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adrift-in-thyme · 4 months

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I’ve never requested anything before so I hope this is right!

I’m going with some Malink angst, I absolutely LOVEEE reading your whump fics for them so I guess… more pain please? 🥲 if that’s okay?

Tysm for the prompt @endlessartpumpkin <333 I had a lot of fun with this one. It’s very angsty hehe

I hope you enjoy it!

CW for blood and injury

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Malon has always been aware of the possibility that Link would die before her. He is a hero, after all, her knight in shining armor through and through. If someone needs help — whether to reunite with a loved one or save an entire kingdom — he will never refuse them.

Sometimes, she has the selfish yearning that just once…he would.

And now, as she gazes at the heroes standing on her doorstep, as she gazes at her husband lying limp in Twilight’s arms, she wants it more than ever. Because Link, who is full of life and laughter and love, Link who has faced the moon itself and lived to tell the tale, her Link who proposed with the biggest, gaudiest ring in Hyrule because he wanted to show her how much he cared…Link the love of her life should never look like he does right now.

She steps forward, one hand held to her lips, the other reaching out to touch him.

He is so pale. His chest hardly rises, breathing so shallow it is hardly there at all. If she allowed it, she could be convinced that he is already gone.

Malon forces herself to take a deep breath. She won’t do that. She won’t imagine that her fairy boy is dead.

“What happened?” She asks, tone sharp with panic.

It is Twilight who answers, in a broken voice she has never heard him use before.

“He…he took a hit that was meant for me.”

His breath hitches. It is only slight, but Malon hears it anyway. She lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he looks at her, there is such pain in those gray eyes, such sorrow, that it breaks her heart.

There is hardly time to comfort him, however. They both know it.

“Bring him inside,” she orders, shoving aside the emotions churning about inside her. “Set him on the bed. I’ll get some supplies.”

Twilight moves without a word. The others follow him into the house, expressions tight and pained.

A hand comes to rest on her shoulder. “I’ll get the supplies,” Warriors says. His face is a mask rapidly shattering. But he smiles, strong for her, strong for the man he calls his little brother.

“You go to him.”

Malon nods, sighing. “Thank you, dear. The medical stuff is in the bathroom. You remember where that is, don’t you?”

“Of course.” In a swirl of royal blue fabric, Warriors is gone.

Taking a moment to steel herself, Malon heads into the bedroom.

They have already laid him on the bed when she steps through the doorway. From this angle, if she didn’t know better, she would think he was merely asleep. But unfortunately, she does know better. And the ashen color of his face, the sheen of sweat upon his brow, the feverish trembling of his body tells her a different story.

Then, of course, there is the blood.

The heroes are in the process of bandaging him. (They work quickly, she thinks with a spark of pride.) But even the thick swaths of fabric that they wind around his abdomen can only do so much to halt the onslaught of crimson liquid.

It soaks them through within minutes.

Malon makes her limbs move, bringing her forward. There is no time to sit here and gaze in horror at what has become of her husband. With firm hands, she grabs a new roll of gauze and sets to work.

Between the ten of them, Link’s wound is cleaned and wrapped in little time. And through it all, Hyrule stands beside her, magic glowing at his palms, trying in vain to heal the injury. But it fights back of its own accord.

“What on earth hurt him like this?” Malon asks, voice tight. The other heroes have backed up now, giving her room to stand by her husband’s bedside. She leans over him, fingers brushing aside his limp bangs. He gives a shuddering breath and turns slightly into her touch.

“We don’t know what manner of monster it is yet,” Warriors says. “But it’s stronger than its companions, and smarter too. And…when someone gets struck by it the wound struggles to heal.”

Malon swallows. “But it does heal eventually, right?” She looks up at all of them, at their sorrowful expressions, at the way they struggle to meet her eyes. “Right?”

“It can.” It’s Twilight now, his voice gravelly from the tears he struggles to restrain. “He’s just gotta keep fighting.”

She turns back to her fairy boy. A ray of sun illuminates the side of his face, making his markings stand out starkly against his pale skin. The crimson stripes look especially fierce in the early morning light.

“He will,” she says, and it is both a demand and a plea, a promise and a prayer. “Don’t y’all worry. He will.”

….

It isn’t until that night that he awakens. The other heroes have drifted away by then, reluctant to leave, but all too aware of the suffocating nature of everyone packed into one room. Only Hyrule and Twilight remain. But both have finally caved to her urgings for them to get some much-needed rest and are slumped over the arm chairs in the corners.

So, when Link drags open his eye, she is the only one who sees it.

His gaze is bright with fever and pain, its usual sharpness dulled. But it only takes him a moment to find her.

“Malon.”

It is breathed more than spoken, hardly a hoarse whisper. He lifts a trembling hand, clumsily cupping her cheek. Gently, she threads her fingers between his.

“I’m here, hon.”

“Mal I…” His breath hitches into a wet cough. It wracks his body, violently, and sends tears sliding down his cheeks. The sound of it tears her heart in two.

“Take it easy, fairy boy.” She fetches a cloth from the side table and wipes away the blood that dribbles from his lips. “That monster did a number on you.”

Link hums. “Would’ve hurt Twilight if-if I hadn’t…”

“I know.” A small, sad smile lifts her lips. “I know.”

He sags against the pillows, breathing shallow, eye half-lidded. He is already fading again, Malon can tell. So soon, too soon.

“The boys,” he whispers, “they’re…”

“Fine. Worried sick about you though. You scared ‘em half to death.”

She shakes her head. The pain within her feels like it will cleave her chest in half.

“Why’d you use your own body to block the blow, Link? You’ve got shields and items – so many of them I can’t even keep track of ‘em all. Aren’t those there to try and make sure this-this…doesn’t happen?”

Link’s expression dulls further. He looks all of his true years now, weighed down by the duties he has long born, exhausted from a lifetime of pain.

“Knocked my shield out of my hand.” He looks up at her and something in his gaze pleads that she understand. “There wasn’t time for-for anything else.”

Malon gazes at him for a long moment.

“You’re insufferable, fairy boy,” she says, at last, a choked chuckle erupting out of her. “Why’d I have to fall in love with such a hero?”

He smiles back, though it is a weak effort.

“Because…of my unbelievably good looks.”

She laughs again and it sounds more like a sob.

“Well, I can’t pretend that that wasn’t a part of it.”

He chuckles, but it quickly dissolves into another coughing fit. She holds his hand through it, battling against the tears that beg to pour forth. And when it is over, she wipes away the blood again, and the tears. He closes his eye and leans into her touch.

“You gotta promise me somethin, fairy boy,” she murmurs, as she sets the cloth aside and rubs her thumb against his cheek instead.

Link looks up at her, something terribly vulnerable in his expression. She has only ever seen him gaze at her with such a look. It is an overwhelmingly precious thing.

“Anything,” he says and she believes him.

“You keep fighting, no matter what.” She encases his hand in two of her own, grip as desperate and firm as her words. “Don’t you give up, you hear me? Don’t you dare even think of giving up.”

Her voice cracks, but she plows on anyway. “I can’t lose you, Link.”

His lips quirk up in the slightest of smiles. When he squeezes her hand, it is a feeble movement, but it is there nonetheless, a confirmation that he has heard her.

“I won’t,” he breathes. “Promise.”

The tears come now, cascading down her cheeks in traitorous rivulets. She brushes them away. Then, leaning down, she plants a gentle kiss on Link’s brow.

“Good.”

His eye flutters closed. “Love you, Mal,” he murmurs, voice so soft and quiet she has to strain to catch the words.

But she does. She catches them like the flitting butterflies she used to capture between two careful hands when she was a girl. And she holds them close to her heart.

“I love you too, fairy boy.”

#I kinda based this off a fic I wrote for febuwhump #where time creates a time loop to save twilight from getting smacked by the shadow #and in the end only manages it by putting himself between the sword and twi #so this could be a follow up to that #trin writes #lu time #lu malon #lu chain #lu malink #whump #angst #hurt/comfort #linked universe #linked universe fic #follower celebration #endlessartpumpkin my beloved

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drchucktingle · 1 year

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more art talk

buds have been asking some questions in comments about separating art from artist so i will answer a few. first i will start with this very good post from a buckaroo who sums up everything i have said VERY VERY WELL. was reading along nodding but then got to end and they seem to think chuck disagrees which is confusing. i do not disagree with any of this it is just very good summary of my post so i will put here for context and to say 'good job bud yes'

anyway this is great summary of what chucks post was talkin on. knowing everything or nothing about an artist will color your interaction with them (even learning something and then pretending you never heard it will color your interaction whether you like it or not). personally chuck thinks the 'ignoring path' will be less vivid and complex but all ways are VALID. there is no correct what to experience art just personal preference that we all make for our own trot.

now i will get to the questions of a different bud.

no of course not why would it be incomplete without knowing every member of crew. chuck does not even really understand what this buckaroo is trying to say. your artistic experience is just as colored by how much you know about someone as it is how much you DONT KNOW about someone (i wear a heckin mask chuck is a perfect example). all of these ways are valid and all are part of the artistic experience. so no you do not need to know whole crew to enjoy art what the heck

no of course not. where are buds getting this idea? if you bought painting from local art fair with this big story behind it about daughter selling to you and all this THAT IS ALL PART OF THE GREAT ART EXPERIENCE. what you have for lunch that day is part of it and the way you got to the swap meet and what the weather was is all part of the art. this story is very vivid and exciting. of course that is not 'leaving the play at intermission' just because you do not know who made the painting. not knowing who made the painting is PART OF THE ART BUD

of course your experience of art changes if you experience it multiple times. this one seems VERY ovbious so i am extra confused. your experience of a dang movie changed based on where your seats are and whether or not you order a popcorn and chocolate milk, of course it changed second and third and forth time you see it. not sure what is part about doing legwork first means.

what about it? i am confused. deliberately separating yourself from your work in some way (like wear a dang pink bag over your head and being mysterious WHAT THE HECK) would IN ITSELF still be part of the art. something not being known is just as relevant as something being known and these are all perfectly valid parts of artistic trot

having a complete picture of context might make experiencing art more complex or vivid, might not, neither is 'more valid'. you do not need to know EVERYTHING about a work of art. in fact you do not need to know ANYTHING to enjoy art. not sure where this is coming from.

that is true if you learn something bad about an artist and then ignore it you are STILL altering your experience of their work, which means you are STILL not actually separating art from artist because to IGNORE something is an active choice.

seems like buds are hung up on this line from chucks previous post:

'separating artist from art is like walking out of a play during intermission youre missing half the show bud, for better or worse. gotta accept theres a whole second half and grapple with that because its all one big performance'

buckaroos seem to think this is SCOLDING those who walk out but that is not what i am saying. i am not saying 'shame on you for walking out' i am saying YOU LITERALLY CANT STOP THE EXPERIENCE IT IS IMPOSSIBLE. because walking out does not end the experience it just dulls your perception of whats happening in the theater. intermission walkout means you just have a new and different experience where youre witnessing the show from the lobby or across the street (which is to say having artistic experience of NOT witnessing the show). and personally chuck thinks sticking around and really wrestling with these ideas brings vivid results (despite all experiences being 'valid' in technical way. there is no 'correct' way to ART AROUND this is just chucks personal choice)

anyway those are some comments i thought were interesting. many of them are confusing to chuck but wanted to answer all for way of clarity of buds and just to DIG A LITTLE DEEPER. thank you to buckaroos who took time to write all this you are proving love and i appreciate your input very much EVEN QUESTIONS I DO NOT UNDERSTAND ARE VERY GOOD AND THOUGHTFUL so thank you buckaroos. LOVE IS REAL

#chuck tingle #more art talk

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afyrian · 20 days

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ch. 1 - july 2 masterlist

"the video's doing well, my dear," you peek into rintarō's room, raising your eyebrows at the rear end of your sentence.

he looks up from his computer, pulling his headphones off of his ears. his hair is flattened down slightly by the headband and the time spent with them on. rin's eyes are wide as he sits forward in his chair. sometimes he can become so consumed by his editing and live streaming that things happening around him can get out of focus, "yes?"

