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phoeebsbuffay · 2 years

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Imagine you are the twin sister to Luke, daughter of Padmé and Anakin Skywalker, who was raised in Lothal. However, at the age of seven you go through a difficult trauma. Years later you are part of the Ghost crew and Kanan Jarrus is your master. But the moment you meet Darth Vader, something changes in you… as well as in him. Part I

Warnings: the character’s plot is based on Ezra Bridger’s on “Rebels”. References to season two will be seen here. So no Ezra in this story and the reader is a 15 year old—same age as Ezra. Also, no Princess Leia in this universe, sorry.

Warnings 2: teenage angst and drama, but also it’s meant to be a light reading. Lol. Here we go!

Warnings 3: fluffy ending; we don’t work with misery and unhappiness endings here.

***

Intro.

It all begins when the seven year old you is outside playing with a false blaster your father had borrowed you. You like see yourself as a soldier like he is.

“Pew pew pew!” You make the sounds as you aim the toy to the tree, pretending it’s a trooper. Under the watchful gaze of your mother, you play against the wind, free and deprived of concerns. You are dressing comfortable clothes and your hair is tied in a similar fashion of your mother’s.

You turn at her with a smug on your lips.

“See how powerful am I? I just defeated the tree stopper!” You giggle softly.

“You are a very bright child, Y/N.” You are told, which makes you beam. “Come inside, though. It’s going to rain.”

You look up at the skies; they are instantly grey, but to you…these clouds are not only announcing a storm but something worse that might happen. You don’t know what nor why.

But you obey. Once inside, you see that your folks are restless. Your father walks from one side to another and your mother has everything packed.

“Are we going somewhere?” You ask, so innocent. You don’t understand what’s happening, even though you feel the fear from them.

Your mother comes to you and makes sure you wear your backpack. There is sadness in your eyes.

“I wish I could tell you the truth about all of this, Y/N. But there is no time. I’m sorry.” She strokes your cheek gently.

You hear the sound of thunder and a chill runs over your spine. You too are scared.

“Mommy…”

Before you know, she grabs your hand and runs with you and your father, who’s leading the way. The three of you try running from storms troopers who, out of blue, are being chased. You start to cry.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. We failed you.” She separates ways from her husband. “We love you. Never forget that. Now run! Run!”

You do as ordered, but when you turn your head behind, you see the blasters taking their lives away. Had you not been so terrified and prompted to flee, you’d have destroyed the enemy. But there is little time to think or do. You weep as you run under a heavy rain.

Maker knows what will be of you now…

***

Your POV.

Eight years later.

You tie your hair in a bun on top of your head before you move towards the ship where you see there’s a good content which you could make good use. Perhaps if you took that barril of fuel and gave to a contrabandist, you’d get enough credits to buy some new clothes and food.

Here’s my mission.

You are careful to follow the members of that ship. You see at least three of them: a tall guy with brown long hair tied in a ponytail; a girl with colorful hair who is using a Trooper’s helmet and a Lasat whom you’ve never seen before.

I thought they lived in stories.

You shake your head, refusing to access your childhood memories. You need to stay focused so you let this instinct lead you to them—although you interpret it as an easier way to get your things done. You are patient, though, so you take your time.

“All right. It’s almost time…”

You leave your safe position as soon as these three follow different paths. You throw your hood over you face, a master in disguise you’ve become in last years, and move like a ghost amongst the people of your planet.

You are about to get in the ship when a noise startles you. There is some confusion in downtown—which is near to your location—and you are spotted by the girl.

“Hey!” She pushes you out of the ship before you even get a chance to go inside. “What do you think you are doing?! Out!”

Your vision is good, as well as the instincts so natural to you, so you manage to fall out without getting harmed in the process and without taking a shot. But to worsen matters, the guy you’ve seen before is running by your side.

He frowns at you, seeing how the girl with the helmet kicked you off the ship. So many questions, but he is more preoccupied in getting himself safe.

Somehow you end up joining forces with him because the chase involves you too: the stormtroopers don’t seem to make a difference between you and the ponytail guy—looks like you’ve had a bad timing in trying to steal the fuel.

“Who are you?” He asks you, trying to take the vehicle you’ve just stolen and refusing to be kicked out from it. “What were you doing in the ship?”

“Does it matter?” You give a snark response. “Why don’t you let me go? I have nothing to do with your business.”

He laughs at you.

“Looks like you do. The troopers are chasing us.”

There is a fight. One of the kind that leads you to reckless behavior or panic attacks. Today, looks like the second one. You’d throw yourself from the vehicle and see a way to survive as you try to escape the pew pew pew from the troopers.

It’s when the ship comes closer. The guy senses your fear, but he also sees you are strong with the Force.

“Come with me.”

You look at him, amused and distrustful at first.

“What? No way! I don’t know you!”

“You were about to since you tried to steal my ship. Besides what other choice do you have?”

“I… I’ve been on my own long enough to know I can survive without any help.”

“Yeah but unless you’d like to go arrested from here, I don’t see how you are helping your situation.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Fine.”

You don’t ask his name. All you do is trust in him when he tells you to jump into the very same ship where not so long ago you tried to steal.

And that is how you get away with chasing. Again.

***

Vader’s POV.

The silence in his quarters is tense, disturbed as usual is. When their owner is meditating, darkness flows naturally and crudely. There is no a mid term. He is his own company—and his own enemy too.

When his eyes are cast to the sabers that are tied to his sides, Vader can hear his demons coming from hell to torment him. He knows today will not be different.

He usually goes under with the voices, enjoying the torture they make him. Because that is what he deserves—an eternal punishment from the choices he made and all that costed him.

However, as he begins to meditate, he is surprised by an unusual silence. The Force is reaching out for him… and as he shuts his eyes, confusion takes place.

A confusion of scenarios is seen. Vader perceives the moves, the chaos, the despair such input him. To his own surprise, it makes his heart ache. Such a suffocating pain. He can hear the screams. The loneliness, the anger, the fear… All sentiments very familiar to him.

However, when he concentrates… Vader’s arrogance and pride abandon him. He does not know why nor how, but this figure, whom he cannot see but rather feel a strange connection, is in suffering. The more he tries to reach out for this individual, the more he is repelled.

Which results in a great sense of anger and frustration, thus breaking the unusual channel the Force seems to have brought to him.

Whoever this person is, Vader comes to realize that it is imperative the Emperor be kept in ignorance. So that way, he takes a ship and decides to look for whoever is the individual responsible for disturbing him.

“Whoever you are, I’m coming for you.” He mumbles to himself.

***

Your POV.

You wake up suddenly with a chill in your back, restless and anxious all the same for some motive that escapes you. You just feel it.

“Hey Y/N”, you hear Sabine calling you. “Are you all right?”

“Hm, yeah, sure. Did I wake you up? Sorry. I don’t know what’s up.”

You have been with the crew for some months now. It was difficult at first to settle in because of the mutual distrust—you were trying to steal the fuel of their ship after all—-but as you started to joining the rebels in missions against the empire, you began to feel like now you are part of the family.

Sabine is now a good friend of yours and with whom you share a room. Every now and then you and Zeb keep picking at each other, and captain Hera has been the maternal figure you’ve been missing since your parents’s demise.

However, your bond with Kanan Jarrus is spectacularly exceptional. Specially because he’d become your Master Jedi. Yes, he sensed a great force in you and ever since he’s been trying to train you.

So that is why, now that you are more familiar with the Force and the trainings of a Jedi, you feel as if it has been trying to tell you something. But precisely what? You cannot tell.

“No. I was already up, just feeling indisposed about leaving bed.” She and you share a chuckle. “It’s time to make breakfast, then. The day is going to be long.”

She leaves you to your thoughts. You lie back down in bed, eyes closing, trying to concentrate once again what was the chill you got because you are sure this is meaningful.

When you do so, after two or three attempts, you finally get something. The vision that is before your eyes shows you a mix of scenarios: a woman you barely know weeping in the childbirth. A man in deep suffering left in tears in a place surrounded by lava. There is also a boy with sandy hair running, but you don’t see his face.

And finally… you see a masked male breathing mechanically. He seems to stare at you. You gasp and get instantly up. Your heart races. It’s too much for you.

You leave your quarters after changing your clothes, joining the crew for the first meal of the day. You look slightly grumpy and confused, but since it’s how you often appear in the morning, no one notices the difference.

Except Kanan. He decides to wait for a moment to have with you. And when you finish eating, he says:

“Hey, Y/N. Can I have a moment with you?”

You turn instantly at him. You smile at him.

“Yes, Master?”

Kanan sighs.

“I don’t think I am one, kid. But come here, I noticed you are acting strange.” He puts a hand over your shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I am.” Then you hesitate. But Kanan is patient, he waits for you. “I’ve been having some visions.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what they mean, though I do know they mean something.” And you tell him all about it.

Kanan strokes his beard, looking thoughtful as he’s being told of these enigmatic views. He gives you a long look.

“I think we should try finding a temple Jedi. There are few out there, but if we can find one then perhaps our answers will be there.” But because you look disappointed, he says: “Hey, Y/N. Be patient. Perhaps this is a test for you. Most Jedis must endure these lessons. Now come, it’s time for your training.”

***

Vader’s POV.

His heart is shaken with different emotions as he watches the color of your eyes coming right to his visions. Blue like his. No, he corrects himself, it’s like those of Anakin.

Your hair has the same shade of color that he used to have as a child. The more he sees you, the more he is hit by a sense of desperation. It takes little time before he knows you are alive. His child, his precious child is alive.

Right as he pauses in the middle of space to meditate, Vader is conflicted. He thought you’d been gone and now he understands why he was placed in a foster care, away from his reach.

Obi-Wan was wise.

However, you were supposed to have enjoyed a safer environment with a father and a mother who loved you. But when it comes to his thoughts the realization that he was not the father you needed, he was not there to rock you as a child, to tend your emotional wounds… Vader howls in pain.

What have I done?

To worse all of this, the visions show you running as a young girl from one side to another, hiding, often scared and alone. The more he concentrates, the more he sees with clarity.

When you start to sharp your mind and begin to shield yourself after two years on the run; Vader sees so much of Padmé in you, the braid, the diplomacy when dealing with others, when caring for the victims of the Empire.

An Empire he helped to build.

Vader swallows. But as if the darkness is snapping at him, the visions don’t end there.

A heavy, electrical storm comes to Lothar. Where the people know how to protect themselves, you don’t. You are actually in a spot far from the center when it starts to rain. You are scared, alone in this world. You want to cling onto the anger because of your situation.

However, you are exhausted and lonely. What’s the point of feeling angry? You realize it’s just you and you. The Force seems to calm you without your awareness. You stand and, from wherever you are, you start to run.

“Nothing will stop me now”, Vader hears your thoughts. Your strength is admirable, it reminds him of when he was a child, how he endured the years of slavery. He sees himself in you, though you are definitely a better part of him.

The vision shows you running the faster you can, heart racing loud as a whirlwind seems to chase you. It’s you versus the nature. You are breathless. But you refuse to give up. You begin to get exhausted, and had it not been for an old lady who sees you and helps you out, you’d been swallowed by the growing electric storm.

You won. But your tribulations had just begun…

The vision changes to you nowadays. Vader’s heart breaks when he notices the many years you’ve been by yourself. Not only that but you are not a child anymore, rather a young woman.

He sees how similar you look like Padmé. Your face is no longer chubby, but your blue eyes seem to carry the weight of the world. The shades of your hair have gone darker, you look taller. Vader doesn’t realize his eyes are blurred by tears until they roll down his cheeks.

“I’m coming for you, child. Wherever you are, I am not letting you go this time. Whatever it takes.”

He pilots back to Lothar, aware that there is where you are now.

***

Your POV.

You are at an old Temple Jedi. You look at Kanan in search for answers. But in his eyes he is as puzzled as you.

“Come, Y/N. We are here at long last. How are we going to get inside? Go on and try yourself.”

You hesitate.

“I don’t think I can. The last tests I took a while to succeed.”

Kanan sighs.

“You should have some more faith in you, Y/N. What you lack is discipline. You need to have patience.” He gives you a gentle smile. “Now go on. Do or do not, there is no try.”

You frown, confused.

“How can this be without a try?”

“Master Yoda used to say that…” The Jedi strokes his chin, looking thoughtful. “To be honest, I don’t think I understand much either.”

You chuckle softly before acquiescing. You close your eyes, take a deep breath and after a few attempts, you manage to lift a big rock in a weird shape from a very big size.

“See?” Kanan tells you proudly. “I told you that you could do it.”

You blush.

“Thank you, Master.”

Now the two of you finally step inside. You walk for some minutes before standing before one great door. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so small before.

“By the Maker!” You exclaim suddenly, startling Kanan as your voice echoes.

“What’s it, Y/N?”

You point at two skeletons of Jedi masters sitting right there.

“Ah.” Kanan says. “These were masters who waited for their Padawans who never came back. Now, Y/N, you have to cross that door over there. Can you see it?”

You follow the direction his finger is pointing at. You see an entrance in the form of letter “A” that seems to lead into the unknown. But you are frightened.

“Go on, lass. You can do it.” He encourages you. “Just… don’t do anything you’d do it normally.”

You roll your eyes.

“Very funny, Master.” But you nod at him before proceeding to it.

Your steps are hesitant, but you finally cross the door. You barely do so before the door behind you closes, much to your despair.

“Damn it.”

You question yourself if you can do it. There is darkness ahead you. But you have to be brave. You lift your head and move into the nothingness ahead you. It’s when you finally meet… the Inquisidor.

Not long ago, you and the Ghost crew had come across an Inquisitor who was meant to prosecute the remaining Jedis and destroy them. It wasn’t an entirely surprise that, as part of a rebel cell, he found out the existence of a Jedi amongst your group—your master. The Inquisitor tried to prosecute you constantly, but he never made it. You had come to think he died, but if so what was he doing right before you?

You are about to panic.

***

Vader’s POV.

He finally lands at Lothar. He never considered going to this planet one day. The sand he sees gives him disgust. It reminds him of Tatooine and the mere thought gives the Sith lord nausea.

As Vader does so, removing his mask and lifting his hood, he begins to confabulate a way to approach you. Knowing you are associate to the rebels, and perceiving your Jedi Master is with you, a battle is expected—perhaps.

There is conflict in him, nonetheless. He wishes you no harm, you are his child after all, the very link to Padmé, the daughter he always wanted. That he lost you becomes intolerable to him.

But there is also shame… of who he is, of what he’s become, what he’s done. Would you forgive him for his past, for the path of blood he followed? So many questions make him anxious.

Vader then leaves the ship and moves to an ancient temple Jedi. But for some reason, he does not walk in. No. He waits, he can be patient.

From some distance, his eyes contemplate it with despise and repugnance to the Jedis. So vain, so proud. How better did they think themselves before the Sith?

And yet… Were the Sith any different? His own logic tricks him: you remain kneeling to those above you, when will you be your own master?

A thought that begins to dissipate the dark mists that were once placed in his eyes like a blindfold. Is he starting to see clearly? That he’s been manipulated all along?

The weight of an empire is too heavy for him. It resulted in catastrophic losses, though Vader does not care about others than his own. He closes his eyes, looking for you.

The Force guides him inside the temple. He sees your Master anxiously waiting for you, all the while you are across the door. Your first Jedi trial. It gives him mixed feelings: part of him is proud of your path, you are following in his steps, but… part of him fears what will be of you if you do. He wants to disassociate you from the Jedis.

Yet the question remains: how?

Vader closes his eyes and meditates.

He sees you plagued by the old wound that comes back to haunt you—the fear of abandonment. You are forced to face it as the Inquisitor teases you constantly, and may even imply something about your origins: if you had the Force, how could your parents fail to use it to prevent their deaths?

You try to save your Master, but the Inquisitor manages to kill him, much to your despair and powerlessness. You are then brought to the ship with the crew you are so fond of and they are all pitying you and underestimating you.

However, when the Inquisitor presses you against the wall, you look right into his eyes and say confidently:

“I am not scared of you.”

Something about witnessing this moment makes Vader smile to himself. When he sees you leaving the ancient temple with your master by your side, he hesitates.

And you feel his presence. Vader knows you do. Your eyes seem to find him, the man underneath a vine cape, whose features are omitted by the hood. The male sees you furrowing your brows, confused and alert at the same time.

However, by the time you try to get your Master’s attention, he is gone.

***

Your POV.

“I finally have a saber to myself.” You tell your friends after you spent three hours using the crystal you found at the ancient jedi temple to forge a new lightsaber.

“Now she will not stop talking about it all day.” Sabine sighs.

“Oh please, shut up. You are just jealous.” You smirk at her.

“Well this looks good, Y/N.” Kanan tells you with a hint of pride that makes you beam. “Nice work. Now, let us put it to use, shall we?”

After some trouble in the planet Y/C with two new inquisitors, you are now in the air again. Hera is piloting it in the atmosphere of Hoth, and without some mission to be assigned, Kanan decides it’s time to sharp your Jedi skills.

So there you are: Kanan, Sabine, Zeb, C1-10P and you.

“When I say 1…2…3, now go!”

The droid starts throwing things at you and your whole point is to either deviate from the objects or defend yourself from these with your saber. The first attempts are terrible and you are frustrated.

“You are not concentrating enough, Y/N.” Kanan tells you. “Come on, try again.”

“They are not helping.” You frown at Zeb. “Would you PLEASE stop laughing at me?!”

Zeb and Sabine only roar in laughters as you disastrously try to defend yourself from C1-P10’s teasings.

“In the real world there’ll be distractions.” So you are told. “Carry on, Y/N. Put some effort and concentrate.”

You are grumpy and unwilling to obey when a voice comes in the back of your mind: empty your thoughts, little one, and the concentration will be an easier task.

Had you not been under constant attack, you’d wonder where on earth did this voice come from. It is male, but does not strike to any you’ve known. When you see Kanan shaking his head at how helpless you are, you can tell immediately that it’s not his voice.

So whose is?

