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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Note

i love all your super angsty stuff, but sometimes i want to see dream go apesht and be powerful and confident and frightening again, y'know? maybe a little unhinged still but making everyone realize that THEY made this monster by putting him in the vault O_O

OH YEAH ,, unhinged c!dream my beloved (/lh)

c!dream when he’s a hot mess, ever so slightly (or not slightly) off the rails is SO much fun to write and read ,, he’s so messed up to himself and others and makes me go like >:D the entire time

im not sure if this is what you wanted, exactly, but boy was it fun to write. c!sam,, is not having a good day lmao

tw: blood, violence, implied torture, offscreen murder, death threats, mental instability, emotional distress, dark content, prison arc/pandora’s vault, c!sam critical (not really? But I digress)

Ranboo is in the wrong place in the wrong time.

He thinks, halfheartedly, that that could be the name of his autobiography. What To Do If The Universe Hates You, an Advice Book By Ranboo T. Beloved doesn’t sound too shabby, all things considered - it’s applicable, at the very least. It’d been true with George’s house, true for the Butcher Army, true when he’d been the one that Techno found in search for his armor back, true now, with sirens blaring from the prison that he’s coincidentally probably the closest to out of everyone on the server. Part of him wants to just ditch the place for Snowchester, as he was originally planning to do; unfortunately, caring about pretty much everyone means caring about what’s going on with their greatest enemy, especially now that Wilbur’s been revived.

Ranboo hurries towards the prison, dunking water by his feet to activate his trident. It only takes him a few Riptides (what can he say - he did say he was close to the prison) for the beach in front of the giant, dark-walled structure to come into sight, two figures stood in front of the smaller box containing the Nether Portal. One of them, standing tall and wearing glinting purple netherite, is clearly, unmistakably Sam, which means he other stranger- well, not stranger, exactly, must be Dream.

Ranboo skids to a stop on the hillside, not wanting to jump into the fray until he knows exactly what’s happening; Techno’s voice rings in his head (the element of surprise is one of your greatest weapons in battle) then Phil’s (what he means is don’t be an idiot, mate) and he settles, silent, to observe with an enderpearl readied in his hand.

It’s no wonder he didn’t recognize Dream, at first - he looks nothing like the man that Ranboo remembers, almost doesn’t look like a person at all. His hair is long and tangled, hanging in clumps around his face. Even from the distance, he looks like a wreck, all sharp edges and skinny, shaking limbs, a heavy netherite axe hefted in one hand. Ranboo shudders at the sight of the blood already on the blade, at the various injuries painting the orange of his prison uniform more red than orange, and looks to make sure his sword is close at hand.

“Prisoner,” Sam’s voice is gravelly, tight with stress. He sounds the same way he did that one time he confronted Ranboo about the prison books he didn’t remember signing, the pages filled with strange runes that he somehow could understand- “Stand down.”

“Sam-” Dream laughs, high-pitched and grating, and Ranboo’s tail lashes anxiously. Dream’s hand raises to his face, his shoulders shaking as the other hand tightens over the handle of his axe, “Awesam. Sammy- I told you, didn’t I? I fucking told you what would happen.”

“Dream-”

“Unless you want to end up like Quackity, I suggest you stop talking, Warden.”

It’s quite a sight to see someone in fully armored netherite cower from someone completely unarmored, looking more dead than alive, but well - it is Dream, and Ranboo finds himself cringing back at the words even though he’s not even in the area. He steals a look at his communicator; the rest of the server has noticed the sirens, it seems, but nobody seems to understand what exactly is going on, much less be ready for a potential fight, and a nervous shiver runs down his spine.

“Sammy,” Dream stalks forward, his axe braced in front of him, “Look at you. You’re so goddamn pathetic-” He spits the words like venom, back hunched, center of gravity pulled close to the ground - he looks more mob than human, watches Sam with the same wild-eyed desperation that Ranboo’s seen in a starving wolf chasing down prey, “Such a fucking coward that you couldn’t do shit yourself. Well- good for Quackity, isn’t it? It sure ended up well for him.”

Ranboo shivers, looking at the blood staining the netherite blade with ice rising in his chest. No- he didn’t-

“You know how good it felt to plunge this axe into his neck?” Dream laughs, the sound raspy and unsettling, making Ranboo shrink back in his hiding spot, “You know how many times he threatened to do the same to me? You know how many times he’s used this exact fucking axe to cave my ribs in?” He hurls the blade down and Ranboo reaches out with a wordless shout, watching as the axe strikes the earth in a spray of sand, “HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES, SAM?”

“Dream-”

“Don’t- You don’t get to call me that,” Dream pulls the axe back, looks up with another round of breathless laughter. “You- don’t you fucking dare.”

Sam draws back- Ranboo can’t place the expression that flashes over his face, something a little like fear, something a little like guilt. He doesn’t seem to try and say anything, a sword appearing in his hand.

“So you want to try this too,” Dream’s voice pitches low, becoming something hysterical, almost amused, “Sure! We’ll play. Try to last a little longer than Quackity, will you?”

He flashes forward, much much faster than he should with the amount of injuries that claw over his arms and legs, brings the axe down in a heavy clang that is only barely met by Sam’s sword. Ranboo looks left and right, tries to find others coming to the Warden’s aid, finds none. Dream’s pace is ruthless, bringing down the axe again and again, hardly reacting when Sam catches him by the arm on his blade. Sam hisses in alarm as the axe handle is swung into the inside of his arm, loses his grip on the sword as the back end of the axe catches it at the base. Dream heaves in shuddering breaths, axe clanging against Sam’s armor and sending the creeper hybrid toppling to the ground with a sharp exhale of breath, presses the bloody blade beneath his chin.

“You know-” He smiles, pressing the axe forward further, making Sam lift his head as he falls back against the sand, “You were kind of useful, you know? You and Quackity, I mean.” Dream hisses angrily, words pitching lower, “Do you know what’s the easiest way to make someone hurt? Do you know where to hit someone for it to cause the most pain? Do you know how it feels to break every bone in your fucking body? Quackity said he’d make every fucking day of my life a living hell.” He raises his axe, foot ground down on Sam’s arm, “How about I return the favor?”

Ranboo throws his enderpearl.

He raises his sword, braces against the vibrations running up his arms as the axe crashes down on it with a grimace as he readies himself to fight. Dream draws back for a second- “‘Boo?’

“Ranboo, run,” Sam shouts behind him, pulling his arm to his chest as he moves to stand, “Get out of here-”

“No, no, I think he can stay,” Dream’s eyes flash, harden. “Figures that he’d play the traitor once again, doesn’t it Ranboo?”

“I was never your ally-”

“You and the rest of this damned server, ‘Boo,” He laughs dangerously, draws back as Sam gets to his feet. Ranboo watches as he kicks up Sam’s sword, catching it in his left hand. “Oh well. As much as I would’ve liked to take another life-”

A flash of blue-green, and there’s someone else standing there, a crossbow loosely held in one hand, smiling lazily through his hair.

“-it looks like my ride out is here.”

“You’ve made quite the mess,” Wilbur drawls, rolling his eyes at the man beside him, “I have to say- I’m a little impressed.”

“Wil,” Dream breathes, shoulders visibly falling, looking at the other man with a sort of soft-edged reverence that makes Ranboo shift uncomfortably at the sight. It feels off, wrong, to see him go from a raging, frothing thing to someone docile, expression filled with a mockery of adoration.

“We’ll be off then, gentlemen,” Wilbur salutes with one hand, lips quirking up. “No hard feelings, Ranboo, Sam,” he nods at each of them with their names and tosses an enderpearl into the horizon, Dream doing so at the same time, “We’ll see you around.”

Ranboo watches, lungs heaving, as they disappear.

“...you know, Sam, I think we might be in a little bit of trouble.”

#tw blood #tw violence #tw torture #tw death threats #tw mental instability #tw murder #tw emotional distress #tw dark content #tw threats #long post #prison arc #pandora's vault #warden sam critical #c!sam critical #my writing :D #my asks !!

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pandoraborn · 3 years

Note

im so sorry for the vagueness of this, but please. any kind of ghostbur+sbi angst. please.

Characters: Ghostbur, c!Tommy, c!Techno, c!Phil Word count: 1497 words Content: canon divergence, techno’s execution, post exile, Tommy is sick, Techno is injured, gore, blood, whump, angst, hurt/comfort, mention of death, SBI, sleepybois inc,

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He sees the anvil drop.

He sees Techno crumble, falling to his knees before springing back up. Ghostbur can only stare, as if hypnotized by the gory scene before him, because Techno is very much a skeleton, slowly being stitched back together by some unseen force. Logically, he knows it’s the totem of undying working its magic, but emotionally, Ghostbur knows he’s never going to purge this memory from his brain.

He holds Friend closer to himself as he watches Techno jump away and disappear in the following madness. If he had a heart, it’d be pounding rapidly. If he had lungs, he’d be wheezing and gasping in fear. The ability to cry is also nonexistent, leaving the ghost unable to do anything but stare at the empty cage. Ghostbur stares for a long time.

When he looks up at Phil, trying to find some explanation for what happened, he finds that Phil’s house is empty. Phil must’ve snuck out in the chaos, when Tubbo and the rest of the ‘butcher army’ hadn’t been watching.

Now he’s alone. There’s no one else around, no distant voices to help him come back to reality. Reality is watching a long time friend turn into a skeleton and magically stitch himself back together, before running for his life. Reality is his father being put under house arrest simply for protecting Techno.

Reality is Friend bumping into him, startling him out of his swirling thoughts. Ghostbur puts a smile on his face, taking the lead and tugging Friend inside Phil’s house. The sheep will be safe here for the moment, while Ghostbur thinks of someone to turn to. He needs comfort from someone who can actually speak to him.

Tommy comes to mind.

Part of Ghostbur wonders if he should even talk to Tommy, because he hadn’t seem Tommy since before his party. Would Tommy be angry with him for not showing up? Maybe it’s a risk worth taking, because it’s Tommy, and they love each other. A dim memory surfaces; he remembers Phil mentioning the other day that he’d been in contact with Tommy, and Tommy’s now safe from any sort of harm. Ghostbur wonders if that means Tommy’s at the cabin, so he heads in that direction.

It doesn’t take long for Ghostbur to reach the cabin. He hopes the others are already here and in one piece, but Ghostbur can’t get the image of the execution out of his head. If he had the ability to feel sick, he’d probably be vomiting in the snow.

Techno’s clearly home, because Ghostbur can see the trail of blood leading toward the cabin. Carl, his horse, is also just outside, unharmed.

Before Ghostbur can enter, he hears raised voices. He pauses at the door, leaning closer to hear more clearly, but nothing he’s hearing sounds great.

“Techno, hold still, you’re bleeding everywhere! You’ll also wake Tommy.”

“I’m sorry, I had to rip my arm out of an entire bar, right after being executed! I’m not exactly going to remember my manners for the stupid kid beneath us. He can always sleep later!”

“If you don’t shut up and hold still, I will splash you with a weakness pot and smack you over the head so I can heal you properly. Your bones need to set and you need stitches.”

Ghostbur’s heard enough. He barges in, trying to plaster a smile on his face, but it feels off when he sees the wound on Techno’s arm. It’s not just a deep gash, but a giant hole where muscle and skin should be. There are tears in the pig’s eyes, there’s an expression of anger in Phil’s eyes that render him almost inhuman. If Ghostbur were to actually let himself think about it, he’d admit he was terrified of them both right now.

“Ghostbur,” Phil says curtly. “Go downstairs and check on Tommy.”

“Your arm-”

“I’ll explain it to you later Ghostbur,” Techno grumbles. “Do what Phil says and don’t ask questions.”

“I was there! I saw what happened! Phil, I left Friend in your house.”

“Ghostbur, go downstairs and sit with Tommy. He needs someone more than Techno does.” Phil’s voice has an air of finality to it; Ghostbur doesn’t want to argue with him. Shoulders slumping in disappointment, he disappears down the ladder to check on Tommy.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the boy since before his beach party. Would Tommy be mad at him for not showing up? Why is Tommy even here, isn’t he supposed to be on holiday? Everything is far too confusing anymore, but even those thoughts are pushed out of his mind when he sees the teen sitting in a bed.

Tommy is far too thin and sickly looking. His skin is too pale, almost colorless, with dirty, greasy hair falling into sunken eyes. Each breath he takes is a painful wheeze, his fingers tremble too much to grip the bowl of food he’s trying to eat.

Tommy’s gaze flicks up briefly when he sees Ghostbur, glancing back down a second later. “Hello.” Even the boy’s voice is rough.

First he watches Techno die, now he has to see his brother sick and malnourished? What kind of holiday had he been on?

“Tommy?” He moves closer, just as afraid of the teen as he was of Techno. Ghostbur already wants to forget today’s events and go back to being ignorant. He’s happier when he doesn’t have to think about anything.

“Surprise, we’re all alive.” Tommy’s tone is unbelievably dark, as if he doesn’t believe it himself. “One minute I’m contemplating everything that went wrong, and the next, Philza’s carrying me here like I suddenly matter. I go to sleep, and wake up to Techno missing half an arm. Dunno what happened there, neither of them will tell me.”

“I watched Techno die,” Ghostbur blurts. He probably shouldn’t have phrased it like that, but the words are out. “He had a totem though, so he survived. It’s a good thing, I think.”

“Ah.” Tommy sets the bowl of food aside, lying back down. Rather than looking colorless now, he’s turning a shade of green. “That’s information I didn’t need while trying to eat.”

“I’m sorry Tommy.”

“Are you okay?” Tommy asks. “Forget about me, I’m in great shape. You, on the other hand, look pretty shaken up.”

“Ah, yeah.” Ghostbur looks away. “Tommy, I forget a lot and I’m not the best, but what happened to Techno isn’t fading. I’m not sure how to process it.”

“You need a hug or something?” Tommy stretches one arm out toward Ghostbur. “Because you look like you could use one.”

“Are you sure you’re not using that as an excuse to get a hug for yourself?” Ghostbur can’t resist the tease. Nor can he resist the offer, letting himself move closer until he’s in Tommy’s arms.

“Fuck you, I don’t need a hug from anyone.” Tommy’s voice is muffled. “I’m independent and can do anything I want to on my own.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Phil’s voice interrupts. “Even on your deathbed, you’re going to give us all a headache.”

Ghostbur’s eyes nearly bug out. “Deathbed?” His gaze whips back toward Tommy to make sure Tommy isn’t actually dying. “Does he need a tot-”

“Ghostbur, relax. Tommy isn’t dying, and I assume you’re here to talk about Techno. He’s not dying either. Everyone here will be fine.” Phil rolls his eyes. “All three of you are the most dramatic shits I have the misfortune of knowing.”

“Fuck you Phil,” Tommy groans. “I can still fight you.”

“If you can get up without fainting, I’d love to take you on,” Phil laughs.

“Is... Techno’s really okay though, right?” Ghostbur asks. “Because-”

“Ghostbur.” Phil sombers up to give the ghost his full attention. “I’m sorry you had to see that earlier. I know it’s not easy, and judging by your reaction, your brain isn’t letting you forget it so easily. Techno’s strong, Tommy’s strong. We’re all going to make it out of this in one piece, alright?”

Ghostbur looks down. “Three of you will. I’m afraid it’s a little late for me, dad.”

No one has a come back to that. Whatever fragile bonds still connect this broken family are still fraying. Ghostbur may be there, they may be able to see and hear and touch him, laugh with him even. At the end of the day though, it’s a harsh reminder that he is not Wilbur, that the Wilbur they’d all loved is still dead, and not even his ghost can replace him.

“Hey Ghostbur?” Tommy tugs on his sleeve. “Will you stay with me for awhile?”

“Yeah.” Ghostbur lies back down, wrapping his arms around the teen. Everything about the boy is too bony, nothing about his appearance is okay. He wonders if Tommy actually is dying.

Nothing more needs to be said though. Broken family or no, at least all four of them are together.

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queenofcats17 · 3 years

Text

The Ink Demonth 30

So, after seeing this post, I wanted to write it.

I have just realized that @hello-im-not-a-possum is the originator of this AU idea, so this is for them.

This is old and I decided to repurpose it for the “Partner” prompt

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Henry…honestly wasn’t sure what was going on.

He’d left the infirmary after getting the valve wheel and had been greeted by…a sight he hadn’t seen before. It was a Boris wearing pants, suspenders, a shirt, and a Bendy mask on the side of its head. And it was holding a dustpan.

Henry couldn’t help but stare. He wasn’t sure where this Boris had come from and where it had gotten a shirt of all things. He was assuming this was Sammy. Mostly because of the dustpan and the mask, as well as the fact that this was where Sammy usually popped up.

“….Hi,” Henry said slowly.

The Boris raised its dustpan menacingly. Henry took an instinctive step back.

“Hey! Wait!” He put his hands up, scrambling to find something to appease the irate music director.

This was a change, so maybe he could pick Sammy up as a companion. Maybe he could save him. But he had to act quickly. Sammy in this state wasn’t exactly the patient sort.

He held up a can of soup. “D-Do you want some soup?” He asked with a shaky smile.

The Boris slowly lowered its dustpan.

“You would offer me sustenance?” It asked with Sammy’s voice.

“Yeah, sure.”

For a moment, Sammy stared at Henry. Then he dropped the dustpan and sunk to his knees.

“My Lord,” he gasped, lowering his head.

Henry grimaced, kneeling and rolling the soup can to his former friend. This was weird, but he could work with it.

“Do you…want to come with me?” Henry asked slowly.

“I would follow you anywhere, my Lord,” Sammy said without a hint of sarcasm or insincerity.

“Okay. Cool.” Henry nodded and turned away. “Well, let’s get going.”

Sammy discarded his mask and followed without another word.

Henry hadn’t been entirely sure how they’d get from the Music Department to Boris’ safehouse, but luckily for him the Ink Demon still triggered to chase them. It seemed generally displeased that Sammy was with Henry now, and grew especially displeased when Sammy tried to attack it.

“Sammy, no! We gotta go!” Henry yelled as he dragged Sammy through the hallways. “We are not fighting it!”

“But I must protect you!” Sammy protested, waving his ax in the general direction of the quickly gaining Ink Demon.

“While I appreciate that, I’d rather have you alive!” Henry responded. “I’m not going to lose you again!”

Hearing this made Sammy abruptly stop swinging, which made it considerably easier to drag him. Henry only noticed how much Sammy’s tail was wagging once they had successfully escaped the Ink Demon.

“Sammy? Are you alright?” Henry asked.

Sammy didn’t respond, just staring ahead with a dreamy look while his tail vigorously wagged.

“My Lord values me,” he whispered to himself.

Henry couldn’t help but sigh. This was going to be a thing he would have to deal with, huh? At least Sammy was alright. And the tail wagging was pretty cute.

It was at that moment that the bacon soup can rolled into view and Boris poked his head around the corner.

Sammy jumped into action, getting in front of Henry and brandishing his ax.

“Speak your name and state your purpose!” He demanded.

