference with some chaps in St. Petersburg. With business so shoddy in the states, the big boys were turning to Russia for opportunities. I kind of liked it, but I also knew that could possibly mean a trip to Russia in the future for me. An hour later the call was still going. Now I’m starting to sweat bullets. I have to meet Bubbles in 30 minutes or so. Looks like I was going to have push things to 2pm with her. I hoped my rescheduling didn’t kill things. But the sugar gods decided to redeem themselves from the day before. Bubbles texted me before I could text her, telling me she was running late. She’d got out of class late and was on her way to her car.

Thirty minutes later she text again to say she would need an additional 15 minutes. So we ended up pushing the whole thing to 2pm anyway.

When the meeting was over, the big boys wanted to talk. Fuck! After 15 minutes they dismissed us and we all left. I went and locked up my office and hit the parking garage. Half hour later I pulled up to the restaurant. Even though it was after lunch, there were Range Rovers, couple of Rolls Royce’s, and a Aston Martin in the valet section. I went in and she was there sitting on a bench. Looking pretty af. Even better, waiting for me daddy : )

Instinctively I walked up and when she looked up and bent over and gave her a full kiss on the lips. She gave a little tongue back. The hostesses, 3 of them actually, were looking like WTF? I love this life sometimes. They came alive too and hurried up and found us a table.

It was nice walking into the restaurant with Bubbles. She was completely unbothered by being seen with me which somehow validated how I felt about myself at the moment. I was Polo’d down, feeling dapper. The waitress showed us to a cozy table. Part of me wanted to sit right next to B, but I sat across from her instead so I could stare into those pretty brown eyes.

Lunch was fabulous. We talked about everything seemingly. You know you’re into someone when the world around you ceases to exist and you’re both leaning forward looking into each others eyes about to kiss. By the end of the date she was touching my hand again. Laughing up every other thing I said. She was either genuinely into me or this girl had some helluva game. Girls like bubbles bring the best out of me. I already wanted to take her shopping. That little beat up car she had I wanted to replace. I want to spoil her rotten. She’s the kind of girl you just want to be with. Hang out with. Sex is secondary. When you see her you just want to hug and kiss on her. Hang out her place, when she’s in sweats and no makeup and just watch TV and eat Cheetos and shit. I’m rambling. Either way I was on her hook and I planned on staying there for the foreseeable future.

We both realized it was time to head to the hotel. Half hour later we were kissing in the hotel room. I love the way Bubbles kisses. She likes to suck my tongue when she kisses. She also likes to try and shove her tongue down my throat too. I don’t know why but I love that shit. Bubbles barely got off her shoes pants and underwear before I pushed her onto the desk in the room. She looked at me with the quizzical look as I sat down in the desk chair in front of her. I grabbed both legs and lifted them up, spreading her wide, until her feet were resting on desk. I dove right into that pretty pink muff, assaulting the clit with my tongue. I rotated between sucking it and licking it. Bubbles fell back onto the wall behind the desk and grabbed my head. She looked down at me with this mean look on her face. I couldn’t quite decipher it but it didn’t matter. I was licking that kitty like it was no tomorrow. I took two fingers and slid them in. It took a bit of effort since that kitty’s so tight. I lifted my fingers up and went back and forth firmly as I kept thrashing the clit with my tongue. Suddenly her hand fell off my head and she grabbed my ear. “Eat my fucking pussy” she demanded. I looked up and her head fell back on the wall and her eye closed. Her stomach bounced up/down rapidly and she twitched a little. Babygirl had cum.

Bubbles was multi-orgasmic so I just kept on going repeating what I’d done to make her cum. Her legs got tired of being on the desk, so one fell off. I took my hand out of the kitty and lifted her leg so that it was resting on my shoulder. I moved in closer to make it more comfortable. I took her other foot and moved it so that it could rest on my other shoulder. Then I slid my fingers back and went to work again. She came once more and slumped down on the desk. She nearly fell off too. Time to move to the bed.