(To be continue)

#star wars #star wars imagine #imagine Star Wars #Darth Vader #Darth Vader x daughter #Darth Vader x you #Darth Vader x reader #Star Wars Rebels #Rebels #Kanan Jarrus #hera syndulla #Gazareb

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nonobadcat · 2 years

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A real world AU Gothic Romance - part 2/3

Artwork by the amazing @obsidianne-art

Pairing: Ghost Shigaraki X Fem!Reader

Rating: Readers 18+ only

Content Warnings: Dead dog mention, PnO, V/oy with stalker vibes, self-care of an adult nature, mentions of a rich family being jerks to working class Reader

Chapter Two Word Count: 3.9k, Ao3 Mirror

Part I ---❤--- Part 3

Saturday, October 22nd, 2022

Slamming the door of your ten year old car, you ducked your head under one arm and raced through the cold, October rain. By the time the front door banged shut, wet tendrils of wild hair were plastered to your skin. Wiping your forehead, you kicked off your muddy shoes and threw your patched, Carhartt coat over the grand newel at the front of the stairs.

Making a fake mouth with your hand, you mimicked a nasally whine. “Do you really need to go in and out so many times? You’re letting the cold in! Jayden-Breydon-Ashton-Trenton will get pneumonia and his lungs will be damaged. If my perfect child can’t win at every sport known to man because of you, I'll sue! My husband’s a lawyer! Our congressman will hear about this!” Your tool bag thumped to the floor as you trudged up the stairs grumbling to yourself. “Yeah, and your Karen nonsense is gonna pay quadruple time before I go out at seven on a Saturday cause your dumb brat flushed his plastic army men down the toilet. Again!”

As you turned the final step, your dominant hand’s pointer finger caught on the rail, forcing the already injured digit back a painful 190 degrees. A stream of violent curses poured from your mouth, dripping onto the antique banister with enough acidic bite to melt the finish. Peeling off the plastic Pokémon bandaid, you glared at the inch long slice down the inside of your knuckle.

“Friggen yuppie bedroom communities and their cookie cutter, spliced together McMansions!” you grumbled, slamming a flat palm into the bedroom door. It banged open, bouncing off the newly installed spring stopper before sliding to a halt. Ripping off your coveralls, you tossed the filthy, muck soaked mess into the plastic basket marked “Work Clothes” in half erased black sharpie. “Small wonder the plumbing is always clogged. The builder did such a junk job that crap rolls up the pipes! Another Bryane Homes special!”

Flinging your undergarments to the creamy, hex tile floor, you flipped on the shower, listening to the old pipes thump twice before water finally emerged. Air in the lines again, huh? Looks like this weekend you'd be leak checking everything that "master plumber" did, again. The previous homeowner sure didn't know how to find a handyman.

Stepping past the glass door into the recently remodeled shower of beige stone, you snagged your favorite body wash and mopped the stink of the day off your skin. The splash of water on the stainless drain grate mingled with deep sighs, ventilation fans, and the clunk of your skull on smooth tile.

"I hate humanity!" you groaned, burying your head in your hands.

After completing your nightly routine, you opened the bedroom door, letting the warm, humid air fill the cold, dry room. Hard rain pelted the windows, rolling in thick droplets down the dark glass. Thunder rumbled in the distance as you padded naked and barefoot across the oak floor. You snapped on the small table lamp near your bed and headed for the wardrobe.

The royal purple, babydoll chemise slipped onto your body like a glove. Lacy, princess seams and triangular cups were lined with smooth raylon for discreet, but suggestive coverage. Trimmed with tiny satin bows, the mesh back hugged your curves before dipping into a graceful, flowing skirt. A ruffled hem hung two inches below your crotch line, showing off soft thighs and tiger-striped stretch marks. Tugging on cute panties, you climbed into smooth, cool sheets and pulled the flimsy microfiber comforter over your shoulders. The bedside light snapped off. Heavy lids drifted shut.

The tritone blast of a train whistle rattled through the windows. With a groan, you pulled your flat pillow over your head and buried your face in the mattress. Steady click-clacks accompanied the dull roar that poured in on the blustering winds. Eye twitching, you looked up just as lightning flashed across the room. Caught in the bright glare, red eyes glowed in the mirror.

Hold up, what?!

You sat bolt upright, clutching the cheap blanket to your chest. The pounding of your heart drowned out the next thunder clap. You squinted at the looking glass, but there was no sign of anything but the bathroom light.

Aw crap. Duh. The bathroom!

The bedside lamp clicked back on. With a frustrated snarl, you trapsed across the room and flipped the wall switch, snuffling out the CFL above the toilet. Tugging the door shut, you cast a wary glance at the old mirror. Still nothing there. Shaking your head, you crawled back into bed and flicked the table light off again.

Fifteen minutes after the train blew past, you lay in bed, staring at the cracked plaster ceiling. Though softening droplets made for relaxing background noise, itchy eyes and a wild imagination refused to let you rest. Counting down from one hundred proved useless.You’d tensed and released your entire body muscle by muscle, twice. Four-Seven-Eight breathing did little to ease your racing mind. You swallowed, realizing the one thing you hadn’t tried yet.

Oh yeah right! Like you could get off when those burning eyes were seared into your brain!

Rolling over for the fiftieth time, you spotted the murky outline of the mahogany secretary through the shadows. Huh… Well, if sexy thoughts were too awkward, maybe picturing something cute and heartwarming would do?

You groaned, pressing your palms to your dry eyes. Throwing off the covers, you walked to the old writing desk and flopped down the front panel. The key clicked in the latch. You extracted the picture of the Shimura children and their dog before heading back to bed. The bedside lamp flipped on. Your hand traced the edge of the old photograph.

“Geeze, you both were really cute kids.” You pursed your lips, checking the date. Tidy, pencil lead scrawl read: 1884. “Ugh… The poor dog only made it a year?! Screw that puppy puncher!”

You laid the photo on the nightstand, before flopping back onto your bed. As you curled onto your side, half-stuffed blankets cupped your cheek. You yawned, picturing the sweet smile on the little boy's face. Warm, dark eyes beamed with joy as he clutched his new friend like a treasure. You hummed, grabbing a roll of the comforter and dragging it to your chest. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel soft fur and excited panting, as if you were the one with a puppy in your arms. The steady thump of rain on glass reminded you of a fast paced doggie heartbeat. Buried face first in your fantasy, your breathing slowed. Tired limbs grew heavy as your brain floated away.

“I hope you did okay after everything, Tenko,” you murmured into the blankets. “I wish I could have met you.”

Racing through the pounding rain, you braced a hand over your eyes. The light of the grand house ahead pierced the blurry haze, guiding you up the gravel drive. Slick kidskin boots took the stairs two at a time. Wet hands shoved slimy strands of ruined hair behind your ears. Cold precipitation soaked through your waist-hugging wool coat. The fashionable bell sleeves of the short, double breasted jacket did little to protect your blouse from the elements. Water dripped from the poofy edge of cream silk bishop sleeves. You tugged out the long pins that clamped your toque hat to your head. Rain had flooded the dark beaver felt. The tiny brim sagged low like your mood. With as much dignity as you could muster, you straightened the deep purple kick pleats of your wool skirt before rapping on the door.

Kerosene lamplight spilled out onto the porch as a tall, imposing butler in a double breasted suit stared down at you. “May I help you?” he asked.

You squinted to make out his features, but even holding a lantern, his face was obscured by shadow. Swallowing your nerves, you rolled your shoulders back. The wet plip-plop from saturated silk ruined the image. Still, you raised your chin. “I am terribly sorry to bother you, but my bicycle tire went flat just before sunset. I must have gotten turned around in the lane during the storm and now I’m hopelessly lost. May I stay here until morning?”

“Kurogiri,” a gravelly voice growled from the front parlor. “Show her in.”

“Of course,” the butler replied, bowing at the waist. He held one arm out, gesturing to the open door. “Please, come this way.”

Leaving puddles with each step of your button-up ankle boots, you trod soddenly into the next room. Sumptuous scarlet wallpaper patterned with geometric golden rings glowed in the dim yellow light of the brass and glass wall sconce. A high backed, Rococo revival sofa set sat atop a plush, hand knotted wool rug. Across a throne of golden floral brocades, the evening paper lay tossed aside. You followed long, slender ankles up black merino trousers to a smoking jacket the color of pinot noir. Single breasted and well fit, its shawl collar was trimmed in deep ebony velvet. Instead of buttons, two ornate frog closures nipped in at the waist. White collar unbuttoned to his throat latch and leaning against the window, the master of the house peered at you with burning red eyes. Flowing waves of silver-white hair cascaded around his heart shaped face. When you froze, he scratched the side of his dry, peeling neck and grinned at you.

“Retro suits you,” he teased.

Dumbfounded, you stared at the handsome twenty something.

With a hum, he rose to his feet and moved a plush, small stool nearer to the fireplace. “Kurogiri, prepare a hot bath.”

The butler snapped his heels and headed up the stairs, leaving you dripping on the not-so-old wood floor.

Your host patted the rich, tufted upholstery. “Take off your coat and get warm before you catch the flu.”

Horrified, you waved your hands. “I’m soaked! I’ll ruin your furniture!”

Rolling his eyes, he stalked across the room and snatched up your wrist. “You made it this far barging into my life, why worry about it now?”

As howling wind rattled the bay windows, you shivered.

The slender man pushed you down onto the plush seat, plucking the buttons of your tightly fitted coat before you could protest. He shook it out, spattering water across the ivory carpet before hanging it over the back of a chair. “See?” he demanded, pointing to the pristine rug. “It doesn’t matter here.”

“Here?” You wrapped your arms around yourself. “What do you mean?”

He snorted, flopping down on the sofa. Resting his pointy elbows on his knees, he smirked at your over folded hands. “It’s just a dream. You can’t ruin anything.”

"A dream?" You peeked around him at the elegant impressionist paintings on the walls. Through the open door, you spotted a square based, bone china vase on a familiar mahogany table. Startled eyes flicked back to the man before you. "Hey wait a second, this is—"

"My home," he finished with a taunting sneer. "I lived here long before you did."

You narrowed your eyes, scanning up and down his features. "Who are you?"

With a scowl, he pointed to his nose. "Seriously? You're the one who asked to meet me, idiot."

As he threw himself back in the chair, the kerosene lamplight faded from his face. Dark waves and almond eyes dragged the picture of the little boy to the front of your mind. You lept to your feet in excitement.

"Tenko?! Tenko Shimura?!"

The man before you cringed like he'd been smacked with a brick. Grabbing your arm, he dragged you down to his level. "Don't call me that! That's not my name!"

Wobbly, worn out legs threatened to pitch you forward into his lap. When your knees buckled, panicked hands caught the wooden frame of the sofa. With his face only an inch away, brilliant red irises reminded you of living rubies. Though his brow hair had been burned away and the skin under his eyes looked painfully dry, the adorable mole on his right chin made your heart skip. Your breath caught in your throat. The tiny scar on his left lip curled with his sneer. Blazing heat splashed over your skin, surging up into your head like three glasses of sherry.

Oh crap… he was stupid hot!

"O-oh!" you stammered, forcing a pinched laugh. "I'm… er… um…" Your eyes rolled away from his pointed stare. "Sorry."

With an irritated sigh, he loosed your arm and scratched his neck. "Just don't call me Shimura again, got it?"

"Of course! I'm really sorry!" Swallowing down the stone in your throat, you fiddled with your fingers. "I would have changed my name too, given the circumstances."

He tossed you a proud smirk. "I knew you would understand."

A pointed cough echoed from the door. "Master Shigaraki," the butler called. "The bath is ready, as you requested."

Freshly aware of exactly how close your face was to your host, you jolted backwards. The heel of your boots caught on the plush carpet. Just as you started to slip, Shigaraki wrapped one arm around your corseted waist and pulled you into his chest.

"Shall we go upstairs?" he purred in your ear.

Okay… now you were wet for an entirely different reason.

Step by step, the master of the house led you up the walnut treads towards the far bedroom. He smelled like feral cumin-musk and spicy cloves. As you passed the master suite, you raised a curious brow.

"That was my parents’," he explained, pulling you along. "I never wanted to sleep in the same place as that man."

"Oh…" you murmured, following him into the northern bedroom. "That makes a lot of sense.”

In your-er… his sleeping quarters, the gothic revival bed set and elegant writing desk sat in the same spots as their present-day counterparts. However, the warm amber stain looked much less yellow than in your time. Beyond the pocket bathroom door, polished marble tiles led to a gilded porcelain soaking tub. Steam poofed into the cold air, curling up past cream silk papered walls delicately trimmed with gold leaf. Dried lavender potpourri scented the room. A fluffy towel lay neatly folded on the mother-of-pearl pedestal sink.

The fingers on your corset dipped down to your hips as he loomed over your shoulder. Warm breath tickled your ear. "After your bath, you can apologize properly for your mistake.”

A coy smile curled onto your lips. “Define properly?”

Two fingers gripped your chin and turned your face to his. Red eyes drifted shut. “Take a guess.”

Shigaraki's lips tasted of wine and copper. With a moan, you leaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands drifted to the buttons on the back of your wool skirt. It slumped to the floor, pooling around your ankles. A soft tongue stroked yours. You met his motions with heated enthusiasm. Deft fingers plucked the fasteners of your wet, ruffled blouse until it slipped from your shoulders. Tangling his hand in your stays, he tugged your s-curve corset and its cover free. Your thumbs hooked under your drawers and petticoat, throwing them to the ground. Kicking them away, all that remained between you and him was a thin, silk chemise and one pair of stubborn, button-up boots.

“How on earth do you people even get to the good part?!” you demanded, squatting to fight with the brass closures.

He cackled. “A little excited are we?”

You reached up and cupped the bulge in his trousers. “You’re one to talk," you fired back with a naughty wink.

The pale man groaned, snatching your wrist into his strong grip. His cheeks flushed pink. “If you want to make it to that bath, stop now," he rasped.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you flashed him a saucy smirk. “Bold of you to assume I give a rat’s about the bath.”

All at once, Shigaraki dragged you to your feet, smashing his lips against yours like he intended to eat you alive. As you giggled, he broke the kiss and marched you back into the bedroom. “Wagtail,” he growled, tossing a pillow on the floor.

Settling yourself on your knees, you pawed at the front of his pants. “I don't know what that means, but I like dogs.”

Fortunately for everyone involved, his pants had far fewer buttons than your stupid shoes. You fumbled with the frog closures for only a moment before shoving the velvet smoking jacket out of the way. Untucking his long shirtwaist, your fun screeched to a halt when you encountered long underwear.

“What the actual—” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “So much for a strip tease!” Faking a pout, you tugged on his shirt. “Help a horny girl out?”

With a snort of laughter, Shigaraki quickly shuffled out of his complex layers. By the time you got your damp chemise and stupid boots off, his stiff cock finally escaped its elborate prison. Thumb and forefinger forming a ring grip, you gave him a few experimental strokes. When he tossed his head back, white waves haloed his face. You bit your lip, savoring the ethereal beauty of his fair complexion against those haunting crimson irises.

A firm hand cupped the back of your head. “Now you slow down?” he demanded between pants.

Tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear, you lowered your lips to his weeping, flushed tip. “Calm down. I'm just savoring the moment.”

When your hot mouth slipped over his salty head, the man above you gasped. Hollowing your cheeks, you bobbed your way down, inch by inch. Your tongue stroked the thick vein on his underside, trailing up to the small piece of tissue just below the spongy crown. Flicking the sensitive skin elicited a throaty whimper.

Shigaraki’s strong fingers curled tighter into your scalp as he loosed a garbled curse. “More,” he demanded.

You smirked at the expletive before diving back down.

Taking his generous girth deep into your mouth, your tongue lolled around the edge of his shaft. Your free hand slid up his soft inner thighs. Rolling his balls between your fingers, you shivered when musky precum coated your tastebuds. Harsh pants from above urged you on.

As you worked him further into ecstasy, each stuttered thrust crept closer and closer to the soft roof of your mouth. You angled him away from your gag, swallowing down thick saliva. It didn’t help. Drool pooled at the corners of your mouth, leaving him coated in slick. Wet clicks accompanied choked whines as you worked him to the back of your throat.

Shigaraki squirmed in your hold, guiding you into a relentless pace. Your jaw ached as his swollen cock forced you to spread your teeth wider. Tears welled at your lash line. His filthy moans stoked the heat between your legs. All at once, he stiffed, his hard grip clamping down on your skull.

With a hoarse gasp, he spilled himself down your throat.

Flying up in your bed, you banged your chest as violent coughs wracked your body. By the time you cleared your sore throat, all you could smell was stale, salty breath. You groped for the clock on your night stand. Red LEDs read 3:39am. Your thighs shifted against each other. Wet need stained your panties.

“Not fair!” you whined, slamming your fist into your limp pillow. “Of course I wake up before the good part!”

Flopping back onto the mattress, you rolled onto your side and squeezed your eyes shut. How long you laid there, staring at the back of your eyelids was impossible to say. However, while the digital numbers rolled upwards, sleep danced further and further away. The cravings from your wet dream still burning in your skin, you whimpered and slipped your hand between your legs.

That was when a rip of pain reminded you of that nasty slice on your finger.

Cussing violently, you flipped on the table light. Sure enough, fresh crimson seeped across the previously clotted wound. Throwing off the covers, you gripped your bleeding finger and shuffled off to the cold bathroom. Thrusting your hand under the tap, you gingerly cleaned and dried the injury. The mirrored medicine cabinet rattled open. You peeled a brand new Pikachu Band-aid from its packaging and slapped it over the damaged digit. Closing your eyes, you leaned on the ceramic sink. It was no good. Sharp stabs from your hand couldn’t compete with the hypersensitive need crawling up your core.

As your fingers curled into the thin, cheap towel, you knew what you had to do to fall asleep.

From his glassy vantage point, Tomura watched your pursed lips and frustrated stomping with a pleased sneer. Dragging the flimsy Walmart towel from its mount, you trudged back into your bedroom and threw it on the sheets. Though the light snapped off, he could still see as clear as day. With a raised brow, he watched you ball the fabric under your hips and flop over onto your stomach.

As you began to grind yourself on the towel, a long deceased cock sprung back to life.

One palm flat against the cool bedding, your free hand tugged the stretch lace cup of your slinky nightgown aside. Soft fingers tickled your bare breast before tweaking the pert nipple. You shuddered, loosing a slutty moan.

Leaning against the surface of his mirror, Tomura shuffled himself out of his clothes and gripped his shaft. Watching you roll your body against the rough cloth sent a spike of pleasure through his belly. Erotic creaks from his old bed left his mouth bone dry. Your blood plumped lips and half lidded eyes made for fertile fantasies. Swiping some of the pre-cum from his slit, he began to match your pace.

