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mythicalmongoose · 2 years

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Does anyone want to read some rambling and potentially biased meta on Robby and Johnny’s relationship largely based on my own experience with shitty parents?

No? You don’t want to read me over-analyzing the silly karate show? That’s fair... I’ll put it under a cut.

So, like, right off the bat I’d like to say this isn’t aimed at anyone in particular. (No, not even you. Don’t flatter yourself.) This is something that has been bugging me since before I made this blog and was solely composing tl;dr replies about it on Reddit.

Secondly, Cobra Kai isn’t prestige television. It’s a karate soap opera that doesn’t take itself too seriously and exists in a heightened reality where kids become black belts in a month and take to the streets in rival gangs, terrorizing the innocent civilians unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire. I’m not holding it up to real-world logic or laws. I can’t. The police that exist there are mostly powerless and largely theoretical. Watching them arrest Kreese was like seeing a cryptid in the wild.

Thirdly, I’m not 100% sure who these Johnny apologists I keep hearing about are, but I apologize on behalf of no one. All my favs are problematic trash fires. I dumpster dive for my favs. I love me a mess as long as the show acknowledges them as such. Which this one does constantly. It’s fiction, and I’m really sick of seeing people make the leap that liking a character means you endorse their actions... Tangentially, I’d also argue that Daniel is his own trash fire. But, like, a classier trash fire? One that’s like a controlled burn in a metal barrel after you called the fire station and asked if it’s okay. But that’s a weird metaphor and an overly long meta post for another day.

Finally, don’t come for me, y’all? Feel free to reply and disagree, but I just got here. This is my comfort show. It’s fun. It’s binge-worthy. I love talking meta and over-analyzing with folks, but a lot of people online seem to get weirdly heated about all of this, and I just don’t have the energy for that.

With all that out of the way... The number of people I see complaining that Robby forgave Johnny too easily kinda irks me. He didn’t, and this repeated assertion that he did feels like an over-simplification of ambiguous grief and the cycle of abuse/trauma.

Robby might be the most emotionally intelligent teen on the show. He’s pretty darn level-headed and thoughtful when he isn’t letting negative emotions dominate his decision making.

S4 feels like the writers have finally started to address that rather than the character just being, for me personally, an unlikable mess. AND NOT BECAUSE OF HOW HE INTERACTS WITH JOHNNY. Can everyone in the back hear me? He is the child in that relationship. He’s valid in feeling what he feels and avoiding who he wants to avoid.

My problems with the character stemmed from his interactions with his peers. Sam, especially. God, if I see another person act like she owed him something, I’m climbing over my desk and through the monitor I’ll do nothing. But boy will I be miffed. Watch out. I’ve got a soapbox and I’m not afraid to use it... If I have the spoons to... Maybe... We’ll see! ...but probably not.

Anyway, this is all an extremely roundabout way to say that anger is exhausting. Especially when you’re using it to put up walls.

Robby and Kenny paralleled Johnny and Robby this season. But the point wasn’t that Robby is analogous to Johnny; it’s that he sees himself in Kenny. It’s not 1:1 and it’s only their relationship in extreme miniature, but it clearly disturbs him.

The cycle of abuse that started before he was born is flashing in front of his eyes, and its weight is immense. He needs someone who understands to help shoulder that and, instinctively, he goes to his dad.

He’s giving himself permission to be vulnerable. To shed that anger and lower his defenses. I said it before, but I’ll say it again, that shit is so exhausting it’s life-destroying.

I can identify with Robby but, honestly, I can identify with Johnny more.

Both of my parents were fucking awful. When I was 14, I was hospitalized. My dad didn’t want to deal with that, and I never saw him again.

My mother, meanwhile, kept tracking me down even after I packed up at 17 and skipped town... and the county... and the state.

And, boy o’ boy, abusers that won’t stay out of your life or even acknowledge they were abusive are just the best, huh? And you WANT that relationship with them. That’s the worst part. I feel Johnny letting Kreese back in. Because you want to do what Robby did. You want to give yourself permission to be vulnerable and let your walls down and let them be the parent to you they never were.

But people like that can’t be there for you if they won’t even admit their mistakes. They can manipulate you and they can gaslight you and they can even genuinely love you and think they’re telling the truth, but they can’t be there for you. You can be there for them, and they’ll take that and run with it until you’re all used up and feeling like an idiot. And then you feel like an even bigger idiot when you give them countless additional chances. It’s, like, the slowest lesson to learn and the easiest to forget. But you’re just so desperate for that specific kind of relationship. And you’re so afraid you’re never going to be able to let go of that soul-crushing anger because you can’t get closure. They have none for you. They don’t think there’s anything to close.

Robby isn’t quite in that place yet. He has his mother that is turning her life around for him and he has Daniel who desperately wants to be for him the kind of mentor he had as a child and he has an undependable father that wants to be there for him.

They’re all far from perfect, (Johnny especially.) but they all recognize they fucked up. They’re not denying it. And, to bring it back to the scene at the end of S4, Johnny stresses that Robby didn’t do anything wrong and that he should blame him as the root of so many of his problems. We’re seeing history repeat with Robby giving Johnny another chance like Johnny did with Kreese. But Kreese is a manipulator you’ve got to drag kicking and screaming to even the smallest revelation in how they hurt you.

With Robby and Johnny there is the possibility of a relationship. There’s a chance to break that shitty cycle these guys are all in.

And, good Lord, can I extrapolate on Robby and Johnny’s relationship without people crying apologism? Because there are other factors we see in the show and implying that abuse/trauma is straightforward and easily traced back to a single, obvious root is the kind of shit that keeps kids from realizing the situation they’re in.

Shitty parents are still people. They’re still a pile of cascading failures that led to things being like they are.

The show leads me to believe that Johnny and Robby have had a father/son relationship. A consistent one? God, no. Obviously not.

But we see pictures Johnny kept where Robby drew both of his parents. We see a soccer photo on a fridge. We see that Robby wants to upset his dad and knows him well enough to do it, giving Daniel the relationship with him that he knows Johnny wants but is always failing at.

And because it’s been a minute since I stressed this, please don’t come at me with pitchforks: JOHNNY IS NOT A GOOD FATHER. HE IS BARELY A FATHER. NOT HAVING A GOOD RELATIONSHIP WITH HIS SON IS HIS OWN FAULT. WE KNOW THIS. THE SHOW KNOWS THIS. IT IS KNOWN.

That said, there are contributing factors that didn’t fucking help. Shannon had an extremely unhealthy, codependent relationship with her son at the start of the series. Parental alienation happened. Shannon explicitly states that it did. We see it happening in the first season when Shannon lets it slip that Johnny wants Robby to come live with him.

Robby is actually considering it; he seems cautiously optimistic... But then he sees Johnny and Miguel hugging in a parking lot and that idea is tossed out. Which is super irrational but completely understandable for an angry teen that resents (And is 110% justified in that resentment) his dad.

And, boy, I could go off on a whole tangent about how Shannon is basically Laura Lawrence, but that’s yet another rambling meta post for another day... which has passed. That day is in the past. That is to say, it’s already on my blog somewhere.

And, yes, leaving Robby with Cobra Kai is ridiculous. So is deciding on the fate of the Valley through a fucking tournament arc. So are warring children’s karate dojos caused by Vietnam. So are all the other things we just kind of handwave so the show can get from point A to point B and let the plot happen. The show needs to go go go. We’ll lampshade it next season. First hand that child a set on nunchucks and chuck that one in a cement mixer. So many ridiculous things to do; so little time; so few ways to explain it that sometimes we just don’t. “Police? What police? Oh, right, um... Sam didn’t want to draw things out. Does that sound plausible? No? Fuck it, that’s what happened. Now go, honey. Go with the nice alcoholic, and parkour off a roof.”

And also... oh, Jesus, this is a bunch of text. This is entirely too much text. Imma stop myself here before I get started on something else and this goes from slightly unreadable to completely unreadable.

#robby keene #johnny lawrence #cobra kai #ramblings #finishing a chapter of a fic was the fannish thing i meant to get done to day #fans plan and fandom laughs i guess #oh well #what's done is done #and what's done is a meta stream of conscious novel that no one asked for

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twiststreet · 3 years

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I'd be curious for more of your thoughts on that Hibbs piece. I've read him for years and often find him insightful, but this one seems very reactionary in a very typical retailer way ("blinkered" was a good word Kim O'Connor used). Particularly, he seems to pretend that Diamond is just fine as is and that DC had no reason to want to switch distribution. I recently swore off DC, but I've noticed since the switch that those comics have been on time at my lcs each week. Diamond, not so much.

Yeah, I don’t really agree with that (I missed whatever Kim said), though I really don’t know what’s going on at a retail level. I haven’t gone regularly to a comic shop in years.

(Setting aside the health stuff, which is the most striking thing in there:) Hibbs is a retailer writing from a retailer perspective, so wishing that he was saying something else”... I mean, we know what we’re signing up for when we read it; we know how to slot it into our own personal worldviews. I’m not to going to complain that Hibbs isn’t going to tell me how long to cook a steak for, or that he’s not yelling that the Direct Market should be dismantled because if those were what I was looking to read, the egg should be on my face for pulling him up to begin with.

The question with Hibbs I think I always have is “how representative is he of retailers generally, as a store in San Francisco.” (And I think people slightly overstate how non-representative he is because if you hear him talk about his operations, he makes clear he operates differently for different retail audiences, when he had that second store going-- I don’t know if that’s still a thing, but. And also: I don’t fucking know what it means to be San Francisco anymore because what is that city even...). But generally, you know, you take that data point into consideration but still try to get at what you’ve signed up for, when you read what he says-- where are retailers’ heads at... You know, you go “well if Hibbs is at 8 then even adjusting -2 for factors x y and z, that mean Joe Median-Store might be at 6 and 6 is great / isn’t great, etc.”

Hibbs has always erred slightly worried, on the spectrum of human reactions, so you know, (even though I personally tend to be drawn to that more than optimism), I’m not sitting here going “I bet DC’s going to license all their characters tomorrow because he says so” because it’s not like the first time I’ve heard that-- though it remains entirely possible, possibly a good idea for the suits (though probably not for anyone else), who even knows. (Though if you’ve been listening to Rob Liefeld talk on Robservations about Heroes Reborn you’ll already know a significant challenge that would face-- that if they do a trial balloon, the people who already entrenched will do whatever they can to poison the trial balloon so as to make the case for not doing it and remaining entrenched...)(that becomes tougher after multiple waves of layoffs, though).

But what he’s talking about-- DC just did its own Heroes World...? As soon as I heard all that to begin with (and I didn’t pay close attention because the world was happening), my first reaction was “oh shit, Heroes World!” So a comic retailers saying “this is looking the same after __ months in these specific ways” ... I’m going to pay attention to that. I just remember how spectacularly unlikely it was that comics cleaned up the mess they’d made of themselves in the 90′s. It was a ridiculously unlikely set of events that turned things around, and I don’t think you can reasonably expect those events to happen again. (Especially after the “we learned a lesson from the 90′s” part turned out to be a lie, which is something I know I was yelling and screaming about for years and I was getting called like “ungrateful” or something by the Serious Comic Voices of Seriousness for it, there were entire CBR blog posts about how I didn’t understand how great things were now, etc, etc, etc... I don’t think they pull that “we learned not to rip people off” lie again, not this batch of assholes. Though who knows, maybe....)

I mean, sure there are criticisms of Diamond to be had, of trad retail to be had. And there’s the giant black box of “how desperate are people right now” that hasn’t been reported on. There was a time in ‘02-’04 or so when a book distributor or somebody like that went down, and it almost took out Fantagraphics with it. And this seems worse than that! Where’s the money flowing here and whose debts are getting paid first? I don’t have any idea. There’s all these systems in play that have been knocked out by COVID, and who knows who’s owed how much money or how much product is sitting in a warehouse collecting warehouse fees, etc., like this is all a fucking disaster and there’s no reporting on it (comic reporters are too busy encouraging Damon Lindelof to make Watchmen TV shows) and there’s ... DC is a black box in a black box in a black box (he said, having waited for 3 years for DC to answer an easy question once).

But even if DC had good reason to do whatever it did? It doesn’t seem to matter much if the rest of the comic market’s built around Diamond and if no one has the health of the Direct Market on its radar. And DC doesn’t if they fucking fired everyone who understands the health of the Direct Market as even being a fucking concept to begin with, which is extremely likely at this point. Or ... I don’t know-- it’s the old comic problem of people wanting to argue that “the thing is bad an we need to replace the thing.” Diamond’s bad and we need to replace it. Okay. With what? And with comics, the answer is usually “moonbeams and hopes and hugs.” There’s just a lot of wishful thinking out there that a Better Answer just shows up. I don’t know about that...

Comic retail’s built around selling Batman. For DC’s moves to be this impactful, that’s a problem at the core of the system. The undoing was in the origin. So i get that criticism, and it’s well taken (except to the extent there’s an entirely speculative argument built around it that either (a) there would be some other system that’d exist but-for and (b) there’d be some flourishing of human creativity but-for). But that’s still a lot of people and a lot of human energy that’s at issue. And the few life rafts that are out there, you’re not going to get a lot of people on them. Digital is a joke (according to me, a digital comic publisher! hahaha)-- hibbs if anything overstates the possibilities there because as a retailer, he doesn’t want to bring up that we’re in the Golden Age of Comic Piracy. (And ... I like being a digital comic publisher! I’m having fun. But). And bookstores-- bookstores are great, provided your readership expectation are 10-14 year old girls. Which might be better for comics if that became the default comic as compared to 35-50 year old bachelors that’s the DM’s bread and butter, but... I think you probably have to be okay with a lot fewer people having gigs. Bookstores can’t even remotely support the same level of human activity that comic shops can, by the look of things. (You know at some point you have a larger cultural heat death going on, that’s the part I find interesting, but...)

I don’t know. Hibbs might be to an extreme. I might be to an extreme. But having seen people voting for Biden and then going “wait, he’s going to hire racist industry-controlled centrists?? we got nothing for our vote? we’ve been betrayed!”... having seen people talk about what a great human being George Bush was (I saw a tweet fucking today that was like “George Bush was underrated because he was nice to a trans person once”)... I’ve become very cynical about the human memory or ability to learn lessons. I don’t think people remember 1995-1999 in comics, and just... how ridiculous it was when that got turned around. It was like watching them pull off a fucking heist to turn things around last time... Comics are selling-- people are buying comics. So it’s not as bad as last time. It’s nowhere close. But... People overestimate how structured the industry is, and obviously the DC layoffs suggest that the people looking purely at the bottom line don’t understand and didn’t account for the unique levels of institutional knowledge required for the industry... Other media, you don’t hear about hand-selling as much. When have you ever seen a movie because the guy who owns the theater told you it was good?? Or because you saw the director standing over a flea market table looking like they were about to cry...? Like... I don’t know.

I do know for me, I want to start thinking about a next project, and I’ve been looking again at what the Big Hit Books have been these last couple years (I kind of avoided new stuff when I was working on my things) and... You know, part of what changed things in the early 00′s was there were new voices with a new style ready to come in. Now? Jesus, I don’t know. At first blush, everybody’s writing books nearly identically, and it’s just this massive level of bombast and confidence (good for them!) and huge splash pages and hyper-emotional narration and... it all just is this blockbuster schmear that’s very impressive but entirely skippable anyways. None of it’s as a bezerk or strange or just weirdly interesting to me as 10 seconds of a Metal Gear Solid video essay... it’s a lot of big splash pages of Thanos or Thanos-for-creator-owned-comics... But it all seems like halls of mirrors-- none of it seems very outward looking... You know, Kojima did halls of mirrors by the 4th game, too, but in Death Stranding, he had like Amazon deliverypeople, and you’d play the game and go “oh shit, this gig economy is making my formaldehyde-baby cry” and like... he had something besides the hall of mirrors to him. (And I mean, the 4th game is a criticism of the hall of mirrors, according to a video essay I saw, but...). Or you know, it’s like the thing that Rebuild of Evangelion 3 is criticizing, they’re doing unironically... I don’t know. It’s weird; the books are weird; I keep wanting to ask like “what should I be reading here” because I’m mostly ignorant besides a Hulk or a Long Con or Sink or ... I never saw the end of Seeds but I thought Seeds had something...

Sorry to ramble.

#Worst Hobby or Worstest Hobby?

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softderekhale · 4 years

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from the archives: snippets of a sterek pacrim au

hey y’all! i definitely haven’t been super active on this blog or tumblr at all lately, for a lot of reasons but mainly just... life. doesn’t that suck sometimes? but i really, truly hope everyone is doing well and you + your loved ones are staying safe. (long reflection + tumblr fic after the cut, lol)

i’ve been in kind of a funk with writing since the last time i “had” to do it, which was 12 days/sterek secret santa like, 6 months ago. it’s frustrating to me that i went from writing my longest fic ever exactly 2 years ago to having almost zero output now, but i’m trying not to be too hard on myself and i know writing is a really fickle pastime. anyway, this is a really long leadup, but i decided to just release some stuff i wrote into the wild. it’s either here or my google drive, so i might as well see if anyone wants to read it!

pacific rim is undoubtedly one of my favorite movies of all time (it was only bumped down by into the spider-verse, but they’re almost tied ;D). it came out right after my sterek obsession began, and i always imagined writing a sterek au based around derek and stiles being drift compatible. that whole concept has always been so lovely to me and fits in nicely with some of my favorite soulmate-y tropes. this idea always felt too ambitious, though, and i didn’t write a single word of it until i rewatched the movie in november/december 2019. i wrote the following stuff in an extremely giddy haze over the next few weeks. i’m not good about pushing myself to write, so i never added any more, but i still really like what i had/have! i hope maybe someday i’ll feel the urge to come back to it. but anyway, here’s my completely self-indulgent homage to one of my favorite movies and one of my favorite fandoms. in my au chronology for this, following the events of the first movie, global governments and the ppdc decided to deploy jaegers for continued deep sea exploration to further benefit scientific discovery and avoid wasting such expensive tech/training. this lead to a lot of corporate interference re: treasure hunting, etc. (national treasure, but make it underwater). oh, and werewolves exist (because wouldn’t they make great jaeger pilots?!). also, A SECOND PACIFIC RIM MOVIE WAS NEVER EVER MADE. THE END. laura and derek were copilots before a kaiju-fighting incident forced them into early retirement. laura is still alive, though! (because it’s me.)

***

“Mayday! Mayday! LOCCENT, do you copy? This is Luna Geminae paging for backup. LOCCENT! Danny, we can’t hold them much longer…”

Laura’s growl of frustration rang in Derek’s ear as he strained against the beast.

“Keep holding it, Derek. You can do this. I know you can. They’re so close, Derek, they’ve gotta be. Just a few more—”

Derek never knew how Laura intended to finish that sentence. All he would ever remember was the scream that tore out of her throat. Later, he would describe it as the first time he ever understood the meaning of “bloodcurdling.”

“Laura!” Derek gritted his teeth as pain roared down his left arm, causing his vision to blur and spark white around the edges.

“My arm, Jesus, my fucking… They got my arm, Derek—”

As water poured into the cabin above and around him, the last thing he remembered hearing was Laura’s anguished howl. Then the sky became fire, and everything went dark.

***

The day of the accident convinced Derek that his world would never stop burning.

For months after, when he lay staring at the ceiling until the early hours of the morning, the staticky shapes his eyes created to fill the darkness always melted and formed a wall of flames no matter how many times he scrunched his eyes shut and buried his face in his pillow. The noises, too — the ambient whoosh of the Dome’s ventilation system and the soft heart-like thud of the power grid soon coalesced into a unified, rhythmic chant that sounded more and more like Laura’s scream the longer Derek listened: Derek! Help!