Boris whimpered and moved away, ears drooping.

“Sammy, it’s alright, he’s a friend,” Henry said, getting between Sammy and Boris. “He’s going to help us.”

Sammy narrowed his eyes, pausing for a moment before slowly lowering his ax.

“Very well,” he said. “Rejoice, hound, for my Lord has chosen to spare you.”

Boris looked over at Henry with an expression that radiated confusion.

“I know, he’s kind of weird.” Henry smiled apologetically and patted Boris’ head. “But he’s on our side this time.”

Boris nodded, although he still regarded Sammy warily on their way back to the safe-house.

It didn’t take long after they got to the safe-house for Sammy to become incredibly attached to Boris as well. The majority of this was because Boris had provided them both with bacon soup. It also helped Sammy to see Henry interacting positively with Boris. Seeing how much Henry cared about Boris convinced Sammy that the wolf was to be trusted. And more importantly, protected.

This meant when the time came for Alice to steal Boris away, Sammy fought her off tooth and nail. So when Henry woke up, he was greeted with two cartoon wolves, ready to continue helping him on his journey.

Even before that, though, Henry found himself incredibly glad to have Sammy around. Yes, the former music director tended to throw himself into dangerous situations with no regard for his own personal safety, but he was also incredibly helpful with dealing with the corrupted Butcher Gang members and Searchers.

And it was really nice to have someone else to talk to, even if Henry did still have to deal with Sammy’s prophet talk. He hadn’t realized the toll it had taken on him to have to go through all of this alone and almost completely silent.

“You know, I’m really glad you’re here, Sammy,” Henry remarked as they headed down to level 14.

They had finished with all of Alice’s errands except for the one on the Projectionist’s level and Henry wanted to express his appreciation now in case the Projectionist killed Sammy. Because Henry was almost certain Sammy would immediately try to fight the Projectionist.

Sammy blinked, clearly surprised by this comment, and quickly looked away. “I’m glad I can be of service to you, my Lord.”

“It’s not just ‘being of service’,” Henry insisted. “You’re a good ally to have and I’m glad me and Boris have you to help watch our backs.”

Sammy said nothing, although his tail began to vigorously wag.

Boris made a noise that might have been a laugh and hugged Sammy. The relationship between the two of them had improved even further since the safe-house, which made Henry happy to see.

“I am…glad that you both enjoy my company,” Sammy said slowly, tail wagging even more vigorously at the hug. “…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Henry smiled and patted Sammy’s shoulder.

The elevator reached level 14 a minute later, and Henry and Sammy got out.

Henry approached the railing, scanning the ink flooded level below. If they were lucky, maybe they could avoid the Projectionist.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be in the cards.

“Ssh…There he is.” Alice’s voice came through the speakers as the Projectionist walked out of one of the doorways. “The Projectionist. Skulking in the darkness. You be sure to stay out of his light, if you don’t want trouble. Just bring me back the pieces I need.”

“Alright. We need to get the ink hearts and avoid him,” Henry whispered. “So don’t go fighting him, okay?” He looked over to make sure Sammy understood, only to see that Sammy was already jumping over the railing to go attack the Projectionist.

“Fuck!” Henry all but sprinted down the stairs to where Sammy was attempting to defeat the Projectionist.

Thankfully, they were able to take him out before Sammy was killed, although Henry did die at one point. But, as usual, he was resurrected at a Bendy statue.

“The monster has been defeated!” Sammy proclaimed proudly once the Projectionist fell.

For a moment, Henry just stood there, catching his breath. Then he grabbed Sammy by the shoulders and all but slammed him against the wall.

“M-My Lord?” Sammy’s eyes widened, taken aback by Henry’s sudden violent gesture. Henry had never behaved like this toward him before.

“Stop doing that!” Henry yelled.

“S-Stop doing what, my Lord?”

“Stop just running into danger like that!” Tears were welling up in Henry’s eyes.

“But I…I must protect you,” Sammy said.

“Then don’t try to die!” Henry’s grip on Sammy’s shoulders tightened slightly. “If you want to protect me then stay!” His voice dropped in volume as he began to quietly sob. “Please. I can’t lose you again, Sammy. Please.”

Sammy paused, unsure how to react. On one hand, he felt he needed to defend his Lord from whatever threat might arise, taking preemptive action if needed. On the other hand, it was clearly upsetting his Lord that he was putting himself in danger. But why did it matter? Sammy was but a humble servant of his Lord. His life was of no consequence.

Still, if his Lord wished for him to cease these actions, he should obey.

“Very well,” he nodded solemnly. “I will…Try not to behave so recklessly in the future.”

“Thank you,” Henry whispered, pulling Sammy into a partner. “I…I know you don’t think of yourself like this but…I consider you my friend. And my partner.”

Sammy’s tail began to vigorously wag once more, which got a laugh out of Henry.

“Alright.” Henry pulled back with a tearful smile. “Let’s, uh, let’s go get those ink hearts and get back to Alice so we can get out of here.”

Sammy’s tail abruptly stopped wagging and his ears drew back.

“I still don’t see why we must play her games,” he grumbled as he followed Henry into the labyrinth.

“I know I know.” Henry nodded as he scanned the corners for ink hearts. “But she controls the elevator.”

Not to mention, they needed to follow the script, even with this change.

Sammy grumbled under his breath, but said nothing more on the subject. Instead, he began to sniff the air. Before Henry could ask what he was doing, Sammy was off like a shot.

“Hey! Sammy! Where are you going?!” Henry scrambled after him.

It turned out Sammy could sniff out the ink hearts. Which was unexpected (even though Sammy was currently a canine), but not unwelcome, and ended up cutting the time Henry usually spent searching in half. This skill also helped them get out of the labyrinth since Henry hadn’t picked up the ink heart on the platform in his hurry to save Sammy.

As they grabbed the last ink heart and got back in the elevator, Henry once again thought about how happy he was to have Sammy there with him. He wouldn’t be alone this loop. Not even for a second.

#bendy and the ink machine #fanfiction #sheepdog sammy au #batim au #sammy lawrence #henry stein #boris the wolf #the ink demonth

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 3 years

Text

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar Of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby

Day 14: There Is Only One Way To Load A Dishwasher

Warnings: Bad Language Words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N- Oh we are getting closer. And this particular scenario happened between my father and me one night. Luckily no one cut themselves, but we were in a severe disagreement as to how sharp knives were to go into the dishwasher. Turns out I was the logical one. Don’t forget to keep an eye out for @what-is-your-plan-today and @ohthankevans13 for there updates.

Series Masterlist

There was the loud sharp sound of laughter from the outdoor patio, which Ransom joined in as well with his own genuine laugh while having a firm hold of your thigh under the table, his thumb sweeping back and forth over the soft material of your leggings while your hand was clasped over his in reassurance, easing his hand loose to weave your fingers through his.

This evening a couple friends of yours came over to the house to visit and have dinner, which you knew Ransom had been a bit apprehensive with. Not that he didn’t like your friends, sure he did, they were perfectly nice people you had grown up with, Rick and Sandy. But they weren’t like Ransom’s usual friends, other people in the same arrangement he had been, trust fund kids who didn’t give two shits about anyone but themselves. Perhaps that was a good thing. He was still learning how this whole being married thing worked.

So Ransom was a bit nervous all damn day, brushing it off though as in ‘He was Ransom Drysdale and did not give a shit what anyone thought about him.’ You knew this to be a lie, that he actually wanted to make a good impression on them. Just from the way he was acting all day, double checking there was enough wine and beer for your guests. That the house was generally picked up looking. He even offered to go pick up dinner, which you were not going to say no to. Writing out a list with a firm “Just pick up this list, NOTHING ELSE.”

And it just raised your suspicions when he came home with steaks. High end expensive steaks that had been hand cut by the butcher at their local shop. You gawked at them as you had actually put burgers on your list. You peeked in the rest of the bags. There wasn't the buns, chips or anything else you had written. But the ingredients for grilled veggies, potato and garlic bread.

“You didn't have to do this Ransom. I thought you were going to stick to the list?” You remarked as you looked at the steaks he so carefully let laid to rest on the kitchen counter before taking them to be grilled.

“Well if we're going to entertain, we’re doing it right.” He responded and that's when it clicked, this was his way of showing he could take care of his family, be something more than what everyone thought him to be, so you dropped it. Going to your tiptoes, you pecked his cheek with a thank you, and went from there.

Now it was the end of dinner, you felt Ransom relax more and all four of you enjoyed a fun conversation, some of which was Rick and Sandy filling Ransom in on some of your younger years, a devilish grin would spread across his face. “Oh trust me, she's still just as bad, just better at hiding it.”

“Hush I'm an angel.” You made a move to gather some dishes when Ransom sprang up to take them from you. “You are the one who fully corrupted me Ransom.” you smirked at him, which you could see a bit of color rise in his cheeks and his eyes crinkling in the corners with a grin.

“Something I take great pride in Princess. I got the clean up, you continue visiting.” He offered and you smiled a thank you while settling back down. Rick and Sandy gathered their plates, with nothing but praises for the whole meal, especially those perfectly grilled steaks, which you glanced at Ransom to see a slight satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before you turned back to your friends.

Ransom headed back into the house from the patio with the plates and utensils, listening while you restarted the conversation. He didn't bother shutting the door, leaving it open to let the conversation flow into the house as well as the breeze of the evening. Flicking on the overhead light, he popped open the dishwasher and started to randomly put plates in wherever they fit as the dishwasher was already half full from the night before’s dishes as well as their breakfast ones. Then he started dumping the utensils into the tray lining the side made specifically for them. He wasn't paying attention though, forks were going in tines down or up, spoons shoved in any spot they would fit and the wickedly sharp steak knives went in handle down, their points glinting maliciously face up, ready to strike any unsuspecting hand.

Which Ransom did, when he grasped another bundle to shove in, and his palm, slid along the tip of the knife along the meatiest part, near his thumb.

A blossom of red spread on his hand, as well as a sharp surprising pain, making him jerk back and clatter the handful of forks across the dishwasher and floor. “Son of a Bitch!” He yelled rather loudly in shock as red droplets dripped over the dirty dishes and across the tile floor till he got to the sink and turned on the tap. He could feel a wave of naseau wash over him as his vision blurred a moment and sharpened seeing the red swirl down the sink.

You happened to hear Ransom yelp and curse as the door was open, as well as Rick and Sandy who looked with concern towards the house. A glance over your shoulder showed Ransom standing at the kitchen sink, and you could see from there that his face was tensed and almost in pain looking. “Excuse me.” You said hurriedly and pushed from the patio table to rush inside. “Ransom? Oh god what happened?” You grabbed a hand towel to press against the gash on his hand to get the bleeding to stop, his face whiter then usual. “Breath Ransom, don’t pass out.” You tried to draw his attention to you instead of at the red welling up again before you pressed the towel against it.

He hissed when you pressed down from between clenched teeth. “Fucking knife got me while I was loading the dishwasher.”

You glanced at the dishwasher and could see the mess that it was left in. Knowing you would have to set it straight, especially the knives, as half of them appeared to have been tossed in point up.

“Christ Ransom, you gotta put the knives point down for this reason.” You said hurriedly as you pried the towel up to take a peek at his hand. “We have to take you to the emergency room, this is pretty deep. You are going to need stitches.”

“Nah- I should be alright.” He started when he wobbled a bit, his other hand grasping the edge of the counter. Its that moment Sandy poked her head in.

“Do you guys need any help?”

You were immediate before Ransom could protest. “How about a rain check on Cards Against Humanity? I think we need to get some stitches for Ransom.”

Sandy then came in fully to take a look at Ransom's hand. “Let me take a look? I’m a nurse, and can tell you if they will give you any stitches.”

Ransom lifted the hand towel once more and she hummed while looking at it. “Yup, looks just like the cut Rick had a couple years ago. Steak knife get you?”

“Not fucking intentionally.” Ransom growled a bit, getting agitated now feeling he was under scrutiny.

“Ha, Rick said the same thing.” Sandy chuckled and her husband came in, happening to hear her.

“Well I forgot I put the knife in the water when I was washing the dishes.” He came to Ransom’s defense with a dumbass excuse and at this point Ransom was ready to go to the emergency room, just to get out of this curve of a disaster the evening took.

Sandy dabbled at the wound with the cloth when the blood welled up again and Ransom this time felt his head swarm. “Im going to...” and thats when he slumped, you and Sandy trying to catch him and Rick managing to get his arms under Ransoms armpits and ease him down to the floor. You straightened up with a hand against your lower back and one pressed to your baby bump, sighing.

“Ransom can’t handle blood... I’m hoping this isn’t whats going to happen with shitty diapers to.”

***************************

After You managed to get Ransom to the emergency room, and he was once again patched up and left alone, you were sitting nearby, counting your fingers and muttering to yourself.

“What are you doing Y/N?” Ransom winced as he flexed his hand a bit, and you smirk at him.

“Counting how many times we have been to the emergency room in the past 6 months. This makes three times. You are like a walking talking disaster Ransom, I’m a bit surprised it has been this long since we’ve last visitied.”

He glared at you while he stood and took his coat from you to shrug it on. “Eat Shit Y/N, I never visited the emergency room till I hooked up with you. What does that say?”

You shrugged. “That I’m not as much as a dumbass as you Ransom, but that’s okay. I love you anyways.” You tuck into his side as you two leave the room.

“Yea yea, Love you to Y/N.” He rolled his eyes, wincing as he dug his injured hand into his coat pocket, looking for the Beamers keys.

#real life tasks with ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #amber writes #sweater writes

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finnwrld · 4 years

Note

Hello! Can I request a Harry Potter x reader?? The reader is a Ravenclaw and is Luna Lovegood sister? Also the reader has a niffler. Send you my love, bye! 💕

Lovegoods Niffler (Harry Potter x Reader)

Pairing: Harry Potter x Ravenclaw/Lovegood!Reader

Warning: THIS IS SO INCREDIBLY CLICHE AND ROMCOMY IM SORRY I LOVE IT. Also there is like kissing?

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I loved this request!! It was super fun to write, so keep sending your requests in! The Last part is HEAVILY biased off Cho and Harry's kiss, just keep that in mind. I tried a new thing with it being in third person and from Harry's perspective and not the readers. Lmk if you like it! Also i wrote Luna based off book luna in which she has dirty blonde hair, not white like the movies

Also im so sorry if i butchered this character. I didn’t take the super dreamy route of luna

amazing mood board by @summer-writes

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were sitting with their backs against a massive tree.

“Umbridge needs to let off” Ron sighed.

“Yeah” Harry said, more interested in the lady bug crawling up his finger to talk about Umbridge. He had grown increasingly more furious at Umbridge in the last week that he couldn’t bear to even think about her anymore.

Suddenly Harry’s hand was whipped away from his body, something was pulling at his watch. Surprised about this sudden jolt, Harry whipped his head to the side, only to see a fluffy black niffler pulling with all its might at his watch.

“Oi!” Harry yelped, trying to pull the niffler off. It wouldn’t budge.

“Libby! Come back here!” said an unfamiliar soft voice. “Libby, get off the poor man's watch or I will send you back to the forest!” This seemed to be a bad enough punishment that the niffler released Harry's watch, not without a little wine though.

“I’m so sorry, she slipped out of my hand,” said the voice, picking the niffler off the ground. Harry raised his eyes up to the source of the voice and was momentarily breathless.

There before him stood a breathtakingly gorgeous girl in ravenclaw robes. She had a stack of books in her left hand (including the Quibbler, to Harry’s surprise) and the squirming niffler she called Libby in her right. Her carmel braids draped over her shoulders and her eyes looked apologetically at Harry. She looked oddly familiar but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it, maybe it was her eyes? She had on earrings with clay mushrooms dangling from them and wide wire rimmed glasses.

“My name is y/n” she said, sticking out her hand. She had chipped royal blue nail polish on.

“Hi… I-I’m Harry-” he mumbled as he shook y/n’s hand.

“I know who you are,” she said giggling, “Your Harry Potter, the boy who lived.” She said the last few words in a way Professor Trelawney would have. He turned a bit pinkish.

“I- Um. Well yes. I guess I am,” he said, rather quietly.

“Sorry again about Libby, she can get a little out of control sometimes,” she said looking down at the niffler, which was still wiggling around, its eyes fixed on Harry’s watch.

“I-It’s alright,” he stuttered. He was doing quite a lot of stuttering and it was getting rather embarrassing.

“Okay… Well I’ll see you around then Harry,” she said simply, turned around and walked away. Her robes mirrored her bouncy walk and her braids swayed behind her. She almost was skipping away.

His eyes watched her for a bit longer, watching her sit down her back against another tree. She set down Libby in her lap and started to read the Quibbler.

His trance broke when he heard Ron finally let out a snigger.

“What?” Harry whipped his head around.

“Bloody hell mate,” Ron said through laughs, “could you be a little more awkward.”

“I wasn’t being awkward!” Harry protested.

“Yeah you were, you practically seemed in love with her” Ron stated. Harry blushed again. Was he really being that obvious? She was quite pretty, and her personality was addictive. All he wanted to do was walk over and talk to her again.

———

It was their first makeshift Defense Against the Dark Arts class and Harry was very nervous. Many people had seemed a bit shifty about this in the Hogs Head and one un trustworthy person could throw the whole lot of them in deep trouble.

He was pacing and checking his watch every couple of seconds, while Ron and Hermione were sitting in one of the chairs talking. Suddenly the door opened and the three of them sprang up, watching the door. Ginny, Neville, Lavender, Pavati, and Dean walked through.

“Woah” Dean said looking around, “What is this place?” Harry didn’t have time to respond though because many other people started to come flooding through the wide door.

It was about three minutes later and Hermione was doing a headcount.

“We are missing one...” Hermione said as she stared down at her sheet of names, “Luna.” Just as she finished speaking the door creaked open and a familiar mane of dirty blonde hair peaked through it.

“Hello,” said a familiar dreamy voice, “Sorry we’re late. We got caught up on something.”

“We?” Questioned Ron. But his query was answered as Luna opened the door wider. Behind her was another familiar face, but one that took Harry’s breath away once more. y/n.

“This is my sister,” said luna, motioning toward y.n, “I mentioned her at the Hogs head, do you remember?” She looked at Harry.

“Um… yes. Sort of,” he mumbled. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Ron exchange a look with Hermione.

“I couldn’t make it because Flitwick took away my Hogsmeade privileges for a bit,” y/n added, a small smile escaping her lips, “Libby got loose in the common room,” she said in response to the group's quizzical looks.

“But thankfully Miss Looney Lovegood here was able to go,” she giggled ruffling Luna’s hair.

Her smile was infectious and all Harry wanted to do was continue to make her smile. Today her hair was in two low buns, with hair that had fallen out of them framing her face. Her earrings were now two clay frogs and her nails were painted a tomato red. She didn’t have her robes on, just the uniform under (skirt,sweater, button up, and tie) she was again just as pretty as she was the day out on the grounds.