As you worked yourself further and further into depravity, the show before him left Tomura feverish and panting. He watched your legs curl and slacken as you tried to find the right pressure. A few irritated grumbles accompanied rustling bed sheets. When you finally hit upon a position that made your body clench, he heard filthy pleas spilling for your lips.

“Please,” you begged, your hips vibrating against the rough fabric. “W-want your cock so bad!”

Liquid heat blazed through his veins as he fisted his swollen length. Stoking the fire with each pump, he chased the feverish sensation with single-minded desire. The sound of your eager cries and sight of your fingers teasing the pert nub propelled him forward. Hazy eyes watched your body tremble as he pictured himself balls-deep in your velvety cunt. It should be his hand teasing your tit. It should be his fingers making those slutty noises spill from your puffy lips. He clenched his teeth, losing himself in thoughts of your soft body clamped around his swollen cock.

It was then that a raspy inhale accompanied the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Shi-Shigaraki…” You whimpered his name, burying your face in the mattress. “Mmmm gonna… gonna—”

All at once, he exploded over the glass. Limp body leaning on the frame, he drank in the sight of your heaving chest and dazed smile. He watched you shove the towel to the floor and snuggle into the pillow. As your breathing slowed, one overpowering, addictive thought filled his brain with intoxicating lust.

He had to hear you call his real name over and over in that same, needy voice.

Taglist:

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@m0nim0ni @minnieplier-blog @blehitsriot @moonwad @saikis-seceretcoffeejelly @nainainairi @bakuhoe37 @un-deadinsomniac @nonominchan @utena-akashiya @molita111 @nekolover93 @pimp-in @slaughterbat777 @chxrryvibes @blackchemicals @coldsaladpainter @flamme-meuf2-shiggy @aphorditeslust @just-yer-average-key @rekoii @justnothingguys @weo0o

@rekoii @down-with-the-shigness @softkao @night-shadowblood-writes2

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki tomura x reader #ghost x reader #shimura tenko x reader #tenko shimura x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #fem!reader #bnha shigaraki #ghost shigaraki x reader #gothic romance #bnha shigaraki tomura

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hccn-overseer · 9 months

Text

Issue 17, 8/9/2023 - The Overseer

Issue Masterpost About the Overseer

Weekly Weather Report

By Lydia

Temperatures are represented using Celsius. Sorry, Americans!

Wednesday: Temperatures will reach a high of 30 degrees with a low of 22 degrees. Skies will be clear throughout the day with light showers throughout the evening and overnight.

Thursday: Temperatures will reach a high of 28 degrees with a low of 15 degrees. Skies will be partly cloudy with a breezy afternoon.

Friday: Temperatures will reach a high of 30 degrees with a low of 15 degrees. Skies will be mostly clear throughout the morning and afternoon with light showers throughout the evening.

Saturday: Temperatures will reach a high of 33 degrees with a low of 20 degrees. Afternoon thundershowers are possible, however, it is expected they will be easily avoided, courtesy of Bdubs.

Sunday: Temperatures will reach a high of 25 degrees and a low of 14 degrees. Skies will have scattered showers throughout the day and gusty winds.

Monday: Temperatures will reach a high of 27 degrees and a low of 13 degrees. Skies will be clear throughout the entire day and evening, however, whirlpools will be very active, so be careful if you are going swimming.

Tuesday: Temperatures will reach a high of 28 degrees and a low of 19 degrees. Heavy rain is possible throughout the early morning hours and afternoon, however, late morning and overnight is expected to be clear.

Wednesday: Temperatures will reach a high of 25 degrees and a low of 12 degrees. Skies will be mostly cloudy throughout the entire day and evening.

Now onto other news under the cut!

Astrology Corner: BarbieheimerScopes

(Yes I know that's not how you spell it hush.)

By Corundumcat

Have you been feeling without guidance? Do you look at your birthday, look up your star sign, and wonder, “Will I feel weird after the movie?” “Am I Allan or Kenough?” Don’t worry, here at The Overseer, we can help you.*

Aries: You are the actor Barbie who is in all of the Barbie Movies.

Taurus: You are the Barbie from the 2011 TV series.

Gemini: Ken with the job of Beach. Don’t worry Beach needs you.

Cancer: You are (K)enough. You are the Ken in the third act after “I’m Just Ken”

Leo: Oppenheimer. You are the coffee cup in fantasy movies that somehow made it into the movie.

Virgo: You are the president Barbie.

Libra: You are the Pink Shoes Barbie.

Scorpio: You are the Ken from all of the pre “Barbie and Her Sisters in The Great Puppy Adventure.”

Sagittarius: Allan. You’re unique and there is only one of you.

Capricorn: You are the barbie who shouldn’t have worn makeup to the Barbie Movie. You are the Original Barbie.

Aquarius: You are all of the animals in all of the Barbie Movies.

Pisces: Bibble. <3

All star signs: “I'm just Ken (And I'm enough), And I'm great at doing stuff” - Ken

*Ignore how blatantly specific these are. Nothing bad will happen to you. This author is running out of ideas for horoscopes and is the Barbie with too many jobs. I have like 5 :)

Lost and Found

By Lydia

All of the following items have been brought to The Overseer staff’s office for safekeeping until they are claimed. If you recognize one of these items as yours, please visit us to receive your items, or contact us at [email protected]. Thank you! *Not a real email address.

Item 1: Three perfume vials with ornate designs These perfume vials appear to be made in the style of the 19th century, with clear tints and hexagonal bases and stoppers. They depict designs of Endermen and Sniffers.

Item 2: A pair of brand new sneakers These sneakers have never been worn, as their packaging is still intact. They do not appear to have any specific brand and have very long shoelaces. The shoes themselves are bright orange with blue stripes overtop of them, and white laces.

Item 3: A wooden sculpture depicting abstract interpretations of Joe Hills’ poems This wooden sculpture stands at approximately 5 feet tall. It has various branches, curves, contortions, and concave portions. It is made out of birch wood and is not painted any particular color.

Item 4: A large model of a colorful moth made out of wigs and pipecleaners This model is very large, standing at approximately 8 feet tall and contains various colors, including red, orange, purple, green, blue, and yellow.

Item 5: A costume mannequin This mannequin stands at approximately 5’7” tall and has a very stocky build. It is made out of acacia wood.

Item 6: A dodo bird This dodo bird speaks the coordinates of the Rift in Empires, not the Rift under Grian’s base. It has a saddle. No other speech has been detected from this bird.

Item 7: A miniature diorama of The Shopping District in a bottle Created in the style of a Ship-In-A-Bottle craft, this miniature diorama of The Shopping District is very detailed and can be fully viewed with the use of a magnifying glass.

Item 8: A replica of a L.O.O.T. Shard This meticulous replica speaks in the same voices as those by the Tree of Whimsy. The person who located this item has been cured from past issues and has befriended the voices. They have become silly together.

Item 9: An armor set in an overgrown box This set includes a chestplate with knockback 2, a helmet with sharpness 3, leggings with punch 2, and boots with multishot. The box this set came in was found very overgrown.

NOTE: Lost items will be sent to Twinkly Trash if not picked up after two weeks. A window has already been broken and no one is paid enough to take care of the dodo bird long-term.

Fun and Games

This week's fun and games are brought to you once again by Lydia and Azure!

Word Search and Crossword by Lydia

Brain Teasers by Azure

And that's all for this week folks! Thank you for reading and have a wonderful one :D

#issue #hermitcitizen #hccn weather #hccn astrology corner #hccn lost and found #hccn fun and games

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reversewerewolf · 2 years

Note

for ALL of them: 9, 13, 16, 17, 21, 38

leoven: 1, 8, 11, 14, 26, 45

oleander: 8, 22, 60

my boy naveen: 18, 27, 63

and idk how far you've gotten with soleil and kalliope but: 5, 30, 39

I THINK MAYBE THERE ARE MORE OF THEM THAN YOU KNOW BUT BY GOD I WILL DO MY BEST

D&D character asks here!

From least to most recently created/played:

Naveen Galanodel (drama queen wood elf bard, college of lore):

9. What is their favorite scent?

Sandalwood, the forest after heavy rain, the air when you get close to a body of water

13. If they were a body of water, what would they be?

An ocean. Big personality, lots of drama goes on there, salty

16. What keeps them going?

THE POWER OF LOVE. Like for real. Whenever he wants to give up he thinks about his family and he's like OKAY... OKAY DO IT FOR THEM

17. Does your character swear? What’s their favorite phrase/word?

Not as constantly as you'd think, but yes. "Fuck" is a classic, but he's also kind of mean, so "dumbass" comes up a lot.

18. How does your character act when they want to seem inviting?

Big smile, open stance, polite mannerisms in the sweetest of voices... He tries to be friendly generally, but if he's really TRYING, it gets laid on a little thick.

21. If they were a potion, what would it look like? (Color, glass shape, smell, etc.)

Potion of Naveen would come in a pear-shaped, green-glass bottle with a short neck and a simple cork stopper. A black ribbon is tied around the neck in a bow. The liquid inside smells and tastes strongly of blackberries, and it's milky white but thin like peach calpico lol. There is a pale green swirl inside. Drinking it gives you a d12 inspiration die.

27. If they were a ghost, how would they haunt in the afterlife?

I think this maybe meant to say "who" but I'm answering both. He would haunt his husband affectionately by like... leaving messages written in fogged glass or helping him find things he'd lost or singing to him... And he'd go prank all of his party members by hiding their stuff and making scary noises when they're trying to sleep(/trance).

38. What fairytale/myth suits your character the best?

Beauty and the Beast but he's the beast. He had to do a lot of character growth throughout the campaign lol

63. Which party member would they pull a prank on? Who would they plan a prank with?

He primarily played a lot of pranks on our poor ranger, Rael, who put up with Naveen's bullying like a champ, in their defense... He also played most of his pranks alongside the party's monk, Libra, his BFF. They liked getting up to trouble. <3

Haven Lafrelli (drow wizard, school of transmutation):

9. What is their favorite scent?

Tea leaves, ink, and the pages of an old book

13. If they were a body of water, what would they be?

A creek. Slim and unassuming and flowing slowly along to wherever it ends up...

16. What keeps them going?

His loved ones, the memory of his father and what he would want for Haven, the pursuit of knowledge, and the well-being of his community. He's a nice lad (and if I ever use him again, he'll be a cleric, lol)

17. Does your character swear? What’s their favorite phrase/word?

He doesn't, and according to my group, he was legally not allowed to.

21. If they were a potion, what would it look like? (Color, glass shape, smell, etc.)

Potion of Haven would come in a square, clear glass bottle, with a spherical topper made of light-colored wood. The liquid inside smells vaguely minty, but it looks and tastes like black tea (the best cup of black tea you've ever had, though). If you drink it, you get advantage on Intelligence checks for an hour.

38. What fairytale/myth suits your character the best?

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves but the story is changed to just be about Snow White trying to wrangle the dwarves who have no sense of propriety or self-preservation. So uh... I don't actually know lol

Dro'gul Tem'bukra (the only character I'll ever abuse the apostrophes with) (half-orc barbarian/ranger, beastmaster conclave):

9. What is their favorite scent?

Wood (cut or still in the form of a tree), the heat in the air near a cooking fire, and roses (a favorite of his wife's, and also the name of one of their daughters)

13. If they were a body of water, what would they be?

A river, one of the wide ones you need a long bridge to get over. Normally, he's all good, but if something agitates him he gets a little rough

16. What keeps them going?

His family. He's a wife guy. He also got out of a bad childhood situation that left him with a strong drive to live in general, and to enjoy that life, so I guess he's constantly pursuing happiness

17. Does your character swear? What’s their favorite phrase/word?

He does, and - you MIGHT see a pattern form here later - the word is "fuck"

21. If they were a potion, what would it look like? (Color, glass shape, smell, etc.)

Potion of Gul would come in a lightbulb-shaped bottle with a cork stopper. The liquid inside is a nearly-black red like a dark rum. It smells spicy and a little woody, and it tastes like cinnamon with an implacable sense of "green," like biting a leaf. If you drink it, you feel a brief contentment like being wrapped up in a bear hug.

38. What fairytale/myth suits your character the best?

...........................Cinderella lmao

Mattias Papajohn (yes that is his actual surname and the table hates me for it) (human fighter, samurai archetype [but we play it like a knight]):

9. What is their favorite scent?

Onions and garlic being sauteed, leather, and citrus (primarily oranges)

13. If they were a body of water, what would they be?

A tributary stream flowing into a huge river. He is a relatively insignificant man who is rapidly, unassumingly, and irreversibly heading into something much bigger than him. Lol

16. What keeps them going?

Formerly a sense of duty, but he's about to become an enemy of the state, so... right now he's kind of just... exploring and thinking about where his new place in the world is going to be, lmao

17. Does your character swear? What’s their favorite phrase/word?

Nah, he's too polite... for now

21. If they were a potion, what would it look like? (Color, glass shape, smell, etc.)

Potion of Mattias would come in a chipped, stained-but-well-loved porcelain mug. The liquid is not-quite-opaque and dark brown, with a strong smell, nutty and a little burnt. If you drink the potion, your stamina increases for several hours. It's coffee. It's just coffee.

38. What fairytale/myth suits your character the best?

His life has been too uneventful as of yet to really say. Uhh. Maybe Jack and the Beanstalk if the giant was a nice man. He's met giants. They were lovely!

Oleander (it never came up, but his real name was Roshan Halloran lol) (tiefling monk, way of the kensei):

8. What is something they cannot resist?

Peaches. And cake. He would steal either of those off a companion's plate if they weren't looking.

9. What is their favorite scent?

You know that sort of spicy scent that comes off of tomato leaves? That, as well as baking bread, and ocean salt, in spite of himself

13. If they were a body of water, what would they be?

A little pond that's only disturbed by raindrops or animals moving through it. Passive and reacting to its environment as its main form of change

16. What keeps them going?

Helpin' people. He adopted the party's triton sorcerer as his little brother whether or not said sorcerer was aware of it, so mainly he wakes up each day like "ok, gotta try and keep Aeos out of trouble today." (It never works, but they have fun)

17. Does your character swear? What’s their favorite phrase/word?

Honestly I don't think Oleander talked too much? He's a quiet kind of guy. He doesn't swear habitually or have a favorite expletive, but he's not morally opposed to it.

21. If they were a potion, what would it look like? (Color, glass shape, smell, etc.)

Potion of Oleander would come in a tall, thin bottle with a long neck. The glass has a magenta-to-clear ombre from bottom to top. The liquid inside is a milky, pastel pink that smells like apricot with floral undertones and tastes subtly of peaches. Drinking it increases your speed, as well as your flight response. Despite the name, it's not toxic.

22. What kind of person would they never side with?

He just wants to do good in the world, lol. He doesn't side with people he thinks are morally corrupt, but that can be vague - his hard line is people who treat kids badly.

38. What fairytale/myth suits your character the best?

The Little Mermaid lol

60. Who do they go to when they need to bounce ideas off of someone?

His best buddy, Aeos, despite Aeos' proven track record of, uh... not having the most common sense. Ollie values his opinion regardless.

Leoven Silverfrond (half-elf sorcerer, divine soul with homebrew wild magic):

1. What does your character typically keep in their pockets?

Not necessarily in his pockets, but he always keeps a healer’s kit on his person, as well as his journals (and a pen), an emergency dagger or two, some coin for just in case, and the spell components necessary to re-summon his familiar(s) if something happens to them. Most of his belongings stay in his own pack or the party’s bag of holding, though.

8. What is something they cannot resist?

Any food with honey in it, an earnest request from a person in need, certain pretty faces. Up until fairly recently he was also a doting big brother who gave his little sister everything she asked for, but he's had to step up and be disciplined and he hates it, lol

9. What is their favorite scent?

Rain stuck between blades of grass, cold mountain air, the cologne his hotshot airship captain wears

11. How does your character blow off steam?

Journaling, hiking, reading, cooking, [redacted] His ability to walk it off isn't terrible. Luckily. He hasn't punched anyone yet...

13. If they were a body of water, what would they be?

A hot spring, but there's a secret geyser in it.

14. Does your character value promises? Are they good at keeping them?

He values them highly and he tries really, really hard to keep them. Sometimes there are circumstances that prevent that, but he doesn't just brush a promise off because he doesn't feel like keeping it.

16. What keeps them going?

The vague shape of goals that he needs to reach. He's still sort of figuring out how to reach those goals, but it's important to him that he does. He is also waking up every day to save his family from weird stuff that's going on, and he wants to help his friends, and his friend's family...

17. Does your character swear? What’s their favorite phrase/word?

Hilariously, up until very recently, he didn’t; he wouldn’t even write curse words down in his journal, he just wrote the first letter followed by a long dash. But, a few weeks ago, he found out that his dear friend, Tennessee, and Tenn’s mother, were being spied on by an archmage, and he got so mad that the floodgate finally broke and now every other word out of his mouth is “fuck.” He had, like, 20 years of them all saved up. He’s really making up for lost time.

21. If they were a potion, what would it look like? (Color, glass shape, smell, etc.)

A Potion of Leoven would come in a heart-shaped bottle with a fancy stopper. The liquid inside would be dark blue, with a golden shimmer when shaken, and it would smell lightly floral. Drinking it makes you feel calm (but only for a few minutes)

26. What would they want for their funeral?

Y'know, I think he's the only one of my characters who have actually thought about this? Since he has been keenly aware for the past eight months of his life that He Could Die At Any Moment. With that said, he also can't really afford to be picky about it... He really just hopes that his family can say goodbye in some way and that he's remembered fondly, but sometimes he doesn't think that'll happen.

38. What fairytale/myth suits your character the best?

Is... is there one where the main character is possessed, maybe

45. What would they never forgive themselves for?

Oh he has LOTTTTTS that he already won't forgive himself for lol. Killing innocent people (even though it was in self-defense, and he keeps telling himself self-defense made it okay because if he stops to think about it for even a minute he'll fall apart), compromising his morals even a little bit to keep the little devil in his brain from going completely berserk, accidentally giving his little sister the idea to run away from home due to leading by example...

Kalliope Kalymnos (satyr paladin, oath of the ancients):

5. How does your character express they’re comfortable?

Lounging lol. Flops over anywhere like a content rabbit

9. What is their favorite scent?

Wine, salt, and jasmine

13. If they were a body of water, what would they be?

Also the ocean. Beautiful, powerful, and if she's mad enough, she'll drown you

16. What keeps them going?

She's got monsters to kill!! There's no time to stop!