Bubbles has a female roommate who she fucks from time to time. I usually take whatever a SB says and multiply it by two to get the real story which means they’re probably tribbing quite often. Or, she’s has another female she’s seeing regularly. And girls make the best kitty lickers. So…I had to show out. As I said in my last journal entry, winning over Bubbles would take more than just money. In the end its all for sport. Even if I fail, I would have had fun trying.

We started kissing when we got to the bed. Bubbles was licking my face and lips, trying to taste that kitty. She’s so nasty. As she laid back and went at that kitty again. I couldn’t tell if my face was wet from her kitty or from all the saliva she’d left trying to taste it.

After one more nut, I slapped on a condom. I got the tip in before she started wincing and moving back. She just couldn’t take the dick. I took my time, roughly a few minutes before I was able to get it in and get a decent motion. “God your dick is so fucking fat…” she said. I noticed Bubbles likes to get vulgar when I with her. Kind of like it. We tried intercourse but after a few minutes she asked if I could finish in her mouth. I said yes but I kept on stroking. I shifted angles and was able to get further inside. She seemed to like it. “Just keep on fucking me like that…” she said. And I did, trying to get more of me in her. But still she threw in the towel and we switched. She got on her knees in between my legs and shared her knowledge. I came in less than a minute. This girl’s enlightened I tell you.

She sat back and rubbed both my legs and asked, “Was that good baby.” I looked up just in time to see a drop of cum slide down the side of her mouth. She chuckled and swiped it up with a finger. She put it in her mouth and smiled. “I never lose drop.”

God I love this girl.

That night Firecracker hit me up. We exchanged about 2 or 3 text before we set up a time for Thursday. I was looking forward to it actually. Firecracker’s got some good pussy for a 22 year old. I can’t wait to see my princess.

Bubbles texted too. Thank me for a wonderful date. I thanked her for making an old man feel special. Making me feel good. She told me I wasn’t old and that age was just a number. She said I was very handsome and that she was glad she’d met me. “And you got some good oral skills too,” she added. Not sure if she gassing me up or not, but I liked it.

Thursday Feb. 25. More bullshit from Firecracker. She hit me up around noon asking if she could be a little late to the meeting. She had to do some school stuff. 2 hours later she just cancelled altogether. WTF? I’m sure what happened is she slept until noon instead of getting up and running her errands. When I said a few things about it she was like, “Its not big deal. We still have Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”

Then I got upset. She’s being disrespectful. Well I should say she’s not respecting my time. I do a lot to juggle things so that I can be with her. Princess is a priority. So for her to just minimize my shit to “it’s no big deal” had me feeling some type of way.

And no we didn’t have Saturday and Sunday. Saturday I was hooking up with Bubbles again. Sunday was family day.

No tumblr blogging tonight.

Friday Feb 26th Around noon Firecracker knocks on the hotel room door. I let her in…She’s a trainwreck. Eyes watery, makeup done enough just to be ok for our meet. She tells me how her cycle is coming and she’s been crying all day over little shit. I sat on the bed and pulled her to me. I told her “You is fine and You is beautiful and You is Smart and You is having a bad day…” we both laughed. I told her we could cancel but she said she didn’t want to. “You can’t be rough today,” she smiled.

Lately I had turned it up a bit with her. Hair pulling, choking, spanking. In the 6 months I’ve known her she’s matured a lot both mentally, physically and sexually. I picked up on the fact that her fuckboy’s were weak. The latest had been scared to really fuck her because she was so pretty. He treated her like a precious gift, but really she wanted to be manhandled. She wanted a man to run that pussy. I lowkey accepted the new requirement and had stepped up my game.

But today, she just needed to be loved. I ate the kitty and usually after two orgasms she tries to scoot away. I had my hands around her legs and stomach. When the third one was near I clamped down. As anticipated she tried to run, but she could go nowhere. “Baby I can’t take anymore….” But I was merciless. “Baby baby stop,” but I refused. I told her if she felt like peeing to go ahead. She looked up and gave me that “how do you know look”. Then she said, “No. I’m not doing that. No.”