“You’re- Luna’s s-sister?” Harry said, cursing himself for stuttering so much.

“Yes, if that’s all you got out of the conversation,” she said with a laugh.

“No-no, I just meant-” Harry said, flustered.

“It's okay,” she said with a smile. She bounced over to the group of people, her sister following, and turned back to Harry waiting for what he had to say. Harry continued to look at her, almost in a trance, until Hermione put a hand on his shoulder hissing,

“Harry! You have to speak!” Harry snapped out of it, quite embarrassed and looked around.

“I… um…” he babbled. He scanned the room. Lavender and Pavati were whispering to each other and giggling. Harry suddenly grew even more nervous. What if he was doing this all wrong and people were wasting their time. What if he somehow convinced the few people in the world that believed him that he really was an attention seeking liar. His gaze slowly landed on y/n. They locked eyes for a second and she gave him a massive smile and a thumbs up. Suddenly Harry was feeling a lot more confident, so he took a deep breath in and started.

———

“Okay guys! Don’t forget to check your coins for the next meeting date and time! Have a good rest of your day” Harry announced as the D.A. walked towards the door. There was a jumble of “Bye Harry” and the group filed out. Fred and George came walking up to Harry.

“Hey Harry!” Fred said.

“Hi Fred. Hi George” Harry replied.

“We have a great idea for the skiving snack boxes that we think you would love” said George. But Harry had tuned them out, out of the corner of his eye he could see y/n bent over picking up something out of Harry's view.

“Listen guys, can’t wait to hear the idea, but I have something to deal with. Could you fill me in when I get back to the common room?” Harry said, turning back to Fred and George. They looked slightly taken aback but said, in unison,

“Sure thing Harry. See you soon,” and they turned around and left the Room of Requirement.

“Hi Harry,” said a familiar soft voice.

“Hello,” Harry replied back, rather timidly. He turned to see y/n, who he had actually become sort of friends with over the last months. Today she had made two small braids in the front of her hair and tied them in the back, like a half up half down. Her earrings were small clay tomatoes and today her nail polish was a canary yellow. She was picking up her books which had fallen to the floor.

Harry quickly rushed over to help. She certainly had an array of books. Some were school books, The Standard Book of Spells year 5, Defensive Magical Theory, and Magical Drafts and Theory’s. She also had some books Harry didn’t recognize, one of which was blank on the front.

Curious, he reached out to get it but was met by another hand. y/’s hand. A blush covered Harry’s face faster than he would’ve thought possible.

“I-I’m sorry,” He blurted, “Can I have a look at this?”

y/n nodded and turned her head, going back to picking up her things. Harry lets out a gasp as he opens the book.

Inside are pages and pages filled with paragraphs of writing, detailed drawings, and collages made by what looked like cut up bits of the Quibbler and The Daily Profit. It was all masterfully put together and by the looks of this y/n had been doing this for ages.

“Wow,” Harry whispered.

“Do you like it?” y/n asked, surprisingly shyly.

“Yes!” Harry exclaimed, “When did you start all of this?”

“First year. I was quite lonely and I thought I might as well do something to fill my time. It’s not much. Some of it is diary entries, others parts are inventions, some are short stories or poems, and some of it is just drawings. A lot of it is me writing down events that are currently happening. I like to go through The Daily Profit to find pictures and I write a page summary about the event. Look,” She said and started flipping through. She finally got to about ⅔ through the book when she landed on a page titled The Triwizard Tournament: Four Champions.

“Wow, that’s me,” Harry said, letting out a laugh as he stared down at a small version of himself with the three other champions.

“This is amazing,” Harry said as he continued to riffle through it. At this point him and y/n were just sitting on the ground, having completely forgotten about the other books.

He was nearing the end of the book when a familiar face looked up at him. He stopped at that page and his mouth dropped.

In bold lettering was his name, HARRY POTTER, and underneath were cut outs of himself and paragraphs of writing.

y/n let out a yelp and snatched the book away from Harry. Her face was as red as her earrings. Harry was speechless.

“Um… I’m sorry… I should go now,” she said quickly standing up.

“No, y/n don’t go,” Harry said with a random burst of confidence. She gazed down at him, her eyes staring into his. She slowly sat back down and turned to face him.

“Sometimes… When I have an overwhelming feeling I write about it in my book,” she said simply. She opened the book and started to read from it.

“Something new has dawned on me recently. Something that has flipped me upside down. It has messed with my mood long enough. I can’t even focus anymore. I am ready to admit it...I think I might be in love with Harry Potter,” y/n read. She slowly looked up to Harry and their eyes met. Harry was in shock. This whole time she had loved him and he was oblivious. A surge of excitement rushed through him and he slowly brought his hand up and took y/ns. Her hand seemed to be the perfect mold for his and her infectious smile was brought to her lips.

Harry smiled. A real genuine smile. He hadn’t had one of those in what seemed like a lifetime. He needed to savor this.

He brought his other hand up to cup her rosy cheeks and slowly leaned in. She closed her eyes and soon their lips were joined. It was gentle, almost unreal. He had been dying for this moment and here it was. Her hand looped around his neck and rested on the back of his head. Her hand wove through his hair and he brought his other hand to her cheek.

Their body’s perfectly molded together and for a brief moment, Harry forgot all about Umbridge, Snape, and even Voldemort.

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #hp #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter and the order of the phoenix #draco malfoy #Harry potter imagine #harry potter x you #Harry potter fanfiction #Harry potter request #Harry x reader #Harry x you #Harry imagine #drarry #luna #luna lovegood #luna x reader #luna lovegoods x reader

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 years

Note

prompt #1: ryo & any rider in need of a dad rider looking out for them, 21! other character can be from saber or any other season, whatever you're feelin!

A belated happy Father's Day, folks! Sento needs someone to make him eat.

21. "Do you promise?"

The last box of Sora's favorite pasta is on the top shelf at the grocery store, and normally this wouldn't be a problem, except that it's gotten shoved so far back that it's impossible to reach comfortably. Ryo grins at his son. "All right, you ready to help?"

Sora's grinning back. This is his favorite part of every grocery trip. "Yeah!"

Ryo lifts him out of his seat in the shopping cart and hoists him up onto a shoulder perch. "All right, grab me down the box of wheels and we'll get it in the cart."

Sora leans forward and grabs the box of pasta, handing it down with a little gleeful noise. "Pasta for dinner!"

There's a soft cough next to Ryo's elbow, and then someone else says, "Excuse me."

"Heck, we in the way? Sorry, lemme move the cart--"

"Actually, ah." Awkward laughter from the other shopper. "I was going to ask if your son could pass me another box while he's up there."

Blinking, Ryo looks over at the speaker, who's about his height but looks at least ten years younger than him, and probably thirty kilos skinnier to boot. Before he can stop himself, he says, "Sure, you look like you could use the calories. Shit, sorry, that was rude. Uh, Sora, you wanna reach down another box of something?"

"No, it's fine, I...probably could. I don't eat a lot." The young guy blinks sleepily, shakes himself, and then looks farther up to Sora. "You're very tall, did you know that?"

Sora giggles. "Dad's a giant! I'm going to be a giant too someday!"

"That seems like an excellent plan. Is there any elbow macaroni up there?"

"Yeah!" Sora tips forward again to grab another box and pass it to Ryo, who in turns hands it to the young guy, who accepts it with a polite nod and stows it in his own cart.

Ryo blinks. "You, uh. Do a lot of bodybuilding?"

Apart from the elbow macaroni, the young guy's otherwise seems to contain primarily instant noodles, a single jar of tomato sauce, a bag of carrots and one of potatoes, a bunch of bananas, and, inexplicably, an enormous container of protein powder. The protein powder is set into the top section of the cart, buckled in like it's a child. The young guy lets out another one of those awkward, quiet laughs. "No, that's for my, ah, my friend. Who I think is over at the butcher counter getting into an argument about chicken, he's got some very strong opinions about it."

"Yeah, I got a friend like that, I think he's getting into it with the fish guy right now." Ryo lifts Sora down and seats him back in their cart. "What's he do that he needs all the protein for?"

"Shoot fighting. I mean, not so much lately, but he likes to stay in shape."

"Why not so much, he retired or something?" They're walking now, the young guy having fallen into step behind Ogami with unexpected ease. He seems to be watching Ogami shop, like he doesn't quite know what he's doing and is hoping he might pick up some tricks. "I had a buddy who used to do shoot fighting, takes it out of a guy."

The young guy laughs again. "Not exactly retired? We're, uh. We're sort of new to the area. Not as new as we were, but--I mean, I guess we've been here a few years now, but there are. Complications."

"Really? Where'd you move from? Oh, you probably don't wanna get that brand unless you like your curry real runny. Actually here, hang on, I got a spare coupon if you like the House ones."

"I would appreciate that, thank you." The young guy accepts the coupon with a grateful smile and another tired blink. "I, ah. I guess I should introduce myself. Kiryuu Sento, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Ogami Ryo. And this here's my son Sora." They're two aisles over from where they started now; Kiryuu seems pretty content to follow him and watch what he's doing. Like nobody ever told the guy how to grocery shop, and he's only just now realizing that there are ways to do it that don't just involve throwing everything in your cart and not having a plan. "You said your buddy's a fighter, what do you do?"

"I'm a scientist--well, I don't exactly have lab space right now, I guess...I'm an inventor."

Sora immediately brightens up. "Cool, what kind of science do you do? Uncle Tetsuo is kind of an inventor. Do you invent stuff that blows up?"

Kiryuu actually laughs. "Not nowadays, but I'd prefer not to get into my past. What do you do, Mr. Ogami?"

"I'm, uh. I'm in public safety."

There's a pause, in which Kiryuu's eyes flicker over him, and then a look that says, I know you're hiding something. Which, sure he's hiding something, "I'm a swordsman protecting the world from evil" is kind of a hard sell to some random guy at the grocery store. Except that it's also a look that says, I'm hiding something too, and it hits Ryo suddenly that this guy's air of exhaustion makes him think of someone else.

Makes him think of the novelist.

They come out of the aisle near the fish and meat counters, and Ogami says, "You know what, you said you're pretty new in town, you wanna come over for dinner? Couldn't hurt to know more people in the area. Long as you don't mind Sora grilling you about your inventions."

Kiryuu blinks. "I. Would love to, thank you, but I don't want to im--oh, what the hell is he doing?"

Despite the phrasing, he sounds more amused than annoyed, and Ryo follows his gaze to where a redhead in a bomber jacket is having a pretty intense-looking argument with Tetsuo in front of a display of cuts of tuna. "That your friend who goes through all the protein powder?"

Kiryuu drags a hand down his face in exasperation. "Yeah, that's him." He freezes. "And I'm guessing he's arguing with your friend who has the fish opinions. This sucks."

"Nah, don't worry about it, Daishinji's got opinions about everything. Kinda surprised to see him arguing in public, though." Ryo glances over at Kiryuu and grins. "So obviously now you both gotta come to dinner, Daishinji's not a real friendly guy. If he's chatting with your buddy like that they must've hit it off."

Kiryuu eyes him uncertainly. "If you say so."

"Sure, come on, Daishinji's kind of an engineer guy, you'll get along just fine." Another glance in his new friend's direction. "Besides, like I said earlier, you look like you could use the meal. And Sora can grill you about your inventions, like I said."

Sora bounces in his seat. "Yeah! If you don't make stuff that blows up now, did you before? Will you tell me about it?"

Uncertain but smiling, Kiryuu nods. "Sure. I, uh, I used to design stuff for...a superhero. I'll tell you all about him."

Even more enthusiastic bouncing. "Do you promise?"

"Sure, I promise. I'll tell you the whole story of Kamen Rider Build if you want."

Ryo feels himself blink several times. "You know, I think I might like to hear that one too."

#ogami ryo #kiryuu sento #ogami sora #fanfiction #bumblebea

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brekkiebrakkiebreakkie · 3 years

Text

OKAY! ive caught up on punz’s stream, and unless im missing anymore i think im good for tonight

some interesting things have been revealed/confirmed, so we’re making a list

yeah it was a little thing and probably not canon, but i find the fact that dream used his god-of-the-smp powers to tp punz to him

dream did not mention his spy in the butcher army to punz. it could be that he doesn’t trust punz enough, but idk about that since dream has also said that punz is really the only person that dream can trust to be on his side, so he could have been lying about a spy? he sometimes hangs out in walls so i wouldnt be surprised if he was just trailing someone

also? dream is getting worried. we dont generally see this because he keeps on a mask(lol), so i think its interesting that he trust punz with his vulnerability. im guessing hes really feeling like punz is his last friend and is putting a lot of trust in him

dream was sounding super lonely? ive talked about this before, but this just confirmed it. all he wants is for the smp to be all united together, to be “one big family” and hes just trying to fix it in whatever deranged way he thinks will work

dream has something BIG planned. like, he said “nobody’s gonna like me” so thats gotta be something actually extreme. I cant really imagine what it could be, unless hes destroying everything, or imprisoning everyone, so thats something to look out for

hes planning to leave dream smp. like not in a meta way, but aside from him taking time to look for tommy, hes also planning to go away after the big thing he pulls, and hes going to put punz in charge

he cares about punz, obviously, but also enough to publicly “break” relations between himself and punz in order to protect him. it could also be so that when dream leaves he still has a hold on to power when he has punz in charge (might happen at the festival? that would probably be a good time, but it may be too late in the year)

dream’s casual tone when talking about terrorizing tommy is freaky, and his little ‘make sure hes still under...’ to quickly changing to saying ‘make sure hes okay’ makes me wonder how aware he is that what hes doing is bad, and if hes trying to hide it

punz is fully a mercenary, and called his and dreams relationship and alliance before he said friendship, and im just thinking hes super neutral about all thats happening as long as he gets his own things. hes really only out here for money and i have to wonder if hed pause if someone offered him more money

#i might hold back on live blogging things unless i think theyre really noteworthy and instead just take notes #i did this for this and it was easier and less distracting #but idk #dream smp #punz #dream #dreamwastaken #dream team #tommyinnit #smp analysis #bridge-talks

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sun-stormz · 3 years

Text

Dream SMP - Long theory and breakdown

So, as we know, yesterday’s stream was a lot.

Disclamer: the dream smp is a roleplay server, most interactions and all conflict are acting and scripted.

After catching up on some of the other streams, I have come up with some theories.

1) The big heartbreak of yesterdays event: Tubbo going to visit tommy and thinking he lost his last life. Now, Since the two are very close and Tubbo now thinks hes dead, I’m pretty sure there is going to be a funeral in L’manburg. Now the thing here is that both ranboo and Philza know where Tommy actually is and that he’s alive, but both would get in a lot of trouble if they say they know where he is. Ranboo part of the the butcher army, and if Quackity even hears a hit of the fact that he was at technos, it’s going to end badly. Philza is in house arrest and would get in a lot of trouble if he were caught leaving. So, either tommy shows face or he will be presumed dead. The later is way more likely due to the Theseus parallel. In the story of theseus, his father thinks he died trying to fight the minotaur due to a small mistake made by the crew of the boat they where on and jumps off a cliff, ending his life. Now in the parallel, Tubbo went to visit tommy and due to the explosions and Pillar thinks Tommy took his life.

I don’t think tubbo will have the same fate as Theseus’ father, but he will definitely be way less active as president or just become cold.

2) Philza is going to act as a spy/ link to L’manburg for Tommy and Techno. After the attempted execution of Techno, which was held right in front of Philzas house, he has lost all respect and trust in L’manburg, even telling Fundy, his grandson, that he’s dead to him. Not many will trust Philza but I think they will grow warm to him again and he will use that to help his sons. Philza is very protective of his sons and will sacrifice a lot to make sure they are safe. What leads me to my next point.

3) Techno might go mad like Wilbur. After having tried to reason with the butcher army that he just wants retirement and failing, he chose blood. He gave in to the voices, the only thing stopping him from killing all of the butcher army being Quackity, who threatened Carl. We know now that the only two confirmed things that will make Techno stop is Carl and philza. I believe that he would do anything to protect Wilbur if he was seriously threatend but Wilbur being a Ghost make it hard to actually harm him. I also think that he will protect Tommy with his life. It may not seem like it but small things like not hitting him with a weapon unless he had eaten a Gapple. He was very loud and indifferent to Tommy apon finding him, but he didn’t kill him, he protected him from mobs and offered to help him. They are brothers after all, and in the end of the day the do care about each other, indifferent? yes but they still care and the small gestures make that clear. I think that techno will either see one of those he cares for get hurt or killed and just lose it or his family will keep him grounded enough to not greet complete insanity with open arms.

4) Quackity will become a worse Schlatt. Now I don’t think that Schlatt possessed him when he ate that heart, but it started the same power greed disease schlatt had. Dream telling him ‘don’t try’ made him fall over the edge. But I believe that is exactly what dream wanted. As we know dream is a big fan of chaos, because where there is chaos and fight, he can stand on top. Quackity falling into power greed fuled insanity makes him easy to play with. He isn’t the president of L’manburg but talks about it like its his. When he lost a canon life to techno, he said he didn’t care about what techno did in the past, what he cares about is that techno can threaten his power and that’s why hes on the hit list. Quackity is causing Chaos, the exact chaos dream wants. I’m not sure if its said anywhere but im sure Quackity was the one to evict Ghostbur from the sewers. Hes doing and saying things without running them by Tubbo and Tubbo is being played a fool, now especially after he thinks Tommy is dead, he will be easy to manipulate.

5) Ranboo plays a bigger role then meets the eye. He has all of technos stuff as far as I’m informed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was Dreams spy. Ranboo is in everyones backpocket. He talks with everyone and knows everyone. Ranboo is half enderman and the other half is unknown, there has been hints that his crown has lore, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the reason why he feared Dream so much was because dream was using something we don’t know against him, on top of the fact the dream is, matter of fact, rather intimidating.

6) The Prison. Now the Prison is a big one. No one knows who it’s for, but I think its for the people that can threaten dream / the people he can’t control aka Techno & Tommy. Tommy is an obvious one considering the whole disks ordeal and that Tommy has never bent to Dreams will. Techno is one of the only people that can actually go up against Dream and possibly come out on top. Now thanks to one of Ranboos Streams we know that the prison has like 6-8 Cells as of right now. I don’t think Sam would build unnecessary stuff in an already extreme build. I’m rather unsure of my own theory of Techno and Tommy, but I’m very confident with it being for multiple people. That being said, it could very well be that it backfires, and dream ends up in it

Final thoughts?

I think Tommy will see through Dreams plan to make everyone go against everyone. He is good at getting people together and I think he will be able to do it again, he just needs to realize that that is what he needs to do. After now teaming with Techno he might even understand that if they want peace, they will need to have no government or at least a system Techno agrees with cause that man has at least 25 withers on hand and that is a threat.

I hope most of them will realise that the sole problem will and always will be Dreama and Greed for power over the people, what again plays into the Techno thing. If the SMP has a good ending before the likely reset for the cave update, I hope that they realise the threat to peace is Dream and Governments. I hope that Quackity regains his sanity and I hope everyone can be happy.