17. Does your character swear? What’s their favorite phrase/word?

Not particularly often, but she's not against it. It doesn't quite count, but one of her party members taught her to make the jerk-off motion and she thinks it's very funny.

21. If they were a potion, what would it look like? (Color, glass shape, smell, etc.)

Sticks and leaves in a hole in the woods

30. What never gets old for your character? Something your character can’t get enough of?

Light-hearted antics, bacchanalian parties, and straight up salt, which she regularly ate handfuls of out of her ship's stores.

38. What fairytale/myth suits your character the best?

A goat... one. A goat one

39. What does your character believe their party lacks?

Common sense and self-preservation, which means a LOT coming from her. The campaign dissolved so I'm not sure how it would've gone long-term, but the fact that she was trying to mom-friend is INSANE lol

Soleil/713705 ("arcanamist" [homebrewed race but essentially a robot] cleric, forge domain):

5. How does your character express they’re comfortable?

If she jokes around with you, she's probably comfortable with you. I don't think there's a big difference between her being especially comfortable or just... normal, but UNcomfortable Soleil talks a lot, frantically. She's also very physically affectionate with people she's comfy around <3

9. What is their favorite scent?

Y'know, honestly, I'm not 100% sure she has a sense of smell, but if she does, she likes the cold kind of stale air smell in caves. Also the smell of flowers

13. If they were a body of water, what would they be?

An abandoned lake underground, full of crumbling, long forgotten ruins

16. What keeps them going?

She just woke up from a 2500-ish year coma and she has NO idea what she's doing, really. I guess the idea of finding a purpose is keeping her going for now.

17. Does your character swear? What’s their favorite phrase/word?

I don't know if she does? She tries to be polite, so probably not too often.

21. If they were a potion, what would it look like? (Color, glass shape, smell, etc.)

Potion of Soleil would come in a stout purple glass bottle with two small handles next to the neck. The liquid inside is transparent but incandescent, constantly changing colors. It is almost odorless but it smells very subtly floral if you concentrate hard enough, and it tastes like violets but in a subtle, La Croix way where maybe someone threw a violet through water. Drinking it gives you an odd, vague sense of nostalgia.

30. What never gets old for your character? Something your character can’t get enough of?

Hugs tbh, she loves them and thinks it's great that people invented them. She also really loves oranges; she kept peeling them and giving slices to the party as a form of affection.

38. What fairytale/myth suits your character the best?

Sleeping Beauty lol

39. What does your character believe their party lacks?

Cohesion and focus lmao. They didn't all vibe and they got distracted easily. Campaign is on hiatus but hopefully we get to explore together more later

#TY LANCE THIS WAS A NICE WAY TO SPEND AN AFTERNOON LOL #dnd character asks

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brooklynislandgirl · 2 months

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S: SWEETHEART. did your muse have a childhood sweetheart? / M: MOONLIGHT. what is your muse’s ideal date?

Valentine ABCs || -

The look on Ben's face is dubious. Has been since she invited him to climb into the water with her. She wonders if it's the self-awareness that comes with being watched as he starts to undress with grudging slowness. The twitch of his corner of his mouth and the quaint way he looks and then looks away when she rises from the water in full Botticelli radiance. The bubbles help preserve her modesty and his. His bones melt seemingly in the same fashion as his resolve and he sinks down, down, down. Becomes her bedrock sand and she layers herself against him. The oversized antique tub accommodates them both and the water retains surprising heat. Like magick. As is so often the case when Ben doesn't know what to do with himself, he begins conversations mid-thought. Pathways of imagination she doesn't always follow whether because she missed half of what he said or because he arrives at them in a round about way as so often artists and madmen do. Sometimes she's not sure which he is, sometimes she think he's both, and either way, he's beautiful. "Da shark," she answers. She doesn't have to explain which one. Ben is now so familiar with her that he understands the kapu she places on her scar and from there it's easy to extrapolate the villain of the piece."Didn' know den what it meant t' be wanted to da point of consumption. What hunger and need makes of us. Dat it was all gonna be a stark contrast f' da rest of my life, ya know? Den, I only understood how fast it had been, how sleek, an' how kinda sad I nevah got t' really...interact wi' it." She winds her fingers through his.

"Andy use t' say I was stupid, no can have shark sweetheart. I t'ought he was stupid for t'inking you could only love human kine. Our old ways teach dat aut'ority is based on seniority from da major gods to da youngest child, an' dat an elder braddah's aut'ority over da younger could be challenged only when da elder acted wi' unwarranted cruelty or against cultural norms of acceptable behaviour. We used t' disagree a lot, but mos'ly about dat. I guess mebbe he was da first one to realise I was-" Broken. "-Different. Older I got...I nevah really branched out dat way. I had a couple friends ~boys an' girls~ I was pretty close to, but mos' people in my life were Andy's friends an' I jus' kind of tag along. An' mebbe da reason I should be apologisin' to you, huh?" ~*~ She drains some of the water using only her toes to lift the stopper then put it back in place. Same thing she does with the taps to refill the tub and to revive the bubbles. Monkey-toes, Andy used to say when they were little. Beth would counter that it made her good at surfing. Ben doesn't really need to know that, though. Those days are too lost to a time and place she can never go back to, and dwelling in them are meant for private moments where she doesn't have to worry about maintaining appearances.

"Probably sometime in April or September. When dere's enough light and warm in da air ya probably not gonna die of hypot'ermia, but is still softness, da promise of rain in da air an' nature's offerin' her first flowers or last fruits." She knows it's an old joke but there's truth in it even if she hopes to make him smile. "Sometimes I...I just like mindlessly ridin' traisn wi' you. No destination or purpose. Riddem of da rails beneath us, sometimes sharin' music on eiddah side of a single pair headphones. Like goin' t museums an' zoos, too. An' sometimes... okay, mos' times...jus' like curl up on an' around you. Feel your skin on mine. Lissen t' what your body says when you're head is too too full. Sounds creepy when I say it aloud, yeah?" The truth is that Beth doesn't really need much; in some ways she's like a human succulent. A little light, a little water in those few and far between moments, and she's grateful, satisfied with what she is given. "I'm hones'ly happy jus' bein' in your orbit, ya know?" The slightest pause. "Do you....wish I was different?" Better.

#Mahalo!K <333 #He Liko Alii'i|Ben Solo #Ho'okahua|Ben and Beth #Look Both Ways|Modern au #Brooklyn Stories|New York

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auddodd · 8 months

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So, Titian aged up to a teenager! She's got a really cute/cool vibe.

Oh yeah! And we finally decided to hash it out with the work rival all night until we could settle our differences.

And maybe with the help of a little bribery. Still though, it felt like this rival was in the way FOREVER and the work actions did so little each time. I guess it's nice so you're not just rolling through the career but I was at LEVEL NINE!! I JUST WANTED TO BE DONE!!

HELL YEAH HE DOES.

YAAAAAAAY THEN, Titian gets THIS call from her other dad-

Which IS NOT the way I thought it would go, but thinking about it that's probably, in fact, the best way. Now of course they'll stay engaged until Thorne's an elder but I think he just wanted Auburn to know that he's all in this time.

Tish also went through quite a bit of drama.

She got a short-term boyfriend, who she went to a rather uneventful prom with, except a quickie in the photo booth which lead to-

...Uh oh.

So YEAH, this one's on me. See I really wanted to meet a few requirements here between Yellow gen having a good relationship with gen 1 (in this case Thorne) and Titian moving out on her own to a Needs TLC apartment when she's an adult. Of course they can visit, but I feel like Titian's actions might kinda distance her from her dad a bit, and I always kinda took the vibe of the original generation order that the first gen helped nearly exclusively raise yellow gen.

So we get a teen pregnancy storyline! I will say, I waited a good week before doing this so Tish is probably about 15-16 not like, 13. Not that sims teens ever LOOK 13. I think kids pretty much cover kid through tween up to 14-15.

Which is so much insanity for Tish because not only is her first pregnancy this early, it's with TWINS.

She tells her baby daddy, who is not exactly thrilled. And, well. We needed an enemy...

The DRAMA.

Of course, we still need to go to school, and school means PRANKS. I put some Humor and Hi-jinks reward fireworks in her inventory and I'm happy to say

You can 100% light them in school.

Titian went to school the morning after she found out she was pregnant, so she also had to go home and face the dads.

... I don't know how well Thorne took it.

Titian was overall pretty ignorantly blissful about the whole ordeal, beside the arguments she had with her ex. I think she was more the one like "what's the big deal??" and he was the one rightfully FREAKING out.

I think at career day though she realized this could be a big stopper in any school/career progress.

She even tried to host a gathering of her mischief club at the ruins and A)It was raining, B)She went into LABOR.

But we ended off with our THIRD GEN already! Given these are pretty extraneous circumstances.

They're both boys! Their names are Honey and Xanthous. Even though one of them has a very much more "sciencey" name I'm still gonna play it by ear and see which one takes more to science and less to people. Because I also like the idea of the unexpected sibling being the genius.

#rainberry legacy #not so berry legacy #sims 4 #rainberry

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bluedragonbooks · 9 months

Text

Adjacent 11

Running.

Running across a soggy field in the rain.

Elric had the Wizard over one shoulder, his Sword in his other hand and was legging it for a rocky outcrop. Gerry and I had 2 packs each and followed in hot pursuit. In between complaining about his dignity; and extorting Elric to "run faster you fool"; the Wizard fired off the odd fireball which seemed to have zero effect on our pursuer; other than possibly making it even more angry.

I risked a glance over my shoulder and measured the rapidly shrinking distance between myself and the biggest beak I'd ever seen and compared it to the distance to the rocky outcrop. We weren't going to make it.

A moment of terror induced clarity made me reach into my satchel, grab a vial, loosen the stopper and turn and hurl it straight into the beast’s gullet before turning and running.

About 20 paces later the growls of the beast stopped, and there was a distinct thud; I risked turning and having a look as the beast's momentum carried it to my feet. I prodded it, possibly dead, but definitely asleep. I called the others back and had Elric relieve it of its head to be sure.

"What did you do?" inquired the Wizard.

"Sleeping Syrup, enough to lay-down 50 Men for an amputation. My whole stock unfortunately, minus the 3 drops I used on Gerry."

"Shit, ... 3 drops" said Gerry, "Yeah" said Elric.

"What was it exactly?" I asked pointing at the beast.

"Griffon" said the Wizard, "Very territorial, seems it took offence at us taking shelter in its cave and lighting that fire."

"You don't say" I added sarcastically, "Good Eating?" I asked.

"No"

"Ah, well at least we've still got it's cave." I ventured.

"It'll have a mate, and possibly a clutch at this time of year. Have I mentioned they're territorial?"

"Bugger" said Elric.

...

"Gerry, are you any good with a bow?"

"Average, I can hit a shield at 100 paces - but that's about it."

"That's good enough. Wizard, are you willing to spring for a Bow and a Quiver full of arrows? I figure you owe me that much for saving your scrawny arse from the Griffon."

"What are you planning Dafid?" I must have hit a nerve; he usually calls me ‘lad’.

"I was planning to restock my Syrup at the next village using my supply of Mother Syrup. Now, I don't expect I'll be as lucky with a hand thrown vial next time we encounter a Griffon or something; But I was thinking; We normally dilute 1 measure of the Mother Syrup with 100 of Brandy to make the Sleeping Syrup. I reckon dipping an arrowhead in a mixture of Mother Syrup and pitch or pine tar would let Gerry give Elric a bit of help in an emergency, and at 100 paces at that."

...

As a village Healer you're just as likely to be called to tend an animal as a person. Now, I knew a large Horse weighed as much as 5 big men.

"Wizard, that Griffon - would it weigh as much as 5 large horses?"

"Probably."

"And are we likely to meet anything much bigger?"

"Other than a Dragon ... no."

Right then, so a Griffon weighed as much as 25 large men. 5 drops per man, 25 drops to the measure … 5 measures of Sleeping Syrup was enough to put 25 men to sleep, or a Griffon ... hopefully.

One Measure of Mother Syrup made 100 measures of Sleeping Syrup, which meant one measure of Mother should be enough for 20 arrows. Except, the only test had been at twice that dose, and I had no way to safely test a lower dose. Unless we went back to the cave …

So, if my 10-measure vial of Sleeping Syrup had taken the Griffon down quickly; best to use 2 measures of Mother Syrup for 20 arrows ... to be on the safe side.

Now we were getting somewhere. I just had to figure what I could mix it with to make it stick ... that wouldn't spoil it; and then figure out how to test it.

...

"Gerry, do you trust me"

"Of course."

"Do you trust me enough to let me stab you with a small pointy stick tipped with Sleeping Syrup?"

"Last time I was out of my head with lust for a day and a half."

Shit - Time to fess up. I'd been hoping to avoid this.

"This Sleeping Syrup should only affect you for 6 hours; and it'll just make you sleep; last time ... last time I used an enchantment ... but only to make you horny and help with your shyness; and I'm sorry but I forgot to break the enchantment before I left, and I only remembered later.

"Oh, so you tricked me ... tricked me into wanting you?" He sounded hurt.

"No, I didn't trick you; I knew you wanted me, and I wanted you too. But we needed to get away ... and even after the lights were out ... remember ... remember you were too shy to come into my cell, even after I took my clothes off."

"You came back to my cell 3 times after the lights went out, and you still didn't come in. I didn't use the enchantment until then."

"Oh" I could tell he was still hurt.

I kissed him, but he didn't respond.

"Would it make you feel better if I let you stab me instead? and let you use me while I sleep?" This wasn't ideal, I needed to monitor how it affected someone and being the someone would complicate that.

He grinned at the thought. "I'll let you stab me, but I get to fuck you first, and then again tomorrow after I wake up."

"You can fuck me every night for a week if you want."

I started by taking off my clothes.

#Adjacent #lgbtq fiction #fantasy

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caranelguild · 1 year

Text

November 3, DY 26

Our adventurers, their hut of protection dissolved, are forced to face the hill goblins directly. Ainsley, being the largest target, is surrounded, and only her warding magic keeps her on her feet in the face of the barrage. Zilybar, on his own, faces his own collection of attackers but remains light on his feet, moving around the rainy slopes by his old comrade Thouli the performing bear.

Roy and his various auras and divine spirits bolster and support his allies, but when a hill goblin breaks from the front lines to stand upon a hilltop and drum a vivifying beat upon its protuberant stomach as it hollers out a song, the goblins double their efforts and Lagoruth is cut down.

Ainsley and Zilybar individually struggle against the onslaughts against them while Porsche and Roy battle their ways to support their fallen friend - Porsche dealing aneurisms and psychic damage left and right while Roy deals health to the unconscious swordsman.

Zilybar eventually gives himself enough space to properly connect with Thouli and his stirring speech inspires the bear to take his life into his own paws - the goblin holding his chain is quickly pounded into the earth by the bear’s massive paws. The performing gnome, however, is slashed and battered to the edge of death and retreats into Roy’s bolstering field to gain some adrenaline.

Back on his feet, Lagoruth joins Ainsley on the one side while Roy fills in on the other; with Porsche’s ranged support, they relieve the goliath and cut down her attackers before spreading out to clean up the field.

Lagoruth eviscerates the blood singer as Roy, divinely inspired, leaps into the twilit air and stays there forty feet up, ringing death gongs in the minds of the scattering foe.

Thouli the bear tears apart a nearby goblin who had hurled a stoppered gourd at him.

The last goblin flees, but Zilybar and Roy are after it without hesitation - Roy causes it to stumble at the sound of a divine bell, and the gnome finishes it off by skewering it through the top of the skull.

Ainsley, utterly exhausted after holding off four or five goblins alone for the brunt of the combat, faints. Porsche scratches a memorandum of victory on the standing box by the path, then notices something shiny on a nearby corpse and loots a belt buckle locket, finding a beautifully painted portrait inside. Noticing his companion has fallen, Roy drifts back to earth to heal Ainsley before conjuring his protective dome again, to ensconce them until the morning this time.

Zilybar tries to communicate with Thouli, telling him to head back east to the woodland on that side of the south road, ignoring the pleas of Porsche to dress the bear up like a lawyer to accompany them to the prison. Feeling Thouli’s time as a performer has passed, Zilybar staunchly follows through with his kinder plan and the bear departs.

On first watch, Porsche heads east after the bear. Not bringing a light, they are brought up at the end of the bear’s trail on the south road, where the rain has washed away any tracks visible in the severely dim ambient light. They call out after Thouli in proper Kanye West guild fashion: “Tina! Tila? Toola! Tiny!” Porsche thinks they see a shambling form enter the woods a distance away, but after calling out for another minute it is not a friendly bear but a flickering pair of glowing eyes that appear in answer at the woodland’s fringe.

Porsche establishes a psychic link with the creature connected to the eyes, and when it becomes clear that it desires Porsche’s warm blood, Porsche, instead of being put off in the least, attempts to pitch a business partnership.

Their proposal is ignored, and a fluttering piece of darkness detaches itself from the gloom of the woods, accompanying the pair of eyes into the air, floating towards the bartering sea elf. In a flash, the spectre is sharing intimate space with Porsche, and they are not quick enough to react to the suddenness of it - the monster is suddenly a physical being, long-limbed and featureless except for its eyes and an elastic mouth that presses softly but with terrifying swiftness against Porsche’s neck.

A substance enters our adventurer’s bloodstream and they are not able to resist its call; Porsche drifts into a beautiful dreamscape: they are suddenly lying in a colourful bower being tended to and gently kissed by giant, soft white maggots.

Lagoruth, having been in his trance, had noticed Porsche depart. After they have not returned after a couple of hours, Lagoruth decides (reluctantly) to head off after them.

Lagoruth is able to conjure a light on one of his swords and so finds it easy to follow the sea elf following the bear along the soft, wet ground. After an hour of travel, with resigned premonition, Lagoruth picks up the pace and runs the rest of the way to the road.

Meanwhile, Porsche awakens paralyzed, their body tingling, in some sort of organic sack, marinating in a sweet smelling viscous liquid. As feeling and mobility return to them, they discover the chunks floating alongside them are bones - and they discover that the liquid is an acid, slowly burning their flesh off.