I set her free she scattered across the bed from me like she was scared suddenly. I coaxed her back over to me then I spent a few minutes kissing and rubbing her body all over. I sucked where appropriate – neck, breast, earlobes. Then went inside her and I stayed there for a good 20 mintes. Just fucking her and fucking her and fucking her. Its like her body was calling me. She came twice before I finally did. Afterwards I lay beside her, sweating profusely from all the work. FC did something surprising; she rolled over and laid on me. She’s never done that. I took her in my arms and held her tight. After a few moments, probably minutes, I could tell she was crying still. I took her by the chin and raised her head up. “Are you crying?” I asked. She nodded.

Now I’m worried. I’ve been around lots of women. So I’ve seen the symptoms of being on period. But my princess was crying a little too much. I’m suspecting something else is going on. But now is not the time to talk about it.

About 30 minutes later FC was getting dressed. She was happy. Bouncing around the room, talking shit about this and that. Back to her old self. No tears. All the shit she said she wouldn’t be doing that night, had changed to I’m going here. Then me and my girls are going there. Then we’ll probably end up over there.

That’s my baby.

Before she left I pulled her to me. I asked her if anyone had hurt her. She shrugged and said no. Then I dug deeper. I asked if any fuckboy had hurt her. Or, had her ex-boyfriend come back and hurt her?

But she said it was nothing. Blamed it all on her period. We said our goodbyes. She made it to her car before I did mine. She backed out and peeled off. Suddenly she was on a mission. I was really confused now.

That night I hooked up with some of the recently laid off co-workers. One of them was the Oracle. She said she would get there early if I wanted to go ahead and come. So I took the opportunity. I needed to run this Firecracker stuff by her.

We ended up meeting at the same place I’d taken Bubbles on our first date. Crazy. Me and the Oracle were the only ones there. After a brief catchup I asked her about FC. Told her the whole story about missing our dates and including her crying in the room.

The Oracle was like, “Three things likely happened. Her boyfriend managed to get back in with her and hurt her. Or she met some new dude that hurt her feelings or, it really was her period. I mean I been cranky and tearful before when I was on my period. Not wanting to leave the house. Just sitting around crying. Or, it could be a combination of 2 of the three. My gut tells me she’s having some man problems.”

I raised my margarita glass. The Oracle raised hers. We clicked them and I said, “I got to talk to you more often.” She smiled. “Yes you do! But I wouldn’t worry about her. Sounds like you got her mind right. Got her feeling good about herself. That’s what you’re there for big Daddy.” We both chuckled.

Saturday Feb 27th Bubbles text and cancelled our date for that afternoon. It was cool. I was still a little hung over from the night before. And after working all last weekend I just wanted to lie around the house and do nothing. By this point I was used to being cancelled on.

I ended up sleeping all day. My wife came home that afternoon and got in the bed with me and went to sleep as well. I don’t think I’ve laid around the house all day in almost a year. Felt good. Then I got a weird text. It ended up being one of my other co-workers. My plug! My Cohibas had come in. He sent a pic too

Just in time too. I was down to my last 2. Fresh

Not a bad end to a rough week…..

#sugar tales #daddy's journal

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myselfinserts · 5 years

Note

“ we got a lot of night left. ”

It couldn’t be true. It just wasn’t possible. This was too much. Lucien Adaire wasn’t that kind of person. They couldn’t be.

And yet, Ceri didn’t waver. He stood before him, tall yet timid, reciting the answers to questions the Peaceful Shepherd had been begging for for years. Unlike other times they had spoken, there was nothing between them this time. Ceri had made sure that the tables and chairs were pushed to the side, and he refused to step behind the bar. If they were going to talk, everything had to be out in the open, including the two of them.

Behind him stood Étienne, who kept his eyes on Ceri the entire time, his hands resting just inside his trouser pockets as his shawl hung loosely from his shoulders in a protective cape. Regi, tugging on one of his side bangs slightly, sat on one of the stools beside L and Phoenix, who’d hurried to Elspie not long after hearing Ceri would be coming back. Probably to offer some kind of support through the ordeal.

The least expected guest was Inkwell, who had been waiting for them at the Secret Felines when they’d arrived, a terrifyingly scared looking glare on his inky face. And of course, Amarysso was watching from the window.

“You’re not serious,” Luci croaked when Ceri had finished. “This can’t be possible.”