"the video is like... really popular. like more views than anything i've ever made. i mean, it's insane," you lean against the doorframe, head resting against the wood.

a smile smile forms on his face, overtaking the smile that you try to hide by biting your lip. unlike his personality in his years of high school and volleyball, he’s become more open. the way he engages in conversation and smiles more. you can’t help but hope that you were the cause of that (or possibly the twin’s years of wearing him down).

"so, i was thinking we could celebrate with a little something in the kitchen, honey," you reach a hand out, walking over to where his desk is.

rintarō narrows his eyes, taking in a deep breath, "well, how can i deny my darling wife?"

for a split second, when you hear him call you darling and his 'wife', it almost sounds genuine. the way his tone doesn't care the same as your sarcastic one. however, you ignore it as you focus on the surprise you've planned. he holds out a hand and grabs ahold of yours, letting you pull him out of the room and to the kitchen.

the hallway is decorated with a few balloons and sets of streamers. rin looks around and wonders if maybe he should turn down the volume of his headphones. someone could rob the rest of the house and he probably wouldn't be able to tell. but this surprise is a much better one. especially when he notices the poorly crafted cake on the countertop.

it's got the stature and potential for an amazing cake. however, the icing is poorly spread about and the piping could use a little work. little swirls covers the sides of them and in cursive writing it says 'sorry we're married' with hearts all over. it was the only way you could think of to say sorry again. you lean against the counter, letting go of rintarō's hand and slide it towards him.

"you know i'm okay with it, right?" he turns to look at you, hand raising so it's just barely touching your elbow.

your shoulders drop and you let out a sigh. the problem is that he's always okay with the things you do, and then you can't tell when he really isn't okay. especially the stoic appearance masking his typical emotions. "i just- i want you to find love just like anyone else. and this next year, that'll be a little awkward," you purse your lips, leaning into his touch slightly.

"thank you, but you don't need to worry. we're what? twenty two? trust me, i'll have the love of my life eventually, whether i've known her for years or just met her," he shrugs his shoulders, hair returning back to its normal appearance, "but, i will still absolutely eat this apology cake."

"well considering it's your favorite, i would hope so..."

"now i definitely have to eat it, sugar," the playful tone finally returns to his voice and you can take a breath out knowing that he's okay, his hand even raises and rests on your far shoulder.

it definitely feels odd knowing you have a legal partner, real or not. you're bound to some contract that doesn't feel real and feels real all the same. however, as you stare at rintarō hovering over the cake with a knife in hand, eyes flickering between you and the cake, it's easy to see this being easy. maybe not for everyone, but being married to rintarō so far is pretty easy.

a/n: the next ones should be longer

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #the longest contract #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarō #suna rintaro #suna x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu suna #suna x you

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system-of-a-feather · 10 months

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hi, we're scared to tell our therapist we're a system, do you know how to heal at home? half our headmates think we're faking it and most of us don't have a lot of faith in authorities of any kind, but the symptoms are so annoying :(

Three chapters to this response (not sure if its actually three or if Ill remember all three main points, I'm just being flamboyant)

Chapter One - Communicating with a Professional

Honestly? While it is totally valid and it's not something you should rush into if you don't feel safe, my best advice would be to try to work up to telling your therapist in some way or form the reality of your symptoms as they are - even if not "I am a system" but just slowly drop the mask. If you don't relate to something you said before - whether its an alter or not - its fine to say so, same with memory gaps or anything.

You don't have to state you are a system or think you have DID to explain your issues to a therapist and have the real situation handled and discussed. I understand the fakies and I also understand distrusting authorities, but they are a professional and either they should be able to appropriately handle it, or there should be someone else in their place because you deserve care that you are capable of genuinely expressing your issues in so that you can address those issues.

DID recovery and treatment can be really difficult and sometimes dangerous without guidance so before anything else, I really would recommend trying to figure out a way you can at least communicate some of the aspects of the symptoms that are bothering you to your therapist and giving them a chance (unless there is a reason other than general distrust, to which if there is, then thats another story)

Chapter Two - The Fakies

TOTALLY understandable, been there done that (not meant to be disregarding) and honestly getting through the fakies is a journey in its own - but in regards to that specific topic, I did want to say some food for thought that might be unpopular, but honestly?

Who cares if you are faking.

Genuinely. I don't even mean "are confused" but like, actually genuinely trying to force yourself to present as separate people to cope with whatever you've been through. What are you doing that's so horrible? As long as you aren't spewing dangerous miss information, if it helps you, I really honestly don't care nor do I think its my business to tell you to stop (within the realm of dangerous topics and safety).

And to be honest? Any good therapist shouldn't care either.

If you are faking, you have something you are trying to cope with and are not doing well - you still have an issue to address and you are allowed to go through the phases of healing. If you aren't faking but feel like you are faking, you still have something to work through. Discussing your symptoms as they are will eventually get you down to the root of whatever is going on and you'll either outgrow it and find better coping mechanisms, or you won't and you'll get your real issue handled.

Personally, realizing that even if I was 'faking' - as long as I wasn't spreading harmful information - there was literally no real genuine moral consequence or whatever to expressing my mental illness in a form like DID really let me stop worrying about it.

If you are faking, what does that REALLY change? If you are confused, what does that REALLY change? If you are a system, what does that REALLY change? In the end you still have an issue that needs to be talked about and worked through and healing and recovery is a process that is going to be worth it albeit ugly in the process cause healing is Just Like That.

I really hate the notion "You would know it if you are faking" and "If you question if you are faking, you aren't" cause that shit just doesn't help cause as someone who was there, you just go "yeah deep down I do know" and it just makes shit worse. I prefer "if you are faking its whatever, what harm are you doing to any one in the NOT ONLINE world"

If your symptoms are distressing you as they are, they are distressing you and you have a right to mention it. The only difference is where the root stands when you investigate it professionally.

Chapter Three - Answering the Damn Question

Anyways, to answer the main question asked, assuming we take this ask and question's preface as unchanging unfixable situations and you want to completely ignore everything above (fair and valid) - most of what OP and I said here would apply as it is the general theme of recovery with DID imo

Past that, I would recommend steering clear from addressing and trying to process trauma unless it come to you. I am personally of the opinion that intentionally seeking out trauma processing without a professional to help you when you have DID can be a risky game to play and as someone that's done a lot of healing, it is UBER important to "clear" what is known as the Stabilization Phase before getting deep into the trauma.

The Stabilization Phase is essentially focusing on a few things:

Establishing basic self care and coping skills

Establishing something of an external support system around you

Establishing something of a stable enough living situation (or as much as you can at the moment)

Lessening stressors that you can lessen at the moment

Reviewing your current friendships, coping mechanisms, and behaviors to see what is helping you and what it hurting you

Getting to understand yourself and selves - ie knowing who you are and your skills, drives and dynamics, then having that done for a handful of regular fronters

Getting to know and building communication with parts of your system

Building trust and synergies with those parts to be able operate with them

Generally building a sense of safety within the parts internally and externally as a way to build up resilience and prepare yourself (as a whole) for stress, trials, and trauma

Typically, you would want to have a decent progress on all of those before intentionally diving into hard trauma processing and building all of that can take a while to do.

Of course this isn't to say repress trauma and trauma holding parts - if trauma comes to you, its a good opportunity to work on building that list of things as the actively surfacing trauma tends to be relevant to parts or your current living situation that could use improvement or deeper understanding of.

This is more to say to let sleeping dragons lie - ie, if the trauma doesn't come to you and isn't howling, don't wake it up. If there is no trauma, if you can't remember the trauma, cool - take it as a blessing for now and focus on understanding the big picture and helping improve your life better.

As for some ways and things to do to help build some of those?

Figure out what kinds of things you would like to do in your life or just things you would like to do in general

Figure out what matters to you, what do you value above other things

Interact with your social webs and people around you and see what works and what doesn't, what makes you feel good, what makes you feel bad, what is triggering and what isn't and work to fine tune who you spend your time around

Work on any self sufficiency stuff you are able to work on (physically, time, emotionally, etc there are limits and work with where you are)

Try to communicate with your parts and the IMPORTANT part of this is to just have fun with it. Trauma and DID is enough pain as it is, be silly, have fun, play games and try to go on dates (platonic or not) with yourself. Poke fun with yourself / among yourselves. Tease one another. Make inside jokes. BE CRINGE ITS FINE. ITS FREEING

Try to make friends with at least one part and build that relationship well and then try to branch out and keep doing this

Keep an open mind and a large amount of patience when dealing with any part - especially if they are causing problems or being Mentally Ill TM. Unforuntately most parts are going to be "stupid" in their own way and its important to accept each parts faults while focusing on their strengths

Once you know those part's strengths and weaknesses, try to lean on the unique strengths each have to cover eachother's weak points and - if possible - take a weakness and try to convert it to a strength. This varies from part to part so I can't get much more specific than that plus, honestly, Team Curation as Ray calls it is Coach Ray's job as he does most of that stuff in our brain so me talking about it is a bit abvove my pay grade

Just really

Have. Fun.

Shits bad enough and hard enough with healing and recovery. At home? Just try to enjoy the moments of peace when they come and have fun with your parts and just try to live your life when you are given breaks from the waves of symptoms.

Anyways. That's a bit of my take on the thing and some tips.

TLDR though?

Try to find a way to talk to your therapist honestly if you can, whether you are faking or not really doesn't matter in my opinion, and just have fun and live your life to the best of your ability.

#alter: riku #actuallydid #dissociative identity disorder #osdd #ask #asks #advice #healing #stabilization phase #stabilization #recovery

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slutfor-fictionalmen · 4 months

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Thinking of a series or at least 3 chapters of an internally!softer! Ghost and a super smart/ strong headed! Reader who works on their mission routes and tactical strategies, they obviously like eachother but won’t say anything (for now)

A little suggestive below cut but more of a preview!

Your head is pounding from the strain on your eyes, overtime has kicked your ass, even with help you’ve gotten, your entire life has been your work.

“Oh fuck me!” a rumble of laughter escapes the man next to you as you change positions.

“You can say that again.” a sigh escapes your lips as you close your laptop as violently as you can without causing harm to it, after all, why would you cause harm to something you saved up for months to buy even though work has more use of it then you do .

“Si, do we really have to do this?” His screen closes shortly after.

“Do you want to continue having a job cause these reports are just as important as my fieldwork love.”

“Maybe its time for me to find a new fucking job,” you grumble. Your misery incites another laugh out of the man,

“Hey let me know when you do that ill be right behind you.”

“The government would sooner kill both of our families and us than let us go, the misfortune of being too valuable i fear,” you turn over and face him attempting to lessen the twinge in your back with a new position.

“Ah, too bad you’re too amazing.”

“Yeah yeah smooth talker you're just trying to butter me up, get me to do your reports for you, I won't be tricked, not again that is.” His calloused hand touches yours releasing a breath that you were unaware you were holding.

“It’s nice to be with you again you know ,” you hold his hand, squeezing gently, “to talk to you and not have to worry about whether or not you’re going to die in a few minutes.”

“You know me better than to worry about that, what kind of man of the 141 would I be if I'm not evading death at all turns, gonna take a lot more than some pesky bullets to take me out darling.”

A dry chuckle escapes your mouth “I’ll hold you to that.”

You play the memory over in your brain, again, and again, and again. Your brain was flooded with thoughts of simon, his hands, his chest, the way his eyes crinkled under his mask when you make him laugh. The way your interactions were always so calm, so intimate. His talk of marriage, of future, how he hopes love but has the worst love life of anyone you know.