Their body is still mostly immobile, but psychic blades require no motion; Porsche begins hacking at the inner membrane of the sack. Before they can cut through the hidelike exterior, some large shape lands upon the outside of it, sending it swaying, and crawls to its bottom where a strange noise precedes a gentle sucking of the liquid by Porsche’s burning feet.

This sucking draws down the level of the acid before, after a horrible gurgling sound, new acid begins bubbling up to refill the capsule. Porsche throws caution to the winds and draws in a deep breath, fulling submersing themselves in the acid in order to accurately hack at the tiny hole at the sack’s bottom with the physical dagger from their belt.

They are all too successful, and their weight finishes the job before they’re prepared for what follows - they barely manage a slipping grasp of the horrid sack to slow them before tumbling down to the bottom of a tree, in the branches of which hangs the torn cocoon hangs, one of six, like a deflated balloon among a collection of gigantic testicles.

The horrible featureless creature stares down at the escaped sea elf with its baleful lantern eyes.

Undeterred by their experience heretofore, Porsche resumes their shark tank pitch as the acid continues to burn them - convinced the creature will listen to good business reason until consciousness drains from Porsche’s tortured body and they drop limp and melting to the roots of the tree.

But the tree is not far from the road and Porsche was nothing if not confident; their solid arguments may not have swayed the horrid spectre, but they do reach the road, just barely, and Lagoruth - who has just encountered Thouli at the fringe of the wood - can’t think of anyone else but his companion who would be speaking so loudly in the woods in the middle of the night. He says goodbye to the bear and heads towards the voice, coming upon the oak tree and its dangling sacks just as the monster latches onto Porsche’s body and begins lifting it into the air.

Lagoruth doesn’t hesitate. He wasn’t keen on having to follow his companion out into the rain, but he’ll never hold back when there’s fighting to be had even if he sort of thinks Porsche deserves to melt a little bit in horrible fluids.

He leaps upon the tree’s gnarled and exposed roots and forces the monster to release Porsche, but finds the creature’s body reacts to his sword’s blows by turning vaprous at the point of contact, surely taking at best reduced damage from his blows. But he presses on regardless . . .

Meanwhile, safe, warm, and dry, Roy wakes up momentarily and notices his missing companions. Exhausted from the amount of divine connection he facilitated during the night already, he decides the best thing to do is to return to sleep.

Zilybar dreams of the circus, but all the guests are hill goblins; Ainsley dreams of swimming in gold coins.

#augleth #dnd #d&d #chapter 13

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pawfulsofmischief · 2 years

Note

I know your bio says Jegulily but can you do Jegulus with “ wanna play some mario kart? it'll give us both a reason to cry when you beat me. “ If you don’t wanna do Jegulus any ship is fine really

Oh yeah, I'm all for Jegulus too! I'd have it in my bio too but I feel like it's already cramped lmao

The sitting room was quiet, aside from the annoying tick-tock of the analog clock on the wall and the soft sprinkling of rain against the large picture window that took up most of one wall. Dark clouds blotched out the night sky, casting errie shadows on the forest that surrounded the house and made it near impossible to see much beyond a few feet out the window. The only light illuminating the sitting room was the television that hung on the adjacent wall.

James was, as usual, sitting completely wrong on the couch. His legs hung over the back while his head hung upside down off the seat, staring at the television as it played some random documentary he'd landed on. He wasn't exactly paying attention, too worried about Regulus and Sirius who were both off having dinner with their parents. Why they'd agreed, James still couldn't understand, but they had. So James and Remus were staying at their respective homes, ready for when their significant others returned from the torment that was Walburga and Orion Black. Harry and Teddy had been dropped off with Lily and Pandora for the weekend to give the couples time to deal with whatever hell they had to handle.

The front door slammed open suddenly, shocking James enough to try and scramble up from the couch, only to go tumbling off it in his rush. He could hear Regulus's angry muttering as he worked his shoes and jacket off in the small entry alcove that hid the front door. James was barely on his feet again when Regulus was making his way out of the alcove and b-lining towards the kitchen.

Without a word, James hurried after him, his worry growing worse by the dark look on Regulus's face. James knew Regulus, he knew him like the back of his hand or the smell of his mother's famous chicken curry she would make every time he, or Sirius when he arrived, had a bad day. Regulus didn't often let his emotions show like this, but he especially tried to hide any negative emotions around his friends. So the dinner must've been horrid.

James watched as Regulus opened up their rarely touched cabinet of alcohol, where they kept their strong booze since they hardly ever drank at home. Both of them were much more social drinkers than anything and hardly ever got very drunk. He frowned as Regulus went for the bottle of bourbon, half drunken and an old wedding gift from Sirius and Remus.

"Jaan, what happened?" James asked, moving over to put a hand on Regulus's, stopping him mid motion before he could pull the stopper out with shaky hands. "This isn't like you."

Regulus let out a heavy breath, not meeting James's eyes. He didn't try to pull away though, nor did he fight for the bottle as James slipped it from his hands and set it down onto the marble counter with a soft clink. James watched as Regulus's throat bobbed, the way his breathing was a little irregular and the way he clenched his hands into fists when they had nothing in them. Carefully, James pulled Regulus, sliding his arms around Regulus's shoulders to draw him into his chest.

He melted. As soon as James had his arms around him, Regulus slumped into him and tightened his own arms around James's waist in an instant. His forehead pressed against James's collarbone, and James let his eyes close as he pressed a long, lingering kiss to the top of his head, ignoring the cold rain that still clung to him. A sob escaped Regulus after another moment of trying to hold it in. Not a sad or depressed one, but a sob of anger that went right to James's gut.

Neither spoke for a long few minutes as Regulus let himself finally go, shoulders shaking and tears mixing with rain that soaked into the collar of James's sweater. James gently rocked them ever so slightly side to side, running a hand up and down Regulus's back to try and soothe him. It took longer than usual to calm him down, to hear and feel the sobs lessen to soft sniffles and huffs.

"What happened, jaan?" James asked again when he knew Regulus would be able to answer, should he choose.

Regulus was quiet for another moment before letting out a slow, much more even breath. "I hate them," he said, so quiet and soft James would have missed it had they not been pressed together so tightly. They both knew Regulus hated the Blacks already, but Regulus also still had troubles expressing it. Going against the word of his parents even twenty fives years after he'd escaped their clutches at eighteen.

"I know," James said, running his fingers through the back of Regulus's hair. "We all do."

"They-" He huffed out an almost-growl, "they threatened to ruin our lives if one of us didn't rejoin the family properly. Not just ours, Sirius and mine, but everyone's. Harry and Teddy, You and Remus, even Marlene, Dorcas, Lily, and the others!"

Regulus scoffed and pulled back enough to run a hand over his face, keeping one still on James's waist as he did so. "Now that Sirius and I have made names for ourselves, they want to try and take the claim for all the work we've done. Like they've done anything."

"I can't imagine any of that went down well," James said, raising a brow slightly at Regulus.

"Not even slightly," Regulus rolled his eyes. They were a bit bloodshot, and the skin around them was puffy. His nose and cheeks were red, and his lips looked like they'd been chewed to bits. They likely were, with Regulus always biting at them when no one else was around. "They wouldn't even stop dead naming me or misgendering Sirius."

"Are you two alright? They headed back to Remus, right?"

Regulus nodded, letting his forehead fall back against James's collarbone. "They're with Remus now, they texted me when they got home. I texted them just before stepping into the house, so they know I'm alright too."

"Good," James murmured against the top of Regulus's head. "What did you two do? I expect neither of you accepted their terms?"

A loud, dry laugh escaped Regulus, who's hands tightened their hold on the back of James's sweater. "No. No, Sirius made sure I didn't cave. I'm a lawyer for fucks sake. I shouldn't be the one that's nearly threatened into folding."

James lifted a hand to Regulus's chin to lift his head so their eyes could lock. He gave him the sternest look he could, which was quite stern after nearly ten years of being a father. "Regulus, you are so, so strong, but they did everything they could to break you when they raised you. You didn't fully get rid of their influence until you were nearly twenty-three. Sirius was able to break their hold when they were sixteen, they don't have as much trauma as you do. Give yourself credit for being able to hold out at all."

Regulus sniffled again, though his eyes were dry now and he had that renewed spark of fire in his stormy grey eyes. James knew Regulus knew everything he was saying, that he'd gone to therapy long enough to accept and love himself even with everything that had happened. But there were days where Regulus still couldn't get out of bed, or he'd be terrified of seeing Sirius because he thought Sirius still hated. Times when James would have to pull Regulus to the side from wherever they were and talk him down from a panic attack and renew that knowledge that he was loved, that he had a whole new, big family that didn't want to hurt him like the Blacks did. Most of the time it was the stress of his job, being such a big name lawyer that saw some very tedious or dangerous jobs.

"I shouldn't have to rely on Sirius though," Regulus said, his voice low but not weak. "I should be able to stand up to them and call them on their bluff. Because that's all it is. They can't ruin our lives without destroying everything they have, because Lily and I are the best damn lawyers there are in this country."

James smiled at him, leaning down to press a kiss to Regulus's nose. "Exactly, you're brilliant, and you'd have absolutely flattened them if they'd tried. Just because you needed Sirius's help to stand up to them face to face doesn't mean you would have let them go through with their plan, whatever it was." Regulus huffed, grabbing the back of James's neck to pull him down for a proper kiss. James indulged him for a moment before pulling back to whisper, "I love you, through thick and thin."

Regulus hummed softly against James's lips, eyes still shut, "I love you too, you big softy."

Laughing lightly, James kissed him again, a bit harder. They swayed slightly as James leaned over Regulus, slipping an arm down to pull his waist closer to make him bend backwards. Regulus grabbed onto James's torso a bit harder to keep himself up, though James wasn't about to drop him, and the two pulled away laughing lightly.

"Now, let's get a drink, a small one," James said, giving Regulus a quick peck on the cheek as he detangled their limbs and turned to pull down a couple short glasses. "Would you like to play Mario Kart so we both have a reason to cry tonight, once you've thoroughly beaten me?"

Regulus laughed again, wrapping his arms around James's waist from behind while James poured them each a small bit of the bourbon. "I'm not crying anymore tonight, mon bonheur," he said, lips pressed against the back of James's neck, "but I will gladly destroy you in mario kart. Without Harry around I won't have to hold back at all."

Putting the bottle back in the cabinet, James turned around in Regulus's arms with a cheeky grin. "Now those are fighting worse, jaan," he laughed, running a hand through Regulus's still wet hair. "Maybe I'll finally manage to win a round tonight."

"Not likely," Regulus winked, snagging a drink from the counter while placing a kiss on James's cheek before smoothly sliding away without letting James retaliate. "You've never once beaten me."

"Stop cheating and I just might!" James replied, hurrying after Regulus with a glass in his own hand.

The smile on Regulus's lips and the laughter that bubbled up from him put James's nerves at ease. He loved to hear Regulus laugh and joke around, something that he only ever did in the company of those he called family. It meant that what happened at dinner wasn't nearly as bad as James had originally thought, and they could put off handling it until the next morning. For now, they had a score to settle.

James never did win a game against Regulus, but he was happily rewarded for loosing by Regulus snogging the daylights out of him.

send me a ship + prompt and I'll write a oneshot for it~

#jegulus #starchaser #wolfstar #james potter #regulus black #ficlet #i took a little leeway with the prompt line #but I think this works well enough #desi james potter #gn sirius black #trans regulus black #oh this only took an hour #i thought i'd been writing for longer lmao

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jomiddlemarch · 2 years

Text

Teaser from my latest Darklina GBBO AU WIP...

She wasn’t hiding. It was an absolutely glorious, sunny day, one the producers would have expressly ordered for the last episode and the announcement of the winner if it had been up to them, and everyone else was experiencing the light-induced euphoria only found in those who lived in perpetual rain or the prospect of it. All around her, friends and family milled about, eating portions of the three show-stoppers and the tea sandwiches and orange squash the caterers had provided to round out a perfectly English picnic, and Alina told herself it was quite all right to slip away into the practice tent and just take a moment for herself...

#shadow and bone #darklina #GBBO AU #sequel #WIP teaser #alina x aleksander #baker!alina #judge!aleksander #modern AU

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isolaradiale · 3 years

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The dark hues of the evening blended to lighter, softer blues of dawn. With every minute, the creatures of the museum began to slow until they stopped altogether, all at once. Whatever they were doing, they dropped it, and began to move their way to the places they had been before the museum took a turn for the lethal.

The artwork climbed back into their frames, stepped onto their pedestals, and walked back into their display cases. A light rain outside washed all the street paint away, color emptying into the drains in the city. Landscapes let their prisoners out, shutting the windows to their world.

Those unlucky enough to earn a spot on the Wall of Shame reappeared in the lobby, their wounds appearing as colorful splashes of paint, and nothing more.

As the oranges and golds of the sun trickled in through the ornate windows of the museum, a blaring voice interrupted the stillness as the intercom museum sparked to life.

"Goooood moooorning, my lovely little visitors! The door to the museum will be opening shortly. Please make your way back to the lobby in an orderly fashion, and be sure to grab all your belongings!"

As Capella promised, the large wooden doors opened once again, releasing all the prisoners of the museum.

"Thanks for visiting the Tempus Museum! Janus, did you want to say any parting words?" "I'm mortified enough as it is, thank you." Came a muffled voice from behind, sounding much less enthused.

"Aww, somebody's cranky... Well, suit yourself!"

As if to add *Extra Enthusiasm*, as everyone exit the doors, they passed by Capella's invulnerable form as she personally waved everyone goodbye, stickers glittering in the morning sunrise. Janus was still sitting at the reception booth, head in his hands and rubbing his temples.

"Bye bye! Goodbye now! Goodbye! Buh-bye! Bye now!" was the chorus that trailed off as she spoke, bidding farewell to the museum's visitors...

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Thank you, everyone, for participating in our recent event: Canvas! As a reminder, you will receive event participation IF:

You've written a starter, thread, mini, or interacted with someone else using the event setting for parts 1, 2, or both.

You've written a 500 word drabble using the setting of the event for parts 1, 2, or both.

You did not have to participate in both parts to receive event credit (so if you only wanted to participate in part 1, it still counts!)

Remember that for participating in the event, you can give yourself 100 stars to use in the marketplace!

A few things have changed as a result of this event, also:

The Tempus Museum has decided to make its home in the Archimedes ward, for now, not far from the Theater of Calliope. Its structure and function is largely the same, but the Optimized Tools won't be there. The artwork won't come to life and attack you, either... during the daytime, that is. You can check out its full description on Archimedes' page!

Janus still takes his place as the museum's curator, and does his best to accommodate guests of the museum. It's not uncommon to see him taking and teaching courses and workshops in the museum, either! He's still polite and eager to help with anything involving the museum and its activities, but if asked questions about the Stars or Spirale, he'll politely explain that he doesn't want to get anyone into trouble. As in the event, on the odd chance that someone is hostile and violent toward him, they'll instantly be killed, and will respawn back in their room.

Thanks again for participating in Canvas! We hope you had a great time!

Frequently Asked Questions:

"Do the things we made turn back to normal?"

Yup! If you didn't destroy it in Part 2 of the event, whatever you made will turn back to normal.

"Will our artwork try to kill us at night?"

Nope! If you took it with you, it's of no danger to you. If you kept it on display at the museum, it's also no danger to you (or anyone else for that matter.) Only the original stock monsters of the museum come to life at night. But unless your muse breaks into the museum, you have nothing to worry about.

The monsters still have their damage invulnerabilities, so unless your muse has a death wish, maybe don't break into the museum without some serious planning. Shady art theft rings will buy your stolen artwork for a hefty price, though, so whether it's worth the risk or not is up to you.

The more often your muse breaks into the museum, the more the monsters will recognize their patterns. Breaking into the museum more than two times is almost impossible, and should be reserved only for the most cunning of thieves.

"What if we made weapons or jewelry? Can we take those back home too?"

Sure! Just know that the weapons will go back to being fragile, and will shatter if used in combat. Any jewelry will look very convincing, but if you try to sell them to anyone, they'll identify it as a fake. Not that they won't buy what you have anyway, but it certainly won't be worth the price of actual precious stones and minerals.

"Can we go back to the museum?"

Yes! It's open to the public from sunrise to sundown, unless there's a nighttime gathering at the museum (which you're free to come up with on your own if you'd like to use it in a setting for a thread.) You could also theoretically break in or sneak in, or hide until the place closes, but you run the risk of running into the guard patrols... or worse.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ (Epilogue)

As the visitors left the building, Capella skipped over to the front desk. Caelum emerged from the darkened corner of the lobby to join her, with the rubber stopper on his cane making soft thumps on the elaborate stone tile.

"Well, that was fun! Thanks for letting us use your museum, Janus." "You're... welcome, I suppose." "Good good! I'll come back here when I make more pieces to show off to the lovely people of our Spirale."

Punctuating this, her hands went up to playfully pat his cheeks.

"Ooookay! Well, until next time! And as for you, Dr. Caelum, I'll see you at this afternoon's meeting or whatever, right?" "Aha, yes I'll be there."

Saluting the both of them, her form vanished into a series of pixels, leaving the other two at the desk. Now that she was gone, the AI turned to give a pointed look at his father.

"...Mmm. Still angry, eh?" Came a chuckle, but the other didn't look so amused.

"You know, at one point, I would have congratulated you for feeling slighted. And I would have celebrated you experiencing such a thing. But you've been around for so long that these things come naturally to you now, don't they? Feelings like being angry... Now I just feel bad when you're upset like any other human."

Another more cheery laugh, and he walked himself over to the doors, motioning the other to follow. With the crowd gone, he could finally step outside and stand on the steps.

"...I am sorry for causing you trouble." "I know." "Good, I'm glad that came across." "I'm still irritated, don't get me wrong." "Yes, yes. I don't doubt it." "And I'm not sure if anyone will come back after such a thing. I wouldn't blame them. I just wanted a place to contribute to this whole thing, and now it's all..."

Sighing, he sat on the first step, watching the rest of the street illuminate in the warm glow of the sunrise. He only realized the old man beside him was trying to sit down when he gave a little huff of effort, and immediately helped his father down beside him.

"Ahh. Much better, thank you." "I could have gotten you a chair..." "Haha, that's alright. If you can sit on the steps, so can I."

For a while, the two sat in silence, watching the streets of Archimedes begin to wake up. Cars stirring, cafes opening, people walking their dogs.