In the days and weeks following their accident, Derek had tried every trick he could think of to reassure his subconscious that Laura was alive and safe, and would remain so even after she left his line of sight. For almost a week after she was released from the medical bay, he slept in the spare bunk above her. As reticent as he normally was to invade Laura’s privacy any more than he had to, experiencing her near-loss allowed panic and instinct to envelop Derek’s frayed nerves. He never fully explained it to Laura, but he didn’t have to — she never questioned his presence, nor did she point out that Derek always waited to fall asleep until he was certain she had already drifted off.

Eventually, though, Derek realized the routine was leaving them both sleep-deprived and irritable. He resolved to move back to his own quarters, not wanting to smother Laura with his relentless, anxious presence. But he knew she still sensed his distress — every evening at 2300 hours, like clockwork, she knocked on his door to tell him goodnight and gently pressed her right palm against her brother’s neck before waving and returning to her own room. It was a routine they continued even now, half a decade beyond the fight that had left their Jaeger decimated.

They had made progress, which Laura was always quick to remind her younger brother. Nothing could have prepared him for the aftermath of the accident, though, and the dark places where Derek’s mind would drift when there was no one around to distract him. Alone with his thoughts, no reassurance was strong enough to quiet Derek’s memories.

He shifted again in bed, his half-awake mind scrambling to remember the breathing exercises Deaton had taught him over the years.

Inhale through your nose. One. Two. Three. Hold. Exhale through your mouth. One. Two. Three—

Derek!

Start again. Inhale through your nose. One. Two. Three. Hold. Exhale through your mouth. Slower this time.

Good. Again.

***

This comes way after the scene above lol sorry

“Right hemisphere locked. Left hemisphere locked. Vitals are steady. Initiating neural handshake.”

Danny’s voice echoed through Derek’s head as he let his eyes flutter shut and tipped his head back. He’d been anxious about this moment for days now, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t secretly a little — or a lot — excited, too. Drifting was a heady, emotional experience, and if he and Stiles were truly compatible, Derek might finally get to settle the unease he had felt since his connection with Laura was severed.

“Alright,” Danny said. “You should be feeling it in three… two… one.”

Derek’s eyes flew open, but his gaze defocused as he felt his center of gravity list forward before returning.

As his sense of internal balance returned, the tingle of the neural link fizzed over his scalp. There it is. Slowly, then all at once, he felt the rush of Stiles’ mind meeting his own. Their emotions flowed over one another like water, memories flashing and sensations pulsing before slipping away into their shared flow of awareness. Derek had trained himself long ago to let himself float until the waters steadied, and he could feel Stiles, ever perceptive, do the same.

“Neural handshake established and holding at 100 percent.”

Without having to think twice about the gesture, Derek felt his knuckles meet his palm as he dipped into a customary bow. As he and Stiles led Luna in her first exploratory steps, Derek felt the weight of any lingering fears melt away.

With Laura, Derek had always felt like they were extensions of one another, movements and decisions cascading seamlessly from a fully unified thought process. Drifting with Stiles, though, felt unlike anything Derek had ever experienced. They were two sides of the same coin — each aggressive and reserved in equal, opposite measure. If Derek and Laura were reading from the same script, he and Stiles were finishing each others’ sentences as they improvised the same scene.

When they first met, Derek had found Stiles anything but graceful — but now, as they nearly seemed to glide across the ocean floor, he felt foolish for not realizing the instinctive adjustments and calculations stiles was constantly making based on his surroundings. As they steered Luna across the testing ground, Derek felt his temples begin to thrum with an energy he hadn’t felt in years. Best of all, he knew Stiles felt it too — he could literally trace the path of his elation as it wrapped around Derek’s senses and amplified his own excitement.

“How are you doing?” Derek shouted across the rig. It wasn’t a question he needed to ask verbally, but he chose to anyway, knowing it would help ground them both in the present moment and prevent any stray thought spirals from taking over their link.

“So good, dude. This is — this is unreal,” Stiles replied, slicing through the air with his left arm to test the angle of the jaeger’s knuckle daggers.

Derek smiled. “Not exactly like the simulators, huh?”

“Nothing like the simulators, man. Holy shit.”

As they continued to acclimate to the drift, Derek took Stiles through a few more of Luna’s signature maneuvers. Stiles’ extensive research showed, and combined with the knowledge he and Derek now shared, the moves seemed to come naturally.

“Do you want some music?” He and Laura always played music when training, but he didn’t want Stiles to feel—

“That’s all I want right now, Derek.” Derek’s grin broadened as Stiles flicked through the controls hovering in front of him. A heavy bass line thrummed through the cabin, and Derek finally did what he never thought he would be able to again in his lifetime: he let his mind relax and free-fell into the drift.

***

Two hours after he and Stiles had eaten dinner and finally parted ways, Derek still couldn’t stop thinking about their drift.

That wasn’t unusual, all things considered — emotional transfer was common, especially for werewolves and especially during the first few drifts with a new partner.

Every time Derek thought about his connection with Stiles, though, and the experience of their emotions weaving together, his mind kept snagging in one place. It was a place that had struck Derek even during the high of the neural handshake, not because it felt odd or foreign, but because it felt hauntingly familiar — but looked ugly and sinister looming over someone else.

It was anguish. It was a grief that had been doused in shame and set alight. It was a feeling of loss and self-loathing that made Derek feel like he was suffocating. It was exactly the way Derek had felt every day for years after the fire, and again after the accident.

He had tried to explain it to Laura as dispassionately as possible all the times she chided him for blaming himself or expressing guilt over what happened to their family, but he never knew how to describe it until he experienced it through Stiles’ memories. It was sore, like a bruised rib, a persistent ache that radiated out from the point of impact and lingered at the edge of his consciousness. Distractions might be able to push away some of the pain, but as long as he kept breathing, it would always be there.

Derek hadn’t seen exactly where Stiles’ pain radiated from, but it seemed to shroud the memories of his mother especially strongly. Stiles told him she had been sick, though — why would he feel guilty about her death?

He sat up, his leg bouncing as he fidgeted absently with a hangnail. Since deciphering what that unexpected shared emotion reminded him of, Derek couldn’t stop thinking about it. This, he knew, was normal too — without an outlet, emotional transfer tended to create a feedback loop as a co-pilot bounced back and forth between their own memories and their partner’s.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Derek shot up and strode to the door. It was late, almost midnight, and the full body experience of drifting had left Derek racked with fatigue. But — he just wanted to talk to Stiles. To be near him, again, as if it were a substitute for the feeling of absolute synchronicity they had just shared. It would only take a few minutes.

He was so distracted by his own jumbled thoughts that it took him a moment to register who stood just outside his door as he flung it open — it was Stiles, hand paused in mid-air.

“Stiles.” Very eloquent, Derek, he chided himself with an internal voice that sounded suspiciously like Laura.

“Oh— Well. Um. Hi.” Stiles gave a small wave before shoving his hand in his pocket. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were about to—“

“I was about to find you.”

Stiles paused. “Really?”

Derek stepped back, nodding toward the doorway. “Really. Do you want to come in?”

As he and Stiles stood facing each other silently, Derek scrambled for exactly what he wanted to say. Everything was so effortless when they were in the drift. Why was it so hard to find the words now?

To his relief, Stiles was the one who broke the silence. “Sorry, I’m sure you’re tired… I’m just kind of keyed up, I guess, and I couldn’t—“ Stiles ducked his head down. “I don’t know. I thought it might help to see you.”

“Don’t apologize. You have good instincts,” Derek assured him. “And I— I wanted to see you too,” he added, feeling the tips of his ears heat.

He could almost feel Stiles’ sigh of relief in his own chest. “Can I sit?”

“Of course.” Derek scooped a discarded pile of clothes off his bed and gingerly sat down after Stiles, mindful of the careful space between them. “Are you feeling okay?”

Stiles’ eyebrows jumped. “Yeah, I feel fine, I really do, but I just feel… jumpy, I guess. Which is normal for me, but I can tell this is different. I don’t know how I know, but…” he trailed off, gesturing abstractly in front of him.

Derek nodded. “I know what you mean. You can’t really prepare for the drift until you’ve done it,” he said, remembering how disjointed he felt after his first few test runs. “But it gets easier,” he added.

Stiles shook his head. “I’m not worried about it. I trust you.” His eyes shot up to meet Derek’s, as if challenging him to dispute the steady, honest heartbeat behind his words.

Derek was surprised to feel something behind his eyes sting at the pronouncement. He looked away from Stiles’ scrutinizing gaze, but he felt the other man’s eyes continue to study him. “I’m glad. I— that means a lot to me.”

Stiles nodded, remaining thoughtfully silent. Derek sensed he wanted to ask something, but wasn’t ready to admit it on his own.

“Is there anything I can do?” Derek asked gently, eyes seeking Stiles’ again.

Stiles looked pointedly away and bit at his thumbnail. “Um. It sounds stupid now. But I read… I read that physical contact can help,” he mumbled, so quickly Derek might not have caught it without his magnified hearing.

He realized Stiles’ admission may have felt embarrassing for a human, but for Derek, it was almost a relief. He reached forward slowly and cupped his hand over Stiles’ shoulder with a light squeeze.

“It’s not stupid. You felt how intense the drift is. When you separate from a complete mental overlap, it can be disorienting. And you know how tactile wolves are — that makes it even harder for us, so you’re probably getting some of this from my own emotional bleed.” He didn’t miss the way Stiles melted into his touch, his whole body swaying into their point of contact.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense. Thanks,” his gaze flicked up to meet Derek’s.

“Do you—“ Derek didn’t really know how to ask for more contact. It came so naturally with other werewolves, so he’d never really had to think about it before. “I don’t want to touch you in a way you’re not comfortable with. But if you want to lay down, or you want me to lay down or…” He took a sharp, steadying breath. “I’m trying to say that I understand, and I think it will make us both feel better, and I’m fine with whatever level of contact you’re okay with.”

Stiles laughed, a bright and unexpected break in the tension. “Jesus. Listen to us. I feel ridiculous, but— Thank you. You’re very considerate.” He paused, expression drawing almost imperceptibly tighter. “I want that too, though. I want you to feel comfortable. If you’re not, if there’s anything I do— I promise I’ll ask, first, and if you can tell me, I want you to.”

Derek felt a lump rise in his throat. Stiles’ words were sincere, but carefully chosen. He wasn’t sure how much of his own memories Stiles had observed, but it seemed to have been enough to understand that physical touch had once been a powerful weapon wielded against him.

“Thank you,” he answered quietly, before gently tugging at Stiles’ arm. “Here, lay down.”

The bed was barely wide enough for both of them to lay side by side, but it was just enough space for both men to settle on their backs with their elbows carefully layered between them. Derek hesitated for a moment before angling his head against Stiles’ neck. “Is this okay?”

Stiles hummed in agreement, the back of his hand flitting against Derek’s so softly he almost thought he imagined it. “This is perfect.” He inhaled deeply through his nose and tilted his head closer to Derek’s. They lay silently for a handful of minutes, and the rhythmic in-out of Stiles’ breathing nearly lulled Derek to sleep.

Suddenly, Derek felt Stiles still. “Why were you about to come look for me?”

Derek huffed. “I wanted to see you.”

“What, you had to check in on the rookie who can’t handle a drift?” Stiles’ tone was light, devoid of any real offense, and he jostled his shoulder gently against Derek’s.

“You did great. If anything, I— I hadn’t done it in so long, and Laura was my only co-pilot before you.” Derek frowned, remembering the heavy emotions of Stiles’ that had ensnared him earlier. He didn’t want to overwhelm Stiles, but he also wanted him to know that he both empathized with and thought highly of him.

“I never thought I would get in a rig again,” Derek continued. “I don’t think I trusted myself enough. I carry… I carry a lot of guilt, Stiles. But when I thought about piloting with you, the guilt didn’t win. You’re the first person who’s been capable enough, smart enough, strong enough, that I didn’t have to worry.”

Stiles didn’t respond at first, and a flash of panic seized Derek before he felt strong, warm fingers curl around his own.

“I won’t let you down,” Stiles said, his voice nearly a whisper and rough with emotion.

“I don’t think you could,” Derek whispered back, before he let his eyes slip shut and exhaustion overtake him.

***

When Derek awoke the next morning, he was startled — but it wasn’t in reaction to the way Stiles had draped himself over Derek in his sleep. Feeling Stiles’ arms around his waist felt oddly natural. The surprising part was how well he had slept — it was the first night of uninterrupted slumber he could remember having in months, if not longer.

***

yeah so... that’s all for now! if you read this, thanks and i hope you’re doing well!!! ❤️

#sterek #sterek fic #sterek pacific rim au #pacific rim au #my fic #tumblr fic

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aenwoedbeannaa · 4 years

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Stone Hearts | Geralt x Reader | Parts I - III

Summary: A/U(ish). When fate landed you at Kaer Morhen, you were mostly just happy to have meals to eat and a place to sleep. But, as it turns out, fate may have led you to much, much more. (Basically, you and Geralt are students at Kaer Morhen together. These stories chronicle your lives together.)

Word Count: 7k+

Warnings: Violence, smut, the usual.

A/N: I originally planned on posting this as a series of short stories all at once, but as it is such a long story, I decided I’d split it up into groups of stories instead. So, this one is Part I, II, and III. Let me know what you think – and thank you, as always, for taking time to read my work 😊.

Thank you so much to @jesseswartzwelder for the request/amazing idea!

If you enjoy my work, consider reblogging this post following me for more Witcher fics here and on my personal/original writing blog here. You can also check out my masterlist!

Part I

The sun is hot, bearing down on the crowded courtyard and making you sweat through your leathers even more than you usually do. Still, you refuse to give any inkling of the fact that your blood is absolutely boiling, like your body is burning itself away. You know that it is more than the hot sun—you’ve started taking a new elixir, and ever since, you’ve been aching with fever. One moment, you are burning out of your skin, the next, you are shivering and sweating at the same time.

Your feet move of their own accord, purely out of instinct, as you dodge and parry, pirouette and deflect. You try as hard as you possibly can to breathe deeply and slowly, so as not to exert yourself even more. And yet, the sharp sound of dulled iron striking dulled iron reverberates you your head, loud enough to make you want to flinch.

But flinching is not an option. Not with Geralt, anyways. You don’t like losing, especially to your de facto partner. As usual, the two of you are the last pair left sparring, the others standing around drinking deeply from waterskins or laying on unclaimed ground nursing whatever wounds they incurred over the course of the day. You wish you were one of them, but only a little. If you are honest, you love being the center of attention; you love being one of Kaer Morhen’s Golden Children. You thrive one it.

“Getting tired, Witcher?” you quip, avoiding a slash of his blade with a rolling dodge, landing on your feet in a flash and only just missing him with your next attack.

“Not a chance, Witcher Girl,” he responds with a parry leading to an attack of his own. You manage to block him with the flat of your blade, but you can tell that you are off – not enough for an ordinary eye to see, but Geralt does not have the eyes of an ordinary man.

He’s got you backed up nearly to the wall, leaving you less room than you’d like, and distracting you enough with his smile, a dangerous flash of white, that you nearly lose your footing. But after another turn and other quick flurry of attacks and counterattacks, you do lose your footing – but it has nothing to do with Geralt’s smile and everything to do with a sudden blinding pain that seems to start in your head and travel down your body at lighting speed. You crumple to the ground.

Geralt drops his sword before you even hit the dirt, rushing to you side and placing a calloused hand gently on your shoulder, speaking urgently, “Y/N,” he says as he gently pushes against your shoulder to turn you over, “Are you alright? What happened?” What has him so worried is not that you fell – the two of you never went easy on one another, and each took your share of tumbles. No, he is worried because you had been steady on two feet one moment and wincing, dropping your sword, and thudding to the ground after it the next.

You have, of course, told him nothing about the extra elixir. You’d tried so many at this point that you’d grown into a sense of security, like something that couldn’t possibly harm you. After all, the really deadly shit was saved for the Trial of the Grasses – but even then, the strong ones usually made it, and you are one of the strong ones. But, no matter how many times you tell him not to worry – he always, always does. The same way that you worry about him every time you learn they’re giving him new mysterious concoctions to try.

He is you closest friend, and he has been since the moment you walked onto the grounds of Kaer Morhen and he punched Eskel in the face for lobbing an ill-timed joke at the very timid new arrival and making you cry.

Vizimir was not happy with any of you, and all three of you managed to earn yourselves extra cleaning duties that week. Geralt for punching Eskel, Eskel for making ‘unnecessary remarks,’ and you for crying. Coincidentally, that week was also the week that the three of you began a friendship that spanned even to this day.

You blink up at him, unable to speak, though you want to. Something is wrong, you want to say, Get Vizimir. But, try as you might, you aren’t able to make your mouth form the words. Instead, you just stare up at him with wide eyes. His brown curls are stuck to his brow with sweat, and his eyes are searching your eyes for an answer you can’t give him. You are also vaguely aware of other students abandoning their carefully staked out plots of grass to come and see what the fuss is about.

The only other girl, Estra of Ard Caraigh, chews her lip nervously as she looks on, though you can’t see her. The two of you aren’t particularly close, mostly because she is two years older, so you are surprised when you hear her voice from the growing crowd of onlookers, “They gave you that elixir, didn’t they? The one that’s to make sure you can train every day of the month?”

In your bleary half-consciousness, you see a flash of long auburn hair as she rushes to your side, pressing a hand to your forehead. Her face blanches and she turns back to shout to no one in particular, “Get Vizimir, NOW.”

You try once more to make some sort of sound, but all that comes out is a choked sob. You had not cried since your first day here, and the fact that tears were streaming down your face seemingly of their own accord was mortifying. The only thing that kept your from screaming in pain was Geralt as he took your hand in his own and held on tightly, leaning down to whisper that it was all going to be ok in a voice surprisingly calm given the red-hot fire burning in his eyes and his tightly clenched jaw.

Part II

Your fingers tap the glass impatiently as you peer out the window, checking for signs of life on the road that winds from the gate of the Keep out into the forests surrounding Kaer Morhen, twisting its way through the wilderness surrounding the Snow Pine Mountains. If you’ve calculated correctly, Geralt should be returning today. He left nearly two weeks before with one of the Witchers to help with a contract on a Drowner infestation plaguing a nearby town on the banks of some manmade lake.

Leave it to Kaedwen. Perhaps the people of Kaedwen had grown too comfortable. With Witchers nearby, there wasn’t much to fear from monsters, was there?

This particular excursion was his reward for being the first to return from the Trial of the Medallion – the chance to muck around in the swamps for a few days, cutting down drowners at thirty crowns a head.

Thirty crowns a head.

You still remember a time when thirty crowns seemed an unobtainable amount of money; money that could have lasted your family near a month if it had to. To think that once this was all over, you would be able to fulfill contracts earning multiples of that for each monster slain. Being considered at once a poor victim of a stolen childhood and a mutant freak who had no place existing was a small price to pay for such a steady income.

“Show me a lake, and I’ll show you the drowners,” as Vizimir would say.

Pulling yourself back from the objectively horrifying daydreams of hacking drowners to shreds in return for a sack full of coin, you resume your vigilance.

Accounting for the four days ride from Kaer Morhen, maybe five if any monsters appeared on The Path, and then three days at most to deal with the drowners, and then another four to five days ride back accounting for the supplies they’d be carrying back from the village, he should be arriving back today. Unless of course… No. You cannot allow yourself to even consider the possibility that anything had gone wrong.

You tell yourself you that the nervous energy that has you buzzing is simply born of boredom, or maybe out of frustration that you’d have to spar with Eskel today. After nearly two weeks pouring over books, Vizimir had finally determined that it was time to get back to swordsmanship and, most importantly, sparring. It was about the only thing that broke the general dullness of school.

And without Geralt, you tell yourself, sparring will be just as dull as the bloody books. You determine that this is at least a half-truth. Geralt was the only sparring partner quite at your level. So, it went without saying that sparring with anyone else was dull, mostly a waste of time. In your opinion, fighting an easy fight is not fun. And that’s not even your ego talking; it is purely factual.

And a bit of ego.