You cant say more for yourself, failed dates, hookups, and your fair share of blind dates you often felt as if the love you craved is out of your reach, it doesn’t exist. Or it didn’t until you met a tall intimidating man that ruined any prospective males for you without even knowing the damage he’s inflicted, the nights you’ve spent dreaming of him, his smile. Everything from what your wedding would be like to what he’d look like between your thighs, him finally being the one to pull his name from your lips and not your vibrator that’s worked double time since you’ve gotten closer to the man.

You shake your head at the thought, forcibly ridding it from your brain before you dive deeper into a fantasy with the man standing next to you, going over plans for their next mission, protocols and resources, how long they’re expecting to be away and where they should be to come back. You briefly wonder if you should have said yes, what ghost would have said if you actually quit, maybe you would have run from the law together, or maybe you would have been stuck back in this very room as deserters, you allow your mind to focus on the more positive side before you zone back into work.

Simon’s thoughts have been everywhere but focused today, he’s known lust, he’s even known obsession, but never something like this. He’s a professional, a killer, he’s trained to withstand torture but he can’t stand you on his mind without going crazy with the need to fuck his fist, picturing your soft mound, wondering how your thick thighs and tight pussy would squeeze around him if he told you all the dirty thoughts he had while you bent over the table to emphasize an evacuation route if anything goes wrong. You were a strategist, a smart, beautiful, highly respected woman who earned every role you had, every medal you earned, and yet he can’t stop thinking about how many times you’d need to cum before he can get that beautiful brain to slow down.

He’d feel guilty if his thick cock wasn’t pressing painfully against the zipper of his uniform disrupting any thoughts he could have potentially had.

“Enter Ghost, through this wall, try not to use too many grenades, as much as we want the base destroyed, we don’t want you inside of it.” You look out of the corner of your eye till you hear a deep grunt indicating his reception to your words.

His eyes don’t leave you, he loves your voice but his brain is on everything but this mission, he almost wants to tell you to have more faith in him, he’d always come home to you, after all when has he ever let you down?

“You’ve gone over this at least 3 times, why don’t you let us get this done? We promise we’ll be good.” Soap says with a hand over his heart and the other in the air, a cheesy promise to you inciting scattered chuckles from various teammates around the room.

You sigh in defeat, “follow my orders, or at least try to…. Please,” you shut off the screen and turn to the group but make an effort to look at Simon, “ Come home safe for me.”

His eyes bore into you as he internally promises just as he always does “I Will.”

Let me know if you want more!!

#chubby reader #smut #plus size reader #plus size!reader #ghost #simon ghost riley #chubby!reader #fluff #slow burn #i actually like this #ghost cod

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dissociacrip · 4 months

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this turned into a long adhd rant whoopsie

it really does suck how people seem to downplay autism and adhd now lol. autism has been reduced to people who can mask and have low support needs and adhd hasn't really changed from its status as a joke.

i don't talk about adhd much but it probably gets in the way of me being able to function just as much, if not more than autism does (in my personal situation) when it comes to mental disability. not showering enough. not cooking. not cleaning my living space properly. forgetting to brush my teeth. dishes sitting in the sink for so long they start getting moldy. only being able to maybe do 1-3 tasks a day maximum because my brain can't organize itself enough to do more than that. difficulty committing to things and being consistent in overarching ways. being late to things a lot. highly impaired verbal recall so i forget things people say to me, forget verbal instructions, etc. on top of the other acutely stressful situations that come with memory and regulating my attention span (e.g. locking my keys in my car or locking myself out of my house when i have a very limited support network to remediate those situations.)

my meds barely touch this stuff for me and i'm not especially inclined to increase the dosage after bordering on psychosis when i was taking 40mg of vyvanse. i've just become so accustomed to living the way that i do (because my case is pretty bad afaik) so i can't just will myself to be another way. any efforts i make to change or be more organized and routine and consistent end up getting dashed away because i just cannot do it lol. my shit just doesn't work. adhd is a massive barrier between me and being a functioning person or being able to take care of myself. i'm pretty sure would still be a "gross" and unpalatable disabled person even if my muscles worked and i didn't have POTS/etc. that also get in the way of my hygiene and the cleanliness of my living space.

that doesn't even go into how other people react to it. a good chunk of physical and verbal abuse i faced from my family as a child was related to my adhd symptoms. i was diagnosed at a young age but my parents "forgot" it happened and it was never addressed otherwise. i got constantly called disgusting for my hygiene problems and was threatened with violence over it (on top of the times where i was actually getting assaulted.) people take my impaired verbal recall and lack of impulse control irt accidentally cutting people off or interrupting them personally, accusing me of not caring enough when it's something that is extremely difficult to be aware of or manage when adhd is a condition that distinctly involves impaired awareness of your own behavior.

so when i see shit like "just set alarms" or anything else that amounts to "you're not trying hard enough" or adhd not very much being a disability, especially when it's coming from other people w/ adhd, it kinda makes me wanna stab things with knives.

sure, it's not the worst condition ever, but just like most other disabilities, the way it affects everyone who is it is different and some are gonna be able to manage it better than others. sure, there a lot of really fucking annoying people (usually able-bodied) w/ adhd on social media that have large platforms and who very often profit from or encourage liberal pop psych bullshit when it comes to adhd, but it's still very much a disability. it can affect hygiene. it can affect employment or otherwise means of earning an income. it can affect our social lives and whether we have a support system. it can affect whether someone can keep their house from getting infested with bugs or mold. it is very much something that causes dysfunction in ways that aren't nearly as cutesy as the little comics you might see on instagram are drawn.

just remember that.

#actuallyadhd #adhd problems #adhd brain #adult adhd #ableism #j #brain log

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a-kookie-with-my-tae · 2 months

Text

Befallen: Chapter 2

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Music Producer!Reader

Genre: Fluff??

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Jimin is that annoying best friend, Y'N is in denial, all the drama just because

A/N: I'm so sorry this was out late! My computer died on me and it set me back a bit. So, that being said, this next chapter is gonna be a couple days late as well. I'm gonna try my best to get back on track as quickly as possible. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it!

Masterlist

Effervescent: Lively, full of energy, bubbly.

The smile Jimin dawns hasn't left his face since we left the studio a few hours ago. Joy so obviously adorning his soft features. Although he wears a mask it's easy to tell, his eyes squinting so much it makes me wonder how he sees the sidewalk in front of us. It feels as if a insurmountable weight has lifted from my shoulders as I pull my mask down to my chin, taking a sip of my tea and chewing lightly on some of the tapioca pearls that come through the straw. Jimin and I's boba tea are similar yet so different, just like our personalities. While we both went for cold milk tea with no ice, mine was banana with tapioca pearls while his was coconut with aloe jellies. A weird combination on his part, but aloe apparently has healing properties and he's all about that. I'm not the one that has to drink it - except the one time he made me try it and I made him vow to never again make me taste his drinks after that experience - so I don't pay mind to it.

He hasn't stopped gushing about the song that I showed him, ultimately claiming it as his own and running through ideas for it at a mile a minute. I didn't even know he could talk that fast. He's so enthused and focused on his ideas that he hasn't even touched his drink since we left the cafe, which is unheard of when it comes to him. Usually he gulps that thing down in the first couple minutes of having it, then complains when he has nothing left to drink and ultimately goes back to get another one. I smile to myself at him, butterflies fluttering through my chest in a much different way than they were earlier. I'm nervous, but at the same time, the excitement at the prospect is greater.

Ideas for it flow through my own mind as we walk, the suggestion from Jungkook on the front of it, distracting me from my own.

It's not a bad idea. Especially with Jimin's soft vocals, it would pair nicely. It would sure be a lot different from what he has put out in the past, but the boy likes to change up his vocal style like its a sport. No two songs of his have ever sounded alike, and this would fit in with that theme.

He goes on about how he's torn between themes, whether he wants to talk about the the fear of stardom or the fear of losing someone. Either way, he wants it to be a meaningful message. I focus on the two themes, running through different sets of lyrics to see which one would fit better, but I'm also at a loss.

"Ugh, this is so hard!" Jimin throws his hands up in the air in exasperation, grabbing the attention of a few of the other people in the street at the dramatic display. "I don't know how to decide..."

"Maybe you should ask one of the other members?" I suggest, knowing that a few of his hyungs have production experience and have produced a few albums on their own already.

"No, this has to be something I decide on my own." Jimin says with determination permeating his features. He slows his walk and I see him starting to get in his own head. He tends to do that a lot, overthink. Jimin, although one of the most talented and hard-working individuals I know, is somewhat of a walking contradiction. He exudes confidence in everything he does, but at the same time is more self-conscious than anything. He doesn't like to show it, but he's harder on himself than anyone else could possibly be. Always overthinking every move he makes, a perfectionist at heart. Especially when it comes to himself.

"You know, there's nothing wrong with asking for help." I try to reason with him, attempting to break him from the inevitable spiral that will happen if he is left to his thoughts. "After all, aren't I helping you with it?"

He pauses for a moment to think, his eyebrows creasing. We walk in silence for a few seconds before he speaks softly, but each syllable is coated with conviction.

"That's different..." he starts, "we are making this together. If I ask them... it just proves that I can't do it on my own."

Jimin avoids my eyes as says this, his competitive nature showing through. He always wants to be the best version of himself that he can be, sometimes near destroying himself in the process. I want to argue, say that it's not a weakness to rely on others to help. But I don't, knowing full and well that it wouldn't change his mind. He's very stubborn when it comes to this, so I don't push it. I think for a moment before an idea pops in my head.

"Well... why don't you just do both?"

He looks at me, puzzled. "How would that work?"

"Didn't you say you were thinking about putting out an English version as well for your international fans?"

He raises an eyebrow at me skeptically. "Yes...?"

He trails off, waiting for me to continue.

"Just make the English version one theme, and the Korean version the other."

His eyes widen in realization. "Oh my God, yes! That's perfect! I have so many ideas... we have to go back to the studio!"

He grabs my arms and faces me toward him, almost shaking me with his excitement.

I smile and laugh lightly, happy that he's so enthralled at the idea.

"How about we go back tomorrow? It's already 9PM and you have an early practice tomorrow. We can work on it first thing after you're done, I promise." I stick my pinky finger out at him, smiling softly. Pinky promises are pretty much sacred between the two of us, so offering it eases pretty much any skepticism that he might've had.

"Ugh... fine." He says dramatically with a roll of his eyes, knowing he wouldn't win this argument as he intertwines his tiny pinky with mine. "Sleep is unnecessary anyway... but whatever."

I shake my head at him before starting to walk back toward the company building. After stopping at the cafe down the street, we decided to walk a little bit before heading back. The fresh air was refreshing after spending all day couped up in the studio.

"Did you want a ride home?" I ask as we near the parking lot, digging in my cross-body purse for my keys.

"No, thanks." He says before dawning a teasing smile. He pauses for dramatic affect before continuing. "Kook is actually giving me a ride home."

My face instantly flushes at his words, the moment from earlier coming to the forefront of my mind. The smirk on Jimin's face widens at the sight of my red cheeks.

"So... what happened earlier before I came in? You guys seemed... close." He teases.

I purse my lips at him. "Nothing! He just barged in randomly when I was working. I don't even know why. He just starting talking and messing with my track." I try my best to fake annoyance at it, but Jimin sees right through it.

"Yeah... sure."

We arrive at my car and he leans against the passenger door as I put my bag in the back seat.

"You look awfully flushed for someone who is acting all annoyed." He pushes.

"Whatever." I say with a roll of my eyes, heart beating ever so slightly faster. I've never been the best liar, especially around Jimin. He always seems to know what I'm thinking, able to read my face like a book no matter how hard I try to mask it.

"You know... I could totally ask him what happened. I'm sure he'd tell me."