"...Are you doing alright over there?" Janus asked, not turning his head.

"About as well as I can, mmhm." "You still have your migraine medicines down there, right?" "Mmhm. Dr. Lyra has been taking good care of my health, don't worry." "She's the nice one, isn't she? That's a welcome change from the other facility..."

A hand went to the Ai's shoulder, patting it reassuringly.

"Instead of worrying about my health, you should direct that concern inward, Mortimer. You have a place where you can walk around, do all sorts of things humans do. Talk to people, make friends. Play games, read books, paint your lovely canvases. You're not confined to the life we lived three years ago."

Silence followed for a little until the young man leaned against the older one. He must be pushing 70 at this point, right?

"...Are you in a place where you can refer to me by my name? And not that Star code that they made?" "Well, no. Not really. But I don't think anyone's listening. So I don't care~" "Ha! Rebellion got you into this mess, didn't it?" The AI replied with a laugh, earning another from his father.

"Well. Messes that they were, I can still sit with you without you being stuck behind a screen. So even after all the hells we've been through, I'd call that a success. Wouldn't you?"

A smile cracked on his face. They have gone through a lot.

"A success... it's nice to finally call something a success again, father. It's very nice."

#Isola Event: Canvas

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smage17 · 3 years

Text

The Simplest Thing in the World

Title: The Simplest Thing in the World Pairing: Dio Brando x Jonathan Joestar Rating: G Tags: Modern AU, Reincarnation AU, Established Relationship, Sickfic, Fluff Summary: When Jonathan comes down with a fever, Dio takes up the task of caring for him. The only problem is he isn’t exactly sure how. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rain had been drizzling down since morning, turning the day a murky grey. Even with the furnace turned up, that autumn rain left a chill throughout the house. Horrendous weather. Not the kind that Dio would have stepped foot in, let alone stayed out all day digging around in — which is why Jojo should have listened to his advice and not gone out on his scheduled dig off in the countryside. Instead, he had carried on about the logistics of postponing the survey, how desperately excited he was to uncover whatever knick-knack he was hunting for this time, until Dio had given him a cold shoulder to rival the weather outside. Not to be swayed when he’d set his mind to something, Dio could do nothing but begrudgingly accept Jojo’s kiss on the cheek as he walked out the door. And so, while he should have been relaxing on his day off, Dio had sat restlessly by the fireplace all day, distractedly thumbing through novels and case files. He tried not to think about the weather or the memories it brought up, and especially not about how much he wished Jojo were next to him right now. It’s not as if the two were bound to each other, after all — except by the threads of fate, perhaps. Dio didn’t feel the need any more to keep Jonathan under his constant surveillance. After they’d settled the initial problems between them, the loose threads and things left unsaid from their past life together, they managed to have a comparatively less fraught relationship. It was easier to be honest, with the gift of hindsight. To do things right this time. They’d even gotten married three years past. Dio didn’t need Jojo by his side, he reminded himself. It was only that he didn’t like his correct advice being ignored.

And so he certainly didn’t perk up in excitement when he heard the lock turn on the front door. That not-excitement quickly faded when the door swung open and he saw the figure standing there. Jojo was soaked through from his hat down to his boots, hardly recognizable from how sodden he was. “Bloody hell Jojo, what happened to you?” Dio said, setting his book down and making his way over. He stayed decidedly back from the splash zone as Jonathan unburdened himself, setting his gear bag down and hanging his coat to drip over the mud tray next to the door. Jonathan let out a groan. “Umbrella broke halfway from the station. I hadn’t expected it could rain this hard!” He gave a laugh, but there was no mirth in it. “Didn’t I warn you of the forecast just this morning?” Dio huffed, although he was already on his way to the kitchen for a towel. He rejoined Jojo shortly, continuing to reprimand him even while drying his hair. “I told you to forego the dig, and now look at what a sorry state you’re in. If you had listened to me, Dio, instead of traipsing off like a fool, this never would have occurred.” Dio paused, waiting for some sort of retort or excuse from Jojo, but the man just stood there letting himself be ruffled and dabbed at with the towel. Through the folds of fabric Dio could see Jonathan’s face, an abject picture of misery. It was like a puppy who’d been thrown into the streets and kicked a few times for good measure. Dio didn’t have any sympathy for such mutts, but Jojo was his. He couldn’t allow a look like that to tarnish his husband’s features. He slowed his ministrations with a sigh, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “Gods Jojo, you’re like ice. Go get changed and have a seat by the fire before you catch your death. I’ll make you some cocoa, hm?” “Really?” The eyes peeking out from beneath the towel and damp tendrils of hair had already begun to regain some of their sparkle, and his lips were curled up in a barely restrained smile. Decidedly undoglike already. Yes, this was the way Dio preferred Jojo to look. With a nod, he gave the towel one last ruffle and headed back to the kitchen. He tried not to think about how much Jojo would drip on the floor on his way to their bedroom.

When he came back to the living room, Jojo had put on his warmest flannel pajamas and was bundled by the fire in the tartan blanket Dio had been wrapped in just moments ago. His eyes were half-closed, and he seemed about ready to doze off in the comfortable warmth. It brought a smile to Dio’s own face as he settled down on the couch next to him. “Here you are.” He said, handing the mug over. He was certain the rich cocoa — complete with the tiny marshmallows Jojo loved — would have him forgetting about his miserable walk from the station in no time. Then Dio could go back to saying “I told you so”. Jonathan sipped at the cocoa, mug gripped in two hands for the warmth. Dio leaned into him. “There, does that make you feel better?” he asked, knowing it would. Jonathan gave no reply, only slurping the beverage quietly. Dio furrowed his brow. The least he could do was say a word of thanks! But when he glanced up at Jojo’s face, his eyes widened. Jonathan’s eyes had fallen closed, and he leaned slightly to the side as if he had drifted to sleep, but something about it wasn’t quite right. Dio pressed the back of his hand against his husband’s forehead, finding it burned in a way that could not be explained by his proximity to the fire. “Jojo?” He inquired, which was met only with the fluttering of eyelashes. “Alright then,” Dio said, taking back the mug — which at least got a whine in response. “Diooo….” Jonathan mumbled quietly. “Shh, now’s not the time to worry over your chocolate. I believe you’ve caught a fever.” The man only listed more to the side, clearly not having as much concern for his own health as Dio did. Then this would be up to him alone, after all. Jonathan was lucky to have such a caring lover as he! Carefully, he slung Jojo’s arms over his shoulders and eased him from the couch. Any other would have had a difficult time lifting the man, but Dio had no such problem supporting the barely-conscious Joestar as they crossed to the bedroom. He didn’t even complain when he felt the disgusting sensation of stepping upon one of Jojo’s wet footprints in his stockinged feet. But oh, there would be a time for that. Once he had Jonathan properly tucked into bed, he didn’t waste a moment to gaze upon the pitiful image before heading to the kitchen for a damp cloth, retrieving the cocoa on his way back to the bedroom. “Come on, Jojo.” Patting his cheek briskly, which succeeded in getting him to open his eyes, bleary though they were. “Good boy.” He placed a kiss on Jonathan’s feverish head before applying the cool, wet cloth. “Don’t fret, your cocoa is right here on the side table. You are ill. Stay here and don’t move, I’m running out to the chemist for some medicine.” Jojo only made a light mumbling noise, reaching his hand to cover Dio’s as it lay upon the cloth. But there was no time for sentimentality. “I won’t be long. Don’t you dare get out of this bed.” Dio gave his hand a quick squeeze. He only paused to turn on the soft bedside lamp before heading out into the dreadful weather with his own, functional, umbrella.

Though the umbrella had kept him dry, the weather had him feeling quite cross by the time he returned. To think this was all happening because Jojo had defied him this morning! Mad though he was, he wasn’t about to let the man die for his mistakes, so he took out his anger by slamming the kitchen cupboards in his wake as he gathered what he needed. He set out the bottle of medicine on a tray, filling a glass with water as well as a bowl to refresh the cloth on Jonathan’s head. By the time he was finished that, the anger had ebbed and his energy had refocused onto the task at hand. Thankfully, the man was still in bed, and stirred just a little when Dio entered. When Dio set the tray down on the side table, he was relieved to see the cocoa had been finished — always a good sign. If Jojo had been sick enough to refuse chocolate, now that would have been a great cause for concern. Dio pulled out the stopper on the medicine bottle. Before he let the dose drop into the glass of water, he paused, a jagged chill of caution shooting up his spine. He found himself glancing at Jonathan — who was not paying attention — out of some centuries-old reflex. Slowly, he took a breath and came back into himself — his current self. It mattered not if Jonathan saw him adding the drops, for this was only medicine, and prescribed to the man after all. Understandable that his reflexes would kick in, for he believed this was the first time in two lifetimes that he, Dio, was administering a drug with the intent to heal. The realization didn’t sit well with him, and neither did the dawning fact that he had never nursed another before. For only a moment, a sickening feeling of helplessness rolled in. Never had he been so out of his depth. But he’d be damned if he let Jojo be privy to that fact! How hard could it be for one such as himself to care for a single ill buffoon? In fact, it was very likely that now given the chance, Dio would excel in this feat like he did at everything else. He let the medicine drop into the glass, watching as it dispersed through the water. Then, he turned to the sleeping man — and nearly jumped to find Jojo’s slivered eyes trained on him. There’s nothing to worry about he reminded himself. “Jojo… my love, sit up and drink this.” It was hard for him to casually speak in such endearing terms, but he saw the energy — however slight — that the words awakened in the other man. Jonathan had cared for him on the one or two occasions he’d gotten too sick to do it himself, and although he enjoyed having Jojo’s full attention he hated the feeling of vulnerability it left him with. Now he was realizing there was plenty of vulnerability on the other side of that exchange as well. Abhorrent. But if it was necessary, then Dio would suck it up for the sake of doing this right. Once Jonathan had been propped up against the pillows, he set the glass upon his lips, holding it in place rather than trusting Jojo’s weak grasp at the moment. “Slowly,” he cautioned, although Jonathan still managed to gulp the cool liquid down as fast as Dio would allow. He let out a great gasp when he had finished, unsurprising since he hadn’t paused even to take a breath. At least the medicine was in him now and could begin its work. “Thank you, Dio.” Jonathan said softly. “Don’t mention it.” Even after all these years, the trust with which Jojo had accepted the medicine nearly made his hands shake, and Dio had to will them still before he continued his work. He lifted the cloth, letting his hand rest on Jonathan’s forehead momentarily before dipping the cloth in the bowl of cool water and wringing it out. The temperature hadn’t gone down at all. “For going out there to get the medicine, and everything…” Jojo continued as Dio replaced the cloth. “I’m sure… I’ll be fine now, so you can just…” His eyes were fighting to keep themselves open, and his voice was weak. “Now Jojo, I think we’ve had enough foolishness for today. Lay back.” Dio helped him to do so and tucked the blankets up to his chin. What more could he do? He tried to think back to the times Jojo had nursed him, but the memories were foggy due to his own delirious state at the time. Still, with all the books he had read, he’d picked up a few common practices for a situation like this. “I will make you soup,” he said, matter-of-factly. He blinked down at Jojo, who stared at him foggily — had the man just been speaking? No, surely not. “Erm, but I—” “No need to worry, it won’t take but a moment. Call for me if you need anything.” He cupped Jonathan’s cheeks and placed a kiss to the crown of his head. Then, he was out of the room with haste, on a mission. Of course, there was no time to go shopping for premium ingredients, so the boxed chicken broth they had in the pantry would have to do. Still, he made sure to add in fresh chicken, celery, carrot, and plenty of herbs and spices. While it simmered, he popped back into the bedroom, cooling Jojo’s forehead as he slept. By the time he was done he was certain the soup could heal even the worst afflictions, not to mention could rival that of any four-star chef.

When he eased quietly through the bedroom door, Jojo seemed more alert to his presence than before, and his colouring had improved. Dio smiled as he approached the bed, setting the soup bowl on the bedside tray. He brought over a chair and sat down. “My Jojo.” He stroked his husband’s cheek, “Do you think you could eat some soup?” The glimmer in those dark blue eyes was reward enough for the sentimentality. “If you made it, of course Dio.” Jojo’s voice was still soft, though it seemed like he’d regained some strength by now. A little seed of pride sprouted in Dio’s chest as he helped Jonathan to sit up (not that he had ever been short of such a thing). Jonathan reached for the bowl but Dio gently swatted his hands away. “Allow me,” he said, making it clear obedience was not optional. So Jonathan sat back against the pillows let Dio lift the spoon to his mouth. Dio listened to the slurping sounds without complaint, although they grated on him. He supposed Jojo did not have much control over his manners in a situation like this. “It’s not too hot, is it?” he asked. Jonathan shook his head. “No, it’s delicious.” “Of course it is. Have some more.” Dio refilled the spoon. Soon they had settled into a rhythm, and Dio found himself relaxing, watching the man eat the soup that he was sure would make him feel better. But soon the bowl was empty, and Dio turned back to fretting. So much so that he hardly paid attention to the soft look Jojo was giving him. “I’m so thankful to have you as my caretaker, Dio…” What could he do next? He’d given the man medicine, let him sleep, and even fed him homemade soup. Maybe the cloth needed refreshing, or perhaps he could get him more water? Yes, something to drink would be good. “I know you always strive to be the best, but you needn’t do so mu—” “I’ll go put the kettle on for tea!” Dio said, leaping from his seat and heading to do just that. A pressure on his wrist stopped his swirling mind in a moment, and he turned back to see Jonathan gripping weakly onto the cuff of his shirt. Dio took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then took Jonathan’s warm palm into his. “What is it that you want, Jojo? What can I do for you?” Of course. If he wanted to know what he should do, he need only have asked the man himself. At this moment he may well have done anything for him. “Would you…” came Jonathan’s hesitant reply, “Just stay by my side? I feel so much better when you’re near.” Dio’s features softened and his heart fluttered in his chest. “Of… of course, Jojo.” When he had turned down the covers and slipped into bed, Jojo wasted no time cuddling up to him. In truth, it was sweltering, but now was not the time to complain. At the very least, the chill that had plagued Dio since morning had finally been chased off. So stay by his side he did. Dio lay with Jonathan, stroking his hair idly as the time ticked by. Reading to him when he was awake, and humming to him softly while he slept. It was a tune he seemed to remember from long ago, though he couldn’t recall quite where he’d picked it up. Perhaps a memory from the distant past, a comfort from when he’d once been ill a lifetime before. Jojo’s features were soft in his sleep, and when Dio leaned his cheek against the man’s forehead, it felt almost cool. After a time, Dio drifted off to sleep, still holding Jojo close.

When they awoke, it was morning. The sun was shining and birds chirped outside the window. Dio took a moment to blink in the light before gazing down into those sleepy blue eyes. They were considerably sharper than the night before. “Feeling better, Jojo?” “Mhm, much better. All thanks to you!” “Now Jojo, if only you had postponed your dig until today…” Dio mumbled more to himself than anything else, not really putting any fight into it. Jonathan snuggled closer. “Oh but Dio, if I had, I wouldn’t be waking up so lazily next to my beautiful husband like this.” “Mm… when you put it that way, I suppose I can concede.” “Nor would I have received all that loving attention yesterday.” Jonathan let out a contented sigh. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been so well cared for in my life.” His voice was still somewhat weak but Dio could feel a smile in it, and so he let himself smile too. “Naturally, I, Dio, would provide the utmost care for the only man deserving of my affections,” he said, running his fingers through Jonathan’s curls. “Then I truly am lucky to have you. Maybe I should try to get sick more often…” “Jojo…” Dio’s voice was filled with reproach, which got a weak chuckle from Jojo, more felt than heard. “I am kidding! But I do enjoy this doting side of yours, Dio. I would love to see more of it.” “Hmm…” Though he loved Jojo more than anything, he’d often thought that kindness was simply not in his nature. Perhaps it was the lingering traces of who he’d been in the past, when he’d grown up in a harsher life. It was only now that he realized just how good it felt to heal Jonathan with his own two hands. To feel that seed of pride blossom when he saw adoration in those blue eyes, not merely because Dio deserved to be adored (which he did), but because of the care he’d given. When Dio considered it, perhaps he enjoyed it too. He couldn’t let Jojo get too spoiled of course, but if his mere attention could make the man feel better he couldn’t argue. With Jojo cuddled warm against his side, it’s not as if he didn’t understand the feeling. He stroked his husband’s cheek before kissing him gently. “Dearest Jojo, if you wish for it, you need only ask.” As if it was the simplest thing in the world.

#jonadio #diojona #this is my first djd fic :3c

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pinnithin-writes · 3 years

Text

The First: Aftermath (Part 1)

A collaborative work between myself and @reneethecyborg on what happened after Lupin III: The First. Part 1 of 4, 1330 words.

Upon realizing they left a young woman alone on a dock in a foreign country, the police cruiser trimmed a tight 180 and abandoned its quarry. Lupin slumped, suddenly exhausted, onto the steering wheel, and Jigen only barely managed to usher him out of the driver’s seat before he lost consciousness completely.

Jigen swore, stumbling as the watercraft dipped and rocked.

Goemon wordlessly gathered Lupin from him, resting him with careful hands in the backseat so Jigen could take the wheel. Provided the speedboat had enough gas and Lupin had enough will to live, the three of them could reach a nearby safehouse before nightfall. The salt air rolled in from the Atlantic as Jigen nudged the throttle. He could smell a storm coming.

“He has a head injury,” Goemon called over the wind.

Keeping his hat secured with one hand, Jigen responded, “Think he’s gonna make it?”

“He always does.”

Arsѐne Lupin III moved in mysterious ways, but thankfully Jigen had worked with him long enough to know exactly what those ways were.

There was always cleanup to do after this sort of thing. People to call, people to bribe. Stories to either cover up or blow wide open. Tabs and promises alike to keep. Hideaways to hunker down in. Jigen grumbled all the way, not necessarily because he minded the work, but because it was his job to grumble.

The safehouse was one of many dotting the globe, a weathered cottage folded into the rocky shoreline, beaten and worn by salt and wind. Its interior was prettier than its exterior, marking Lupin’s expensive taste in decorating by the warm red walls and rich satin curtains. As Jigen and Goemon carried Lupin inside, thunderheads built and built, darkness crowding against the windows as the sun flashed a final gasp beneath the horizon.