And then there is the separate issue; the fact that you hadn’t exactly realized – or had at least pretended not to realize – just how much time you spent with Geralt until he was gone. You’d been happy for him when he won the Trial of the Medallion, of course, but you hadn’t been quite as thrilled when you learned what the prize was. Sure – it was a chance for him to escape form the stone fortress for two weeks, a chance to get out and see the world. But drowners, no matter how easy to kill, could always be dangerous. Or maybe you were just upset that the second place winner – that just so happened to be you – didn’t get to go along as well. You’d finished only second behind him; it seemed unfair.

Despite its unfairness, it was reality. So, instead of out hunting monsters, you were stuck here while time dragged on at an excruciating crawl.

You’ve got other students with whom to pass the time, but to be honest, exploring the grounds of Kaer Morhen Of course, you still have your other fellow students to pass the time with – which you do – but it’s not the same. There is a bond between the two of you that far surpasses your bond with anyone else. No matter how adamantly you try to ignore it, there’s just no way around it.

You sigh in frustration and turn away from the window; you have too many things to do, regardless of how absolutely tedious everything is. Studying with Vizimir, of course. And you’ve got to spar today. At least that is somewhat interesting – even if none of the other students can quite match you; with the exception of Geralt. It is a convenient way for you to explain away any feelings. Perhaps sparring with people who cannot keep up is just boring. As much as you enjoy winning, there’s no excitement winning against people you could probably best in your sleep.

You pull on your last bits of armor – a belt with a small sheath for your dagger, and of course your leather jerkin. Your dulled iron and silver are slung over your back. You won’t receive your silver – a real silver sword – until you pass the trial of the grasses. It would, of course, be a waste to supply every one of Kaer Morhen’s students with new silver swords, considering the unfortunate reality that a majority would never need one.

Gods, you hope you need one.

You move silently through the ancient hallways, bracing yourself for the certain boredom that will greet you in the keep’s library. It is a large room full of old books, most of which are yellowed with age and feel as if they might fall apart beneath your fingertips. Vizimir explains that new books are not necessary, because monsters never change.

“Wonderful of you to finally join us, Little Vampire,” Vizimir says as you push open the wooden door to see several students sitting at the old tables all in various states of half-sleep. You just shrug in response and make your way to an empty chair. You earned the nickname Little Vampire after, during the week you spent delirious with fever, you apparently bit Vizimir’s hand hard enough to leave a scar when he tried to force a potion down your throat.

“Probably off waiting for Geralt,” you hear Stefan say under his breath to Eskel, who is sitting in the chair next to him. You pretend not to hear him; you’ve given up on trying to explain your relationship with Geralt to your peers. And anyway, it would be impossible to explain even if you tried – you cannot even explain it to yourself.

But then, you hear Eskel mutter, even quieter – “He probably won’t be back until tomorrow. Off spending that hard-earned coin the right way.” You know that it shouldn’t bother you; Geralt can do whatever he’d like. And what you’d learned from hearing Eskel and the others when they spoke about their time outside of Kaer Morhen, there was a very specific way they tended to celebrate. It wasn’t your place to be upset about it. And, yet, here you were.

Whatever, you tell yourself. He’s only following the Code. That fucking Code.

* * *

“Fucking hell,” Eskel spits, pushing himself up from the ground, heavily favoring his left ankle. You smirk, sheathing the blunted blade. You don’t need to say anything – knocking him out of the fight as quickly as you had spoke volumes.

“And all this time, we thought Geralt was just letting her win, eh, Eskel?”

You turn and narrow your eyes at Stefan, their dark amber burning like coals as you bore into him. You aren’t daft – you are fully aware of this particular rumor, as ridiculous of a rumor as it is.

“Would have been quite the charade to have been pulling off all these years.”

You have a hard time suppressing your smile at the familiar baritone, but you turn around with witcherlike reflexes regardless. And Code be damned, for all the elixirs they’d given you, emotion flooded you. You refuse to call it love; to be a Witcher and admit to such a feeling would be laughable. But you will call it joy – joy at seeing your absolute closest friend in the world after all this time.

A whole two weeks.

Not wanting to make yourself, and Geralt by extension, the butt of jokes for the next month, you stop yourself from barreling toward him and throwing your arms around his neck like you want to, you settle for smiling instead.

“Finally,” you drawl, “A real challenge.”

Your friend smirks, arms crossing over his chest.

“I’ve just returned, and the first thing you want to do is cross swords?” he fakes offense.

“Of course,” you retort, “This is Kaer Morhen, after all.”

“Damn,” Geralt responds, “Thought it was Ban Aard.”

Several others who had abandoned their activities to listen laughed at that one – you included. Fucking mages and their fancy schools, preaching about the importance of magic Witchers’ reliance on it. Ban Aard and Aretuza were the butt of a good number of jokes at Kaer Morhen, like Kaer Morhen certainly was to them.

“Enough standing around and talking,” you goad, “Grab your sword, Witcher.”

You ignore the hushed conversations around you as Geralt replaces the silver sword slung over his back with a dull iron one. The usual nonsense – something about the two of you thriving on attention and showing off and something else about the two of you needing to “just fuck already.”

He seems to be ignoring the group just as you are, reading himself as you do the same.

“Alright, Witcher,” you smile dangerously, “Let’s see if those Drowners sharpened your skills."

Part III

“It just doesn’t feel real,” you muse, turning over your shoulder to glance at Geralt who sits with his back flush against yours, “Only two days until the Trials.”

“Mhm,” he answers from deep in his chest. While you have chosen to cover up your panic and fear with excitement and fierce pride, Geralt has turned to philosophizing – existentialism and cynicism being his philosophies of choice.

“Geralt…” you mutter, wishing that you could get more than a syllable or two out of him. “It’s going to be ok.”

You are trying to convince yourself just as much as you are trying to convince him. And, given your tendency to turn everything into a game of logic – very useful in calculating opponents next moves – chances are high that you are correct.

“We’ve both responded well to all of the elixirs they’ve given us, hardly any negative reactions at all,” you expound, but Geralt scoffs, making your mouth snap shut.

“Yes, except that one time two years back when you almost died.” His voice is laced with worry, and though you are facing opposite directions, you know exactly what his expression by his tone alone. His eyebrows are knitted together, and his amber eyes are narrowed such that from a distance, someone might not notice that he was undergoing mutations at all. His lips are pressed into a tight line, and his curls fall into his face. That, combined with his bulky form, would make anyone stay away. Anyone except for you.

“That was one time,” you press, “One elixir out of hundreds. It’s a better record than most people.” Kaer Morhen was your home and you truly wanted to become a Witcher. If you’d been left alone in Crookback Bog, you would have died years ago. And if you’d grown up in some backwater village or in the poor district of a city, plague or pox could’ve taken you. For you, the potions and elixirs and the mutations they induced were just the inevitable tradeoffs to life here. If you couldn’t survive the trials, you couldn’t be a Witcher, and if you couldn’t become a Witcher, you’d be on your own with no skills to speak of, no way to make a living. At least Kaer Morhen gave you something akin to a family – it had given you Geralt.

“I don’t care to remember any details of that week,” he mutters, looking at the ground and shaking his head, “But I… I can’t stop thinking about it. About you laying there burning with fever, calling out in your sleep.”

You are stunned. Geralt, while not as closed off as the other students and Witchers liked to say, was not apt to speak with such emotion. You can’t remember the last time you heard him stumble over his words like that – or if you ever had, for that matter. You open your mouth to speak, about how that was quite a regular occurrence for Kaer Morhen’s students as they underwent mutations, but he is already speaking again before you can get a word out.

“You kept saying that you were on fire, your bones were on fire,” you pick at the grass as he continues, “And the elixirs to help the pain only made it worse.”

Truth be told, you don’t have much memory of that week of your life. You were delirious with fever, and only remember brief moments that you could not definitively place in the “real” category or mark them off as hallucinations. But, as he speaks, some memories do pop into your mind. One in particular where it took three grown men to hold you down and force one of the elixir’s down your throat. Vizimir started calling you Little Vampire after that, thanks to the fact that your perfectly average canines managed to dig so deep into his hand that he still had a scar. Now, you supposed, you understood why Geralt didn’t like that one.

“I just… I can’t…” as Geralt stumbles over his words, you cannot tell if you are hearing his heart hammering or yours. You follow your immediate urge and turn around to sit next to him, both of you now looking out towards the grounds of Kaer Morhen through the trees. You’ve had this secret meeting place for years – a place where the two of you would go to talk or just to sit. A peaceful place, away from the constant chaos behind the castle walls.

“Geralt,” you say, placing a hand on his shoulder and shifting so that he is facing you, “You’re the strongest of all of us. Even Vizimir said…well, you remember!” You are referring to a conversation you overheard one evening when you were prowling around places you shouldn’t be. He was talking to one of the other instructors, the two of them comparing notes.

“Geralt, Y/N, and Eskel will be this year’s Three, mark my words.”

“There’s no need to be scared,” you add after a moment, voice quiet. You hadn’t known he was so scared to undergo the mutations. He was always the best in your training exercises, always the strongest, the fastest, the one getting all the special elixirs. You hadn’t even thought that he might still be worried.

Quite suddenly, he turns, placing his hand over the one of yours that is resting in your lap, “I’m not worried for myself. I just… I can’t… It makes me so angry to think of them putting you through that again.”

You look down, staring at his hand on top of yours, which is suddenly the only thing that you can focus on. Relationships at Kaer Morhen aren’t forbidden, but they aren’t common. There had been a handful of moments like these – none of them that went farther than stolen glances and they always left you feeling somehow empty, aching for what you couldn’t have.

Silence stretches between you. The only sound either of you make are the thundering of our hearts and carefully controlled breathing. Though, you notice, each time Geralt breathes in, there is a slight unsteadiness to it, a shakiness, as if he is trying as hard as you are to keep your breathing in check.

Finally, you draw a breath that would be noticeably shaky, even for a person who hadn’t undergone all of the mutations that the two of you had. You tear your eyes from your hand to look up at him and say, “I’m an adult, Geralt. I’m going through the trials willingly.”

Geralt doesn’t respond, just clenches his jaw and lets out a huff, so you continue, “We’ve always known about the Trials, I agreed to it when I came here, and I’ve continued to agree to it every time that I’ve taken any of their elixirs. I’ve...We’ve been training for this for our whole lives. Without Vizimir I would have died without getting a chance to experience real life.”

“I know the speech,” Geralt shoots back almost immediately, pulling his hand away and leaving you feeling hurt.

“Geralt.” You are struggling to keep your voice steady. You can’t decide if you feel like screaming or crying, so you keep to the Code and shove both of those urges down as deep as is possible given the situation. “It’s not my fault we have to undergo the mutations, so don’t fucking snap at me.”

“Fuck,” Geralt says, shaking his head and burying it in his hands, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I know.”

He is silent for another moment before he finally lowers his hands and looks up at you. You realize in that moment how close you are, your faces only inches apart. You can see the gold flecks in his amber eyes and the stubble on his cheeks and have to fight to ignore the urge to reach out and see how his skin feels beneath your hands, and what his eyes would look like if you did.

But then, he reaches out with one hand, hesitantly and ever so gently, to cup your face. You shiver as the pad of his thumb brushes just beneath your lower lip and the very corner of your mouth. Time feels suspended, as if the two of you are floating on some separate plane where the day of the Trials will never come and the two of you can just stay right here, just as you are, forever.

“I hate the idea of you undergoing the Trial because I can’t stomach the thought of losing you, Y/N.” The words are like a punch to the stomach that is somehow pleasant, knocking all the breath out of your lungs.

He leans even closer, until your foreheads are touching. “I know the Code, and I know I’m not supposed to, but I love you.”

You breathe in, memorizing the smell of him. You’ve only ever been this close during sparring exercises. You decide you like this a lot better.

“When I had the fever… The one thing that kept me, you know, here was you, you know,” you breathe. You’ve never told him because you know that no matter how much he had pretended to hate it as of late, he sticks to the Code. The Code, which doesn’t look highly on Witchers being in relationships – especially with one another. “And that’s why—and you’re the reason I know that I’ll survive the Trial.” Your eyes have drifted down, unable to meet his as you confess this – the secret you have been hiding from him for so long.

He is silent for a moment, frozen there with his deliciously warm hand on your face before finally letting his and slip lower, resting under your chin and gently tilting your head up so that he can meet your eyes. “Fuck the Code,” he says, eyes flashing before pressing his lips to yours.

It is your first kiss, and it is pure bliss. Your lips fit together like pieces of a puzzle and the sensation has you drunk with pleasure before he even deepens the kiss. And, when he does, you are ready. You part your lips for him, and he greedily explores your mouth. You keep thinking that it can’t get any better, but yet it does. You moan involuntarily as his hand slips from your chin, ghosting along the curve of your neck and coming to rest on your shoulder, calloused thumb sweeping across your collar bone.

His touch is electric, leaving your skin feeling hot and charged, and longing for more. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling yourself flush against him. He responds with an appreciative grunt, moving his hands to explore your body, starting by sweeping down your sides, just barely grazing the sides of your breasts in the process.

With his hands now firmly wrapped around your sides, he breaks the kiss, leaving you in a huff of frustration and disappointment – you hadn’t had nearly enough of him. But before you can get too out of sorts, his lips touch your neck and you moan, tipping your head back to grant him complete access. You don’t even have time to worry about the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing – that you have never done this before – because Geralt is so thorough, so in control of the situation. It’s like he knows all the right places to touch, and exactly what to do with his mouth to have you breathing heavily, small sounds of pleasure slipping through your lips.

Tentatively, you begin exploring his body with your hands. You love the way that his muscled form feels beneath your fingers, and it makes you want to explore every inch. As your hands move down his chest, you find yourself tugging at his shirt. You don’t know if it is an involuntary reaction to his teeth grazing your neck as his lips continue down to your collarbone or whether it is simply a feeble attempt to pull the fabric away because you would very much like to know what his sculpted abdomen feels like beneath your fingers without the offending material in the way.

Geralt’s hands, on the other hand, have gripped your white linen shirt, identical to his own, and already began pulling it over your head. You raise your arms to make it easier for him, and the moment it is off, you greedily reach for his own tugging the material up and over his head. For a moment, you just stare at him, drinking in the sight of him shirtless before you. It wasn’t as if you had never seen him this way – but you had always done your best not to look too long, afraid that he would notice as question why.

However, he interrupts your moment of slightly embarrassing admiration when he wraps his arms around you, hands grazing your hyper-sensitive skin. You sigh, content to let him touch every inch of you. Encouraged by this, his hands wander up to unlace your bra and you bite your lip in anticipation. You cannot wait to feel his hands on them, arching your back, willing him to make faster work of it.

He grins as he slips the material off your shoulders, grin turning into more of a smirk as he sees you staring back at him with wide, expectant eyes. He slides one hand up your back, easing you down so you are laying beneath him, eyes drinking in the sight of you naked form and making your feel suddenly exposed. But, given the way his pupils dilate, he likes what he sees as much as you do.

He leans over you, lowering himself so that he can bring his lips to yours once more. You greedily bite his lower lip, hands back to their game of exploring as much of his body as you can reach. And then all of a sudden, you feel his stubbled cheek graze against yours as he leans to growl in your ear, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this to you, Witcheress.”

His words add fuel to the fire burning in your core, and you whimper as his fingers brush your nipple. It feels so delicious it is almost painful. You’ve never even allowed yourself to fantasize about this scenario, as much as you may have wanted to. You never thought it would happen – and you weren’t one to dream of impossible things. And yet, here you both were.

“Geralt,” you breathe, completely lost I the feeling as he kneads and pinches your breasts. And then… his lips. The feeling of them against your breast and his tongue flattening against your nipple is warm and soft and better than you could have ever imagined it feeling. Your eyes roll up into your head as he makes use of his free hand to gently twist and pinch the bud not currently receiving the attention of his tongue.

Heat pools in your core, twisting and tightening and aching for his touch, and, oh gods, for his tongue. Any nerves you thought you would have doing this for the first time have evaporated. There is no room in your pleasure-drunk mind for nervous thoughts.

Once again, seemingly able to read your thoughts, he slips a hand between the two of you, unfastening your belt and unlacing your trousers. For a brief moment, your mind blinks to a thought of just how practiced his hands are – but you don’t dwell on it for more than a split second. You are burning with need, and you could care less how many women Geralt has had before you – if the stories of the young man’s exploits on those rare occasions when Kaer Morhen’s young Witchers in training were given leave to take on smaller contracts here and there under supervision of elders – it doesn’t matter to you right now.

It matters even less when his hand slips into your waistband, expert fingers finding their way to where you need him most. His finger dips between your folds, gathering the wet heat pooled there for him, humming appreciatively against your chest as he lets his finger trail back up to the little bundle of nerves. His touch is perfect parts gentle and firm as he circles the small bud, making you cry out into the open air.

“You like that, Witcheress?” he asks gruffly, swirling his finger again and making you buck your hips against his hand. Making yourself form words is pretty much hopeless at this point, with his finger dancing over the hard little nub that no one save yourself has ever touched before, but your pleasured cries are more than enough answer for him.

He loves watching you like this – writhing beneath him, hips moving of their own accord, eyes blinking open and closed again. He especially loves your little gasps; the way your pretty mouth stays open in a constant ‘oh’ as he works you with his fingers. Your ragged breathing turns him on even more; your breasts rising and falling at uneven intervals as he increases his pace and pressure. And, oh gods, he loves the groan that escapes your lips when he does.

“Gods,” you say with a great deal of effort, “That feels… G-geralt!”

He watches you as your body tenses for a moment, amber eyes fixed on you as he watches you fall apart, already committing this image to memory; the first time you’d come for him. You are still twitching as the aftershocks of your orgasm wrack your body when he grabs your waistband and tugs your pants off roughly, breathing in your scent and greedily taking in the sight of you.

Your thighs tremble as he presses his lips to the inside of your calf, peppering the soft skin with kisses as he moves his way up your leg. You are still reeling from your orgasm, but already you need more. His hands follow his lips, massaging the seemingly always sore muscles of your legs and making you sigh with pleasure.

You reach down to run a hand through his hair, and he lifts his amber eyes to meet yours as he moves to your other leg, pressing kisses across ever inch of your skin. His tongue traces the crease between your thigh and your most intimate area, and your hips thrust towards his face of their own accord. But then a thought enters your mind, and you tug at his hair, “Geralt.”

“Yes, Witcheress?” he says, locking you in his intense gaze.

“I should… Shouldn’t I? You know…?” You can feel his bulge through his pants, and you are eager to touch him, to feel his hardness with your fingers, your tongue, and inside of you. But for now, Geralt clearly has other plans.

“Shh, Witcheress,” he says, nipping gently at your inner thigh with his teeth, “I’m not done with you yet.” His words send your mind into a whirl as his hands slip under your thighs to your ass, letting his shoulders hold your already quivering legs apart so that you are completely exposed to him. You whimper as he blows cool air on your heat, making you shiver.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says gruffly, eyes locked on yours once again, “But first I want to taste you.” He lets his tongue just barely graze your clit, and you whimper again, on the verge of begging. “I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Y/N?”

You can only whimper in response, your need for him an almost painful ache in your core.

“Hmm?” he rumbles, looking up at you with an impish grin, “Didn’t hear you.” You cannot think of a more beautiful sight than Geralt – the boy who was your first friend and the man who you fell in love with little by little until you were mad with it – looking up at you as if you are the only person in the world.

“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice laced with need.

“Mhm,” he growls, finally running his tongue from your opening to the little bundle of nerves. The feeling of his tongue touching you there has you seeing stars. It feels even better than his fingers as he explores you, paying particular attention to the places that make you gasp and tighten your grip on his hair.

He takes his time, savoring the way you taste, better even then he imagined – which he often had despite his efforts not to think of you that way. He’d tried to stick to the Code, he’d tried everything to keep his mind busy – every time he made a trip out of Kaer Morhen, he’d tried to distract himself, but now, as he explores you with his tongue, breathes your scent, feels your soft skin beneath his fingertips, and hears your soft gasps and moans, all he can think is that he has abided by the Code for way too fucking long.