Worst case scenario? Techno releases all withers he has, and the server goes out with a bang, I’d be ok with that one too.

If you made it to the end, congratulations! This has 1250 words, so I’m impressed, have this derpy Techno gif i found as reward. Do leave your opinion in the comments I would love to talk with people I know no one that watches the SMP. ;-;

p.s: ive have been fighting the urge to write this the entire day while at school, oh its good to have this written down

#dream smp #dreamwastaken #technoblade #wilbur soot #ghost wilbur #quackity #tommyinnit #Tubbo #philza #ranboo #Mcyt #mcyt shitpost #minecraft

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spacetwiga · 3 years

Text

leave c!phil out of bullshit 2k21 -- a not so tiny post by a new enthusiast

As someone who finds both common fanon and actual canon to be quite fun, I really think the general DSMP fandom would benefit greatly from a few things in general: the greatest, in my opinion, is learning to accept that popular fanon won’t usually be the canon you receive. Another, of course, is that POVs are golden, but with these two things being flimsy in being accepted, they are the major flaws that cause about 90% of the absolute messy takes that gain traction, oftentimes poisoning a canon character's ability to exist in the story.

My biggest beef regarding this comes from how y’all treat c!Phil, so here I am, being annoying on main side!

TL;DR... Just because someone acted like like a guidance to others, doesn’t always mean that they'll want to be the father figure role for everyone that breathes. Similarly, pinning down a character on a single trope is wack, so don't be surprised if they grow away from it.

Baby’s first little dsmp rambling below!

(Warning: it's long as hell)

The Dream SMP plotline is not written out like most popular media. With so many moving parts in the form of daily streams and the wonderful tool of live improvisation, it makes perfect sense that such a giant cast would not always be on the same page. Adding onto that, it also makes more sense that a vast majority of the cast will be placed into supporting roles, as the story needs to have characters that serve as narrative anchors and others that function as the links in a chain, all weathering the storm that is the plot.

Screentime, of course, plays a major factor into canon exposure -- in terms of the Dream SMP, POV matters equally, if not more, too.

It’s a pretty neat way of showing things, but in the end, the fanbase has a lovely (read: godawful /lh) way of analysing characters, particularly when it relates to how they interact with others from their fave character’s POV. The tendency to analyse things from a single character's POV is fine, but not when attempting to critique the greater whole of a conflict. Both sides, no matter how wrong they may seem to be, matter.

Adding onto the fact that everything is live, there are things that will spiral out of control, casual words being skewed and thus having the potential of a single line seemingly contradicting the entire ‘story’ that the fanbase has made. If it directly affects a fave's POV in particular, one is more likely to take offense, as bias immediately bars one from trying to see the other person's side of things.

POV is important.

Which brings me to c!Phil, and how critics tend to ignore his perspective to prop up another character, or justify the tearing down of another.

Improvisation is both a blessing and a curse; the fanbase, however, loves to test out the latter. With it, the fanbase starts crafting tales to justify it...And so begins the mess that is c!Phil discourse.

Say it with me, folks: c!Phil is not supposed to be your fave’s fluffy father figure... unless you’re c!Wilbur!!!

😃☝🏾Dadza is good...👉🏾😎👉🏾 But fandom wants the excessive, idealized version.

-- birb 2k21

Family dynamics are generally loved for their potential for comfort, particularly those of a found family nature. Fandom in general tends to lean into them wholeheartedly, with most major bases having at least one prominent group present; SBI, of course, is no different. From fanart to popular fanfiction, it's arguably the biggest group dynamic alongside the Dream Team, and for that, a precedence was set.

c!Phil, if he ever joined, would fix everything! All of the ‘kids’ would turn to their new mentor and everything would turn out fine! This all knowing, morally just character will chuckle at their antics and wacky hijinks will follow! Fun times, right? /s

The hope for it, however, has long since been shattered, and frankly, good for him!

To go a little ooc, cc!Phil has stated multiple times that, while he was friendly with a lot of the cast as c!Phil, his only paternal link (at least biologically) lies with c!Wilbur. Simple, right? It should be -- there are multiple clips of him saying this -- but fans choose to ignore it in their critiques, generally citing favouritism or downright neglect for the character’s flaws. From 'favoring' Techno (who, in canon, holds the highest link in friendship outside of c!Wilbur's familal link) to 'neglecting' to visit Tommy (who he barely knew, and also assumed, like many others, that he was fine), these critiques weigh heavily on the scale that judges Phil’s so called father figure trope.

The story, however, has only leaned into (and persisted with) that for c!Wilbur alone, and adding onto it, there is an established acknowledgement from both ccs. That confirmation should hold the most weight, especially since both Phil and Wilbur seem alright with it. Even so, that familial has yet to be explored much for both characters, particularly regarding c!Phil, who has his debut (at least narratively) in a scene that feels opposite to the classic fatherly role.

c!Wilbur denounced accepting that helping hand to fall entirely into his explosive end, setting a precedence unlike most fatherly types arriving to save their kid. Usually, fandom narrative would love a close save, father and son uniting to heal and build up what was broken, but c!Phil’s entrance inks his story in failure. Angsty, right? We love angst!

And yet, as the story ticks on, the bad takes pile up.

Why? Well, I’l used to think that it is a “funny haha” type thing; a way to grieve for a character that was lost, as Alivebur was genuinely a great character. However, with the plot slowly progressing c!Phil’s story to evolve away from the ‘mentor the kids’ trope , I should have seen a storm on the horizon.

It should have been seen from the moment he stabbed c!Wilbur in the chest, but optimism is one hell of a smokescreen.

Built up fanon, however, is probably the greatest fog to ever exist.

There are lines before the button room confrontation that paint a picture of Wilbur seeking out the approval of his father (who seemed distant, at least from his POV), as well as hints to the SBI dynamic, but with the countless dismissals/retcons from CCs involved, as well as little to no consistent canon acknowledgement of this team dad role...Why base an entire hate piece of c!Phil just because popular fanon isn’t real?

Why, for the sake of building up a well rounded character, would one place the title of a communal parental figure on a grieving father who has little attachment to the community involved, especially when most of them are too busy delving into their own issues?

Furthermore, why go for Mr. Philza Minecraft: Angel of Death, CEO of KEKW, Functioning Immortal????

It’s madness, luv, and frankly, antis cannot let c!Phil process any of his grief (or flesh out his character) without his contributions being fatherly. His role has been idealized to the point where he is not a character on his own, but an accessory to the happiness of other characters. That is not how the world works, and in a conflict riddled server like the dsmp, arguing that it should be like that is counterproductive.

c!Phil had his own shit to deal with, and as he slowly uncovers how fucked up the server actually was, he merely adapts to it. He learns to play the game by his own rules, and people become mad that he’s succeeding in his own way. It's as simple as that, particularly when referencing his initial exposure to the world he now inhabits.

c!Phil is a man who used to hear of his son’s success from the letters he received, words spinning tales of won revolutions and newfound friendships. To a father, those letters are more than enough to assume that all is well, and with it, he had no reason to check on his son, who was already old enough to be carving his path alone. For him to arrive and see just how broken his son actually was, and then, in front of faces he only vaguely knows, kill said son... There's a lot to take in.

He shouldn't have had to care about L'Manberg in those moments, not when he had his son in his arms, dead by his own goddamn weapon; his son who, to his knowledge, was doing pretty well up until he caught wind of his plot. Yet, he does.

He gives them the benefIt of the doubt, even ignoring the one person he has shown to have deep history with (c!Techno) to assist the nation in defeating the withers and rebuilding what was lost.

c!Phil stays in a nation that has seemingly brought his son right into his demise, holding in that grief to help people who he assumes have the chance to rebuild, to reform. For a moment, he trusts that the system can turn into something positive, offering to hunker down and do what he can to help. That’s the start of a fatherly type role for most -- with many expectations rising from fans to ‘fix’ all these traumatized characters.

In another plot, perhaps critics could have gotten the tropes they want from c!Phil, but to blame the character for reacting negatively to a world he barely knew, right after seeing it ruin his son and target a friend...Maybe the need for a "father figure" only stems from making their faves happy.

Characters that don't directly support your fave are not inherently awful characters. Critique based on that alone is...flimsy, really, but honestly, you can use to to show how they process things.

Which brings me to the events leading up to Doomsday, and with it, the steady rise of c!Phil’s defining traits.

Say it with me, folks: c!Phil is one of the most loyal members on the server, but loyalty doesn’t mean he's blindly following along!

😃☝🏾Butcher Army take this L👉🏾😎👉🏾 Found it in the L’Mancrater

-- birb 2k21

The butcher army arc, while nestled among the mainline story of Tommy’s exile (which I will not even mention, because those dadza takes about visiting may deserve a post on their own), allows for c!Phil to see into the minds of those who had once been with (or even against) his son’s plans. Sure, he may be witnessing them after the eve of their newfound traumas, but this is an important observation to make when comparing how easy it was to denounce his affiliation to them and side with c!Technoblade.

Unlike the new Administration, slowly dipping deeper and deeper into their own form of power hunger, c!Technoblade’s base desires had never wavered. His trust in others, however, had, still nursing the sting of a betrayal, but with no conflict in sight. He is reforming, finding comfort in his solitude, and still maintaining contact with those he trusts.

Techno's Compass, for one, is a major example of their mutual trust. Despite being on opposing territories, they are civil enough to trust each other, just like old friends.

Thus, when you take two old friends who are more than used to conflict -- one grieving and one betrayed, but both seeking neutrality -- it shouldn’t have surprised the antis that c!Phil would place c!Techno’s whereabouts (and life, mind you) over some government he barely knew.

And yet, above all else, c!Phil starts off as a neutral party for everyone's sake, forgoing potential conquest for peace.

To c!Phil and c!Techno, it’s like fighting back to back, knowing that one can always trust the other to fend off those just waiting to take advantage of your blindspot, while also quelling the need to imagine your partner turning around and doing the same. That sort of friendship is forged through many, many hardships.

They betray what little trust he had built in them. That’s on them.

c!Phil is aware how untrusting c!Techno is, and while c!Techno feels safe enough to give his all for c!Phil, he never exploits it to get ahead, which is something L'Manbergians felt okay with doing.

They take a book out of the playbook used on c!Techno, for c!Techno.

They went after yet another person who was close to him, using their power and influence to hold an execution under the guise of seeking justice. If c!Wilbur, at least pre-corruption arc, sent letters to his father, one would at least expect some of his old ideals of freedom and fairness to leak through into his friends, right? To see those c!Phil assumed would hold similar ideals immediately skew towards a darker, brutal side, particularly in threatening others to get what they wanted...Well, shit hit the fan.

c!Phil does not have that strong relationship with any former L’Manbergians, and despite there being potential for such, it didn't work out that way; instead, however, those characters manage to mistake his kindness for weakness. They take his preferred neutrality as a way to exploit him, to gain in such a way that he lost agency...

No more Mister Nice Dadza, and honestly, he’s justified in that notion.

They’ve lost his trust, time too short to have gained that strong link like c!Techno’s or c!Wilbur’s, and with it, came the inevitable association with Doomsday.

c!Phil knew c!Techno’s intentions from the beginning -- which had only wavered into dormancy because he had grown tired of fighting, understanding that the cycle he wishes to break is not worth his efforts -- so the agreement in participating is effortless.

c!Dream was there too, of course, but in their mutual quest for eradication, it’s made canon that c!Techno and c!Phil hid away most of their arsenal, despite seeming overprepared. They have no loyalty to c!Dream; they’re smart enough to play along, however. He was a means to an end.

There’s no lies present in their relationship; c!Phil needed someone who didn’t try and pull wool over his eyes, and c!Techno let him see.

c!Techno needed someone who wouldn't stab him in the back, and c!Phil stayed true as his hidden sword.

Which is why, as the two joined forces, ideals aligning and power synergized, they didn’t think twice about nuking the nation to bedrock. Mutually agreeing that the system needs to die, they did what they could, and they succeeded.

How cool of them, tbh LMAO.

New L’Manberg tugged too hard at the sleeping tiger’s tail; they shouldn’t have expected it to roll over.

Their openness to each other was known.

There was no need for underhanded plays, for hidden betrayals, for undisclosed words.

Their loyalties were strong.

They were in sync.

In conclusion (maybe, maybe not...this shit is long holy heck)

😃☝🏾 I may hate this analysis in 30 minutes👉🏾😎👉🏾 Or I may make a part 2. Fuck it!

-- birb 2k21

And that’s what makes c!Phil an interesting character: He tends to be critiqued in reference to chatacters who have very well wronged him, have no affiliation to him or get associated to him through popular fanon. There's a lot to cover that I haven't (from Ghostbur to the whole Tommy 'dilemna') but overall I'm digging what I have now and if I ever get more energy, I'll continue!

c!Phil enthusiasts, I hope I did you proud LMAO. It's my first forray into this side of tumblr 👉🏾👈🏾 I'm a lurker.

c!Phil antis, you can either act respectful or go argue with a wall. I got experience dealing with antis on Tumblr; I am immune to BS.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed. Signing off!

- BIRB.

#dream smp #dsmp #philza #ph1lza #this one's for the c!phil enthusiasts hello hi ily all #I have spent the entire afternoon writing this while the power is out lmaoo #fandom leave my mans philza minecraft alone challenge #god i don't even know how long this is I'm so sorry #i let a little bit of my c!techno enthusiasm shine through too

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years

Text

Lethobenthos || Mike Hanlon x Reader

⊳ Ch. 2: The Butcher's Daughter⊲

A/n: on the off chance that y'all know about butcher shops and meat or whatever, im so sorry cause even though i did a bunch of research, I know it's still pretty inaccurate so please don't come for me 😂 EDIT: I am crying cause I have 950 followers 🥺🥺🥺 I love each and every one of you guys, thank you so much babes 💞

Warnings: Alv*n Marsh being Alv*n Marsh. He briefly leers at reader. There's no comment, but it still needs a warning i feel. Also, long ass chapter. I truly don't know how to write short chapters, yall. Brief mention of animal death (natural causes) and signs of a PTSD attack. Marker for PTSD attack will be labeled [●●●]. Safe reading loves

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

- 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟗 -

ℕ𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 of Costello Avenue Market, sandwiched between Terry's Barber Shop and one of the finer footwear retailers in town, was Derry's very own, Quality Meats. A quaint little shop - as quaint as butcher shops come, that is - right smack in the middle of the street, just across the road from the Capitol Theater. It was always a treat for Y/n L/n when the annual fourth of July parade was in full swing, she always had the best seat in the house from her bedroom window. It sat just above the shop, and truly had the best view overlooking the street. But the parade was weeks away, and it couldn't come soon enough.

For now, she was stuck in her daily routine at her father's butchery. Every morning it was her job to prep the shop before it opened, check the stock, and assure that everything was in order. Her father oversaw the shop but most of his time was devoted to preparing and tending to the meat in the back. This also left the task of receiving, inspecting, and storing meat upon delivery to her.

Her favorite part of the week. Because it meant seeing her favorite person, Mike Hanlon. He was the delivery boy who supplied some of their best selections, straight from the famous Hanlon Homestead. But this was not what thrilled her, what thrilled her was the company of the thoughtful boy. They had met the previous year when her father had hired him for deliveries, Mike had just taken up work at his grandparent's farm and the two quickly hit it off.

Mike was her saving grace. She never had the stomach for her father's work, and despite their weekly heated arguments on the matter, she'd get stuck with the tasks. At the very least, he didn't force her to work in the back in the meat locker. Not anymore. He had learned that lesson the hard way when he dragged her in despite her kicking and squirming - he figured she was just being dramatic, throwing a fit. But low and behold, it all ended with him clearing out the locker for sterilization when she got sick.

Now the only times she ever stepped foot inside was to get to the back door, which is something she didn't do - something she couldn't do - without plugging her nose and blocking out her peripheral vision as she slipped through the back door to greet her best friend.

An occasion, she feared, that she faced as she glanced impatiently at the clock on the wall for the fourth time on this hot June day. Mike was usually pulling up outside the store by now, hell, she clocked out at four to spend time with Mike and it was already three forty-five. Well, three forty-eight according to the shop's clock which one could always rely to be just three minutes fast no matter how much you reset it.

From her spot behind the counter, she had a limited view of the sidewalk outside. A variety of people passed, but none of them were Mike, the person she most wanted to see. And it certainly didn't help that a crowd of people were bunching up near the door, blocking her view of the window.

Three sharp notes from the counters bell broke her from her trance, throwing her harshly back to reality. A rather intimidating man stood on the other side of the counter, he was quite tall and everything about him put Y/n on edge.

"Sorry sir," Y/n mumbled, not feeling very sorry at all. "How can I help you, today?"

The man seemed to rethink his anger, though she would have preferred it over the new look on his leathery face. A wry smile stretched his lips and Y/n did not fail to notice his wandering gaze, only proving her first impressions to be correct. She felt her skin crawl and she did not fight the disgusted look cementing on her face.

"Just don't let it happen again, sweetheart. Now listen up, I'm in a hurry," Christ, she thought, even his voice is unnerving. "I need a pound and a half of the ground round beef."

"Right away, sir," she says, through gritted teeth. "One moment,"

Y/n hated when people ordered when her father was in the back, even though it happened often. Not just because she despised such tasks as grinding the meat and preparing it, but talking to the customers was never a favorite of hers. This was a fine example why.

Instead, she slipped into the back where they kept their stock that wasn't on display and began preparing the meat with a wrinkled nose.

"Fucking creep," she mumbled.

She wished she could say this was the first time something like this had happened, but unfortunately, Derry was filled with scummy people. Something did seem familiar about him though, she might have seen him here before. It'd make sense, Quality Meats was the only butchers around for miles.

Deciding she didn't want to dwell on it any longer, her mind began to wander. Anything that wasn't the man waiting out front really, thankfully that was easy enough. Hopefully, the rest of her workday would go by much quicker so she could meet with Mike. He said he had a surprise for her, and she had been wondering about it all day. The very thought fills her stomach with butterflies. Well, Mike did that all on his own, anyway. He always brought out that side of her. A bubbly, giddy side of her that always seemed to lose any sense of time around him.

Just ten more minutes, she thought. Just power through.

With the order all prepared, she returns to the front counter to find the man leaning against the counter in boredom. Great, now I have to redo the counters, too. When he spotted her, he straightened up and gave her a disapproving once over.

"What took you so long? I'm in a hurry. Fixing your hair couldn't wait, or something?"

Oh, a sexist fucking creep, she mentally corrected herself.

A snarl curled its way onto her face, but before she could make a bitter remark her dad's voice boomed across the shop.

"Well, if it ain't Alvin Marsh," The man in question moved his attention to Y/n's father, and remarkably enough, a somewhat friendly smile appeared on his face. "Good to see ya,"

"You too, always a pleasure,"

Y/n watched the exchange with shocked uncertainty. It frankly appalled her that this man was capable of being friendly, and even in such limited time in his presence. More importantly, she wondered, how could her father know this man? Why would her father know this man? Everything about this Alvin Marsh guy set her teeth on edge, and the only word coming to her mind for how to describe him was... slimy.