The sky split just as the two of them settled their broken leader into bed. Jigen found it hard to look at him like that, crushed and wounded and small against the sheets.

“I’m gonna light the woodstove,” he muttered, and slouched out of the tiny bedroom.

Jigen liked to keep himself busy after these things. On a normal day, it was his job to lounge and complain, a tether keeping Lupin’s whirlwind energy in check. With the world’s greatest thief still and silent, Jigen felt the need to make up the deficit by banging around in the cupboards for the coffee pot and knocking the cobwebs out of the curtains and pacing, pacing, pacing. The rain outside beat in time with his footsteps. He lit a cigarette.

The pantry was stocked with nonperishables, and he clattered through cans of vegetables and boxed meals in preoccupation. He was unsure if he could even eat like this - his feet were still rocking beneath him from the boat ride and his thoughts churned like the sea outside. Maybe he should just go with coffee. If he could find any.

Goemon appeared after some time in the doorway to the kitchen. Jigen didn’t notice his presence until he cleared his throat audibly.

He started and banged his head on the shelf above him. “Jesus,” he hissed.

“He’ll live,” Goemon said, unsympathetic as Jigen withdrew, wincing, from the pantry. “But it’s bad.”

Jigen removed his hat, rubbing at his scalp. “How bad?”

Snapping and unsnapping the clasp on the first aid kit, Goemon paused. He closed his eyes as he recalled. “He won’t be fully recovered for a few months,” he said. “His ribs and throat are the worst. Four broken bones. I don’t know what that man did to him, but…” his brows drew in and he trailed off.

The samurai did not need to finish his sentence for Jigen to catch his meaning. He clutched the med kit against his chest, vicelike. If Geralt hadn’t perished hours prior, the two of them would be hunting him down for what he did this very moment.

Smoke drifted from Jigen’s cigarette into his face. “He didn’t die slow enough,” he murmured.

“No,” Goemon agreed.

He stalked past Jigen to replace the first aid kit in the drawer he’d found it in. The rain continued to pound outside as he slid the drawer gently shut. His face was calm, his body language fluid and seamless as it always was, and Jigen only noted his rage by the tendons that stood out on the backs of his hands.

Goemon turned to face him, arms folded as he leaned against the counter. He was squinting, which meant he was studying Jigen closely, and Jigen forced himself to hold his gaze. Sometimes he felt that Goemon’s scrutinous stare cut sharper than the blade he carried. It always gave him the distinct sense of being laid bare.

“I’m worried, too,” he said.

Jigen yanked his fedora back on to cover his eyes, which was a silly gesture in retrospect - Goemon knew what he was feeling whether he could see his face or not. Not to mention the thing was shredded past the point of being recognizable as a hat. Distractedly, he snatched at something in the pantry and surfaced with a can of condensed soup. He watched a tiny smile touch Goemon’s mouth.

“In a way, that thing saved his life.”

It took Jigen a few seconds to connect the dots back to the literal hat trick in the laser tunnel. He scoffed. “Don’t say that,” he grumbled. “I won’t be able to throw it out later.”

A quiet laugh escaped Goemon, small and rare. A glimpse of his teeth flashed briefly in the dim kitchen. Jigen was glad that Goemon could still find humor right now, and hoped he wasn’t laughing just for his sake.

“He would’ve been able to make it through without it,” Jigen finally said dismissively. “He’s Lupin the Third.”

Goemon tilted his head to the side, still studying him. “Do you think so?”

The question gave him a moment’s pause. Contemplatively, he rolled the can of soup back and forth between his hands. Jigen often found himself wondering if their presence lent to Lupin’s sense of invincibility. Did his greatness brush off on them, or was it the other way around? The man held an awful lot of trust in the two of them, and Jigen often blamed the slump in his shoulders on the weight of it.

“I think we enable him,” he finally decided.

“For better or worse?”

Jigen snorted, not bothering to hide his bitterness. “Both.”

He returned the soup can to its place in the pantry. He wasn’t hungry, anyway.

The creases around Goemon’s eyes relaxed; he was done straining them to watch Jigen’s face. He pushed off from the counter and began searching the cabinets wordlessly, fingertips skimming across their contents as he checked. His hands, Jigen noted, were back to their usual relaxed finesse. Eventually, Goemon found a bottle of whiskey in the cabinet above the stove. He drew it down along with a couple glasses.

As he undid the stopper and poured, Jigen stared in puzzlement. “What-”

“Painkiller,” he explained shortly.

He pressed one glass into Jigen’s unresisting fingers before wandering back to the bedroom with the other. Jigen felt affection race up his arms and into his chest as he watched him go.

Jigen ended up sitting cross-legged in front of the coffee table in the living room, penning out correspondences while a spaghetti western prattled on the VHS player. The rain outside was beginning to ebb from a roar to a hiss. Once the weather cleared, he’d venture to the nearest town and call Zenigata on a payphone. Lupin would want the old man to know they were alright.

He chewed on his cigarette and nursed his whiskey while his pen scratched across the page. His eyes were heavy, but there was no point sleeping tonight. He didn’t think he could, in his agitation.

Besides, there was so much work to do, and it wasn’t like Lupin could do it for him.

Part 1 (by Pin) --- > Part 2 (by Cosma)

#ink #fanfiction #lupin iii #daisuke jigen #goemon ishikawa xiii #lupin iii: the first

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alfredosauce50 · 3 years

Text

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 12

Wordcount: 3, 719 Rating: M for strong language and mature themes Warning: Implications of a panic attack and other sensitive/shocking content ahead. "See? I don't even have any goddamn organs! And I'm still alive!" "But hey, I get it. Maybe this isn't even my body. If it was, I wouldn't be alive. Maybe I'm a clone or something. A robot clone. Do you think they still kept my old body as a souvenir?" Chapter synopsis: Alfred is dying from something unknown, and the weaker his body gets, the faster his sanity wanes. You can't do anything but ease his pain as he slowly deteriorates. Fortunately, a deus ex machina arrives to save the day. The reader is referred to as she/her

Songs to listen to while you read (in order as found in playlist): VIRUS, Devil’s At Your Door, Glassy sky, Within. I have indented song titles throughout the chapter so you can change accordingly. Starting now:

VIRUS

12 - Like tears in rain

When Alfred left to do his business, you traced a finger over your leg and continued to look towards the bathroom. He was going to reappear any second now. That was what you told yourself as you waited, impatiently, but it never happened. Instead, you heard a loud slam and your heart jumped out of your chest.

It was the sound of glass.

“... Alfred?” You called out, tone uncertain. Sliding yourself off the bed a few moments later, you walked to the door with a fearful kind of urgency. Without wasting another second, you knocked a few times. “Are you okay in there? I heard something. What happened?” He didn’t answer. There was only shuffling of feet--the rough scraping of the sole of a sandal against the tiled floor.

It was almost as if he was struggling to stand.

“Alfred, open the door!” You rose your voice in a distressed shout. Pounding your fists against the door, your pleads fell on deaf ears as he never made an effort to respond.

That alarmed you beyond compare and you resorted to thrusting your elbows against the cold and hard metal surface. “Alfred—” Your voice broke as his name fell from your lips. Bile never rose this quickly in your throat.

When the door did open, you stared wide-eyed at the man through a flurry of tears. He was so confused, disoriented even, but he was safe and sound.

But when he saw the way you looked at him, crying, his face twisted with regret. “Fuck, (F/N)!” He breathed, catching you in his arms when you launched yourself at him.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, but I’m okay—I promise. See? Now please don’t cry anymore.” Pulling away to offer a smile of reassurance, it faltered when you shook your head profusely with bitter despondency.

“I’m not stupid. I know what I heard.” A dark glare only lasted so long when your expression quickly morphed into despair. “Please just tell me what’s wrong.” Reaching out to grip onto the sleeves of his shirt, you clung onto him desperately, almost as if he’d disappear if you didn’t. Little did you know, it wasn’t far from the truth.

As if Alfred already knew this, he hung his head with a tired grin.

“To be honest, I don’t know any more about this than you do.” He shook his head, defeated. “My best guess is that I’m having particularly shitty side effects with this... Immortality thing. But that’s it. I can’t die. So I’ll be okay.”

He didn’t pay much attention to the signs he’d been seeing for the past few days. At first, he only experienced a little bit of lagging in his interface, like whenever he’d use his trusty in-built Google maps. This minor issue escalated into occasional forgetfulness, and even then, he brushed it off. But now, this mutated into something alarming.

Finding yourself in his arms again, you squeezed him in a tight embrace and screwed your eyes shut.

“That means this won’t be forever... Right?"

You wanted to believe it with every fiber of your being. But fear returned like an old friend, ravaging your being until it left nothing but paranoia in your consciousness. "I still think there’s something wrong with you..." Shaking your head as you choked out your words, he squeezed you right back.

"This won’t happen again, I’m sure of it. So don’t be so worried, okay?" Pulling away to soften his gaze on your teary one, he wiped away any moisture with a swipe of his thumb. Then, he sighed, but a small smile appeared right after. “I’ll be fine. Otherwise, who’s gonna look after you when I’m gone?”

“Don’t say that.” You deadpanned.

The truth to his words was haunting, and you couldn’t deny it. That was precisely why you hated hearing it.

“Do you care about me that much now, (F/N)?” The other grinned, his cheeks pink with content.

“Don’t ask that as if you don’t already know the answer.”

Alfred closed his eyes with a look of satisfaction. To hear you snap at him like this only pointed to one reason, and one reason only.

He'd totally grown on you. Maybe more so the other way around, but this was how things have always been. So he wasn't surprised when he was the first to feel something beyond a platonic friendship. Ironically, he was made of more metal than flesh and blood like you. But did that even mean anything anymore?

“Just wanted to hear you say it. But that’s good enough for me.” He hummed, watching a blush spread over your cheeks he himself was responsible for.

You hit his shoulder. "... Take this a little more seriously, would you?"

The blonde laughed. "I am! I was just being honest."

Neither of you noticed that you both had taken the leisure to sit on the ground. But given the circumstances, how could you possibly focus on something else? The same could be said for Alfred as he continued to stare at you with an unreadable expression.

Even then, he was pulling you in like a moth to a flame.

"You say that and yet I really can't tell what you're thinking."

"... And what if I didn't want you to?"

Whatever it was that was between you both, it couldn't be ignored. You weren't on the same page as him, but that didn't mean you wouldn't do everything in your power to save him.

He was carefree about this, but you weren't taking your chances.

Not that you could do anything to help him as his symptoms spiraled out of control. What he said would only be a one-time thing became a daily ritual. His episodes were longer. More violent. If he wasn't freezing up in the middle of the street, he was having seizures left and right until he fried his own brain.

Devil's At Your Door

You would drag his heavy body to an alleyway to wait it out. This was one of those times, but the task proved more difficult during a thunderstorm, and when heavy was more of an understatement. Not only was he made mostly out of steel, but he was well over six feet to boot, so all it took was one small puddle to slip and drop him--right onto the concrete with a thump.

In the few seconds he laid flat on the ground, he looked dead.

But a few seconds was more than enough for tears to form. They streamed endlessly down your face as you watched his, motionless and peaceful as it lay half-submerged in a murky well of water. As dark as it was, it still reflected the bright neon of the city. But the lights were anything but beautiful.

"... Sorry for dropping you." You murmured, reaching up to rub your eyes. He remained quiet. A part of you wished he said something, maybe a soft laugh going, don't worry about it. But he never did.

Bending down to sit beside him, you pulled Alfred onto your body and rested his head on your shoulder. It wasn't the freezing puddle your legs were submerged in that bothered you. Nor was it the light drizzle of rain on your face, the rumbling of thunder, or your dirty clothes sticking to your skin.

It was the feeling of him twitching in your arms, the restlessness in his uneven breaths. Something inside him was killing him. And all you could do was ease his pain while he wasted away.

Sticking your hand into his pocket, you pulled out a metal pin before lifting his tank top. Then, you inserted it into a tiny hole in his chest. You felt a pop, and a plate opened up. At least he wasn't drenched on the inside. But the water was a bad sign nevertheless, especially when he wasn't filtering it out like he normally did.

With whatever areas of your clothes that were still dry, you rubbed the inside of his torso vigorously. Then, you carefully removed detachable parts to wipe them as well. So there you sat, and hoped, unscrewing plates and reattaching them with his trusty screwdriver for ten minutes before he began to stir.

It was easily the longest ten minutes of your life. When he laid there, unable to process a single coherent thought, you had to wonder if this would be the last time. What if he never woke up? What if your father's men found him out here, and did away with him while he was so vulnerable?

The fear for his dwindling life chipped away at your sanity faster than you could deal. But every time he woke up, he put a stopper on your waning senses. A cough was heard and you stopped your movements abruptly. "... Pervert." He cracked his eyes open into thin slits as a tired grin stretched at his lips.

But you couldn't humor his comment as bile rose in your throat.

"I thought you weren't gonna wake up again." Your lips trembled in a frown. Working quickly to put him together, you pulled his top down and leaned down to hug him. "Thank god... We need to get you out of the rain. I know that much."

You helped him up slowly and slung his arm around your shoulder. "Yeah. You know more about this dinosaur than me." He furrowed his brows together and managed a sheepish smile. "If you didn't dry me up, I could've shocked myself to death. That would've been kinda embarrassing."

"Oh, shush. You know I'd never let that happen." Taking slow and steady steps, you both moved out of the alleyway and onto the street. The downpour just got heavier, so you kept your head down and ran to the closest shelter available--the outside of an upgrade store.

And as you stood there, waiting, you heard him say something you would never forget.

"... Even if you didn't, I'm still... Probably gonna die anyway." He laughed dryly. Misery shook his voice, and it manifested in the form of tears that rolled down his face. When you saw them, you almost couldn't tell as droplets of rain had dotted his skin. But he gave you no chance to process the fact he was crying when he continued.

"I'm being killed by something inside. It's not a disease. It's like... A virus." He dug a hand through his hair, and his eyes widened with a manic kind of sadness. "Ha! I'm about to die the most unnatural death. And to think I used to believe I was still a human."

"But you are." You forced out, swallowing thickly as an intense wave of grief washed over you. Then, you shook your head at him. "What I said when I met you was stupid. I didn't know who you were. I was scared. You're scared. I can tell. But don't tell me you're not human after everything you've done."

He wanted to believe you with every damn fiber of his being. He did. He really did. But he just couldn't. Not while his vision glitched so that he could barely see your face. And not while his ears blared with static to render him deaf. "... I'm not what you think I am."

Gritting his teeth so hard, veins popped around his neck and his left eye shattered.

"Alfred, stop!"

What was left of it was a bright blue light in his eye socket.

"Look at me." He breathed shakily. "I'm not even a fucking cyborg. Nothing about me is natural. Can't you see?"

He forced his chest plate open, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop him from pulling it off its hinges. Landing on the wet sidewalk in a clatter, you struggled to keep his hand still as he tore away one part after the other. "I've opened myself up before. I pulled everything out. There's nothing inside but metal and plastic."

But it was true. It became apparent when he pulled himself apart and gutted himself. You stood no chance against his inhumane strength, so he ripped everything out until he was reduced to nothing but a hollow shell.

"See? I don't even have any goddamn organs! And I'm still alive!" Alfred screamed with a face full of tears, but you were just as much of a mess as you sobbed wretchedly. "But hey, I get it. Maybe this isn't even my body. If it was, I wouldn't be alive. Maybe I'm a clone or something. A robot clone. Do you think they still kept my old body as a souvenir?"

He emptied himself as he spoke through crazed laughs, tossing his insides onto the street without a single shred of care.

Glassy Sky

As people walked by, they stopped to stare at the unfolding altercation, but some couldn't bring themselves to give a shit. A few even stepped on his parts on accident as they brushed past. And the sight of them cracking under their feet left you more and more unstable until you stopped crying altogether.

Lowering yourself into a crouch, you covered your ears as an unpleasant concoction of panic and anxiety overwhelmed your senses. As if hot water rushed into your head, a thick mental fog slowed your thoughts to a standstill. In fact, it was so incapacitating, you never struggled when you were picked up from behind.

Even when you were placed into a stranger's car, you never made a move to get out.

Once you calmed down, you were in an entirely different location. Familiar, but different. As you studied your surroundings, you came to recognize it to be the same room you stayed in at Arthur's. And rather than laying down in bed, you were leaning against a warm body. Pressing your face into their chest, you were overwhelmed with the scent of cologne.

Allen's cologne.

Tilting your head back, a pair of striking red eyes stared down at you with the most tender gaze. "Hey. Did you miss me?" He'd said.

For the second time that day, you cried. You cried and cried until there was nothing to cry about anymore. But rather than on a fearful note, it was a happy one. You clung onto him like a lifeboat as he began to rock you gently from side to side, then whisper soft words of comfort into your ear. Allen was alive and well. And the tables had turned for him to save you.

He never thought he'd have the stroke of luck to find you and Alfred. But his sudden urge to go to the bathroom--which came from the heavy downpour--turned out to be the best damn thing that ever happened to him.

"... I gotta take a leak," Allen murmured, earning a slow nod from the man beside him. Climbing out of the vehicle, he jogged across the road. He had been mulling over going all the way to the mall a few blocks down to relieve himself, but he opted for the alleyway right across where their car was parked. When he left, he noticed a small gathering of people down the street.

"...?"

Then, someone screaming bloody murder. He would've turned away, having seen similar scenes unfold like a regular Tuesday, but it was the sobbing that followed he couldn't ignore.

The voice sounded just like yours.

In a heartbeat, he burst into a sprint and pushed his way through the crowd to the center. When he finally got to the middle, he managed to step on a random part--an enhancement of some kind--much to his confusion. Then, he lifted his head for some answers. He paled immediately at what he saw.

Alfred was standing there in all his glory, having disemboweled himself. You were presumably reacting to him doing it.

"... What in the hell?" Sweat amassed around his forehead as he processed the grotesque sight. But seeing you so distraught was more than enough to get him to spring into action. Without a moment's hesitation, he shoved all the curious onlookers away with a scowl. "Fuck off, all of you. Never seen a dude gut himself before?"

Once the group dispersed, he scooped you up with one arm while he used the other to drag Alfred away by his collar.

One frenzied car ride and nap later, you were here in Allen's arms. He had long forsaken the idea of leaving you by yourself. But that wasn't the right way to put it when he never considered it in the first place. "You're okay, (F/N). Everything's gonna be fine." He murmured, digging his hands into your hair to rub your scalp.