You are absolutely lost in the feeling of his mouth on you. And, when his lips close around your clit, sucking it into his mouth and attacking it with his tongue, you cry out so loud you are almost convinced everyone back in the Keep can hear you, not that you care. He moans against you, delicious vibrations making you cry out again.

His hand has been traveling closer and closer to your entrance, and you find yourself desperately moving your hips, urging him on. This time, he obliges without teasing, seeming as if he couldn’t pull away from you if he wanted to.

He groans along with you as he slips a finger inside of you, stretching you gently. He takes his time here, too, slowly pumping his finger in and out, committing to memory every place that makes you gasp and writhe until he finds that spot. He adds another finger, focusing on the sensitive place inside of you. Your eyes screw shut as he curls his fingers in time with his tongue; he has turned you into a senseless mess.

The pleasure is too much. Every muscle in your body tenses before finally, you release. Your back arches as you cry out, thighs trapping Geralt in place as you ride out wave after wave of pleasure until finally your body goes slack and you fall back against the grass, breathing heavily.

For a moment, Geralt doesn’t move, yellow eyes drinking in the sight of you lying there slowly coming back to your senses. When your breathing has somewhat returned to normal, he slowly kisses up your body until he reaches your lips, capturing you in a kiss that seems to last forever, but still not long enough. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it drives you mad.

You are already reaching down, desperately and clumsily attempting to yank off his pants, wanting there to be nothing between the two of you. He helps you with the task, kicking off his boots and tossing his remaining clothing to the side. You watch him, eyes committing every muscle and every scar to memory, and finally you allow yourself to look lower.

It takes you a moment to realize that you’re staring, eyes wide as you consider the size of him. Not that you have anything to compare it to, but he is huge, and, considering the only thing that had been inside you before this day are your own fingers, you shiver at the thought of it. He lowers himself back onto his elbows, eyes finding yours as he brushes stray strands of hair from your sweat-soaked forehead as you blink up at him through your lashes, chewing your lower lip, feeling equal parts nervous and impatient.

As your heart hammers in your chest, he leans down to press his lips against the sensitive spot at the crook of your neck, positioning himself between your legs. You whimper as he teases you with the head of his large cock, sliding it from your entrance to your clit and back again, pausing there when all you wanted was for him to push himself inside you.

And all at once, he does. You draw in a sharp breath at the mix of pain and pleasure. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him. You hadn’t thought it’d feel this good. You’d not had much in the way of women to tell you about things like this here at Kaer Morhen. Most of what you learned, you learned from the boys – and you’d learn to take anything you heard from them with a grain of salt. But this – gods. It felt like pure bliss.

Finally, he slowly drew out and thrust back in again, groaning into the space between your neck and shoulder. By his third thrust, you were already raising your hips to meet his, wanting more, faster, harder. But Geralt was taking his time, despite your fingers raking his back, leaving red marks that could be mistaken for claw marks, in all honesty.

“Geralt,” his name spills from your lips in something between a sigh and a moan. He responds by kissing your neck, then moving up to kiss your lips, the two of you lying there, drinking each other in, hips moving harder and faster as he fills you up over and over again, somehow hitting every single spot inside of you, making you whimper beneath him.

You are both sweating, breathing heavily, and clawing at each other as if your lives depend on exploring every part of one another. His thrusts are even, though. A perfect rhythm that has you repeating his name over and over like a prayer. Each time, he hits that spot, and you feel that tightening in your belly, like a coil. And then, all of a sudden, it snaps, and you are lost in a sea of pleasure.

He finishes almost immediately after you, thrusts growing more and more sporadic as he finishes inside you.

The two of you lay there, half-clothed but unworried. No one will stumble upon you out here. Code be damned, you are in love. And for tonight, you are just that – not two people about to undergo the Trials, not a future Witcher and Witcheress – just two young lovers, all tangled up together, staring up at a sky fully of stars, watching the moon rise over the Snow Pine Mountains.

Taglist: @fairytale07, @geeksareunique, @jesseswartzwelder, @haru-ririchiyo, @unnamedmaincharacter, @lazilyscentedwerewolf, @stretchkingblog97, @curlyhairedandconfused, @valkyriepuff, @comicbeginning, @alwayshave-faith, @hp-hogwartsexpress, @angelic-kisses13, @holyhumorliteraturelight, @nogitsunelichen

(Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

#geralt x reader #geralt imagines #geralt of rivia #reader insert #witcher reader #geralt of rivia x reader #story: stone hearts #series #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #geralt fanfiction #the witcher au #au #witcher school au #fanfiction series

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senatorgana · 5 years

Note

so you gonna do that pokemon companion thing for the sw characters????

akjshfsldkjhsdkjgh sure!!! you must be the one person who follows me across all my blogs lmao

the question is which pokemon would be the star wars characters’ companion, like in detective pikachu. i’m just going to do the trios this time around, because we’d be here all day otherwise.

decisions under the cut, no i don’t take constructive criticism

-Luke: tragically the only pokemon with a bowlcut is smoochum and….uh…no. SO. My first thought was grass type because Luke is the new hope, and a second chance for the Jedi (until TFA but lets not think about that right now), but tbh I don’t think grass types would exactly flourish on Tattooine. I initially thought Growlithe, something sweet and loyal and brash that could evolve into something incredibly powerful (Arcanine). But I think Fennekin works best. First I like the idea of Luke having a starter pokemon and becoming the most incredible jedi even if it is “common.” And second, it evolves into an incredibly powerful psychic type, which I think works for our sage master luke. Think of luke with a different evolution of fennekin in each film of the original trilogy, with delphox in ROTJ, when he’s finally become the jedi he’s meant to be? *kisses hands like an italian chef*

-Leia: I initially thought Dragonair: it would make sense to me if a Princess had a rare pokemon, and the fact that there’s so much mysticism surrounding it lends itself to Leia’s force sensitivity. But I think Lucario is the best choice for her. A steel/fighting type? Leia to a T. She has nerves of steel, and the anger and drive to back it up. Plus Lucario can use psychic type moves so. CHECK.

-Han: Well first off I laughed myself silly at the thought of han walking around with a Meowth so that’s gotta be one of our two options. Just an equally sassy, pretends to be indifferent kind of pokemon. I also like the thought of Han having a normal type; he’s not the chosen one or a force sensitive princesss, just a guy, you know? In the end I think he should have a flying type, so I would go with either Pidove or Fletchling, based on which you prefer. They’re both normal/flying, and small and innocuous enough to be useful when smuggling shit you know what I mean? Maybe they evolve over the course of the films once Han gets his shit together.

-Padme: My immediate thought was Lapras, not just because Naboo is covered in lakes and marshes and whatnot but because there is something so unquestionably regal and beautiful about them. They’re also incredibly smart so that suits Padme. Also the fact that they’re the “transport pokemon” and all Padme wants to do is serve her people well? Idk that works for me. BUT Lapras is frankly not suited to interspace travel so I think she should have a Jirachi! Much like Leia, Padme has a steely exterior so the fact that it’s a steel fusion type works for her. The fact that it grants wishes? Again, all Padme wants is to serve and help her people. and lastly I think if anyone could wrangle a Legendary type it would be Queen/Senator Padme Amidala.

-Anakin: Cubone. Just. He has a Cubone. I will die on this hill. Perhaps evolves into Marowak once he’s Vader. Maybe an Alolan Marowak given how much more intimidating and Extra™ that variation is.

-Obi-Wan: Okay so my first thought here was Nidoqueen? For some reason? I think it’s because he’s almost always in big brother/fatherly roles bUT he’s got some good lunar maternal energy as well you know? He’s a nurturer. I like him having a ground type, as well; I’d argue that other than Mace he’s the most grounded of the Jedis, most down to earth. But I think he should have a Dragonite. A kindly, rare pokemon, one who is incredibly powerful but you’d 1. never know looking at it and 2. doesn’t use that power for anything but good. I also think it’s easy looking at a dragonite to underestimate them, and that would play to Obi-Wan’s advantage.

-Finn: So at first I thought of a pokemon like Mightyena? Something fierce and unquestionably loyal to its trainer that works in packs. Like imagine that every stormtrooper has a Mightyena or Poochyena or something like that (like Team Rocket/Magma/whatever grunts always have the same pokemon) and when Finn rebels his Mightyena, which is loyal only to him, goes with him and it’s a clear indicator that he’s a former stormtrooper and that he’s free from them. BUT If we’re going on Finn himself I think Salamance. Not only is it a dragon type which is just objectively the best type (and finn is the best boy) but it can also perform psychic moves, which…Jedi Finn Rise am I right? ANYWAY more importantly when you look at Salamance’s pokedex entry it says that it grew/evolved wings out of sheer willpower and determination? Like it wanted wings for so long that when it evolved it got them. That really resonates with Finn breaking his brainwashing, for me. He wanted to be free for so long and he DID IT I LOVE HIM

-Poe: My first thought was Charizard because Poe has to have a pokemon that can fly. Without question. Charizard fits his fiery personality, and more than that it maches Black One’s accents. important. It also “boasts speed and maneuverability greater than that of a jet fighter,” which, you know. Poe’s the best pilot in the rebellion so….check. But then I read Zekrom’s pokedex entry. I know it’s a legendary, which might be unrealistic and in that case Charizard is a great choice for Poe. But Zekrom is an electric type, which almost suits Poe better than a fire type to me, since he’s just lightning in a bottle you know? Also maybe an electric type could exchange friendly zaps with BB-8. Zekrom “assists those who want to build an ideal world” and who is that if not Poe? Beyond that maybe if he had a legendary pokemon Holdo thinking he was arrogant/self-important would make more sense (gotta get a TLJ dig in there).

-Rey: She has a Scraggy. She just. She does. Listen to its pokedex entry: “Anyone who makes eye contact gets smacked with a headbutt.” You cannot and will not get more Rey™ than that. Also please imagine Scraggy wearing little goggles to match Rey in the beginning of TFA and stuffing little items in its ‘pants’. Incredible. Scraggy can also do psychic moves so….Jedi Rey still checks out.

and that’s all for now! let me know if you’d like to see me do anyone else.

#rey #finn #poe dameron #poe #luke skywalker #luke #leia #leia organa #han #han solo #padme #padme amidala #anakin #anakin skywalker #obi wan #obi wan kenobi #pokemon #sw meta #star wars meta

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my-love-peterp · 5 years

Text

Mistaken Chapter One

Word Count: 2103 THERE ARE NO ENDGAME SPOILERS, THIS IS A DELAYED UPLOAD FROM AO3

Fic Summary: Peter Parker has been given the responsibility of bringing in a new recruit. Now, as an adult, he realizes that none of the trashy YA novels he read in high school could have prepared him for this. There was a storm on the horizon, and all they could do from the Tower is watch.

Chapter Summary: A new recruit is brought into the fold and is more than a handful.

Warnings: language, mentions of injury, non-graphic violence (brief)

A/N: You may have seen me over @fabtasticass which is my main blog. So this is my first fanfic and it's going to be a big one. It is a Soulmates AU but not in the traditional way. That won't show up until later chapters. I'm going to try to keep endgame a secret the best I can. I have some very angsty ups and downs planned but I'm trying to hold back. So I’ll tag each chapter with what pairing might be in that chapter in the official Tumblr tags but never at the beginning.

I ran, dodging rats, and clumps of unidentified garbage that lay literal feet from a plethora of garbage cans and dumpsters. God, I hated this city.

I especially hated this city in the rain, dashing through back alleys of Queens with all of my belongings in tow.

Rolling in and out of huge asphalt craters, my suitcases jostled my already pained arm. It had only been three or so hours since I’d reset the dislocated joint against my fire escape.

Blood dripped from a split along my hairline, mingling with sweat and city rainwater. At this point, I felt like a drowned cat and probably smelled like a wet dog. Super, awesomely attractive, right?

Bracing myself against the wall of the nearest building, I pulled a flask out of the interior pocket of my jacket and took a swig. The flask was light pink with the words “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” emblazoned on the side. It filled me with a dark sense of glee and irony every time I used it. I nicked it from one of those chain party supply stores a few months back, which I supposed could be my version of fun.

The whiskey burned as it went down but as it hit my stomach it helped to warm my rain-soaked bones.

I began moving again. As I wove in and out of the misshapen piles in the alleyway, I felt the hair prickle on the back of my neck. It felt like I had a curious pair of eyes, tracking my every move and staring me down. I ignored my most basic instinct to turn around and investigate and my training kicked in instead. My eyes swept the alleyway ahead of me, monitoring the shadows, ears open and head down. I checked every shiny surface to see the reflection behind me. Empty alleyways are all that I was shown. So I shoved aside my intrusive paranoia and started whistling tunelessly as I moved. I’d felt that prickle for days and nothing had come of it.

In front of me, business lights filtered through the rain, casting a glow over the stone walls. Wet, sputtering and a little drunk, it only made sense that I was the target of some less friendly men who had stationed themselves outside of a local dive bar. They jeered and reached out at me. “Piss off you assholes, I’m not in the mood.”

Their demented shouts ranged from demands that I take off my clothes, false coos asking me if I needed their help to warm up and jokes about them being so good in bed women were jumping at the chance and willing to move in with them immediately to lock it down.

The rain got harder as I clenched my fist, glaring daggers at them and trying to subtly move faster. Everything about my body language screamed 'don't fuck with me', but it's hard to be intimidating when you're a generous 5'3. They advanced anyways and with a woosh, they all got tossed back into the brick wall, hard. The crack of a few skulls echoed down the empty alley, interrupted only by their groans as a few immediately came to.

The tingling on the back of my neck got more intense, this time joined by a fuzzy feeling alarm in the back of my brain. I hustled along, eager to get the hell out of Queens. I hadn't taken more than three steps when I heard him. “Woah, what was that? I webbed up those guys back there, they won't be able to move for a few hours. What was that though, can you like manipulate energy or is this outside the realm of earthly physics? Are you an alien? Or a mutant maybe? Or..."

Without looking up I sent another blast towards the overly excited voice and immediately heard an oomph followed by the sound of a body rushing towards the pavement. Or, rather, a dumpster.

“Hey not cool,” said the guy, poking his head up and out of the dumpster.

I groaned, immediately recognizing the mask, despite it being covered in what looked a lot like smashed avocado on the left side of the heroes head. Spider-Man.

Pushing my bags together, around my feet, I bound them to myself and alighted on the nearest rooftop, gently floating upward. I figured the enhanced cat was already out of the bag with the current company, so to speak. I ran along the flat roofs of the decrepit, abandoned buildings with still no destination in mind but out.

“Wait up, where are you going, stop! We're friends now right? It's rude to ignore your friends, and I'm the friendliest of friends, you know. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and all...” he babbled on lamely, his voice fading in and out as he swung between buildings, keeping up as I hopped from roof to roof.

“Buzz off buggy”, I grumbled before sending another shot his way.

“You’re really bad at paying attention to where I am, aren’t you” Spidey suddenly whispered in my ear. I shrieked and came to a halt, dropping my luggage next to me as I sat to dangle my feet off the ledge of whatever shitty building I was on now. As expected, that lanky ass fool sat down right next to me.

“So, where are you going, miss uh… strange power lady?”

“I don’t kno-” I cut myself off and looked at him strangely. “Wait, why are you even here?”

“Well funny story," he huffed out, looking over at me. His masked eyes contracted as he continued to just look at me in silence for several minutes. I was seconds away from physically shoving him off of the building. For someone who apparently couldn't keep his mouth shut when I wanted him to, he was as silent and one of those monks now when I actually wanted to hear his whiny voice. Then, just as I was about to snap, he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders.

"Have you ever heard of the Avengers?”

Like any normal person on the planet, I obviously had. I may not have been in New York while it was being leveled by aliens over a decade ago, but a person would have to be seriously deprived of outside stimuli to not know who the Avengers were.

Instead of speaking to the impertinent, entirely too perky Avenger at my side, I just glared, sending a message loud enough that even the most inept individual would comprehend me.

“Woah, woah, don’t shoot! You could be like, a really weird and reclusive alien for all I know at this point. The boss didn’t exactly give me all the details when he sent me out to trail you. I don’t even know your name, which tells me that we actually don’t know a whole lot about you…,” he trailed off his rambling as he finally realized I was now staring at him expectantly, waiting to get a word in edgewise.

“My name is Kaida, and I’m not a good person. Also, thanks for the invitation to join your little cult, but I’m going to have to pass.” I stood to leave and find shelter for tonight when all of a sudden a schnick sounded and webbing surrounded my foot, holding me in place.

That sneaky little son of a bitch.

“No can do, we’re going to talk this one out. Either you agree to come in and meet the team or you get to sit here all night and listen to me ramble about them and what ridiculously stupid things we’ve all been up to in the past few months. Your call… Kaida.” He said my name as though it could take form, leap up and bite him.

“Okay Spider, I see you want to play hardball. You take that mask off and I’ll come with you to ‘meet the team’ or whatever touchy-feely bullshit y’all are into over there. But I’m not agreeing without some kind of skin in the game other than my own.” I lifted my chin, triumphantly, secure in the knowledge that he would never reveal his identity to a complete stranger, especially while various factions of the government and private entities were trying to round up enhanced individuals.

Spidey scoffed. “That’s it? It’s not like I was going to leave it on once we got to the tower anyways so, here you go I guess,” and he ripped away his mask as though it didn’t faze him in the slightest.

He was… younger than I had expected. Cute, in a safe, boring schoolboy kind of way.

“What are you, twelve??” I all but shouted at him. There’s no way this kid was the real deal, a bona fide Avenger that had helped save numerous lives, my own included if you count what happened just a few years back.

“I’m twenty-two, thanks though. If I’m twelve, I’ve gotta say you’re a toddler. Granted, a toddler with wicked skills but it’s not like you’re even really an adult at this point, are you? Why aren’t you with your pare-.”

“For one thing, they’re dead. Secondly, I’m twenty but I guarantee you I’ve seen shit that you can’t really even comprehend. Even outside of all the crazy whack alien bullshit you all seem to be attracting. It really ages a person, or so I’ve heard.”

“Oh look at you, pulling the big bad ‘I’m so tough because I’m an orphan and my life wasn’t sunshine and roses’ act. Literally, everyone has bad shit happen to them. From what I’ve just seen and from what we’ve caught on security monitors, you’re wickedly talented and could actually use your powers to help others. Unless you’re too much of a coward, I know we do deal with ‘crazy whack aliens’ and all, but it shouldn’t be hard for a big kid like yourself, huh?”

I had half a mind to blow him off the roof right then and there. Rage swirled in the pit of my gut so violently, I might have vomited had I eaten at all in the past day or so. The wind picked up and began buffeting around the Spider guy and myself, throwing debris from decrepit roof and buildings towards us. All of the shrapnel conveniently avoided my person, but Spidey was dancing back and forth like a puppet on a string.

Deep breaths Kaida, deep breaths. We wouldn’t want another Wizard of Oz-esque incident. Again. I often found myself talking to myself in different perspectives to calm down. Anger, improperly channeled was a very dangerous thing for me, and honestly, I was being a brat just like he was. No need to level an entire city block just for this one intrusive, presumptuous asshat who dressed up like a fucking spider. I wasn’t about to tell him that though.

The wind died down almost immediately. Until it didn’t.

Not a minute later, the biggest bolt of lightning I’d ever seen struck a building a block or so away, no doubt short-circuiting every device plugged in at that residence. Two seconds later there was a solid thunk and next to Spider-Man loomed perhaps the most handsome being in the known universe, Thor. King of Asgard.

“You hit your panic button Man of Spiders. Are you in need of assistance… carrying bags?” Thor looked at you, tied down, and your bags tossed askew, then back at Spidey. Quizzically, he opened his palm and sent a burst of lightning up into the sky, as if looking for something. “All seems to be in perfectly good spirits here, no strange magics… so.”