“I’m afraid it is,” Ceri sighed. “I’m sorry I lied to you all for so long…”

Regi shook his head, staring at Luci with pained yearning in his beautiful purple eyes. “Luci’s a prince?”

“You know, this honestly explains a lot?” Phoenix said with a shrug. “That naturally princey prance to their step, the memory problems, the attack in Paris, the heroes suddenly going rogue on Elspie, your hero name, the horse-”

L put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Phoenix, please?”

“Sorry.”

“Thirty years,” Inkwell grumbled. “Nearly thirty years Davis had been waiting. That I’ve been searching in my spare hours as much as I could without the EHA getting suspicious. Thirty. Damn. Years. And the crowned prince Mallory Mirakel Sidero was right. Under. My. Nose. This whole time.”

“To be fair, Uncle, Elspie isn’t exactly the most cultured place I’ve visited.” L looked over to Luci, her eyes hidden well behind her mask. “They kept such a tight leash on them I’m surprised they didn’t just give them a full helmet to wear 24/7. You two had only ever met when they were masked, so chances are you would never have known if they were more careful.”

Luci crossed their arms, trying to keep their breathing steady. “My parents. They…they’re alive.”

“Not sure about your mother,” Ceri admitted. “But your father is in Estmund right now.”

“He’s the one who wants to commission my services,” Étienne elaborated. “Wants me to make some special suits, like the Techno-age costume.”

“…Why?” Luci stared at Ceri, pink eyes glazed over with tears threatening to fall. “Why did you lie to me? You knew how much I wanted to know what happened to me. What happened that day. Why did you hide it.”

Ceri’s shoulders drooped slightly as their eye glanced over to Regi. “Because you two were the only 100% I’d ever seen…and I had to see where it went. My own selfishness got in the way. I don’t know if it was worth it entirely in the end but…” He glanced over his shoulder, managing a smile at his lover. “I certainly hope I made the right choice.”

Étienne shrugged, stepping forward to put an arm around his shoulder. “I don’t know if it was the right choice. But I doubt most of us would have kept in contact with each other if you did. Some of us, maybe but…who knows?”

Phoenix shivered. “Worst case scenario I can think of is Reneskald would still be the most trending couple on the EHA dating scene if Ceri didn’t keep this under wraps. I mean…c’mon. Would they have broken up if Luci hadn’t stayed?”

“Oh god.” Regi’s eyes went wide in horror. “I’d probably be married with kids with her by now.”

Everyone let out a collective ‘ew’.

“So what’s the plan then?” L asked cautiously. “Now that the truth is out.”

Inkwell stepped forward. “As much as I hate to say it, we need to figure out a way to get Amaryllis to Estmund as fast as we can. No time to wait.” He clenched his fists tightly. “My last mission knocked me out and sent me a glimpse of the future. Davis’s quirk is eating away at him much like yours does, Lucien. He doesn’t have much time left and he needs an heir.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Regi stuttered, flying to his feet. “Luci can’t just-”

“It doesn’t matter how you feel about them, Renegade.” Inkwell stared at him, his face softening into an understanding heartbreak. “We all know how much you love each other, but this is far, far bigger than your hearts. It’s...Davis is a kind and understanding king, but he will declare war should it come down to it. Elspie has sent assassins after him many times. If he finds out they have you practically prisoner? He will fight to get you back and that’ll put us all in danger.”

“…how badly?” Luci asked. “How bad would things get if he found out what things are like for me here?”

Inkwell let out a sigh, turning his head to the ceiling in lament. “If we don’t have you both meet face to face, and he finds out any other way that you’re alive and a soldier for his enemies, many innocents will be going to fight. Estmund has no heroes, but the citizens will do anything for their kind and caring king. Davis cares for the people like his own blood, and they respect him too much to abandon him should he find it necessary to bring our islands’ age old conflict to the battleground. Many heroes are already changing allegiances because some of them are figuring it out. If it really comes down to it, I’ll probably fight for Estmund myself.”

“And that’s the last thing the world needs right now.” Luci turned away from the group, their stomach turning in knots.