"So," the butcher asked, gesturing around the shop. "is there anything I might be able to help you with? Or has my daughter taken care of you, already?"

Y/n watched with great disdain as the man returned to her with another pointed look, glancing down at the packaged meat ready to go. He looks as if he's mulling it over, and finally, he clicks his tongue.

"Sure," he nods, looking back to her father, chuckling dryly with one elbow back on the counter. "when she found the time,"

"Ah, I see," He nods, sending a disapproving look to his daughter.

"Y/n," he sighs, nodding in the direction of the back of the shop, still a stern look upon his face. "Go wash up and clock in early, I'll take care of Mr. Marsh, and the rest."

Her mouth parted, ready to argue - not out of disappointment, for there was none, but to defend herself - when her father cut her off with a warning look.

"Now?"

She sighed heavily, her head rolling with her eyes as her arms snaked around to her back to untie her apron. At least she didn't have to pretend to care anymore now that she was technically off the clock. Her feet dragged across the ground subconsciously showing her frustration. As she made her way to the back when she heard that godawful grating voice again.

"Unbelievable, isn't it? There's just no respect anymore."

Y/n rolls her eyes when she hears her father chuckle. She sighs as turns the corner and hangs her apron up.

"Yeah, I got one of my own at home. Gorgeous little one, feisty too. But one hell of a mouth. Real bitch sometimes,"

Wide-eyed, and seeing red, Y/n is unable to take any more and heads farther back, slamming the door behind her, not caring if she took the fall for it later. Hell, she just might take the meat locker over that. She's shaking with rage, and his words echo in her skull still as she washes her hands. Her hands begin to sting and she realizes she had lost herself in thought and was just about to wear her skin down under the water as she scrubbed. Y/n shook her head, killing the water and drying her hands when her mind finally manages to break away from the creep when she thinks of the time.

Fuck, it's already five!

Quickly, she heads for the door to the meat locker, her nose already plugged when she pushes it open. Luckily, these trips were always fairly quick given the back door to the ally was just a few steps away, but what she saw when she stepped inside completely threw her through a loop.

The back door was wide open.

Upon first glance, she figured her father had opened it, and even though that was the most logical explanation, it didn't make sense. He never left it open. Not when he wasn't there. He was a stickler about that. Her head whips around the locker, but she was the only one. Fighting the urge to take an anxious deep breath, she creeps forward and peers around the corner, not knowing what to expect.

Her E/C eyes widen happily and relieved when she realizes it was only Mike. But her happiness vanished just as soon as it had come when she saw the state he was in, nevermind the fact he was laying in the heap of recycling!

"Mike!"

He jumped as she stepped out into the light, the entrance to the meat locker was quite dark from where he sat. And before he knew it was her, all he had seen was something moving in the shadows towards him. Y/n felt her heart tighten at the sight, something clearly must have happened, and it must have been bad for him to be startled by her.

Not unlike herself, though, he seemed to calm significantly when he realized who he was in company with. And yet, he still wasn't speaking. His eyes just bore into the darkness of the entrance, still panting heavily. Thick beads of sweat slid down his face.

"Mike," she knelt beside him, subtly checking for any signs of injury. "what happened?"

"I..." he gulps, finally breaking his gaze away and looking at her. "don't know."

Her eyebrows raise a bit higher in question, and curiously she searches his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite the comfort of her gaze, he breaks himself away from it to look back into the dark abyss, fearing It would come back. Whatever It was. And as he does so, he swears he can still hear the rattling of the chains and the bleating of a goat, and the very very very back of his skull was the chilling sound of a clowns laugh.

"Mike?"

He realizes he hasn't answered her yet, and quickly he shakes his head 'no'.

"Here, let me help you," she rises to her feet, extending her hand.

He gladly takes it, and despite his lingering fear from his encounters, she still manages to send a spark through his skin just with her touch. Little did he know, she felt the same way. Y/n pulls him to his feet, and already, his attention is centering away from the locker and towards her. She's watching him carefully, and only now does he fully process the intensity of the worry held in her eyes.

"I-I think I'm okay," he stammers, chest still heaving with his labored breathing. "really."

Y/n nods after a moment, concluding he must be telling the truth. Over time she had picked up on Mike's body language, including all of his tells. For instance, she could usually tell when he was hiding something. He'd always tug or scratch at his ear. Or when he was lying, the ends of his lips would twitch up. Almost as if subconsciously offering a guilty smile before quickly suppressing it. But Y/n found no such thing, and she felt the muscles in her shoulders relax.

"Good," she sighs with a weak smile, her eyes falling to the ground. "Here,"

Her hand leaves his and immediately, they both miss each other's touch but say nothing of it. She steps around him and begins picking up the many packages of meat that had spilled out of the basket. He joins her, just as soon.

"Oh," he steals a glance at her, a small smile creeping up on him. "thanks."

It goes away just as fast, his heart still aches from how hard it had been beating. Y/n does not fail to notice his darting glances over her shoulder at the meat locker. They both rise to their feet, and Y/n casts a confused glance over her shoulder before turning back to him.

"Are you sure you're good, Mike? You don't seem yourself,"

He sighs, not entirely sure himself. His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, and his lips part to speak but the words die in his throat when he hears the sudden and obnoxious revving of an engine nearby. He flinches, head jerking in the direction of the sound.

A ghostly expression washes over Y/n, and her anger visibly rises in seconds.

"Was it Bowers, again?" She scoffs, just enraged at the thought of him and she even begins to stammer as she grasps for an insult, anger clouding her brain."That-That bigoted fucking... dickhole!"

She stomps her foot and huffs, unable to properly deal with the overwhelming amount of anger and exhaustion building up in her. Mike looks at her with the tiniest hint of a bemused expression. His brow shot up and he almost felt a chuckle come out. Almost.

"Dickhole?"

"I know, I know," She chuckles dryly, the ends of her lips twitching up. "Shut up,"

The chuckle in his chest breaks loose and he feels as if another piece of stress has been chipped away. A long process in the making, but it was better now that she was here. Mike had yet to find out, the same went for Y/n. Mike placed the packages he had collected thus far back into his basket and Y/n popped her head back inside to grab a small bin by the door. She brought the small container over, placing the few packs of meat she carried inside and the two filled it in a matter of seconds. Any trace of a smile has fallen off her face as she looks back up at her best friend, shrugging.

"Well, he is," she defends. "All of them are. They're wrong in the head, Mike,"

"Can't argue with that," He shrugs, sending a grimace down the alleyway where the Bowers gang had just disappeared. "Need any help?"

"Nah, I got it. Thanks though," she grabs the bin, holding it against her frame and sends him a short smile. "Be right back,"

He answers with a curt nod, his sweaty palms unknowingly rubbing against his jeans out of nervous habit. She disappears back into the darkness, and Mike immediately feels the weight her absence leaves. The guard she had coaxed down had returned, plaguing his mind as several scenarios spiral out in his brain.

He couldn't tell her about the clown, he'd sound crazy! Hell, maybe he was. At least that's a what small voice told him in the back of his head, but deep down he knew what he saw was real. Real to him. Shaking that terrifying image from his brain would be harder than he thought.

Don't forget the turtle.

Mike shook his head, bewildered at the intrusive reminder his brain sent him. It was a strange sensation like the thought was not his own. It was a gentle voice speaking directly to his subconscious like a radio with interference. And yet, it didn't frighten Mike. Not at all like the dark, intrusive thoughts that had been occurring lately. This was soothing and gentle. Nonetheless, the message sent his hand flying for his pockets.

Relief swept over him when he felt the small lump in his right pocket where the gift resided. He smiled to himself at the thought of giving it to Y/ n. He had been working on it all year, a small wooden turtle he had carved himself in the many free moments he had stolen on his grandparent's farm. Mike couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment he had decided to make a turtle, or that it would come to be such a big secret he would keep until he could give it to her. He had just sat down one day and started carving as if something had compelled him to do so.

And now here he was, ready to give her the small carved necklace. Mike was quite proud of it, not only was it his first carving but he had managed to secure it nicely in a thin - but sturdy - string of twine. Mike takes the time to spare a glance at the darkened doorway where his best friend disappeared, before his hand descends into his pocket, his heart hammering against his chest. His hand fishes amongst the pocket of denim and lint where his fingers find the cool touch of wood and twine. He pulls out the necklace and it dangles in the air as he carefully inspects it.

Was the twine fastened tight enough? Was the belly of the shell smooth enough where it would rest comfortably on her chest without splintering? Most importantly... Would she like it?

He sure hoped she would, given her connection to the reptile. She spoke often of it, the turtle that visited her dreams. Y/n never thought much of it, it had become merely a topic of conversation meant only for small lulls but she did find it funny the reoccurring figure. She described it as being the same turtle somehow, and it was never a threatening presence but a calm one. Like a guardian almost. It was a small and silly feeling that abandoned her by the time she was up and awake but little did she - or Mike - know just how deep the connection ran.

These were all thoughts that flooded Mike's mind but he quickly has to put them and himself at ease. The hiss of the airlock to the meat locker and the backroom reached his ears and quickly he stuffed the necklace back into his pockets. When Y/n returns, looking far less than relaxed do all of his previous worries evaporate into the humid summer air. His hardened stare never leaves her troubled frown as she locks up the side door, all the while he grabs his bike.

The pair falls into a comfortable silence as they head for the back of the alley where Y/n's bike was hidden. All that hung in the air was her defeated sigh that had accumulated after a long and stressful day, and the buzzing of cars as they passed by on the main road behind them. His worries now gone in the wake of her newfound stress he pulls up a curious brow as he walks his bike alongside her.

"Rough day?"

Y/n laughs dryly, nodding to her best friend as they round the corner and picks up her bike. "You could say that."

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

The town of Derry was quaint and rather cozy upon first glance. Quite a charming spot on the map with its snug downtown streets filled with local businesses such as Quality Meats. And one couldn't help but admire the long and beautiful running waters of the Kenduskeag stream that bled out from the Penobscot River, under the town and out into the Barrens stretching past the old train yard. The Barrens were the stretch of woods just outside of town.

And it was precisely these woods that the pair had found solace in the cruel and evil world they called their home. Months after their meeting, they had both explored the Barrens and to their luck, they had stumbled upon the Fort. The Fort was what Y/n and Mike called the large pit they had discovered past the train yard and just over the stream. You had to swing across an old rope swing they had found, but that made journey all the more fun. They almost hadn't seen the Fort behind the fallen trees walled around and piled over the top.

The way the trees had fallen it had created a rather spacious room just below the earth. When inside, one could see through the branches slats and out into the rest of the Barrens without being easily spotted. It made the perfect hideout from those who wished to see them harmed, and it also made a wonderful makeshift amphitheater. It was often they would look up from their conversations and see the wildlife walking around just feet away, still unaware of their presence.

This is where they found themselves now, deep amongst the thickets, far away from their everyday troubles. It wasn't until they had abandoned their bikes at the stream to cross and venture deeper inside did they finally feel the effects of the change in scenery. At long last, the weight that settled on their hearts and troubled minds began to evaporate slowly as they inhaled the fresh and pleasantly overwhelming aroma of pine and fresh dirt. It blended perfectly with the dewy oak that hung in the air after the past week's summer storm, as did the gentle breeze that managed to reach them after a long journey through the trees.

The sight of the Fort puts the last of their darkest thoughts to bed - for now. The crunching of twigs is the only sound that reaches their ears as they approach their haven. It is then that it occurs to Y/n, the birds have stopped singing. Come to think of it, she hadn't heard any birds in weeks. It was quite unusual considering these woods of all places were where their song carried the loudest. It was as if they were all... hiding.

She realized even the atmosphere felt different, and not just in the Barrens. It had been a thought blooming in the back of her mind for the past few months; that the town had been cast into a dark shadow. While Y/n had lived in Derry all her life, it had always felt mysterious to her. But this was different, it was darker. Like a cloudless storm had rolled into Derry, with no intention of leaving.

Mike brought her from her trance, pulling her gaze back down to earth from where it was previously fixed on the treetops.

"I feel it, too."

"What do you think it is?" Y/n asks finally.

Mike's lips crease into a flat shrug, eyes flitting to the ground as his shoulders briefly rise.

"I don't know," he sighs, his gaze trailing up to where hers laid in the treetops as if expecting to see this so-called storm with his very eyes. "But it's nothing good,"

Her hardened frown turns back to the forest floor, blinking several times as she reached for a thought that was fast asleep in the farthest corner of her brain. It almost didn't even feel like a thought so much as a part of her brain itself. But it quickly dissipates as calm washes over her, taking with it any budding anxieties. She could almost laugh, none of this made sense. Y/n had been waiting all day to be here with Mike, and now she was.

Y/n wasn't going to let anything ruin that. Or so she hoped.

A coy smile plays at her lips as she picks up her pace towards the Fort, and swiftly she navigates through their hidden entrance. Her hopeful attitude is just infectious enough that it takes to Mike, and warmth blooms in his stomach as he quickly follows her. His feet bring him to the entrance of the Fort, and through the slats, he can see Y/n settling in.

The sight of her relaxing brought a small smile to Mike's face, and quickly he joined her inside. The welcoming effect of the Fort just as soon touched him as it had her, and never had he been more relieved to see the sight around him.

Soft light from the gas lantern bathed the small dome inside the earth, illuminating the many mossy branches perched above their heads. Several discarded wooden boards lay tucked into the dirt beneath their feet, creating makeshift wooden floors that had long been covered in several spare blankets they had brought. While the dome was just that, it was not a perfect circle. It was a bit uneven but this gave the pair the advantage of a single corner. This is where they kept the single beanbag they had managed to get their hands on.

It was just as they had left it, a warm and cozy corner of the world that belonged just to them. It smelled just as the forest around them, only more intensified in their close courters.

[●●●●]

Y/n stumbled away from the bean bag suddenly with a horrified shriek, her band coming to rest shakily over her mouth as she backed into the dirt wall behind her. Mike jumped to her side, eyes wide and fearful as his mind conjured every horrible possibility. The fear from the alley returned.

"What? What's wrong?"

A heavy sob was building in the far back of her throat, her wide e/c irises were beginning to dilate and her limbs trembled. Mike recognized within moments what had caused her such distress, having recognized an attack of hers like this only twice before. But the pain of seeing her so distraught was burned in his brain so he might never forget. His hand that had come to rest on her shoulder now brought her into his embrace. As she stumbled numbly into his arms he saw her eyelids screw shut, and several heavy tears were squeezed free.

"Hey," he whispered soothingly, his hand rubbing circles in her back. "Hey, it'll be okay. You're not there anymore, you're not there. You're not there..."

Slowly but surely her breathing becomes less ragged, and he can feel her head nodding into the crook of his neck as she takes in his words. Y/n's sniffles are loud in his ear but he couldn't care less. Mike just wanted her to be okay. He only now realizes he was still muttering sweet nothings into her ear as he feels his mouth grow dry.

"We're okay, Y/n. You're safe."

She takes a long and trembling breath that he can feel in the crook of his neck. Her breath brings out goosebumps on his skin but he quickly banishes the thought away in her troubled state. When she speaks, her voice is barely audible, even from beside his ear.

"Thanks, Mike,"

All he can find himself doing is pressing a flat smile to his lips, his eyes glazing over sadly at the limp pigeon in the corner behind the beanbag. The sight brings a strong and forceful wave of sadness that washes over him, but he knows it is not quite the same kind of sadness as she is experiencing. Finally, after almost twenty minutes have passed, she breaks away, sniffling.

Mike feels the weight on his heart triple in size when she pulls away to reveal her puffy eyelids. The whites of her eyes are laced with red veins, and her trembling lips let loose a few shaky breaths. Immediately, she does all she can to wipe away the tears, but the evidence of her sadness remains. She shakes her head, disappointed in letting herself show this side and chuckles bitterly as she clutches her aching chest.

[●●●●]

"I'm sorry,"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "Don't do that, okay? You should never apologize for this. For feeling anything. You have your own baggage, just like everyone else."

She chews the inside of her lip in a nervous habit, heat creeping up in her neck.

"Sor-"

He eyes her warningly, and she bites back a sheepish smile and clears her throat. "Okay."

He studies her for a moment, not aware he is even doing so as her swollen eyes trail sadly across the room where the pigeon lays. He can hear a mournful whine building in her throat before he cleared his own with a somber expression.

"It's okay, I'll take care of 'em."

A weak, thankful smile flickers across her face and she watches thoughtfully as he rises and crosses the fort to the pigeon. He grabs one of the spare towels they kept around - sometimes the old rags they spread across the wooden grates would need a quick replacement, as they discovered the hard way - and knelt before the limp bird. Y/n finally rises to her feet decidedly and slips past Mike and outside the Fort without a word, a rusty trowel now in hand.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

The pair now stood before a small lump in the dirt, their heads pulled down with gravity as they stare at their feet. After Y/n had dug a small grave, Mike had buried the old pigeon, and the two had managed a small eulogy. Hosting a small funeral for a pigeon is certainly not what the two had envisioned their day would look like, but oddly enough, it was cathartic for both of them.

Mike was hardly old enough to remember his parent's funeral. The same could be said for Y/n, and like Mike, she hadn't exactly been emotionally or mentally present for her mother's funeral, for when the time came she had still been in quite the state of trauma. Y/n didn't like to talk about it, and in their year of friendship Mike had only recently found out, but she had been the one to find her mother's body as a very young child. So it was no surprise the familiar sight of the limp body brought her such distress.

As her glassy eyes stare numbly at the mound in the dirt she feels a soft yet somehow calloused hand slip into her own, giving her palm a light squeeze. Her head feels heavier than normal in her crestfallen state, she notices, as she picks her stare up off the ground to look at Mike. He wears a small and gentle smile for her and gestures past her head towards the Fort that lies beyond only a few feet.

"C'mon. We should settle in before it gets too much later."

Her thumb flitters across his skin in response, and she nods. The two of them make their way back to their hideaway, the sounds of the earth beneath their feet filling the pensive silence once more. When they enter, her eyes flicker to the seat she was previously ready to occupy. A small shudder passes through her and she instead chooses the pile of blankets across the cramped room.

Mike settles in beside her, his hands flying back to his pockets again to ensure the turtle remained on his person. Sure enough, the small wooden necklace could be felt floating amongst his things inside his pocket. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, one she would have caught had she not distracted herself with the task of fishing out their stored away activities. A deck of cards was pulled from the small and rusty tin lunchbox they kept there for storage, soon to follow was an equally rusty - and rather dusty - silver spoon. Y/n shrugs with the spoon in hand.

"We could play Spoons or something?" Y/n suggested half-heartedly, her eyebrows falling into a curious frown. "Or was there something else you wanted to play?"

He gulps nervously though he doesn't quite understand why he was even nervous in the first place, it was Y/n! Then again, all the more reason for his heart to be aflutter... It was Y/n.