I wonder if he felt it, too...

I quickly shake the thought out of my head before shutting the door to my car in finality.

"Do what you want, but nothing happened." I state firmly.

"Fine, I won't ask. But I know that something happened between you two. You could cut the tension in that room with a knife." He glances to the side at me before continuing. "But just so you know... Jungkook is different. When he likes someone, he doesn't mess around. And that boy is more stubborn than me, he always gets what he wants. So if that's you..."

"Then, he should prepare for disappointment. You know how I feel about all that... and I don't think we will have to worry about it. There's no way Jungkook feels something for me, we met for like 2 minutes. You can't like someone that fast." I shrug off Jimin's words. The man we speak of is basically untouchable. Unreachable by my mere human hands. He's like a god, an Adonis, and the fact that Jimin thinks even remotely that a man like that could have any sort of feelings for me makes me wish insane asylums still existed, because this boy really needs to be checked in.

"I don't know..." Jimin trails off before looking off to the side. He leans up and off of my car before zeroing his eyes in on it. He stares for a moment before smirking, the twitch of his mouth as quick as lightning before the stoic expression resumes on his features. "I've never even seen him really talk to a girl, even our stylists. So the fact that he was comfortable talking to you and standing so close...."

He turns back toward me. "Not to mention he looked mighty jealous when he found out we knew each other."

"No he didn't." I roll my eyes, yet again brushing off the words of the insane man next to me. My mind is made up. Even if the very unlikely scenario that he proposes is true, it wouldn't matter. I don't care how great of a guy Jimin says he is, at the end of the day all men are the same. If you let yourself fall in love, you'll only get hurt. It may not be about sex, or love, or money. But some way some how, it'll happen. I'm done with setting myself up for disappointment. I'm tired. So, I continue on after a moment, indifference coating my every syllable as I try and fail to fool Jimin into believing my facade. "He was just surprised you knew me. It makes sense, since I've never worked with you guys before."

He sighs deeply before his shoulders drop in acquiesce. I avoid making eye contact with him. I know that if I do, he'll be able to read all the bullshit I'm spewing and I'm not quite ready to admit that to myself. I don't know if I'll ever be. "I'm just saying. Don't close yourself off to the idea. I know how you feel about... well... boys in general. But he's different. Just... think about it." He turns to give me a hug.

"Anyway, JK has been standing over there glaring at me for a few minutes, so I better go." He says with a laugh, causing me to shoot my eyes in the direction he was focusing on earlier.

Jungkook looks even more handsome that I remember, even though the interaction was only a few hours ago. He's leaning against his car confidently, arms crossed as he pins the man standing next to me. If looks could kill, Jimin assuredly would've melted to the ground. He nibbles on his full bottom lip as his brows furrow together, a crease forming in between them. His dimples show from how flexed his jaw is, the corners of which look as if they could cut me if I dragged my fingers across it. Something swims in those orbs that I can't quite place, and I don't wish to find out either .

Jimin's earlier words flash through my head, but I try to pay no mind to them. Jungkook can't have feelings for me, it's impossible. Saying he's out of my league is a vast understatement. It's more like he's on a different planet altogether. I can never let myself feel anything for him, no matter what the stupid organ in my chest is trying to tell me as it beats harder at the sight of him. If I let go... If I let myself fall for him... It would only cause me pain. I've had enough of that for one lifetime. I won't set myself up for disappointment yet again.

His eyes meet mine from across the parking lot, and time seems to pause its existence. They seem to soften at the sight of me, his cheeks gaining a slight flush from the eye contact. I know mine don't fare much better. He uncrosses his arms before adjusting himself against his car, putting his hands in the pockets of the hoodie he now wears before glancing momentarily toward the ground awkwardly. I smile lifts in the corner of my mouth at the sight, endearing as it is. He brings one hand up to wave shyly as his eyes meet mine again. I almost forget to return the gesture as I get lost in his ethereal gaze.

"I'll see you tomorrow, first thing after practice. Do you want to hit the dance studio after?"

Jimin's voice thankfully snaps me out of my daze. The knowing smirk on his face makes me groan internally. I already know that I'm in for it in the morning, there's no avoiding it. There's no playing indifference either after the display of awkward teenage tension that he just witnessed. There's no ignoring it either. Fuck.

"Won't you be tired? You're gonna be dancing all morning." The idea of stretching my limbs again is a welcome one. The dance studio used to be a place in which I'd frequent. But, lately, life has been so chaotic that I haven't had the chance to go.

"Dancing with them is... different. Ballet is more of a release. I mean, you know what I'm talking about. And I think both of us are in need of some of that classical R and R." He kicks his leg out in a tendu dramatically, as if to further punctuate his words.

"Yeah, that sounds good." I say with a smile at my best friend, happy that he's not pushing the subject of the man across the parking lot.

Even though he's over 100 feet away, I can still feel his eyes bore into me. His gaze makes my skin tingle as it rakes over my features. I glance at him from my peripheral, only to cause myself to flush from the heat of it. I shiver runs down my back at the attention.

"Alright then." He pauses for a split second before donning an evil smirk. He pulls me into a dramatic hug, lifting me off the ground as I giggle. He sets me down after a few seconds, quickly turning away and walking toward the car across the lot. "Bye, bitch! I'll see you tomorrow."

I'm slightly out of breath from the random display of affection. Even though Jimin is not that much taller than me, maybe an inch or two, his strength always surprises me. My eyes meet with the man he's walking towards. The confliction in his gaze sends my heart racing in my chest. He looks as if he's debating on killing my best friend or running toward me. As if he's fighting his instinct to either defend me or claim me. The fact of it causes a flash of heat through my body, making my breathing speed up in the process.

Something clicks in his gaze as Jimin finally reaches him. I see the shorter male's mouth move, but can't quite make out what he's saying before he opens the door to the car and slides in. I gulp as he slowly drinks in my form, the heat from his gaze causing a flutter under my skin wherever it touches. As his eyes meet mine once again, the corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. This snaps me out of my daze as I quickly hop into the driver's seat of my car. I focus all of my attention on starting the vehicle, trying to push out the feeling of his eyes still on me. I'm hyper aware of his every move as he continues to look at me.

I let out a shay breath before buckling my seat belt and putting the car in gear.

Oh, this is not gonna be fun.

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction

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avatarvyakara · 10 months

Text

Presenting the premier Addy Brock collection from Strands of Webbing!

Starting out with diversion of a canon event because, honestly, [bleep] that noise:

52. React

"DON’T!" she screams. But Ven#m is already halfway towards the M.O.R.B.I.U.S. device, a look of determination on its electronic inFace—

Until, with a grunt, all three point one five tons of SP//dr shoves the other mech out of the way of the beam of light just in time. A nearby building fuses into a twisted mess of metal and glass, like a Vonnegut crystogram.

"What the hell was that for?" comes the angry voice of Addy Brock from Ven#m's modulator.

"Rule number one on this team: you don't get yourself killed to prove a point!" snaps Peni.

Ven#m's inFace expresses strong shock.

"…we're a team?"

"I didn't say that."

That chirpy expression looks really weird in black and neon white. It probably doesn't help that the teenager inside has a much more…smug face, and that Peni can see both of them quite clearly.

"You implied it."

"Shut up. Now help me figure out this thing's weak spot. And don’t you dare die."

(Addy survives. But Peni's not sure, after the loud squeal at the end of the fight, whether her eardrums are going to last the week.)

60. Introductions

“You’re welcome to stay longer,” she tells Gray with a little hesitation, as they sit atop the New Chrysler eating putty-cakes from a street vendor below. “You could actually come over.”

His eyes shine, but his brow wrinkles—for once he’s got the mask off. He looks like Peter Parker. He looks nineteen. (Thirty. Eighty.)

“I don’t know if your folks would be okay with that.”

“You already met Addy.”

“Well, yeah.” Admittedly, she did threaten Gray with a fate worse than death and a mech. Neither of which seemed very effective to the other Spider, who had just laughed. One Saturday she’d be very happy to forget, honestly. (But he laughed, so there was some success that day.)

“I’ve been trying to explain this to them, the whole multiverse thing,” she says, and huffs. “They still think I’m crazy. Or that I’m lying and that I’ve actually just gotten myself some shady lowlife koibito to spite them.”

Gray’s face hardens. “If that word means what I think it means, then they should know way better.”

But it softens again when he looks at her. “But a six-foot-three-inch-tall nineteen-year-old with a face like a darned sock isn’t going to be much help to you, kiddo.”

“You’re literally from another dimension—”

“And I look scary. I won’t be making it easier for you on my own, not with how you say your aunt and uncle are. Maybe you can get Miles and Gwen in on this?”

She wants to protest, but then he says: “Maybe Ham and Peter too, Make an outing of it for the whole cluster. That way the others can distract them a little.”

“...I guess that makes sense.” He’s her best human friend, and she wanted to recognize that. But even so...maybe that would be better. She was able to pass off Miguel as a Mercurial pen-pal with a cosplay addiction (most Earthers will believe anything about the decadent and obscenely wealthy and more-than-slightly inhuman Spacers), but the rest are going to be harder—her black-and-white and cartoon counterparts especially. Telling the whole story, with proof, becomes easier if there are kids her age to help soften the blow. (Plus, Peter B couldn’t look threatening if he tried.)

Still.

“You’re not scary, though,” Peni insists. “Not to me.” She grins. “You’re too much of a dork for that.”

He squeezes her shoulder, and gives her a smile no less warm for being in monochrome. “Whereas you frighten the life out of me, doll.”

She hugs him. This time around, he doesn’t resist.

“...seriously, though, what’s in that crispy paste stuff?”

“Sun-fried seaweed, Mercury-style.”

“...it’s not too bad. Tastes kinda like latkes. Like a latke dough, but you can eat it.”

“It’s pretty good. My favourite’s yungay potato.”

“Ah, a lady of quality.”

She laughs at that.

80. Comrade

Adelaide Brock is fourteen when she makes her first two real friends. People who actually get it. Who understand the thrill of the ride, and the joy of the psychic link.

They have their differences, of course. Peni’s more of a drill sergeant in the field, always efficient, applying incredible precision. Addy’s always been more of a performer at heart, and her spider (her spider), Weying, seems to sympathize. Ven#m likes the spotlight, isn’t really up to just fighting and heading home, prefers to mug for the crowds and crow over a few muggers. (And occasionally fantasizes about trapping and eating the monsters they defeat like the oversized prey they are, but that’s spiders for you.) Maybe it’s showboating a little, but hey, if you have a ship, why not display it?

But at the end of the day...Peni saved her life. Soon after, she saved Peni’s. They’re a team. They’re actually talking. And she and Weying have been working together for ages now, and New York loves them. Life is good.

Now, if only Peni would actually let her know who she keeps talking to on that weird 2D group chat of hers...

170. Hardcore

“...until ultimate termination.”

Peni blinks.

“Are you sure we’re the same person?”

Other Peni rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. Even if your SP//dr is a bit...”

“A bit what?”

“You know...impractical? For fighting bad guys?”

Peni frowns. “Mostly kaiju, actually.”

“You sit in a glass cockpit and punch giant monsters and somehow you’ve survived as SP//dr for...how long now?”

“Three years. How about you?”

“Two. ...oh, no, there is no way you’re older than me. You look twelve!”

“Uh...I’m sixteen.”

“Ah, Peni! I see you’ve met Peni?” says Ham, striding through the workshop with a sandwich and out the other side. “Have fun!”

“I guess,” mutters Other Peni.

“...Dad’s death still bothering you?”

“What? No, that was ages ago.” Other Peni sighs, which helps Peni feel less like yelling at her dismissive tone (which would be counterproductive). “Mostly it’s just the job. It...kinda grinds down on you after a while.”

“...I guess I can relate to that.”