“Listen, man, two minutes ago she was literally shaking the building so hard I thought we were all going down. I just don’t know how… all I did was ask her some questions, maybe play hardball with her a little,” he just shrugged at the god apologetically.

“Hi, I exist too, and I can speak for myself,” I asserted, repositioning my body so I wasn’t standing quite so hunched over. “We,” I continued, looking at Spidey, “would love your assistance in getting my bags back to wherever this team inspection or meeting is supposed to happen.” Anything to get inside and secure, before I lost it completely.

“As you wish, Lady of the Winds,” Thor almost yelled, thrusting a cane into the sky.

“No, Thor wai-.”

Before the insect could finish whatever he was trying to say, we were engulfed in a kaleidoscope of bright colors and rushed away in the blink of an eye.

So much for having a normal, Wednesday evening.

If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters (I have 28 written) drop me a message or reblog this!! As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated!

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letstalksymphogear · 5 years

Text

Symphogear, EP.7 (Cont.)

“i have not now, nor ever, liked this creepy ass church elevator.”

“kanade please get out of my head, just because im hungry doesnt mean you have to tell me every time i am”

Hibiki finishes getting a full body X-ray. She’s fine.

“that anime protagonist immunity is really kicking in well!”

“by the way, your wife is here! and she’s looking mighty miffed., as opposed to me, mighty milfed.”

“you dont strike me as a mother figure but ill play along for now”

“i just hope miku’s okay...”

“oh, she’ll be fine! see, i’ve seen these kinds of plots before. big secret revealed, another lover is shown, the victim watches as they’re thoroughly cheated on, and they get to lik-”

“please stop breathing”

Genjuro’s wasting away again in Margaritaville. Looking for some daughter to adopt. SOME PEOPLE SAY THAT THERE’S A, WOOOOMAAAAAN TO BLAAAAAAAAAAME, BUT HE KNOWS

XYLOPHONE RIFF

THAT’S IT’S ALL HIS FAULT

XYLOPHONE RIFF

“i hate it when he gets like this. jimmy buffets not a good look for him.”

“for once you and i agree. seeing the commander sulk like this like a middle aged perma-tourist is genuinely miserable”

“hey homies! im back and i brought some bitches! oh, jesus, why does this place smell like mistakes in miami?”

“its me. im sorry. every time i feel like i failed as a dad, my anti-dad energies manifest. imagine every midlife crisis rolled up into a single ball, smacked into the face for eternity. thats the depth of my pain for failing this girl.”

In a moment of positivity, the friendship between Tsubasa and Hibiki is cemented.

> Tsubasa has joined the party.

“FRIENDSHIP!”

“fweindship.”

“uuuuhhhhh... dadship? yeah thats close enough.”

“WE’RE ALL GOOD FRIENDS!”

“ya tiddies are ringing again, better go get it”

Ryoko also points out that Hibiki’s relic is fusing with herself at an alarming rate. This is important to keep in mind.

Meanwhile, at night.

Miku is posing in the motherly “you done fucked up, where have you been young lady” position. A cold scolding is coming.

“.........................hey miku......”

“you can come in. are you worried im gonna bite? you suplexed a car. that shouldn’t be an issue anymore.”

“miku, i.... i wanted to tell you.... but.... the plot wouldn’t let me, miku....”

“should’ve told the plot to fuck off anyway. now you’re gonna live with that. you’re sleeping... on the bottom bunk.”

“b.... b..... b...... b.... b...... bottom bunk...?”

They slept separately that night. God, this is so stupid. All of this is so goddamned stupid. “I’m so mad at you even though you saved my life.” This is just so. AUGH. THIS IS DUMB. KANEKO WRITE BETTER ANGST THAT MAKES SENSE THAT ISN’T THIS.

Meanwhile, far away from this garbage...

Chris, having been evicted from Fine’s McMansion, wanders the streets of mumblemumble aimlessly. Don’t be fooled by her new fancy dress. Basically, she’s a combat-competent hobo.

“no food. no home. no victories. this sucks. whyd you do it, fine? we coulda been great together. but no. ya fired me. now i look like im prancing the red light district with a highly advanced superweapon around my neck.”

“no... hibiki’s to blame. ever since that genderbent little mac showed up to fight me, it’s been all downhill. fine thought me a laughstock because i couldnt take out her oversized boxing gloves, and now she beat me while i had nehushtan. god... i wish i never met that damn hamster faced chubby cheeked nerd.”

“wait, whats that crying”

Chris spies two kids talking to each other, one of them crying. Chris immediately makes an assumption, believing the big bro is bullying his sis.

“hey! stop nicking her lunch money, twerp”

Chris currently is a firm believer of corporeal punishment.

But the sister deflects the blow. Chris can’t even defeat children right now. Truly, this is a record low for her. You know you blew it when even kids are schooling you on basic morality. She then tells the little girl to stop crying, ironically mirroring her brother.

The infamous double T-Pose maneuver. Chris, you might as well get a shovel and start digging your own grave.

“i keep doing bad things badly, and now im doing good things badly... when fine said i was bad... did she just mean im not talented?”

Chris, finally, does a good thing and helps these kids find their parents.

“yeah. hibiki saved a kid when she got her gear. guess what? bam! im saving two! that’s fifty percent more kid per kid saved. take that, weirdo.”

The kids call her out on Chris singing unconsciously, and Chris gets flustered over it. Dawwwwww.

Chris manages to get them to safety to their Dad...

...while brutally lying about it, making Chris look like a predator. There’s a very crushing irony at play here, given who Chris used to serve.

“ugggggggggggggggghhhhhh hes not even gonna payyyyy meeeeeee why the fuck did i dooooo thiiiiiiissssss”

“hey, you know. you kids have a really nice relationship with one another. care to give me tips on how to be an empathetic human being capable of making friends?”

“maybe we’re born with it”

“maybe its maybeline”

“maybeline...”

Meanwhile...

A cold wind blows through Lydian Apartment 69-L. (I don’t actually know if that’s their room number, I just made it up.)

“jesus take the wheel, because i’m jumping out the passenger seat to save this current wreck of a relationship”

“miku please i saved your life, doesnt that count for anything”

“you already killed me the moment you lied. also im taking the bottom bunk so i dont have to see your face coming down the ladder.”

“miku you cant hide in this depression den forever. i know i hurt you and im sorry for it, but please understand i literally couldnt do it. you saw there were punches and violence and stuff... i didnt want you tied to that...”

“what was that? i cant hear your apologies over my incredibly loud snoring. SNOOOOOOORE. SNOOOOOOOORE. SNOOO- fuck, i just swallowed my spit, fuck”

“i hope this cocoon of displeasure you’ve made for yourself lets you erupt into a butterfly of acceptance so i can fly with you again.”

“......thats not fair. you cant say those beautiful metaphors and get away with it. let me be mad... sniff... let me be mad...”

Sadness wafts in the den of lies Hibiki has been forced into.

No music plays. There is only heartbreak, and woe.

In the midst of this pain...

Ryoko loredumps about how the Symphogears work and are immune to the noise on her blog, ‘hornyonmainforscience.org’, her hybrid science journal slash kink zone. It’s mostly a recap with some pretty good soft techno beats in it.

“i made a custom brew of red bull, five hour energy drink, coffee, and cream. i call it gamer girl piss.”

“damn. that’s some good piss.”

She muses about how Hibiki has managed to break the limitations of her Symphogear, making her a totally unique specimen. Wait, where have we heard this before...?

Hey... Ryoko... let’s just... cool it a bit with the Hibiki pictures... come on...

Ryoko touches upon the Custodians and the Curse of Babel. We ain’t touching that shit until later, because that’s another shitfuck box of crazy just ready to jump us in a dark alleyway to rob us of our wits.

Back to Lydian:

“miku whats the answer to the first three multiple choice questions”

“B. A. D.”

“oh, thanks. huh, BAD.”

“yeah. you are.”

“mmm. taste likes dissapointment. just like my life.”

“hey table for two haha get it cause there’s two chairs and miku for the love of god, please, forgive me”

“ive surgically removed my eyes and drew eyelashes over them with sharpie so i dont have to see your bird bangs.”

“thats very rude to both me and my hair. also, wig.”

Even Hibiki’s meal is judging her. Mainly for not eating it. Fucking look at this. God, that looks amazing. Fuck, why did I write this while I was hungry.

“miku you cant do this forever. i might die and youll end up crying on my tombstone going ‘oh god, why, oh god’, and really, i cant live with myself if that happens. mainly because id already be dead by then”

The Anime Janai crew show up to break some icebergs with a goddamn sledgehammer. As the self-aware Gods of this realm, they got very tired of this poor display of angst, and have decided to directly intervene.

Nevermind. They came for her kneecaps, and they most certainly got them.

PLEASE. I’M BEGGING YOU. END THIS GARBAGE PLOT THREAD.

“look. imma lay down the facts. yall are gay. yall are in love. yall are angry for the wrong reasons. its nobody’s fault here but the writer. so please kiss and make up. pretty please.”

“kaneko... you fool... we all know what the original sin is. its your hack writing making this stupidity in the first place. let the pencil go, asshole!”

They bring up the fact that Hibiki isn’t doing her work and wonder if she has a job on the side, which isn’t allowed by the school. Miku gets annoyed and bails, with Hibiki running after her. Unfortunately, Miku runs faster...

“oh god miku not the rooftop whatever you’re thinking just dont do it! please!”

“no. i came here to angst, since this is the Maximum Angst Zone.”

“i..... okay! okay, that’s fair! rooftops are the perfect place to look sad while getting proper air ventilation, thats fine”

It really would have been better played if it was played off that she felt hurt not because of the lie, but because she felt like she could have helped her better having known the truth, and it being a self-loathing sort of scenario for not being there better for her and not fully understanding the risk at play.

But no, instead, we get this.

youtube

Absolutely obliterated. A heart ripped, shredded, and sent to the Shadow Realm.

The episode ends on that note, but has a post credit scene.

Naked. On an old timey telephone. On a computer. Wearing stockings and long gloves.

The main antagonist of the series, everybody.

She’s talking the best English possible to some random-ass American when suddenly bursting through the scene is none other than:

“I WANT WORKERS COMPENSATION YOU BITCH, BEFORE I UNIONIZE YOUR NAKED ASS”

“AND I WANT A GOOD REFERNECE FOR MY FUTURE EMPLOYER, AND ALSO A SEVERANCE PACKAGE SINCE I’M FUCKING HOMELESS”

“i paint my eyelashes with mascara made from the tar of freshly carbonated corpses manufactured through noise, what on gods green earth compels you to think id give a rats ass about you?”

“so you never cared, huh! you’re just a nasty naked hedonist trying to- trying to- what the fuck are you even trying to do?!”

“i want to live the dream every spicy little fossil like me yearns for.”

“I WANNA FUCK GOD!”

“how- what? what? how do you even- what? are you- do you want to be the pope? is that it? does the pope get to fuck god? are you- is this a larping thing? you’ve really been into larping lately! i don’t like this!”

“youve never read the old testament, have you. ass out, pussy bare, hips up and barefoot. that’s how god’s always liked it.”

“now get lost, punk. you tipped off my hand to genjuro and now you being here is going to ruin everything. if you still feel any semblance of devotion, eat one of your own bullets and call it a day.”

“it’s 2012 bitch, if the mayans dont get you, I WILL”

“what god gives, He takes away, and so do i. i built you from the ground up. your relic, which was good for jack shit on you. the nehushtan, which you failed to do anything with except zap a couple hundred people. stop wars? you’re a walking war, waged by me, for me. and your cartridge has just run out of bullets.”

“uh oh! hand’s acting up again! better bail before i send you back to smacktown where all the bitter little shittalkers like you strut around spending their lives being useless as hell.”

“ah fuck, im not dealing with no manos: the hands of fate bullshit again”

“and guess what else i got on motherfucker”

“i see the union efforts have officially been busted. understandable, have a nice day ma’am”

“LEAVE.”

“I’M GOING, I’M GOING”

#symphogear #symphogear season 1 #anime #recap #comedy

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swayinghummingbirds · 5 years

Text

i feel like i need to blog more stuff out of me to research my own thoughts ignore me or help me either is welcomed.

so like i was diagnosed with mdd , panic/anxiety disorder so i know how it goes and how it feels and all that jazz. used to be on medication and not for almost two years. i can usually cope well since while i was on medication ifound many ways to do so. but now ive come across season affective disorder and i gotta say i am not a fucking fan. i cant bring myself to do the coping mechanisms because im fucking cold and there is no sun ever.

this time last year i felt the exact same way and almost moved back to fl but didnt want to give up on tn yet. but im wondering is it maybe time to give up on it? i have no family here. and my family is expanding and growing without me. which makes it worse.

ive been where i am for almost a year now and its been good. but there are no sidewalks like anywhere? im so tired of sharing walls. sure, its a townhouse and its pretty big and two floors and fire place but my neighbors are so annoying and for some reason in tennessee so many people think its absolutely okay to let their dogs out with leashes?

knoxville is a really cool city and ive loved living here but idk if i can stand the winter. and its just a mild winter, idk how yall in the north handle it. i see now why when i moved abck to pa for 8 months my mom had it by the time march came around and we moved back to fl.

a part of me feels like i might even just get bored with where i am after a certain amount of time considering how i was brought up. i have moved 17 times, which is wild for a child. probably why i have a hard time making friends too.

tried leaving work yesterday after i got my list done (usually isnt a problem for my manager but the ass. manager always fights me with it). i told him three times i already had 2 1/2 hours of overtime and ill be leaving when im finished but bitch never listens to me and acts like he didnt hear me say it to his damn face.Usually i ask just to be polite and make sure but this time im telling him. kind of snapped on him because the day before i just cried all fucking day and had that feeling in my stomach and felt the same way when i woke up. old me would have called out, one because the position i was in was easily fillable but now im actually needed so i go to do my job and if i get done early that means im working my ass off and sweating like a pig to get done three hours early. (and the girl who does the work on the two days im off never gets the shit down or sets the room or anything up in order to have a good morning because the whole thing is very time sensitive and its very frustrating. also she called out like three times this week and made my week shittier than it needed to be.) like bitch no that doesnt mean i want to stay and help with other things after exerting so much energy that i dont even have in myself to begin with. so anyways i cried and then the manager came and talked to me and was understanding because he is aware of my mental health issues and i forgot steve- the ass manager (assistant manager , but also ass because he can be an ass) was not aware. so all in all i talked to my manager and told him and he was very supportive and then i went to apologize to steve and he reassured me i was valued and adored here which was nice. and i had to basically tell him if im trying to leave early it usually means because im feeling like a crazy bitch whos on the break of a mental breakdown so. quit fighting me.

so anyways.

even if i did move back fl ive finally gotten myself where i wanted to be in my job but i guess if it was meant to be the universe will take care of it just like it did when we moved here.

a week before almost moving back to fl my grandparents came to visit and we were in crossville, which is the half way point from here to where we were living at the time and i was like hey lets try knoxville and the next day we went to look at apartments and as we were looking this place went up for rent almost as if the universe here, ask and you shall receive. because i was only looking at places that was in between the three stores that we could have possibly transferred to because i had no idea which one it was going to be i just new it was going to happen. and then when trying to transfer we my fiancees assistant manager knew the manager at this store here and said that he would take both of us and needed help in the area i wanted to be in and i was like wow amazing its all working out. and it did and it was great and then it got cold. and then holidays came. and birthdays came. and i ive learned so much about myself and i feel like yes i needed this part of my life. and now im not sure if istill need it.

we have a vision of owning a little home a nice big plot of land near the mountains with a spring and creek on site with woods around. if we kept it up and really searched when the time came yeah im feel like we could find it. but what if i still feel this way when were there? then weve bought a home and it would be harder to get rid of. i have a vision of my own business with yoga. i find myself in capable of moving between the months of decemeber and march. then what. even when i get on to the mat i cant get into the flow.

and what if we move back to fl. would he resent me for giving up on our dreams? will i be tired of people demanding my time and energy? will i bitch about the heat all the time and the fact that neighbros are every where? probably, yes, yes, and yes.

but will i resent him for not moving back to spend our lives with our families? will i resent myself for not listening to the feeling in my stomach? or would i resent myself if i did listen to that feeling and gave up on the mountainous dreams.

i know we would welcomed back with opened arms and i know not many would miss us here.

the mountains are beautiful and so mystical when there. i wonder how it would be to live there. i always end up feeling so creeped out at some point of hikes because i feel like something is watching us, and i know there is, there is always is whether its and animal or a spirit. but sometimes those spirits, or beings, are just so strong of a force. what if we bought a property with one of those that wouldnt be able to make peace with us? i always imagined if we ended up with a property with strong entities then we would make peace and ring singing bowls and plant luscious plants for them. but what if they hate it all. and what if our neighbors down the street end up being cannabilistic cult people? what if some animal tried to maul my dog (which already happens frequently, shes a chihuahua everything is out to get her). what if something happens at oak ridge? i had no idea i was living next to a giant nuclear power plant thing.

but then its like okay what if theres a giant hurricane that tears my house down (i had a tree fall on my house during matthew which is one reason why we left) or the storm sturge sweeps my house away. trey is scared of tsunamis, not that one has happened there probably ever, idk but it is a weird fear of his. surprisingly tornados do happen in tn too.

and a day like today, where trey is working all day and i have the day off. there isnt much to do. its cold out so i cant sit on my patio for a few hours like i would in the summer. i dont like to go shopping. i dont have a friend to hang out with, which is my own fault people im really not a big people person. i have hung out with a couple a few tiems, and idk ij ust would rather not. but if i were in fl i could go hang out with my brother, or treys sister, or the few friends i have there. or go to the beach and sit on my own, because its not fucking weird to sit alone there and usually you dont have to worry about getting mugged. i cant go to the parks here on my own. i cant take my dog for walks around here because there are no side walks and people just look shady af everywhere.

when i went to visit for my brothers wedding in october i realized how i did not appriciate the plant life naturally around all year round when i lived there for 11 years. i guess mostly because it wasnt until two years ago that i really got in to plants but omg i cant stop imagining what our yard would look like if we were in aplace where things could just be outside all year round. i would take cuttings of my plants andjust put them every where have my own little tropical paradise in my front and back yard.

i know this all is really sounding one sided atm but this time last year i was having the exact same visions and the exact same thoughts. and i thought about how what if my brother has kids and im up here well hello here we are now and thats happening. i feel like i need to be there. theres even a house for sale on the same street as him and all i could was fantasize what i would do to the house and how i would baby sit for them and be able to see my dog that i left with him because ultimately she was is but we co owned her together and just to be there. and be with my mom. shes living in orland with her boyfriend and i feel like the fact shes goingt o be a grandmother might sway him into moving closer, she hates the city and i imagine shes just as depressed as i am to be away and to be in a city where you dont feel safe to go outside alone. we are creatures of nature and both pisces and very sensitive to everything.

and what if trey and i have a baby at some point? we have no one here to help us. i was thinkg about how our wedding date is a year and like two months away and i have no one here to help me plan. and for a long itme i always imagined myself getting married at this place called sugar mill gardens, a botanical garden that i had always loved in my home town there. when trey and i got together we would pokemon go there and take clippings, and i still have those plants today. but then this new vision came where we would get married on our future property. i feel like we are still a long way away from buying a house here though. idk if we would be there in time. and since we went back in october all i can think about is getting married in sugar mill. he reproposed to me when we were there and that was so sweet and just made me want to be there instead for it.

this is very long but these are my constant thoughts that all happen at once and it feels nice to get them out to piece them together and not feel so overwhelmed with all them at one time in layers upon layers of thoughts. sometimes my vision even goes out and i dissociate and just work blurred vision cross eyed for ten minutes, who knows maybe its an hour. im back there by myself for eight hours a day idk.