It was something he always did to calm you down, and like every other occasion, it worked like a miracle. Feeling his fingers massage your head was therapeutic, and you quickly settled into his chest.

"... I thought you died, you know." Tightening your grip on his white tank, your chest felt heavy as you revisited the memories. "Even if it was for a little while, I knew I went a little crazy afterward."

Allen closed his eyes and rested his chin on you. He usually would have cracked a joke on a topic like this, but he knew better. So there was no sign of mirth in his expression when he responded.

"And that's why I didn't die, sweetheart." Coiling his arms around your neck, he gave you a squeeze. Then, he opened his eyes and narrowed them into a frown. It didn't matter what he did in his life. If he somehow passed before you did, which was more likely than anything, he'd latch himself onto this world with the regret of unfinished business.

"If I died before you, I wouldn't ever forgive myself. I can't leave you alone in this... Shitty world." He pulled away just so he could press his forehead against yours. "It's just you and me. Everyone else is fucking crazy. We're the only sane ones alive."

You couldn't help but crack a smile at that. Allen always had a way with words, even if he was a bit heavy on the colorful vocabulary. In a way, he shared an affinity with Alfred who hated the world just as much as him. But rather than starting revolutions, he preferred to keep it on the down-low and make the most of what he had.

And you had to admit that you preferred the same. "... Maybe you're right. But at least we have each other."

Allen hummed.

"Uhhuh. And maybe I could take Arthur into consideration for the normal people club. He's got a good head on his shoulders."

Speaking of which, how was he going with Alfred, anyhow?

Within

As if he read your mind, he offered to take you to the medical bay. Leading you down the dimly lit halls, he pushed open the door to reveal a violent altercation taking place. Alfred, who had been sleeping off the operation, was up on his feet and causing a ruckus. He held medical scalpels in both hands as if to defend himself.

Darting his wide eyes between the two men, Arthur and another man you didn't recognize, he screamed his lungs out. "Don't come any closer! I'm armed!" Backing himself to the corner, he dropped one of the blades but kept the other firmly in his grip. And that he used to point at whoever that moved.

"Who the hell are you guys? What the fuck did you do to me?!"

What did he say?

Your face fell as you watched the scene unfold. Nothing but pure, unadulterated fear oozed from every action Alfred made. Like a caged animal, he kept his distance from everyone and everything because he simply couldn't understand what was going on.

And the longer the predicament dragged on, the clearer it became to you why he was acting up.

The Brit gave Allen a nervous side-eye.

"Allen, do something! Restrain him, I don't know! We don't have any enhancements, so one stab from that and we're done for!"

He shook his head as he made a weird look. "Wait, what dya' mean restrain him? He's just disoriented, just let him be! What if he dies?"

"Yeah, big guy! Tackle him while we try and sedate him!" The other man exclaimed, narrowly dodging a metal tray thrown his way. His copper brown hair was tied back in a long ponytail, and his eyes were almost as red as Allen's, but they were noticeably darker. "Fuck you! This is pretty much a hospital, you know? Just because we don't have uniforms doesn't mean we tried to sell your organs!"

"... Not that you even have any." He murmured that under his breath, but karma struck and another metal tray came flying his way to hit him square in the face. "Ow!"

Arthur muttered out a string of curses. "Goddammit, Allen! He's not disoriented, he has amnesia!" You tensed up all over as your suspicions were confirmed right then and there. "He doesn't know who any of us are, and he won't have any trouble killing us all when he figures out he can shoot rockets from his arms!"

"Wait, what the fu--I can do that?!"

"Uhh, no you can't!"

There was no way he couldn't remember you, right?

The thought deeply saddened you, but it was more reasonable than getting ahead of yourself. If he couldn't remember Arthur and Allen, what were the chances he'd remember you? Nevertheless, a part of you hoped he somehow did after everything you two went through.

There was only one way to find out.

"Alfred!"

Your shout echoed across the room and he turned to the source. When he saw you, he dropped his scalpel to the ground in a clatter.

His eyes went wider than dinner plates, but you had no way to gauge what he was feeling, let alone thinking. So you let him walk up to you, albeit slowly. When he managed to stand right in front of you, he attached two hands to your shoulders, the action prompting Allen to pull out his gun at light speed. Training that at the blonde's head, he curled his finger around the trigger.

But he never pulled it.

"... (F/N)?"

#hetalia fanfiction #hetalia x reader #x reader #reader insert #axis powers hetalia #axis powers ヘタリア #aph america #america x reader #aph america x reader #alfred f jones #allen jones #2p america #2p! america x reader #2p!americaxreader #cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk fanfic #fanfiction #scifi

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amateur-authorial-aspirations · 3 years

Text

Another short story! It's about the same length as the last one, around 3k words. I don't have a title for this one, though.

Not sure what trigger warnings to add for this but uh it's about a family that's kinda broken and a mom that was very neglectful, and there's stuff about sickness and hospitals. Oh and food.

~~~~~~~~~~

The only thing I wanted to inherit from my mother was the recipe for her chicken soup.

My mom—well, she did her best with us, I guess, but her best mostly involved working long nights at a lousy job and occasionally showing up at school events to clap for us. The rest of the time, she was either drinking Bud Lights out on the porch or passed out from some combination of exhaustion and intoxication, sprawled on her bed or wherever she happened to collapse. I'd put a blanket over her, sometimes, but usually I was too busy cooking dinner, or helping my younger siblings with their homework, or doing one of the million other things that wouldn't get done unless I did them.

The one thing she always got right, though, was when I was sick. She had crazy good hearing, like an owl or something, and if I so much as sneezed, in an instant she'd have me tucked into bed and a pot of chicken soup on the stove. That soup—dear God, my mouth still waters just thinking about it. It was like she took carrots and celery and a chicken straight from the dirt of a farm somewhere and cooked it in, I don't know, the tears of an angel. A little salty, and just heavenly. And the whole time I was sick, whether puking my guts up in the bathroom or just sniffling a little, she was the perfect mother—she picked Brett and Ashley up from school, cooked three meals a day, helped them with their homework, everything.

Even years and decades after I'd moved as far from her as I could get, whenever I was sick, I'd get an awful hankering for that chicken soup. I'd whine and moan and throw a feeble, snotty tantrum until someone made some for me, and my husband tried, bless his soul, but it just wasn't the same. Sometimes I'd try, too, once I was feeling better, but it was never as good as my mom's, no matter what I did. I thought about calling and asking her once or twice, usually when a bout of illness coincided with a fight with my kids. I'd be aching and shivering, feeling bad enough about my own parenting that I could almost forgive her, and when the craving hit, I'd start to reach for the phone, but—

No. I'd worked so hard to get her out of my head, and I didn't know if I could do it all over again.

I remember it was raining the day Ashley called with the news. I could tell she was upset right away, but when she told me why, I almost dropped the phone.

"Hello?" she said, her voice choked. "Kathy, you still there?"

"Yeah," I rasped, "I'm here. I… I don't know what to say. I mean, cancer? God. Is she okay?"

"Yes. For now, at least. We don't know how long she'll stay that way, though."

"I don't know what to say," I repeated. It was true; I felt like someone had stuck my brain in a freezer.

"Say you'll come see her. And before you say no—"

"What? No. Absolutely not."

"Before you say no, think about how much it would mean to her. And to me. To all of us. We could finally be a family again, you know? One last time."

"I'm not putting myself through that so you can get our family picture taken, Ash."

"Come on, Kathy. I know you're mad at her, but—"

"I'm not mad. I just don't owe her anything."

"But—"

"And I don't owe you anything, either."

"Okay, that is not—"

I hung up. Then I threw my phone at the couch. It rang a moment later, but I just took a deep breath in, let it out slowly, and walked out of the room, the tinny music fading as I closed the door behind me. Then it started again.

Brett called about an hour later. I let it ring.

He understood a little better than Ashley, I think, but she was his little sister, the baby of the family. I was sure he'd side with her.

But, after a long talk with my husband and a couple days of stewing, I decided to go after all. I might not have owed my mother anything, but I owed it to myself to not leave any questions hanging. Besides, if she was really dying… it felt bad, felt heartless, to refuse to visit an old, sick woman.

Brett met me at the airport, a box of chocolate in hand.

"Nate with the kids?" he asked.

"Yeah. Those for Mom?"

"No," he said with a small chuckle, "for you."

I quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Honestly, Kathy, you're a saint. I don't know if I'd have come, if I were you."

"You did come, though."

"Yeah, but it wasn't the same for me. Or Ashley. You know that better than I do."

"Well, I'm not here for Mom, anyway."

It was Brett's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I mean, I'm here to see her, but it's for me."

"And for Ashley?"

"And kinda for Ashley."

We both laughed a little. Then he handed me the chocolate and started loading my suitcases into the trunk of his car.

When we pulled up to the house, Ashley ran out to greet me, but Brett pulled her aside as I went around to the back of the car. I couldn't hear what he said, but her face sank. She nodded tightly and went back inside.

I tugged my suitcase up over the curb and pulled it down a concrete pathway that cut through calf-height grass and weeds to the front of Ashley's one-story, vinyl-sided house that had been painted in a shade of yellow so bright it turned my stomach, though I'm sure my sister thought it "sunny" or some such thing. Part of the roof was sagging on one side.

Looking at that house, part of me couldn't help feeling guilty. I mean, I wasn't rich, and Ashley and her family certainly weren't starving, but it was hard not to draw comparisons to my own home, spacious and immaculate and halfway across the country, and wonder if there wasn't more I should be doing. Not that she'd accept assistance if I offered it; if anything, she'd just get angry, and things between us were already so tense... but, still. I didn't think there would ever come a day that I saw her struggling and didn't want to help.

Lost in thought, I walked in the door and headed straight for the rear of the house, almost passing the small living room on the right, but then a quiet cough sounded. I whipped my head toward the noise, freezing in place as I took in the hospital bed that been set up where a couch used to be. Took in its white-haired occupant.

After a moment, I cleared my throat. "Hi, Mom."

She looked so tiny and fragile lying there, her feet barely reaching halfway down the bed, her skin pale and papery. Nothing like the hard-drinking, loud-talking woman who had stomped through my childhood with the force of a bulldozer, hurtling herself headfirst at anything that dared to stand in her way. No, there was no sign of that woman in this dimly lit room that smelled of sickness and floral air freshener.

"Hi, Kathy," said this person I no longer recognized. "It's so good to see you."

"Wish I could say the same," I blurted before I could think better of it, but she just laughed, a dry, gravelly chuckle that ended in a hacking cough.

"Well," she said after a minute, when she was breathing normally again, "I can't say I was expecting much better, after everything I put you through. And I guess that's what I get for smoking so damn much."

"Wait." My face screwed up in confusion. "Since when did you smoke?"

"Oh, it was a long time ago. I tried to quit for years, but it never stuck until I got pregnant with you. I guess knowing I had someone else depending on me was the push I needed."

I let out a sharp bark of laughter, once again reacting without thinking and immediately wishing I'd kept my mouth shut. Not because I hadn't meant it; I had, but it wasn't like me, to be so sarcastic and mean-spirited. This tired, bitter woman was just as foreign to me as the little old lady she was mocking.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm sure you thought that was a heart-warming story about one time you actually did take care of me, but that's the thing, right? You did get it right sometimes. Which means the rest of the time… that was a choice. And I could forgive you for being weak or sick or crazy, but you weren't any of those things. Like, when I was sick, you were always so good. And I'd eat your chicken soup, and I'd think, maybe this time. Maybe this time she'll keep it up. But then I'd get better, and you'd go right back to leaving us to fend for ourselves, and it would hurt even worse because I knew what it felt like to be taken care of. You know I've got kids now, right? I'm sure Ashley's told you. So I know what it feels like, when you're tired down to your bones and you don't know how to keep going. But still, every single day, I choose to go on anyway, to be there for my kids, because I love them too much not too. So either you just didn't love us enough, or you did, and you still chose not to take care of us. I don't know which it is, or which would be worse. But I know I can't forgive you."

The words had all come out in a rush, as if some long-stoppered bottle of feelings inside me had suddenly come pouring from my lips, getting bigger and angrier as I went, and I had to stop for a second, take a deep breath in, let it out slowly.

"So," I went on, more calmly now, "I'll be here for a week. We'll play nice, for Ashley and her kids, and because we are civilized people. And I really am sorry about what you're going through. But when I leave, I don't want to hear from you again, and I don't want you bothering Ashley about me."

With that, I turned on my heel, not waiting for a reply, and marched down the hall to the guest room.

Only after I closed the door and collapsed onto the bed did I think about who else might have been in the house. I really hoped Ashley's kids hadn't overheard my tirade. Or Ashley herself, for that matter. I didn't like this nasty streak my mother brought out in me, and whatever my feelings for her, being a good sister and aunt was more important.

But when I emerged a little while later, cool and composed and determined to stay that way, I found everyone gathered around the big wooden table in the kitchen, Ashley presiding over it all with a wooden spoon and a hearty laugh.

Her eyes lit up when she saw me in the doorway. "Kathy! Come in, come over here." She was beaming as I made my way past the treacherous tangle of cooking implements brandished by small hands to where she stood at the stove, stirring a sizzling pan of vegetables. "So," she said in a low voice, one that no one else would hear over the general hubbub, "things went well with Mom? Brett seemed to think there'd be some… unpleasantness, but she said you guys talked? Worked things out?"

I cast a wary glance to where my mom sat at the table between Brett and Ashley's husband Blake, but her attention was fully occupied by her grandchildren and the silly song they were singing as they worked on their "cooking."

"Yeah," I said with a small, sad smile, "I guess we did." And we had, I supposed, if not in the way Ashley hoped.

The rest of the visit flew by in a whirl of babysitting and doctor's visits and pasted-on smiles. Before I knew it, the last day had arrived. My flight out was scheduled for late afternoon, but I woke early, intending to take a walk in the cool darkness just before sunrise, for the fresh air and exercise and much-needed time to myself. But when I went to open the front door, something felt off, and I realized I couldn't hear the snoring that that had echoed through the small house every night this week.

With a gasp, I turned and rushed to my mother's side. "Ashley!" I shouted as I fumbled for the switch on the lamp and tried to remember what little first aid I knew. Running footsteps clattered along the floor, then stopped somewhere behind me. "Ashley, I don't think she's breathing."

"Oh, dear God," said Ashley, and then her phone was out and she was talking to someone.

The minutes that passed before the ambulance arrived felt like seconds and hours and days all at once. Blake was there, he was doing something I vaguely recognized as CPR, but I had no idea if it was working. Then it was flashing lights and paramedics in uniforms and Ashley had to stay with the kids so I was the one climbing into the back of the ambulance, and the siren was blaring as we raced through the streets and swerved around corners, everything swaying and rattling as I clung desperately to my mother's hand.

When we got to the hospital, they carted her off through a set of swinging doors, and all too soon it was just me, standing alone under the fluorescent lights, shaking. The air around me seemed to pulse, and the too-clean antiseptic smell of the hallway had me ready to vomit.

I don't know how long I stood there, staring in shock at the big red letters on the smooth metal doors. NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL BEYOND THIS POINT. It felt like forever.

But it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before Brett was there, wrapping me in his jacket and leading me to a chair. I think there were tears in his eyes, but I was too numb to cry. Or to talk. So we just sat there in silence, his arms around me, until Ashley came in with a million questions that I couldn't even process, much less answer. Everything the paramedics and doctors said had shot right past me in a blur of unintelligible sound. Ashley seemed about ready to shake me in frustration, but Brett took her to look for the doctors who would have the answers I couldn't give her. He left me his jacket, but I still missed his comforting warmth.

A few hours later, I was sitting on a hard plastic chair in a cold, drab room, watching over my mother as she slept. She looked even stranger now, with her face all calm and peaceful, content in a way I had never seen her before. In my lap was a tray from the hospital cafeteria, a styrofoam bowl of steaming-hot soup at its center.

Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open, and I leapt to my feet in excitement, launching the tray from my lap and dumping the soup all over the floor.

"Ah!" I exclaimed, looking frantically around the room for something with which to mop up the rapidly spreading puddle of broth. "I'm so sorry, I just wanted to bring you soup, like you always used to make me when I was sick, and I know it's not the same, but I just thought… well, and now I've gone and made a mess of it, haven't I?" My gaze locked on the box of tissues on the bedside table, and I practically lunged for them, but I was stopped by a gentle touch on my arm.

"Forget about the mess, Kathy, just come sit next to me." My mother gestured to the chair that was closest to her bed, and I sat down obediently. She let out a small, quiet laugh. "Goodness, I'd almost forgotten about the chicken soup."

"I don't know what you put in it, but that soup was the best thing I ever tasted."

She looked up at me sharply, confusion etched in the lines of her face. "What?"

"Don't worry, I'm just reminiscing, not trying to weasel any secret ingredients out of you."

This time, her laugh was raucous. "Secret ingredients? Kathy, the only secret ingredient in that stuff was a can of chicken soup from the supermarket."

Now I was the confused one. "What?"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry if you thought I was making some special family recipe, but you must've got that idea from some fever dream. Don't you remember what a terrible cook I am? The only things I could ever make came out of cans or boxes or little plastic packets."

After a moment, I couldn't help but laugh as well. "Yeah, that sounds about right. I probably should've known."

I ended up missing my flight and staying for an extra week. Mostly, I stayed at the house, helping Ashley with chores or the kids, but I visited the hospital a few times, too.

When I finally got home, a small, white envelope was waiting for me in the mailbox, my name and address scrawled across the back. Careful not to tear it, I peeled open the flap and pulled out a single sheet of lined paper covered in the same messy handwriting.

Mom's Chicken Soup

Ingredients:

1 12-oz can of condensed chicken soup

1 canful of water

Combine ingredients in saucepan and heat over medium high, stirring occasionally, until warm and bubbling slightly. Let cool to your desired temperature and serve with a side of high fever and delirium.

On the back was a brief note.

Thought you should have at least one family recipe.

With a small smile, I tucked the paper back into the envelope and turned to go inside, my heart feeling strangely light and heavy at the same time. And as I looked up to see my two beautiful, wonderful children come running out to greet me, I couldn't help feeling that my front door was not the only one that had just been opened.

#short story #realistic fiction #food tw

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