Other Peni coughs. “So...you like listening to music while you work?”

Peni lights up. “Do I? Come on, let’s get the sound started. Have you heard anything by Karam Heiwa?”

For the first time in the entire conversation, Other Peni smiles.

“I can see you’ve got good taste.”

“It’s probably a Peni Parker thing,” says Peni, conversationally. “Gray’s stuck on swing, Peter B’s more Silver Age Electric, and Gwen’s into punk, but you just can’t beat KH for tunes to work with.”

Other Peni cautiously goes through the playlist on the holographic display, as though she’s worried about breaking something. Then her faces lights up.

“Hey, is this ‘Nuke-ular’? I haven’t heard this album in ages!”

...of course Other Peni would choose the most depressing song in the mix. Still, baby steps.

183. Talk

The first time Addy stops by the workshop when Other Peni is there, Other Peni is furious at Peni for suggesting she come and say hi. Genuinely furious.

The second time—after some prompting and a long discussion where Other Peni Parker cries for the first time Peni remembers—Other Peni is there to greet her.

“Uhhhh...Peni? Is that you? You look tired. And...older.”

“...hey, Addy. It’s me. This is gonna sound weird, but...I’m from another dimension and I just...kind of wanted to see you again.”

She sounds so tender.

Addy blinks.

“It’s okay,” says Peni, coming around to the front of the space. “She’s...a friend. Sort of. But you have to keep this a secret. This is beyond mech stuff, it’s insanely important. Swear?”

Addy nods, wide-eyed.

“Good! You two have fun!”

“Peni, you weren’t supposed to—” Other Peni growls, but Peni’s already wheeling herself out.

It should help. She knows it would help her. And she’s about 90% certain Addy will forgive her, and has fifteen different prospective options to hasten that process.

...figures that when she steps back in, Addy and Other Peni give her rather evil grins.

“You know,” says Other Peni casually, “the nice thing about being the same person? It means you’re already well aware of a fair few...embarrassing incidents.”

“...you didn’t.”

“Me? No, no. We just traded life stories. If they match up, it’s just a coincidence, right?”

Addy cackles.

“I’ve created a monster.”

“Aw, lighten up, Choking Hazard.”

“Adelaide Brock, you swore not to tell a living soul—”

“Actually I just said I’d only talk about it with you. And, well...”

Other Peni laughs.

(The sacrifices one makes for the good of one’s fellow Spiders...)

238. Rudolph

“If you think I’m missing this, Peni Parker, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Addy...I don’t know. I mean, yes, you got bitten, but...I’ve never met another Addy Brock out there. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Addy tosses her head back and offers her friend an easy grin. “Then I won’t get hurt. Simple as that. Trust me, Peni. I know when to pull back now.”

Peni sighs. “Fine. But be careful, right? Follow my lead.”

The red SP//dr enters the hole in space just before the black Ven#m does, and leads the way.

And on the other side—

“Hey!” calls Miles happily, coming over to meet them. “Glad you could make it!”

“...hi,” says Addy, blushing quite pinkly all of a sudden.

Peni rolls her eyes. “Excuse my friend. Addy, this is Miles Morales, Spider-Man. Miles, my best friend and coworker Addy Brock and her Spider Weying, alias Ven#m.”

“...how are you pronouncing that?” asks Ham. “Hey, I thought me and Mister Egg Cream over there were your best friends.”

Gray looks like he’s trying not to grin. Peni can feel a blush coming on herself. “I’ve got four best friends. Addy’s the only one you guys haven’t met yet.”

“Well, welcome to the team,” says Miles easily. “And Happy Hanukkah!”

(“Should I tell him you’re a Zuhariyya Muslim?”

“Nah, it’s okay.”)

297. Tea

“So, that’s one Earl Grey for Billy, one Boba for Peni, two Green for Hida and Other Peni, one Black for Cindy, one Lemon Grass for Roshni, and one Masala Chai for me,” says Pavitr, taking notes.

“I feel like we’re inviting stereotypes here,” says Roshni.

“I don’t reckon so,” Billy replies, preemptively reaching for the sugar.

“For Peter...coffee. And a reminder of what civilization looks like when you don’t commit blasphemy.”

Pauker glares. “I told you, that was in Boston!”

“And a Peppermint for Addy.”

On her shoulder, Weying the spider bounces excitedly.

“...no, Addy.” That’s from both Peni Parkers at the same time, exasperated in different ways.

“Aw, man...”

322. Mitosis

“Don’t count on it working,” says Other Peni. “And be careful.”

Peter cracks his knuckles.

“Just gotta give it the ol’ college try.”

And he walks up to the bulky form of Ven#m. Not as nice-looking as Addy’s, honestly. And a cannibal at that. Joke about it though he may, he doesn’t much like cannibalism.

Peter doesn’t entirely know what he’s doing, but there’s always such a thing as giving it the ol’ college try.

(Granted, he never went to college.)

—what are you?—

“Me? I’m just a good buddy here to annoy you into spitting out my friend’s loved ones.”

The capsule opens, revealing a tangled mess of cable-like tentacles that snake towards him.

—is Peni so desperate that she’s sending in cartoons to aid in her futile endeavours?—

—hahahaa—

—don’t make me laugh, little piggy—

—we are Ven#m—

—what are you going to do?—

—“huff and puff and blow my house down”?—

Peter pulls out the giant horn his niece Dahlia sent back from a trip to Switzerland.

“Something like that, yeah.”

362. Celebrity

Do I get one? I get one! Wheeee! ...um. Sorry. Anyway.

My name is Addy Brock. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and for five years I’ve been one third of the one and only Ven#m. I’m from New York in the year 3150, I have a psychic link with a spider who lives inside the robot I tried to take for a joyride when I was fourteen, and my best friends in the world are Peni Parker and Weying, the aforementioned radioactive spider.

Pretty sure you know the rest. Saved the city, mugged for the camera, saved the city again and again, had a hundredth-of-life crisis during which I, uh...we don’t really talk about that. (I’m banned from Greater Peru until I’m eighty-five, on a completely unrelated note.) But I got back up. Also, I met an alternate version of my best friend who lost her me and really needed someone to keep her laughing. And that’s me. Addy Brock, clown superhero extraordinaire. (Peter Parker? Never heard of him.) Peni may be the OG, but I’m the sequel that nobody knew they wanted but now can’t get enough of. I’ve even been to Mars on business—you know how difficult it is for an Earther to get direct to Mars, let alone for a job? Usually they hire local, or take on seasonal workers from the ecoships. This is big stuff.

...but at the end of the day, I love being Ven#m. And...I like having friends who get it. I got randomly assigned a last name matching my closest genetic relatives, but Peni and her Aunt May and Uncle Ben are the first real family I’ve ever actually had. So guess what? Ven#m is here to stay, with the Parkers, in the Republic of New York, on Earth.

As long as they’ll have me.

(“Well, then, looks like even reincarnation won’t be enough to let you get away, Addy.”

"And when they get sick of you, me and my aunt and uncle and Other Addy will take over."

“Aw, you guys. Peni Parkers? Ultimate upgrade in superhero mettle. Besides yours truly, of course.”

”How modest.”)

#spider verse #addy brock #peni parker #peter benjamin parker #spider man noir #sp//dr #venom #peter porker #addy x peni #if you squint #pavitr prabhakar #obligatory tea joke #(made PRE-movie thank you!)#strands of webbing #across the spiderverse #happy ending #non canon #because i said so #one shot collection

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hankwritten · 5 months

Text

A Tavern Named Keep [6/6]

Demoman-centric Modern AU

[1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6]

In a small uni-town in New Mexico, DeGroot Keep serves liquor and succor to an eclectic yet loyal group of patrons, and has for many years. The Keep owes its success to its equally colorful owner, who always seems to know what you need—whether that be a stiff beer or a word of advice. But, between setting up his patrons or sifting through his friends’ problems, will Tavish remember to take care of himself?

Two mugs spring with amber liquid, the tap gushing with the satisfying rise in pitch as each one fills. Practiced hands kill it at just the right time, the foam heads perfectly proportioned, settling briefly before Tavish tops them off. He drops a curly straw in one, and slides them forward.

Dell’s beer is parted from the bartender’s hand for approximately half a second before the engineer grasps it firmly and takes a mighty gulp.

“Trouble in paradise?” Tavish asks as Pyro double takes at the man beside them.

The mug slams back down, and Dell wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “You could say that, yeah.”

“Well come on then,” Tavish says, cocking a hip and leaning sumptuously on the bar. “Tell ‘ole Tavvy your woes.”

“So long as you never call yourself that again, sure. Why else come to a bar but to unload relationship troubles?”

“Truer words never spoken. C’mon spill it, Conagher. First month is always when the heretofore unknown character flaws come bubbling up, and Fortier had a wagonload to begin with.”

“Hell.” Dell rubs the bridge of his nose. “For one, I think Scout’s still mad at me.”

A froth of consoling noises comes from Pyro’s mask, as well as a rubbery pat on the back.

“Alright, maybe she isn’t, but it sure feels like it. And I know I should be giving her time to get used to the idea of me and her dad uh…” He clears his throat. “Seeing each other. But that don’t make it any easier.”

“She’ll come around, Dell,” Tavish assures. “But ‘for one’ makes me think that isn’t all?”

Dell rubs a hand over his freshly shaved head. “I…it’s hard to explain this one. More than it’s just a feeling, not anything he’s said or done but…Seems like he doesn’t want to go anywhere with me. Most of the time when I suggest some place the two of us could spend a nice night at, he goes on grumbling about Teufort being a backwater whatever. But sometimes I wonder if it’s more than that. That he doesn’t want to be seen with me.”

Tavish’s opinion of Fortier is low enough that he thinks ‘yeah that tracks’, but quietly, and to himself. Instead he says the proper thing as both barman and friend of, “ach no, don’t go thinking that. Prissy as the man is, he did make the decision to be with you, and he’ll honor that.” He better. Otherwise he’ll have fifteen stone of Scotsman putting a boot up his arse the next time he walks through the Keep’s door. “I think you’re jumping to an uncharitable interpretation of events.”

“Maybe. I got a cousin’s wedding coming up, and I was hoping to bring him along, but if he’s going to get cold feet…”

Pyro gesticulates something.

“Wadda you mean? Like a chance to get him used to the idea?” Dell asks, to which they nod. “Trying things out at a small gathering might just work…Hey DeGroot, I assume we’re having a going away party for Doe sometime soon, right?”

And just like that the world shifts, the axis of the Earth tilts another 2.5 degrees, the conversation of the same old help-your-friends-fix-their-hearts slips from Tavish’s grasp as he struggles to comprehend what has just been said to him.

“A…a going away party?” he repeats stupidly. “Going bloody where?”

The two spines in front of him straighten, and don’t do much to hide as their topmost vertebra twitch just enough to exchange bewildered looks with one another. Cautiously, Dell says, “his new job up in Minnesota? Didn’t he tell you?”

The underlying accusation of wouldn’t you be the first one he’d tell? as clear as day.

“Is this…?” Permanent? For certain? All the things Tavish wants to know but they’re all butting heads to get out the door first. He whips his head around, to shout across his tavern to the man in the far corner, ‘oi Doe, all of this true?’ but the words catch in his throat. Instead, he hastily says, “‘scuse me lads,” and puts every ounce of concentration into moving his legs across the floor.

His heart does not have the aptitude to panic. Years of the drink have persuaded his blood pressure to never get too worked up over itself, and this morning’s draught still sloshes heavily in the stream. So if his body doesn’t respond to the signals his brain is sending, the ones stumbling along to conclusions he’d never even seen the edges before, then he can thank it for getting him from one side of the Keep to the other.

“You’re moving?” he says before he’s even greeted, before the others at the table even realize he’s there. Its bluntness is unfamiliar in his mouth.