#v long #nothing to see here #sorry for clogging your dash #idk how to break it

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wannawrite · 6 years

Text

sweet crazy love [ pt.1 ]

who?: Wanna One’s Ong Seongwoo genre: 🌸🌺 type: bullet point - bc fic would be too long so I broke this into smaller parts TW: blood, biting, fights, mention of PTSD, depression and psychiatry, supernatural experimentation - poison

blog navigator. part one / two

part two

vamp! AU

experiments don’t always work out.... and when they don’t, they go to the psychiatrist

that sounds dark already ^ it gets better, I promise! please do not read if this is triggering!!! thank you for requesting this anon, aha you asked twice/two anons, so cute sorry I’m never on here anymore :( this week was rough and next week, I have tests all week until CNY.

- Admin L

disclaimer: pictures used do not belong to me and credit goes to their original owners.

everything written here is purely fictional.

you never found out why there was always this boy who would glare at you with the most menacing eyes from across the hall

behind his locker in the hallway

in the cafeteria

across the hall when your paths crossed

from his seat in a classroom, you were merely walking by

his eyes held such fire and flames it seemed like they were going to roast you alive

sadly, you never got a name or a reason

all you knew was how his face looked like and he was downright gorgeous

even when he looked like he had -4 hours of sleep every day without fail, with those purple and bruised eye bags forming under his inky black orbs

he always seemed to be thirsty, running his tongue over plump lips, a finger toying with his bottom lip, yearning for a drink

but you never knew what

honestly, it did bug you from time to time since he kept glaring but never confronted you on anything

besides, whenever you moved to talk to him, he would only vanish into thin air, as if he was never there in the first place

however, he would be seen drinking chocolate milk with his best friends a while later

you just figured you probably punched his nose in kindergarten, never apologised, he never forgave you and that’s why he held such a huge grudge against you

he also tried to avoid you at all costs, at least it was good that there were no joint classes

how childish, you often thought. It’s high school, he should grow up a little

if he is mad at me, shouldn’t he at least try to talk it out instead of just glaring at me all the time? I can’t exactly read his damn mind

well,,, he could

the years wore on like that, as in, you ignoring his icy stares and trying not to be bothered by them. Seongwoo continued to slink in the shadows, keeping a low profile

in fact, he became a prominent factor in your life. Your friends even nicknamed him.

you wondered how this mysterious brooding bad boy constantly hung out with Hwang Minhyun, the school’s beloved prince

in fact, that guy was the only best friend Minhyun seemed to have from high school

you rarely saw that guy at school functions, maybe once or twice at the homecoming game but never at dances or anniversaries. You figured he wasn’t one for those

Senior year changed a couple of things...

you had a study period in the study hall with him. Curiosity piqued in you

but contrary to your expectations, the mystery boy seemed to dwell in darker ends of the study hall, plugging into his own music and diligently taking his own notes in black ink

he paid no attention to the world around him, absorbed in his textbooks

you started to realise as the days passed, he seemed more beat up than the previous day

physically

the bruises framing his eyes darker and he seemed exhausted of all energy.

He wore long-sleeved sweaters, you wondered what he was hiding

your classmate seemed more quiet, sticking only to himself, he seemed more wary of others

however, that only lasted for a week before he returned to his usual self, chatting with his friends and sipping more strange looking juice boxes that didn’t resemble his typical chocolate milk

but who were you to judge? And since when did you ever pay so much attention to detail?

were you intrigued by him?

you shuddered and spun away, forcing yourself to tune in to other, more relevant things

finally, graduation rolled around the corner

Ong Seongwoo

you caught his name from the roll call don’t judge

he was just too SECRETIVE otherwise

even with his name, there wasn’t much you deduced from the school gossip realm

he just drank peculiar coloured juices to ‘keep his skin youthful and preserve his clear skin’

Seongwoo N E V E R left the safety of a building into the sun without slathering on an unholy amount of specialised sunscreen

if he had PE that day, he would bring two different types of nutritional juice and only shares his f&b with Minhyun

no one dared to get close to him

or rather, he was just too problematic to get close to

it appeared he only appreciated his friends he had known since diaper days and that everyone else had to go through a selection to enter his circle

okay so graduation

it’s one of the most exciting days in your life and you couldn’t be gladder to graduate with a 4.0GPA

also, you’re determined to fix things with Seongwoo on the very last day of school, might as well right?

right after the valedictorian’s - minhyun - speech, you scan the hall to find Seongwoo as the closing speech is given by your principal

he’s there in his seat

the speech ends, you’re out of your chair, moving through the crowd of students throwing caps to where he was seated

but he isn’t there,,, not anymore at least

the girl beside him said he just took off, along with Minhyun

before you can register what happened, your feet take your along a corridor, maybe down a couple of flights of stairs

right to the old lacrosse locker room which was under construction works

why the hell would you walk here? you don’t even know where it is by memory

perhaps because you could hear two roaring voices, one calm and collected while the other panicked and raging

‘calm down, you need to get your shit together Seongwoo. Breathe!’ Minhyun instructs, a growl in his tone

pressing an ear against the door, all you hear are strangled cries from Seongwoo

you wonder if you should call the police

‘CONTROL YOURSELF SEONGWOO!’

yup, that doesn’t sound shady at all

‘the side effects have been getting worse....’ you hear Minhyun mutter to himself, a rustle of plastic or paper following suit

the shower runs, someone seems to be spamming the knobs. All grows quiet.

you don’t even realise you’re holding your breath until you release it

now

you burst into the room, ignoring the red warning tape, ripping it away to fall at your feet. Your phone was already ringing, the police on the other side

The room was empty, despite all the yelling you heard, making your heart complete somersaults as realisation sets in

were you imagining things?

hammers knock nails into your head as you try to comprehend whatever had happened

there’s nowhere to hide, yet no other door to escape out of, you can’t believe two of your batch mates have just vanished into thin air

choking out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking fingers turn the call off, one hand covers your mouth as you slowly back away from the two graduation gowns and caps were strewn on the floor, blood staining both of them

well...no one knows exactly what happened that day because when the cleaner discovered it, it was too late to identify anyone by then

only you knew the real answers

but honestly, time wore on and you became much busier in college, whatever happened to your batch mates wasn’t your concern anymore

you just couldn’t afford any time to care or ponder about it

yes, you wondered and dreamed about the possibilities but most of your time was spent studying hard, medicine majors can’t afford sleep

all you wanted to work as since you were little was a psychiatrist especially since your father was a scientist, specialising in biological sciences

you wanted to follow in his footsteps and join the scientist life

your father often joked that you and him would be the greatest scientists in the world someday, him as a biologist and you as a psychiatrist

and that was your real motivation, you genuinely wanted to achieve that seemingly far-fetched dream

your parents were supportive, your professor sort of favoured you, your college was Ivy League...what else could you want?

life was perfect

until one day...a Friday morning, which meant morning coffee and cake run with your roommates

that day, it also meant encountering people you never once thought you would see again

Hwang Minhyun and Ong Seongwoo

they clearly didn’t resemble the pesky 18-year-olds you remembered but they looked like elegant, poised and well-refined college upperclassmen

certainly, they dressed the part

Minhyun was wearing a sleek black turtleneck sweater paired with camel coloured slacks, draped over his chair was a classy caramel and tartan blend of a Burberry trench

his coffee was Americano, his shoes embossed with the Louboutin stamp and a pair of thin circular framed spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose

wow

is that really Hwang Minhyun?

you kinda saw his style coming anyway lol

but then, is that Ong Seongwoo sitting across from him?

Seongwoo had changed

okay he still kept his bad boy, had -2 hours of sleep for 3 decades look but there was a different aura around him now

he looked...dare you say it, attractively stylish

his dark hair was swept into boyish bangs, just passing his eyebrows, it looked thick and silky.

Seongwoo wore an oversized grey flannel which he tucked into dark wash skinny jeans with rips at the knees.

To finish the look, he wore a pair of polished white sneakers

yes, I’m talking about the look from ‘Beautiful’ photos mhm

in his grip, was a familiar packet; he still drank the same juice since high school

some things just don’t change

cute

WAIT NO NOT CUTE REMEMBER HE’S THE BOY WHO HATED YOUR GUTS AND YOU STILL DON’T KNOW WHY

AND HE ALSO MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARED THROUGH THE RENOVATING LOCKER ROOM ON GRADUATION DAY

SHADY

QUICK LOOK AWAY BEFORE HE SEES YOU

hastily, you place your order and join your friends at the table, trying to blend yourself in with the bubbling chatter, a distraction from the two people seated by the window

...awkward...

mhm but you had really exciting news to break to your friends

‘you’re awfully quiet today,’ your best friend pointed out. ‘Are you hiding something?’

yes

‘nah...I just have news to break to you guys,’ you said, trying to seem nonchalant

but it is true that you have amazing news to break!!!

‘tell us!’ your friends chorus excitedly, eager to find out

on the opposite side of the cafe, both Minhyun and Seongwoo have taken notice of your presence

Minhyun chuckles. ‘Remember when we were 118, our graduation? You freaking out and succumbing to the side effects? Good times.’

‘good times my ass, I lost my graduation gown and cap!’ Seongwoo whines. ‘My mum was making a collection of all our graduation gowns. I think she’s still holding a grudge at me.’

Minhyun cleared his throat and lowered his voice. ‘Your family still doesn’t know about...it...right?’

Seongwoo shakes his head and his friend sighs.

‘you know how much I hate it! Why can’t you just go to the authorities about this! It’s putting your life in danger and I hate seeing you hurt all the time!’ Minhyun sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a long sip of his coffee

Seongwoo wrinkled his nose. ‘You know what will happen if I don’t show up for even one session. It’s happened before.’

Seongwoo finds himself tuning into your conversation instead of engaging with his friend

okay let’s be honest, he’s never really liked you

‘you need real help, Seongwoo. You really think drinking all these plasma juice boxes are going to make a difference? Are all these helping you one bit?’

‘I can’t take blood bags because of the injections you know it,’ Seongwoo retorted. He was only half-heartedly paying attention to his friend and he was straining his supernatural hearing to listen to your conversation

‘Exactly! Stop the process, take real blood so your body can survive and I’ll get help from a psychiatrist. Seongwoo, this can make everything better.’

‘I’m going to be an interning at Dr. Im’s clinic!’ you announced happily, gaining gasps and congratulations from your friends.

huh...good for them. Looks like they’re following their father’s footsteps into science and medicine. Notable.

he gave you a side glance, noticing how much more good-looking you had become

hmm

Seongwoo felt colour slowing draining from his face. He quickly stabbed a straw into yet another plasma juice box

was he angry? was he disappointed? was he glad? he didn’t know either

perhaps just slightly stupefied, stunned......

he never imagined Doctor’s so-called ‘work’ would continue, would ever become anything

a pair of fangs began to protrude, his temper began to flare

what? how many more of us are they going to take? no, I must stop them

‘Seongwoo helloooooo’

I have to protect my family at all costs

‘SEONGWOO!’

the impact of Minhyun’s fist on the table made Seongwoo snap out of his angry thoughts. It also caused time to freeze as curious customers peered round to have a glance

the table now had a small crack forming in its wood

blushing, Minhyun briefly apologised, downed the remainder of his coffee in a shot before grabbing Seongwoo’s arm and dragging him out

what a scene, you thought

deep down you wondered when you would see them next

probably on campus somewhere,,, but with your new internship and all, you would be increasingly busy

there just wasn’t time to think about those kinds of irrelevant subjects

there was no time to waste on thoughts of Ong Seongwoo

crazy

I’m going crazy right now

week two of the internship was definitely not treating you the best

sorry, this part may not be so accurate

all you did for week one was sit at the reception, drop by the lab a couple of times, restock medication and occasionally, bring coffee in for Dr Im

honestly, you wanted to see patients or watch a session but those were all private and personal

it was just you and the medicines for a bit :\

suddenly, Dr Im marches into the supply closet, court shoes, sparkling white coat and all. She smiles, handing you a clipboard and a form

‘There’s a new client today coming for consultation. I spoke to him and surprisingly, he agreed to let my dear trainee sit in. As long as you sign this protection of personal data form, you’re welcome to join this time,’ she explains

OH MY GOSH

what you’ve always wanted :”)

WHY ISN’T IT 8PM YET

why did he have to book the latest time slot what the hell there wasn’t anyone in the 5.30pm one how dare you make me wait 12 hours

but you get yourself a coffee and tell yourself to suck it up

at precisely 8pm, two well-dressed and tall men walk into the posh and pristine office

you don’t realise who it is until you emerge from the medicine storage room just in time to see one of the guys remove his black mask

Ong Seongwoo

>:(

luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice you yet. He and - supposedly - Minhyun turn in the direction of the waiting area

they look out of place in their dark coats and masks. It’s a stark contrast from the white and grey interior, maybe a vase of pinky-white lilies sitting on a counter

or a few paintings of scenery in sand coloured frames

someone like Ong Seongwoo doesn’t belong here

you wonder what problems he could even face.....

the second Seongwoo stepped into the room and sensed your presence, he wanted to turn around and storm right out

getting help was Minhyun’s idea and when he said he knew of a psychiatrist that was fine with the supernatural, he placed his life in Minhyun’s hands

clearly, it was the wrong choice

but he had to keep cool and wait for his best friend’s real intentions to be made clear

his best friend was sacrificing him to Doctor, he had no doubt about that right now

you were Doctor’s child and also training in the field of science and medicine

...Minhyun had a lot of explaining to do later on

the shock was written all over Seongwoo’s face when you sat next to Dr Im during the consult, taking notes and all

so, the intern was you

throughout the session, you genuinely wondered why Seongwoo would be here

there was a section that you were asked to step out for a second and your best guess that it was an extremely sensitive matter

somehow,,, you wanted to help Seongwoo

isn’t that why you were a doctor anyway?

even if he despised you, you wanted to help him so badly

he left unscathed, that was astonishing to him too

when interrogated, Minhyun seemed to have 0 knowledge of your existence and that you were related to Doctor

‘I-I’m so s-sorry. I really had no clue,’ he choked out, holding back a sob

Seongwoo brushed it off, believing and forgiving his best friend

‘how are things with Jaehwan? More roommate trouble?’

‘ugh, don’t remind me. He keeps teasing me about my crush on our neighbour.’

laughter resounded on the drive back to their dorms

all was back to normal

but both your lives wouldn’t be

Doctor: 1.45am. Usual place. Don’t be late

‘Dr Im, if you don’t mind me asking, what was your diagnosis?’ you questioned carefully, afraid of setting off an explosion of fuming fireworks

Dr Im sighed, she pressed her hand to her forehead. ‘He’s a difficult one if I’m honest. However, my brain is telling me it’s PTSD or depression, worse case scenario and it could be both.’

I’m not an expert on both even though I did research so I’m sorry if there are any inaccuracies, I tried to exclude it for the majority of the work

you kept silent, the information unable to fully sink into your mind.

Ong Seongwoo? PTSD? Depression?

was it related to whatever happened at graduation? Was he struggling then? Is he losing hope now?

he was never my friend, your mind indicates, why am I so worried? Why am I freaking out over this? He’s hated me all this while, yet I’m so concerned

I’m becoming a lunatic

‘Dr Im,’ you call out meekly

‘hmm?’ She hums in response, still scribbling words down on her writing pad

you swallow hard, throat closing at the thought of saying your next words

‘you’ll do your best to help him right? Seongwoo would be okay? Would he?’

her pen pauses for a prolonged period as if that question required an extensive amount of consideration to answer

Dr Im nibbles on her bottom lip, nervously, you note

‘yes. Seongwoo will be just fine.’

Doctor: No blood, just plasma.

......to be continued

#wanna one #produce 101 #wanna one scenarios #produce 101 scenarios #ong seongwoo

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elliot-orion · 3 years

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Writeblr Re-Intro

I’ve seen quite a few people do this in the past couple weeks so i figure i probably should too considering how stinking long its been. so. hi there! I’m Elliot, and I use they/them pronouns! I’m a college kid majoring in creative writing and anthropology and regret doing both. I have a 9 year old emotional support cat, Van Gogh, who enjoys snoring, getting fur in my mouth, and chewing on my headphones. In addition to writing, I crochet amigurumis, play flight rising, bake like mad, obsess over dragons and stuffed animals, and spend way too much time thinking about superheroes.

I mostly write LGBT+ Young Adult/New Adult fiction, and recently published my first novel, “Sparks Fly.” You can see a tumblr summary of it here. “Sparks Fly” and the majority of my stories take place in the expansive Dark Heart Universe full of not so heroic Super Heroes and Super Villains with questionable but not necessarily bad morals. But I like to dabble all over and have WIPs including a horror duology, a scifi roadtrip story, and about 800 other WIPs that are going nowhere because I’m a pantser and that’s how i roll. Expect to see me name drop some characters or a story, tag it in one ask game, and then never mention it again rather frequently. I apologize in advance. The main stories you will actually see me mentioning a bunch are below the cut.

I technically have a website, and I technically have a twitter, but the former is a mess because I can’t program or remember to regularly blog and the latter i never use because social media scares me. Think there’s like 10 tweets on it and all of them are niche shitposts about my stories so... yea. I do have a Pinterest though, where you can find boards for most of my stories as well as a few of the name dropped once stories. so that’s fun. This intro is a mess.... Anyways, below the cut are some quick summaries of my main WIPs. If you want to learn more about the world that half of these are a part of (the DHU), look through this tag because my only summary series of it is way out of date.

Woodsmoke

A DHU novel. Woodsmoke is a Hero who 100% should not be going to the worst Villain in town, Stardust, for help, but fuck it he doesnt have any other option. In return for helping Woodsmoke save a whole bunch of school kids, Stardust demands Woodsmoke owes him a favor - he has to help Stardust and his gang get rid of the Director of the city’s Supers Association branch. The only probably is, the Director control everything, and Woodsmoke is utterly terrified of him. But, he owes a favor, and he’s even more afraid of what Stardust could do to civilians than he is of what the Director could do to him. When it all goes wrong, maybe its time for him to give up being a Hero and stop being Woodsmoke. Maybe it’s time to just be Vincent again, and finally heal from the damage the SA has done. This is on its fourth draft and still needs about 2 or so more (guessing here), but will hopefully be the next DHU book released (dont quote me on that im winging this)

Nightmare at the Lily Pad Inn

A DHU novel. Ben, who’s technically a Villain but really just can’t control their powers for shit and their powers are like, really scary so its bad, is on the run from their sociopathic asshole brother. They wind up at the Lily Pad Inn, a safe haven for Villains no matter what they’ve done, run by the cinnamon roll sweetheart Matty and their husband, Blue. While there, Ben meets Oliver, another not-technically-bad Super who can’t control his powers, and meets up with Morty, their best friend. Shit happens i guess idk i’ve not written a real summary for this one yet leave me alone. It’s on the first draft and its not even finished and i have no idea what the ending is because im a pantser go away.

Novella Collection

A DHU collection i guess. I’m not quite sure what else to call this because it’s made of three or so different novellas that I intend to fit together into a collection of novellas. The three novellas includes: the Empath, about Charlie who may just be the worlds most powerful empath and his partners who are very not happy with their area’s Director wanting Charlie to do something that could 100% kill him; Hell in High Heels, a historical DHU story about the Terra (Kitty), the Earth Elemental of the time, and Fer-De-Lance (Hattie), the Poison Elemental, and how they get married sorta unwillingly (thanks SA), break a shit ton of stereotypes, and help win World War 2.; and finally Wildfire, about the current day Fire Elemental and the Villain he really shouldn’t be so attracted to but 100% is and them chilling and being gay and idk this one needs a lot of work. All of these novellas have only had 1 draft and are still needing a lot of work.

And now for some not dhu stories...

The Other Beings / The Doll Maker

This is that horror duology I mentioned earlier. The Other Beings follow Nathan. He got sucked into the terrifying world of the Other Beings (well, 5 worlds actually), when he was 7 years old because of a brother he’s never quite forgiven for making him and his pseudo-sister Hazel hunt minor Beings for his whole childhood and fucking Nate up massively. He managed to leave the horror of the Other Beings for all of seven years before he was sucked back in by the Doll Maker, an Other Being with a penchant for turning pretty children and people into ball-jointed dolls. Turns out a horde of Other Beings is coming after him because of his dad which is a Bad and now he’s having to run as a human macguffin and trust me - he’s not happy about it. Only the Other Beings draft 1 has been written because it’s a dark story and with covid i have not have the mental energy to work on it more, but it’s super fun and i adore it. The Doll Maker, the second book, is solely about Doll Maker and his shit.