His sweaty palms return to his jeans and he wipes them anxiously hoping to keep his hands dry, and he sends her a weak and nervous smile.

"I um," he cleared his throat, and she emptied her hands, curiously turning all her attention to him. "I uh, wanted to show you something I made?"

"Oh," she says, a bit taken aback. "Yeah, okay. What is it?"

Any and all responses he had gone over previously in his mind vanished into thin air, leaving him speechless. All he could do at that moment was fish into his pockets, his fingers lacing around the string as he pulled out the necklace. It dangles in the air, the soft golden light from the lamp beside them illuminated the many grooves engraved into the wood that created the illusion. It sways back and forth before their eyes, but his gaze is set not on the turtle but her.

Her eyes had widened in reverence, and he could feel his heart swell with pride. She shakes her head in disbelief, the ends of her lips tugging up in a smile.

"This is incredible, Mike!"

He can feel a heat in his cheeks and the tips of his ears that could rival the summer sun. His grin widens bashfully.

"Thanks," he says, gesturing towards her with the necklace, inwardly cursing at himself for this moment not going as smoothly as he had hoped. "It's, uh. It's yours. I made it for you. This was the surprise I was telling you about."

Her attention is on him now, and he can feel his heart skip a beat. He notices that the swelling in her eyes has gone down a little, but the smallest of beads pool in her eyes. She was welling up a bit.

"Mike," she breathes. "Thank you. I... Don't know what to say, I feel like "thank you" isn't enough."

He shrugs as she takes the necklace into her hands to examine it more closely, her thumb tracing the shell of the wooden reptile as she gapes fondly at it. Unbeknownst to Mike, her stomach won't stop its series of flips. Finally, she looks back up at him, and he's happy to see the first genuine spark of glee in her eyes he had been longing to see all day. The pride in his chest grows even bigger knowing he had been the one to make her feel better, even if it was only a little.

"I love it." She says finally.

Y/n takes the necklace by the twine, parting it in two as she brings it to her neck. Her eyes are travel across the fort as her tongue pokes out from between her lips thoughtfully as she attempts to secure the necklace in place. She struggles for several moments, muttering a few frustrations to herself as she fumbles to tie the knot properly without it slipping from her fingers first. Seeing this, his own stomach doing a flip, Mike scoots himself closer and gestures to her neck.

"Here, let me," he offers.

A heat rages up from her neck and to her cheeks and ears, not unlike Mike had moments ago but she complies and turns herself so he can reach the back of her neck. He takes the twine from her hands, their fingertips grazing briefly creating a matching storm of butterflies in their stomach. And as Mike sets to work on the knot, neither of them can see the brilliant grins stretching across their faces that they wished to hide from the other.

"There you go," he mutters shakily, praying she can't hear his voice wavering.

She does, but it only sends her heart racing faster. She mumbles a 'thanks' as she turns back around, and sends him another thankful smile as she simpers down at the turtle that now hung from her neck. Already her fingers had snuck up to her neck to fiddle with the turtle, and a warmth washes over her.

Y/n does not know whether it was her nearly intoxicating feelings for Mike, his kindness, the reassuring presence of the turtle, or perhaps all of the above, but she now felt a great deal better. It was as if a great weight had been taken off of her shoulders, the banishing of great unease as she wore the necklace now. Perhaps it was all in her mind, but Y/n rather enjoyed the strength the gesture had brought her.

And maybe, just maybe, Y/n could take on whatever the future might throw at her.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Black Lives Matter m resources, what you can do to help. Link in the comments below, can be accessed on any computer.

Support black owned businesses! There's this great app shared by @lovechlmt on Twitter, which I found on a post from Tumblr but either way I downloaded the app and it is a great way to find black owned businesses in your area! Please download and use if you can! It is called Black Nation

As I've heard, there is a wonderful website that provides therapy specifically for black and other poc, so you can speak to someone who shares your experiences and can truly get you the help you so deserve. Particularly black women. Its a simple url: therapyforblackgirls.com

Here's the description provided from @ madamblack on tumblr for the info:

"This reminds me, if y'all haven’t heard of therapyforblackgirls.com please visit if you need a therapist. You can search by mental health need, location/distance, insurance, etc. I believe there are some that provide a sliding scale payment method for those without insurance.

If you’re not quite ready to make the jump, there is a podcast you can listen to as well as articles and links to help answer some of your questions about mental health and/or therapy.

The purpose, as I understand it, is to provide a place where black women can go to find culturally sensitive therapy. Some specialize in family/couples as well.

Take a look."

[Link]

I'd also like to provide additional resources that were added on to this source, this being a collection of free therapy resources found by @ ntbx on tumblr:

[Link]

As well as Black Minds Matter UK resource from @ girthcobain on the very same post.

[Link]

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Taglist:

@loversclwb @bibliophilesquared

Let me know if you would like to be added!

#lethobenthos #mike hanlon x reader #mike hanlon x you #chapter two the butcher's daughter #mike hanlon rewrite #MH rewrite #it reader insert #it reader rewrite #mike hanlon #chosen jacobs #derry maine #you'll float queue

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Signed, Sealed, Delivered, Chapter 1 (Crygi, Jan x Nicky) - Joley

ao3 link

“Mail call!” Crystal called out, even though it was only her and Jan in the apartment. She sorted the pile out between the two of them, ending up with two slightly messy stacks. “Looks like you got an international package!”

That brought Jan barreling out of her room, nearly slipping on the rug on her way in. She grabbed onto the counter to support herself, taking a gasp of air before standing upright. “Oh yay!” She grabbed the package with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning and took it back to her room along with the rest of her pile, not bothering to close the door behind her.

Crystal chuckled, looking over to see her cat perched on the couch, staring into Jan’s bedroom with something of a perplexed expression. “It’s nothing for you, Tic. But maybe she’ll let you play in the box,” she mused before her gaze drifted back to her pile of mail, sifting through what inevitably turned out to be nothing but junk. With nothing else of her immediate interest, she wandered into her roommate’s room, sitting on the bed while Jan was at her desk. “What’d you get?”

Jan carefully opened the box, gliding the box cutter down the tape seams so she didn’t have to rip and yank and risk tearing anything inside. She took the neatly folded letter out first, holding it to her face and taking a deep inhale. The scent of patchouli and vanilla wafted into her nose and made her smile. It was the smell she most associated with Nicky, every package and letter she sent came laced with the aroma of her perfume.

“Bonjour, mon petite poupée,” she started to read, ignoring the way Crystal started to laugh at her butchering of the French phrases. “I hope spring is as beautiful there as it is here. I have sent you a box of macarons—I enjoy them year-round, but my mother always loved to bake them the most this time of year. I wanted to send you some of hers, but hopefully bakery ones will suffice. I’d love it if you FaceTime or Skype me when you get them, I want to see your live reaction, and I sent you enough to share with Crystal, so be nice. Until then, câlins et bisous, Nicky.”

Jan smiled broadly as she finished reading the letter, noticing the lipstick kiss print that Nicky signed off every letter with, and gently set it aside. “Okay, it’s like nine at night where she is, she’ll still be up,” she said as she took the pastel box tied neatly with a white lace bow out of the package. “Oh look, this is so cute.” She took out another piece of paper where Nicky had hand-drawn each macaron and wrote the flavor next to it, making a color-coded guide. “Isn’t she so sweet and thoughtful?”

“She told you to share, so yes.” Crystal chuckled, running her hand through her hair to look presentable while Jan called Nicky on Skype.

Nicky answered the call right away. “Hi Jan! Hi Crystal!” She greeted them with energy even though she was dressed for bedtime, wearing a black tank top and white cotton shorts (the latter not being visible in the frame). Her hair was damp, air-drying, and draped over her desk chair. “Did you get my mail?”

Jan nodded, holding the box up for her to see. “Just did. Thank you so much, Nicks. That’s so sweet of you.”

“Of course, I’m still making my way through the gift basket you sent for my birthday. I have opinions on all the different Oreo flavors.” Nicky giggled. They had gotten into a discussion about all the different flavors of the cookie, and she had become obsessed with the idea of trying the variety. So, when her birthday rolled around, Jan had painstakingly arranged a cookie bouquet (along with a few other treats) with as many flavors as she could find.

In the year they’d been communicating, Nicky had both come to expect Jan to go the extra mile and would still be surprised every time. The university course that had brought them together through its pen pal program certainly didn’t require an exchange of presents, but it started with Jan not being to help herself and (unbeknownst to Nicky) progressed into an ever-present desire to impress her.

“We can get to that next, I’m really excited to try these. Which one is your favorite?” Jan asked as she took the bow off the box without untying it and opened it up. “Oooh, it still smells fresh-baked.”

Nicky grinned as she watched her, opening up a bottle of rosé and pouring herself a glass. “I am partial to the red velvet and the apricot.”

Jan licked her lips. “You know I love red velvet.” She plucked the deep red cookie from the box before handing it to Crystal, who was making grabby-hands at it. She waited for her friend to choose and set the box down on her desk. “On three.” She counted down, then took a bite. “Holy shit.” She covered her mouth, not wanting to talk with her mouth full. “Nicks, these are delicious. You’re gonna have to send these on the regular.”

Crystal was enjoying herself just as much. “Is there a word for like, food horny? You know, like it tastes so good, I’m kind of turned on?”

Nicky snorted and Jan looked down and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just say you like it, Crystal.”

“I do,” she confirmed, then looked down at her phone. “Anyway, gotta go. Bye Nicky, thanks for the cookies!” She waved at the screen before darting right out of the room.

Jan chuckled, knowing exactly what propelled Crystal out of the room so quickly and shouted “Tell Gigi I said hi!” after her. Then she faced forward again, her attention effortlessly returned to Nicky. “Anyway, how have you been?” “No complainings,” Nicky hummed, aimlessly strumming her fingers against her glass. “Did you get around to listening to that study playlist I sent you?”

“Oh my god yeah, I forgot to say anything because I kept listening to it after I was done studying and fell asleep,” Jan admitted with a laugh. “You have impeccable taste.”

She twirled her slowly drying hair around her manicured finger. “Tell me something I do not know, darling.” She winked.

Jan’s breath hitched in her throat and she covered it with a cough. Nicky exuded a seductive beauty so effortlessly and it didn’t take much for Jan to get flustered. If their friendship wasn’t exclusively long distance, her crush would have been impossible for Nicky or anyone else to not pick up on. Hell, Crystal only knew because she had been aching for the release of gushing about her feelings and her roommate lent a willing ear. “Last time I did that, we ended up talking about juice boxes for an hour,” she retorted once her body had unclenched.

Nicky chuckled softly at the memory. It was so easy for them to go off on tangents about the smallest things. It was probably her favorite part of her conversations with Jan, everything flowed so easily, awkward silence simply didn’t exist between them. “That is true,” she conceded. “But I’ve got to go eat dinner. We’ll talk tomorrow, yes?”

“Go eat.” She never quite grasped how Nicky always ate dinner so late at night, but she had all but memorized her schedule by now. “Au revoir,” she cooed, just because she knew it would make her laugh, and waved as she ended the call.

——

When Crystal got the text ‘come hang out, im done with class,’ she was out the door before she even sent ‘ok.’ Gigi was a junior while she and Jan were seniors, but all of them going to the same university had their schedules aligning relatively often. But she and Jan were living off-campus, so she didn’t want to waste any time on getting to her.

“Hey.” Gigi smiled, greeting her best friend with a hug. “Come on, we’re going on a coffee run,” she said, leading the way. Her direct nature was something Crystal had appreciated—she didn’t ask questions, she made statements, and it came off as harsh to some, but Crystal was terrible at making daily decisions, so she was happy to leave it in her hands.

“Sounds good. You should come over soon, Jan got these amazing French cookies from Nicky. I think she’ll let us steal some,” Crystal mused, linking their arms as they walked.

“Cool.” She nodded. “Has Jan told Nicky she’s in love with her yet?” It had come up in conversation in the past, leading to Crystal giving the entire backstory of Jan and Nicky’s relationship. Luckily, Jan hadn’t held it against her and could live with one more person knowing the truth.

Crystal laughed softly and shook her head. “Nope. But, you know, you can’t push someone to admit how they feel if they aren’t ready.” Her tone was a bit strained in the remark, looking straight ahead as she spoke.

But Gigi didn’t notice the shift in her voice anyway. “That’s stupid,” she said flatly. “They’re like, four thousand miles apart, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Feelings are feelings.” She shrugged as they entered the café. Of course, she could relate to what Jan was going through, but as far as she was concerned, her situation was worse. A pen pal could be out of sight and out of mind, she reasoned. But having a crush on your best friend made day-to-day life excruciating. She was constantly torn between the desire to distance herself so her emotions didn’t overwhelm, and the powerful urge to spend as much time and be as physically close to Gigi as possible. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the latter would always win. “So, how’s your final project going?”

Gigi let out an exasperated groan. “God, I’m killing myself making a dress for the wedding I’ll never have,” she lamented. “I never want to see white lace again once I’m done with it.”

Crystal winced, averting her gaze. “You don’t think you’ll ever get married?”

“Not the takeaway here, Crys,” she rolled her eyes, but there was still fondness in her expression. “Listen, I’ve made it this far in life without a relationship, maybe that’s just my destiny. I’ll just be far too busy taking over the fashion industry to worry about it.”

It wasn’t a personal rejection, but it was painfully difficult for Crystal not to take it as one. Her heart ached and her chest felt heavy with a sudden sadness, coupled with her active efforts not to let it show. “No, yeah, I get it.”

Gigi rubbed her arm gently. “Don’t let my cynicism ruin that hopeless romantic in you. It gives me hope in this cold, dark world.” She looked into her eyes, silently offering the apology she was just a little too proud to verbalize.

Crystal lightened back up, though she was embarrassed that Gigi had such a hold on her emotions without even realizing it. “I’ll do my best.”

——

Crystal returned to the apartment just as the sun was setting. Coffee had turned to dinner and time had just slipped away from her. But when she got inside, she went right over to knock on Jan’s door, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Come in!”

“Jan, I had an idea!” Crystal let herself in and sat at the desk, as Jan was now in bed with her laptop.

Jan closed the laptop and set it aside. “I’m scared already,” she joked.

“No, no, no, I’m totally serious, and it’s a good idea,” Crystal insisted, shifting to sit cross-legged on the chair. “You and Nicky are like, a million miles apart and that really sucks, right?”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me.”

Crystal waved the comment off and continued. “So here’s the plan—you tell her there’s a big event that you’re going to this summer and you want her to come to visit. Dunno what the event would be, but we can worry about it later.”

The brunette tilted her head to the side. “Like graduation?”

“That’s not enough time. It has to be something that’ll happen in like, a month or something,” she explained. “But you guys will just be so excited to be together that you’ll forget about the event entirely, problem solved.”

Jan stared blankly at her friend, wondering if she had become delirious from too many all-nighters. But then she shrugged, what did she have to lose? “I’ll talk to her about it in the morning, then. It couldn’t hurt to bring up…”

“That’s the spirit!” Crystal clapped her hands together. “Let me know how it goes!” And with that, she left the room with a spring in her step.

And Jan did sleep on it, weighing out the pros and cons of creating an elaborate ruse just to get the girl she was pining after to travel overseas. It wasn’t that they hadn’t talked about visiting each other, but they could never ‘justify’ it, there was always something else they needed to focus on, or the finances just wouldn’t allow it (she wasn’t about to ask her parents to send her to France when they were already paying her bills). The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a decent idea.

After breakfast and a shower, Jan called up Nicky on FaceTime. “Are you busy? I’ve gotta ask you something.”

“You have my undivided attention,” Nicky assured.

Jan smiled, sitting down on the couch. “So, I’ve got this big event coming up next month, and I know we haven’t been able to arrange a visit yet, but I think this would be the perfect opportunity. I really want to see you.”

Nicky tilted her head in curiosity. “I want to see you too. What is the event?”

“A wedding,” Jan answered confidently. She had decided that it would make perfect sense for the time of year.

“I love weddings.” Nicky’s face lit up. “Whose is it?”

Fuck. Why hadn’t she planned one step further? “It’s…” At that moment, she somehow forgot the name of everyone she had ever known for a brief moment, and she wanted to yell at Crystal for giving her this stupid idea in the first place and—

“Crystal and Gigi’s,” she blurted out.

Nicky knew Crystal had a romantic interest in Gigi just from passing conversations, but she had never quite pieced together the nature of their relationship. She was a little surprised at how serious it apparently was, but decided there was no need to question it. “Oh, good for them. I’ll have to double-check, but I think I will be able to be your plus one.”

Jan didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she exhaled in relief. “Great! I’m so excited, I’m sure Crystal will be thrilled to hear it.”

“Send her my good wishes, I have to get to class, though,” Nicky replied, exchanging goodbyes before the call ended.

“What am I gonna be thrilled to hear?” Crystal asked as she tossed her bag into her bedroom. The door was always left open so TicTac could go in and out as he pleased. She had just returned from class, dried paint splotches still staining her fingers and palms.

Jan’s face froze. Yet another issue she had not accounted for. “Nicky is going to come visit.”

Crystal beamed triumphantly, getting ready to rub her brilliance in the other girl’s face. “See? I told you it—”

“She’s visiting for your and Gigi’s wedding.”

She blinked, looking at her incredulously. “Mine and Gigi’s what now?”

“Look, I panicked, it was the only thing I could think of. And this was your idea anyway, so if I’m going down, you’re coming to hell with me,” Jan got up as she spoke, pacing around the room as she desperately tried to figure out what to do next. “Just go with it, please.”

It had taken another moment for Crystal to fully process the information. How was she supposed to tell Gigi? What was she going to do if she couldn’t get her on board? But she didn’t want to compound Jan’s panic and make everything worse. “Well, Gigi does have a wedding dress in the works…” She looked over at her friend who was still on the verge of an anxiety attack and rushed to her side, wrapping her arms around her. “Listen, we’ll make this work. I don’t know how, but we will, I promise.”

Jan took a few deep breaths, allowing herself to be calmed down. She hugged Crystal tightly, hiding her face against her shoulder. “Where do we go from here?” Her voice couldn’t reach above a whisper.

Crystal chewed her lip as she rubbed Jan’s back. “I guess first thing’s first—I have to tell Gigi we’re getting married.”

#rpdr fanfiction #jan sport #nicky doll #gigi goode #crystal methyd #crygi #jan x nicky #lesbian au #university au #college au #signed sealed delivered #joley #s12

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dhwty-writes · 4 years

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Chapter 12 - Intriguing Intruders and Intruding Intrigues

Ah, yes. Welcome to chapter 2. No, you didn't read that wrong. This begins with the second scene I've ever written for this AU. We've come a long way since back then, especially considering that it was only a little under two months ago and this fic has since taken over my life. Also, thanks as always to @persony-pepper for betaing! Now enough of me rambling, here's the chapter:

Summary: Jaskier's liege lord comes to Lettenhove and our beloved ex-bard is struggling to keep it together.