He doesn't get a chance to see Jane's reaction. In that instant, two newcomers (the bell still tinkling) appear at the table, and Mikhail is shouldering into the conversation with, “DeGroot. Mikhail needs advice”

“Pah,” another voice comes elbowing past him. “Such as ‘what ingredients shall I put on my sandwich today?’ I am here with a true emergency.” Helen, having just fought her way over who could squeeze through the front door first (and having lost rather spectacularly) puts both hands on the table. “The board is forming an inquiry into the exact nature of my relationship with Miss Pauling. This is a matter most urgent.”

Mikhail growls in a way that indicates he’d very much like to simply knock her aside again, “is own fault did not think of this when starting relationship. Live with decision. Mikhail has real issue.” He pales considerably. “Doktor talks about moving in together.”

“And?” Helen hisses. “Either you do or you don’t, DeGroot does not have time for such petty frivolities when the entire reputation of The Facility is on the line!”

“Listen, would you two mind coming back some other…” Tavish says, but is promptly ignored.

“Is not this thing you just said,” Mikhail counters. “Is dangerous. Too soon. Doktor wants to pick up with commitment right where he left off. Cannot make him see this. Need advice, is DeGroot's fault in first place.”

“I think fault is-” Tavish tries.

“I have equal claim to his time, as this whole- “““dating””” -business was certainly not my idea!”

“Ach, one at a-”

Although not prone to fits of panic, this does not make Tavish immune to being utterly overwhelmed. Mikhail and Helen are looking to shed blood right in the middle of his nice clean floor, their blame is loud in his ears, and Jane is just feet away. Inches. Agonizingly close and—to Tavish’s drawing dread—wearing a look of guilt on his face.

Jane stands. To Tavish's relief, this is apparently to disrupt the conversation. He says, “you two keep at that. DeGroot’s superior officer needs a word with him.” His hand finds Tavish’s upper arm, and the barman does not resist when he is gently marched away from the indignant pair. Before Helen can muster a demand to return, they’re already in the cramped room below the stairwell.

They’re barely alone for more than a second before Tavish blurts, “you got a new job?”

And what can Jane say but, “…yeah.”

“Oh.”

They stand there, too close to each other where a single pull string light casts the tiny landing into contrast. He’s still breathing heavy, and he wants to ask why didn’t you tell me? but it’s increasingly obvious that this is why Jane didn’t tell him. Because he’s freaking out, because normal people don’t find out their best friend is moving out of town in a perfectly natural and adult change in careers and immediately feel like they’re going to die. He struggles, once, twice, three times to school his expression. He smiles. Friendly, congenial bartender here at your service.

“Where to?” he asks conversationally.

Jane won’t look at him. He struggles to look anyone in the eye on normal circumstances, but the proximity makes it all the more palpable. “Up at Chippewa. There’s an animal sanctuary there that had an opening.”

“Ah, that sounds nice. I know how much you like working with the rehabilitation cases.” It hurts, it hurts so much but he forces out, “I’m really happy for you.”

“Really?”

It isn’t a really of surprised hope. It’s an accusation, disappointment, and Tavish knows for certain that Jane did keep this from him because he knew Tavish would make this horrid, embarrassing, thing out of it.

“I…”

Tavish tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. Don’t cry. Don’t cry you sappy, useless drunk. You’re making it bad enough as it is. Who cares if it feels like all your organs are shutting down one by one? Doc always joked how your liver would go any day now, the rest of them might as well toddle on after it.

“That’s all?” Jane asks doubtfully. “You’re happy for me?”

Jesus why does he keep pushing this? It compels some of the truth out through Tavish’s teeth. “Well…no. I’m not happy. But what am I supposed to do, try to talk you out of it? Throw a fit every time something doesn’t go my way?”

Jane snarls something. His profile is stony, and Tavish is afraid of it, knowing he’s seeing it for now a finite amount of times and afraid he’s doing it wrong. That he’s not appreciating his best friend right, not appreciating him enough. Tick tick tick the seconds go by, and Tavish is wasting it as his mask slips further.

“No,” Jane finally admits. “No, but sometimes I wish you weren’t so damn selfless.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean? Look lad if you’ve found a better job, and you’ve made your decision, I won’t try to guilt you out of it-”

“That’s what I mean!” Jane yells, and the silence that follows is so deafening that the outburst must have reached even the front of the house. “That! Perfect, noble, so goddamn observant about every little problem that wasn’t yours, yet you couldn’t figure me.”

“What?” Tavish asks. “What was I supposed to be seeing?”

“You‘ve diagnosed every lovesick private who’s ever walked into this tavern, but you still couldn’t see how much I was in love with you.”

Somehow, that silence is more powerful, more terrifying than anything that came before it. It reaches deep under Tavish’s skin, pinning him with tenterhooks until he can’t move, can’t think, can’t cycle the air that’s caught in his lungs.

“Twenty goddamn years.” This, it seems, is mostly to himself as Jane stares at the single mop leaned in the corner. He shakes his head. “Everyone else, clear as day. Me? Not a damn clue.”

“Jane I. I don’t think I…”

Jane holds up a hand. “You don’t need to say it maggot. I’ve thought through this conversation as many times as I’ve knocked myself unconscious with a shovel. I know you can’t love me like I love you.” Something wry—nowhere near a laugh but dry enough air squeezed through lungs as pained as Tavish’s—indicates something might have been amusing, once, a long time ago. “To be honest, I didn’t think I was capable of it either. Not when we met. But here we are, I’m the one who’s fucked, and it’s been too damn long Tavish I can’t live like this anymore. So I looked up that sanctuary in Minnesota and applied for the position.”

The admission hangs.

“But,” Tavish says, “even if I- if we- at least you could stay for the Keep, aye? We’re like a family here.”

Jane shakes his head. “They’re not my friends. They’re yours. I’m just the owner’s lunatic buddy they tolerate because they like him so goddamn much.”

“That’s not…” It’s not true. And if it’s true, then it’s because disrespecting Jane is as good as disrespecting Tavish, because Jane’s part of his life. Is his life. “Jane you’re…”

“…I didn’t know if I was going to tell you before I left,” Jane says. “It was probably the honest and American thing to do, to tell you, but there is cowardice in all of us. I’m sorry. For everything. I need to go pack.”

Tavish doesn’t stop him when he steps past and through the plain black door and into the kitchen. What can he say? Already committed as he is to not talking him out of it, still reeling from…from being blind. For not knowing. He finds himself in the kitchen, and it’s by accident when overhears the commotion from the tavern proper.

“-That you are all ungrateful MAGGOTS,” Jane is saying. Tavish has heard him rant before, heard him deride each and every person now clustered awkwardly around him on an individual basis, but he’s never heard something like this. “That man in there has done everything for you! He has listened to your woes, he’s wiped up your big sobby tears when no one else would, he’s guided you to love and support and what have you done for him in return? NOTHING! You take and you take and at the end of the day all you want is more of what he already gives you. You are nothing but a clat of writhing, steaming, WORMS, and when I am gone you WILL treat him better.”

Jane’s voice cuts off sharply. Tavish can only see him from the back, the slope of his shoulders, the way his uniform cuts a silhouette in the fading light from the stained glass.

“You better,” he says softly.

And then Jane is gone, seashells clattering, and Tavish still hasn’t said goodbye.

The assembled patrons are all in various stages of shamefacedness, some stepping from one foot to the other, some staring anywhere else but at the bartender who's just appeared at the kitchen door with an expression that tells that his whole world has just ended.

“Tavern’s closed for the day,” he informs them emotionlessly.

It’s a rash thing to do, but he doesn’t care. How could he care about anything anymore? The supposed family doesn’t wait around to be told twice.

That night, he drinks himself to unconsciousness in record time.

When he wakes, he thinks ruefully that this is the exact opposite of what Jane’s been telling him all this time, about how he needs to take better care of himself. And really needs to now that Jane will be gone. No one looking after him but himself anymore. That’s the only thought that stays his hand as he reaches for the spare whiskey in the bedside table, makes him draw it back and use it to wipe the dried drool from his mouth. Jane won’t be there on his favorite stool anymore, flashing Tavish a smile on busy nights. He won’t break into the kitchen out of misplaced paranoia, he won’t convince Tavish that a drive out of town won’t kill him as long as there’s a new rib place on the other end. There will be a hole in Tavish’s life where Jane once was, and that is all that awaits him in the foreseeable future. Fuck. Why couldn’t he have seen it? Not that Tavish knows what it’s like to fall in love with someone who doesn't-

Well let’s face it. Tavish doesn’t know what it’s like to fall for someone, period. But he can imagine how painful that would be, and if it’s already gone on too long, already become too much, there’s no way he can ask Jane to put up with more of it. Christ, how many times has he botched a relationship because he’s fallen short? Granted, it’s always been with lassies, and lassies he was already dating, but it’s still the same mistake in different packaging. What I need is not in your power to give is what Jane had told him once, and he had been right, though not in the way he’d thought.

Tavish gets up, but doesn’t find it in him to shower. He wraps himself in a blanket and stares at the opposite wall, eye unfocused as he processes the fact that while Jane had the misfortune of falling for him, in the end it’s Tavish’s fault that he’s losing the most important person in his life.

The self-pity wears more heavily on him than the alcohol ever could. It’s only his errant bladder that finally forces him to move, and when he returns he sees the unread message flaring on his phone screen. Pyro’s contact information is a single flame emoji.

i know you kicked us out of the tavern but it’s really important that we see you today. can we come over?

Tavish doesn’t know who we is, assumes it's them and Scout, and naively replies sure. We turns out to be every person he’s ever met.

It seems that way at least. It’s mostly the regulars, more than there were last night, and Tavish sniffs out an ‘intervention’ faster than it takes for you to say scrumpy. But they’ve already seen him take one step into the tavern, and he can’t back out now. What is he going to do? Run out of his own place of business and hide in his room?

They’ve arranged themselves around one chair in particular, doing a right poor job of making any of this look natural, though Dell smiles sympathetically at him as he sits down. Crue smells like smoke and Tavish can practically hear the argument of ‘you better put that out before we go in there’ that must have occurred right outside the tavern door. To Tavish’s left are Pyro and a squirming Scout, more chairs behind them to support others who weren’t even there to bear witness to the events last night (since, Tavish is beginning to suspect, that’s what this is all about.)

“I’ll warn you lads,” he says to a neutral spot in between Mikhail and Ludwig’s heads. “I’m no stranger to interventions, and I’m a tough nut to crack.”

(The joke doesn’t go over particularly well.)

Even to himself his voice sounds oddly flat. Ragged. He watches the exchange of worried looks, and a whisper into Helen’s ear.

“This isn��t meant to be a fight, partner,” Dell says. “It’s a gathering of concerned friends, who are going to help if they can.”

“Doe was right when he told us off,” Mikhail says. “DeGroot does good things for all of us, and we do not help him when he needs us. Now we help.”

“Ach don’t let him get to you,” Tavish bats away. “I’m fine. I do what I do for the love of it, you don’t need to worry about me.”

Pyro makes a distressed noise that belies otherwise.

“No offense lads, but you really don’t know the half of it.” Tavish truly isn’t in the mood to relay the argument to a new audience, no matter how sympathetic.

“We can guess.” This comes from Mikhail. “Doe moves. Heart breaks.”

Aw Jesus. He thought he could do this, sit and bear as his closest friends try to ‘help’ through all this, but having it said so plainly cracks the modicum of resolve Tavish has managed to collect. “It’s not…” he tries, but to his horror the pressure he’s been holding back since the news rears its ugly head. It’s bulbous and angry behind his eye, the reality that Jane’s not moving on a whim, that this has been coming down the track for ages, that it’s irreversible. He can’t make him come home. “Bloody hell.”