Paper Stars

Paper Stars is the scifi I mentioned, and just might be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written, even though its only had one draft because it’s hella depressing (literally, the mc River is seriously suicidal) and with all the shit in my life rn i haven’t had the strength to work on it more. but i adore the story. Basically, River��s life has gone to hell since his Grandpa died and the only thing making him hold on is really his alien best friend, Keio. When his depression gets even worse, he finally asks Keio to take him away from Earth and to space to escape his problems. This works, kinda, i mean he falls in love and shit (yes River falls in love with a seal furry alien, please go through the tag its great), but eventually he knows he has to face his problems and get help because this is a realistic story about depression and love doesnt cure all and you cant run from mental illness. It’s great.

That’s kinda all the main stories i mention a lot, all the others are little things i start and stop or that i write a self indulgent first draft but never intend to take it any further. all of these i fully intend to publish one day tho. So... yea. Welcome to my blog, its chaos but we have a good time.

#Intro #intro post #dhu #woodsmoke #nlpi #nightmare at the lily pad inn #wildfire #hell in high heels #paper stars #the doll maker #the empath #writelr #My writing #writeblr #amwriting

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hagiographically · 7 years

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summer qtr review/thoughts

buckle up kiddos its gonna be long -- this is mainly for my benefit tbh (tw for ed talk but as usual, no detail about behaviors)

but i feel like i tumbled less this summer and tbh i think that is ?? probably good

anyway

the quarter started off horrifically bad because i deteriorated a lot in florence. like, im so happy i went to florence and i experienced so many things and got so much braver and more confident, but i didn’t realize those positive effects until many weeks in, and they didn’t develop fully until i’d left

but i lost like..... at least 15 pounds without trying to or even realizing

surprise! italy is triggering for eating disorders....who knew....not this stanford-educated bitch right here....

anyway i was half dead when i got home to new jersey. i figured this summer i’d have to Actually Recover, and i’d dropped out of my program in south africa to be at stanford, catch up on my major, and get my shit together health-wise

That Did Not Happen, Unsurprisingly

having a disorder means.....the worse u get.....ur brain cares less about recovering....so I hit my lowest weight ever a couple weeks after getting back to ol’ stanf

it sukked cuz summer is triggering because it’s so beautiful and warm outside and like !!! shorts!!! crop tops!!! but anyway i hauled ass to the doctor to make sure i wasn’t going to die

she said “libby you are going to die very soon if you keep doing this”

but!!! that was the go-ahead i needed to flip the switch into Recovery Mode(tm) and i went to cvs the next day and bought hundreds of dollars worth of vitamins and supplements and safe foods because it was an Investment or whatever

and like......it’s been rocky. I’ve slipped up countless times. I gained 10 lbs in the first week and that was super scary lol so I relapsed, and then half-recovered from that, and since then it’s been a tug-of-war with the mental illness goblin

BUT that being said, the whole process has been kind of fun/motivating in a weird way, like I was a scientist and my body was the experiment, and I was just throwing data points into it and seeing what worked.

and ????? Some Things Worked !!! and it really awakens my sense of curiosity to see what things help me-- the nutrition and supplements helped my mood, energy, relationships (kinda? who knows what it would’ve been like otherwise), academics (same as relationships), confidence, etc. it even changed my personality i think, or at least minimized the things i didn’t like about myself and let me cultivate the things i like

like for example, i’m actually.....not an introvert i don’t think? i was talking to my mom about this yesterday -- she thinks she’s a 60/40 E/I and I’m the opposite, so we’re both ambiverts with different leanings. I identify as an introvert because I like solitary activities bc I’m used to being alone, but I realized this summer that.....being alone isn’t always good for me because it awakens mental illness goblin, but also I ??? really like talking to people and I’m good at conversations ??? I met lots of non-Stanf people from going out so much and it was always really refreshing and cool and I got energy from it....definition of an extravert

had conversations that really cemented my current values - got to talk about my classes and how much i loved them, how much the shallowness of bay area tech bothers me, how much i loved italy (florence is so hazy to me rn!! bizarre), regional differences in psychology (my passion tbh) and it just feels so good to care about things wow !! is this what it’s like to be neurotypical? no wonder yall are out there doin it

so I am not recovered in any sense of the word but I am so. much. better. I reduced a hella lot of behaviors, rarely felt depressed, and achieved pretty much everything i wanted, even though this was my sixth straight quarter of college and if i hadn’t done this self-imposed health regimen i don’t think i would’ve died, but i would’ve eroded and probably dropped out of school to go back to residential

should i be getting professional treatment? i think a lot of recovery blogs or experts would say yes, because they’re of the mind you can’t half-recover, and treatment comes before education, etc. and i don’t completely disagree and maybe once i graduate i’ll agree. but. i know that right now i want to be in school. i cannot fully recover on my own, but on my own is the only way i can get pieces of everything that i want.

i’m healthier and happier because i made the best grades i’ve ever gotten at stanford (easy-ass classes for sure, but i’m still glad i performed as well as i possibly could. it’s a point of pride for me that even though my illness can get really severe, it’s never impacted my grades.) and i still did lots of really fun things! it was less social than last summer, where i went out every other day, but i still went to santa cruz beach boardwalk, an ed sheeran concert, a gay club in SF, SO MANY bars in downtown palo alto (at the point where multiple bartenders recognize me), a play in redwood city, coffee shops and dinner dates and sunlit morning walks to class listening to jukebox the ghost and happy-buzzed from green tea.

i’ll just say it, my fashion was kinda lit this summer....i was very physically confident, which is mixed because i might be romanticizing unhealthiness even though i am healthier than before. who knows. i am in transit

i feel like i didnt socialize as much this quarter with my actual close friends but instead met lots of one-time people and like, it was really nice meeting new people, bc when the people are always changing, i can see which elements of me stay the same. and getting to know who i am now is so interesting because tbh?? ive been through a lot this year (and also with, like, life) it’s so weird thinking of myself As A Whole when anything more than a year ago feels like a fever dream or made up story....anyway!

i did get to see my friends fairly frequently and i’m grateful for every time i did because i’m v lucky to have anyone in my life when i change as much as the fricken weather

my friends who loved stanford before are more over it now, and its funny bc i used to hate it but now im used to the school so i dont anymore. im a senior, i know the school well, ive been a member of so many clubs, been to so many on campus houses, explored the area extensively, taken a variety of classes….im not totally out of FOMO but its so reduced that im confident with what ive done there, and my ego isnt as threatened by other people bc i know i have my own kind of value. it doesnt matter if its objective or not bc how i feel is ultimately what matters

like its not all about what i feel if i dont do anything about it. but ive done some stuff! and im trying to make the shitty interpersonal stuff better! its going!

was able to read and write a little bit which is neaterino ! and i liked my job at the library, it was fun and easy

anyway if i think too much about it i’ll trip out because thinking about life sends me into existential despair, but this was a good quarter. up there with sophomore spring for my favorite/happiest/best feeling quarter? probably even better than soph spring because i was sick for most of the spring. every quarter has ups and downs and this was no exception but the downs didn’t feel as debilitating and the air didn’t feel like a fire blanket for once, and now that i have some strategies under my belt i can’t imagine things ever really getting that bad for a while

#THIS IS LONG IM ANNOYING!#writing #stan #idk how i tag these #summer17

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greywindys · 7 years

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Omg so this is my super late offering for 2Docweek (if fics aren’t allowed just lmk and I’ll adjust the tagging, it’s no problem!). Also if you follow this blog and hate 2Doc, I’m sorry! I placed it all under the cut so hopefully it doesn’t take up too much space on your dash.

This was inspired by Day 4: Favorite Phase. I actually don’t know if I could pick a favorite phase, but phase 1 has always had a special place in my heart. From 2D’s random journal entries about Murdoc’s fear of flying (2D’s Murdoc observations in general tbh!), to their stay in Jamaica together, to their various misadventure that get hinted at throughout different interviews, there’s like, so much to think about and expand upon. All that being said, it’s hard to look at phase 1 without feeling a hint of sorrow because we all know where it leads eventually. Anyhow, this fic takes place very early in their writing process for the first album when they’re still getting to know one another (so like, building 2Doc), during a night when they both stay behind in the studio.

Summary: Murdoc is uncharted and mysterious, but 2D has always considered himself a bit of an explorer.

Rating: pg-13

Word count: ~3000

The clock reads 4:52 am when 2D sees Murdoc lie down on the floor, a nearly empty bottle of vodka held loosely in his hand. All around him are the remnants of a long night of writing and re-writing; crumpled up papers, squashed beer cans, and ashtrays full of cigarettes. The keyboard they’ve been playing on for the last few hours sits beside him. It’s been a process, getting him to this point. 2D thinks it might have been around dinner time when he noticed the first signs of slowing down.

And Murdoc never slows down. At least, not since 2D has known him.

“Tired already, Muds?” 2D teases from across the recording studio as he stubs out another cigarette in the ashtray next to him.

Murdoc turns his head towards him and frowns. “That’s real swell coming from you, the one who’s been going back to the hotel with Noodle and Russ every night except this one. And you’re saying I’m tired. What’s tired anyways?” He stops to stretch which causes him to unconsciously tip the bottle in his hand until the liquid inside spills out and lands with a splatter on the floor and his face, though it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.

He has a point. 2D can’t remember a time Murdoc left the studio before any of them, and now that he thinks about it, he’s always assumed the same. Even on the few nights he’s stayed late with him - something he’d only recently started - he can’t remember a time Murdoc has ever mentioned sleep or even feeling tired. It was usually 2D who was the one to doze off to him working only to wake up a few hours later and still find him his head buried in his notebook.

However, the sloppy behavior and the almost palpable fatigue in his voice tell 2D otherwise, and an odd mix of worry and relief comes over him. Worry because he can’t understand why Murdoc won’t just take take a nap if he’s tired and relief to see that yes, Murdoc Niccals, self-appointed bandleader and music genius did get tired. It reassures 2D that perhaps they aren’t thousands of worlds apart like he had originally thought; maybe now it’s more like hundreds.

“Well, you look tired.”

“What? I can’t stop to think for a minute? I’m fine. I’m..I’m just drunk.”

“Okay. Drunk and tired.”

“Oh shut up.”

“How many days has it been?” 2D asks.

“Hell if I know,” Murdoc replies quietly, eyes are fixed on the ceiling. “I can barely even remember what I did yesterday, let alone however many days ago. You’ve been here haven’t you? I still haven’t got a clue why, but you have. So why don’t you tell me?”

2D has only stayed behind late with Murdoc three times before, and that he was sure of because he keeps an active tally of every little thing that happens during those quasi-private writing session. The first time Murdoc hardly interacted with him outside of glancing at him suspiciously and sporadically asking him why he was even there, to which 2D answered ‘why not?’ Murdoc had still seemed flabbergasted at his answer, and it puzzled 2D that the very idea of sharing ideas together and getting to know each other better seemed so foreign to him. 2D spent most of that time playing tic tac toe with himself in his notebook and listening to scribbling sound of Murdoc’s pen. The second time was more of the same except for one instance where Murdoc asked him to test out a melody for him. 2D considered the third time the most special. The third time they had actually sat at 2D’s keyboard together and played around with different chords. Then, in a spurt of nervous energy, 2D had offered Murdoc a cigarette and Murdoc had accepted it.

“Well, um, If you’re tired you can take a nap, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t know why you keep going on about this sleep thing. I’ve never been more awake in my life,” Murdoc says as he bring his hand to his face and pinches himself.

2D doesn’t know what to expect from this fourth night. But he’s learned enough about Murdoc to know that it was near impossible to change his mind. So for the moment, he resolves to play along.

“Okay, well, I’ve got some melodies I think might work with that track Russel was putting together earlier.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“So if you don’t mind I’m just going to be playing on the keyboard...” 2D trails off as he wonders whether Murdoc will take the hint that his head is currently in the space where 2D was sitting earlier and move. He briefly entertains the idea of offering to allow him to rest his head in his lap if he doesn’t want get up but quickly dispels of it because of how embarrassed it makes him feel.

“Hmm. Alright Let’s have a listen then,” Murdoc replies as he motions with his hand for 2D to come over.

As he makes his way back to Murdoc, 2D takes great care to step over the piles of crinkled notebook papers. To someone who didn’t know any better, the room would look like a mess, but there’s a method to the chaos. The placement of each paper and pile is completely intentional, categorized by topic and genre and level of completion by Murdoc in a frenzied burst of energy that he’s told them comes and goes “every now and then.” So even though it takes him a little longer, he figures he would rather take his time than have Murdoc be angry with him and lose all the rapport he’s been so patiently building over the last two weeks.

That same Murdoc still hasn’t moved by the time 2D reaches both him and the keyboard. He follows the his gaze up towards the ceiling and is puzzled when he doesn’t find anything particularly interesting or out of the ordinary.

“Hey, so, uh, Murdoc. I’m here and….uh..”

No response.

“Murdoc…” 2D says as he sticks out his foot and gives him a tepid nudge.

Murdoc jumps.

“Fuck!” He exclaims as he runs a shaky hand through his hair, and 2D catches a rare glimpse of his forehead and eyebrows.

“You, uh, you alright, Murdoc? Did I, uh, scare you?”

“No, you idiot,” Murdoc snaps before taking another gulp vodka. “Anyways...it took you long enough.”

“Yeah, well, I was going to sit down now, um, at the keyboard but...your head is uh...well, if you could just...or I could just..or no, that would be weird so nevermind...um...” He doesn’t know exactly how he wants to ask Murdoc to move but the words fall out over one another anyways.

Murdoc looks at the keyboard, which is right next to his head and back to 2D and rolls his eyes. “Christ. I get it, I get it. You know you could have just asked.”

He doesn’t sit up when 2D sits but instead curls onto his side facing towards the singer.

“So, uh, just tell me if I’m too loud,” 2D says and this time, Murdoc doesn’t protest. Instead, he gives him a simple “okay” gesture and begins picking at the label on his now empty vodka bottle.

They don’t speak after that for a while. Only the sounds of stray chord progressions and 2D humming accent the silence and without Murdoc’s often tangential and sometimes scathing commentary, he’s left wondering what’s going the other’s mind as he lies beside him.

“You really like that keyboard,” Murdoc remarks at last.

“Yeah,” 2D answers. “Yeah, I guess I do. I like all my keyboards. Kinda like you and your bass.”

“Far from it. I don’t spends hours upon hours taking my bass apart and putting it back together. Or hooking up parts from other basses to my bass, or installing whatever that giant box was into that one keyboard you ordered online.”

“Hmm. Okay, point taken.”

“Have you ever gotten a keyboard that’s complete shit?” Murdoc continues. “Like, so shit that you have to...I don’t know put it sleep or give it a mercy kill or whatever the equivalent is for pianists?”

“Not so far, no.”

“So let’s say, you find one that’s been dropped out of a three story building, and then run over by a car and your uncle says, ‘fix it, 2D’...what’s your answer then?”

2D finishes jotting down another set of chords that he likes before answering. “Well, maybe I couldn’t fix it completely but I would guess there would still be some salvageable parts I could find worth saving. Why do you ask?”

“Okay, no. Let’s say the keyboard has had...I don’t know, seven? Eight? Ten. Ten previous owners who have all just completely fucked it up. One owner spilled coffee all over it, the other took it to a party and let party goers snort lines off the keys and somehow it ended up set on fire, and so on and so on. THEN it got dropped out the three story building and run over by the car.”

Murdoc is looking directly at him now, a small smirk on his face. But when 2D meets his gaze he can see that there’s a sort of sadness lingering in his eyes which 2D understands to be the real emotion that he’s feeling. He doesn’t know if Murdoc is aware of how expressive his eyes are, how despite the bragging and posturing he does during the day, the scowl he’s nearly perfected that he wears as his default expression, and the fact that his heavy bangs effectively shield his eyebrows from sight his eyes manage to give him away every single time.

“Well, I dunno. I don’t think a keyboard can help who its owners were.”

“But the wiring is going to be completely buggered up regardless,” Murdoc challenges back.

“I think I it would still take it apart, just to have a look for myself.”

“What if the keyboard was in pieces when you got it. Complete shambles. You can’t even tell it was a keyboard. What then?”

2D shakes his head as he moves to change the sound settings on the instrument in front of him. “I’ve had experiences where I thought the keyboard looked good as new only to find the sound generator completely fried. This one we’ve been using now was my uncle’s and he never thought it would play again until I re-programmed portions of the ROM. It gets a little complicated, and I’m certainly no miracle worker, but I’m always going to give it a chance. That’s why I like it. I can go in expecting one thing, and find sometime completely new and different. It doesn’t make any one machine good or bad...” He turns back towards Murdoc who’s back to picking at the label on the vodka bottle. It’s nothing surprising but 2D feels his heartbeat start to increase all the same. Keeping his eyes focused on him, he continues, “It just makes them fascinating and unique and...”

Beautiful. He wants to say beautiful but he also feels like the earth just shifted beneath him and he doesn’t know if Murdoc felt it too. And what if he did? Or even worse what if he didn’t?

“And..well, um, you get the idea…” is what he manages to get out instead. Suddenly his hands feel clammy.

Murdoc remains silent, eyes fixed on the keyboard, little pieces of the vodka bottle label strewn around him. As he desperately tries to read his face, 2D thinks he sees surprise and confusion and possibly worry, but he isn’t sure if that just him projecting. In any case, he senses that it’s about time that he guide them back to a familiar dynamic.

“Anyhow, I think I figured out the chords we might want to use for that one song about um, loneliness. But only if you’re, uh, okay and everything's alright, um, maybe you might want to hear it?”

“Yeah. Yeah that sounds good. You’ve only been puttering around on that thing for the past what? Hour or so?” Murdoc’s rolls his eyes, not missing a beat. “I’d hope you’d have something by now.”

That’s better.

Feeling more self-assured, 2D cracks his knuckles and places his hand in position above the keys.

“I don’t have the words finalized, or even how I want the chords to go, really. You know, eighth notes, quarter notes...depends on how fast we want it to go. I think for now, I’ll keep the same time signature but go slower..” He stops to yawn.

“Well, well, look who’s tired now,” Murdoc goads.

“And I’ll still be able to get through this song. How about we see if you can stay awake.”

“Oh, just get on with it.”

The introduction comes out a little clunky because 2D starts out playing the chords as quarter notes but changes his mind halfway through and switches to whole notes. Every now and then, he adds small embellishments on keys an octave higher. Then he add the words.

“City life,

Calling me all the time,

Me and my soul,

Geared to attack...”

He doesn’t have the rest of the verse written so improvises with just the keyboard for a bit and looks down to check on Murdoc. His eyes are closed now, but he can tell that he’s listening when he sees him keeping time by tapping his finger lightly on the ground. It’s a pleasant vibe, one that 2D isn’t sure he wants to end just yet. So decides to improvise more.

“Um..never got the chance to write,

The words from here,

So tell me, Murdoc…”

Murdoc chuckles quietly at this. He’s probably thinking about how much of a empty-headed loser he thinks 2D is, 2D assumes. But doesn’t carry the same malice that laughter from Murdoc usually carries. He may think 2D is an empty-headed loser, but he also, in this moment, seems to be enjoying that aspect of him. 2D’s never made Murdoc laugh that way before.

“What we should write.”

2D punctuates each word with a chord before returning back to the intro. He turn briefly to flash Murdoc a wide grin.

“That’s not bad,” Murdoc says as 2D continues to play. “Well, of course we’re going to have to work on the second part of the verse but it seems like you were writing more in that book than your tic tac toe games after all.” Now it’s his turn to yawn again. “We can talk about it...soon.”