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"Where is he?" Jaskier panted, wincing at how his side ached after sprinting up a flight of stairs. He used to be able to hold his own against a witcher on a horse, for Melitele's sake, what had happened to all that stamina?

"Beggin' your pardon, m'lord, I don't know," Marta answered, her eyes widened in panic. "I've been lookin' for 'im for the past hour. He's nowhere to be found."

"Shit," he cursed, startling the surrounding servants. "Fuck!" he cursed again, just because the first one hadn't been enough to actually voice his frustration. He kicked the wall and howled in pain. "Fucking shit! Start over," he ordered. "I want that damned witcher and I want him now! Marta!"

"Yes, m'lord?"

"Is my cousin presentable yet?"

"No, m'lord."

"Then see to it that she is. You have half an hour; the green dress, if you will."

He turned on the heel and raced down the stairs again, cursing quietly. He shouldn't be surprised, really, that Geralt chose today of all days to all but disappear from Lettenhove. 'That's not fair,' he reminded himself, 'you didn't know eith-'

"Fuck!" His foot slipped on the slippery stairs and he would've taken a tumble down the stairs hadn't he collided with a bulk of muscle.

"Careful, my lord," Geralt said, and held him firmly by the shoulders. "Else a twisted ankle will be the least of your worries."

"Geralt!" Jaskier started a futile attempt to wiggle out of his grasp. "Where have you been, you donkey?"

"Training your horse, my lord," he replied, making no move to let go of him. Instead he calmly looked around, taking in the bustling servants. "What's going on?" He pulled him closer to the wall, to let two men hauling a heavyweight chest pass through. "Are you preparing for war?"

'If only.' He scoffed and smacked at Geralt’s hands. "No. Witcher, you need to leave."

"What?" That finally made him soften his grasp, though he did not lift his hands, nor did he move from where they were crammed onto the same step. "Why?"

Jaskier passed a trembling hand through his hair. It was sweaty already, not a good way to start the day when- "There are guests on their way," he explained as calmly as he could. "I don't know which of my imbecile neighbours chose this exact time for a visit, but there's nothing I can do about it now."

"And why do I-" His hand shot out and caught a young lad by the elbow. "Are those my swords?" he growled menacingly. The poor boy looked as if he might piss himself.

"Yes, I- Geralt!" He tried prying the butcher's hand away without too much success. "Let go of him this instant, you're frightening him!" The witcher complied slowly. "Stop glowering, they are acting on my orders. And you, run along now, and hurry up for Melitele's sake!"

The lad took off again and Geralt crossed his arms and glared. "Why?" he asked again. "Where's he going with them?"

"To your new rooms in the North Wing. Ci- Cousin Fiona is also moving, she'll be living with my sisters." He waved his hand dismissively, cutting him off before he could even start to speak. "It wouldn't make sense otherwise. I wouldn't leave her with you when Józia and Janka are there to take care of her. And as my best friend it's only natural for you to be accommodated close to my quarters."

The witcher frowned, still not convinced. "Why do I have to leave then?"

"Because I do not know who is paying me a visit and what intentions they bear. No-one will look twice at dear Cousin Fiona, but you-"

"My lord, there you are," Jakub came to a halt a few steps below them.

"What?" Jaskier snapped.

"Your visitors. They're bearing the banner of Hangfelt."

Fear gripped him like an icy hand, choking the air from his lungs. "Fuck." He'd known this was inevitable, but still- "Go, Jakub, inform the kitchens right away. I will not be accused of lacking hospitality." He manservant bowed curtly and hurried away.Jaskier turned to follow him.

Geralt caught him by the shoulder again. "What's so important about Hangfelt?"

Jaskier winced. "That's my liege. You need to leave, now."

He frowned. "I don't understand-"

Jaskier was beginning to lose his patience. 'Gods above and below, he's been roaming this continent for almost a century. Should be more than enough time to get a basic grasp on petty politics,' he thought. He almost told him so, too. Almost. "That's not important right now," he hissed and tried to push him away, "we're running out of time."

The witcher didn't seem overly impressed by this display of his measly human strength. "Please, my lord, let me try-"

"You don't need to understand!" he snapped, and Geralt visibly recoiled. If nothing else, it did soothe Jaskier's temper a bit. Wiping his sweaty hands on his breeches, he tried to explain: "My liege, Geralt. Lettenhove is his castle. If he suspects something, anything-" He took a shuddering breath, steadying himself. With a firmer voice than he would have thought possible, he continued: "If he demands that I hand you over, I won't be able to refuse. I won't be able to protect you from him, do you understand?"

Geralt paled visibly. "Fiona-"

"She'll be fine, she's family. Protected by my name and castle peace and all that. No-one can lay a finger on her without my leave. The Count is not a bad man, he won’t hurt us and break the law: we’re protected by King Vizimir’s peace. But you are not. So, witcher," he straightened himself, "you need to go."

He set his jaw and the grip on his shoulder tightened. "My lord."

"Take your swords and a cloak, and for Melitele's love, stay out of sight. Of his guards, and his men, and most importantly himself. I'll come find you in the woods once all of this is over. Alone. Do not come seek me if there is another person with me." He faltered, taking in Geralt's squared shoulders, his kind eyes, his attentive expression. "I-" Suddenly, the urge to exchange the grip on his shoulder for a tight embrace to calm his fluttering heart became very hard to fight.

"My lord?" Geralt's voice startled him from his trance. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he answered curtly and bit down hard on his tongue, to shake those ridiculous thoughts. "I have places to be, witcher, and so do you. Unhand me and leave."

Very slowly and very reluctantly Geralt did as he was told and freed Jaskier from his grasp. He allowed himself to wonder, only for a moment, if Geralt might have felt overcome by the same sort of sentimentality.

'No,' he told himself decidedly as he sprinted down the stairs of his tower, 'do not think about that. You're Jaskier the Bard, not Jaskier the Fool, Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove. If Geralt had no affection to spare before, he surely won't have any now.'

In the courtyard, what appeared to be the entirety of his staff was bustling around, all doing their best to make the castle presentable for its rightful owner.

There weren't a lot of orders for Jaskier to give, they all knew what they were doing. The air was filled with the rich smells of half a hundred different delicacies to flatter Lord Hangfelt's noble palate, and servants hauled casks of wine and ale alike that would surely not even see the first snow. Wiktor was making space in the stables for at least a dozen horses more, as Jakub was berating some chambermaid for one reason or another. It was a good thing Jaskier had already warned them that his visit was rather imminent after his return from the disastrous parlay. That way they weren't completely unprepared.

Still, he winced at the memory. The meeting hadn't been dangerous or anything, gods forbid, he'd never have brought Ciri if there had been so much as the slightest sliver of the chance. It had even been fun, truth be told, until the Baron had begged a word in private with him. Unpleasant didn't even begin to describe the whole affair.

"Why?" Jaskier had asked cheerfully, "Are you afraid to get your ass handed to you by a little child again?"

Daniel of Dergetten had frowned at that but not dignified it with a response. Not until he had sent Ciri ahead, at least. Then his old childhood friend had leaned close and hissed: "What on earth are you playing at, Julian?"

"Me?" he had laughed. "Nothing, dear friend. I've got no idea what you're talking about."

"What happened to your sharp wits? Fucked them away on the Path? I thought the man who graduated summa cum laude from Oxenfurt would know better than to believe himself the only one capable of thinking around here."

"Speak plainly."

"Sheltering a witcher in Lettenhove, Jaskier?" he had mocked. "Beneath a mantle of protection that is not even yours to give? Aleksander hasn't forgiven you for your last insolence, yet. What was the year again? 1252? This impertinence might just be enough of an insult for him to finally set you aside. Unless-"

"That's quite enough, Dergetten," he had bristled.

The bastard had only smiled. "Is it, Pankratz? I know where my loyalties lie, as does the Count. Do you?" The memory of his smile choked the air from his lungs. 'Foolish,' he told himself, 'you're a foolish man, Julian Alfred Pankratz, to think you can hide a secret such as this from your liege.' Which meant, there was only one thing he could do.

It was true that Count Aleksander Milas had been lenient in the past when it came to Jaskier's particularities that distinguished him from the rest of his peers. He quite liked his songs, had even encouraged him to tutor his son - which Jaskier had firmly declined - and he hadn't given him too much of a hard time for his prolonged absence from Lettenhove. Upon his return his liege had only laughed, not cruelly, when he had knelt at feet to beg his forgiveness for his negligence. And when his father had died, not two days later a servant had summoned him to Hangfelt to swear his fealty — despite Jaskier's protests that his sister Janina would be much better suited for the title.

"Nonsense," Lord Hangfelt had answered, "how could I accept her oath when the rightful heir is right here?"

So, he had sworn, and Hangfelt had promised a visit once the mourning period was over. He was only off by three days, probably spurred on by Daniel of Dergetten's dutiful report, the little traitor. As a consequence, though, Jaskier was still dressed all in black, as were his sisters. Ciri's green dress was an almost offending speck of colour when she stepped out into the courtyard.

"There you are," Jaskier exclaimed and strode over to her to put an arm around her shoulders. "Come, you'll stand at my left side."

She nodded and together they crossed over where Janina and Józefa were already waiting. The four of them surely made a pretty image, he thought, all of them with their pale skin, dark hair and bright eyes. 'Ciri fits right in,' he noticed, satisfied with the illusion he'd conjured.

Waiting like this, prettily lined up for their lord to inspect like cattle on a market's day, was torture of the cruelest kind. The urge to fidget hadn't been this strong in him since before he'd left. Images of memories long forgotten flooded his mind, the five Pankratz siblings diligently queueing before their father's high chair to receive his judgement after a day of deeds and misdeeds. It had always been him who had misbehaved most, if wandering off in his mind and quietly humming as he worked could be counted as misbehaviour. It had also always been him to step forward to take the blame and consequences for whatever crime his sisters had committed. It hadn't been his fault more often than not. 'My responsibility to bear nonetheless.'

When he finally found the strength to abandon those hurtful memories he bowed down to Ciri. "You'll have to curtsy," he informed the princess quietly.

"I know," she replied, barely moving her lips. Absentmindedly he wondered how many stiff ceremonies she had already suffered through. 'Surely too many,' he determined. 'Even one is one too much.' "I've seen it many times."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "You do know how, don't you?"

She grew rigid under his touch. "Of course!" she repeated. "I've seen it many times!"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. It was Jakub who saved him from the embarrassment of having to explain to a princess how to bend her stiff royal knees. "They're here, my lord," his servant told him quietly.

"Good," he answered. It wasn't good at all. Still, he shouted: "Open the gates!" He heard Jakub repeat his order, and then Marin, too, and then the large winches sprung into motion and opened the heavy oaken gates for the Count and his companions.

As soon as the winches stopped moving, a party of roughly fifteen riders poured into the courtyard. A standard bearer came first, then the Count himself, along with his son and heir, the spitting image of his father. Well, if one ignored the fact that his father was in his forties, overweight, and balding, and not a strapping lad of fourteen years- 'Oh, fuck no, you won't,' he thought and his grip on Ciri's shoulder tightened.

Behind them followed some brothers or cousins or friends Jaskier couldn't quite remember from his youth, half a dozen guards, and- He nearly cursed out loud when he saw there was a woman riding with them. 'Hangfelt, you bastard.'

To his deepest regret he had to postpone his harangue, though, because Aleksander Milas, the Count of Hangfelt was already dismounting and it was time for their act to begin.

Jaskier stepped forward to greet him with a smile as if he was an old friend and not his garroter. "My liege," he said and bowed with a flourish, "Lettenhove is yours."

"Pankratz!" Hangfelt laughed and displayed his crow's feet for everyone to see. "How good to see you again!" He pulled him into a tight hug that made it difficult to breathe. "How have you been?"

"Fine, my lord," he gritted out and did his best to make a sad face, "as much as the circumstances allow it. Though we are still very heartbroken for the passing of our father."

"And I expect no less, my loyal servant. Which is why I postponed this visit as long as I could. I would not want to disturb your grief."

"You could never, my lord," he answered but the Count had already moved on to his sisters, who were still curtsying deeply. Jaskier nudged Ciri with his elbow to get her to do the same.

"My dear Lady Goldfurt," he said as he beckoned Janina to rise. "I see you still enjoy your brother's hospitality. Is your husband's town so unappealing?"

"Not at all, my lord," her voice and smile were icy, "I am only here to help my brother settle in. He has been away for so long; he hardly knew his way around the castle upon his return."

That made Lord Hangfelt laugh. "Is that true? Have you forgotten all about your home while away on your little adventures?"

"Hardly, my lord," Jaskier forced himself to say. "But it is good to have familiar faces surrounding me."

He nodded. "And what pretty faces those are. Lady Józefa!" He kissed her on both cheeks and Jaskier found himself admiring her self-control. She didn't even flinch from his slobbery mouth. "Has your brother still not found you a husband, Madam?"

"Alas, he has not," she answered jovially, truly an accomplished actress. "Though I trust he will soon correct that mistake. Come spring, perhaps?"

"Sooner still, I hope. I would love a spring wedding. Speaking of weddings, you do remember my sister, Pankratz? The Lady Alina Milas."

The lady in question dismounted her own horse and came over to them. She was Aleksander Milas' step-sister, almost two decades younger than her brother, and the heiress to a rich estate. And his betrothed, whom he had stood up one beautiful autumn evening in 1252 on their wedding day. 'Shit,' he thought and bowed to kiss her hand. This day was growing worse by the minute. He didn't let that show, though. "How could I not? Is it me, Lady Alina, or have you grown thrice as beautiful since our last meeting?"

"Surely I have," she answered coldly. "I was six years old when you last saw me. Though not for lack of opportunities, I remind you."

He felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Hangfelt just laughed again. "Look at you, Pankratz! She hasn't forgiven you, yet. Well, maybe it is not too late. You are still unmarried, I've heard."

"I am. Though let us not talk of such a joyous occasion yet. You see, my sisters'-" He halted for just a moment, shooting them an apologetic glance. "- delicate nature is still rather frail after our father's death. I wouldn't want to disturb their mourning with festivities."

Lord Hangfelt pouted, which looked ridiculous on a man of his age and size. "You speak of mourning, yet still you have invited guests to your house. I think we haven't been introduced yet?"

"My cousin, the Honourable Fiona Nowak. I met her three years ago in Verden and, after I heard the war had left her orphaned, I had her brought to Lettenhove. It has lessened our grief greatly to have her with us."

Ciri rose from her curtsy and let the Count kiss her knuckles. She obviously had learned self-control from Józefa, for her face didn't so much as twitch. "I am terribly sorry for your loss, Madam."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," she answered and Jaskier could feel the whole courtyard hold its breath, "it was not your sword that slew my mother."

Hangfelt blinked for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I see the family resemblance now! A steel-tongued brat for our silver-tongued lordling. Have you given up your verses and songs yet?"

"Almost, your Lordship," he answered with a forced smile, "there is only one person in the world who might move me to a ballad these days."

"A lover?" he teased.

'If only.' "An old friend."

He frowned. "Not the witcher, I hope."

Jaskier forced himself to smile. "Precisely him."

"Speaking of steel and silver and ballads, then, where is he? Has he left so soon again?"

"Not at all, my lord. Though, he left before sunrise this morning. He does not like to spend the days in company, especially not while he is mourning."

"Mourning?" one of the members of Aleksander Milas' party called. "Are you quite sure he can even feel?" Roman, he remembered the brat was called, the Count's youngest brother and just out of his swaddling clothes when Jaskier had left.

'I am, you prick, and I am quite sure with such a comment you'd have angered him enough for him to gut you for me. He can feel just fine.' He pitied that he couldn't say that to his liege's brother. Instead, he opted for: "I believe he thinks himself guilty for the death of Princess Cirilla."

"Ah," the Count said and dropped his voice compassionately. "I've heard the tales. They say she was raped by half a hundred men before the bastards killed her."

His eyes grew wide and his grip on Ciri's shoulder tightened. "My lord, not in front of the child, if you please," he said just as quietly. "She's gone through so much already."

"Of course." He straightened himself. "Speaking of children, have you met my son, yet, Pankratz? Aleksander, Lord Retton."

"I'm afraid I have not." Jaskier bowed again, when the lad stepped forward, looking very out of place with his gangly limbs, too large ears and peach fuzz on his upper lip. 'Gods, and I went to Oxenfurt at that age!' he recalled. Twenty years later, the thought of sending a child to that place filled him with terror. He was glad that the boy could not see the grimace on his face. "At your service, my lord."

"Rise, Lord Lettenhove," he said with a thin voice. 'Gods, he's nervous,' Jaskier thought with amusement. "You, uh, have a beautiful castle."

'What pretty lines he has learned.' He had a hard time not smirking when he answered: "I am pleased to hear that. Are you looking for a new keep for yourself, my lord?"

The lad frowned deeply, obviously not understanding the jape. "Not at all."

"No? Are you then making plans for the future, my lord?"

Helplessly and quite confused Aleksander the Younger looked up at his father, who in turn had a hard time to keep from laughing. "Enough of the teasing, Pankratz," he chided softly. To his son he said: "I told you to guard your tongue with that one. Twisting the words in your mouth is his easiest exercise."

"I would never, your Lordship," Jaskier said quickly, smiling openly now.

"Now, don't add lies to the never-ending list of your sins. We're hungry and we're cold, so keep your mouth shut and lead us to your hall and serve us your best wine. We've deserved it."

Jaskier bowed again. "It would be my pleasure." He turned to his former betrothed. "Lady Alina, might you grant me the honour of accompanying you?"

She scowled and for a moment he feared she might decline, but then she took his offered arm. After a glowering stare of her elder brother she even dignified his formal phrases with equally stilted responses as the Count led the way to the hall as if he owned the place. 'Which he does,' Jaskier reminded himself.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Aleksander the Younger stumbled over his words to ask Ciri to walk with him, who graciously accepted and giggled stupidly. Then, as she took his arm she made a barbed comment that the boy did not understand but that made Janina gasp in thinly-veiled horror. He couldn't quite rid himself of pride welling up at that, despite the curtain lecture that surely waited for him once the Count left.

In the hall Jaskier hurried to pull the lord's chair back for the Count and tried to ignore the jealousy seeing him at the head end of his table, his heir at his right-hand side. 'You never wanted the stupid title anyways,' he told himself, 'so there's no reason for jealousy now.'

He himself sat down at his liege's left, with Lady Alina at his side. Opposite to them was Ciri next to Aleksander who looked just as miserable as Jaskier felt. As soon as the other guests had resolved their brief argument about who got to sit next to Józefa and had all settled into their seats, the food was brought out.

It was a lot, much more than needed to feed such a small party and Jaskier felt a little bad for wasting it. But that was the way things were and he could do nothing about it. So he had his guests’ plates and cups filled and kept full, maybe a bit too much so. Roman Milas was drunk before the hour was up.

After lunch the Count got up. "I'll be going on a hunt," he declared, "and you will come with me."