The whimper peters out into a true wail of distress, because Tavish is nothing if not some weepy idiot, just as Jane always said he was. The weight of everyone staring isn’t enough to keep him from sobbing, and he throws himself into the nearest waiting shoulder to blubber his woes. The shoulder turns out to belong to Helen.

She stiffens like a possum playing dead. Tavish can’t stop crying though, and he feels an utterly flat palm come up to pat him uncomfortably on the shoulder. “Ah. Hm. There there.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake. Here.”

The mellower voice of Dell commands Helen aside, and he peels Tavish off her and into his own waiting arms. Tavish transfers to the hug gratefully. He hears chairs scoot closer as he makes a mess of Dell’s shirt, the uncomfortableness audible. Well they can all suck it. If they didn’t want to see a grown man cry they shouldn’t have staged a bloody intervention.

“Hey pally, oh whoa okay yeah I know it sucks,” Scout says from somewhere behind him. “But it ain’t too late. You can still tell him.”

“Tell him?” Tavish lifts his head miserably. He assumed that sentence was going to end with ‘convince him’.

Crue groans, “yes you-” He’s elbowed sharply by Scout. “…You poor soul,” he finishes with a healthy veneer of sarcasm.

“We have talked a bit amongst ourselves,” Ludwig picks up this truly baffling train of thought. “Yes Ranger Doe has found superior employment, but he does not seem terribly excited about it. I find it unlikely that he knows your true feelings for him, and if you were to confess, he might see fit to stay. Then things can stay right as they are, all without DeGroot Keep falling into disarray!”

“Okay, ignore that last part Doc said that made us all sound like selfish assholes who only care about the bar,” Scout glares at Ludwig. “But yeah, intervention stuff. It’s obviously killing you, keeping it all balled up inside, so go shoot your shot while you still got it.”

“Hold on now,” Tavish says, righting himself and looking at his friends incredulously. “You all came here, put aside your differences and all that, because you think I’m in love with Jane?”

A collage of faces—some bespectacled some not, some incredulous others exasperated—all glance around the tables shoved together at the center of the room.

“Well…yeah?” Scout says.

Tavish is struck silent, looking between his friends. And suddenly he feels very, very foolish. “I don’t…”

“You don’t need to give us an explanation, mate.” The new voice is shocking, mainly because Tavish didn’t even realize Mick was here, pressed as he is against the corner. Even more so for the fact that he doesn’t even like Jane. “We’re just offering advice. And support. We hope you’ll at least try to sort things out.”

Every single person he knows thinks he’s in love with Jane. He wants to ask why? What makes you think that? but part of him realizes that he already has the answer.

He stands, his chair scooting a tuneless note on the hardwood floor. “I need to go. Now. I- thank you.”

There is a chorus of no worries, and good lucks, various hands patting him on the back as he struggles through chair legs to get to the door. He’d spent years wasting time, he wouldn’t squander any more.

His car starts on the second try, a beaten old thing because even if he isn’t as careless about taking his poison behind the wheel anymore, he’s still afraid he’ll forget one of these days and doesn’t want to wreck something shiny and new. It gets him where he needs to go, and where he needs to go with every fibre of his being is the preserve on the edges of town. His car growls, and screeches up to the mountain as Tavish takes every turn at 15 over.

He does not park in the visitor area. He doesn’t even stop at the end of the drive, even though the signage clearly indicates the two tracks of beaten dirt with the line of grass between are for park vehicles only. Only when he’s in the semicircle of trailers does the car finally come to a halt, dragging lines in the gravel and expelling him, panting, from the driver’s seat.

Jane is not packing. He has no box in hand, no bit of furniture over his shoulder. When Tavish’s car had come barreling in he’d been stood in the clearing west of the homes, up a wide grassy path, just watching the sun set.

Tavish runs. The urgency has meaning, even if it’s to him and him alone.

He stumbles to Jane, straightening the words, knowing he will make this count, and says, “you want me to start asking for things? Fine. I’m asking you to stay.”

Jane looks at him. The orange light behind him casts him heavenly, his expression of surprise the gold against his cheeks, the red along his shoulders. The same grass that clawed around his home whips at his ankles, the breeze shaking it and random leaves about. The expression doesn't change, still stoic and without hope as he looks at the wheezing bartender who's followed him on this pointless attempt.

The lack of reply does not deter Tavish. “Please Jane I…I can’t say I know what you’re going through, what I’ve made you go through all these years," he says. “I don’t know if I love you. But I do know that I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I’ve never asked myself what I need, and what I need is…is you Jane.”

He takes a few steps closer. The run up the western hill really has taken the wind out of him, or maybe its heart that refuses to stop its galloping pace. Either way, when he stands in front of Jane, he can’t seem to catch his breath.

Jane’s shoulders, still brushed with that blushing light, lift. “I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“I’m asking…I’m asking to be yours.”

Tavish reaches out, forgetting boundaries, forgetting everything, and touches Jane’s cheek.

Jane’s so warm underneath the pads of his fingers, and it doesn’t feel wrong the way he thought it might. The way it’s been other times, when he’s forced himself to at least try to exercise the most perfunctory of romantic duties. There is no repulsion of unwanted closeness. It’s wholly right.

Until Jane brushes his fingers away. "I know you don't really want that. Goddammit Tavish, I know the way I love you isn't the way you...want me around. I can't stay. I can't keep fighting this one-sided war all by myself."

"It doesn't have to be one-sided," Tavish says. "Maybe we can't be like every other lovey dovey happy couple we’ve put together, but maybe we don't have to be.”

"I..." Jane glances back at the sunset, then to his trailer, the boxes lying abandoned outside.

"Isn't it worth trying? If neither of us really want you going, isn't it worth it to try something a bit unorthodox?"

"You're really mean this." Jane asks it flatly, more seriously than he's ever looked at Tavish before, which is saying something. "Being with...me."

“If I’m going to be selfish for just once in my bloody life,” Tavish says, “I sure as hell want it to be for keeping you.”

“Then...Okay,” Jane says.

“Okay?” Tavish says. He’d hoped—but also hadn’t dared to hope. Had only been concentrating on making sure his words came out in the right order, that he hadn't even considered what might happen if they actually worked. “Even though…”

Jane draws back just enough to put a hand over Tavish’s mouth. “Okay,” he repeats.

“Oh,” Tavish whispers through the fingers when they finally part.

They return to the Keep, and they are heroes coming home to the castle they’ve built.

Those he’d left behind are not waiting like solemn sentries, to Tavish’s immense relief, but they are milling about his tavern with a grimness that immediately disperses on seeing Tavish and Jane enter in together. There is an unspoken and collective sigh of relief, and then they resume whatever it was they were doing before but now with actual enthusiasm.

(What they were doing before was mostly being served Swedish Gloggs by a giddy and unleashed Pyro.)

“Why in Abraham Lincoln’s name is everyone staring at us?” Jane grumbles. It is, oddly, the most comforting return to normalcy Tavish experienced.

“I’ll tell you later,” he says. “Right now, I just want to grab a pint and find somewhere quiet to sit down for a bit. Professor Zakharov, Doctor Humboldt,” he nods respectfully to the pair of doctors as they pass, who in turn raise their mugs in salute.

“Fine by me,” Jane grunts. “Better than thinking about all the stuff I have to unpack.”

“Ah, that’s always the worst end of the packing process, isn’t it?”

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten whose fault it is that I now have to extract all my worldly possessions from a bunch of two-foot cardboard cubes after moving exactly zero miles!”

“You have my sincerest apologies.”

It feels good to say it so easily. The slight undercurrent of tension that’s run between them for years is completely absent, a tension Tavish knows he must have noticed but had ignored all the same. The way he can simply reach up and squeeze Jane’s shoulder like he did ten years ago is staggering.

There is an argument, toothless, jocular, from the table belonging to Mick, Scout, and Crue.

“Just saying you could totally spring for it,” Scout rambles on, thoroughly heedless to the pulsing vein in Crue’s forehead. “Considering you got loads on the side ‘n all…”

“What you are suggesting would cost the entire payout from one of my contracts,” Crue scorns.

“…What exactly do you do for work again?” Mick eyes him from across the table.

With the clearly enunciated syllables of a man daring you to challenge him on it, Crue says, “I am a dentist.”

Tavish chuckles, and leaves them to it. Approaching the bar nearly causes Pyro to vibrate out of their suit, head whipping back and forth with a series of mumbles that is unmistakably pleased. Before Tavish can get a word in, they disappear underneath, humming and clattering about in the various bottles.

“They were hoping you’d come back together,” Dell explains. “I mean, so was I, but they’ve been practicing mixing something special, just for the two of ya’ll.”

When they arise, they have a bottle of cognac in hand, which they promptly upend into a pair of glasses.

“…You’ve been sneaking peeks at my recipe book haven’t you, you little devil?” Tavish asks as the mix appears before him. The only reply he gets is a filter-strained giggle.

The last bit of bitters applied, Pyro ushers the drinks into each of their hands and shoos them off.

“This one of yours, then?” Jane asks, eyeing the drink as he follows Tavish deeper into the stronghold.

“Is not on fire is it? Just one of my little experiments. Though I’ll be honest, it’ll be odd to try the finished product when I didn’t mix it myself.”

The lower level beckons. Helen and Pauling are momentary obstacles, partially blocking the half-flight’s entrance. When she sees them, Pauling flashes the biggest double thumbs up ever seen between the 106th and 107th longitudes.

When they’re close, she prompts, “behind you ma’am,” to her partner, tugging on Helen’s arm to get her out of the way.

“What?” Helen interrupts herself, midway through a sentence about the inefficacy of assassins these days. “No, this is the only spot in this whole dreary bar that has lighting not reminiscent of a dungeon. We are perfectly-”

“Helen,” Miss Pauling says. And Tavish never thought he’d see the day. Miss Helen, terror of Teufort, is obediently led away by her 5’ 1” girlfriend.

The lower bar is free for their leisure. Tavish sits in one of the couches, and immediately there is warmth around him, an arm snaking forward and clutching the front of his shirt.

When he turns his head, Jane stutters, “I uh. Sorry. I’ve just always wanted to…”

“No apologies necessary.” Tavish lifts his free arm and drops it around Jane’s shoulders.

It still doesn’t feel wrong. He hasn’t hit that invisible barrier that always seems to come up when he gets like this, and that both thrills and terrifies him. The idea that it could be waiting for him in the distance, but also that it might not be waiting for him at all.

“Merasmus is going to be pissed at you,” Jane notes absently.

“That so?”

“Mm. He was really looking forward to getting rid of me.”

“Ah. Well if he tries to seek his supernatural revenge, he’ll have another thing coming. I can beat a wizard any day of the week.”

“If you think you’re going to be dueling any wizards without me, then you are a hippie and a fool, DeGroot!”

A smile springs over Tavish’s face. He raises his drink for Jane to toast. “I’d never deny you that honor. He comes rolling down on clouds and thunder to have the bar brawl of the century, you’ll be the one I call to have my back.”

“Damn straight.”

Jane clinks their glasses together, and they swill in unison.

#boots n bombs #demosolly #tf2 fanfiction

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snowcandyz · 2 years

Text

Eternal Memories

Genre: Fluff + Angst

Pairing: The relationship depicted in this story can be deemed as romantic or platonic, except for Luke, which is strictly platonic.

Summary: Let’s take a walk down the memory lane with all of the Obey Me’s characters!

Warning: Contains spoilers for Season 1 and a little bit of Season 3.

For a better reading experience, play 'Eternal' by Obey Me Boys on loop.

Devildom.

A special place where bittersweet memories were made and eternal friendships were shared.

Choosing to participate in this exchange student program was the best decision you could’ve ever made. Nothing is more valuable than learning about different cultures and making new friends; especially when your friends are of other species.