“I’m not done yet, Muds. We haven’t even gotten to the refrain.”

The refrain is only one line so far, but that never stopped 2D. He plays a for a few more measures until he stumbles upon a rhythm that he likes.

“Can't stand your loneliness

Can't stand loneliness

Can't stand your loneliness

Can't stand loneliness…”

He loses track of how long he plays after this, which is a habit he’s had since he started taking lessons. It tends to happen when he gets engrossed in a melody, and he fills the time with improvisation and experimenting with different vocals flourishes. It doesn’t dawn on him to stop until he asks Murdoc for his opinion only to be met with silence.

When he glances down at him he finds him fast asleep.

Instinctively, 2D places a tentative hand on his shoulder, thinking in his head that he’s going to give him a gentle shake to rouse him. However, he stops short of his plan when he takes in Murdoc’s expression. His face muscles are completely relaxed and his tongues is hanging out the side of his mouth making him look quite silly as well. It’s a far cry from the Murdoc he’s used to, whose shoulders are usually tense with stress and frustration while he shoots withering glares at whoever gets in his way, or who’s always fidgeting or tapping or lobbing crumpled pieces of paper at him while they’re working because for some reason he can’t ever seem to sit still. Internally, 2D wonders why Murdoc dismisses sleep so often because it’s the most at ease he’s ever seen him. But there’s a lot 2D doesn’t know about Murdoc.

Still, 2D thinks to himself as he takes in the feeling of the rough fabric of Murdoc’s grey sweater and the warmth building under his hand from the amount of time he’s allowed it to linger, there was still time. Murdoc was uncharted and mysterious, and 2D has always considered himself to be a sort of explorer. It had been tornadoes when he was younger, then it was zombies, and then it evolved into keyboards. Now, he guesses, it’s Murdoc, too.

In a moment of impulsiveness, 2D gingerly runs his hand through the bassist’s thick bangs in an attempt to tuck some stray strands behind his ear.

He all but stops breathing when Murdoc stirs, heart pounding more intensely than Russel’s most effective kick drum pedal. He can also swear that he saw his eyes crack open momentarily. But as he frantically searches for words to use for a believable explanation, Murdoc’s breathing returns to the same, slow pace it had just moments ago.

2D sits with him for a few minutes longer, listening to the sound of his breathing, his head brimming with thoughts that he can’t quite make sense of and words that can’t he can’t quite string together.

The clock reads 6:57 when he lies down next to Murdoc, slightly confused and a little bit nervous, but happy.

“This going to sound dumb but...I like you, Murdoc,” he mumbles, barely audible. “And I don’t think I know exactly what I mean by that right now, but, uh, you know me, what else would you expect? Heh.”

He knows Murdoc can’t hear him, and doesn’t expect him to. Perhaps, he thinks, he’s saying it more for himself than any other reason. He doesn’t know, but what he does know is that he’s going to cherish these quiet moments for a long time, whether Murdoc believes it or not. Maybe in time he will, 2D wonders to himself as he listens to the inhales and exhales next to him, maybe in time.

#ficpost #2doc #2docweek

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cyberstabbing · 7 years

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Sci-fi/Dystopian future/Danger Days/idk

Heaven’s Not About Your Reputation - Desolation Row AU. The Tipper Laws have consumed the nation; more and more freedoms are being restricted every day. After getting thrown in jail for causing a riot with their illegal punk show, My Chem decides to do the logical thing: cause even more trouble. 28k

In Repair - "Shit,“ Frank mutters, and shoves both hands through his hair. He looks around the kitchen like he’s gonna find what he should do scratched into the old linoleum, then looks back at the bot. He gnaws on his lip. Fuck it. He already knows what he’s gonna do. He’s just gotta do it.

Getting down on his knees, he braces a hand on the edge of the crate and leans over the bot. It’s dressed in a plain white tee and matching drawstring pants like an escaped mental patient. Frank rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, shaking the ache out of them before carefully laying his palm against its cheek. He’s pretty sure his voice is steady when he says, "Activate.”

Nothing happens. Fucking shitty packaging– the thing’s busted. But Frank keeps his hand where it is, jumping a little when he feels the surge of energy beneath it. The robot’s skin goes from room temperature to lukewarm, then warm. Frank watches it open its eyes, the light behind them adjusting until they’re a pale sort of brown. It looks at him and asks, “Am I dead?” 33k

sing it for the n00bs - Gerard would be killing twice as many dracs right now if his fucking spacebar would quit sticking. (Gamer AU, wherein the Danger Days universe is an MMORPG.) 17k

I was rereading this on a bus in France with my stepsister. She asked me what I was reading and I just squirmed around in my seat. So she shouted “FANFICTION??” And I was like … Well, I mean, yes–but hear me out!! And so I told her about Danger Days, the Killjoys and the whole gamer au concept.

She actually thought it sounded pretty cool. Or maybe she just wanted me to quit gushing about it and leave her alone.

The point is, if someone who just heard a second-rate description of this fic still thought it sounded interesting, that means it’s HELLA RAD. And it is. So. Read it.

The Way They Fly - Frank is a robot. He is in love with his genius creator, Gerard, who doesn’t realize that Frank is capable of real feelings. Frank starts breaking down, getting ill, and Gerard doesn’t know what to do to fix it - all his methods are completely useless, none of the programming explains why this is happening to his Frank - but it’s because Frank has a broken heart. 17k

Of Another Kind - Gerard is an alien on a mission–to find a human mate on Earth. He’s decided on Frank Iero, but his database doesn’t give him all the facts he needs to win over his future companion, and there are just some things he will have to learn on his own. 17k

Let The Darkness Lead You Home - Vampires are in charge and most of the humans on earth are prey, so Frank Iero’s parents have him train as a cyber tech to protect him. Leaving the family he’s born into may have saved his life, but his parents never could have expected the lengths he’d go to in order to find a new family to call home. 49k

The Chasing of Moons - The biggest dilemma in all of this is that Frank slept with his future husband. Now Frank’s just got to make sure that the future with him stays intact, but it’s not so easy when present day Gerard seems to hate his guts. 110k

Might I Have a Bit of Earth - Gerard took things. He didn’t used to take things; he used to ask before, say please and may I and other things his parents taught him, because that was what you did. You didn’t just take. 14k

Space pirates :D !!

Are You Broken? (from the Robot!Gerard series) - Frank gets sick and Gerard doesn’t understand. <1k (the series is 7k)

Lovely Way to Burn - Frank is no stranger to sickness. He’s been wheezing his way in and out of hospitals since he was a kid, but things are different now. He was already pulled from two assignments due to illness, and the third time is the charm. Three strikes and you’re out. 4k

video girl - This is a space AU that has more random worldbuilding than actual porn in it. In which Frank wanders into a virtual sex video booth. 1k

Reaching Through The Mirror - The one where Party Poison and Basement!Gerard have sex. 5k

(part one of Time Travel ‘verse)

James Cameron Got It Wrong - In which 2005!Frank and Fun Ghoul get it on. Then Frank accidentally winds up in 2019. 56k

(part two of Time Travel ‘verse)

yoooo i just found some really really REALLY good fanart. .. unbelievably good. and six years after the fic came out! that’s amazing!! anyway, here it is.

EDIT #2: found some more! Man, that fic just keeps giving.

EDIT #3: Damn it, the artist’s blog (second one) is marked as having “sensitive content”, so I couldn’t view it anymore on this account. So here is the post reblogged on a sfw blog for y’all youngins, and here is a screenshot juuust in case the sfw blog deactivates and that link stops working, too.

The Science of Sleep - It’s 2011 and Frank Iero’s life is pretty average until the night where he starts getting dreams about a strange, apocalyptic California where there’s rayguns, grey corporations and terrorists who use art and color as a weapon. Interesting and fun at first, but the more he dreams about this world, the more he starts to wonder if it really is a dream… and the deeper he gets into this futuristic world, the more it seems to affect his life in the present day.

And just how exactly does everything all seem to link in with that douchebag black-haired artist who sits in Starbucks every day?

(Set in the Danger Days world but not necessarily following the cannon established by the album and music video’s.) 93k

Killjoys Never Die - No description. 2k

i want to die i want to die i want to die

Up Against Your Will (HERE is the chapter index) - Stepping into a world so different from their own, Frank and Gerard struggle to survive. 18 chapters

this was amazing, but also hard to read in some parts, bc of the non con and gore :/ not my cup of tea, but I did love the word building and the fic overall.

Fogs, Sheets and Thunder - Not as grey as it seems. A post-apocalyptic postal service AU. 5k

And ze art!

The World Famous Extraterrestial Diner - Sure the menu had a picture of literally everything in it, causing the menu itself to be ten pages in total, but that was for the foreign visitors. And not just the ones from other countries, according to the owners.Gerard worked at a diner located directly on the famous ‘extraterrestrial highway’. The pictures were more for if any actual aliens ever came by Earth for a good meal and couldn’t speak English. They had the pictures to see exactly what was on offer. Even the beverages had their own separate pictures.Not that they had had any extraterrestial visitors since, like, ever. 8k

Born to Motorbabies - Here's the thing with having a crush on a mysterious DJ; it's kind of an inconvenient place to hang your affections. 12k

The person who’s rec list i snagged this from (can’t remember who, sorry!) added “affectionately referred to as the dishwasher fic” which is v cute so I’m putting it here too.

...the weapon - Tattoos are one of the ways they measure out the time between getting ghosted. Inspired by Art is... 0.2k

Code Red - In the fall out of a fire fight, Party Poison goes looking for medicine, and finds pretty much the exact opposite of that. 2k Ship: Party Poison/Korse

Workplace Appropriate Attire - Korse is a creepy boyfriend. 1k

Ship: Party Poison/Korse

This was fun to read, but some lines made me go OH SHIT, because ...... well if you read this you will know what I’m talking about.

We Got Machines - There are questions on the lips of everyone with eyes or money on the arena. Who is this kid? Where’d he come from? Who trained him? BLind’s got no records on him, meaning he’s a Zonebrat returning to the grasp of the city of his own volition. Another anomaly. That a 16 year old nobody could waltz in out of nowhere and turn the system on its head is... concerning to BLind. <1k

Part 1 of KJ/Griefers 'verse (3.5k in total)

Ship: Deadmau5/G3rard

xoxoxoxo - Party Poison wakes up somewhere he's never been - but there's plenty that's familiar here. 1k

Ship: Party Poison/Korse

Looking for Satellites - Galaxy-hopping alien trader Gerard has business on space station Perseus Four. Getting to know station administrator Grant is a nice bonus. 25k Ship: Gerard/Grant Gerard is a sexy, telepathic and open minded (heh) alien and it’s great.

the only hope for me - Korse has never been one to show his emotions. 1k Ship: Korse/Party Poison

your kicks don't hit, so we remain the same - a battery city ambush goes somewhat wrong. korsepoison. 0.8k Ship: Korse/Party Poison

Methane Skies - Run, run, bunny, run. 3k

Hot damn this is some creepy and suspenseful stuff. Ship: (implied) Korse/Party Poison

mutilate, maim and destroy (just a tad) - For clarification, this fic is about Gerard Way the actual person being tortured by Korse in the Killjoys universe. Like. Hnng, you'll see nevermind. Ship: Gerard/Korse

A Room Full Of Suicides - His jaw was clenched and his whole body quivering. He looked right at Korse with those huge, transparent eyes. “Do what you want to me. I don’t give a shit, Korse.” He drew in a breath that shook. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s about standing up for what you believe in.” God, the kid was adorable. Korse couldn’t wait to make him scream. 4k Ship: Korse/Party Poison, Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (implied)

Of All the Places in the Universe - Gerard, an alien with a severe case of anomie and wanderlust, crash-lands in Jersey while traveling the galaxy. A chance meeting with a creature his studies had told him didn't exist leads to a surprising turn of events. With time, Gerard comes to call Earth home, and finds love with the adorable punk who found him--Frank, an energetic puppy of a werewolf who's really more bark than bite. 30k

"You know The Smiths?"

Gerard grinned. "Oh, yes! They're one of my favorite Earth bands."

Thank You For The - Just an alien in New Jersey, looking for a mate. 0.5k Ship: Gabe Saporta/Mikey Way

"Have fun," Gerard said, even though he'd just told Mikey he couldn't have fun because he needed to be careful. Mikey wished his venom sacs were fully developed. He would spit on Gerard's shoes.

Double Exposure - “The worst part was the confession. Well, the explanation sucked too.” Written for prompt 38. Frank/Mikey - Frank and Mikey bodyswap during tour and have to play shows as each other. 2.5k

Frank isn’t part italian in this fic. He’s part alien! :D Ship: Frank/Mikey

#frerard #frerard fic #frank/gerard #rec list

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andrewuttaro · 5 years

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New Look Sabres: GM 47 - CGY

In case you were lucky enough to miss Monday night’s catastrophe in Edmonton let me just fill you in: The Sabres have six wins since late November and there is a bit of a crisis unfolding. To many angry fans delight there were reports midday Tuesday of Phil Housley running a very “not so fun” video session before practice in Calgary. There were strongly worded statements from guys who wear letters like Zach Bogosian, and Housley said some nice things about Eichel but ultimately the motto we heard early in the season of not getting too high or low emotionally won out. I’m not that kinda even-keeled guy when it comes to my sports so I wanted to tear this team a new one after that embarrassment Monday Night. Instead I’ll focus my energy on the Flames here: they’re the hottest team in the West all puns intended. They caught fire (yes, more puns) late in the first half of the season and now sit atop the strong West and weak Pacific Division. Before any of the recent success the Flames stayed neck and neck with the Sabres in their last meeting back in Buffalo. Tight games make for rattled nerves and this game was the higher scoring version of another tight matchup. I had no chill in the third period of this game. Calgary may be a good chill pill though for us panicking Sabres fans: consider the makeup of that team. They have their special talent, a couple of franchise centers, a top D-man and a developing young core. The club has been in something of a rut the last couple years just not being able to go anywhere if they do make the playoffs. Just like us Sabres fans earlier this season all it takes is a good stretch and you’re outlook changes. They timed theirs a bit better but I digress: it’s coming friends; a consistently competitive Sabres squad is coming one way or another. I took most of this game off from social media because that’s been so rough lately and perhaps I do that more because this game was a nice little shot of refreshment in dower times for Buffalo once you get past the nervous jitters.

The Flames played their game from the opening puck drop. Luckily, at least early on, the Sabres frustrated many of their efforts standing up in the neutral zone and breaking up some of the scariest plays. While the home team would get the edge in shots by the end of the first that category seemed rather even for most of the frame. Calgary leads the league in short-handed goals and nearly got one on the Sabres powerplay halfway through the first. Jeff Skinner took a nasty tumble into the wall in a battle in the corner but was back out two shifts later. Johan Larsson played very well for his role throughout this game. Jason Pominville tripped Matthew Thachuk in a very obvious way late and got penalized for it. The period was in its last second when Bogosian’s skate bounced a puck to Johnny Gaudreau right in front. Johnny Hockey didn’t miss and the clock read .5 seconds with the Flames entering the first intermission with 1-0 lead. The second period played like the rollercoaster of emotion this season has become. The first ten minutes it was clear the Flames had some momentum. They took over the possession game and hardly let the visitors out of their own zone for half the period. Linus Ullmark made more than a couple great saves but the one that you’ll see in the highlights is him leaping and rolling to stop a rebound shot. If it was to be a much needed win for Buffalo it would be in no small part because Ullmark kept them in this game.

Then our pal Johnny Hockey gets called for the softest hooking penalty you’ll see this week. Don’t worry Calgarians, the Sabres don’t do shit on the powerplay. There was a momentum shift in that fruitless two minutes though and shortly thereafter the puck was cleared from Ullmark to Mittelstadt who saw the opportunity to sky the puck to Evan Rodrigues who had just jumped on the ice. It was a full breakaway and E-Rod just tapped in five-hole on David Rittich. I didn’t give this guy his due for scoring last game so today we celebrate Rodrigues: two goals in two games after only having two goals through the prior 39 games. Rodrigues worked his way out of the lost three in preseason and has become a consistent contributor this season if not in goals than assists and plays. Last night it was a goal. A late hit on Lawrence Pilut (who may have also had one of his better games ever) touched off a brief scrum shortly after showing the Flames were somewhat annoyed. I would be too because without Ullmark this game would’ve been a rout through two periods. It was not and it was tied at 1 going into the third. The third period would show just how much the Sabres wanted out of this losing streak.

The visitors came out with the snarl they had developed in the second but Sam Bennett drew a penalty via Rasmus Dahlin and the Flames went to the powerplay where Elias Lindholm and Matthew Thachuk teamed up for a tap in goal. Lindholm has been a great pickup for Calgary and we here in Buffalo can relate to robbing Carolina blind. Anyway, the 2-1 lead for the home team could’ve been it with how the Sabres have been playing recently. Luckily, less than a minute later Jack Eichel and Sam Reinhart forwarded the puck along the boards in the O-zone to Rasmus Dahlin setup at the blueline. Dahlin took a real hard shot that must have taken a deflection or two because when it went in the top right corner over Rittich shoulder there was some surprise from all involved. Tie game. The spark was fully ignited now and Jake McCabe had hardly gotten into the O-zone when he took a similar slapper shot and, redirected or not, the puck got past Rittich: 3-2 and the visitors’ first lead of the game. It was at this point that Lindholm was battling Pilut in the Sabres D-zone when he attempted to murder Pilut with a cross check to the neck. No call as Pilut struggles to stay up and Noah Hanifin, another robbery from Carolina, finds the equalizer. Had the game been played in Buffalo that play would’ve gotten loud boos. Mikael Backlund got penalized a couple minutes later as a clear make-up call but nothing came of it, the Flames outshot the Sabres through the remainder of the period and this game went to OT. In spite of dominating play for large stretches of this game Calgary never had the puck in overtime and at 1:10 Jack Eichel outmaneuvers Mark Giordano and took the lane to shoot high and end it. Sabres win 4-3 in OT.

In my “Points in the Standings Acceptability” scale for this Western Canada roadie I put 3 points as the bare minimum. Really, we have to want a win tomorrow against Vancouver to have any good feelings going into the bye-week/All Star weekend. This middle stretch of the season has been a disaster and in spite of the joy of this win there needs to be some consistency to get out of crisis mode. A Two game stack of wins going into the break probably doesn’t do that but it’s a start. Coming back to Columbus and Dallas after the break is not a tremendous help either but these guys got themselves into this mess and they’ll have to get out… well unless something else happens in the intermittent time. I don’t want to speculate about trades at the moment, too pissed. Bench Scandella and fix that ugly friggin powerplay. The powerplay of this team continues to be unacceptable and frankly heads should roll for that. Your ugly stretch as of late looks that much different if you capitalize on even half of your powerplays. The Sabres have scored once on their last 20 attempts: disgusting. On a lighter note, Eichel is back on track and Rasmus Dahlin now holds the longest point streak for an 18-year-old defenseman in NHL history at 5 games played. The Sabres fought hard last night, could not be denied and got rewarded for it with the most refreshing two points in a while, eh?

The teams ahead of the Sabres in the playoff race aren’t slowing down unfortunately. You can’t do anything about the week and a half off but narrowing the gap a little tomorrow in Vancouver is somewhat helpful. Like, share and comment on this blog, I would love to hear from you. I for one am just happy to go about my normal tasks today with a Sabres win hanging over my head and not the storm cloud of doom that’s been there awhile… er… maybe the storm cloud isn’t far behind but we won! We won, dammit! The Buffalo Sabres just beat the second best team in the league and we ought to take that for what it is. We’ll have to wait and see if it’s the turning point this team needs.

Thanks for reading.

P.S. With Nathan Beaulieu requesting a trade (or just asking for more minutes depending on who you ask) it might just force Jason Botterill’s hand in a larger move. That said you could have just benched Scandella but whatever.

#buffalo sabres #hockey #nhl #blog

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