“He wouldn’t ask them to fight,” Inkwell assured. “Davis hates involving other people in his affairs. He panics at even the thought of the royal guard dealing with assassins. But by hell, they’ll protect their home and their happily ever afters if the threat becomes too much. Estmund’s people know their rights, and they’ll fight to protect them.”

“So then…” Regi’s shoulders were shaking as he bit back the panic. “Luci will have to leave?”

Étienne nodded slowly. “There’s a chance, yes. There’s probably a way we can do this so you won’t have to be separated but it will take a lot of planning. But best prepare for the bad ending.”

“I’m truly sorry, everyone,” Ceri said. “I truly fucked it up this time. I put you all in compromising positions that I never wanted to put you through. I’m so, so sorry.”

“…I forgive you, Ceri.” Luci looked over at him, smiling sadly. “You did what you thought was best. I can’t blame you for that. Because…if you didn’t, I probably would still be the same closed off bastard of a hero I was when I met you all. Regi would still be unhappy. You and Étienne would never have even met. I wouldn’t have the best family a scared orphan kid could ask for. So…I can’t find it in my heart to feel angry at you. I forgive you.”

“Luci-”

“I need some air.”

Just as everyone had time to process what was happening, Luci bolted out the door and over to Amarysso, climbing up onto the saddle he’d been provided with and turning him away from the pub. With a quick flick of the reigns, Luci was off, riding away toward the sunset.

Everyone hurried to the door, making chase as fast as they could until their feet couldn’t keep up any longer. The horse and rider vanished into the woods.

And Lucien was gone.The only hint of their direction being the shadowy tendrils following their path.

It was well into the evening when Phoenix and L made it to the cliffs. Basket of food on one arm, giant blanket in the other, and a bottle of the best chilled wine available, the two heroines made their way toward the end.

Amarysso was tied to a nearby tree when they’d finally approached, snoozing happily from his spot. Luci was standing a foot from the edge, shadows completely obscuring them from view and forcing them to blend in to the black of night.

“Regi and Ceri were right,” Phoenix sighed. “They really did come all the way out here.”

“That they did.” L took the blanket and began to lay it out. “I can see why. Its such a lovely spot for a moonlight picnic.”

“Yeah.” Phoenix set down the wine and basket, preparing to set the plates. “Think they’re up for joining us?”

“Only one way to find out.”

With little warning, L stood up and walked a good meter toward Lucien, keeping a safe enough distance between them so they didn’t accidentally hurt her with their quirk. She wasn’t afraid, but she knew they’d never forgive themself if they did anything to hurt her.

Way too soft sometimes.

“Lucien!” she called. “Dinner time!”

Silence. A second passed. Then ten. Then a whole minute.

And then there was light.

A giant pillar of white flame shot upward from the Shepherd, painting the dark of the night with blinding radiance. Winds billowed around them, nearly sending the picnic flying away. Amarysso awoke, letting out a shriek of surprise.

And over the sounds of mighty wind and fire, was the brightest, most haunting laugh L had ever heard from from Lucien Adaire.

As the fire slowly burned itself out, Luci turned around slowly, eyes puffy from crying and face stained where the tears had once been. Their hair and eyes seemed to have a natural glow in the light. And their steps were more regal, if a little wobbly from exhaution.

“Feel better?” L snickered.

“Much,” Luci sighed. “I know I should be mad at Ceri for this but…I just can’t seem to bring myself to. I finally have answers. And now I just-”

“I know. But before you start to really process how big a change this is, how about dinner? Phoenix brought the good ice cream.”

“You don’t mind staying out here while I sort my shit?”

L shrugged. “We got a lot of night left. Plus, it’s rather beautiful out. Might as well enjoy it.”

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right.”

With a gentle chuckle, Luci wobbled back over to the picnic with L, gracefully accepting the punch to the arm in greeting from Phoenix as they made themself comfortable. They were so hungry they could eat a horse.

But they didn’t want to say that in present company.

#myselfinserts #mybnhaocs #friends ocs #au of class #Luci finally hears the whole truth #and they took it...relatively well #I think?#Maybe?#Who knows #Anonymous

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