Not only did you get to learn about the demons, but you also learned a lot about angels. Even humans; you’re own species.

Sure, it’s not always butterflies and rainbows, but what’s life without its ups and downs?

You also discovered your origin while participating in this program, which is unbelievable, to say the least.

And the brothers…

The newfound family you’ve learnt to love and care for.

The family you shared your laughter and cried to.

The family you didn’t know you need.

You were first acquainted with Mammon since he was tasked to take care of you. Although he seemed like a reckless guy, you got to know his hidden sweet personality.

Calling himself your Guardian Demon, the days were always so bright and meaningful with him by your side. Soon enough, you found yourself growing fond of the tsundere.

He’s also the one who kept you safe the most. Never wanting to leave your side out of fear,—or just plain greediness—he’s there with you 25/8.

Always protecting you.

Always denying his affection for you.

And always wanting the best for his human.

Then, there was the whole TSL Quiz incident where Leviathan almost killed you. Honestly, you’re not sure how you sprung back up in no time and asked him to be your friend.

Maybe you’ve secretly admired his passion for his interests?

And shockingly enough, he also offered to make a pact with you.

You began to spend more time in his room; playing the latest video games together, watching the newly released animes, chit-chatting about the light novel he just bought, or just spending some time talking about his goldfish, Henry 2.0.

You learnt that Leviathan is just another sweet demon behind that mask.

Always comparing himself to his brothers, the poor guy can’t find anything worthy to be proud of—which is a lie because you can’t help but feel jealous of his unlimited talents.

And sure enough, Beelzebub also came into the picture not long after that.

This kind-hearted demon may seem angry the first time you two met, but as you learnt more about his past and why he still couldn’t forgive himself over his sister’s death, you knew he’s just trying his best to protect his family.

Known for being Lucifer’s personal bodyguard a long time ago, you found yourself wanting to help him achieve his goal.

And because of him, you vowed to save Belphegor. Because his twin brother is his everything.

These brothers have a complicated relationship with each other; that much you know. And you found yourself wanting to help them in every way possible.

Whether it’s to find themselves or to understand each others’ hidden stories, they deserve to know that at the end of the road, each and every one of them loves each other dearly.

Next was Asmodeus, the Avatar of Lust, a demon who’s full of himself.

You could say he’s a narcissist too. But when you dived deeper into his thoughts, you realised he’s only feeling insecure about himself.

Thinking he didn’t have anything worthy to be shown except for his looks, Asmodeus chose to hide his pain and scars by indulging in others’ praises of his appearance.

Which hurt you so much because you know how kind he is. Besides Mammon, Asmodeus too never threatened to kill you by changing into his demon form.

The underground tunnels incident might have opened his eyes to what he’s capable of doing because he volunteered to make a pact with you himself.

The same goes for the Avatar of Wrath, Satan.

Always walking on edge around the fourth born, you found yourself gaining deeper bonds with him when it’s known to you that he’s still finding his identity.

Born from Lucifer’s wrath, all he could ever feel was anger and rage. He started questioning his identity and self-worth.

He’s insecure about his presence because to him and everyone else, he’s only a mirror of Lucifer’s shadow. Constantly being compared to the eldest didn’t help, especially when the latter is worshipped and glorified by all.

What was the meaning of his birth? Why did he ever exist?

Knowing how he must have felt, you showed him a whole new world besides his fury.

Satan is his own identity.

Smart and knowledgeable, this cat-loving demon is surprisingly very patient with others despite being perceived as a ticking time bomb. And as much as he chanted his hatred to Lucifer, his love and care for the eldest didn’t go unnoticed.

Because of your help, those two found a mutual ground to work alongside each other.

You were getting closer to your goal, and the remaining target was Lucifer.

But you couldn’t comprehend why he’s so mad at you in the first place when you mentioned Belphegor. Did he not love his own brother?

Lucifer had tried to kill you more than once now, and it’s a lie to say you’re not hurt by his action.

After all, you were only just trying to help.

And so, help was what you did when you accepted Lord Diavolo’s offer to go back in time. In order for the brothers to stay together, you had to do this.

You had to sacrifice yourself.

And sacrifice was truly what was done by Belphegor to you.

Even to this day, you could feel that small fire of anger in your heart every time you remembered his action.

You felt wronged, betrayed.

Deceived.

You carried your broken heart away from the family, retreating yourself from them.

Although the impact you have on all of them remained.

Because they kept chasing after you, kept apologising for their past actions and promised to keep you safe ever since.

Belphegor too apologised for what he did. He was wrong to hurt the only person who helped him throughout those times he spent in the attic.

Being with you had enlightened him that no one was at fault for Lilith’s death.

The times you two shared up in the attic made him feel guilty for his hasty action. And your pure intention of releasing him from the attic made it clear that you were only hoping for the best for everyone.

Perhaps he’s too blinded by rage that he can’t see things clearly. And maybe that’s the reason why Lucifer locked him up in the first place.

Belphegor also volunteered to make a pact with you as an apology because he wanted to make it up to you by offering his power.

It was tough to forgive them—especially the Avatar of Sloth—because the pain was still aching in the deepest part of your heart, but somehow, you found yourself wanting to be near them too.

And no matter how much suffering you went through, you never want to let go of them.

Because they’re your family.

The last to ever make a pact with you was the eldest, Lucifer.

Always hiding his true emotions behind his ego and pride, he’s truly the only one you didn’t understand at all. But what you do understand is that he’ll do anything to protect his brothers.

Going as far as to offer eternal loyalty to the Demon Prince, he only wanted what was best for all of his siblings.

Let them throw insults at him.

Let them misunderstand his whole motive.

Let them hate him with all their might.

But he won’t stop defending his brothers in silence.

When you learnt all these traits of him, you couldn’t say no anymore when he offered a pact.

Although truthfully, you’re not even sure why he insisted on it. Since Belphegor was already released from the attic, another pact wasn’t needed at all, right?

His true intention was just to be close to you; to share the same bond his brothers shared with you; to have you as his Master and protect you anywhere you go.

The brothers are complex but you can’t deny you enjoy every second spent with them.

But what about the other friends that you’ve made throughout this whole exchange student program?

They’re also one of the best.

You were the closest with the angels as their kindness towards you touched your heart. Even though you’re from a different species than Luke and Simeon, not once did you ever feel small or worthless around these two.

They took good care of you; cooked you delicious food; accompanied you everywhere you go and even shared many sweet memories with you. You honestly love them so much.

If Mammon’s your Guardian Demon, count on these two to be your Guardian Angels.

To be the guiding light every time you feel down.

To be the warmth and comfort you needed after a bad day.

And to be another reason to smile after you shed your tears.

Not to forget, Lord Diavolo and Barbatos too.

Although they are powerful beings and could easily punish you for your wrongdoings throughout your whole stay in Devildom, not once did they threaten you with their authority.

You were treated as one of their own; like one of the royalty.

You know you’re not truly polite and modest all the time in front of the Future King of Devildom, but Lord Diavolo never told you off. Instead, he welcomed your quirky ideas and honestly, you’re really grateful for that. They are truly your best friends ever.

Barbatos, too helped you a lot in adjusting your life in Devildom. You could always crash into the Demon Lord’s Castle anytime you felt homesick. He’d always be there to give you a home-cook meal—or at least try to because he’s also not too accustomed to Human World’s food.

You cherished these two with your whole heart and wished to keep spending more time with them in the future.

The last but definitely not the least is the Wise Sorcerer, Solomon.

A friend from the same species and the friend that kept you safe in silence. Being your master in sorcery, he helped you through your ups and downs and guided you in every step you took.

People often misunderstood him and called him shady, but you could see his point of view. When you’re cursed to live for all eternity, you had no choice but to watch your close friends die right in front of your eyes.

You also know why he decided to keep things for himself and not share his thoughts easily with others. After all, sharing bonds with mortals will only hurt you deeper when you have to see them off on their deathbeds.

Wanting to see him happy, you vowed to do your very best as his friend. And at least give him some good memories in his long years of living because he truly deserves it.

This journey taught you so much and you’d definitely keep them all locked up in the deepest part of your memories. Everyone had given you joy from your bleak life in the Human World.

You wished for these happy moments to last and to always be by their side, but reality hit harder than you thought. Commitments and responsibilities in the Human World have pulled you off of them. You found yourself getting busier by the day and having no time to return their calls. Even when they sent you messages and invitations to come back to Devildom, you have to reject them.

You hoped to return too. Their laughter could be heard as you reminisced on those sweet times. You couldn’t wait to listen to their jokes, their silly banters with each other and even their corny pick-up lines.

The time spent with them was truly a magical wonder.

Maybe you should clear up your schedule? And pay them a surprise visit? After all, everybody loves surprises!

You smiled as you thought of the idea. You couldn’t wait to see their shocked faces when you returned to Devildom later.

Alright! You’ve decided. You would be paying them a visit next month, so in order to do so, you’d need to work extra hard to clear your schedule for the entire month.

No pain no gain, right? And work hard play hard?

You mentally noted the first thing you wanted to do after arriving in Devildom.

You’ve grown apart for so long because of your massive workload and frankly, you felt very guilty. Not once did they ever stop giving you messages and asking about your condition in the Human World. They understand your situation and always wished for the best.

You’ve read the messages in your free time, but due to the time strain, you couldn’t find the perfect time to reply.

They even called you to check on you sometimes, but to no avail; you still haven’t called them back.

So the first thing you wanted to do when you return to Devildom, was to apologise and give them all a big hug.

Still fantasizing about your journey back home, your phone rang from the incoming notification.

You had hope for one of them to give you a message like they usually did, so you clicked on it.

“Thank you for always playing Shall We Date? Obey Me!

After the great years spent together, it is now time to say goodbye. We regret to inform you that we will be ending service of the game on February 30, 20XX 9:00 PM (PST)

Users will be unable to newly install the application, and in-game purchases will no longer be purchasable.

*The application will not be available for re-installation or updates.

▼What happens after the termination?

Users will be unable to access the games and won’t be able to play the apps after the termination date.

There will be no refund or exchanges for any items and/or in-game purchases purchased in the application. We sincerely apologise to all of our users concerning this issue.

Thank you for understanding and for being a supporter of the Shall We Date? Obey Me! game.”

Your heart throbbed painfully inside your chest as you skimmed through the text once again. You then opened the app hastily, trying to recapture the memories that kept flooding your mind at the moment.

Everyone was there, waiting for you like they promised every day. They were smiling and greeting you with cheerful smiles plastered on their faces.

Your friends, your saviours.

“I was looking forward to your visit,” Barbatos greeted.

“Welcome back…! You’re late!” Luke pouted.

“Aaah, I missed you so much!” Asmo exclaimed.

“Welcome back. It was lonely without you around,” Lucifer sheepishly said.

“You’re finally here,” Belphie said before giving you a smile.

“It’s not like I’ve been waitin’ around for ya or anything… Seriously, I wasn’t!” Mammon pouted.

You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down to your cheeks.

“Ah, you’re back. I’ve been waiting for you,” Solomon said.

“Hey, do you have any food on you?” Beel asked, still giving you a smile that radiates the whole screen.

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up. There’s this really good manga I thought I’d lend you!” Levi excitedly exclaimed.

“Finally, you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you.” Satan smiled.

“I missed you…truly.” Diavolo looked at you with eyes full of longing.

You had to bite your lips to suppress the incoming cries.

“What is it? I’m right here, so everything will be okay.” Simeon offered you a smile.

Yes, because they’re here for you when you needed them the most.

You held your phone close to your chest as you cried your heart out from all the happy memories that came flashing back.

“Thank you for all these years.”

“We hope you enjoy being with us, just as much as how we love being with you.”

“We won’t forget you. We promise.”

“Because we love you.”

And it is an eternal vow.

The notice used in this story is strictly fictional.

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