Jaskier's head snapped around. "Excuse me?" he answered with a frail voice.

"I believe you understood me quite well. We're going hunting, Pankratz."

'What for?' he wanted to ask but didn't dare to. It was late in autumn already, there were no hunts this late. Besides, there were no hounds in Lettenhove and they hadn't brought any with them either. 'We're not hunting for game, then,' he thought grimly and fought the urge to divest himself of his lunch again. "Of course," he answered instead. "My pleasure."

He left Ciri and Alina with his sisters and led the Count and his friends outside again, praying to all the gods he knew. He prayed that Geralt had finally learned how to listen to a fucking order. He had no idea what his liege could want with the witcher — and he had no desire to find out either.

It took all his carefully composed self-restrain not to let the anxiety that roared within him rise to the surface. ‘He’ll be fine,’ he told himself, ‘he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine. He has to be.’ Instead he tried to busy himself with what he did best: telling stories. Joyously he japed and jested, and he would’ve jigged to, were his feet not planted firmly in his stirrups.

Aleksander the Elder called for all the raunchy stories of his time in Oxenfurt and he gladly delivered. And when he and his friends doubled over in their saddles with laughter, Aleksander the Younger appeared at his side, shyly asking whether he could tell him about the Academy. The boy wasn’t stupid, Jaskier soon discovered to his surprise, on the contrary. ‘He’s just young,’ he realised, ‘and it can’t be easy to find your voice with a father as loud as his.’

Still, the worry in his chest did not subside and he kept looking to the sky, where the sun inched towards the horizon far too slowly for his liking. Apparently, the Gods had heard his prayer, for they returned some hours later with empty hands and empty stomachs. Dinner was hastily brought out for the hungry hunters and after that the nobles retreated to the fireplace room in the East Wing.

Hangfelt claimed Jaskier's armchair and Aleksander Geralt's, so Jaskier was left standing awkwardly for a moment before begrudgingly retreating to the divan where Alina sat. Like that he was forced to continue the polite conversation, that quickly turned into the dullest interaction of his entire life, until she mercifully begged her brother's leave to retreat for the night.

“You may go,” the Count conceded. “Aleksander, go with her.”

“Father,” he whined pathetically, “you promised I could stay.”

“I promised you could stay the evening,” he growled. “The evening’s over, which means that women and children are going to bed.”

Jaskier hid his smirk and jerked his head in the direction of his sisters and Ciri. The princess was on her feet already and floated over to their guests. “Lord Retton,” she curtsied quickly, “Lady Alina, might you grant me the honour to show you to your rooms?”

Aleksander the Younger frowned and Jaskier smiled proudly. There was no way the young lord could politely refuse such an offer and he damn well knew it. So, he and Lady Alina went with Ciri and his sisters, and left Jaskier alone with Hangfelt and his men.

That finally gave Jaskier the opportunity to talk to the Count himself. "Lord Hangfelt," he said quietly, "might I talk to you in private?"

He scowled but nodded graciously, and allowed Jaskier to lead him to his study. "A drink, my lord?"

"Gladly," he answered as he sat down in Jaskier's chair by the window.

Jaskier poured two goblets of his best liquor — he'd need the courage — and brought them over to his lord. "Your witcher hasn't returned," he remarked as he accepted the drink; their cups clinked together, "and yet it is already dark. He's not very well trained."

"He's not an animal," Jaskier exclaimed indignantly before he could stop himself, "nor is he a prisoner. He may come and go as he likes."

"Not a very grateful guest, then, if he doesn't even come to greet his host's lord."

He clenched his jaw, desperately trying to think of a witty response. He wasn't fast enough though, for Hangfelt continued: "Hm. So, that cousin of yours... She does look an awful lot like you."

Jaskier tensed. 'Shit, I should have shut that rumour down as soon as it left Janina's lying lips.' "I suppose she does," he answered diplomatically.

That made the Count smile brightly. "Well?"

He hesitated. "Well... what, my lord?"

"Are you going to legitimise her?"

"Oh." Truth be told he hadn't even thought of that. He cursed silently. Well, maybe- "I haven't decided yet."

"Well, decide quickly, then. I like you, Pankratz. And as luck would have it, the betrothed of my dear Aleksander passed away from a fever a few months ago. I haven't decided on another match, yet."

For a few short moments Jaskier was stunned into silence, convinced that his ears had to be betraying him. 'Why would the Count want to bind me to his family tree?' Before he had even the chance to gather a clear thought his mouth blurted out: "What would you get out of it?"

Lord Hangfelt laughed. "Ever the clever man. Why, I would get Lettenhove back for a start.”

“Well, my lord, if you want it back, why not just take it?” He forced himself to smile. “You know just as well as I do that doing so is completely within your rights.”

“What, and just throw you out?” He shook his head. “No, Pankratz, I don’t think I’m keen on aggravating you anytime soon. Or your sisters, that is. I can’t afford a feud with neither Goldfurt nor Kerton. Not to speak of his Majesty’s uncle, who is so very fond of your Jolanta. And, judging by your reputation, you’d just flee to Oxenfurt and write a horrible cycle of smear poems that would ruin my reputation beyond measure, but not before seducing at least three of my siblings and my mother.” There was an amused twinkle in his eye. “Is that an accurate assessment?”

Jaskier quickly hid his smile. “I believe so, my lord.”

“I know four things about you. First, you were endowed by the gods with a vivid imagination and a silver tongue. I know about the games you play and it’s folly not to fear you. You could be more lethal than your witcher still. Secondly, you’re too clever for your own good. You graduated two terms early, summa cum laude, with begrudging recommendation letters from all your professors. While simultaneously managing to climb the steps of the Academy to the rooms above the vice-chancellor’s office. Don’t give me that look, Pankratz, I did my research. Thirdly, you know how to survive. You did that for sixteen years while trailing behind a witcher like a lost puppy and fucking your way through nigh every marital bed of the Continent. That’s rather impressive. And lastly, you are filthy rich. In fact, you’re the richest vassal I got and I know that you know how to become richer still. Is that about right?”

He nodded slowly. “Colour me impressed, my lord,” he answered, “I believe you’re seeing right through me.”

“Good.” A smile spread on his face. “So, Pankratz, I have to retract my earlier words. I do not want Lettenhove back. I want you. For good. And I want you to put that clever little brain of yours to good use. I think we can go far, you and I.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “So, why don’t you tell me why you actually wanted to speak to me and we work out a trade?”

“A trade, huh?” he repeated quietly. That was a much better bartering position than he’d imagined himself to be in. “It is true that there is something I wanted to ask of you, though does it not require Fiona to wed your Aleksander.”

“Why ever not, Pankratz? I took you for an opportunist! Wouldn't you like your grandson to be a Count?"

Jaskier's head was spinning as the whole extent of the offer became apparent. He should, he guessed. As a Viscount, that was. He should be delighted with the opportunity to get Goldfurt within reach. If Ciri truly were his daughter, he probably would have agreed without thinking twice about it.

But she wasn't. She was Ciri, sweet little Ciri, who had suffered so much already, who slept with stuffed animals and clung to his lips with whatever story he told; brave little Ciri, who'd be just as deadly with a blade as her father once she was grown. He couldn't barter her away. Never. Not even to- "She's only ten years old," he said quietly. "I don't want to take that kind of decision quite yet."

Lord Hangfelt snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. She’s more than old enough for a betrothal. Alina was scarcely ten months old when our fathers brokered the engagement."

'And what grief that betrothal brought,' he thought bitterly. ‘My bride was not even old enough to agree to an engagement when I could already be married.’ Another reason why he had chosen to hide in Oxenfurt for four years, though not before his father had forced his hand to sign the damned thing. "Allow me a bit more time to think about it. Please, my lord. I only just got her. Seven years I didn't even know of her existence. Don't take her from me just now. I can offer you something else in its stead."

"Tell me about your demand and we can see about that payment. How bad is it? Treason? Spying? Did you kill someone? Not a member of the court, I hope, I can't help you there."

"None of that, my lord, you'll be glad to hear. It's…” He wet his lips nervously. "Five generations ago my ancestors were granted this keep for their loyal services to your family. They have kept their peace, collected their taxes, furthered their interest. I have done nothing less. These ancient walls have protected those who bore my name ever since. Refugees were among them, and traitors, too, yet with your blessing no foe dared disturb the peace of this keep."

"Yes, as it is tradition."

Jaskier closed his eyes and swallowed his pride. 'Geralt could do it,' he told himself. 'And if the stoic witcher can, so can I.' Slowly, he went to his knees. "My liege, I am asking your leave to extend the Castle Peace that protects me and mine to Geralt of Rivia, as well."

"So, that's why he's not here." The Count of Hangfelt was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "I thought as much, but gods above and below, Pankratz, you are beside yourself with fear. He's a witcher, he will be alright! What are you so afraid of?"

'Why don't you tell me?' he thought angrily. 'You're the one who's been searching for him for the better part of the afternoon.' But right now was the time for humility and humiliation, not anger. "Might I be allowed to finish my plea, my lord?" he asked, his eyes firmly lowered onto the carpet.

He snorted and waved his hand dismissively. "Well, then, wordsmith, talk away."

"The Witcher Geralt of Rivia is my dearest friend, whom I have known for almost half of my life. I love him like I would a brother. He arrived on my doorstep tattered and torn from the war that divides our beloved Continent, with bloodhounds on his heels. They turned around as soon as Lettenhove came in sight, but I do not know if they will stop without knocking a second time. It is not only Nilfgaard who calls for his head, but other factions, too, closer to my borders than I would like. I would like to protect him from these threats and any that might follow."

"You're asking for a lot, Pankratz, you know that," Aleksander Milas said quietly.

"I do, my liege."

"And how do you intend to pay for that?”

He swallowed. "I-" His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, but it did not help the dryness of his mouth. 'It's for Geralt,' he reminded himself, 'for Geralt and Ciri.' With a firmer voice than he would have thought possible, he said: "I accept, my lord. I will become a part of your family and help you with your ambitions. If your sister would still take me after the insults I have bestowed upon her."

"Hm," the Count said. “That’s a lot you offer for a bit of protection for your witcher.”

“It is,” he agreed quietly. “You said it yourself, four sixteen years I trailed after him like a lost puppy. He is very dear to me.” After a small pause he added: “Though I certainly wouldn’t be disinclined to another holding or two in exchange for my service.”

"Fine," the Count conceded after a moment of consideration. "Wed Alina if you're so fond of her, then. I'll draw up the contract."

Jaskier clenched his teeth. 'Shit.' That meant that there would be at least half a dozen clauses in it that he wouldn't like. Maybe if he talked to Geralt- No. He wouldn’t do that to them. He bowed his head instead. "I would be honoured," he answered.

The Count held out his hand and Jaskier took it with numb fingers to kiss the signet ring. "Belleteyn is a wonderful date for a wedding."

"I am inclined to agree, my liege."

"Get up now, liegeman, and go fetch your witcher. He'll have nothing to worry about from me tonight. And tomorrow he can swear to you and he will be safe."

"I am grateful for your generosity," he answered honestly.

"I'm certain you are. Now, stop frowning, this is a joyous day."

It was an order, but Jaskier couldn't find it in himself to follow it. 'A joyous occasion?' he asked himself. 'I sold my hand in marriage to shield Ciri from the same fate, and for what? To protect the man, I have loved for half my life with whom I can't lead a conversation that lasts longer than five minutes. Pray tell me, my lord, what is joyous about that?'

#My writing #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #cirilla of cintra #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #geralt/jaskier #of witchers bards and broken hearts #OWBABH

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delbeugre · 4 years

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Have you seen SADIE BEUGRE? DEL is in HER/THEIR SENIOR year. The MATHEMATICS MAJOR is 24 years old & is a CAPRICORN. People say SHE/THEY are GRITTY, BEWITCHING, RETICENT and WASPISH. Rumors say they’re a member of HASTINGS. I heard from the gossip blog that SHE BIT AN EX-BOYFRIEND’S PINKY FINGER OFF AFTER SHE FOUND OUT HE CHEATED, AND THEN HAPPILY SERVED TIME FOR IT.

im tommy im a freak and of course i am here to get freakalicious with u all... this is my newest frankenstein type creation named sadie i know .02% about her yet but i am more than confident she will b nothing but a fun time! like this if ur down to plot!

TW: VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF JAIL/PROSECUTION, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, DRUG USE

BACKSTORY

capricorn sun / virgo moon / scorpio rising

raised by her uncle Big (his name) who is a hermit shut in town local in the depths of the florida marshland like some goosebumps protagonist. hes gone far past socially acceptable in terms of his ability to connect with the modern person but is wise beyond belief... his whole vibe is a warped cross between a cryptid and a mountain man that forages and cooks neighborhood plants. married for 27 years before his wife passed from illness. its quite possibly the only thing hes ever been emotional about

but dels entry to his life throws a wrench in his sadness (despite abandonment being what they bond over). she takes the focus away from his loss with her presence; her dad, his brother, died in a tragic train-car collision around the same time (which is speculated to be a suicide bt nobody can ever really be sure). he was a single parent so her custody is thrown up in the air for a few months as cps decides what they r gna do with this freshly orphaned little scrapper

she just kinda turns up on his doorstep n from there they cohabit a space. shes arnd 6-7 at this time... big never seemed to b phased by the fact tht she was a child n tended to treat her more like an apprentice or guest. he was never close to her father because of their age difference, being the older out of the two, so to have his daughter become his responsibility is just..... weird

this doesnt mean that he wouldnt provide for her bt it was. not very parental whatsoever.... no conversation or interaction beyond what was necessary. she was a mute fr a while and still is? to a degree.... very short spoken

when she got to her preteens he offered her an allowance in exchange for little odds and ends of stuff to be taken care of around the house. errands n all tht.... sometimes he wld purposefully leave things for her to pick up n take care of without mentioning it for a bonus. taught her the importance of saving your money and the horrid corruptness of a society basing everythings worth off paper. big exposed her to a lot of knowledge and took advantage of her silent curiosity by fueling it with books, homeschooling, life skills (catching a fish, setting a trap, knowing your berries in the woods...... the works)

her teens carried out the same way bt with the introduction of a real job, a spot down at the local butcher shop checking people out at the register and helping around the back of house. del knows a great deal abt cow/pig/chicken/etc anatomy from her years here..... she committed to being 100% vegan into her early twenties because of her trauma frm this occupation

it paid very well tho n was the best gig she was going to get within a reasonable biking route from home. so she settled!

the plan wasnt to keep it up for long anyway. she worked rly hard for her spot at yates and didnt intend to ever screw herself over. her plan was to get her bachelors, masters, become a professor, pursue a personal hobby of agriculture and build an elaborate greenhouse to live in

bt things happen.....

some 35yr old douche with a green thumb woos her at a gardening store n swoops in to teach her a little more abt romance; all of this, of course, under the guise that he had all these tips and tricks for living environmentally friendly. a lame hippie wannabe that shouldve never even approached her bt alas.... he did

love is a touchy subject n it hadnt been something she set her sights on, but she was interested in wht this dude could teach her n at 19 she ended up falling in love. she delayed her education to stay an extra year back home and work out another plan which included him

this was very disappointing to her uncle bt he didnt have anything to say abt it. it was never parental before n it was never going to be, so this was another lesson she wld just have to overcome on her own

it turns out that she doesnt care for infidelity. when the confession comes out its met with a lot of screaming, bawling, blistering white hot anger. the whole incident is blacked out of her mind to b honest....

matters of the heart are no longer something to concern herself with because of the repercussions of her rash behavior regarding heartbreak O________O she spent a year in jail n still has to attend therapy / anger management meetings

deep down she is still hurting. there was a lot of pain... bt the sadness is not over the loss of some noob. she is in a state of constant disappointment, detaching from herself out of shame. putting her own life on pause only for it to turn out like that? stupid stupid stupid...

PERSONALITY

chugging along! tldr spectre-like swamp nymph aura with the slightest (not so slight) unhinged feral tendencies

delicate like a moth resting in the gleam of a flashlight.... her anger singes her wings when shes too comfortable staying in one place, so theres always constant stimulation, always shifting gears. shes prone to feeling threatened; that being said, sadie is wary of walking in crowds, a little bit skittish when approached without making eye contact beforehand. like a small grey kitten..... in a big wide world

has a hard time keeping a conversation bt is very interested in debate, and even more so in studying alongside someone in complete silence. it reminds her of home in the same sense tht her uncle wld nudge her to keep reading by always having his own book open

doesnt have many friends and is alright with that. rumors are tht she is still a virgin bt who really knows? not i...... bt i wldnt be surprised if this was true. shes not impressed by people nor material items so this whole yates crowd is a turn off

she is truly clueless when it comes to how to behave around anyone her age. i think she understands but it just doesnt compute. she could come off as impolite bt it is just standoffishness? some people cld try to crack her but i dont think even she knows what that would be, or what that would look like. even in her one (1) failed relationship it was never deep heart to hearts or sharing dinner..... solitude is her realm

del is very comfortable with herself, very open with her wardrobe! doesnt leave too much to the imagination? she appreciates the human experience n expresses that thru this whole “body is a temple” type thing.... not quite confidence, but proudness of being. has gotten multiple notices frm professors for her tops being too sheer, nylons too ratted up, etc. has dirt under her fingernails half the time, chipped polish, some chapstick. smudges her eyeshadow on with her fingers

doesnt smoke cigarettes all too often but is dependent on weed. it kinda perpetuates her paranoid demeanor bt at the same time it keeps her lax enough to be able to mentally handle city life

her room is a playground for huge monstera plants, christmas cacti, ivy creeping along the doorway. she sleeps on a tiny thin mattress on the floor with a linen sheet and has her books stacked up on the ground next to it to hold her ashtray. the whole thing is dumb empty

takes her studies seriously and pinches every penny she can..... she has never ordered herself a coffee frm somewhere before, ordered food frm a restaurant... nothing. i wld think the most she would branch out from harvesting everything on her own is buying a bag of sunflower seeds frm a gas station, but even then, she much prefers eating stuff she grows herself. has a tomato plant, some basil beginning to sprout, etc.... manageable crops for any college students tiny space

...

bt yea thats it thats all! connections cld be all over the place. im legit open to anything. theres only a few tht come to mind right off that bat:

a few people that get along with her? same classes? they shared a bowl n now theyre getting into the nitty gritty of some personal conversation that is veering into no mans land....

some sort of clueless makeover moment? arent rly into sadie as a person bt see a lot of potential... perhaps need a plus one to a party on the fly and figure thats the best option theyve got

crushes? this wld be fun n potentially dangerous! like playing with a hot cast iron pan or something :)

again im vry new to rp so i wld like to leave a lot of stuff up to chemistry, brainstorming n stuff like that, but please consider everything on the table! what i hav mentioned is the tip of the iceberg im so burnt out n i wrote a lot more than i intended to i am so sorry but i promise i am friendly

#yatesintro #/tw implied violence #/tw death mention #/tw drug use #/tw jail mention

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